You stumble backwards a step as a plasma pistol is thrust into your face. ”Wrong answer.”

“What in the Warmaster’s name are you doing, Apophis?!” you shout.

”Who do you serve?”

“What are you going on about, brother?” you demand. “What is this about?”

”Who do you serve?” he asks again.

“Is this about loyalty? Do you think my resolve is shaken after having to fight my brothers? Apophis, I assure you that while it hurt to do it I am still loyal to our cause! I would never go against Fulgrim or Horus.”

”I am not speaking of the Massacre!”

“Then what ARE you speaking of? Throne of Terra, make sense already!”

The plasma pistol whines as power builds. ”The real Anonymous would never use that curse.” he says.

“What? I’m sorry, I mean nothing by it! I’m still getting used to the whole concept of being a traitor, you know.”

”Wrong again. What have you done with Anonymous?”

“What are you going on about? Damnit, Apophis, I just had to kill legions of my brothers, I don’t need this shit right now!”

”WE ARE NOT ON ISTVAAN!”

“What? But the battle-”

”Is over! Long over! The Heresy has ended!”

“The... Heresy?”

”Enough games! What have you done with Anonymous!”

“Brother... who is Anonymous?”

Before Apophis can respond, you’re interrupted as an Astartes in colors you do not recognize approaches you.

”Hail brothers. How’re you holding up, heretic? Last I saw you were prancing about like an idiot with a xeno’s head stuck to your helmet.”

“I... forgive me brother, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

”I’m Discus Infernus, you idiot. I think maybe you need to lay off the drugs.”

This certainly is a strange marine. “Well met... I think. Tell me, brother, what legion do you hail from? I do not recognize your colors.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Voice of the Emperor, are you still high or something?”

You reel inwardly at the name. “Voice of the Emperor? You are loyalists?!”

The apparent loyalist turns to Apophis and nods at you. “The fuck’s with him?”

”Daemon possession,” he growls.

“I- what- daemon possession? Apophis, what is the meaning of this?”

”My thoughts exactly. Daemon possession? What kind of idiot daemon would want HIS body?”

”Do not be fooled, brother, this is not Anonymous.”

“Of course I’m not Anonymous, who is this Anonymous you keep mentioning?”

The one named Infernus just stares at you. ”Wat.”

”It’s some manner of Slaaneshi daemon.”

“... Daemon...” you mutter. “... Slaanesh...”

The words bring with them memories. The end of the Massacre, you were half mad with grief. There was a promise to help, to provide sanctuary. There was darkness. There was relief. There was oblivion. There was another. It clothed itself in your memories, in your skin, in your soul. But not your name. That was the one thing you kept from the daemon. It took everything but your name.

It took your life, became you. It guarded you from the pain of the universe. And all the while you slept. Slaanesh had kept his promise, he stopped the pain. You slowly look down at your hands. Unfamiliar black and pink armor replaces the magenta and gold of your left gauntlet, the armor is shorn from your right arm for some reason and the flesh you behold could not possibly be yours. The flesh is ragged, pallid, and, worst of all, utterly riven with scittering, black words. Some of the words you can read, some of them hurt your eyes when you look at them.

Slowly, with your bare hand you reach up to your head. Your hand contacts bare scalp. You can make out the grooves of scars upon your head as well, suggesting words cover your head too. Your hair and your service studs are gone. You look to your old friend in mounting horror.

“What year is it?”

”I don’t-”

“WHAT YEAR IS IT?!”

You feel a hand on your shoulder, it’s the one called Discus Infernus. ”Anonymous, are you alright? It’s 999 M41.”

No... no that can’t be right. “...FORTY-one? Not thirty-one?”

Infernus looks at Apophis. “Amnesia?”

”No. He legitimately does not seem to possess recent memories, however I sense no daemon, so I can only say that what we have before us is the real Anonymous.”

”But if it’s the real Anonymous then why doesn’t he have those memories?”

Apophis takes a single look into your terrified eyes and realizes the truth, his sorcerous mind reaching the obvious conclusion. ”Because this Anonymous hasn’t been around for ten thousand years.”

”Again, I say wat.”

“Ten... thousand years...” you say barely above a whisper. Ten thousand years. One hundred centuries. Ten entire millennia. You were only a little over two hundred years old by Istvaan V, that means the daemon had controlled your body for fifty times longer than you had. The simple fact is enough to make you consider begging for the darkness again, simply to avoid facing the horrible unknown.

So much must have changed. Had Horus prevailed? Is the Emperor dead? Does Chaos rule the galaxy? Truth be told, you desperately hope the Emperor won out. After Istvaan III, after you had been forced to look at what you’ve truly become, you realized the depths of your mistake. No cause, no matter how just, should warrant the cold blooded killing of one’s own brothers!

When you watched Fulgrim and Ferrus fight on Istvaan V you understood. They had been the closest of brothers, no bond of friendship in the entire galaxy could have been as strong as their own. And to see them fight each other with such hatred in their eyes... Anything that could do that to two such brothers was nothing good. When Fulgrim made that killing blow against Ferrus Manus you realized that your benevolent father was gone. The Fulgrim you loved would never have committed such an atrocity.

Unable to cope with the consequences of your actions, you took the quickest route to escape the pain you could find. And it cost you ten thousand years. The weight of your newfound knowledge is almost physically staggering. You shake uncontrollably and soon drop to your knees in the face of your situation. You look up to Apophis, your expression pleading.

“Brother... what have I done?”
Apophis clenches his fist and his crimson gauntlet glows with Warplight. When the glow leaves the armor has taken on an exaggeratedly reflective surface, appearing almost as a mirror. He holds his palm before you and you see clearly the face the daemon gifted you with. You hold your bare palm up to your face and tentatively touch the pantheon star brand around your eye, still unbelieving.

”You have committed heresy most foul. You have served eldritch beings with ill intentions for humanity and all life. You have denounced the Emperor and his Imperium of Man and branded yourself a traitor. You have slain worlds.”

You look back up into Apophis’ face. “I...”

”A phoenix fell on Istvaan, Anonymous. And what arose from the ashes was a thing of nightmare.”

You can barely organize your thoughts with such horrors circling your mind. But one thing does make it to the fore of your addled mind.

“My name is not Anonymous.”

”That is what the daemon called itself.” Apophis says. “And it seemed to be wrapped in your memories.”

“It was the one thing I held onto all these years. I remember it taking over, I would not give it my name.”

”What is your name, brother?” Apophis asks.

“Even you, even my closest friend outside the legion does not know my own name...”

”Oh quit your whining and tell us your name. I wanna know who the fuck I’ve been rivals with for a thousand years.”

“My name...”

The two Astartes look on expectantly.

“No. My name is my own. I will not hear it spoken by any other than a legion brother.”

Infernus throws his hands up in the air. ”Whatever. It’s not like I wanted to know or anything.” he says.

You do not listen. You need to know what has become of your home since you’ve been gone.

“Who won?” you ask, bluntly.

”Who won what?” Infernus asks.

“The... Heresy you called it. Does Horus sit on the throne of Terra now? Has the galaxy been damned?”

”No. The Emperor still sits, and there he has sat for ten thousand years.” Apophis replies.

“Then why do you say it so solemnly?”

”He has sat for ten thousand years.” he says, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘sat’.

It takes a second but it finally clicks. “He has not moved from the same position for ten thousand years?”

”Horus maimed him in the fight. He has been sustained by the Golden Throne these many millennia. But he has since ascended to godhood.”

You growl angrily at him. “If you’ve any remaining respect for him you will not defile his wishes with such profane terminology. There are no gods among the stars.”

Infernus and Apophis look at each other gravely. ”There are gods aplenty out there, Anonymous.” Apophis says. “The marks upon your face are testament enough to that.”

“They are not gods. If the Emperor himself cannot be a god then such vile imitators could never come close.”

”Ugh, I kind of preferred it when you were hardcore Slaaneshi. At least then you didn’t preach. Now you’re fucking preaching atheism, do you know how contradictory that is?”

The sound of flapping wings cuts off your retort. You turn slowly around to see some manner of blinding white winged unicorn alight on the ground.

”Hey, you guys talking about gods? Could I possibly throw my name in for consideration for best god?” she asks, casually disintegrating the blood staining her coat.

Talking mutant psyker horse xeno claiming divinity? That’s at least a thousand different types of heresy. Though you’re pretty sure it might actually be more.

She notices you staring and cocks an eyebrow and grins stupidly. ”Like what you see, big boy?”

Welp. That’s that you suppose. You really don’t need to hear any more by this point. In the face of such overwhelming heresies against the Imperial Truth you can see only one available course of action. Purge. EVERYTHING.

The white horse xeno psyker thing gasps in shock as she’s forced to look down the barrel of your bolt pistol. Without a word you pull the trigger and do the Emperor’s will.

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