It began with a crack on the wall. It was during a standardised eight-minute sustenance period, wherein manufactorum grunt #996978 was struggling to operate the protein tube dispenser. Grunt #996978, or Crowe, as his few acquaintances knew him, was once again questioning why this machine had such a distaste for him. He issued another whispered Rite of Activation, then pressed…
It had maybe been an hour since Octavia finally had been dismissed from the Medicae aboard the Regina Aurea, the Dauntless-Class Cruiser that had been lent to the Order of the Sacred Rose nearly two millennia ago. It was a great ship, white and silver on the outside, adorned by the sigil of the Sacred Rose even, as to honour…
The Dead Head launched itself up the tower wall, powerful front claws ripping at the stone and crumbling masonry as it tried to reach them. The thing was the size of a salvage hauler, its sides covered in the same ugly chitin as its eyeless skull, and every impact of its hammering legs shook the tower. When it was half…
Her eyes opened to stare into the cold grey metal above her bunk, and immediately, she knew something was deeply wrong. The meagre light from the door indicators provided a break in the blackness, limning the vague shapes of bunks in the gloom. She could feel it in her chest, in the way her body was cradled within the confines…
Corporal Pak slid into the passenger seat of the staff car with a dull thud. ‘Why the long face, Junho?’ Beside him, Sergeant Major Pan grinned and revved the engine a couple times. ‘Haven’t you heard? Our fearless commissar is taking to the field. Glory awaits.’ ‘Throne almighty.’ Pak shook his head. ‘Citation day? Already?’ ‘Only once every two months,…
Four months of blood had inexorably woven itself into each individual fibre of the once pallid habit Marakeen wore. Four months of perpetual disease, decay, and death had dulled the scent of incense still dutifully coated along its threads every morning, and made foul even the filtered air she breathed through her armour. Four months since her arrival on Khazant.…
The Engines of Vaul will smite them, and bring fire upon them, and in agony they will depart this realm, their souls screaming into the black void that awaits their pitiful race. And with their banishment there will be peace in this place, and we will be one step further along the road we must tread… There was no glory…
Created by potrace 1.16, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2019 Overhead burned a hot white star that made the heat rise from the pavement in sheets of crystal-white flame. A thick brown haze blanketed the spaceport, which glistened in the sunlight with an iridescent sheen. Sweat rolled down the Stranger’s face as he walked, his turquoise eyes scanning the streets for…
Nameless The warband didn’t have a name. They couldn’t conceive of the concept of names. They were World Eaters. Servants of Khorne. They were Khorne’s madness taken to its perfect distilled end point. The Nameless are feral brutes. Deemed too far gone, even by the standards of the most vicious of their World Eater contemporaries. He had no use for…
I: Arun We were born in the Fenrisian snow. Twin boys dumped out onto the coldest rock in the Imperium, in a time of winter’s bitter fall. Born to the warrior-queen Rena, who, the story goes, barely took time away from battle to bring her sons into the world before going back into the bloody carnage, leaving us to be…
Credits: Colyn DeGraaff (Creative Director), Thomas Pham (Publishing Editor), Tim McGrady (Editor), Jack Shelton (Editor), Zev (Editor), and special thanks to Mia Pallas (Community Lead).
