Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story, Diem Infamia

Somewhere, Somewhen

The skies of Sicarus burned eternally and rained blood, turbulent swells of black and red warring for dominance from horizon to horizon. Among those impossible heavens Neverborn flew freely, shimmering forms woven of the dreams of rich men struggling against creatures composed from the hunger of famine or the tears shed over stillborn babies. Under that sky a million unholy fanes lurked, each one a basilica of torment and sorrow, the product of endless sacrifices made to the Ruinous Powers.

Billions of slave-helots toiled to construct new temples, even as the oldest crumbled to dust. Overseeing them were the towering forms of Transhumans in gore red plate. Once humanity's champions and greatest heroes, now they were Traitors and Heretics, the lost and the Damned. They had seen the truth of the universe, secret Gods that the False Emperor had sought to keep from them. The wondrous nightmares and glorious horrors of Chaos had been revealed unto them and they embraced it heart and soul. Sicarus dwelt within the Eye of Terror, that impossible fusion of realspace and the Warp but never had it been so glorified. The galaxy was split in twain and Chaos was in the ascendant, now the home of the Word Bearers Legion sang with the final triumph of the Dark Pantheon. Bells rang constantly, a cacophony that made ears bleed and shattered the sanity of those few mortals who still clung to such laughable notions. Everywhere fresh sacrifices were offered up to glorify Chaos Undivided, each soul serving to fuel the galactic calamity that swept the stagnant Imperium of Terra.

On one cathedral spire a Thunderhawk gunship settled down, its red hull shimmering as black lightning flashed across the sky. It sat alone on a landing pad, high above the surface of Sicarus as its assault ramp lowered. Then came a lone warrior, clad in crimson power armour with silver highlights and multitudes of short spikes. Across the plates of his armour were the litanies of Lost Colchis and his face was pale, with sharpened teeth and a long topknot arising from his scalp. One hand rested on the butt of a bolt pistol but the other swelled into long talons, with black claws that constantly dripped fresh blood. He was Kasarox the Unhallowed, Coryphaus of the Crooked Path Warband, outcasts of the Word Bearer Traitor Legion. Kasarox paused to take in the vista spread out before him and he exhaled in awe, "Sicarus, I never thought I would see it with my own eyes."

Behind him there were sets of heavy treads, as a pair of warriors disembarked. The first had twisted plates armour, rent by protruding bones and long talons. His face was marred by hooked points on his chin and a snide leer that seemed to be permanently fixed. He was Raruma the Mocker, a Possessed Marine and the closest one Kasarox could call to a friend. Raruma sniffed as he looked down at the world spread out before him and muttered, "It isn't that impressive."

Across from him a deeper voice growled, "This is Holy Sicarus, show some respect." That was Burronox the Anointed. He wore the heaviest of all armour, Terminator plate, festooned with icons of the Dark Gods and bearing large tusks that extended out from his helm. Burronox was a fierce and belligerent warrior, one who believed hard in the powers of Chaos and he found snide mockery to be offensive.

Kasarox looked down, seeing balconies and archways running between the soaring spires. Devotees lined every inch of it, whipping themselves and tearing their flesh in displays of devotion. Eight-spoked prayer wheels hung over the edges of the balconies, onto which were bound mortals covered in runes of Chaos. Neverborn flitted around these, drawn by the runes, while the mortals pleaded to have their bodies become hosts to the divine horrors. Everywhere people were committing deeds pleasing unto the Pantheon. Knives flashed as blood was spilt for Khorne, while orgies raged to seek the favour of Slaanesh. Men held open wounds aloft, seeping gangrenous pus that pleased Nurgle, while sacrificial priests were themselves stabbed in the back by their acolytes as an act of worship to Tzeentch.

Kasarox drank it all in and declared, "It is so much more than I ever dreamed. This should have been ours millennia ago."

"It would have been, were it not for Abulaz," Burronox growled, "The coward lurks in orbit and sends us into the lion's den."

Kasarox shared his ire, their leader and Dark Apostle Abulaz was an exile from the Legion. He had fled his due punishment for failure at the dawn of the Imperium and led the Crooked Path ever since. Kasarox had been inducted centuries later, taught to revere the Dark Apostle above all else. It had taken him lifetimes to rise high enough to see Abulaz for what he was, a smug fool who did not deserve his position. The Crooked Path all knew it, Abulaz was grossly incompetent as a martial strategist and war-leader, he needed to be removed. Unfortunately Abulaz was learned in the ways of the Pantheon and cunning to boot, nobody knew what defences he had in place against treachery.

Raruma sniffed as he said, "We came a long way to be here and I still don't understand why. What's the point, why don't you just take Abulaz's head and be done with it?"

Burronox muttered, "I can't believe I agree with him, but why is Abulaz still breathing?"

Kasarox turned to face him and said, "For all his military ineptitude Abulaz still commands powerful sorcery. None of us understands his capabilities, if we move openly there's no telling what he will unleash."

Raruma muttered, "You didn't seem so timid when we slaughtered the Salamanders at Morghan's Point. You waded into their ranks without qualm, saving fifty of our Brothers I might add."

Kasarox retorted, "It might have looked reckless, but that was the result of meticulous planning and intelligence gathering. While you lot were revelling in the slaughters I was observing our foe and studying their weaknesses. Abulaz is dangerous and I do not intend to underestimate him. How many of the Crooked Path support us: half? That is no good, I say we need more support and I will get it."

"Pah," Burronox spat, "You are overthinking this Unhallowed."

"Unhallowed," Raruma snorted in amusement and said, "Why do you still wear that demeaning name?"

Kasarox flexed his wicked talons and watched the blood dripping off them and admitted, "I have grown used to it, it keeps me focused and fires my ambitions."

"I thought that's what I did," Raruma pouted.

Kasarox retorted, "No, I keep you around as my bullet shield. Nobody can shoot me while your big head is in the way."

"Kill me now," Burronox muttered, "Death is preferable to listening to you two."

Raruma suddenly looked up and said, "I hate to interrupt, but here he comes."

Kasarox looked up and saw a wide platform floating through the air on a cushion of Warp magic. It was some twelve feet in diameter and had a high guard rail, but that was nothing compared to the fact that it was also a man. A human body had been stretched and moulded by the fell powers of the Pantheon until it was wafer thin and circular. Pulsing organs could be seen through the taut flesh and his face was the size of a dinner plate and still moaning in agony.

Kasarox watched in awe at the power on display as it settled down upon their landing platform and then he bowed low as the occupants disembarked. First off was a pair of Terminator guards, whose combi-bolters were unwavering in their aim. Yet between them was a man in more ancient armour. He was weathered and pitied by age, his bald head scarred by the ravages of time, yet his eyes were filled with the power of the Gods. He was mighty and powerful yet he was no Astartes, he was something else, something inferior yet majestic at the same time.

Kasarox kept his head low and proclaimed, "Greetings, mighty Kor Phaeron, Black Cardinal and Master of the Faith."

The ancient lord of the Word Bearers sneered down at them and hissed, "I see three worms of the Crooked Path before me, exiles, deserters and faithless cowards. Your presence on blessed Sicarus is an insult to the Pantheon."

Kasarox swallowed at the brusque greeting and hurriedly said, "By the codas of blessed Colchis we seek parley and surety of passage."

Kor Phaeron snorted, "Those decrepit old protocols are the only reason I allowed your ship to approach. If you had any lick of sense you would have stayed away, Dark Apostle Abulaz is not welcome here."

Then Burronox growled, "We are here to barter and you offer us insults."

"Insults are the least thing I have for you," Kor Phaeron stated, "A word from me and my fleets will obliterate your little cruiser from the stars."

Kasarox stated, "If you don't want to hear our offer then maybe Erebus will."

That brought a response, even in exile the rivalry between the pair of lords had reached their ears. Kor Phaeron's lip curled as he spat, "Out with it then."

Kasarox elaborated, "The galaxy is turned upside down, the Imperium falls to Chaos but the False Emperor fights the inevitable. He sends forth his son, the faithless Primarch of Ultramar, to lead a counter-Crusade. A feeble effort but his Indomitus Crusade is annoyingly resilient and such resistance offends the Pantheon. Abulaz yearns to address that insult; he seeks support to launch an assault to wipe it from the stars."

Kor Phaeron snorted, "Abulaz was wise to send emissaries to speak for him, I would kill him myself for such temerity. He always was a toadying little wretch, not fit to lick my boots. I already know all about Guilliman's return, he is no threat to the Gods. I have faced him myself and found his mettle wanting."

"Really?" Raruma interrupted, "I heard he ripped out one of your hearts."

Kasarox swallowed as he saw Kor Phaeron's face fill with anger and he cursed the Mocker. Chaos tended to extremes, Raruma literally couldn't be anything except derisive, but today that could get them all killed. Hastily Kasarox blurted, "Raruma, one more word from you and I will have Burronox rip out your tongue."

Kor Phaeron looked down at them and growled, "Give me one reason to let you live."

Kasarox decided to be bold and declared, "That was Abulaz's missive but not mine. I have a message of my own, Abulaz may lead the attack but he will not live to see it completed."

"What's this?" Kor Phaeron started, "A Coryphaus plots against his Dark Apostle? You seek to supplant him, where is your loyalty? Have you lost faith in the destiny laid out for you by the Dark Gods?"

Kasarox grinned as he said, "Talk of destiny is for grovelers, the mighty understand that Chaos elevates those who help themselves."

"Ha," Kor Phaeron snorted, "I see why you came to me and not Erebus. Tell me what makes you think you can defeat Guilliman."

Kasarox clapped his hands and from the Thunderhawk came a pair of helots, wrapped in black iron chains and carrying a rune-chest between them. They approached the Word Bearers, backs bent under the weight of it, then set it down and opened the lid. Within was a glowing red jewel, sharp-edged and flickering with an inner fire.

Kor Phaeron eyes glinted with avarice and he whispered, "A Fulgur Vitrum, where did you get it?"

Kasarox answered, "It was a gift from a potentate of the Sixth Host of Khorne."

"Oh, it is so much more than that," Kor Phaeron uttered, "It is a font of raw power, a conduit for the elemental might of the Empyrean. The things you could do with this…"

"We shall pledge it to your service," Kasarox declared, "If you will aid us."

Kor Phaeron's eyes narrowed and he hissed, "What do you want?"

"Ships," Kasarox replied, "Abulaz plans to break Guilliman in the deeps of space, but it will be his final act."

Kor Phaeron was silent for a long moment and Kasarox felt a trickle of cold dread from slipping down his spine. Then at last the Black Cardinal declared, "You shall have a fleet to command, vessels enough to lay waste to the Indomitus Crusade. Destroy, cripple or delay Guilliman, I care not, but make sure Abulaz dies. And above all else I want the Crooked Path to fight under my banner in the future, not Erebus'."

Kasarox bowed low and said, "As you command my lord. For your glory and the Dark Gods, the Word Bearers shall remind the scum of Ultramar what fear is."