The Musing of R. L. Frymire

DAINCAZ KESAEAL, CAPTAIN of 8^th Company, aimed his master-crafted, heavy bolt pistol with careful precision, finger squeezing the hair trigger. It had a longer range and stronger armour piercing capability than the standard bolt pistol. With its compact size, it was ideal for close combat. His target was not nearly as close as he’d prefer, but circumstances demanded immediate action. The sharp report was nearly drowned out in the bombarding orchestra of death that surrounded him. Weapons discharged in all directions, their echoing bursts low and far away or roaring noisily mere yards from his position. The lusty buzzing from his massive eviscerator was a continuous, whirling backdrop to the shouting, cursing, and death screams, both mortal and other. 

Kesaeal found himself deep within the fortress’ labyrinth halls after having located his missing demi-company, where he found them in open engagement with an enveloping horde of monstrosities. The stone chamber was alight with mystic fire, blue and purple flames dancing in high braziers scattered throughout the cavernous space. The vaulted ceiling rose to such heights his enhanced sight could not see the end, which was hidden in deep shadows that did not seem quite natural. From those inky depths, daemonic entities descended on the unwary, causing death and destruction in their wake, only to swiftly retreat and return to the concealing shadows high above.

The cowards struck when backs were turned, picking off his brothers who fought valiantly.

When he caught movement above, at the edge of his vision, he’d reacted with lethal accuracy, firing his pistol. Years of training and combat experience came to his aid, but no measure of experience could combat the distorting affects generated by his target. The air shimmered unnaturally around the daemon whizzing past, compromising his meticulous aim. Rather than hit the burly figure, Kesaeal’s round struck the manta ray-shaped disk his target used to streak through the air. A shrill shriek added to the strain of battle as the daemonic conveyance of fused warp-beast and metal crashed into the ground so close and with such force he could fell the rumble of impact through his boots.

Its multitude of eyes rolled upwards, razor-sharp tentacles writhing in death throes, as the flames surrounding it sputtered and died with it. Atop its fleshy surface, its hulking passenger was thrown in a tangle of muscular limbs. Even as the daemon crumbled, the air around it distorted, reality reshaping in its wake.

The abomination could not be allowed to live!

Elsewise, its psychic influence would continue to decimate his warriors. He’d already witnessed its grotesque powers at work. From its spindly, claw tipped fingers, a malign force manifested in a blazing, blue ball of energy, striking with devastating results, causing rapid mutation. Adamantium and plasteel plates molded with the flesh beneath, the ceramite ablative layer powerless to protect the wearer against warp energies.

Where once a proud warrior of the Sons of the Phoenix had stood, a bulbous mass squished along the ground. Arms and legs split, forming twice the number of tentacles. Even over the roar of battle, he could hear the things harsh chirping, its mouth morphed into a sharp beak. Its new appendages flailed haphazardly as though alarmed by its own mutated flesh.

Disgust had twisted his gut, as well as righteous indignation for the indignity done to his Company. However, in a far recess of his subconscious he refused to analyze too deeply, self-recriminations lurked insidiously for past choices he could not unmake. 

Rage smothered pervasive speculations, vengeance becoming his sole purpose. In the heat of battle, Captain Kesaeal Daincaz had renewed his sacred vow to cleanse the galaxy of Chaos’ taint—starting with this forsaken planet. After first witnessing the mutating power of such beings, he’d tried to put an end to the creature, but the fluxmaster had been cunning in its retreat, expertly escaping comeuppance.

Not this time, he vowed savagely.

Though it was impossible to know for sure, he felt vicious satisfaction at the thought that he was being gifted the opportunity to dispense retribution upon the one who had escaped him previously. With savage zeal, he raised his hefty eviscerator high, the two-handed chain weapon stained with the blood of his mutated brothers after he’d been forced to grant them the Emperor’s mercy. His eviscerator was an enormous adamantium chainsword and possessed awesome strength capable of slicing through thick walls and armour plates effortlessly, but because of its great size, his reflexes were not as swift as they could be.

Hellish eyes stared balefully up at him. This close, he could discern its inhuman visage. Its head was misshapen, shaped as a bull’s skull. Between the two, long horns protruding from the top of its head, blue fire crackled, and supported a garish head ornament molded in the form of a flame. Just when he was about to cleaved its skull in two, the fluxmaster lifted a staying hand. His mighty eviscerator changed within his grasp, the hard grip becoming soft and slippery, the spinning blade dying as the weapon lost its rigid form. The elastic sword bounced off the fluxmaster’s shoulder with a pathetic squelching sound, leaving behind oozing slime.    

A powerful thrust from its strange staff struck Kesaeal in the middle, distracting him from the disfigurement of his precious sword. He was pushed back with such force, he nearly lost his balance, giving the three armed daemon the opportunity to lung to its full height on talon feet. Its teal kilt rippled around its abnormally pink thighs, flashing a strange, gold symbol stitched in the fabric.

He regained his footing but the fluxmaster had its deadly staff aimed at his chest, but whatever odious intent the daemon had for him was denied. An electric blast struck the fluxmaster, blistering and blackening its flesh. It crumbled to the ground in a smoldering heap, its ichor drying in its shriveled veins before bursting into a cloud of vapor.

Despite the unexpected turn, his reflexes were sharp. Kesaeal immediately redirecting his attention, even while he felt his eviscerator return to its original, solid state within his grasp. All around him, the fighting continued without pause as he located his rescuer. The tall, slender figure lowered his gloved hand, causing the folds of the warlock’s purple robes to ripple, and the strange, gold threaded glyphs shimmered brightly.   

The sight of the xenos was unwelcome. Or rather, the sight of the aeldari adorned in his Chapter’s colors was distasteful. It didn’t matter that he understood enough about the aeldari’s society to know that the colors they wore typically represented their craftworld affiliation, but he did not recognize the pattern from which this aeldari hailed nor did he care. Had the circumstances been different, they’d be at one another’s throat.

Instead, irritatingly, he owned his life to this unknown figure. He could not see the seer’s eyes for his face was hidden behind an egg shelled helm, causing Kesaeal’s to conjure disparaging thoughts. The seer was unmoving, regarding him in—what Kesaeal viewed to be—haughty silence, as though taunting him with the knowledge that he’d needed to be saved by a xenos. His hand itched to reach for his holstered mast-crafted pistol, sorely tempted to slay his savior.

Had Kesaeal been without helm, he’d have spat onto the ground. He’d be twice cursed before he showed any gratitude towards xenos scum. Just as he had the ungracious thought, soft spoken words carried across the screaming battlefield as though spoken next to his ear. “No need to thank me, barbarian.” And like a mirage, the warlock bled into the melee, leaving Kesaeal to hurl insults to the open air.

The interaction lasted mere seconds, but the bloody conflict continued unabated. A moment later, he was besieged by swirling colors of garish pink and cerulean blue blobs. These monstrosities jumped and danced, hooting and hollering with maniacal glee. They were little more than colorful blobs with arms and legs, and tentacles sprouting from the top of their bulbous heads. Those with a more defined form had beady eyes and a gaping maw filled with sharp teeth and purple tongue where the daemons’ stomach should be.

A pink horror bounded excitedly towards him and leapt ten feet into the air, swinging a clawed foot at his face. With a mighty shout, Kesaeal batted the blob aside with his armoured forearm and followed with a precise swipe from his eviscerator. The spinning teeth cut into the mound of flesh effortlessly. The two halves fell in steaming heaps, where the lumps of flesh changed color, from pink to blue, before regaining some semblance of form. The two, smaller blue horrors were different from the merry pink imp.

The sullen creatures shrieked at him angrily, jaws snapping like rabid mutts. As one, they attacked, only to fall at a powerful swing of his blade, and yet, still more creatures spawned from their deaths. Tiny flames of brimstone horrors struck him in the chest, trying to find weakness in his armour and get at his flesh. Irked, he grabbed one of the wriggling masses and slammed it to the ground, then crushed it beneath his boot. Finally, the creature lie dead, its spawning cycle at an end, but its friends continued to wreak havoc across his armour.

Snarling behind his helm, he snatched the offending beasts, crushing them in his gauntlets. More of these hell spawn converged upon him, both pink and blue, threatening to overwhelm him with sheer numbers as their deaths merely multiplied his attackers.

“Lord Executioner, I am with you!”

One of his bodyguards, Phinrik, dropping from a high platform above and landed with ground shaking force, his servo-equipped boot-plates protecting him from injury in his harsh yet controlled decent. With a lusty shout, Phinrik released a barrage of three-round bursts from his heavy bolt pistol, destroying a number of horrors in a matter of seconds, only for more to rise from their ashes. Brimstone horrors surrounded Phinrik, throwing balls of warp energy at him as Kesaeal helped slaughtered them with his screaming eviscerator.

“There’s no end to them,” his second bodyguard ground out, freeing himself from the melee to return to his captain’s side. Where his third trusted brother was, Kesaeal was too preoccupied to search for. The horrors were soundly defeated, but a wave of screamers descended from the air. One hurdle towards him, daemonic eyes blazing as it shrieked raucously. Before the sky-shark’s four front spikes could impale him, he dispatched the screamer in a spray of ichor.

“We are the Emperor’s fist. We shall never falter!” he boomed in answer to his brother, stepping forward to cut down another screamer.

His bodyguards took up his cry and continued with the Emperor’s work, riding the immaterium of chaos’ taint. It wasn’t long before they were once again separated.

All around, the battle raged, a discordant symphony that confused the senses. Reality bent at the will of daemonic influences as easily as a child at play. Appalling atrocities were continuously committed against his honorable Chapter, and he could do nothing to prevent them as a number of his Astartes continued to fall prey to mutation.

He’d seen one transmuted into marble in perfect replica, while another became a statue of pure ice, only to melt into a large puddle from the warp flames cast by malevolent entities. Others were toyed with for prolonged periods, regaining their mortal form, only to undergo a multitude of different mutations until the daemon finally grew bored. From affair, Kesaeal had witnessed the end of an Astartes who’d been tormented by such rapid changes. His final form had been a wooden statue in perfect likeness and set aflame before Kesaeal could intervene.

Bellowing his frustration and fury, he ruthlessly hunted down those daemons responsible and slaughtered them, avenging his lost brothers. He was the Lord Executioner. His judgement was absolute, and he slayed his enemies without mercy. Left and right, his enemies fell at his feet. They shrieked as they perished, their bodies evaporating back into the warp where they originated. And yet, they were endless, a tide that refused to retreat.

Brutally, he cleaved a flamer daemon in half, the mindless mutation disappearing in a hiss of colorful vapor. Where there was one, more followed.

These flamers were especially grotesque.

They were little more than one long torso with arms, and a multitude of gapping mouths filled with rows of sharp fangs. Where its head should be, a ring of salivating mouths barked at him, and near its center, beady eyes bulged above snapping jaws. Smoldering flames spewed from the numerous mouths, noxious smoke spilling outwards in continuous streams. The flamer had no legs. Among the roots that sprouted beneath its bulk, embers crackled with black smog. How many mouths did it have? There were two more at the nubs of each arm.

Spittle dribbled from fleshless lips, splashing onto the ground with a bubbling hiss. Acid belched from its ‘hand’. He lurched to the side reflectively, but the creature’s other hand spewed a second stream of bile, and Kesaeal was unable to dodge the fowl spray entirely. Before a drop could splatter against his gravis armour, a pink horror flew between him and the burning ichor, screaming as it dissolved completely. Though his Mk. X armour was more heavily protected, similar to Terminator armour but with higher flexibility, he suspected it would not have provided adequate protection against the flamer’s acid. 

The flamer fell, split down the middle by an ethereal witchblade. There stood the warlock who’d saved him from the fluxmaster’s mutation. Several aeldari fought alongside his Astartes. He knew not why the xenos were there, but the two forces had established a tentative understanding in their fight against Chaos. However, that did not prevent casualties.

He felt nothing when his ‘allies’ fell to the daemonic forces, or if they were caught within a barrage of ammunition fire from one of his brothers. ‘Friendly fire’ was a byproduct of war. As they fought, he never once lifted a hand in aid of the xenos, allowing them to die mercilessly, and yet this one dared mock him with timely interventions.

“I do not require your aid,” he spat aggressively, only to stiffen when the seer lifted a hand towards him, energy flying from his fingers. It happened so fast, Kesaeal had no time to respond, but rather than striking him, the electric blast went over his shoulder, and he heard a terrible shriek. Looking back, all he saw was pink vapor where a daemon had crept upon him from behind while he’d been distracted.  

Without having to utter a word of reproach, Kesaeal perceived the weight of judgement from the silent figure. His inaction was a sharp counterpoint to the seer’s magnanimity—twice now. Then, the warlock turned his back on Kesaeal, dismissing him as though he were worthy of contempt. The insult could not be borne! But the seer had vanished in the confusion surrounding them. Angered beyond belief, Kesaeal fought with renewed vigor and brutality.

How long he fought, he did not know. Time ceased to hold any meaning. There was only bloody conflict and destroying the endless daemonic horde. Eviscerator swinging, he beheaded another herald, a changecaster, who appeared to have been the leader of the mass of horrors he’d recently decimated. The large, three armed daemon was similar to the fluxmasters except for the disfigured skull that was in the shape of a crescent moon with an extra set of eyes. Its head spun in a spray of blue ichor, its long, tentacle hair writhing in a frenzy, before the entire body vanished.

From his peripheral, a glimmer of purple fluttered.

He turned automatically. Rather than one of his brothers, he caught sight of a distinctly familiar seer. Kesaeal was sure it was the same aggravating xenos who had saved his life—twice. The seer was assaulted simultaneously by a trio of changecasters, and appeared to be holding his own, but from above, a fluxmaster descended from the shadows. Kesaeal saw the beast rapidly move in on the unsuspecting warlock.

A grim smile curled his lips.

He waited, but the sense of dark satisfaction Kesaeal thought he would feel at the aeldari’s demise was absent. Instead, a knot of emotions sent adrenaline spiking through his system. When the fluxmaster lifted its arm with obvious intent, Kesaeal reacted swiftly.

Reaching down, he grasped the staff that had belonged to one of his kills as blue flames formed around the fluxmaster’s palm. He took two running steps and hurled the makeshift spear. Mere seconds from unleashing its changebolt, the beast fell from its perch atop the manta ray-disc with the staff protruding from its chest. Then he was on the move, legs pumping, screaming his battle cry. A changecaster turned at the sound of his approach, but Kesaeal’s eviscerator was already swinging, cutting it down. Simultaneously, the other two fell to the seer’s might, but Kesaeal was triumphant.

“No need to thank me, xenos,” he jeered, throwing the seer’s words back at him with relish.

“Indeed not. This moment was preordained.”

Kesaeal frowned at the unexpected remark, his gratification at having their positions reversed waning quickly. “What nonsense is this?”

“My demise had been foreseen,” the seer replied matter-of-factly. “The only path to assure my salvation was you, Captain Kesaeal Daincaz.”

He demanded tightly, “You know of me, xenos?”

“There is much about you I have gleaned,” the seer replied levelly. “I but needed to encourage your…cooperation. It was not difficult. Mon-Keigh are such simple creatures.”

The careless admission crashed through Kesaeal, his blood rushing loudly through his ears in dawning realization. 

“We are even, barbarian.”

Incensed that this xenos dared manipulate him, he shouted and swung his eviscerator, uncaring that the seer was faster and lifting a glowing hand against him. Bloodlust clouded his vision until all he saw was red and all he wanted was this seer’s life.

All at once, time slowed—then stopped. There was a shift, a magnetic pulse in realspace. Everything began moving—in reverse: the killing of the three changecasters, the fluxmaster regaining form and floating back to the daemonic disc, and the spear suddenly exiting its chest and returned to Kesaeal’s grip. Time flowed back faster until it was nothing but a blur.

It all stopped abruptly, realspace resuming as normal.

Captain Kesaeal Daincaz aimed his master-crafted heavy bolt pistol, finger squeezing the hair trigger twice. His rounds struck the manta ray-shaped disk, causing the daemonic conveyance of fused warp-beast and metal to crash into the ground. Its hulking passenger was thrown in a tangle of muscular limbs. The abomination could not be allowed to live! Elsewise, its psychic influence would continue to decimate his warriors. He’d already witnessed its mutating powers at work against his proud warriors. Then, the fluxmaster had expertly escaped comeuppance.

Not this time, he vowed savagely, swinging his eviscerator at its misshapen, bull-shaped skull.

Unknowingly caught within the Changer of Way’s time vortex, Captain Kesaeal, and all who fought within the Chaos god’s temple, was forced to rDAINCAZ KESAEAL, CAPTAIN of 8^th Company, aimed his master-crafted, heavy bolt pistol with careful precision, finger squeezing the hair trigger. Compared to the standard bolt pistol, his had a longer range and stronger armour piercing capability, and with its compact size, it was ideal for close combat.

His target was not nearly as close as he’d prefer, but circumstances demanded immediate action. The sharp report was nearly drowned out in the bombarding orchestra of death that surrounded him. Weapons discharged in all directions, their echoing bursts low and far away or roaring noisily mere yards from his position. The lusty buzzing from his massive eviscerator he swung in his free hand was a continuous, whirling backdrop to the shouting, cursing, and death screams—both mortal and other. 

Kesaeal found himself deep within the fortress’ labyrinth halls after having located his missing demi-company, where he found them in open engagement with an enveloping horde of monstrosities. The stone chamber was alight with mystic fire, blue and purple flames dancing in high braziers scattered throughout the cavernous space. The vaulted ceiling rose to impossible heights. It was impossible to see just how high with the ceiling obscured by deep shadows that did not seem quite natural. From those inky depths, daemonic entities descended on the unwary, causing death and destruction in their wake, only to swiftly retreat and return to the concealing shadows high above.

The cowards struck when backs were turned, picking off his brothers who fought valiantly.

When he caught movement above at the edge of his vision, he’d reacted with lethal accuracy, firing his pistol. Years of training and combat experience came to his aid, but no measure of experience could combat the distorting affects generated by his target. The air shimmered unnaturally around the daemon whizzing past, compromising his meticulous aim. Rather than hit the burly figure, Kesaeal’s round struck the manta ray-shaped disk his target rode to streak through the air. A shrill shriek added to the strain of battle as the daemonic conveyance of fused warp-beast and metal crashed into the ground so close and with such force he could fell the rumble of impact through his boots.

The discs’ multitude of eyes rolled upwards, razor-sharp tentacles writhing as the flames surrounding it sputtered and died with it. From atop its fleshy surface, its hulking passenger was thrown on impact in a tangle of muscular limbs. Even as the daemon crumbled, the air around it distorted, reality reshaping in its wake.

The abomination could not be allowed to live!

Elsewise, its psychic influence would continue to decimate Kesaeal’s warriors. He’d already witnessed its grotesque powers at work too many times with devastating results. From its spindly, claw tipped fingers, the creature could summon a malignant force in a blazing, blue ball of energy, and struck with awful accuracy, causing rapid mutation. Adamantium and plasteel plates would mold with the flesh beneath, the ceramite ablative layer powerless to protect the wearer against warp energies.

Where once a proud warrior of the Sons of the Phoenix had stood, a bulbous mass squished along the ground. Arms and legs split, forming twice the number of tentacles. Even over the roar of battle, he could hear the thing’s harsh chirping, its mouth morphed into a sharp beak. Its new appendages flailed haphazardly as though alarmed by its own mutated flesh.

Disgust had twisted Kesaeal’s gut, while righteous indignation burned within his chest for the indignity done to his Company. However, in a far recess of his subconscious he refused to analyze too deeply, self-recriminations lurked insidiously for past choices he could not unmake. Choices that had led him—his brothers—to a fate far worse than death.

Rage smothered pervasive speculations, vengeance becoming his sole purpose. In the heat of battle, Captain Daincaz Kesaeal had renewed his sacred vow to cleanse the galaxy—starting with this forsaken planet. After first witnessing the mutating power of such beings, he’d tried to put an end to the creature who’d transmuted his brother, but the fluxmaster had been cunning in its retreat, expertly escaping comeuppance.

Not this time, he vowed savagely.

Though it was impossible to know for sure, he felt vicious satisfaction at the thought that he was being gifted the opportunity to dispense retribution upon the one who had escaped him previously. With savage zeal, he raised his hefty eviscerator high, the two-handed chain weapon already stained with the blood of his mutated brothers after he’d been forced to grant them the Emperor’s mercy. His eviscerator was an enormous adamantium chainsword and possessed awesome strength capable of slicing through thick walls and armour plates effortlessly, but because of its great size, his reflexes were not as swift as they could be.

Hellish eyes stared balefully up at him. This close, he could discern its inhuman visage. The fluxmaster’s head was misshapen, its shape that of a bull’s skull. Between the two, long horns protruding from the top of its head, blue fire crackled, and supported a garish head ornament molded in the form of a flame. Just when he was about to cleaved its skull in two, the fluxmaster lifted a staying hand. His mighty eviscerator changed within his grasp, the hard grip becoming soft and slippery, the spinning blade dying as the weapon lost its rigid form. The altered sword bounced off the fluxmaster’s shoulder with a pathetic squelching sound, leaving behind oozing slime.    

A powerful thrust from the daemon’s strange staff struck Kesaeal in his stomach, distracting him from the disfigurement of his precious sword. He was pushed back with such force, he nearly lost his balance, giving the three armed daemon the opportunity to lung to its full height on talon feet. Its teal kilt rippled around its abnormally pink thighs, flashing a strange, gold symbol stitched in the fabric.

Kesaeal regained his footing, only to see that the fluxmaster had its deadly staff raised towards his chest, but whatever odious intent the daemon had for him was denied. An electric blast struck the fluxmaster, blistering and blackening its flesh. It crumbled to the ground in a smoldering heap, its ichor drying in its shriveled veins before bursting in a cloud of vapor.

Despite the unexpected turn, his reflexes were sharp. Kesaeal immediately redirecting his attention, even while he felt his eviscerator return to its original, solid state within his grasp. All around him, the fighting continued without pause as he located his rescuer. The tall, slender figure lowered his gloved hand, causing the folds of the warlock’s purple robes to ripple, and the strange, gold threaded glyphs to shimmer brightly.   

The sight of the xenos was unwelcome. Or rather, the sight of the aeldari adorned in his Chapter’s colors was distasteful. It didn’t matter that he understood enough about the aeldari’s society to know that the colors they wore typically represented their craftworld affiliation, but he did not recognize the pattern from which this aeldari hailed, nor did he care. Had the circumstances been different, they’d be at one another’s throat.

Instead, irritatingly, he owned his life to this unknown figure. This xenos filth. He could not see the seer’s eyes for his face was hidden behind an egg shelled helm, causing Kesaeal’s to conjure disparaging thoughts. The seer was unmoving, regarding him in—what Kesaeal viewed to be—haughty silence, as though taunting him with the knowledge that he’d needed to be saved in the first place. His hand itched to reach for his holstered master-crafted heavy bolt pistol, sorely tempted to slay his savior.

Had Kesaeal been without helm, he’d have spat onto the ground. He’d be twice cursed before he showed any gratitude towards this xenos scum. Just as he had the ungracious thought, soft spoken words carried across the screaming battlefield as though spoken next to his ear. “No need to thank me, barbarian.” And like a mirage, the warlock bled into the melee, leaving Kesaeal to hurl insults to the open air.

The interaction lasted mere seconds, but the bloody conflict continued unabated. A moment later, he was besieged by swirling colors of garish pink and cerulean blue blobs. These monstrosities jumped and danced, hooting and hollering with maniacal glee. They were little more than colorful blobs with arms and legs, and tentacles sprouting from the top of their bulbous heads. Those with a more defined form had beady eyes and a gaping maw filled with sharp teeth and purple tongue where the daemons’ stomach should have been.

A pink horror bounded excitedly towards him and leapt ten feet into the air, swinging a clawed foot at his face. With a mighty shout, Kesaeal batted the horror aside with his armoured forearm and followed with a precise swipe from his eviscerator, the spinning teeth cutting into the mound of flesh effortlessly. The two halves fell in steaming heaps, where the lumps of flesh changed color, from pink to blue, before regaining some semblance of form. Two, smaller horrors emerged from the ashes of the dead, their skin blue rather than pink.

The sullen creatures shrieked at him angrily, jaws snapping like rabid mutts. As one, they attacked, only to fall at a powerful swing of his blade, and yet, still more creatures spawned from their deaths. Tiny flames of brimstone horrors struck him in the chest, trying to find weakness in his armour and get at his flesh. Irked, he grabbed one of the wriggling masses and slammed it to the ground, then crushed it beneath his boot. Finally, the creature lie dead, its spawning cycle at an end, but its friends continued to wreak havoc across his armour.

Snarling behind his helm, he snatched the offending beasts, crushing them in his gauntlets. More of these hell spawn converged upon him, both pink and blue, threatening to overwhelm him with sheer numbers as their deaths merely multiplied his attackers.

“Lord Executioner, I am with you!”

One of his bodyguards, Phinrik, dropping from a high platform above and landed with ground shaking force, his servo-equipped boot-plates protecting him from injury in his harsh yet controlled decent. With a lusty shout, Phinrik released a barrage of three-round bursts from his heavy bolt pistol, destroying a number of horrors in a matter of seconds, only for more to rise from their ashes. Brimstone horrors surrounded Phinrik, throwing balls of warp energy at him as Kesaeal helped slaughtered them with his screaming eviscerator.

“There’s no end to them,” his second bodyguard ground out, freeing himself from the melee to return to his captain’s side.

Where his third trusted brother was, Kesaeal was too preoccupied to search for. The horrors were soundly defeated, but a wave of screamers descended from the air. One hurdle towards him, daemonic eyes blazing as it shrieked raucously. Before the sky-shark’s four front spikes could impale him, he dispatched the screamer in a spray of ichor with a well-aimed bolt.

“We are the Emperor’s fist. We shall never falter!” he boomed in answer to his brother, stepping forward to cut down another screamer.

His bodyguards took up his cry and continued with the Emperor’s work, riding the immaterium of chaos’ taint. It wasn’t long before they were once again separated.

All around, the battle raged, a discordant symphony that confused the senses. Reality bent at the will of daemonic influences as easily as a child at play. Appalling atrocities were continuously committed against his honorable Chapter, and he could do nothing to prevent them as a number of his Astartes continued to fall prey to mutation.

He’d seen one transmuted into marble in perfect replica, while another became a statue of pure ice, only to melt into a large puddle from the warp flames cast by malevolent entities. Others were toyed with for prolonged periods, regaining their mortal form, only to undergo a multitude of different mutations, until the daemon finally grew bored. From affair, Kesaeal had witnessed the end of an Astartes who’d been tormented by such rapid changes. His final form had been a wooden statue in perfect likeness and set aflame before Kesaeal could intervene.

Bellowing his frustration and fury, he ruthlessly hunted down those daemons responsible and slaughtered them, avenging his lost brothers. He was the Lord Executioner. His judgement was absolute, and he slayed his enemies without mercy. Left and right, his enemies fell at his feet. They shrieked as they perished, their bodies evaporating back into the warp where they originated. And yet, they were endless, a tide that refused to abate or retreat.

Brutally, he cleaved a flamer daemon in half, the mindless mutation disappearing in a hiss of colorful vapor. Where there was one, more followed.

These flamers were especially grotesque.

They were little more than one long torso with arms, and a multitude of gapping mouths filled with rows of sharp fangs. Where its head should have been, a ring of salivating mouths barked at him, and near its center, beady eyes bulged above snapping jaws. Smoldering flames spewed from the numerous mouths, noxious smoke spilling outwards in continuous streams. The flamer had no legs. Among the roots that sprouted beneath its bulk, embers crackled with black smog. How many mouths did it have? There were two more at the nubs of each arm.

Spittle dribbled from fleshless lips, landing on the ground with a bubbling hiss. Suddenly, acid belched from its ‘hand’. Kesaeal lurched to the side, but the creature’s other hand spewed a second stream of bile, and he was unable to dodge the fowl spray entirely. Before a drop could splatter against his gravis armour, a pink horror accidently flew between him and the burning ichor, screaming as it dissolved completely. Though his Mk. X armour was more heavily protected, similar to Terminator armour but with higher flexibility, he suspected it would not have provided adequate protection against the flamer’s acid. 

The flamer fell, split down the middle from behind by an ethereal witchblade. There stood the warlock who’d saved Kesaeal from the fluxmaster’s mutation. There were several other aeldari who fought alongside his Astartes. He knew not why the xenos were there, but the two forces had established a tentative understanding in their fight against Chaos. However, that did not prevent casualties.

He felt nothing when his ‘allies’ fell to the daemonic forces, or if they were caught within a barrage of ammunition fire from one of his brothers. ‘Friendly fire’ was a byproduct of war, he thought with dark amusement. As the battle raged, not once had he lifted a hand in aid of the xenos, even when he could have prevented their death. He felt no remorse for standing by and allowing them to perished. And yet this one dared mock him with timely interventions.

“I do not require your aid,” he spat aggressively, only to stiffen when the seer lifted a hand towards him, energy flying from his fingers. It happened so fast, Kesaeal had no time to respond, but rather than striking him, the electric blast went over his shoulder, and he heard a terrible shriek. Looking back, all he saw was pink vapor where a daemon had crept upon him from behind while he’d been distracted.  

Without uttering a word of reproach, Kesaeal perceived the weight of judgement from the silent warlock. His inaction was a sharp counterpoint to the seer’s magnanimity—thrice now. Then, the warlock turned his back on Kesaeal, dismissing him as though he were worthy of nothing but contempt. The insult could not be borne! But the seer vanished in the confusion surrounding them. Angered beyond belief, Kesaeal fought with renewed vigor and brutality.

How long he fought, he did not know. Time ceased to hold any meaning. There was only bloody conflict and destroying the endless daemonic horde. Eviscerator swinging, he beheaded another herald, a changecaster, who appeared to have been the leader of the mass of horrors he’d recently decimated. The large, three armed daemon was similar to the fluxmasters except for the disfigured skull that was in the shape of a crescent moon with an extra set of eyes. Its severed head spun in a spray of blue ichor, its long, tentacle hair writhing in a frenzy, before the entire body vanished.

From his peripheral, a glimmer of purple fluttered.

He turned automatically. Rather than one of his brothers, he caught sight of a distinctly familiar seer. Kesaeal was sure it was the same aggravating xenos who had saved his life—thrice. The seer was assaulted simultaneously by a trio of changecasters, and appeared to be holding his own, but from above, a fluxmaster descended from the shadows. Kesaeal saw the beast rapidly move in on the unsuspecting warlock.

A grim smile curled his lips.

He waited, but the sense of dark satisfaction Kesaeal thought he would feel at the aeldari’s demise was absent. Instead, a knot of emotions sent adrenaline spiking through his system. When the fluxmaster lifted its arm with obvious intent, Kesaeal reacted swiftly.

Reaching down, he grasped the staff that had belonged to one of his kills as blue flames formed around the fluxmaster’s palm. He took two running steps and hurled the makeshift spear. Mere seconds from unleashing its changebolt, the beast fell from its perch atop the manta ray-disc with the staff protruding from its chest. Then Kesaeal was on the move, legs pumping, screaming his battle cry. A changecaster turned at the sound of his approach, but his eviscerator was already swinging, cutting it down. Simultaneously, the other two fell to the seer’s might, but Kesaeal was triumphant.

“No need to thank me, xenos,” he jeered, throwing the seer’s words back at him with relish.

“Indeed not. This moment was preordained.”

Kesaeal frowned at the unexpected remark, his gratification at having their positions reversed waning quickly. “What nonsense is this?”

“My demise had been foreseen,” the seer replied matter-of-factly. “The only path to assure my salvation was you, Captain Daincaz Kesaeal.”

He demanded tightly, “You know of me, xenos?”

“There is much about you I have gleaned,” the seer replied levelly, “for I required your cooperation. All you needed was a little…encouragement. It was not difficult. Mon-Keigh are such simple creatures.”

The careless admission crashed through Kesaeal, his blood rushing loudly through his ears in dawning realization. 

“We are even, barbarian.”

Incensed that this xenos dared manipulate him, he shouted and swung his eviscerator, uncaring that the seer was faster and lifting a glowing hand against him. Bloodlust clouded his vision until all he saw was red and all he wanted was this seer’s life.

All at once, time slowed—then stopped. There was a shift, a magnetic pulse in realspace. Everything began moving—in reverse: the killing of the three changecasters, the fluxmaster regaining form and floating back to the daemonic disc, and the spear suddenly exiting its chest and returned to Kesaeal’s grip. Time flowed back faster until it was nothing but a blur.

It all stopped abruptly, realspace resuming as normal.

Captain Daincaz Kesaeal aimed his master-crafted heavy bolt pistol, finger squeezing the hair trigger twice. His rounds struck the manta ray-shaped disk, causing the daemonic conveyance of fused warp-beast and metal to crash into the ground. Its hulking passenger was thrown in a tangle of muscular limbs. The abomination could not be allowed to live! Elsewise, its psychic influence would continue to decimate his warriors. He’d already witnessed its mutating powers at work against his proud warriors. Then, the fluxmaster had expertly escaped comeuppance.

Not this time, he vowed savagely, swinging his eviscerator at its misshapen, bull-shaped skull.

Unknowingly caught within the Changer of Way’s time vortex, Captain Kesaeal, and all who fought within the Chaos god’s temple, was forced to reenact the same battle, in various sequences, with various—often minuscule—changes. Unceasingly. Until the end of time, or until the Great Deceiver finally became disinterested and put an end to his delicious game.