[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

This is the final bit. If you didn't see that coming, think about Nurgle and what it holds sacred, specifically numbers.

Part VII: Coming Home

I had fought Chaos Space Marines before. I was formerly in the Guard, and my regiment saw action near the Malestrom. We were defending an ammo dump from the 77th Hands of Jet, traitors to the Imperium. Turned out that the Hands were softening us up for the Red Corsairs led by none other than the Tyrant Of Babab himself, Huron Blackheart. Well, we had to fall back a few times, but eventually we fought them off, with the help of a couple squads of Ultramarines. I killed one of the Corsairs, with help from my squadmates, but I had to put nine laspistol shots and two grenades in him before he finally fell over. Even after that, he still tried to shoot at us, so I took Bradley’s plasma gun and melted the thing’s head.

I dreaded the prospect of fighting Chaos Marines again. When the Guard let me go on Bubonis, I thought it would be peaceful. There had been no fighting in the sector as long as anyone could remember. I joined the PDF because fighting was all I knew how to do, but I figured it would be an easy job anyway.

But after we escaped from the hell-hole of a ghetto, I saw the Chaos Marines break down the main gate of the city. They were different from the Corsairs, different than any Space Marine I had ever seen, in person or in the holovids. They had bloated bellies, and their very armour was covered in sores and boils. There were cracks in the armour as well, cracks that were like flesh, red with blood, and which oozed pus, bile, mucus, and all manner of pestilent ooze. There was a miasma about them as well, a plague that infested all that the cloud around them touched. They created the bubbling hell that I had just escaped from hours before as they walked.

The PDF had been whittled down so far from the daemon, cultist, heretic, and even diseased citizens’ attacks that we were utterly unable to effectively defend the city. The lack of supplied compounded the problem, not to mention the deficit of morale. The defence became haphazard running gun fights through the streets of Pandema. But anyone caught in the open at the wrong place would be mercilessly cut down by the Chaos Marines’ murderous bolter fire. These were far different than the pirates the Corsairs were. These were orderly, disciplined soldiers that knew their tactics to a man and held their ground. Aside from worshipping gods that could turn a man’s brain to mush, they were everything we were supposed to be.

I led my squad, running across streets and setting up ambushes. But sometimes even plasma shots seemed to have no effect on the Marines. Their bulk kept them upright and every time we sprang a trap, they would merely turn to face us and let rip with their bolters.

Then, after only half an hour of fighting, my squad ran across the mastermind of the invasion. He was a giant, even among the other seven-foot tall death-machines. He wore huge bulky armour, and had a retinue of six Marines wearing the same type of armour as he. But while they displayed their faces, he had only a skull-mask that obscured his face entirely. He carried a long harvesting scythe, which appeared old and rusted. He and his retinue spotted us just as we were in the middle of the street. They cut down the rest of my squad, as well as a few others that had joined us.

But the leader just kept staring at me as he approached. Now I could see that on his armour were little things, the same tiny, bloated giggling daemons that I had seen in the ghettoes. They jumped off and waddled toward me, snapping their jagged teeth and licking their lips in anticipation. And giggling, always giggling. I could not move, and could think of nothing other than to ask why they giggled. Finally, I looked down to see them slowly chewing their way up my legs, gnawing away flesh and bone. The leader stood before me and stabbed me through the stomach with his scythe. I could now see that it had a slimy sheen to it, and I knew I could not fathom the number of plagues and illnesses on his blade. I suddenly was filled with dread at the prospect of dying.

But then, slowly, came a sensation of peace. A great voice, old, throaty, deep, and warm spoke to me. It welcomed me, and I could feel its loving embrace. I promised to love me as if I were its child if I would only do what I could to honour my father. I hesitated, some part of my former self still thinking about the pain I had endured and was still enduring. But then I remembered the giggles of the tiny daemons, and suddenly I knew why they were giggling. I, too, began to giggle as I fell into the comfort of Papa Nurgle.