Chapter 1

Pain.

The first thing Ciaphas Cain felt was pain. His body felt like it fell from the stratosphere and landed right on an ultramarine dreadnaut's fist. Knowing his luck, it was probably what happened.

"Uurg..." Another shot of pain shot up his spine. "Frak!" He rolled over, arching his back from hitting the ground again. "By the emperor, feels like taking a valhallian shower after getting my skin grated!"

As he rode the wave of agony, he tried to push himself up. Cain tried to stand, but his body refused to obey. He reached out his hand, which was now completely numb, and found a wall to steady himself on. He tried moving in several different directions, finding that each of them sent a jolt of pain down to his feet. Then he felt an odd change inside of his body. The pain lowered to a dull ache now. Whatever caused his misery had subsided quickly. It's only after the ache started subsiding that his senses came back to him. The first thing to hit him was the smell of sulfur. It wasn't overpowering, not like promethium (especially when on fire). Yet it hung in the air, underlining the stale atmosphere, not unlike the fumes of an active factorium.

"I certainly hope I didn't get abducted by the mechanicus..." He opened his eyes, but everything was too blurry to see. Eyes watered, they felt as if they were as dry as a desert planet. "Grrr! The frak! My eyes..." He reached onto his belt blindly, feeling for his flask, which held his ration of water. One he felt it, he opened the lid quickly and poured it into his eyes.

"Ahhh... much better." He blinked a few times, setting his flask back onto his belt. The first thing he noticed around him was the narrow walls running parallel next to him. There was no ceiling and both ways ran toward a street. Cain realized he was between two buildings, which meant...

"I'm somehow in an alleyway," he said to himself. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his snout. "Cain, what did you get yourself into this time-..." His fingers slowed to a stop. Snout. He was rubbing his snout. He didn't have a snout, yet was rubbing it. His eyes crossed to look at this sudden appearance of a snout. He booped his snout. He felt the snout. The snout was still there. The snout was not unlike a wolf's snout. Hegotawolvensnouthe'sdefinitleynotpanicingwHATISGOINGON-

Cain quickly slapped his canine face, knocking his hat off his head from the force of the blow. He rubbed his cheek. "Ooooww... A little too much force." He picked up his hat, dusting it off and placing it back on his head. While doing so, he felt a pair of ears poking through the holes that were now in his hat. He froze, feeling up and down these pointy ears and, yes, sensed them twitch as if they were his own. "... you've gotta be frakin kidding me."

He felt for his chainsword, which thankfully still rested by his side, and drew the blade. In recent memory, he gave it his weekly polish, thus had a reflection. He looked at this reflection, staring back at him was a wolf's face with his eyes and hat with a look of shock and disbelief.

"I'm... I'm a wolf," he murmured to himself. "I'm a frakin wolf. HOW?!" He growled, literally growled. He stopped himself when he realized he growled like a wolf, whimpering, then stopping when he did that. "Frak!" He forcefully sheathed his chainsword. "Was it because that space wolf's wolf licked my face a decade ago? Did it's saliva finally turn my body into a frakin WOLF?!"

Cain groaned, pacing in the alleyway. "Way to go, Cain. Should have gone with your first instinct and have an apothecary test your blood for possible lycanthropism, but noooo. You didn't 'cause the space wolves were there and it'd be rude to ask them. Certainly didn't want my liver ripped out as a result, yet here I am as a FRAKIN FURRY!"

He stopped, taking a moment to take a deep breath and calm down.

"Alright... it's alright Cain. This isn't too bad." He looked at his once-human hands, claws covered by his gloves. "I'm still sane..." He frowned. "Sane as I ever was, anyways. I'm not craving human flesh or desiring the blood of my enemies..." He rubbed his stomach. "Could go for a grox steak though... actually, where am I?" He looked down the alleyway, carefully stepping closer to the street to get a better look. The silhouettes of people walked by, but upon getting closer, he noticed how unusual most of the individuals looked. They came in various shapes and appearances. He saw some with wings, others with animalistic appearances, he even saw one that looked like a spider walk into a strip club.

"A strip club..." He looked at the building, which was filled with people. "The mutants wouldn't enter there..." He looked at the people, who were dressed in a manner similar to civilians. They walked around in a casual manner, no sign of violence or warriordom in any of them.

"... did I end up in an underhive within The Warp?" He carefully looked around, his hand close to his sword. It dawned on him: He's in an unknown location with possibly an entire population of mutants (or worse, chaos daemons) walking about, only a laspistol and a chainsword on hand and no possible backup. His heart was racing, yet his mind was grieving. He was out of his element and knee-deep in enemy territory. Once again, the luck of Ciaphas Cain struck him once more with an impossibly grim situation he may need to fight his way out of. "Damn it... how did I end up here? Did I drink Fenrisian Ale by mistake?" He looked up in thought.

Cain's memories were a blur with only bits and pieces coming together. Getting sucked into a bender with his troops and falling drunk would make plausible sense. Especially with Fenrisian Ale involved, anything could happen after drinking that. Though surviving it would be a different pain regiment entirely.

'Might explain the wolf transformation too...' Cain thought to himself. "A bloody mess is what I am." He continued to look around, before a light dawned upon him.

As hopeless as the circumstances were, Cain was ultimately a survivalist. He geared any actions taken to live longer, even if it threw standard logic into the eye of terror. Sure, he saved countless lives, if only to make sure they would likely to protect him in the near future or be fighting instead of him. Learning to train with a chainsword and laspistol? The better he handled a weapon, the better his chances were in a fight, and less likely he was to die. Helping another Commissar out of a trial despite his attempt to arrest Cain? They now owed a debt to him and would likely help him out in a future problem or hardship. While the average imperial guardsman would start shooting, crying out 'For the Emperor!' at the top of their lungs, Cain would prefer to take the smarter approach: Keep his head down and search for a way out.

"Hand-hand over cash or I'll cut-slice ya a new asshole."

Ciaphas Cain turned his head toward the voice behind him. To him, it appeared to be a parody of a ratling: Rat snout, claws, tail, grey fur, dirty-looking appearance. However, they gave an aura of a street hobo he'd often see on hive worlds. They were couched down, a knife in hand ready to strike. This would have been a good cause for alarm if Cain didn't see just how wrong that stance was. He was holding the knife out like it was on fire, using both hands/claws to wield it, the sheer amount of shake those arms had shown they barely knew how to fight, and the mere size difference was very apparent. He stood three heads taller than this rat thing. He doesn't know whether to laugh or be insulted, but he settled for indifferent as this was something familiar.

He was getting mugged in an alleyway by some crazed citizen. He sighed in relief, least it wasn't an orc. As uncoordinated anyone expected them to be, they make up for it in sheer muscle. Cain idly kicked the knife out of the ratling's hands, letting it land right in the trashcan where it belonged.

The rodent stared in disbelief, looking back at the can, then him. Cain had already kicked him in the jaw and planted his boot right on top of the screeching rat's chest.

Cain drew his gun and pointed it right in their face. "If you're going to mug someone next time, do it properly. Mugging someone in a uniform is a bad idea." There it was, his mask was back on. No longer Cain the cowardly survivalist; he was now Ciaphas Cain, Hero of the Imperium. "Now do be a good rat and tell me where I can get hold of a Vox."

The rat stared up in shock. "Vox?"

Cain's brow twitched. He didn't expect that reaction, but he could run with it. "Yes, Vox. Where is Vox?" He unconsciously reduced the vocabulary for the rat for better understanding.

The neurons in the demonic soul went about a mile a minute. It didn't know the connection with this wolf and Vox, but he didn't want to die for it. After the shock and disbelief subsided, the rat continued. "Vox be in big building on corner of Goreby st and Jumba Ave. Shiny lights and big word-letters of Vox on side-side."

This was the straightest answer Cain had all day. "Thanks, now at ease." He slammed the butt of his gun against the rat's skull, knocking him out in one shot. Relaxing his shoulders, he picked up the scrawny thing and tossed them into the nearest dumpster. "Now that the trash is taken care of, time to make a call. Hopefully, this planet's vox hailer can reach interstellar space."