It had been a week, give or take a few days. It was difficult to tell when a day ended and another began on Armatura. I knew that if this went on for much longer, I'd lose track of time altogether. I once asked the others how to tell the time here, and only Damantin could give a coherent shot at teaching me; unfortunately, there were so many numbers and unfamiliar terms in his explanation that I eventually just started nodding at his words without understanding. All I knew was that sometimes the sky was red, and other times it was less red.

Speaking of 'the others', at that point I'd introduced myself and been introduced to them. The five of us actually seemed to be the only non-orkoid life on the planet, as far as we could tell. I was already starting to get lonely, so I was… fortunate to have them there.

Marrlë, the young red-haired cultist with the chainaxe and the savage grin, was the closest thing the group had to a leader. How the Space Marines allowed this to happen, I can't truly say, but they seemed fine with it. Ever upbeat, boisterous and sanguine was he, especially when engaging in combat. With seemingly inexhaustible enthusiasm, he pointed us towards the horizon, encouraging us to walk onwards, and with weary amusement, the other three followed. I didn't think I had any right to be weary; I'd only been there for a week or so, whereas they… well, they'd been there longer.

Damantin was the Space Marine armoured in blue and gold. He spoke very quietly, and I'd never seen his face. He was patient – well, as patient as a Chaos Space Marine could be with an Imperial Guardsman. He took the time to explain the day-night cycle on this planet (however incomprehensibly), and while we walked, he sometimes told strange stories of times past, when he and his Battle-Brothers journeyed across the stars on Crusades both holy and unholy. He was one of the Thousand Sons, a legion said to have turned to Chaos during the Horus Heresy. Listening to his stories, though, I began to feel hints of sympathy towards him. The Thousand Sons didn't seem like evil monsters, from his recollections.

Thurion couldn't have been more different. The black-armoured Space Marine was a wall of ice, ignoring me altogether whenever he could. When he did address me, it was with such derision that I immediately wished he would return to his frigid silence. It was clear he would much prefer that I was dead, and that the other group members were all that was keeping him from making his wish a reality. He told no stories, but I surmised that he must have some reason for keeping himself shrouded in such darkness. Of course, this was only a guess; I knew very little of anything beyond the bare bones of the Imperial Guard and my own homeworld.

The Daemonette, "Rosie", was, well… lovely. It was astonishing: this fiend, spawned of the realm of Chaos, was nothing short of wonderful to me. She would quickly notice when my energy was flagging – inevitably, I would be the first one to get tired – and would ask Marrlë to stop and rest. She kept checking my wound to make sure I would be all right, in spite of the long walk. When I started to fall into despair at my predicament, she'd give me a smile, and… well, things would seem less awful. I wondered if the horrible truth of daemons I'd known all my life was nothing more than a fabrication.

Also, Rosie wasn't her real name, but she insisted we call her that. So we did.

She was the one who discovered me during one of our rests, sitting a short ways away from the others as I was wont to do, lying against my pack of rations and scribbling away in a small leather-bound notebook.

"What are you up to, Fen?" I started at the sudden candied voice in my ear, and then exhaled at length. She was very quiet when she wanted to be.

"It's Fenwick," I reminded her, rather uncomfortable at having a daemon address me so casually – or address me at all. "And, well… I found this notebook in one of the ration packs. I guess one of the guardsmen was planning on keeping a record of his time here." My countenance darkened, and when Rosie extended a claw to comfort me, I flinched despite myself. She looked a little hurt, and I knew I'd feel guilty later, but right now I was just filled with cold anger. My future with the guard had been taken out back and shot, and now I, always a loyal servant of the Imperium, was traveling with a band of Chaos adherents. One of whom was an actual daemon, and she was trying to make me feel better.

This was all wrong!

So caught up in self-piteous anger was I that I didn't notice her claw pulling the book out of my grasp until she was already holding it up to her eyes, intently reading what I'd written. I quickly reached for it, but she spun away, much faster than I could follow. The others looked up, no doubt wondering why the Guardsman was chasing the Daemonette around. I heard Thurion wonder aloud if I'd finally fallen victim to her beguilement, which only made me angrier. Me, fall prey to a daemon's suggestion? While the Emperor's light still burned in my heart, it would never happen; this I vowed as I pursued that lithe, prancing form across the barren earth.

Eventually, with a laugh and a twirl, she deftly tripped me, and I went sprawling facefirst onto the ground. I had just enough time to roll onto my back before her claws pinned me to the earth, her other pair of arms busying itself with turning the book's pages. "Oh, how adorable. Come see, Marrlë!"

Now intrigued, the redhead headed over and leaned down to peer at the book over Rosie's shoulder. "What is it?"

Rosie scoffed. "Can't you read?"

"No."

"Here, let me see." Damantin loomed over Rosie's other shoulder, bending his massive frame down to get a closer look. "…A journal of some kind."

"A journal?" Predictably, Marrlë grinned. Everything made him grin. "That's grand! Keeping a record of the stuff we've done, you clever Guardie."

I might have answered that, if I wasn't busy squirming and wriggling under Rosie to try and escape. Eventually giving up, I glared up at them. "Yeah, it's a journal. I thought I'd keep track of what's happened since I landed here, so I don't go insane and start thinking it's all a Warp-spawned nightmare – which, by the way, I'm still not convinced it isn't. Now can I have it back?"

Rosie pressed the book to my chest as Marrlë laughed and started to walk away. "You're likely to go insane anyway, my friend, what with the company you're keeping now." I reached up to grab the journal, but Rosie kept me pinned, smiling mischievously. I frowned up at her in confusion.

"Are you going to let me up, or-"

I was abruptly cut off as she darted down to press her lips against mine. My eyes flew wide, and heat rushed through my body, sudden and cloying. My vision grew hazy from the ecstasy overwhelming my every sense; this was absolute bliss. Those lips parted slightly to allow her long, barbed tongue to flick across my teeth once, before she pulled back, leaving me dazed and breathless. My eyes focused just enough to see her sultry look of satisfaction.

"You're wound up so tight, Fenwick," she purred, stroking my cheek with a chitinous claw as if to remind me of what she had just done to me. "Loosen up a little."

With that, she rose and sashayed off after Marrlë, leaving me lying on the ground, staring blankly up at the sky. She kissed me. A Daemonette had kissed me. I'd never felt so horrified and pleased at once. Forcing myself to remember that it had only felt good because of her beguiling aura, I staggered to my feet, heart thrumming like a demented drummer. Staring at the others as they concluded their rest and prepared to move on, I knew that things were not as simple as they had seemed. Only Thurion seemed to mind at all that I was an Imperial. Marrlë was too happy to care, Damantin was just nice, and Rosie was… I buried my face in my hands, unsure what to think of Rosie at all. This was all so frakked. I needed a bit of silence to clear my head.

"You coming?"

I didn't have to look at him to know that Marrlë was still grinning. Whether or not he'd seen Rosie kiss me, he was quite happy about the journal. As I walked up alongside him, he elbowed me in the ribs – thankfully, not the broken ones. "You know, I think it's great that you're keeping a journal."

"Oh, really?" I kept my eyes on the ground. The ground made sense, unlike everything else around me.

"Yeah, for sure! I probably won't be able to remember all the things that happen here, so I'm glad someone's keeping track. Be sure to tell it like it is, yeah?" He nudged me again, and despite myself, I found his enthusiasm creeping infectiously into me.

"Yeah, okay."