You are Hierarch Fingolfin and you can only watch impassively as your meager force of kabalites is taken to pieces by a human force a fraction it’s size. The screaming of eldar souls being devoured is an almost constant drone now. You ignore it all and continue forward on your mission.

Before you die you will kill the Black Foe. You truly do not care whatever else happens, whether your brother gets his stones back, whether Craftworld Valinor is avenged, none of it matters. All that matters is revenge. Revenge for your shrine. Revenge for Finwe. Revenge for your curse.

Ever since the Black One’s attack on your craftworld all you have been able to think of is blood and death. It is a nightmare that persists even through wakefulness. You see the galaxy not through your own eyes, but through another’s. You watch the world through a mask. It has been almost a thousand years since the fall of Valinor. And throughout that entire time you have not been able to remove your warmask.

You are lost. You are damned. You are cursed. You are Exarch. Now and forever, you are Fingolfin, Exarch of the Shrine of the Umbral Claw. You have fallen far in your hatred, but that does not bother you overly because, after all, even phoenixes can fall.

---

You are Anonymous and the whispers are unbearable.

”So weak.”

“Be silent, you wretch!”

”I will rule this body!”

“You will rule nothing, daemon!” There is an intelligible scream of rage from within your mind and you grin in satisfaction at having angered your unwelcome guest. As soon as it ends, though, there is another scream, this one from the world.

”I dare you! Come out you coward! Let it be me or you!”

That voice... You remember that voice. You can’t remember from where you remember it, but you do. And it seems to be looking for you too, how convenient.

You decide you may as well humor it, this could even be fun! You need some fun, especially since your obscura trip wore off. Turns out that wasn’t a party hat after all. Doesn’t mean you took it off though.

You hack and slash your way through the mass of eldar flesh until you encounter a figure standing alone is its own little island of calm within the raging battle. Taller than a normal eldar, you still stand much taller than it. But gods has it got a lot of spikey bits. You’re convinced that dark eldar learned their fashion from the orks.

It carries a colossal power sword in its hands and as soon as you appear it locks its eyes on you. t points the monstrous sword at you accusingly. ”YOU!”

”Me!” you exclaim.

”I have long awaited this day, human.”

“Can’t say the same, myself.” you reply with a shrug. “Just another day in the life of a Chaos Space Marine.”

”Do not mock me, Black One.”

“I like mocking you though. You’re a very mockable person.”

”You are just as infuriating as you were on Valinor!”

“Valinor... OH! You! You’re that Striking Scorpion I let live when I slapped your shrine’s shit, aren’t you?”

”I am glad to see you know the one that will deliver you to your damnable gods.”

“Man, I fucking knew this would happen, too. All my brother’s were like ‘Nah man, what are the chances of that particular eldar ever finding you again? What could go wrong?’ And what happens? That exactly!”

”Silence your prattling! Let our business finally be done!” he demands.

At that moment you drop all pretense, realizing that the time for levity is over. A powerful enemy has revealed himself to you. A powerful soul for Slaanesh to feast upon. A vicious grin comes to your face as you gaze upon the eldar you had spared so long ago for some unknowable reason. Your finger depresses the trigger of your chainsword and with a deafening screech from your Doom Siren you charge. The fallen Aspect Warrior raises his weapon and charges to met you.

You wildly slash at him with your chainblade. The klaive comes up to meet your weapon and as the two collide sparks fly. But only for half a second, the klaive cleaves through your chainblade as a blade through the air. You stumble back and gaze at your weapon for a moment in naked shock.

Not that the xeno’s weapon destroyed yours, klaives are power weapons, it’s to be expected. But rather that your weapon had been destroyed. It wasn’t anything special, just a standard Executioner model, but that weapon had been your companion through countless battles, through a dozen millennia. It had offered up more souls to Slaanesh throughout the centuries than countable. And now it’s gone.

You reach for the weapon slung over your shoulder. You grab for your Blastmaster. Grond will end this idiot quest for vengeance. Your weapon is a testament to perfection of Laeran engineering. But the extinct race does itself a discredit for ever thinking they could create a sound more perfect than humanity could. You turn a dial, flip a switch, and push a button and Grond is cranked up to god killing levels. A wild grin comes upon your face.

“Welcome to my lands! YOU SHALL BE DAMNED!”

You depress the trigger and your weapon, gorged on eldar souls, vomits forth a torrent of noise and Warp. It strikes the eldar’s location and devastates the ground. As the burst of dust clears you are granted vision of the small crater it made. But not the eldar.

A sharp pain in your side catches you by surprise and you whirl around, stumbling backwards. Where there had previously been empty space, by your side stood the eldar, bloodied blade in hand. You growl and whirl your Blastmaster around to bear at him. You fire and annihilate the ground, but still you do not hit him.

A pain to your left thigh brings you to your knee. The eldar is once again standing somewhere else, fresh blood dripping from his blade. You force yourself back to your feet and send another noise lance at him.

Like the others it does not hit and the alien tears a great rent through your left pauldron. Shaking with anger, you whip around and try again to strike the Incubus. You’re sent staggering forward from a strike from behind that tore through your raptor pack before becoming buried in your back. You whip around with your fist, trying to retaliate. Your arm stops dead as it becomes impaled on the sharp point of the blade.

You yank your arm away and blind fire your Blastmaster. Another crater that does nothing. The next strike catches you on the chin of your helmet, tearing into the mouth grill and ripping the helm from your head and cutting a deep gash up the right side of your face, bisecting your eye. You fall back down to a knee and grab the wounded side of your face, crying out in pain.

”So it looks like you can bleed. What kind of daemon has blood in its veins?”

Through the pain you manage to let out a hissing laughter.

”What’s so funny, human? Are Slaaneshi so far gone that even the prospect of death entices you?”

“It... it’s just funny... isn’t it?” you ask between bouts of laughter.

”How easily I beat you?”

“No. It may be hard to see with two working eyes, but we are not so dissimilar, don’t you think?”

”Do not compare me to you, monster.”

“But just look at us! We make such a pair, don’t we?”

”I would not be inclined to agree.”

“Well see? We’re both heroes gone bad, aren’t we? I fell from the service of the single representation of hope for a brighter tomorrow in the entire galaxy! And you? You were probably a painter in your free time!”

He growls loudly. “Sculptor.”

“And look at us, both turned to evil powers and looking to satisfy a desire for revenge!”

”You describe nearly half the living beings in the entire galaxy.” he retorts.

You rub your chin thoughtfully. “Well we both do serve a Fallen Phoenix!”

Your eyes go wide as your right arm, pauldron and all, thumps to the ground. You howl with pain, clutching at the gaping wound in your side.

”As I said. Do not compare me to yourself, daemon.”

”I AM NO DAEMON!” You are taken aback at the intensity of your own shout. You have no idea what caused you to say such a thing. Sure it was a true statement, but you’ve never taken issue with being called a daemon before.

”Touch a sore spot, did I?” he mocks.

With a grunt you heave yourself to your feet and turn to face him. “Not really, just want you to know that it’s a human that’s gonna kick your ass. Don’t go blaming the Warp for this.” you lie.

The alien grabs a red stone hanging from his neck, it look almost like a soulstone... He holds it out before him.

”This was the soulstone of my Exarch. Exarch Finwe. Who YOU killed.”

“Oh I though that worthless piece of junk looked familiar!” The stone glows and your mouth opens in a silent scream as the blood in your veins turns to fire.

”So Slaaneshi can feel pain after all? I half expected you to enjoy this.” he taunts.

Your blood boils in your veins, your enhanced physiology working as hard as it can to preserve your life.

”You are weak. Free me.”

Oh not this again.

”You will die. We will die. Free me.”

“Go... fuck... yourself...” you choke out as blood leaks from your eyes.

”Had enough, daemon? Or should I turn up the heat?”

“NOT... a... DAEMON...” Man, what is with you today?
”YOU WILL KILL US BOTH, FOOL!” You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re dying, after all.

You feel the demon try to force itself onto you, in your state you can’t stop it. It forces itself in beside your conscience and begins to take over. You feel your form destabilize as your vision fades. Your empty shoulder socket glows. Warp energy shoots from the gaping hole, materializing to become daemonflesh. A colossal daemonette’s claw now replaces your right hand.

Your left leg snaps and breaks as the bone shifts. Your knee bends backwards and the foot becomes clawed and the armor creaks and groans and you split it apart. Your spine elongates and erupts from the back of your armor as a large scaly tail forms. A purple horn erupts from the right side of your head and your ravaged eye reforms and turns a glassy black.

The effect of the alien’s gem loses its meaning as your blood turns into blue fire.

“NO!” you howl as the presence moves to the fore.

Once the presence becomes your equal in mastery over the body its strength ceases increasing. You and the other now possess equal control over your half daemonified body. This certainly is not an ideal situation.
The alien lowers and then pockets the broken gem as he realizes he has lost power over you. You slowly get to your feet, both yours and the other’s eyes focusing on the eldar before you.

”A xeno?” it asks with your mouth.

“A xeno.” you confirm.

The other hesitates. ”Xenos do not deserve life. We will continue this battle after his demise.”

“That might be for the best.” you reply.

The eldar raises its klaive and, with the same blinding speed, charges you.

Your daemon eyes can track him as fast as he moves though, and you know this next strike will not harm you. And it doesn’t, but not for the reason you thought it would be for.

The xenos, in his single mindedness, did not take into consideration the many craters you had littered your chosen arena with when you used the Blastmaster. Rather anticlimactically, he trips on the edge and falls into the three foot deep hole. You stomp over to the prone and rather confused xeno. Before he can realize his situation, you stomp your armored foot down onto his chest.

He gasps as the weight of a mountain begins to crush the life out of him. He lets go of his blade and grabs onto your boot, desperately trying to push it off. You both just laugh at him.

“Under my foot, so helpless you seem. You’ve troubled my day, now feel the pain!”

You clench the raptor talons on your boot and the middle one sinks into his chest. Your grin widens as his struggles grow weaker and weaker before ceasing altogether. You reach down to grab him by the throat, but realize the hand you’re using is still a daemon claw. You look around frantically, the battle has apparently ended and now the marines are recovering their wounded and putting surviving xenos out of their misery. Your eyes settle on an approaching crimson figure.

“APOPHIS!” you yell, eager to see that your friend had come.

”Brother!” he yells in shock as he gets a good look at you. “What in the Emperor’s name happened?! You look as though you’ve contracted the Flesh Change!”

”FLESH STEALER!” the other yells with your mouth.

”The daemon!” he yells with a start. “This is what spoke to me!”

“Brother! Help me!” you beg.

”Are you still in control of your body, Anonymous?” he asks urgently.

“For the most part, yes! Just help me! I beg you, brother! Banish the daemon from me!” Why are you so desperate to have this daemon removed from you? This is something you should actually be enjoying. Daemons are cool guys, you chill with them all the time! Why would you be so afraid of one now?

”Hold fast, Anonymous, I will free you of this foul thing’s influence!”

You nod as Apophis begins to summon the Warp. As you wait and ponder your newly onset phobia of daemons, you begin to realize something. These aren’t your emotions. They’re leaching into your mind from the other’s. But why would a daemon be...

”Brace yourself!” Apophis cries.

A great flash of Warplight bathes the area and you feel... as though you are being ripped from your body and pushed away! The spell is failing! But before you even notice the spell draws to its conclusion and sets out to fulfill its intended purpose.

---

You open your eyes, blinking away dizziness. You look up to see the concerned countenance of none other than Apophis. Apophis? What is he doing...? Your confusion must be obvious because Apophis is looking at you strangely.

”Brother, are you well?” he asks.

”Of course, Apophis. I’m simply more than a little confused. I could have sworn I was just on the battlefield.

”You were, brother. You were injured quite severely too.”

“I am still confused though, why are you here?”

”Ah, yes, well I saw that the battle was going so in our favor that I came with my men to help with any mop up.”

You look up to see no fewer than three hundred of the Sons of Magnus come marching up in perfect ranks. By Horus, they could be Emperor’s Children with that kind of precision. You take Apophis’ proffered hand and get to your feet. You sigh sadly and shake your head.

“How could it not have gone in our favor? They thought we were here to help and we just... cut them down.”

”What are you talking about?”

“My apologies, you were likely not here for the battle. You see we had traitor legions posing as reinforcements for the loyalists and when they retreated to the fall back point the second wave scythed them down.”

”Are... are you talking about... The Dropsite Massacre?”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” you ask sadly. “I suppose it is a fitting name.”

Apophis narrows his eyes. “What planet are we on?”

You look at your brother curiously, wondering what game he’s at. “How do you not know, brother? We are on Istvaan V of course.”

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