My Life as a Commisar.
"Any Cadian who can't field strip a lasgun by age ten was born on the wrong planet."
Such words, although harsh even by the standard of the Imperium of Mankind were never truer than now. We're being pushed back, slowly but surely the forces of Chaos are advancing. "HOLD THE LINE! ANY MAN WHO WON'T SERVE ON THE FRONT LINE SHALL SERVE ON THE FIRING LINE!" I shoot two men, attempting to run. I don't know why they bother, they've seen me shoot 15 others in the last day and where would they run to? Half the world is overrun by the forces of Abbadon on his 13th Black Crusade. Such is the price of being on the only stable route out of the Eye of Terror.
The screeching sound of Earthshaker shells from the Basilisk artillery, it's driven the gunners near deaf; but it is our salvation for now. They impact only 100 yards from our line, ripping holes in the ranks of the traitor scum. The sound of jump packs fills the air "RAPTORS! TO THE HUNT!" and in the distance we see and hear large explosions. So much for the Basilisks. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" the heretics scream. A squad of Berserkers emerges from the twisting mass of cultists, daemons and other scum. "CHAOS MARINES! CONCENTRATE YOUR FIRE ON THEM, MEN!" Traitor marines; how can we hope to best even a squad of them? We're down to 500 guardsmen, 50 Kasrkin Storm Troopers, 20 grenadiers and 10 heavy weapons teams. Each traitor marine has spent the last 10,000 years since the Horus Heresy fighting. "WE SHALL FIGHT TO THE LAST MAN!" I begin to recite the Litany of Fury under my breath. A guardsman right next to me takes a bolter round through his skull. A .75 caliber mass reactive mini-rocket going into ones head and exploding makes quite a mess, another next to him is heavily wounded in the shrapnel. "WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO DIE? KEEP FIGHTING!"
We need reinforcements, air support, artillery support, anything. A Salamander scout vehicle brings word that the 145th Cadian Armoured is on its way and should be here within 15 minutes. Praise be to the Emperor. 150 Leman Russ battle tanks, 400 Sentinel walkers, 300 Salamander fighting vehicles, 30 Macharius heavy tanks and finally a 15,000 year old Baneblade super-heavy tank, the Imperius Dictatio built at the beginning of the Age of Strife. "FIFTEEN MINUTES MEN. THEN REINFORCEMENTS SHALL ARRIVE." All around me, men are dying. The Chaos Marines gleefully hacking them to pieces with chainswords, the cultists fire penetrating the standard issue flak armour with almost no effort. A cultist begins rising into the air, surrounded by purplish black light. I hear the traitors screaming blasphemy. "SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" I scream back "MY FAITH IS MY SHIELD, SCUM!"
The cultist who had been levitating suddenly drops to the ground at impossible speeds, a shower of blood flies up and in his place stands a monster. A 30 foot tall, red, roughly human shaped creature with gnarly black wings and an axe with a blade larger than a man. It is a Greater Daemon of Khorne. We are finished. There will be no victory, we won't survive to see reinforcements. I draw my powersword and charge at the nearest cultist, brutally decapitating him. I attempt to rally my men for one last time as I glance, I notice that they are all dead. The last thing I see is the giant axe swinging towards me.
I awaken in utter agony. All I can feel is my head, and I am in a lake of some kind of liquid…It is blood. The other objects around me are skulls of all shapes and sizes. A good portion are human. Why didn't my faith protect me? Where is the Emperors guiding light? Why Emperor, why?