Beyond our universe exists another realm, one quite unlike our own placid reality. It is a place of strange energies and infinite dimensions, where the very laws of nature are inconstant and mutable. It is a place of promethean creation and unbridled entropy; a furnace of creation and a maelstrom of destruction. It is a place of ideals, dreams, and emotions - and of corruption, nightmares, and insanity.

This place has many names: the Warp, the Empyrean, the Immaterium, the Great Beyond, the Spirit Realm, the Dreamlands, the Otherworld, the Abyss, Hell, to name but a few.

But to those that know it best, it is simply:

The Realm of Chaos.

It is where starships must go if travellers wish to cross the void between the stars, without taking lifetimes to reach even their closest stellar neighbours. It is the place from which psykers - humans gifted with preternatural powers of the mind - draw their power. It is - some philosophers and priests claim - the place the dreaming mind touches upon when we sleep, and where the souls of the departed go after death.

This realm of chaos is also home to strange forms of life and patterns of thought, all of them utterly alien to Man. Most of these creatures are little more than feral beasts that swim through the endless depths of the Immaterium, feeding off the wild energies of the Warp. Others are predators who prey on their own kind, primordial and dangerous, but mercifully mindless beyond base animal cunning and killer instinct.

But there are those that dwell on the other side who are different from their more primitive kin: Monstrous creatures of brutal intelligence and pure malevolence. Consumed by an insatiable hunger they desire nothing more than to cross over into our world, to feed upon the lifeblood and raw emotions of Mankind.

They are:

The Daemons of Chaos.

From the beginning it had known it was different. The others had either been docile and oblivious, or ravenous monsters possessing only the basest of bestial instincts. Even the larger, more intelligent ones lacked true purpose. Beyond preying on their lesser kin they craved nothing, thought nothing.

But it was different; it had this bottomless pit inside that could not be filled, no matter how much it fed upon the other creatures of the warp.

A singular thought occurred to it:

I hunger, therefore I am.

For aeons it swam the Empyrean, before it slowly became aware of the Other Side. There, just beyond its reach, behind an accursed barrier of orderly natural laws, lay the lands of honeyed succour. Endless fields of sweet nectar; the narcotics of pure emotions and the rapturous energies of life. Its hunger grew even greater.

Slowly it pieced together the lore of this other place. It was indeed possible for one such as it to cross over and feast. Not an easy task, to be sure, but others of his kind had done it, and the feat could be repeated. But try as it might, it could find no path through the barrier. Every time it tried, the door was barred, one way or the other.

It had hungered for an eternity before it finally had its chance. A tiny bubble of that other place it could not reach, drifting aimlessly upon immaterial tides in the wake of a monstrous tempest. It approached the bubble in high spirits. It had learned from another Empyrean wanderer that the bubble was adamantly strong and seemingly impervious, but that sometimes a tiny crack could be found.

It was not a patient being, for it desired nothing more than instant gratification, but the long ages had made it nothing if not persistent. It waited and watched, until finally the tiniest of flaws was revealed: Barely large enough to slip through, and existing so briefly it might as well not have been there at all. But it was ready; with improbable speed it grabbed hold of the moment and willed passage through the crack.

On the other side wonder waited: A veritable fountain of emotions; raw fear, desperate hope, lecherous desire, pure anguish, prolonged suffering, acute pain, bleak hopelessness - so many flavours to taste!

This magnificent cacophony of activity and mirth emanated from the strange little creatures that resided at the centre of the bubble, huddled together inside a sarcophagus of inert reality. Already it could hear their minds crying out, speaking in unfamiliar tongues, conveying exotic and exhilarating information about the wonders of the other side.

The things inside were Men of the Earth, travelling through the Warp aboard a Voidship, hoping to reach another World upon which to settle. Its interest in the other side grew greater - as did its hunger.

Now that it had pierced the barrier, it sought to find a host that it could possess. It knew that possession was an essential part of any expedition into that other place. It had - at no small cost - bargained away this lore from the Keeper of Secrets, the wisest of its kind. Without a host to possess, the Keeper had explained, no daemon would be able to exist in the physical universe for very long.

The hull of the stranded voidship proved an unanticipated difficulty; even the raw energies of entropy would take too long to eat through metres of battle-steel and warding circuitry. Getting turned back now was unacceptable. Such an opportunity as this might never come again, not even for one as long-lived as it.

A little trial and error saw it finding a way through. By altering its form to become a creature of volatile, exotic energy that existed out of phase with the structure of the Man-Ship, it was able to pass through the skin of the voidship unimpeded.

It manifested in the depths of the vessel, taking on a shape it felt was more conductive to possession, a semi-translucent spectre of hellish fire and hoarfrost, of fanged tentacles and devouring lamprey-mouths.

The Man-Things grew even more frantic when they realized it was among them. This only added to its already insatiable appetite. Was there really no end to the wonders of this place?

A few fought back, but it mattered not, for none possessed the unflinching will or the weapons required to fight a hell-spawn made of nothing but hunger, frost, and flame. Others fell to the floor, insane with fear, juicy morsels, to be snacked upon in passing, or left for later feasting. Most ran; they could run, but there is no hiding in the cold tomb that is a voidship lost at warp.

After the first spree of mayhem it remembered the words of the Keeper: possession is nine tenths of a successful manifestation. Its focus so restored it stopped slaying, and started possessing. The first attempts went awry. Some bodies fell apart before it could fully assert itself. Other bodies that it tried to wear were hacked apart, blown to pieces, or burned to cinders - the little flesh-things had rallied and now extruded a euphoric admixture of fear and courage. This was much more difficult than it had anticipated. Had perhaps the Keeper left out a few of the secrets of successful possession?

It could feel its form starting to come apart, its energies leaking away into the waiting Immaterium. Anger arose like a sudden warp-storm; it had been deceived! With anger came new purpose, and for a while it clung to existence through sheer fury alone. It renewed its efforts to find a suitable host. Finally it got the possession right; it came across a particularly welcoming mind, and this time it slid home, like a hand into a glove!

It feasted. It gorged on flesh and blood. It devoured souls. It draped itself in skin and bone. Hundreds of Man-Things fell before it, each a unique and delicious treat. Still it hungered. It fed some more. Hundreds became thousands. Their fear was thick and heavy now, a sweet syrup that slowly, but surely filled the black hungering pit. This was life the way it was meant to be lived, a true body walking the true universe, doing what it willed, feeding as it pleased.

Then the unthinkable happened. The sack of flesh and blood that was its new body somehow found the strength of will to banish it back into the Warp. Impossible! Unthinkable! Inexcusable! Oh, how it raged at its own sudden impotence.

As the hunger grew anew, it contemplated only one thing; to return...

Being banished had turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to it. Without banishment it would have been trapped: Bound within a body of flesh, confined inside the metal skin of the voidship, lost in the Immaterium. Trapped. If not exactly for all eternity, then for a very long time indeed. Long enough for a daemon to become weak of form and dull of mind, to slowly slide down into bestial obliviousness again, to no longer have the clarity of mind to know what it hungered for. A fate much, much worse than mere destruction.

More stuff the Keeper had failed to mention. When next they crossed paths there would be a reckoning: One that the insipid clawed daemon would not leave intact. It would take the form of a horned dark fire. It would slither forth in utter silence and secrecy, to fall upon the unsuspecting Keeper of Secrets with unbridled fury. It would impale its enemy upon a hundred spikes and tear it limb from limb. It would feast on the remnants, and relish as it devoured the last bits of the Great Liar.

Being banished provided other advantages as well. It allowed the possessor to truly appreciate the limitations of the flesh. Yes, the real world was a wonderful place of life and emotion. Yes, wearing a body was an exhilarating experience in and of itself - and the only way to remain on the other side for very long. But with the wearing of flesh came so many limitations, especially if you wanted the host body to endure for any length of time. Which any half-clever daemon most likely did; good hosts were hard to find, as it had experienced first-hand aboard the great colony ship Absalom.

The body limited it physically. The Warp was not really a place for physical prowess. So it was only natural that while on the other side one would want to really flex some otherworldly muscles. Play around a bit; enjoy the unfamiliar feeling of wearing a body. Unfortunately this was a sure way to ruin the host. First the flesh would twist and transform, and eventually become unstable and unusable. You could toss the man-things around of course, move like the storm, and catch bullets with your teeth - but beyond that you risked ruining the host.

The body limited it psychically. Any possessing entity retained the ability to utilize Warp energies, but the physical world placed such stringent limitations upon its use. Running amok with the Warp as your cudgel could burn out even a good host in no time at all. Cunning whispers into the minds of the weak-willed, a little hoarfrost and hellfire, stepping through a wall or flying across a chasm - these things it could do without ruining the host, but no more.

The body limited it mentally. Last but not least. Its mind was quite literally no longer its own, no longer free of worldly constraints. It was now forced to work with whatever passed for a mind among the flesh-things. It didn't feel so different then and there; while aboard the ship it has felt as cunning as ever. It was only afterwards it realized how dumbed down it had been. Forced to focus on the now, reduced to thinking about one thing at time. Unless you had experienced it for yourself it would be impossible to comprehend how limited a possessed mind really was.

The experience of possession had taught it more about the other side than the Keeper of Secrets had ever known, ever would know. It had made it realize that while possession was a nice way to experience reality, it was not the magic wand it had been made out to be. It had its uses, but there had to be another, better way, a way to enjoy the benefits, with none of the limitations.

If there was such a way, it would find it. If there was not, it would make one.

It hungered terribly now. The hunger was actually far worse now that it knew it could be sated. Irony the man-things would have called it, but they would have been wrong. It was simply the way of things - the universe was a cold and uncaring place. Irony was but a way to excuse cruel reality.

The key to its release was the Race of Man. Weird as it might sound; the fleshy emotional things on that voidship symbolized the future. They were numerous, and growing more so with every passing moment. They were brightly energetic and emotional.

And every last one of them had a door hidden in the deepest, darkest corner of their minds, a door leading to the other side, to the Warp. Preciously few had the ability to open that door, but more would come in time, of that it was certain. Man was too exuberant and inquisitive to remain static. Whatever Man wasn't, he would strive to become.

There were other races of course, had been others, would be others. But their presence paled in comparison to the dark promise that Humankind held. Now there was a true secret, a secret worthy of a Keeper. Speaking of which, without the trickery of the Desirous One, the subsequent possession, and the banishment, it would never have realized any of this. Now, there was an example of true irony, irony a human would have approved of.

It laughed then, a deep throaty laugh. A laugh that had never been heard around those parts before. A human laugh.

It would be patient. It would learn. It would understand. It would plan. It would succeed. But first things first. Another thing it had learned from Man. First it had a Keeper of Secrets to take care of.

Names hold great power.

It hadn't really given that fact much consideration. Not before the Keeper had, in utter desperation, given it a name of its own. The Keeper was funny that way; it knew all sorts of stuff, but it was loath to share in the first place, and if you got it talking it invariably left out key pieces or twisted the facts around to confuse things.

Only when all other options were exhausted, could the Keeper be counted upon to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth. Keeper of Secrets. Keeper of Half-truths or Keeper of Lies would both be more apt names for it. Were all Daemons of Chaos like that? Scoundrels and habitual liars?

And even if you could get the solicitous daemon to speak the truth, it was only the truth as far as the Keeper knew it. That was another important lesson. For all its wisdom and knowledge, the Keeper didn't know everything. And some of what it thought it knew wasn't even true.

Balphomael the Keeper of Secrets had whispered, even as it writhed in the grip of a score horned tentacles of dark fire. Such a simple little combination of syllables. But it had rung true, even within the chaotic maelstrom of the Warp.

It had heard and it had known: It was it no longer. It was Balphomael. It had always been, it just hadn't known before.

Balphomael. That was its true-name. The core of its being. The beginning and the end. The sum that was greater than all the parts combined.

Balphomael. That was its true-name. Or at least part of it. He had heard that name uttered and felt the power it held; the unspoken promise of bondage and servitude. He understood that there was more, that his full True Name was longer, that he'd just heard the first part of it.

Quick as a snake he had smothered the Keeper, preventing it from speaking any more. He had pondered the situation for a while: He could perhaps have coerced the poor Keeper of Secrets into telling the rest of his secret names - if the daemon knew them at all. But in doing so he would have given the Keeper unprecedented power over himself. It was too dangerous. Under no circumstances would he allow himself to be ruled by another, no matter how powerful. No one must know all his secret names, no one but Balphomael himself.

He had looked at the Keeper one final time. There was no further use for it; time for it to go away. With a mighty heave his black tentacles had constricted, crushing the daemon's frail empyrean body. He had then pulled with all his might, tearing the Great Liar into pieces that slowly unravelled as they drifted away on immaterial tides.

One does not try to trick or bind Balphomael and walk away unscathed!

There had to be a way. There had to be a way to enjoy the other side, without any of the limitations of possession. He thought long and hard: Once again he concluded that the future lay with Men. All Men had names of their own. And they were constantly naming other things. Man was the solution. Men could be harnessed to find the rest of its true names, one by one, and offer them up in tribute.

The plan was deceptively simple. It would offer up the one part of its name that was known, Balphomael, and then bide the humans find another piece. It would be careful than none of the humans ever learned more than two pieces of its true name. As soon as their task was done he would eliminate them and find another group to serve him. There were more than enough humans to choose from. Slowly, but surely it would piece its full true name together.

But where to start? It occurred to Balphomael that he didn't really know any humans. Not anymore. There had been that voidship of course, that time he had crossed over and feasted. But that was so long ago. Thinking of it only made his hunger all that much worse.

Then it dawned: The ship was the key here. The vessel had made it to its destination. The Keeper had professed as much when it was questioned under torture. The original crew would be dust and ashes now, but humans had a tendency to replicate though a hideous process they called mating. Or lovemaking. Or fucking. Or a thousand other names.

The original crew would be dead, but their progeny would still be out there, somewhere among the stars. It just had to find them. But even to a creature born of Chaos, the galaxy is a pretty big place. Ignoring the gnawing hunger, he thought back at those glorious hours aboard the human vessel. The voidship called Absalom had come from a far-away place called Terra. Earth, the cradle of Mankind. The ship had been en route to a distant corner of the galaxy, a place where Man had not ventured before. To a place they called the Calyx. He remembered as much from his time possessing the body Nikodemus, the Absalom's navigator.

Calyx. The name was apt. A cup that would gather his true names.

Balphomael would follow where the ship had gone and he would find this place called Calyx. He spread his dark wings wide and let the winds of the Immaterium carry him towards the edge of the galaxy. Past the domains of the Eldar he flew, giving the place a wide berth - the late Keeper had allies in that place, and great forces were in play that Balphomael didn't fully understand. Unlike the Keeper of Secrets he didn't delude himself as to his own omniscience; he knew a whole lot, but there was even more he didn't know. Pretending to be wise didn't make you so.

As he flew Balphomael thought about the humans. The more he thought, the more he liked them. Not just as slaughter animals for him to feast upon. No, humans were much more than that. If treated correctly they would serve him well and bring him what he desired, with none of the limitations of the flesh.

They are my salvation, he thought, so I shall make them worship me.