+++++

Carvinia Prime, July M41.983

Engagement #445, the Carvinian Resurgance.

Sergeant Frenkis inhaled deeply, the bac-stick filling his lungs with the Emperor’s blessed breath. Waking up early, marching all day, guard duty all night was tiring work, doubly so for the man in command. If Frenkis had to reduce rations for his fifteen men so he could chain smoke, it was a small price to pay. They were as green as they came, and if it weren’t for him they would already be dead.

The sun had disappeared over the horizon some time ago. The Chaos forces formed no single army but rather was a ragtag collection of individual units. All over Carvinia, the some stupid fucker’s labours with warp-portals had borne fruit. Daemons, Cultists, and even a few traitor Astartes wandered the planet, flickering in and out of reality as the battles in the capital raged back and forth and the warp-powers fluctuated.

Out here in the wastelands, Frenkis’ squad had one duty: kill wandering cultists. The Navy was tracking a number of them in the area, fleeing the carnage that could be heard even hundreds of kilometers away. No matter where they wandered, the men of the Carvinian PDF would be waiting for them.

A rock tumbled down a nearby, high slope. Frenkis ignored it, certain it was only a bird. He finished his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. Pushing his helmet back as it fell over his eyes again (fucking Munitorium wouldn’t even give fitting equipment to a *Sergeant*), he indicated that Private Dirk should take over the patrol. Dirk nodded, and shuffled over to focus intently on the area where that bird was supposedly kicking rocks around.

“It’s just a bird, don’t get target fixation”

“Yes sir”. Dirk continued staring at the slope. The Sergeant shook his head and marched off to his tent. The kid was a write-off.

Several hours later, Frenkis replaced Dirk with another trooper and went to sleep. It would be a big day tomorrow, and a well-rested soldier was an effective soldier. It was too bad for the sod outside, but hey: the Guard was a team sport.

About an hour into his sleep, Frenkis heard the sounds of more rocks tumbling down that slope.

“By the fucking Emperor, nothing stays still around here…” he mumbled as he climbed out of his sack to check on the patrolling soldier. The Sergeant emerged from his tent, strapping on his helmet and carrying his lasgun in one hand and could not help but notice that the sentry was missing.

“Kyt! Hey Kyt! Where the fuck are you, you Emperor-damned moron!”

Another rock fell down the slope, but this time the Sergeant didn’t have time to write it off as a bird before a bolter shot took his head off.

>>2683692

I c wut u did.

Galvanised into action by the distinctive sound, the thirteen remaining Guardsmen leaped out from their tents clutching weapons and helmets, adjusting their night vision and moving to surround the small camp. Thirteen lasguns pointed outwards into the darkness as twenty six wide eyes watched carefully for what had killed Kyt and the Sergeant. As the minutes wore on, the thoughts of the Guardsmen carried over to how fucked they were if there was a Chaos Astartes out there.

Unfortunately, they were so wrong.

Before any of them could react, four Alpha Legion Marines emerged from four different directions and began pumping shots into the terrified Guardsmen. One of them leaped down the slope that was too steep to scale, firing as he fell. Lasgun shots answered them as the human soldiers dropped to their knees to fire, leaped for cover, or were blown to pieces. The second in command, a Corporal, screamed something that sounded like “HOLD FIRM” as he clutched the massive wound of his shoulder. Dirk took a hit to the leg just as the Corporal expired from blood loss, and as he fell screaming another Guardsman landed on top of him, headless and already gone. Before he passed out, he heard several more shots being fired before the Alpha Legion moved on.

The next day, several PDF Stormtroopers came to recover Dirk and the other survivors. Dirk had his leg replaced with a cybernetic enhancement, and from that day he would flinch whenever he heard a rock tumble down a dirt slope.

+++++

His shaking fingers clumsily turned the pages, the words calming him. He had long ago understood that the Uplifting Primer was more uplifting than practical and learned to clear his mind of all rebellious thoughts as he read. In the darkness of the dropship, surrounded by no noise but the quiet breathing of his fellows and with the pages of the Primer for sustenance, his hands began to calm down.

He read on, hoping that his next flashback would be more positive than the first one:

“Looking around corner- Only head exposed.”

…Headshot…

As he disappeared into his own past once more, Dirk’s eyes began to water.

+++++

Carvinia Prime, July M41.986

The Sunset Insurgency

She was beautiful. Her hands grasped a handful of his blonde hair as she straddled him, her back arching slightly as she entered the final throes. Dirk’s eyes were closed to better concentration on the sensation. The sensation of her skin against his hands, her thighs against his, every bead of sweat, the sound of her moans, the softness of her rhythmic grinding. It only lasted a minute longer, but the sensation of it remained so much longer.

She fell forward onto him, planting a kiss on his forehead and closing her eyes as she enjoyed the last of it. Dirk placed his hands on the small of her back and lay where he was, the smell of her long blonde hair enveloping him.

Life on Carvinia was better these days, it really was. His leg bothered him less, his military service was over, and he had Nylessa.

Nylessa was a young nurse who had taken care of him after he lost his leg. It was the fantasy of every wounded soldier to elope with one of their nurses, but it came true only for a very lucky few. Dirk, for which he thanked the Emperor every day, was one of them.

>>2683888
I bet she dies.

>>2683903

Dur.

>>2683903
I bet they both die. Or they're both possessed by daemons...

Nylessa inhaled deeply, opened her eyes and smiled. Dirk felt his excitement growing once more, but it was not to be:

“I’m sorry Dirk, but I really should get the stuff for dinner.”

“Oh come on, I can eat later…”

“You can do anything late, but the shops close early. I’ll be back in ten.” Dirk propped himself onto his elbow and watched he dress and leave. As he heard the door close, he pulled himself out of bed. Ten minutes was plenty of time for some training.

The war being over and the PDF having discharged him, Dirk by all rights could have retired to a life bereft of training or discipline. However, he blamed himself for the massacre of his fellows several years ago and swore that he would never again fail so completely. Every day since he had recovered, he had dedicated himself to weapons training, both ranged and hand to hand, as well as unarmed fighting and conditioning. He did not plan to fight in any more wars, but paranoia had been a hallmark of his since the ambush and he trusted nobody. Except Nylessa, of course. In the aftermath of his near-death experience, she was the best thing in life.

Ten minutes passed, and by that time Dirk was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Throwing the knife he was training with into a practice board, he wiped his face with a towel and headed for the front door to wait for his wife’s arrival.

As he stepped out the front door, he saw smoke off in the distance, in the direction of the shops. Curious and slightly apprehensive, Dirk began running in that direction to see what was happening. The noises and smells he experienced as he approached did little to make him feel better. When he rounded the final corner before the shopping plaza, he emerged into the Eye of Terror itself.

Type faster.

Hey you know I do have ...er the USMC "primer". As I did serve 5. I'll look through it again and see if I can't find something /tg/ would find useful.

>>2684002

How is that relevant? OP already has a copy of the Uplifting Primer.

>>2684027
He has a pretend primer.

>>2684031
The IG's primer is actuallly a funny ass book that exists.

I really should type up the USMC green book. It's "primer" for recruits. It's so dry.

>>2683686
omg primer its primer

Somebody had obviously turned a small flamer on others in the midst of a large crowd, setting a number of stalls on fire in the process. Scores of people had been burned to death and scores more lashed about on the ground in a world of agony, their injuries ranging from burned arms and legs to burns that would be fatal no matter the attention given. Adeptus Arbites troopers surrounded the area, and by the looks of it had apprehended the man responsible. The murderer screamed as he clutched the bloody stump of his left leg bound in a tourniquet: the Arbites were obviously not going to let him die that easily. Officers with riot shields and shocksticks held back members of the crowd as they surged forward to take vigilante justice on the killer. The Arbites commanding officer was a clever man, and he ordered his men to begin torturing the freshly-wounded amputee to appease the crowd. Dirk quickly turned away as an Arbites began crushing the man’s fingers with his heavy boots and began looking for Nylessa.

“NYLESSA! NYLESSAAAAAAAAA!”

This went on for some time, and as it became apparent that she was not answering Dirk began stopping passersby to ask about her. He pulled a picture from a pocket and waved it in front of the face of several Arbites, who told him to move along. By the Emperor’s good graces, one of them knew who he was talking about:

“I saw her, she’s alive. She’ll be in holding around the back”. The black-armoured trooper pointed to a makeshift marshalling area where a growing number of unwounded civilians were being detained to ensure the pyromaniac had had no accomplices.

Dirk ran to the Arbites-guarded group and tried to push through, but was brutally knocked back. Hand on his ribs, Dirk tried to convince the officer to let him see his wife:

“I fought in the war, let me see my wife!” The dark visored guard shook his head:

“Move along, citizen.” Dirk would have continued to argue, but the sound of shouting from a nearby building distracted him.

“We are the Carvinian Sunset! We will return our planet to glory! Death to the Emperor’s dogs!”

Lasguns appeared from the windows of the two-floor market building and began firing. One of the lasbolts hit a member of the crowd guarded by the Arbites as they scattered to meet this terrorist thread. Dirk saw a flash of blood and long blonde hair, heard a gurgling scream, and then the thud of a corpse hitting the ground. Dirk knew who had been killed.

He had failed again.

As the chaos of a street battle erupted around him, the ex-Guardsman fell the ground and started crying.

+++++

F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5

>>2684151

Patience is a virtue. A shit one, I admit, but still.

>>2684201
F5uck you.

rolled 9 = 9

"The pretty girl dies" is an overused plot device. It's honestly grown boring.

The OP's writefaggotry is high quality, but he could have done something less cliche.

This Dirk is one lucky son of a bitch for surviving, but he's also the unluckiest cocksucker around for everyone he knows and loves DIEING!

>>2684255

Agreed, but I'm willing to wait through to the end to see what happens with it all.

He wiped his eyes: the tears made the synthflesh of his lower face itch, and he was already uncomfortable enough in the heat of the dropship. Even after so long, it seemed that he still bore the scars of that day as freshly as ever. Having been hit by a lasbolt in the chin as he lay on the ground that day, his lower face had been badly mutilated. His mouth had been repaired and the skin replaced with synthflesh that was not the right colour, but he was lucky to have been repaired at all since he couldn’t pay for it.

The price, of course, was further service in the Guard. At least there were some real retirement benefits for a Stormtrooper.

After the memories of his dead wife had assailed him, Dirk’s fingers were shaking again. He continued to read the Primer, and began to wonder if he had any good memories after all.

“Every ship is protected from the many dangers of the warp by sacred inscriptions, protective veins covering the hull and a strong force bubble maintained by dedicated teams of adepts of the Machine God. These things all combine to keep the denizens of the warp out and incapable of infecting the minds of those on board.”

By the fucking Emperor, not this one…

+++++

>>2684269
I think that WAS the end.

If there's more I hope he falls to chaos or something. Nobody ever writefags about falling to chaos.

>>2684281
Disregard that, I suck cocks.

>>2684281
there was the Telemachus stuff about falling away from chaos.

>>2684278
FALL. FALL. FALL. FALL. FALL. FALL.

+++++

Navy Battleship ‘The Flaming Gilded Claymore of Unyielding Fury of the Emperor’s Relentless Justice and Eternal Vigilance’, M41.990

Binding of the ‘Claymore Daemon’

Chief Astropath Myre of the Battleship ‘The Flaming Gilded Claymore of Unyielding Fury of the Emperor’s Relentless Justice and Eternal Vigilance’ smiled as he guided his ship through the dangerous traverses of the warp. While technically it was the Captain’s ship, since it was Myre’s duty to…well, fuck the Captain.

Myre’s thoughts were scattered and the only thing he could focus on for any amount of time was the warp. The warp was beautiful: the undulating currents, the incredible energies, the pretty colours. It was also incredibly dangerous, but the Claymore’s Gellar Field was stable enough to keep the ship and its occupants safe from the daemons raging against its walls.

No sooner had that thought passed his mind than the Astropath felt a disturbance in a section of the ships’ Gellar Field. His mind’s eye widened in horror as some problem on the ship allowed a single entity to enter the ship. A single entity, the most powerful warp being in the vicinity, ghosted aboard before the breach was corrected.

The incompetent fools! Myre would continue to guide the ship safely for now, but he felt it best to inform the Captain that his incompetence had probably doomed the ship.

+++

Captain Forrughan busily ordered the stabilization of the ship’s systems after a mechanical error had caused a brief flicker in the Gellar Field. There was no telling what had crept aboard in the brief moment it was weakened, but in all honesty Forrughan doubted there was any real danger to himself or his ship: of the armed men aboard, there was an entire company of Imperial Stormtroopers who could handle any problem that arose.

A deck officer ran to deliver a message to the Captain:

“Sir, a message from the Chief Astropath”. Forrughan snorted.

“That queer? What’s he say?” The deck officer nervously handed him a small dataslate, which the Captain read. After several seconds silence, the Captain responded with a curt ‘fuck’. He considered the situation for a moment and decided not to pull ‘The Flaming Gilded Claymore of Unyielding Fury of the Emperor’s Relentless Justice and Eternal Vigilance’ out of warpspace, as the Gellar Field was fully active and they had a deadline to meet.

“Get those Stormtroopers off their asses and after this thing. I don’t want it interfering with my ship or my crew.” The deck officer saluted and left to execute the Captain’s orders.

+++

In the civilian section of the Imperial Battleship, hundreds of people of varying occupations waited to arrive at their destination. They had been initially alarmed by the wailing klaxons that went off when the Gellar Field flickered, but were now quite calm. The Battleship’s destination would see new lives begin for all of these people, and most of them were quite focused on that concept. However, there were a number of exceptions.

One of them was eight year old Mala. A pale, sickly and frail girl with long black hair, Mala was a very clever daughter of a very clever woman, a doctor. She was well liked by adults who were naturally protective of her weak physical disposition, but did not fare as well with those her own age. Her mother was working, so Mala was practicing her writing. Her black hair kept falling in front of her eyes, and she kept pushing it back.

A noise like dripping water grabbed her attention, and Mala turned around to see what it was.

A black necrosis was growing from within the wall, and quickly getting larger. Fascinated by the phenomenon, Mala continued to watch as the dark growth spread until it was larger than her. Around the growth, the wall began to run as if it was melting. Enraptured, Mala could not help but take a few steps forward to touch it.

The black growth grabbed hold of her finger and spread over her body in the space of a few seconds, and Mala’s screams were cut short as the necrosis reached her throat. Filling her mouth, seeping into her skin and invading every part of her body, the deadly black cloud disappeared completely as Mala absorbed its malevolent power. In response, her body quickly changed.

Her lips cracked, her skin began to dry up, her hair and nails grew longer and her teeth became pointed. The blackness spread to her eyes until they were pools of pure night.

Licking her lips, Mala was overwhelmed by the sudden desire to see what her mother tasted like.

Writefag here. I have to fail a little and GTFO for the next hour, but I'll be back with moar.

>The Flaming Gilded Claymore of Unyielding Fury of the Emperor’s Relentless Justice and Eternal Vigilance

lol

>>2684360

>Licking her lips, Mala was overwhelmed by the sudden desire to see what her mother tasted like.


LESBIAN SEX AM I RITE?

MOAR

Keepin' 'er up will the writfag gets back.

Back. Will start writing again momentarily.

>>2684932
Wunderbar!

Bamp.

that has to be the best name for an imperial ship.

*12 hours later*

Dirk, now a Stormtrooper for two years, breathed heavily into his respirator as he stalked the hellish hallways of the Battleship, alone. Hellgun raised in a defensive position, every hair on his body was standing on end and he flinched at every little noise he heard. Some noises were benign, such as the regular clanking of an Imperial ships’ operation. Other noises were more worrying, such as the sound of bones and flesh being chewed on by the zombified monstrosities that stalked the ship.

He was alone, having been unfortunate enough to be separated from the other men of his unit when it all started. They started getting reports of a slaughter in the civilian section of the ship, some bullshit about a little girl tearing people to pieces and eating them. The people she killed were apparently then ‘resurrecting’ as some sort of possessed corpse no matter how grievous the damage done to their body was. Dirk had been briefed on the capabilities of Plague Zombies, who were one of the least threatening foes a Stormtrooper was trained to face. These Daemon Zombies, however, were very different. A result of being attacked by this daemongirl running amok on the ship, these zombies were fast, strong, and almost impossible to kill. A Hellgun, when professionally wielded, was capable of blowing a human in half. Even that did not stop these possessed corpses: their bodies were merely a vessel, and nothing could stop the malevolent power inside of them short of the absolute obliteration of their physical form.

They also fed on the dead, spreading the possession. Whatever had turned the Claymore into a charnel house, it was too powerful for one Stormtrooper to handle. His vox crackled, thankfully breaking the threatening semi-silence:

“We’re approaching your position now. Stay quiet; we’ll only be a couple more minutes”.

>>2685229
bet hell be the last man alive.

>>2685242
Cursed with survival?

>>2685256
but in a bad way.

>>2685229

For a moment there I thought this was gonna to turn to be a AND THEN DIRK WAS A ZOMBIE style post.

Whew.

>>2685242
poor bet. He isn't going to get rid of these zombies on his own.

>>2685315
This is a flashback. OBVIOUSLY he survives. Maybe even kills them all by himself, a la 99% of all FPS, where you're the only one with any sort of talent. All your allies are superior in one aspect. They're better at dying.

Why does dirk remind me of the DOOM guy?

>>2685327
No, I'm saying that his survival won't be own his own. He's not a hero of any sort, just a soldier, and he isn't going to stop an entire horde of chaos zombies by himself.

This shit is shit.
This shit sucks.

>>2685354
he will, however, miraculously be the last survivor.
But only after he witnesses the horrible slaughter of his comrades.

>>2685355

YOU suck.

Stepping carefully and avoiding unnecessary noise, Dirk took a position where he could easily watch all approaches to where he waited on one of the ship’s many hallways. Somewhere else in the ship, bursts of autogun fire could be heard. The Stormtrooper tried not to imagine what was happening to the naval personnel without weapons. The Naval Armsmen, not formed into units like the Stormtroopers but instead spread about the ship in pairs, had been overrun in the lower levels of the ship and turned into a deadlier enemy: zombies with guns.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of movement further down the darkened hallway, his armour’s sensory enhancements having kept him alive so far. Since whoever was approaching wasn’t sprinting or screaming like a maniac, it was almost certainly his fellows.

A number of Stormtroopers moved into his view, weapons raised. The glowing green goggles that each elite soldier wore gave them away, and Dirk for a moment hoped that none of the Stormtroopers on board the Claymore had been compromised.

“That guy over there better be you, Dirk.” one of them asked over the vox.

“Affirmative. I could only get in contact with you guys, what’s the status of the rest of the company?”

“Whatever started all of this has fucked our vox past a certain range. All we know about the whole situation is that a lot of people are dead and a lot of people are still alive. We need to get the fuck into gear.” Dirk nodded, and joined the rest of the troopers.

“Where are we headed and who’s in charge?”

“I’m the ranking officer around-” replied the Stormtrooper, whose uniform marked him as a Corporal, “-and I say we’re heading to the bridge. We’ve dropped out of the warp, but we’re fucked without the Captain or Astropa-“

A massive explosion rocked the soldiers, knocking several of them from their feet. The red alarm klaxons began wailing again, bathing the ship in a hellish light.

“By the Emper-“

An even louder *CLANG* echoed throughout the ship as something very large was dislodged and fell to a lower deck, knocking all of the Stormtroopers to the ground.

“What the fuck was that!? This place is falling apart, let’s move. We’ve got four levels to climb, and we have to take the stairs.”

“It’s the 41st millennium and we’re using fucking stairs…” complained one of the soldiers.

“Shut your mouth boy, you’re in the Guard. You should be used to outdated load-of-fuck tech by now.”

“If I was a Space Marine-“

“You’d be a lot bigger and I wouldn’t be telling you to shut the fuck up. If you talk again, I’ll blow your dick off.”

“Yessir.” The Stormtrooper conceded.

The group began moving, and Dirk found the presence of his fellows extremely comforting despite the surroundings. He had done well to survive alone, but he much preferred to survive in a group.

Reaching the stairs, the soldiers began to climb. They kept up a good pace, the heavily conditioned and experienced men making light work of the climb. Their armour was not powered, however, and carapace plates were very heavy. After several minutes the pace slowed down, and no sooner had their climbing speed evened out did everything fall apart.

RUN DIRK RUN!

Fuck, it's almost 6 in the morning and I can't bring myself to go to sleep before I know what happens to Dirk. Continue, noble writefag, continue!

The bestial screaming of countless daemonzombies immediately filled the air as they launched out of their hiding places with every ounce of unnatural energy they possessed. Their mutilated, bloody bodies in various states of fatal injury moved as quickly as any normal man; Dirk could not help but notice their nails had grown into long stabbing implements and their teeth were much sharper. As soon as they appeared, the Stormtroopers began firing as the Corporal began bellowing orders.

“Climb another flight, they’ll have to climb to get us!” No sooner had he said it, the sound of frenzied footsteps bounding down metal steps echoed from above. The same noises could be heard from below.

“Ambush!”

“I thought these fuckers were idiots!?”

“Fuck up and shoot!”

The massive impacts of well-aimed and fully-automatic Hellgun fire had impressive results against the unarmoured bodies of the zombies, blowing them to pieces. The problem was that something as serious to a normal human as a headshot or exploded chest would not kill these foes, and they continued attacking despite incredible injuries. A grenade thrown by the Corporal immolated a number of them, and Dirk wished they had a flamer unit with them. In the chaos of battle, the thought of the burning zombies reminded him of his dead wife. Tempted as he was to fly into a rage and charge at the wailing beasts assaulting him, he wisely refrained from doing so.

More zombies began pouring out of further away sections of the ship, above and below, and as their numbers grew they drew closer and closer to the beleaguered Stormtroopers. One of them got close enough to slash at a soldier’s head, but received a boot and a hellgun blast to the face for its trouble. Another zombie leaped from a higher floor and landed on one of the troopers, frenziedly tearing at his carapace armour. Its claws had little effect on the armoured plates, but the unarmoured sections of the Stormtrooper’s body were rent asunder under the creature’s assault. The man screamed and thrashed, managing to dislodge the attacker as another soldier dispatched it.

A poorly aimed blast of autogun fire caused Dirk to duck, and he saw that there were several ex-Naval Armsmen firing wildly in their direction.

“Target the ones with guns!” the Corporal ordered immediately.

>>2685489

>*CLANG*

>What the fuck was that!?

A bullet hit Dirk’s helmet, and by the Emperor’s grace it was deflected. The impact sent him reeling backwards, and he tumbled over a railing to a lower level, landing on a number of the zombies. Pulling his monomolecular-edged combat knife, he began screaming and wildly slashing at the zombies as two of the Stormtroopers yelled in alarm and began firing to support him. Massive claws slashed at him, the armour protecting his vital organs but parts of his arms and legs being torn to pieces. He pulled a grenade from his belt and dropped it under himself as he dropped his knife, intending to take the fuckers with him.

One of the zombies then inexplicably picked him up and threw him just as the grenade exploded, annihilating the ground that was attacking Dirk. The blast sent him hurtling down another flight of stairs, but his carapace kept him safe from the shrapnel. Dizzy from the impact, he thanked the Emperor that a Hellgun was attached to its powerpack as he hefted the large laser and began firing at the zombies around him as he climbed the stairs backwards, hoping he would be able to rejoin his comrades.

From above, the sound of a chuckling young girl somehow drowned out the fighting. Before he could register the unnatural noise, the sound of a screaming Stormtrooper being thrown down two flights of stairs jerked his gaze upwards. The man fell quickly and landed heavily, breaking his ribs. The sound of choking erupted from the soldier’s respirator, and blood began gushing from the man’s helmet as he died. Dirk dared a glance upward as he fought off the scattered zombies on the lower floor and saw a small girl with abnormally long black hair slaughtering the soldiers. Her strength was phenomenal; she punched the Corporal in his upper thigh, completely shattering the leg. As he fell, she pushed his head back into the wall, breaking his neck. A Hellgun blast took off one of her arms, but it did not slow her down in the slightest. Split between the daemongirl in their midst and the assault zombies surrounding them, the small unit of Stormtroopers were eventually overrun in an orgy of bloodletting that Dirk could scarcely bear to hear, let alone watch.

One of the zombies leaped from above and he shot it out of the air. It landed upon him, knocking the air from his lungs. He closed his eyes briefly as he threw the thrashing zombie off of him, but when he opened them all he could see was the insane grin of an eight year girl, black hair framing her face as blood dripped from her sharpened teeth. Her eyes were pure black malevolence.

“I hope you taste as good as you smell, mister…”

She opened her mouth, revealing a number of fanglike teeth and a pointed tongue that was thick with gore. With incredible strength she tore off his helmet, spraining his neck. Teeth gritted in hopeless defiance, Dirk could not help but notice that zombies were not attacking. So she was the cause of it all, then.

“I hope you burn as well as you talk, you little fucking whore!” Spitting in her face, Dirk hit the activation stud on one of his krak grenades. The daemon in the girl saw the danger, but Dirk grabbed her by the arm as she turned to flee. Pulling the grenade from his belt with the other hand, he attached it to her face. As strong as she was, Dirk held on to her arm just long enough.

The last thing he saw was fear, and a krak grenade, on the face of an eight year old girl.

+++++

>>2685707
....i lol'd.

Dirk is all man.

What a man, he destroyed the demon. Now when the admech comes to reclaim the ship they won't have to kill anything.

Dirk flashed back into reality, and wondered if he was dead. That memory always gave him that effect, and he supposed he would never know how he survived the blast when the daemon didn’t. After her death, the zombies went back to being regular corpses and Dirk woke up on an operating table surrounded by Servitors and sisters of the Ordo Hospitaller. Apparently, most of his torso had been rebuilt but the carapace armour had performed far beyond its grading and allowed him to survive a point blank krak grenade blast. There was something about the warp backlash of the daemon’s death absorbing much of the blast’s energy, but Dirk didn’t know a lot about that sort of thing.

With a mechanical ribcage, Dirk had found that he was all-round more resilient and more effective as a soldier. His experiences had left him physically scarred, but Inquisitorial screening had found him bereft of any spiritual mutation. Excessive paranoia, depression and post traumatic stress disorder were acceptable conditions for service as an Inquisitorial Stormtrooper, and in light of his performance and experience he had been shortly after selected as an elite soldier in the entourage of Inquisitor Hyde, Ordo Hereticus.

His hands were shaking more violently than ever, but at least he was distracted. He turned a few pages and read something random:

“Lictors are the larger members-“

Not a chance, he thought. He skipped to somewhere else.

Writefag here: we're on the last leg now.

“Another warning sign is the sight of vile daubings and disgusting graffiti staining walls of buildings. The insidious enemy will seek to undermine your courage by placing potent icons and symbols…”

Dirk sighed, knowing that this would simply bring him to the present.

“Execute operation.” The voice of Inquisitor Hyde ordered from the internal vox-units of the hidden dropship.

Surprised that it came so early, he immediately detached his backpack and left his Primer sitting on top of it. This operation was a covert one, and as such they were not in uniform nor were they armoured. The details of the operation would mostly reveal themselves in time, but Dirk had enough suspicions that his hands were telling him it would not be pleasant.

They had been hiding in the powered down dropship for days, waiting for the order. Now they moved out under the cover of darkness to infiltrate the nearby entrance to the temple catacombs. The Inquisitor had found it after careful searching and interrogation of local cultists, which was not in line with his regular modus operandi. Hyde was a “Fire and flames” kind of Inquisitor who even went so far as to collect the heads of cult leaders he slew, and Dirk found it inexplicably disturbing that he was having them infiltrate and assassinate the leaders of a cult instead of just wiping the whole cult out.

>>2685801
>last leg

hahahahaha

>>2685811

ಠ_ಠ

The plan was to move along the catacombs, emerge in the cult’s inner cloister and simply knife the Chaos priests inside there. The idea was that no alarm would be raised, the epicenter of the cult would be captured, and then heavy explosives would be planted to collapse the entire Tzeentchian dungeon. The twelve Stormtroopers assigned to the mission, Dirk included, were some of the hardest men in Segmentum Pacificus. Hyde had apparently rounded them up after years of searching to select the most hard-bitten, luckiest, most capable, amoral killers he could find. Dirk sometimes wondered if he was those things, and came to the conclusion that he was less capable than lucky. If one believed strongly in the Emperor, which he didn’t, then that was a sign of being chosen. Perhaps that was the Inquisitor’s reasoning.

Moving through the catacombs, knives drawn and dressed only in tight black night-fighting clothing, the soldiers emerged in the inner cloister without a hitch. The secret passageway must have been forgotten, because while it opened with some effort there were no guards or impedances of any kind.

The twelve men climbed lightly out, and found that they were in a very old, primarily rock cathedral. The walls were garbed with symbols of Chaos and Tzeentch, and heretical paint daubed the roof. Priests in purple robes went about their business carrying books, cursed artifacts and candles and praying to the Lord of Change.

Dirk, in command of the team, signaled the attack. With their movement fast and footfall light, the twelve of them spread throughout the building and began their grim work before any of the priests could raise the alarm. A single strangled cry was the only noise any of the twenty or so cultists made before they were all lying tangled on the floor in pools of their own blood. Mission accomplished, Dirk began to plan the explosives.

The sound of movement from the catacombs grabbed Dirk’s attention, and he ordered two of his men to check it out. The waited over the exit for whoever was down there to emerge, knives raised. When the person did emerge, their knives did not fall.

“Inquisitor Hyde? What are you doing here?” asked Dirk when he saw who the man was.

The old, wizened man with short silver hair was dressed in purple robes not unlike that of the cultists that had been killed. He smiled and replied:

“I’m just here to make sure things go right.” His smile widened, and Dirk did not like the expression at all. His hands began to shake again, which was irregular when on a mission. What’s more, Hyde’s voice was oddly muffled, as if he had something in his mouth.

“What’s the matter, my good man?” the Inquisitor asked with seemingly genuine concern.

“Nothing, my Lord. We have planted the explosives. Shall we detonate them?” The Inquisitor laughed.

“Allow me.” He pulled a small activation stud from his robes and punched it as Dirk cried out in protest, expecting to be blown to pieces.

Instead, a soft hissing escaped from the ‘explosives’ as a powerful soporific spread throughout the room, incapacitating the Stormtroopers who would normally be protected against such weapons if they were armoured. They fell to the floor, dropping their weapons. Dirk looked up at Hyde weakly, and the older man opened his mouth wide to show a small respirator in his throat. He closed his mouth, smiled once more.

“Wh-wh…” protested the Stormtrooper leader weakly. All around the room, his men faded into various states of drug-addled bliss. Dirk passed out.

+++

NOOOOO DIRK

When he awoke, he was in the same room. The difference was that the purple-robed Inquisitor now wore a Tzeentchian sigil around his neck and was accompanied by other similarly garbed priests. Also of note was the fact that Dirk and his men were bound with chains, surrounding the large altar in the middle of the room. There was a large pile of heads on the floor around them, many of whom Dirk recognized.

Finding that the power of speech had somewhat returned, Dirk demanded an explanation:

“What the fuck are you doing, Hyde!? In the Emperor’s name, you dare betray us, His loyal servants? You’ll burn, you fucking scumbag! You’ll burn!” he spat.

Politely bemused by the outburst, Hyde decided he would answer the initial question.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m become a daemon prince is what I’m doing. And yes, let me tell you how.” The rogue Inquisitor seemed to bask in his own magnificence for a moment, then continued:

“What is happening now has been in motion for longer than you can imagine. I have been in the service of the Lord of Change, Tzeentch, for decades. I swore back then I would become a daemon prince and live forever, and ever since then Tzaan himself has supported me in everything I have done.

My Lord finally revealed to me about ten years ago what I would need to do to become one with the warp. I required arcane knowledge that myself and my fellows here only possess for a warp ritual. I required the flesh of fifty Tzeentchian cultists, which I have spent the better part of these ten years collecting. In fact, you’ve helped me collect quite a few of them, good Dirk.

And finally, I require the flesh of 12 men who are dead inside, but still pure hearted. I had to search the entire Segmentum for men such as you: men who have failed so completely during your lives that you gave up on the joy of it. Men who have lost so much and experienced so much, and killed so many. Men who have defied certain death on more occasions than can be counted. Every experience of your entire life has shaped you to make you perfect for this moment. You men are chosen by Tzeentch himself, and you men are the ones I need for this ritual.” He looked directly at Dirk, who was no more or less enraged than his soldiers.

“You are a chosen one indeed, Dirk. Have you ever wondered why your hand shakes? That’s your blessing! Subconsciously, you can see the future. You have latent potential the likes of which you could not possibly realize. Your hand tells you when you are about to die, but then it doesn’t happen. Why? Because the Lord of Change watches over you, Dirk. He is watching you now, and your blessing shall become my power.

Is your hand shaking now, Dirk? Has it stopped shaking?” Dirk noticed it had, and the Inquisitor grinned in triumph.

“Then, indeed, this is the end of you, chosen of Tzeentch.”

>>2685976
oh wow

The Inquisitor and his acolytes began to chant the words of some ancient mantra in an unknown language, and the sound of it hurt Dirk’s ears. The air in the room began to burn his eyes as a blue light appeared above the altar. He could taste the foul magick in the air as the ritual gained power, and eventually the fifty heads of Tzeentch cult leaders began to levitate. The Stormtroopers were also dragged towards the growing blue light as if it had its own gravitational field, their chains holding them firm for now. As the blue light grew into what was now apparently a portal, Dirk could see the currents of the warp flowing through it. It hurt his mind to comprehend the roiling torrents of insanity through the portal, but he could not look away. The entire room began to shake.

With a sudden flash and a tearing of reality, a massive bird-like daemon, a Lord of Change, was spat from the portal. It towered over the Inquisitor, who rose his hands in triumph.

“Lord Tzeentch, grant me what was promised! I, Inquisitor Hyde, who duped the Inquisition for so many years to serve you, have done what was asked! Grant me my reward!”

The massive Greater Daemon exhaled, a deep rumbling sound. It then turned to look straight at Dirk.

“Chosen one, Tzeentch has finally selected you.”

“W-wh-“ Hyde stammered.

“Be silent!” bellowed the massive daemon. The skin around Hyde’s mouth and his lips ran like jelly and reformed as a flat nothingness, effectively removing his mouth. The man’s eyes widened in surprised and he fell backwards, clutching his face. The Lord of Change turned back to Dirk.

“As I said: you have been chosen.” The daemon’s gaze traveled over each of the soldiers. “You have all been chosen.”

“…What do you mean, daemon?” Dirk inquired.

“The Inquisitor is correct in a sense: what is happening here right now is the culmination of Tzeentch’s workings in many places over much time. All of your men, and especially you, are special. All of you have survived things you should not have survived, all of you have experienced things few men have. From birth, Tzeentch marked you all as exceptional servants. He watched over you, yet it was through your own ability and initiative that you have proven yourself as soldiers worthy to serve Tzeentch. You all have your destinies in his service. The role of the poor Inquisitor here was to bring you all together.

You, Dirk, are to become a warrior of the dark gods. You are to become an Astartes, and you will fight until Tzeentch deems you prepared to ascend. That day, death will no longer challenge you: your hand will stop shaking, and you will have evolved from a dog of the Emperor to a chosen servant of the dark gods.”

“And if I refuse?” The Greater Daemon bellowed in laughter, sound that echoed throughout the minds of those present.

“Everything, my dear mortal, is exactly as planned.”

It was now Dirk’s turn to laugh, and he cackled insanely in his own personal triumph until his voice was hoarse. The Greater Daemon seemed displeased.

“What amuses you?” Dirk continued laughing until he literally could not laugh any more, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, by the Emperor. I understand now. I am just a living pile of ‘fuck you’ when it comes to Tzeentch, and now is time to prove it. Your god may be the god of overarching plots, but I’m the god of just being fucking lucky!

Remember those bombs I brought for the Inquisitor to supposedly blow this place up? I have one of them left, in my back pocket. I can feel it, it’s poking into my ass. It’s there because whenever I’m on a dropship, I wear my backpack so I can pull out my Primer and maybe a drink of water or a cookie now and then.” Dirk began laughing again.

“My backpack has a hole in the bottom of it. This little melta bomb has been in the back of my backpack for so long, and it fell into my pants earlier. The best thing about this melta bomb, which is here completely on accident, is that it has a five minute timer that is activated on the bomb itself. Strapped to the floor as I am, I must have pressed it. By my count, we’ve got about eight seconds.

How can I be the chosen one if we’re all dead? My name is Dirk, and I’m the luckiest bastard in the universe! Suck my dick, Tzeentch!”

Just as planned?

Fin. Hope you enjoyed it.

YAY GO DIRK!

This ending greatly pleases me. Well done, dear fag.

ZUVASSIN IS PLEASED

>>2686008
fuck yeah!

Best. Death. Ever.

>>2686008
And then it turns out that it was also a gas bomb, full of zzz gas.

the style changed significantly at teh end there, not quite satisfied but it was a GOOD END for poor dirk

>>2686040

Which Dirk has an obscure reaction to and dies from.

Drawfag of Dirk (who looks like doomguy) going "SUCK MY DICK TZEENTCH".

Well played OP.

More of this.

And then Dirk was Tzeentch

I Tzeentch'd

Not as planned.

Archived.

>>2686020
MALAL IS PLEASED.

Malah is hanging with the Squats because neither of them exi

I actually got one of those warm, fuzzy feelings from reading the end.

Hugely enjoyable.

>>2686413
NECOCHO IS PLEASED

>>2686600
NECHOCHO IS MALAL IS ZUVASSIN IS PLEASED

A most entertaining read writfag, well done.

My only complaint is that Dirk gets a bit too talky at the end and it feels kinda, I dunno, weird.

But overall very awesome. Loved the bit with the krak grenade.

>>2686704

He probably talks more because he's about to die. That might force a few changes, who knows.

Moar

>>2686704

The fact is the whole thing is studded with memes and jokes, and /tg/. It sounds like after this, they all get rezzd and go on the next raid.

>>2686704

I think the talky bit at the end was perfect actually. He's feeling an overwhelming wall of emotions, vindication, anger, triumph, desperation, bitterness... and as a tactical decision, he also wants to keep talking to consume the last few seconds on the bomb timer.

It was completely in-character for Dirk, being both an experienced soldier and a very jaded human being.

Well done!

And yes, I also felt that the thing was littered with in-jokes, though I only noticed the little girl and just as planned.

Oh, one very small error. The "bac-stick" in the beginning should be "lho-stick". It's not just tobacco, but a mild narcotics.

awesome

For extra lol, the rest of the stormtroopers, who are also luckiest bastards of the universe, revealed that they also have various explosives, bombs, grenades, sloshing around in their pants.

Awesome writefaggotry here. Hope to see more work from you in the future anon.

*clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap*

Awesome job, writefag.

Heh, I especially appreciated this, since my name is Dirk... and unlike Johns, Harrys, etc, it's not often that I see fictional characters with my name (some notable exceptions apply).

Well done

This was very, very good and you need to write moar.

This writefag gains infinite points just for CLANG...WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

Best use of the line so far.

YOU ARE AWESOME AND YOU SHOULD FEEL AWESOME!

archive this shit

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html
Upvote this shit /tg/

Oh god yes you are the best writefag ever.

>It’s the 41st millennium and we’re using fucking stairs…

I lol'd.

>>2690599

Way ahead of you.

Someone be sure to save this for future reference.

>>2692055

put it on 1d4chan as 'Dirk as Planned'

>>2689055

Seconded. Best use of my name in ages.

>>2692225
>>2689055

You two should be proud, Dirk is the best name ever.

Not enough good writefaggotry on /tg/ these days. This and HS40K is the best we've had lately.

FUCK YOU, I'M A DIRK!

NO, *I* AM DIRK.

This whole thread is made of quality and win.