[Author:] I can't believe there's still anyone reading this after the last chapter in which our villain protagonists killed a father in front of his little girl, fed his body to their dog while she watched, killed her, brought her back as a zombie, and then fed her parts of her father's body. I think it really says something about you as a person that you've made it this far. It says that you're a terrible person. Well, at any rate, we may as well see this through to the end, so without further ado, here's…

Cultist-chan v. Some Rather Upset Marines

"Dick sprinkles!"

Nurglebro awoke to the sound of shouting and immediately regretted it. His head felt like an Ork holiday where everyone had forgotten to bring the actual booze.

"Bumder choad!"

Nurglebro groaned, dry heaved, and then finally blew chunks all over the kitchen floor.

"What in Nurgle's name is that fucking racket?" he gurgled when he was finally done upchucking on the linoleum tile.

Cultist-chan came into the kitchen, hurrying Zofia ahead of her.

"Hwath all that noith?" she asked with evident concern.

Nurglebro swallowed a stray chunk of vomit, and looked up to spy a pair of binoculars hanging by a hook on the kitchen wall. "Cultist-chan, go wake up Dranon. I think we might be in trouble."

"Turd guzzling Ork humper!" added an unknown voice at ear-cracking volume.

Cultist-chan hurried off to rouse Dranon, Zofia in tow. Nurglebro shook his head. Being an agent of Chaos meant never having to say you're sorry, but somehow, he still felt guilty over what they'd done to the little girl. He hefted the binoculars and peered out through them towards the source of the profane racket.

"Got anything?" Dranon asked, materializing at his shoulder.

Nurglebro struggled to see through the dust cloud kicked up by the advance of whatever-it-was. Then, he saw a few flashes of yellow, and realized what he was looking at.

"Oh, shit," he breathed out loud.

Dranon's sensors were still screwy from the paint, but he looked out towards the eastern horizon, desperately trying to see through the muddle.

"What is it?" Dranon demanded.

"Space Marines. And they seem kinda…" Nurglebro paused, searching for the right word. "Angry."

"Dicking barf cock!"

Nurglebro continued, "Huh, I've never seen that color scheme before. Their armor is painted yellow and their insignia is a frowning face on a red field…"

"Oh fuck," Dranon breathed. "Oh mother of fuck."

"What is it?"

"Salmon screwing piecemeal donkey punch!"

Dranon answered over the growing din, "It's the Angry Marines."

"Hwho are they?" Cultist-chan asked.

"They're angry."

There was an uncomfortable pause as the five Chaos worshippers considered the implications of their situation.

Nurglebro shifted nervously on his feet. "What are we going to do? We won't get far on foot, and our ship's Warp drive is still out of commission. And they are definitely still coming this way."

The unit was now visible even to the unaided eye. There were thirty yellow-liveried Space Marines all running as hard as they could, with a lone Commissar screaming profanities as he drove them on. Occasionally, a Marine would flag in his efforts to outpace the howling Commissar, and the man, visibly red with rage even from this distance, would punch that Marine square in the face of his helmet with an unarmored fist. It must have hurt like Hell but the Commissar didn't even flinch. Dranon started to hyperventilate, and even Cultist-chan, who was normally too stupid to feel anything like fear, started to quail before the volume of their collective rage.

"I said run, you monkey-fucking brainless gobshites," the Commissar bellowed at the top of his lungs.

One of the Angry Marines yelled in response, "We're running as fast as we can, Fuklaw!"

If anything, Commissar Fuklaw got even angrier.

"Who said that!? Who in the fucking shit fucking dared to speak to me!? I swear to the Emperor I'll tear out your intestines with my cock. I will kill you! I will kill every last one of you!"

"Um," Nurglebro whispered, awed by the terrifying charisma of the furious commissar. "They are still headed this way. We should go… somewhere else."

Meanwhile, Commissar Fuklaw had elected to punish the first Angry Marine he could catch for the backtalk. With one kick to the back of the armored Marine's knees, the Commissar sent his unfortunate victim sprawling face-first into the desert sand. In a flash the Commissar was on top of him. Before the Marine could try to protect his face, Fuklaw tore the Marine's helmet straight off his head and started pummeling him in the face with his own armor. Fuklaw howled with rage. He rained blow after blow down on the hapless Angry Marine, breaking bones and knocking teeth down his throat.

"Who's next!?" Fuklaw screamed, looking around wildly for his next victim. "Who's the next wiseacre who thinks he can talk back to me?"

"Um," Zofia said, tugging on Cultist-chan's skirt. "I know a place where we can hide. Those guys sound scary."

Nurglebro bent down to look the little girl in the eyes. "You do? Now would be a really good time."

Fuklaw roared out loud like a lion, and Zofia led the Chaos invasion forces to a carefully-concealed trap door under the kitchen table. The little girl tugged it open and urged the other members inside. Nurglebro and Dranon went first, followed by Cultist-chan dragging an unwilling Kay-oss behind her. Finally, Zofia scampered down, shutting the trap door above them. A little bit of light filtered down through spaces between the slats of the wood floor and illuminated a surprising scene. Ralph must have been some kind of desert-survivalist type, because there was a collection of weaponry stashed in the basement that would have made even a Space Marine giddy with joy. There were bolters, heavy bolters, stalker bolters, a melta gun, and even a partially-assembled Flamestorm Cannon lurking in one corner. Fuklaw was still screaming and hadn't taken a breath in a full minute.

"Do you think we can… fight them?" Nurglebro asked hesitatingly.

Five life-forms, seven faces, and fourteen eyes looked at one another searchingly. All in all they were a rather motley bunch. While Dranon was a fully armed and armored Chaos Marine, his sensors were still underperforming, and he had to admit if only to himself that he hadn't exactly covered himself with glory the night before when faced with the unparalleled might of a small child. As for Kay-oss, the animal was busy licking his own balls, and while he might be a formidable force against a single Space Marine there were still thirty of them well on their way to Fix-It Ralph's garage. Cultist-chan was all but useless in combat, and Dranon had his doubts about Zofia, as well. The blunt truth was that they didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell against a battalion of pissed-off Angry Marines.

"We hide," Dranon finally ordered, scalded by the admission of defeat.

"Thoundth good to uth," Cultist-chan announced.

"Keep that fucking … thing, of yours quiet, Cultist-chan," Dranon demanded. "If he starts barking, we're all fucked."

Just in case, Dranon sauntered over to the Flamestorm Cannon, but it was no use. While the casing was largely intact, it was missing several vital breakers that would keep it from exploding the second it was engaged, and anyway, there was no fuel for the weapon anywhere in sight. The sound of screaming from up above grew louder.

"Take two, you fucking assholes," the Commissar announced.

To the collective amazement of the Chaos forces, there was a disarming quiet. Then, the five heard a gentle knock on the front door above them. Hearing no response, the Commissar knocked again, louder this time. The five held their tongues.

"Excuse me, fine Imperial citizen," the Commissar said in something almost but not quite approximating normal human speech. "We would be much obliged if you came to the door. There is nothing to fear from us."

"Hey, boss," called out one of the Marines. "The garage door is open."

The Commissar turned to glare, and then discovered that in spite of the Marine's insubordination, he was right. "Okay you shit-knocking puke tyrants. Go investigate."

"There's totally a fucking dead guy in here, sir," another Marine shouted in response.

The Commissar thundered over to where Ralph's mutilated corpse lay in a bloody heap on the floor of the garage, attracting flies.

"Well ain't that some fucked up shit. What the cunting fuck happened here?" the Commissar demanded.

"Could be bears, sir."

"Bears? Fucking bears?" The Commissar was incensed. "Who the fuck ever heard of a fucking bear in the middle a fucking desert? Are you mentally defective or something? Bears eat berries and salmon, you retard."

"What about a puma?" the Marine suggested hesitantly.

"A puma." The Commissar considered this. "I think pumas are desert shit kickers. Spread out, you faggots, I want you to search the property thoroughly just in case. In the meantime, I will prepare a proper funeral for this fine citizen. I want you all assembled with clean armor and respectful demeanor in thirty fucking minutes, do you understand me? Do you fucking shitheads understand my words!?"

"Yes, sir," the Marines replied in unison.

The five Chaos worshippers barely dared to breathe as the Angry Marines ransacked the house above. They searched everywhere for the rogue puma, including Ralph's fridge, underwear drawer, and inside the urn that held his mother's ashes. Cultist-chan whispered soothing nothings in Kay-oss' ear; he was bored, and if his self-control slipped up, they'd certainly be found out. It was everything Cultist-chan could do to keep the beast quiet. There was a loud crash from above. Apparently the Angry Marine didn't find the puma in the urn, and so he'd just tossed it over his shoulder without showing any further interest. A little bit of the ash fell between the wooden slats and showered onto Zofia's formerly clean hair. For the next twenty minutes, the Angry Marine tore the place apart, going so far as to smash several of the walls in their furious enthusiasm for the task at hand. The last ten minutes were spent muttering respectful curses by the Emperor as they purified themselves in an effort to give the deceased a dignified burial. Finally it was time.

Commissar Fuklaw led the ceremony. "We are gathered here today because some fucking dude got ganked."

"Amen," added some of the Marines.

"Shit like that fucking sucks, but it happens all the time. As we gank others, so also we sometimes find ourselves ganked. The universe is full of many hazards such as Chaos Marines, Chaos cultists, Nurgle worshipping dick smears, weird-ass motherfucking Chaos animals, and even fucked up little girl zombies."

"Hear, hear."

"Don't forget pumas, sir," suggested another Marine.

"That's right, and fucking pumas! And you know what I say?"

"What do you say?"

The place was starting to sound like a liberation theology church.

"I say fuck that shit!" Fuklaw screamed triumphantly. "I say fuck that shit right in its motherfucking dick hole. From everything I've seen today, this man was a fine citizen of the Imperium, who probably only beat his daughter when she had it coming, and he deserved better than to be left in a pool of his own blood by some bastardfuck puma. It's time for us to stop taking shit, men."

"Ain't nobody got time for that!"

The Commissar went on, "It's time for us to teabag evil. It's time for us to whip out our genitals and slap evil across the face with our wangs."

"But sir, you –"

"Shut the fuck up, goddamnit! I'm eulogizing!" Fuklaw howled. "Where the fuck was I? Oh right. Let's consider our Lord and Savior, the God-Emperor of Mankind. Did he not fucking say, I am the bread of life? Didn't he fucking say that? You're goddamn right he did. And he went on to say, eat chunks of my body and you won't be hungry and whoever believes in me won't be thirsty. Do you know what that means?"

There were cries of "Yes!" and "No!"

"It means fuck you, that's what it fucking means! Now. I have composed a short poem for the deceased."

Commissar Fuklaw cleared his throat, and the Angry Marines settled in for a long wait.

"Amazing grace, how fucking sweet the sound,

that saved a wretch like me from getting ganked like this dude.

One time our astropath died and we didn't know where the fuck we were but then we figured it out,

and another time a tyranid spit acid in my eyes but there's some smart cunts in the Adeptus Hospitalier and they fixed my shit right up.

Amen!"

"Amen," the rest of the Angry Marines echoed in unison.

Then Commissar Fuklaw shouted, "Pull!"

An Angry Marine heaved Ralph's mutilated corpse into the air as hard as he could, and Fuklaw took careful aim with a Meltagun. When the body hit its apogee, Fuklaw fired, instantly incinerating it and leaving nothing but a few stray bits of ash and vapor. Satisfied, he tipped his hat to the deceased, and then turned back to the assembly of Angry Marines who were already starting to murmur amongst themselves.

"Alright you faggots, it's time to get back to fucking work. Run!"

Instantly, the Angry Marines were back on their feet, fleeing from the Commissar. Being caught could mean anything from a beating, to a maiming, to an outright bloody murder, and they ran as though all the hounds of Chaos were nipping at their heels. Back in the basement, the five breathed a sigh of relief as the Angry Marines put distance between themselves and the garage. Kay-oss finally let out a loud bark but the fleeing warriors didn't even pause in their flat-out run.

"That was entirely fucked up," Nurglebro remarked.

"Har they alwayth liek that?" Cultist-chan asked.

Dranon nodded. "They're one of the most dysfunctional chapters in the entire Imperium. But also one of the most fucked-up dangerous ones. We're lucky they didn't think to look under the floorboards; they would have eaten us alive and spit out the bones afterwards if they'd caught us."

Zofia ran her finger along the ashes covering her cheek and put the ancient debris in her mouth curiously.

"Stale," she remarked.

Cautiously, the five clambered out of their hiding place and evaluated the situation. The Angry Marines had torn through Fix-It Ralph's like a hurricane, and there was hardly a single thing still in its proper place. The door to the fridge had been entirely torn off its hinges, and there was one lone, sad beer bottle still intact, surrounded by broken glass and rapidly warming beer. They'd smashed light bulbs, broken pipes, and knocked down walls in their misdirected effort to find the rogue puma, and to Zofia's relief her dim recollections of her short life in the house were now almost entirely evaporated.

"What now?" Dranon asked hestitantly.

"I guess it's time to repair our ship," Nurglebro answered. "Hopefully they left something intact in the garage."

By some inexplicable miracle, the Folkswagen had been left almost untouched, and Nurglebro immediately got to work on repairing the damaged coolant line. He told the others that it was going to be at least a day, so they occupied themselves for a listless afternoon. Dranon spent his time buffing and polishing his scuffed armor. Cultist-chan and Zofia played fetch with Kay-oss, filling the garage with echoes of his excited barks. The electricity had been knocked out by the Angry Marine assault so they played war games with tiny miniatures by candlelight late into the night before taking a long, restful sleep in the broken beds.

"Okay, it's done," Nurglebro announced around fourteen hundred hours the next afternoon.

Cultist-chan and Zofia had taken another bath, and they were almost, maybe, something resembling clean. They'd also thoroughly hosed down Kay-oss, and he smelled like warm, musty animal in the light of the hot desert sun. Nurglebro yawned and cracked his knuckles; it hadn't been easy assembling a more resilient coolant bypass from the materials Ralph had on hand in the shop, but he was confident that his repair would hold. And honestly, he'd had just about enough of their road trip anyway.

"I think it's time to go home," Nurglebro said aloud.

"Hwat about my groxthburgerth?!" Cultist-chan demanded.

Dranon scoffed, "We almost got caught by Angry Marines! Who gives a damn about your groxburgers?"

"But thath wath the whole pointh of the triph! Huwe've been wanting to eat a groxthburger for yearth! We're tho close, huwe can't give up now! It would be…. It would be an inthult to KAY-OUS!"

Nurglebro and Dranon exchanged a glance, while Zofia rode Kay-oss like a horse across the sand.

"We can get groxburgers anywhere, Cultist-chan," Nurglebro said placatingly.

"No! It hath to be BolognaTown! The godth have help take uth thith far, right? Whow do you think they hwould feel if huwe failth them now!?"

Nurglebro considered Cultist-chan's words more carefully than he really wanted to credit. It was true – their uncanny luck had held time and time again, in spite of all the things that could have gone dreadfully wrong. If the Chaos gods, for whatever mad and chaotic reason, really wanted to ensure that they completed the stated purpose of their road trip, it wouldn't be beneficial for their health to disappoint them.

"Dranon?" Nurglebro finally asked as Zofia and Kay-oss bounded up together.

"Fuck. What do I care?" the Chaos Marine muttered. "It's not like we almost got killed or anything."

Nurglebro turned to their newest companion. "Zofia, do you want to get a BolognaTown groxburger?"

"That sounds tasty," the girl answered disinterestedly. "Are groxburgers people?"

"Um, no, I don't think so. But I'm sure we'll have another chance to get you people food soon. What about you, Kay-oss?"

The beast barked enthusiastically, which Nurglebro had to take as a yes.

"Okay," he warned, "but this is going to be the last stop. We're going to get a BolognaTown groxburger and go straight home. Are we all agreed?"

"Yeth, Nurglebro."

"Where can we find a BolognaTown, anyway?" Dranon asked, trying to bite down his sarcasm.

Nurglebro grabbed the handheld display for their navicomp and scrolled through all of the businesses available on Yosemite Prime.

"We're in luck! There's one BolognaTown on this planet, in a town a couple hundred miles from here," Nurglebro enthused. "Okay, we're almost there!"

Everyone loaded into the Folkswagen, talking and joking and trading cheerful stories. They were all secretly – or not so secretly – relieved that their journey was almost over. Nurglebro eased the Ebola Borealis out of the garage. He was glad to see that the engine temperature was down to normal, and that all systems once again checked out as nominal. It was a pity he didn't have a chance to hack a VID transponder, but their luck only had to hold out for a little while longer and then they'd be home free.

"Wow!" Zofia said, audibily amazed. "I've never been on a spaceship before. Everything looks like ants down there!"

"Maybe it ith anths," Cultist-chan whispered to her conspiratorially, and both the girls giggled.

Novus Mariposa turned out to be a cow town of only a few thousand people nestled in the hills of a forest covered with tall, blue needled trees. A few people glanced up at the spaceship, bored, and Nurglebro took them into the drive-thru of the BolognaTown without incident. He was a little alarmed to see that the parking lot for the town's single fast food restaurant was empty, and furthermore, there were no lights visible in the restaurant's interior. Nevertheless, he eased the craft into the section of airspace in front of an unlit menu and waited for the tone to start giving their order. Nothing happened for a minute.

"Um, excuse me?" Nurglebro shouted through the open gullwing door.

There was still no query from the drive thru's speaker box.

"Hello?" Nurglebro demanded.

No one answered.

"Cultist-chan, go see what's going on," Dranon demanded.

Cultist-chan climbed out of the vehicle and tried to pull one of the darkened building's doors open, to no avail. She tugged on it, knocked on it, and then pounded on it, but there was still no answer from inside. Nurglebro was eventually forced to pull her away before they made too much of a scene and attracted unwanted attention from the locals. He spied a sign full of officialese, and his heart sank down to his ankles.

"Fuck!" he announced to no one in particular.

He dragged Cultist-chan back aboard the Folkswagen and shut the gullwing door behind them.

"What's going on?" Dranon demanded.

"They're fucking closed!" Nurglebro seethed. "Closed by the order of the Yosemite Prime Department of Health."

"That's bullshit!"

"You're telling me."

"I wanthed a groxthburger," Cultist-chan whined.

Dranon and Nurglebro shouted in unison, "Shut up!"

"This is all your fault!"

"Fuck you and the grox you rode in on, asshole."

"Hwue are thill hungry…"

"Shut up!"

Suddenly, Zofia's black, lifeless eyes started growing red. Everyone immediately shut up and turned to face the little girl who was clearly possessed by some great power of the Warp.

"I hate to interrupt, darlings," the girl said in a strangely familiar voice that was not her own. "There's no need to fight. You'll have an opportunity to get some groxburgers yet. If I were you, I'd enter low orbit, wait for a ship called the Burger King to float by, and follow it through the Warp to its destination. That's just if I were you, mind."

Zofia's eyes dulled back to black, and the five Chaos worshippers searched each others' faces.

"What do we do?" Nurglebro finally asked.

"Thee theemed familiar thomehow…" Cultist-chan announced reflectively.

"Well, we can't exactly say no, can we?" interjected Dranon.
"Okay. I'll follow her instructions."

Zofia just yawned.

Traffic control queried them, but there'd been a major accident in Yosemite Prime's upper atmosphere, and they were too harried to send a second request when Nurglebro simply ignored the first. The Ebola Borealis entered orbit without any problems, Nurglebro was pleased to note that the engine continued to hold its normal temperature. The five waited, waited, and waited some more. After twelve hours of nothing, Nurglebro was starting to loudly doubt they'd ever encounter the vessel, when the ship's primary computer started flashing an emergency proximity warning.

"What?" demanded Dranon.

All the blood drained out of Nurglebro's face. "It's… it's the goddamn Angry Marines!"

A heavily-modified, ludicrously armed and armored drop ship rocketed towards them at speeds well in excess of the orbital speed limit. The vessel was painted a lurid shade of bile yellow, and it was covered in graffiti that helpfully explained in graphic detail that any passersby could fuck themselves and exactly how the ship's occupants had become related to the person reading the inscriptions on the hull.

"Holy shit!" Nurglebro screamed.

The Angry Marine vessel came within meters of the Ebola Borealis before continuing on into deep space. The Borealis' comm crackled.

"Go fuck yourself you fucking shithawks!" screamed the Angry Marine pilot. "Get out of orbit, fucking Sunday drivers…"

Shaken by the chance encounter, the five looked at one another. Cultist-chan had wet herself in terror and the cabin of the vessel smelled faintly like urine.

"There it is," Nurglebro said with a tinge of awe. "Burger King."

Burger King was a sleek, modern, thoroughly equipped luxury yacht; a typical rich kid's toy. The hull gleamed brightly in the starlight of the system's central sun. The five passengers of Borealis watched as the other ship pulled around and charged its Warp drive capacitors. Nurglebro was surprised that the Chaos gods had come through for them yet again, but he wasn't going to look a gift grox in the mouth, so he prepared their own vessel for its jump into the Warp. Burger King made the jump and Borealis followed her, hiding in the yacht's Warp wake.


Stay tuned for the next chapter, Cultist-chan v BolognaTownFranchises Inc

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