In the intensive care unit of a Vale Defense Force Compound there was a thick stench of rotting flesh, a constant monotony of coughs that bounced all around the room with the harmonizing wheezing moans of pure agony. Men lied in rows of beds, squirming, writhing as their skins were littered with irritated boils, oozing puss came from wounds that no matter what was applied, they just wouldn't heal.

"Has anyone shown any signs of improvement Doctor Mayfield?"

A haggard man wiped the sleep from his eyes with his coffee stained sleeve, he squinted at the image of his Atlesian colleague, Doctor Daniel Borage, smug and arrogant as Atlesians come but at least this one actually had the morals of a doctor. This strange affliction had started with Private Priya Anata, she had developed a nasty cough that she described as an incessant tickling sensation within her lungs, as if someone was actually tickling them. Odd, true, but he chalked it up to a minor sinus infection when he examined her nasal cavities where they were so swollen that she couldn't help but breathe through her mouth.

The second day is when the rashes developed and several squad mates came down with the similar cough, then it happened to the next squad, then the next, eventually the whole platoon filled the sick bay. A quarantine was established on the base, two more platoons were stuck in the base and paranoia started to set in, by Dust, did things just spiral out of control.

Five men committed suicide, three rooms had a man each, they were strapped down to chairs as their mania made them dangerous, a man started scratching his arms until they were stripped of skin, the good doctor gave him an overdose on morphine when he tried to peel off his leg skin. Some squads segregated themselves in biohazard suits out of the fear that the neighboring ones were infected, it was pointless to try and reign them in at this point, the officers and Sergeant Major were in the sick bay, spitting up black blood.

"Three of them died on the tables, I call that an improvement." The Doctor said with grimness, oddly enough though the Grimm steered clear of the area despite all the negative feelings that must've been like cocaine to an addict, something was very wrong about this.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, they were suffering."

"Doctor, you're being grim, you need to keep your spirits up."

"Easy for you to say," Doctor Mayfield held up his coffee mug and turned it upside down, his eyes were bloodshot with dark bags turned nearly purple, "I've been out of coffee for several hours now. I haven't seen the sun in over two weeks, rations are sparse, there are three separate mutinies going on right now. Why, in all that is holy has no one sent any drones down here with supplies or to bring order?"

The Atlesian's eyes flickered behind the screen for a moment before he answered, "Both councils have agreed that breaching quarantine at this time could result in…unforeseen consequences. Please, be patient."

Mayfield's face scrunched up into a sneer as he prepared to go onto a tirade, possibly even throw his mug, that was until he felt something brush past his hair. The Doctor swirled around quickly to strike whatever touched him only to swipe at air, he was going mad, there was no doubt about it in his mind. His dreams had been filled by nightmares plagued by images of horrific laughing abominations, he had seen the faces of the dead with their cheeks spilt open only to be held together by sewed in strings as they laughed manically. Recently he had thought to see a shadowy figure watching him, walking around the sick bay, in the halls, yet not a single recording of security tape could authenticate this vision.

Borage must've thought the same as the man tapped the table his monitor was on to get Mayfield's attention, "Doctor, I think you need to lie down and try to sleep, you're becoming erratic."

Mayfield sighed, groaned even as he cracked his neck and scratched the back of his neck. His supply of sleeping pills had gone dry and they themselves could only barely keep him out for an hour for undisturbed sleep. He just wanted to go home, like everyone else in the sick bay, like everyone else trapped a mile underground, unlike those damn bastards posted topside to make sure none of the subsiders in the bunker could make it up the elevator.

Mayfield was about to sign off when something incredibly odd started happening, "Oh- fuck, oh shit!"

"What is it? What's going on?" Mayfield detached his Scroll from the desk and shoved it against the Doctor's window into the sick bay.

Every bed had its occupant coughing up in a violent storm, blood sprayed into the air as the sick screamed and choked on their phlegm, their backs were arched in a painful angle as their limbs flailed, their blisters popped oozing green puss. To the horror of both professionals the blood flowed through the air and collected in the middle, in a swirling vortex of blood and puss did green energy form, in a flash, a being appeared with a roar.

He-it- stood atop a patient's bed, his face masked with a laughing eldritch monsters with a tube that belonged to a gas mask leading into his chest, he was armed with a large grimy meat cleaver and what could only be a chainsword, something he'd expect a Huntsman to wield yet this was no Huntsman. The creature raised the cleaver and sliced through the agonized VDF soldier below him, splitting the man in two.

Mayfield hoped this was a nightmare, as flies erupted from the dead soldier, they buzzed about the room before the bugs flew into the various open orifices and wounds of the other soldiers. They convulsed and screamed, writhing as the bugs burrowed their way in deep. Some jumped upright, roaring, laughing manically like in Mayfield's dreams, their faces oozing like melting cheese.

"Buboes, phlegm, blood and guts! Boils, bogeys, rot and pus! Blisters, fevers, weeping sores! From your wounds the fester pours, come one, come all! Nurgle spreads his gifts to the strong! Death for the weak! Go forth children of the Lord of Decay, spread the joys of Nurgle!" The humanoid beast cried out as he pointed his chainsword to the doors of the bay.

Like single minded ants they stumbled over the beds and each other, slipping up on their own blood with childish laugher, they smashed through the double door with enough force to rip them from their hinges. Then to Mayfield's terror, the creature looked at him, even though it was a one-way mirror he knew it could see him as it leisurely made its way towards him, dragging his chainsword against the bloodied floor.

"Is there a doctor in the house?" It asked, looking around the room with a sarcastic tone. Mayfield looked down at the Scroll, Borage was frantically trying to tell him to run, he seemed to legitimately be trying yet the doctor could not hear his colleague, he felt like he was under water.

The humanoid creature pressed his gloved finger against the glass, it shattered in an instant and turned to a fine powder. Mayfield could hear only his own breathing as the being vaulted over with ease yet was not outwardly hostile despite his armaments. It pointed to monitors to Mayfield's left, the security cameras that he was using to monitor the rest of the inner bunker, on each screen the infected easily overwhelmed the paranoid mutineers, tearing them in half, puking on them, some stood back up as their bodies advanced to the late stages of infection with ease.

"See how these children spread the gifts on my gracious god? Do they not look at bliss? Does not it look fun to you, Doctor Mayfield?"

The bewildered doctor looked at the creature as it held up a coffee mug filled with steaming brown liquid caffeine.

The creature offered the mug, gently bringing the doctor's hand to its handle, "Why not just take a sip, and have a bit of fun yourself? Tell me, tell Bubonicos how long it has been since you saw the sun? Would it not feel good on your skin?"

Mayfield nodded as the smell of the steamy hot liquid soothed his nerves, he felt more awake already, what harm could there be in a sip?

"MAYFIELD! GET OUT OF THERE! DAMNIT MAN WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Borage screamed at the screen as his Valean counterpart drank a mug of infected blood, he coughed up some of the blood, hacking and gasping, falling to a knee. His skin developed blisters in nearly an instant, an insane cackle escaped the man's lips as fingers grew into claws, his teeth fell out only to be replaced with gnarled bloody fangs, his back hunched over as his eyes glowed green.

"Go on, go play with the other children doctor, spread Papa Nurgle's joy to all."

The former brilliant man was gone, his flesh steadily began to mutate and deform as had the other sick men, though it was gone, there was simply a blissful joy in the free feeling of the pestilence that now gave every cell in his body a warming hug.

Several hours later…

General Ironwood stood stiffly, like he was once again a cadet in the fiery sights of drill Sergeants dressing him down with verbal flames, his skin was prickled with nervous sweat, his heart thundered in his chest like a galloping steed. He glanced to his right and saw a battalion of his troopers standing at attention, their faces for the most part hidden but he had an inkling of a thought they held expressions of bewilderment, confusion, some might have even thought that it was funny in a way.

Lord Commissar Cestus Haxis stood in front of him, besides the Black Shield Space Marine Chaplain, he himself held a book of massive size opened to a point somewhere near the beginning. The left side of the hanger had the dozen Death Korps Kriegsmen lined up at attention, bayonets gleamed past their rifle barrels, eyepieces glimmered in the hanger light, a pair had stood themselves up on crutches with their damaged legs wrapped in casts.

Specialist Winter Schnee held a flower basket, she didn't even hide the indignation on her face but she herself was admittingly curious, just how exactly did space fairing human psychopaths have weddings? Surely with a people like the Krieg such celebrations were trivial if not a waste of time, yet the Chaplain insisted on all of these decorations. There were hastily arranged candles set up around the podium the Space Marine Chaplain stood at, burning somewhat dimmer compared to the lights above.

The Kriegswoman known as Frieda, the Guardswoman that General Ironwood had mistakenly proposed to, marched down the aisle set up going through two rows of tanks with their barrels held up as if saluting, with her blood relation escorting her. Her helmet was wreathed with a crown of flowers, her youthful face bare, with her expression set in the trademark Krieg stoicism, yet there was a certain glimmer in her mismatched eyes when they locked onto General Ironwood, who could've sworn her lips lightly twitched in directions a smile would form.

Enough dread filled the General to drive a Nevermore nuts, the girl was so much younger than him, young enough to be a student in HIS school and here they were getting married on his personal ship. The Space Marine Chaplain in front of him skimmed the massive book in his hand with a large metal finger along seemingly endless paragraphs of his Imperial Book of Litanies, until he tapped against the page with what could interpreted as a hum of delight.

"By the light of the God Emperor of Mankind do we find ourselves here today, under his everlasting grace do we bind together the lives of a faithful servant and the heathen feudal, for whom she shall civilize into a loyal subject of His Grace's Imperium. It is through the will of the God Emperor that they have met, it is through His will they shall be wed."

Ironwood felt his heart sink like a block of iron in the ocean, he had never really intended on being married as he was moreorless married to his job and adding a woman into the equation would just be more hassle than what one would be worth, yet here he was, being married to a barely legal aged girl. In a sick and twisted way this must've been funny to someone, it was nightmarish for him.

"From upon His Golden Throne, He watches over all of Mankind and hath given his divine blessings to bind the fates of these subjects, to live as one, to pray as one, to fight and die as one. Upon the merciful will of The Emperor, I bless this union."

A Kriegsman marched forward with a tray holding up two glasses of red wine, "Drink from the blood of Sanguinius, Son of the God Emperor, who had given His life for the Father of Fathers and for all Mankind, so that you may have to fortitude to die for The Emperor just as He had."

Reluctantly Ironwood took a red wine glass, knowing that he'd certainly need something much stronger by the end of the night.

"In His eyes you've been bound, by soul, by flesh, by fate. Embrace thy bride now, and forever." The Black Shield Space Marine Chaplain ordered with booming satisfaction in his handiwork, arms raised towards the sky as the hanger lights centered on the mortals before him. From within the internal commlink's of the Black Shields three of the Space Marines bantered with one another in observance of their brother's grandiose display.

"I do believe Chaplain Penance made most of that up." Commented the Space Marine Retribute, his Eviscerator maglocked to his back.

The Space Marine Vendetta, with his Power Claws silent and jetpack cold, rolled his eyes with immense annoyance, "Penance? Blowing Promethium out of his nose? Who would've thought?"

"A most plebeian pageant, futile for such short-lived beings to pledge their lives to one another." Librarian Rancor, his red eyepieces glazing over the small, thin, fleshy Humans that stood- faithful servants doomed to die and heathen backwater world savages prancing in shiny plaster for armor, not the oddest sight he had seen, as he had ten thousand years of insanity since The Emperor was reluctantly sat upon His throne, to rot.

"Shut up. All of you, let me have my moment." Penance hissed, watching eagerly as the heathen General's brow beaded with sweat and the faithful servant of His Empire stood within a breath's distance. The Korpswoman stood on the tips of her boots and presented her lips to the reluctant heathen general, he, with great internal discomfort, met her lips, thus sealing their union before His Exultated Grace Upon The Golden Throne.

General Ironwood felt the stares of his soldiers, mixtures of disgust, and just plain confusion. He was just married to a woma- a girl, half his age, the age of his youngest level of Huntsmen students, the shame he felt…yet there was an odd look he found on the young soldier's face. She still held a stoic appearance, yet her mismatched eyes glimmered in that way, the kind that sent pleasant shivers throughout his spine…and some shameful arousal some places best not mentioned. She sure was pretty.

Cestus clapped with thunderous applause alongside Quintin, his soldiers followed suite, and soon the Atlesians joined in awkwardly as the Tech Priest Starza stood with his metal hands hidden in his robes. The old Commissar had a grin on his face, oh such the spectacle, the proud general having to endure this charade was just a delicious sight, he truly hoped that 345678-435980- Frieda would find herself fulfilling her duty to the God Emperor, but in a way that associated less with death and more with life. A strange pride swelled in his chest and if not for his hardened years of war he would've felt had his eyes watering.

Suddenly though, an Atlesian came running down the tank aisle with a Scroll in hand, "General! General!

"WHO DARES DISRUPT THIS UNION OF FATES!?" Chaplain Penance demanded with his Power Maul sparkling to further illustrate his anger.

The soldier froze for a moment but steadied himself as he held the Scroll out for General Ironwood, "New orders from the Council, sir!"

General Ironwood skimmed the empty pleasantries of the order and focused on the words that entailed his mission 'Quarantine of Patch Base, situation has deteriorated, immediate deployment authorized. Maintain quarantine and utilize extreme caution. Viewing the brief is highly advised.'

Ironwood clicked on the attached video, and his day of horrors had no end it seemed. This entity…it turned these men into puppets, warped their bodies and minds with ease.

"Heresy." Frieda hissed, Ironwood realizing she was over his shoulder as was the Space Marine Chaplain, "Lord Commissar, The Great Enemy, they are here."

Cestus' brow rose and his face went stony, his Kriegsmen even more ridged, the Space Marines themselves had a more serious battle-ready look in their stance. The Lord Commissar was by the General's side, the man replaying the video of the Chaos Champion unleashing his horde within the VDF quarantine base and the subsequent slaughter.

"By the Golden Throne," Cestus said gravely, though his lip did turn up in a smirk, "it's not a wedding without a war."

General Ironwood greatly regretted not sitting behind a desk like Ozpin.

Patch, VDF Goodhope

The VDF had set up a quarantine over the ill-fated Fort Goodhope, a fort whose name was ironic perhaps to the darkest of laughing deities. Over a company of VDF guardsmen maintained the perimeter, their rifles pointed towards the mouth of the underground bunker that was originally set up to be the last stand location for the low populated island of Patch, now it contained its damnation.

From behind the massive doors did the plagued and insane bang their meaty fists against, cackling, laughing, and roaring like party animals. The sandbag defensive line had the height advantage as the road sloped down to the sliding hanger doors, meant for personal carriers, large two inch thick doors that were now dented from the inside out with numerous points where it appears fists had pounded against it, the dents only seemed to increase.

"Well, lads, this is going to be the real deal," VDF Sergeant Leon Spartha glanced over his shoulder, looking over the pale faces of his squad mates, "what's with you milk maids, all your shaking is gonna bring in the Grimm, don't you think we got enough in there?"

The Valean Sergeant lit up a cigar, puffing smoke, his golden irises shone bright with the subtle burn of his favorite vice. His platoon was to ensure that no undesirable monstrosity was to escape, that there were no longer fellow Kingsmen within the halls of the bunker, only devils with rotted skin with no friendly intent. He slipped two fingers into his breast pocket and removed his wallet, flipping it open, glancing down at his girlfriend's picture to give him the extra boost of morale to get his blood flowing.

'Vel, I only hope that you're not going to get caught up in this too. Any team but yours.' He ran his thumb over lips of his smiling rabbit Faunus, her brown eyes seemingly sparkled with affection, her shy pink lips turned up in a smile that got his heart pumping with blood.

Among other things.

"Sergeant," Lieutenant Donavan Burnwood called through the radio attached to Leon's rig, "we have frosties landing to reinforce us, they said they've got specialists…odd, but useful enough to assist us. Heads up."

"Fucking Atlesians." Leon muttered, skin crawling with the prospect of these up tight tighty whities trampling more of Vale's soil, filling the air with arrogance and utter dickery, "Copy that LT, they bringing their hair curlers too, maybe they want to get a pedicure first?"

"Cut the chatter Sergeant." The radio call ended abruptly, Leon sticking his tongue out to mimic the Lieutenant with a roll of his eyes.

The Atlesian Bullheads soon came into view and hovered over the cleared line of sight the VDF have set up in front of the compounds bay doors. Leon cursed a colorful spectrum underneath the roar of engines, his team's whole sightline was just completely blocked off. Despite his orders Leon jumped up from his trench, puffing his cigar angrily, stomping a steady gait towards the closest Bullhead.

"You fucking bastards just have not only impeccable timing but the best fucking entry in all the Kingdoms, right in my platoons' fucking sightlines you shiny white coat cunts!" He slammed his fist against the Bullhead's hold, his Lee-Ender grasped by the upper receiver, ignoring the calls on his radio.

The bitter Valean dashed backwards, letting the ramp descend so he could really let the Atlesians know what he thought about them, "Who's your comm-"

Leon took a further step back, two red glowing eyes stared back at him wit menacing intent, for a moment his blood ran cold, thinking of the insanity of Atlas possibly dropping off a Grimm right at their doorstep. He found out quickly the beast was no a Grimm, it was bi-pedal, in the vague shape of a man, nine feet tall with a grimacing skull leering down at him.

"Step back, heathen" Chaplain Penance hissed with distain, appalled by the audacity of this meek human, pounding his fist upon the Black Shield's transport, making demands of him. There was half a mind to squish the petulant bug, the other half somewhat impressed that this human did not quiver with fear like the other denizens of this planet.

"Damn," Leon whistled, taking a puff of his cigar, "didn't know Atlas knew any color but Schnee white. Looking sharp mate."

Penance paid the mortal insect no more of his time, briskly stepping past the unmemorable annoyance, followed by his brothers who drew similar calls of praise from the unenlightened human.

Leon was now ecstatic, no longer fuming with anger, instead he was over joyed with the sight of the gargantuan armored humanoids, "I don't know who you big blokes in black is, but you go right on ahead, don't mind us, tear'em a new one!"

The Sergeant quickly jogged to the Bullhead just opposite of the one with the giant men, he had the giddiness of a child, wondering what new instrument of death was to exit the transport. He was not disappointed. In two rows marched soldiers unlike he had ever seen, perhaps from a bygone era, but not in this modern world of Remnant. Clad in trench coats, gas masks, and with a silent efficiency about them that drew out some bit of envy from the Sergeant.

From the rear came a man clad in more eloquence, his uniform seemed finer by leagues, gas mask hanging around a gorget barring the brilliance of a two headed eagle. The man's scarred lantern jaw and fierce gaze told of unknown wars, unknown horrors that a true man of conviction and strength could endure.

Leon immediately clasped his heels together, saluting with his palm up in Valean style, "Sergeant Leon Spartha, Sons of Mount Glenn First Rifle Company!"

The man in the trench coat observed him with a stern gaze, he walked with a confident gait, eyes staring into the young Sergeant's with iron resolve. Leon soon realized his cigar was still between his teeth, but the man plucked it out, taking a drag from his cigar and blowing out a cloud from his nostrils.

He saluted back to Leon crisply, "Lord Commissar Cestus Haxis of the 263rd Death Korps of Krieg Siege Regiment, of the Imperial Guard, of His Majesty's Imperium of Man."

A stupid childlike grin crossed the Sergeant's lips even as Cestus stuck his cigar back into his mouth. He waved over to his men in the defensive trench line to come forward, "Your lot are here to help us?"

"We," Cestus said, glaring at the haphazardly arranged barricade, "are here to exterminate everything in that bunker with might and holy fire."

"You got the might, but we've got some fire to spare to, sir."

Cestus glanced over his shoulder, "Flamethrowers?"

The grin that crossed Leon's lips would've caused many to doubt his sanity, the Lord Commissar however spotted genius within it, "Oh, we've got flamethrowers and plenty of gelatin Fire Dust to go with it."

The horde of the Plague Lord crashed violently against the steel prison that arrested their purpose of spreading their Lord's vile generous gifts of disease. They itched with anticipation, nails digging within their own flesh, their splashed blood covering the floor in fungal fleshy goodness. Howls and shrieks of impatience flooded the halls, ghastly creatures with gaping maws drooled hungrily, terrible claws begged for bellies to tear asunder.

One beast with its guts hanging out rakes it nails against the walls, busted pustules leak oozing liquid onto the mushrooms growing on the ground, flesh began to form on the walls as further Nurgilite infection corrupts the former military base. The dead and mutated further devolved into the proper forms befitting the servants of The Plague God, monocular, horned, forever smiling with happy little rows of teeth eager to tear into succulent flesh.

Father beyond the sprawling masses of mutant abominations did their champion, Bubonicos, use his warply powers to break down blast doors leading further down into the base, he had the occasional man of iron to deal with, but they were flimsy, unlike the machines of the False Emperor. The sorcerer cleaved his way through, leaving behind festering fungus that ate away the shiny metal, through his numerous noses and scent glands did he sniff out something powerful, something ancient, something his masterful ally Setesh needed.

On upper levels the plague carrying beasts grew restless, they sped up their assaults on the badly abused metal door, their sorcerous damned weapons softened the metal until corrupted Atlesian weapons tore holes through the bending metal. Horrific screams and cackles of glee filled the air, drawing heretical breathes heavy with decaying particles of rotted lungs and fungal matter.

They had torn the door to ribbons, storming out with frothing snapping maws, blades glistening with blood, hissing into the night sky filled with a broken moon's glow.

"From the weakness of the mind, Omnissiah, save us."

Valean Defense Force steadied their aim, Sergeant Leon Spartha led his troopers filed into three ranks, prone, kneeling, and standing along the Death Korps soldiers, bayonets affixed.

"From the lies of the antipathy, circuit preserve us."

The Chaos horde of Nurgle snarled with pitless hunger, and the desire to share their gifts with the unfortunate healthy humans that covered behind their weapons, their pitiful defenses. They needed to learn the rapturous glee of the disease to understand how mundane they were.

"From the rage of the Beast, iron protect us."

Lord Commissar Cestus puffed on a lit cigar from the heathen Sergeant, sword drawn its scabbard, crackling with energy.

"From the temptations of the Fleshlord, silica cleanse us."

An inhuman shriek sounded the warcry for the mindless masses of cursed bastard mutants, their legs, bowed, twisted, pulsing with muscle free of the confines of thin skin charged. Wild shots went wide as heretic crashed into one another, snapping jaws and strangled yelps.

"From the ravages of the Destroyer, anima shield us."

The Space Marines, clad in black, drenched with red liquid stood at the ramp's mouth, weapons poised, blades gleaming with dripping gelatin substance.

"From the rotting cage of biomatter, MACHINE GOD! SET US FREE!"

The Tech Priest Starza cried, slamming the end of his staff into the ground, Valean and Atlesian machines hummed with power that none of the native Remnant peoples could comprehend. Commissar Cestus flicked his cigar, the still burning bud ignited on the ramp leading down to the base's entrance, blue flames grazed over the top followed by furious crimson and yellow.

There was a look of realization the monocular eye of a beast, glancing down to see he and his cohorts were slipping on pasty red film, his breath was torn from his lungs when the flames consumed his legs, the air being sucked away from dozens of bullet holes hollowing his breast. Valean rifle fire came out in volleys, cutting down the masses that danced in the flames, lasrifle fire cleaved through weak flesh, the head of a monster exploding from a rifle shot.

The Deathkommandos fired streaming bursts, letting the first stream hit before casting down another, their eyepieces shined in the welcoming holy flames, blessed in the all mighty God Emperor's name. Even as flame, bullet, and laser tore through the burning horde, more came, and thus the Space Marines stepped into the flames, set alight like beacons of His wrath, did they set out to free these afflicted monsters of their suffering, to deliver them upon His Grace for final judgement.

Faust, the Bone'ead Ogryn fired shotgun the thicket of the horde, he held his fire as the Black Shields swept through with fire and fury. No creature could match the greatly aged warriors of The God Emperor, bolts splattered monsters, the Evisciator chainsword rendered burning flesh, static claws cut through soft buttery flesh, and heavy boots stamped out thrashing pitiful creatures without respite.

Sergeant Leon was the first heathen Valean to march forward after the Space Marines, the flames starting to burn out, he waved forward Valen flametroopers, firing streams to keep the Space Marines coated in flames, forcing the mushroom covered bastards back down their hole. Troopers sat in hunched micro walkers, stout machines that stood the height of a Space Marine but fired two machineguns from either side, they helped cover the superhuman warriors and prevent stragglers from attempting to flee from the ramp's sides.

Cestus lead his Korpsmen, flanked by the injured Xenos Inquisitor Quinton and the Tech Priest Starza, whose arms remained parted as he chanted further in Techno-lingua, his servo-skulls following in preparation for battle. Bullheads hovered overhead preparing for the worst possible outcome, to let nothing escape the bunker.

Chaplain Penance swatted burning creature with distain, rigid with fury, his disgust immeasurable with these lowly monsters that dared to block a warrior of his caliber, brittle bones snapped like tooth picks under each blow, electricity coursed through each beast with lethality, pustules popping with sizzling shrieks. His brothers tore their way through the horde of wrenched creatures into larger halls with downward sloping tunnels where larger beasts stood in their path, not for long though.

"Blast the bastards! This is Vale's land! You are not welcome here!" Sergeant Spartha slammed through another clip of ten rounds, the clip flicking off, charging back the bolt to load in a round. A shotgun would be much more preferable to his semi-auto rifle, but it was a weapon he knew, each round struck killing blows through the ugly nude bastards, greenish brains and black blood spilling onto the floor.

One of his soldiers gasped and gurgled, a gnarled blade impaling through his back, blood spewing past his lips, eyes rolling back. The creature tears off the soldier's head, crushing it in his hands, roaring as he slid the corpse from his blade.

"Alright you ugly cunt, let's 'ave it then!" With a click of a switch, the barrel and front receiver of his rifle converted into a large serrated drill, it spun with a fearsome whirl, making the creature back up in terror. Leon jabbed at the Nurglite, forcing it to retreat until its back was against a wall, he stabbed forward into its breast, bone and flesh being torn to ribbons, he thrusted up through its collar bone and pulled back, stabbing into its eye, the monstrosity shuddered with spastic limbs.

Leon made sure to fire another hole into the monster's head despite his drill scrambling its brains, the Commissar was adamant about making sure the daemonic bastards were dealt debilitating blows lest they'd become a threat for another day or get back up.

The Deathkommandos fired streams all around the fleshy corridors. The rot that had been accumulated sizzled and burned, receding darkness before the light, laser and fire enlightened the corrupted heathens to The God Emperor's wrath. Despite their cold outlook, there was something that resembled a dormant almost childlike giddiness in the streams of flames leaving beneath their gloves, separated only by leather and metal, delivering death with zealous purpose.

Eager Valean soldiers were caught off guard from supposed dead Nuglites, paying dearly for their lack of experience with these non-Grimm beasts that were only hours before their fellow Humans. They made the mistake of attempting to engage the creatures in close quarters without going for immediate killing blows, hesitating be it from fear of killing a man or from the stark horror of the abominations in front of them, their mistakes cost them their lives in a brutal melee. The impersonality of shooting into a burning swarm of faceless beings was replaced now with the reality of flesh and bone, living and breathing monsters unlike the soulless beastly creatures of Grimm.

Crimson blood mixed with thick black goo, metal clashed, fire wooshed and roared. Howls mixed with screams, bones shattered with the wet tearing of flesh, metallic chanting accompanied laser beams that burned, that exploded skulls into ruin. Truly the darkness of the far future has baptized the world of Remnant and its lonely broken moon with this meek display of daily violence.

Lord Commissar Cestus grimaced with the last heretic beast being splattered from his and Inquisitor Quinton's bolt rounds, both of its heads were now adorning the wall like modern art, until the purity of flames burned it away into blackness and ash.

"The Omnissiah is with us, the decayed meatbags and their taint shall bear this world no folly." Tech Priest Starza grazed his metallic fingers over a control panel, one finger split opened and a tendril injected into a port. His mind began to slip into the Valen systems, overriding firewalls with his litanies of Techno Linga, his servo skulls, Maximus and Terris floated on guard.

Sergeant Spartha covered his nose, the rotters were already terrible smelling, their burning corpses were no less pleasant. The soldiers that were killed were burned all the same, something he objected to at first, but after seeing what they were meant to be fighting, he held no doubt that this was the best course of action.

"Lord Commissar, the Astartes are making their way down to another structure a mile down, another facility where the heretic leader should be held up in."

"What other facility?" Sergeant Spartha looked dumbfounded, "There is no other facility down there, this is a munitions bunker."

"It seems your leaders have secrets son," Cestus stood at the mouth of a descending tunnel marred with the destruction caused by the Black Shield Space Marines, "you should get used to not seeing the whole picture, the heretic came here for a reason, lets find out what it was."

The Sergeant followed the Commissar, being seperatec by the Deathkommandos that bore flamethrowers, "What the hell could this blighter be looking for? The guns and bombs are on this level, what the bloody hell could it be looking for?"

"You're the Sergeant at arms, you tell me."

"Not for here, I got deployed here at the quarantine's beginning, my Highlanders and I usually patrol the borders of our former home, Mount Glenn."

The Lord Commissar glanced over his shoulder, "Former?"

"The bastard Grimm, they were underneath us and sprung out like a geyser of darkness," There was a haunted grimace on the Sergeant's face, anger fueled by sorrow, his jaw was tight and his eyes like coals, "started killing the lot of our folk, we're the sons of Glenn, those that wanna take it back. If the damn Council would listen."

"Hmph," Cestus stood back as Krieg and Valeans cleared the bloody path with flames, forcing the affliction that had been growing to recede and die to the inevitable hunger of blessed fire, "The fact that humans would dare let daemonic beasts keep the spoils of a city is something I find distressing. Order needs to be established here."

Smite bolts turned heretic monsters into ash, The Chaplain's power sword split open three more aberrations, electricity forcing their bisected bodies to spasm into charred blackened flesh. Bits of heretics flew from sweeps of the Eviscerater chainsword, its master shifted his footing and swept another wave into blood mist, into chunks. The Space Marines had annihilated the bulk of their foes, crushing them beneath their adamantium boots, cleansing them with merciful death.

These unholy creatures were guarding the entrance into a greater sealed door, its vault-like greatness was marred with humanoid shaped burns, too small for a Space Marine to squeeze through. The Librarian waved his hand over a number pad meant for small unaltered human hands, with booming metallic synthetic vocal praises he cast the divination spell of Lifting the Veil, allowing him to witness the human who had once entered the code needed to open the door with telekinesis pressing in the buttons.

Great grumbling shook the underground sub-bunker, the Space Marines were unfazed with the machination and its stress upon the earth around, weapons were ready, litanies were said. For thousands of years they had unflinchingly served His Imperium of Man, untold lifetimes did they prepare themselves for the inevitable, ending countless bloodlines of the corrupted, destroying untrustworthy xenos, putting whole races to death and to obscurity so that only their killers could attest to their existence. They have served so faithfully, yet only now, there was an unnerving feeling of unease, a strange familiarity, something so old and distant, it seemed mythical.

They spotted the enemy, a champion of darkness, despair and treachery given form, stopped in his path by a barrier of pure energy encasing another locked gate. He was no taller than a man, adorned in armor and rotted flesh, busting boils, masked with a Daemon themed metal mask. The creature turned to them, flanked by more crouching abhorrent former humans, they seemed prepared to give their pitiful lives.

"Lord of Decay," Came its sickly wheezing cry, "give me the power, I beg of You, to spread Your gifts unto he, who denies the gift of the plague, of disease, of rot!"

Suddenly, like thunder in a great storm the campion roared with agony, he floated above the ground with his arms outstretched. His servants arched their backs with painfilled cries, blood spraying their mouths, twisting like serpents in the air, striking into the champion that floated above them. Their bodies were empty of fluid, flesh tore, and bones crumbled to dust, finally the champion fell to the ground with a boom, crushing concrete.

The monstrosity before them now stood greater than the Space Marines, hunched forward with a monocular eye in its skull, yet more adorning its breast, rotting green skin glowed with a hue, claws were long and jagged. His hide was thick and leathery, bone along with hard fungus protruded as if it were to be armor. Acidic saliva dripped to the floor from its great grinning maw, wheezing out puffs of green mist.

"You see before you now, slaves of the false god, Bubonicos, champion to the Lord of Decay!" He hissed, forked tongue slithering out, mockingly flickering.

"Keep thy tongue hidden behind thine teeth, heretic." Librarian Rancor spat, raising his sword to the monstrosity, "Your time has come to an end."

"Repent before The Emperor, and your death will be swifter than most." Chaplain Penance activated his power maul, its crackling energy sparked along the sharpened spikes, fresh rounds loaded within his Holy Bolter.

"EMBRACE THE PLAGUE GOD!" Bubonicos spat a wad of acid towards the Space Marines, only for Librarian Rancor to throw up a psychic shield that sent the deadly goo to the floor to sizzle away, several bolters chattered, the explosive rounds piercing the hide with direct hits, causing inhuman screams to ripple out from the Chaos Champion.

Bubonicos conjured a shield made from thick mushroom, blocking and deflecting some of the bolt rounds, in his free hand he summoned a massive gnarled scythe, he swept with his blade, clashing with Retribute's Eviserator chainsword. The Space Marine dug in his heels, burying inches into the concrete as the looming monster snarled at his visor.

Bubonicos raised his shield once more as the bolt rounds dug into the hard fungus and blew up, weakening it with every barrage it received, he was forced back by the Space Marine's chainsword, stepping back before the coming strike could tear out his knee.

Vendetta, with his jump pack, boosted up into the air, very nearly hitting the ceiling. He dove into the Chaos Champion, claws crackling with lightening, he took a hit from his side that sent him tumbling on the ground, tearing up the concrete floor, his heel and claws digging down to slow his momentum. Rancor threw several Smite bolts, tearing deep holes within the fungal shield, forcing the ascended Chaos Champion against the energy barrier, its back arching in pain from the shock it received.

Suddenly lasers and bullets pelted the fugal shield, some struck his armored shins. Bubonicos saw with his many eyes that the Imperial Guardsmen and the planetary natives had finished off his horde, with a hiss he grew blistered pustules from his back, he reached behind as the popped, with a filled hand he threw the squirming puss at the humans.

Lord Commissar Cestus and his guardsmen dodged the thrown goo, beasts reminiscent of maggots stood, they however possessed clawed humanoid arms, lashing out at the Guardsmen and Valeans. Faust the Ogryn pushed ahead of the Guardsmen, firing heavy shotgun shells at Bubonicos with an animalistic roar.

Sergeant Spartha spun his rifle drill combi-gun, the drill covered with flaming, cutting through the maggot-men with ease like a knife through butter. He turned the flaming drill bit at the giant fuckall ugly bastard and fired a stream of liquidized red dust, that burn a sizeable hole through his mushroom shield, the resounding squeal of unimaginable pain was like music to the Valean's ears.

"Yeah, that's right ya big ugly pizza topping! Have some more of that you rotten Ox's arsehole!" Spartha charged forward, running with a burst of speed he'd expect of his Kommandos, using that borderline heretical Aura that Ironwood had been on about. Such witchcraft drew the suspicions of the Lord Commissar, his Kriegsmen, and of course the Xenos Inquisitor who had watched closely for alien defects in these humans.

Tolerable enigmatic powers, for now.

Spartha kept up the stream, constantly zigzagging to wear down the monster's shield, he dodged a stray wad of acid spat from its gaping maw. He relented to load in another canister of red dust, being forced on the retreat from Bubonicos' charge, jumping back from the giant scythe that threatened to slice him to bits. Librarian Rancor shot a Smite bolt that pierced through Bunonicos' elbow, his scythe wielding arm hung limply, with loud crackling tendons tearing like ropes, bone crumbling like stone.

Bubonicos roared with anguish pain, the gifts of Grandfather Nurgle were not yet truly potent, the affliction that Grimm God, the Fifth One, still syphoned his strength. Four measly Space Marines were usually within his capability, yet even now he could feel his control over the Biomass Vulture was waning, he'd soon have to abandon it, this battle has been lost.

With wavering strength, the Biomass Vulture stumbled, bullets, bolts, and lasers unrelenting in their assault. The scythe arm detached, rolling on the ground below, tearing in two as more abominations manifested from the discarded flesh. They grew out with ethereal roars, morphing with the sounds of bones snapping and flesh squelching, tearing.

Valean soldiers gagged and retched further, their resolves cracking from the horrific display of otherworldly bodily transformation, shivers of terror rushed over them with the coldness of the Atlesian tundra. Though they felt great fear, they stood, holding the line as the soldiers from the stars, the men and women clad in trench coats following the giant men in metal suits showed no fear nor temptation of fleeing. If strangers to their world could be so confident against something so abominable, then they weren't going to sully their honor or Kingdom by turning tail.

"Do not let the heretic have a moment to breathe! I want that thing burned into scorch marks!" Lord Commissar Cestus had seen many horrors in his time the most recent before this had been the monster that had wounded him and tore away the joys in his life, damned he would be if some rotting mushroom beast would dare stand in his path of retribution, "KILL THE BEAST!"

The crawling horrors that were once apart of the Biomass Vulture were suddenly swept up in fire, the Death Kommandos drenching them in liquid fire, their squeals of torment were sucked away from fire stealing their breathes, filling flattened lungs with fire encroaching on rapidly drying flesh. Their power left the fleshy husks, half formed, left to immolate as flesh simmered and became ash, bone crackling like wood.

Retribute set aside his Eviscirator, unmaglocking the legendary Meltagun from his back, he lines up his shot with practiced ease, "The Emperor's will be done, may you suffer bare before His light!"

There was serpent like hissing, heat building up from the mouth of the barrel, then suddenly the roar of a thousand angry lions blasted forth in a beam few mortals could stand to keep their eyes upon. Bubonicos had no time nor did he have power to scream, the fiery hot beam blew his shield into charred chunks,, evaporating his arm and slicing across his Biomass Vulture's body, rendering it in two.

In great burning chunks the beast fell, writhing, breathlessly mewling with flames ever growing. With a final act of desperation, the Chaos Champion unlodged himself from his fleshy construct, wracked with pain her slithered out from an abscess, hissing as he laid eyes on the Lord Commissar.

"This-this isn't over!" Snarling with rage he had not felt in so many years he tore open a hole in reality and threw himself through the portal.

Though the Champion of Nurgle had fled, his construct of unlife and putrid flesh remained, struggling to find a way to prolong itself, deteriorating into nothingness, burning, and disintegrating as the Warp's influence was lost. Before their very human eyes it had ceased into being, the only evidence of its presence being gashes left in the concrete and burn marks were it once was.

"Bloody hell." Sergeant Spatha muttered, shouldering his rifle, taking a long drag of cigar, "Do I even want to know-"

"No, it's better you don't." Cestus said holstering his pistol, gazing upon the Black Shield Marines with appreciative awe. Seeing the Astartes perform the tasks they had been bred and religiously trained to do was something the lowly human in him would ever grow tired of.

From the rear of their ranks Starza came, descending with purpose in his step, his servo skulls following after hurriedly. Techno Lingua continuously sounded out from under his hood in an almost praising chant, his glowing red eyepieces seemed o only intensify as he passed the Astartes by, focusing on the energy barrier that had lighted most of their fight.

Cestus sparred Spartha a passing glance, "What's behind this barrier?"

"Beats me, I didn't know this part of the base existed- command, this is Sergeant Spartha, how copy?" The Valean tightened his brow, seeing the SDC logo behind the light wall that encased another large sealed door, a door that mister ugly and his band of buttfuck ugly bastards wanted privy to, "Burnwood, you lazy arse, the infected have been dealt with, I repeat, they've been destroyed. Now, why the hell am I looking at an SDC logo down in a part of the base I knew jack tits about?"

"Lieutenant Burnwood is no longer in control of this operation."

Spartha spat out his burnt up cigar, watching the black robed cybory seemingly converse with the giant door, "Who the fuck is this, I know that ain't a Valean accent."

"This is Doctor Daniel Borage, and you are to return at once."

"I don't answer to no docs, I answer to the authority of Vale," Spartha watched with astonished curiosity as the shields came down and the door itself began to move, yet the cyborg, Starza, hadn't laid his hands on anything, "do you fucking frosties have any bloody clue on just what the fuck happened down here!? These fucking rotting bastards were looking for this-"

"Sergeant, your superiors will hold you to court martial if you do not withdraw your men along with-"

"Chsssh, chssssh, y-you're breaking up mate, c-cuunnnt, bloody well 'ear-" Spartha switched off his comms, double timing with his Highlanders after the spaceborn humans.

Lord Commissar Cestus removed his cap, looking up with an unreadable expression. He didn't know what to feel, wonder, amazement, fear, terror, anger perhaps? The Lord Commissar has seen much in his long life, yet this, this just seemed as if he was staring into the machinations beset by the universe.

None of the Korpsmen knew what they were looking at, they stayed close to their Commissar and father, awaiting his order with disregard to the sights before them. The Valean Highlanders were dumbstruck with boyish feelings of wonderment, some were staring with emptiness that only the fleeting feelings of adrenaline and fear had brought, unaware of the immensity of what laid before them. Sergeant Spartha fumbled for another cigar and reserved the need to drown himself in scotch whiskey later, for a moment he wondered if he should've listened to the snooty Atlesian.

Starza bowed his head low, metal palms bared in praise of the Machine God, communing with the machines around him with a steady hum.

With solemn steps Chaplain Penance stepped forward, his years weighing heavy on him now that it seemed the true testament to his sins and the sins of his brothers have now come to full fruition. He stepped into what was a large Atlesian hanger, carelessly kicking away rolling chairs and crunching tables with fleeing papers.

The Chaplain Space Marine reached out, breaking the panels of a bullet proof observation case. He held up under his gaze a MK II Crusader Power Armor helmet, white as bone with a red visor, a crest adorning the headpiece to signify rank. A Centuria, this helmet was worn by, in wars long past. He gazed up grimly, if his eyes could have produced them, if his being itself was capable of it, he'd weep. In his shame, his rage, and his once swelling pride he saw the crest that had filled many of his dreams and nightmares, of glory, of shame.

The transport ship above, covered with machines and platforms meant for its deconstruction, still provided an atmosphere of elegance and power. Its stark white hull remained unsullied by dirt or rust, its golden adornment remained ever gallant and prideful. The seal of ship, the wolf with its yellow eyes, white crescent moon, and circular black background. The seal of the Luna Wolves, of his chapter…of his father.

Through unconscious action Penance pressed his forehead against the helmet's brow, his optical perception voluntarily deactivated. So many years had long since passed, too many lifetimes for most men to comprehend, so many sunrises, so many night falls, so many wars and parades. So many things to regret.

His brothers had joined him, finding other such artifacts that were laid on tables with probing wires and tools attempting to breach the thick metal to destroy, for their sacred secrets to be learned.

In sudden rage Penance smashed apart whole desks, shattered computers to bits. Retribute tore free a pauldron, then crushed the metal arms that had held it suspended. Rancor lifted desks and crushed them to ruin, coupled with Vendetta piercing servers with his claws.

"I believe we ought to let them be." Cestus said caution, stepping back slowly, "I've never seen an Astartes this enraged."

"So not normal?"

Cestus motioned for the Kriegsmen to file out, "Son, the past day has been anything but normal, and that is saying something."

Spartha nodded, pursing his lips as he saw Rancor toss a whole transport truck through the air, the vehicle nearly being disintegrated from the force of the throw coupled with its explosion, "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

With haste in mind, both parties of Guardsmen and Highlanders filed out with a fast march in mind. Their battle had left scorch marks and charred bodies in their wake, the affliction was oddly nowhere to be seen, as if it had never existed. From the depths of Cestus' intuition, he knew it had something to do with his immortal enemy and its influence on this world.

Before they could reach the mouth of the now ascending tunnel, a squad of Atlesians appeared, followed by Lieutenant Schnee and with whom could be assumed as Doctor Borage.

Winter was impassive and stoic with her usual Atlesian pride shining bright like a star, nothing impressive to the Lord Commissar who had trained stronger and scarier children. The doctor looked as if he'd blown a gasket, face red with anger, a vein popping out.

"You opened it, how dare you-"

"HOW DARE YOU!?" The Lord Commissar countered, his gaze like death, his cap lowered dangerously over his brow, marching up to the Atlesian doctor, his frame appearing even larger as he approached.

Winter and her soldiers stiffened, a fear they had only felt with when General Ironwood had lost his temper filled them, it still their movements as Cestus grasped Borage by his collar.

"You, filthy little heathen," Cestus hissed, raising the man up high, high enough that his feeble shoes kicked in the air, "do you have any idea of what exactly was down there? What you were even doing with it? Let alone who you've just pissed off?"

"I-I-wha-"

"You dared to trifle with equipment that belongs to the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines! You dishonored, you tampered, you pilfered equipment of a bygone era of heroes so ancient I don't even know what the hell it is!" He shook the doctor, making sure to smother him with absolute fear, "Technology so old that no unaltered man has witnessed its use. Pray, pray to the God Emperor that when the Astartes finish destroying your research that they don't kill your whole country."

Satisfied with the man's fearful pleading looks, he tossed him into the stack of white armor soldiers, glaring hotly at Winter, "Your family crest bears its name on that door, you best pray for your kin's sake that they knew nothing of this. The Enemy knew it was here, and I want to know why."

Winter felt a great weight encompass her heart, had her family known of this place? Of this equipment that Cestus and his people were familiar too? More importantly, were there more? And where?

"If you wanna try and parley with the big guys, they're right down there." Spartha coyly winked, lighting up a fresh cigar, "Be glad you didn't get your pretty uniforms dirty, heaven forbid you frosties do some actual work."

"We were busy fighting the Grimm that all of your fighting was attracting," Winter spat with vicious indignity, "whole swarms were coming out here, so much that local Huntsmen got involved."

Sergeant Spartha shrugged following after the Imperials, "So what? It's what they do."

"More witnesses, more questions." Winter said narrowing her eyes, "We do not need publicity for this facility, and your superiors would like a word with you."

Spartha rolled his eyes, "I'm sure they would."

Once having left the bunker, Cestus took the moment to appreciate a rising sun, washing away the darkness once more to bring life to the world. He savored the warmth for a moment, cracking his stiffened neck, 'Emperor preserve us.'

Ironwood, along with his new bride, were waiting for them with two other men. A man with the Kingdom of Vale's crest on his shoulder, peaked cap with a dark green tunic, pants, followed by black boots. There was another man, with a cane and scholarly clothes Cestus assumed would belong to a lower noble man, though he look far underwhelming compared to those kinds of Imperial royalty.

"Lieutenant," Sergeant Spartha said dryly, puffing out smoke from his nostrils, "just get outta bed did ya? Hope the commotion didn't ruin your beauty slee-"

"Spartha, shut the hell up. I should have you court martialed-"

"And I should shoot you myself," Cestus snarled, his bout of rage having yet been quenched, "no, no, I ought to have you lobotomized and made into a drink serving servitor for the rest of your insignificant life!"

The Valean Lieutenant stammered, seemingly caught off guard like a doe in oncoming traffic.

"What sort of self-respecting officer does not lead his men into battle, with sword, faith, and fury? What sort of officer sits back whilst his men fight the machinations of The Enemy?" Cestus bit the end of the cigar off, spitting out the bud, "Your man here not only faced hordes of the abominable, but he faced their champion. You should be congratulating him. As for the SDC logos I saw on that bunker."

Cestus and Ironwood shared a knowing glare between one another, his marriage to Freida or not, he's landed himself in hot water with the Imperials. Cestus spared the Kriegswoman in question a mere glance before meeting the General's gaze again, "Starza communicated with the machine spirits and opened it, everything in that bunker belongs to the Astartes again."

Ironwood frowned, nodding his head, "It belongs to Atlas-"

"It belongs to the Imperium of Mankind. It belongs to the seven-foot-tall men that have been around longer before your country was a concept. If you want to challenge them on that, then you have thousands of years, thousands of wars worth of experience down there looking for someone to kill."

"Gentlemen." The man with the cane said, "I believe its safe to say we all need to calm down and cease these hostilities."

Cestus narrowed his eyes at the man, his itchy blaming finger was coiled into a fist to reserve itself, "And who are you?"

The man's smile seemed off putting, his calm demeanor set off alarm bells that screamed trouble, "My name is Professor Ozpin, I am the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, and I believe I have some lost colleagues of yours at my school."

"Colleagues?" Cestus asked with a suspicious frown.

The man brought up a data pad, the Scroll as these heathens had called it. Cestus felt as if a great joke had been played on him, one that was as cruel as it was vast. A Tallarn Raider, Vostroyan First Born, another Tech Priest, by The Exalted Holy Golden Throne of Holy Terra the inheritor to the Romano line of Armageddon, and-

"This…this is one of my Kriegsmen."

"Yes, 345678-008976 Hansel, he had arrived here about a week or so ago."

"A week?" Cestus took a step back, running the numbers through his head, all of the Deathkommandos he had charted, "Where is my soldier?"

Ozpin hid away his Scroll, giving a somewhat sympathetic look, though knowing it'd be a futile gesture, "He was hospitalized after sustaining some wounds in a fight."

"Fight? What fight?"

"It appears that whatever was in that bunker did not come alone." Ozpin said with a cryptic tone but knowing look that resonated with the Lord Commissar.

Cestus stared at the man with incredulous horror, replaced soon with fury that could burn the skies of the world with hellfire, "Let's not waste time, the God Emperor's will be done, war has come to this world."

/

And there we have it folks, took me a year of bullshittery, your immeasurable patience, but I've done it. I updated a story instead of creating another story leading into nothing. We do not see our usual peerless heroes, this time we give more spotlight to the Lord Commissar and his not so merry band. The Space Marines have found great secrets, glory of a long distant past being handled by far lesser beings, they are not taking kindly to it. Now I know sone of you are also waiting for the DKRWBY Chibi that I must once again rob you of, I simply don't have the time to write it at the moment, I may update it in or just dedicate a whole chapter- that won't take a bastard long year- to make. As for my inopportune hiatus; moved, started a handsome paying job. It's not the most respectable, but it pays well even in this pandemic we are weathering- by the way, I had planned Bubonicos using his sorcerous bullshit long before this moment in history we now share. I know someone will want to be cute about it, fuck you, in advance. I probably won't be twenty thousand-word chapters again unless its for bigger events or the idea fairy really nips me. Until then, wash your fucking hands, sit back and have a good read.

Ya boi,

Doomsdayguy12345