Background music: Ultrakill Official Soundtrack (Ultrakill 7-1 theme #1) by Hakita.
Give them that sweet love and praise for not only beautiful music, but also for the amazing game, Ultrakill on Steam.
(THIS IS NOT A SPONSER OF ANY AS I AM NOT IN ANYWAY, SHAPE, OR FORM PAIDED, ONLY SHOUTING THEM OUT FOR THIS AMAZING GIFT OF A GAME THEY CREATED TO THIS FUCKED UP WORLD.)
- Note best to keep it loop to do so, should be a simple right click or by pressing the gear under additional settings for PC. For mobile readers… yeah good fucking luck with that. lol

Heads up, shit that may or may not be detailed to “certain folks” not naming cause I'm nice enough, but your warning, I gave up making full warnings and blame you if you don't take them to heart, let alone didn't listen to them so yeah cya.

I Remember it all... I remember who I was and how I made him who he is today... How I made him a monster.

Like few other children in the Imperium, I was birthed on the fortress world, the very planet that became the symbol and soul gate of the entire Imperium of Man, the force that held the line of chaos from pushing further beyond. I was a son, a true-born child Cadia Prime, blessed to bear a father and mother; though both were of high rankings, they love not just me alone but another, rare birth of twins, if you will. A brother, twins if you will, our father gifted us the names "Thorn Cain Grey." for my brother and "Viper Abel Grey" for me. Yet sadly, my brother was cursed with the branding and title of a death-born, a child that caused their parent to die at birth; though it wasn't his fault, it would only be the first of many more steps of ridicule, hate, and looks of a monster to his name.

By age three, our instructing officers and drill sergeants instructors armed us with the very lasguns proudly made for Cadians, born to fight not as the Imperium's shield but as its sword and hammer. We were instructed to remember every piece of the lasgun from barrel to stock; it was not just our weapons but our lives and promises to the Imperium. We promised to protect those of ten billion worlds on ten billion stars under the God Emperor's banner and fight back against the forces of chaos... A promise I broke to you, and continue to beg for forgiveness like so many.

Once we had memorized every piece of our weapons, by age five, we learned to walk, then ran through nothing but relentless drills, from trench warfare practice and cover building from live fire, artillery fire, and bombardment if both atmospheric to orbital, practice and tested in melee and ranged weaponry combat. Then, there were prayer practices where priests came and guided us to worship and follow his light and guidance in utter silence and reprimanded us if we broke that silence. This went on for ten years and soon reached the real test, though we were indoctrinated as "Whiteshields Cadets," in a conscript battalion; Cain and I saw it as a blessing. A sign from our grace showing us that our fates would lead us in glory, and we prayed that he would give us challenges to conquer overall and become something more than what we were; it was not out of our pride, greed for power, honor or rewards, but for the worship and proof of our devotion and faith to him, he bestowed us the fight that we wanted, what we wanted.

Our first task was part of a xeno incursion, beasts of green skin and intimating size called "Orks." The battle was long and heavy. It was the very first time Cain and I saw warfare; those beasts were relentless, no matter how many we shot down, burnt, bombed, or blasted. They continue to fester on us, nothing more than a green sea tide of brutal, barbaric war mongrels'; they would fight amongst themselves just as they would fight against all. Yet, with time and blessings, we were victorious at a whopping casualty rating of ninety-eight percent; we were honored. Still, towards the aftermath of the war, we were tasked to perform a corpse kill check and friendly check of those fallen during the battle; I remember our sergeant sent us as a squad aided by a Kriegsmen heavy flamer team. I had to admit I'd rarely met other soldiers of the guard from different worlds, yet those two were both unnerving to be around, along with Cain and the others of our squad. I never trusted them, let alone speak their language, but if we had to be tasked with them for a corpse check, it was better with them burning corpses than us in front of the fire. I never trusted them at first, hearing the muffled breaths under their mask, their whispers to each other, and the silence they brought; it was unnerving even for Cain.

But yet, like all orders, theirs always bound for something to go wrong, and it did; one of the damned beasts still breathed and lashed out at our squad; it killed our team lead sergeant, slicing his head off in front of us with a scraped axe; we had to lay down las-shot after las-shot till the monster thing ripped off my own arm, killed two men and socked Cain right in the chest. Before slicing its axe into my brother's shoulder, almost chopping his arm off. I was never able to shake off pain from either being shot, punched, or stabbed even, but the feeling of having every one of my arms torn off and watching the monster rip it off using my own brother's body to beat us all, hearing every bone in his body brake as it hit you was something that will stain my memory. Yet through all the pain, The Ork knew we were weak; it was playing with us, but lucky with only one arm, I picked my lasgun and fired at the beast, only buying time for the others to shoot its head and arm to free my brother; and just long enough for him to grab the kriegsmen's heavy flamer and burn the xeno.

Armageddon Steel Legionnaire reinforcement squads came for us and sent us back to the bunker and had us patch up our wounds; besides me near death and the three dead men, only three came out with torn limbs, bruises, and beatings like no other. We later stayed as a squad for about two years; we soon came to what Cain would call "befriending" the kriegsmen, learning their language, sharing some war gear, and knowing their names... well, more of "Identity numbers." We gave them nicknames, but the kicker was that they were women; though I didn't participate with Cain and the children of Krieg, they weren't Cadian, and I never fully trusted them. I could only imagine the faces of the remaining squad members we had. It was common to see women in the guard, but those two wore uniforms and armor covering their whole bodies. So it was quite a surprise, especially since we'd expected them to be male.

I will say this, though: it wasn't easy knowing about them of anything from the start; hell, they barely talked with us, let alone we spoke with them, but soon, through time, we learned a little about each other and gave them names, we called one "Alina" and her sister "Aline." To help us tell the two the part, we took the last digits of their ID numbers, painting them on their helmets: "Aline one one four" and "Alina one one five." They hated it but soon learned and grew accustomed to dealing with it; it made it significantly easier for us to tell them apart and remember each one for Cain and another. They gifted our squad with Kriegian gifts of a trench shovel with our names embedded on the handles; it was nice and looked well cared for and made, too. Cain managed to get both sisters' names on his, causing a smile to curl on my lips, even to this day.

After that and a long time spent in the clinic and bionic implantation of reinforced metal bones, the squad might have drawn certain eyes that we thought were preictally impossible to get. Two officers of different regiments came, one of the famous and highly honored eighth Cadian regiment, "The Lord Castellan's Own," and one for the kriegsmen; the squad ended up being broken up and refilled by new conscripts, the report of our skills and fighting ways bought us new honors, Cain and I were no long conscripts of the guard anymore, but under a new standard of colors and rank—one belonging to our kin of Cadia.

Two years and the age of seventeen, both at the rank of sergeant, we were sent to another world, "Abraxes IX." It was under infestation by what I believed to be the most ruthless aliens I've ever seen. Even with our skills, they were more horrifying than the Orks. They were called "Tyranids." I was sent to the defense of a city, which I refused at first; why would I be tasked and taken away from my brother when hundreds more would be at the city itself? I could only ask and damn cursed Cain for being luckier to fight within the front lines as he cursed me for being the luckiest to be sent to a place of walls and guns. But soon, I would take it back after all I've seen these monstrous bugs do. Ripping into guardsmen like knives through parchment, I was sent to defend a city as a squad leader aided by some experienced Mordians and a squad of conscripts in the support line.

The defense was ruthless, from the Tyranids alone, yet now I had to fight the people of Abraxes as they had fallen to the cult of the Tyranids and would die with them and for them. It was disgusting; beyond the life of a traitor or a heretic, I remember the smell of their siring corpses. The screams of their dying choirs as we mowed them down by the cackling shots of lasguns, how they would pray to their heretical abominations of the God Emperor, it was never meant to be like this; it should've ended there where I received a punishment instead I couldn't believe the cause of my own idiot blood and war-crazed brother disobeying orders and wanting to be in this "Grand Fight" you so desperately want to die in only for you to stop and have both of us reprimanded for your actions, we sent home. Back to Cadia Prime, we had to tell the news and report to our father.

Yet, Abraxes would only fall to an alien invasion that came from within the planet itself, armed with weapons that disintegrated all that was hit by them, not even leaving bones of man as remains; only their burnt armor as the cloths went to a blazing green flame. The guards weren't prepared or even knew what they were fighting. They ran at them with feet of metal clanking, and no matter how many they shot down, they just rose back up and continued coming at them; soon, within hours to days, they saw the planet had fallen to an army of pure metal automaton beings. Soulless monsters of a green light that didn't even know both caring for their own or even their enemy, ripping the flesh off the corpses or the living, the order of a planet-wide evacuation was called.

I've seen the pure terror of watching soldiers die by having their flesh stripped from their bodies, leaving their skinless muscle bodies to be either dead corpses or shot, leaving nothing but scatters of ashes, pools of blood, and the echo of their last screams. After that, I cursed Cain. It was his fault for that, yet I only saw fear in his eyes of those monsters, and all I did was blame him. He lacked self-discipline, awareness, and care for orders or his men. He only remained silent and held his tongue as I cursed and belittled him; I was wrong in that. Instead of belittling him, I lashed out and cursed him instead of comforting his fearful body, but it didn't matter; I never wanted to listen to him, nor did I bother to care. After all, we both knew that Captain Grey would reprimand us and him for this stain on our blood as Cadians, and so we split from being a team with me no longer holding communications with him, and he would suffer for his actions.

Once back home, Captain Grey, our own father, knew of what happened and scolded him; he regretted Cain being a son of Cadia and our bloodline. He told me that Cain would picked to be trained as a Kasrkin shock trooper and be disowned as part of our family. While I was hailed and praised as a hero, given awards and honors of Cadia, and part take on the coming black crusade against the Eye of Terror while Cain suffered for the shame he brought to our family, I only wish I had the heart and mind to tell him how wrong this was now, yet all could do was wish.

Cain was sent to the Cadian mountains of Castrum Agoge, where the fortress of Kasr stayed, to undergo intense training in what father hoped to be a reinforcement of his wild behavior. I don't know why Cain chooses these actions, but all I know was the last few years had been spent alone, being praised and honored while tasked with nearly a hundred cults to hunt with other soldiers and an Inquisitors interrogators, cults upon, cults upon, cults nothing more than cults to all four dark chaos gods of heresy. Yet their one cult stronghold I remember seeing was within the lower levels of the hive fortress sub-level Forty sector Nine-FR. A factory sector once held in the production of Cadian Las-guns for the coming black crusade had reports of traitorous rising with security cams being shut down after the power system to a distant penal holding sector had malfunctioned, causing a riot of penal soldiers to break free. Word and report from both Cadian and Manufactorum civilian troops have a word of the strange choir and roaring sounds. So I, along with a squad of shock troops and battle priests under the order of the interrogator, apprehended the factor level.

What it was was no other cult we had ever faced; the entire factory was a blaze of fire and burning brass; scattered around the factory were corpses, bleeding fresh corpses that rested over old ones. Each one was decapitated with blood gushing and pouring from their gapping necks; the very walls of crimson-stained steel walls littered with so many skulls it felt more like a catacomb of blood and skulls. Then came the rioter. They were savages. Ogryn went mad and berserk with slab scab carapace armor, soldiers screaming with scrap-made axes, blades, knives, and power blade weapons; they were all gone, fallen to madness and insanity. The sounds of our gunfire were toned out by their screams and roars... every shot fired killed one by one, yet they still pushed with numerous amounts of ate malic and insanity.

Then hound-like beasts howled and charged; I watched each one of my soldiers scream as they were butchered in uncaring slaughter and bloody brutality, hounds of demonic heresy pouncing on the priest's necks and tearing their limbs apart, leaving only two priests to continue to wail and scream out sermons and prayers yet, their something in them that stirred my mind. I felt anger and hatred grow, and I began to slaughter them. They were weaker than me and thought that blunt, broken tools, pipes, and blades could cut me easily. All they ever did was bounce off my armor as I told them what might look like and what real strength is; I butchered them...

Every. Single. One... using their own blades to slice their limbs and throats, bayonets stabbing into the hearts and heads of Ogryns, mad man silenced in quick blood splattering gore, and then priests for last, one tried to get a hold of me from behind with a hidden knife. Pathetic, weak even, he didn't deserve to be a priest, let alone a soldier, especially one that strikes from behind. I made sure his death would mean nothing, tearing off his arms, slicing and picking his legs, and tossing his body into the gaping maws of the hound that feasted on the gore around me. I knew this power was under heretical and traitorous eyes, yet it... I felt the power that I could never imagine, the power that I could use to get what I wanted... POWER THAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE!

And so I found it, the alter of the skull throne; its black stone crimson slab showed all the blood offerings and skull trophies that littered the very ground under me that climbed to piles up the eight columns that surround the alter in its center, they're the symbol of the god of war was drawn, using the blood-stained resting the edge blade on my hand and slicing my palm I drew and traced his symbol. I heard his voice there and only smiled and laughed at the promise of power, strength, immortality, and endless glory. I only needed the right offerings, offerings of shared blood. I need the blood of a sibling, his blood.

A year later, I felt more powerful as the days went by with every captured soldier I would sacrifice, or they would join me in my carnage. I had more purpose than I had ever dreamed; I had strength given to me in every brutal eighth kill and heard his voice. It was glorious, and soon, I built a following of soldiers with the cult; they all glared at me not out of fear, hate, and jealousy but out of respect for bringing death faster and more brutally than they could ever have. After that year, I got word of my brother, Cain, the final sacrifice that would have Khorne grant me the right to ascend. His soldiers have known me and my deeds as he offered me a place under his army and domain if I brought him the blood of my twin...

He had changed... He bore the uniform of a Kasrkin Command Sergeant Major, and on his face was a smile of pride, joy, care, and peace. I witnessed it all as I saw him with women of pure beauty. He married and gave her a gift of both their child, while I grew with the gifts of Khorne in my heart and soul; yet there I saw the true sacrifice—the child within the womb. Why give one blood when I can provide a mix of two? They will be my sacrifice to Khorne, to my ascension, and be in the sites of his glorious domain of endless war. This was the task he gave me and offered me.

I just wished it wasn't them… yet I… I didn't want it to end that way, and I remembered seeing his smile when he saw me. My skin was pale as a corpse. My eyes redden from the influence of combative drug concoctions and the promise of Khorne, the will from his eternal burning gaze upon my soul. Yet I saw him standing there with a smile on his face, and I would be lying to say I enjoyed speaking with him again through my chambers if I hadn't had his wife hidden behind the door with a blade stabbed through her neck. I have to give Cain that even after only seven months of holding a baby in her, she still was able to hit hard and break a bone, yet… it wasn't enough by the time chaos had already taken me. And I was already deeper than any traitor on Caida was or can be.

I remember it so vividly before the camera; the cults had already butchered his love and hanged their child from her womb as I bathed in the gore that rained upon me. All I needed was eight drops, eight drops to feel each one giving me power, the blood of a family that I shared, a wife that bared both the children of my brothers and of our father. This was it; I was so close, and then he came. He, along with fifteen guardsmen and eight other Kasrkin soldiers, assaulted the stronghold of the cult to khorne the crackling lasers that shot back and forth, autoguns bullets hailing over and roaring out, plasma shots exploding around the roars of cults and chaos guardsmen around me with Ogryns charging breaking through the very walls and killing as much as they could before Cain armed with a melta-gun fired burning the top half of the berserk Ogryn entirely as he saw me with the cults that followed me.

The look of betrayal on his face as he stared into mine, I felt nothing but rage, burning hatred, and malice in my gaze to him. While I only saw pain, sorrow, and confusion on his face. It hurt me and branded on my mind even to this day. I never wanted to have this, all because of petty personal glory and honor I fell; it was my fault for all of it. It should be I who had to suffer, not him, eleven years of relentless torment, and I gave my brother my own blood. I ripped it all from him; I took away his family; I made him leave ours; I took his reason for living and his child; I took his very humanity and broke him to be hated by all guard in the imperium that sees the branding of the penal mark upon his skin and armor.

All because of stains that were marked on my worthless honor. How father praised me for being the perfect son, how many called me the better one, how so many believed that Cain deserved so much more for the things he did that won't even be his doings. Only false accusations that they blamed him cause he bared the mark. The "X.X.th Penal Company." was a Company of penal soldiers that were unfit, undeserving of any penal regiments, unfit to bear a number as they would die before returning either by themselves, their masters that ignite their explosive collars, or by the wars that were sent first before any and all regiments that were before the siege of battle. A company of genuine, unworthy souls fit for anything but to die in meaningless combat.

I only remember stories of these soldiers, criminals as they were born, children raised to be murderers, rapists before they were even of age, monsters raised in the darkness of the slums in the darkness of underhives. They were not even animals disguised as men birthed from worlds to kill; they were just savages enjoying what they knew and did… I gave them my own brother to train him in their ways.

Even now, I weep for him as I pray for the emperor to see what I did and give him my title of Sainthood, yet all I ever got was the silence and cracks of fire from hanging braziers in my prayer chambers that lit the darkness that surrounded me, the darkness that I can see the demons that haunt me, that laugh at my life and my actions, that cackle and whisper all of my wrongs and regrets to my very being.

This isn't the only way it should have ended… war being the practitioner for man… for mankind; it was the self-sustaining way of life. With man to be crushed under the hands of dark gods and their own leaders and machines of war, created to create war to die in war, samsara of butchered bodies and broken souls. Life without death, a null ouroboros; with the only remains being endless war without reason or history since the beginning of the eye of terror. The pinnacle of life for man, life where mankind is born to end war, is always the life of mankind to continue war. We were glorious, outstretched like the hand of the God Emperor's hand out to the void. We were beyond his expectations, and he reached out for greatness only to become our martyr lord on the golden throne by our fall. So many were spoken of his eulogy in their final words before their deaths, with so many statements, concluding prayers, and serums. Mankinds perfect closure… This is the only way it could have ended.

This was the only way it could have ended.

I saw him pray for this not to be what will come to us, what would be anything than a duel between us, a duel dance of death; he prayed not to have this be the fight that he so desperately claimed it was so long ago. That was until he saw them within the alter I was corrupted in.

And so are blades met, steel to steel and punches to kicks, we fought from moments to hours... but I only belittled, taunted and laughed a Cain, asking him if he knew what this was and what was I doing it for; I only wanted glory and power, an ascension of demon hood, and for the gift of immortality to continue my endless life of war, but for that to be granted to me, it required a sacrifice of lives. And that's when I asked him the question that hunts in his mind every time I see that face burnt into my eyes, and I can help break down and weep for the pain I caused him… the very pain of a man who lost all will reason and humanity as well as a man who lost himself.

I could see the tears in his eyes, just as how my mask of his face cries tears of blood from the pain and sorrow that he felt from staring at the bodies of his wife and child hanged by chains and hooks, butchered and mutated by chaos taint till it made him all to his knees and grovel in pure utter despair that I gave him, his wife… skinned of her flesh with rusted hooks holding her in the air by her neck nape, with a chain that latched to her spine, her head hollowed from carving knives that split her head to extract her skull. His wife's limbs were severed off and burnt, only ending with stumps that were held by the same chains attached to her spine; there she was… the love of his life that Cadia granted him, Vira.

He will forever hate me. I know this; I know he will wish for my death tenfold and would travel and break every imperial law there was to hunt me down and make me suffer the same fate, the same pain he felt for the past eleven years of torment I gave him I only wish it would hasn't his love and his life I tormented.

But it wasn't enough from me then; I wanted him broken; I wanted him to know how pure and utterly small and worthless he was. I wanted to break his mind, forcing him to tears and horror; I made him watch as I gutted his own daughter from his wife's womb and belly to tear out their unborn fetus and left her to hang under her mother with the umbilical cord around the undeveloped neck of the unborn child... His child, I will never be able to wash that blood from my hands as all I did while doing that was laugh. I never spoken or confessed the sins of my past; why would I, as no being in the imperium, believe that I could do such things? They would only accuse Cain again and believe him to be the true heretic he was. So I held my tongue and entered a forever-silent demeanor, vowing never to show my face and to have a silver mask be made in his face as a perfect recreation of my burdens that haunt my soul as I stare into the empty eyes and recall all the memories of how I became who I am.

I didn't see a human man that day, a brother of my blood, a father to one, a twin son, but what I say will never be surpassed by any foe I will ever challenge in war. I saw hatred itself then around us; the sound of las-shots filled the room once again but was quickly silenced by two thud sounds. I saw the kasrkin squads that we were sent with Cain and halted for his call, all those fallen guardsmen that belonged to me... traitors standing over the dead kasrkin bodies and surrounding Cain and I. They only laughed at his shame, despair, and pain as he succumbed to his rage and slaughtered all of the cuties and traitor guard, screaming my name out as he butchered them all just as I did when I fell.

He challenged me to melee combat, something that I needed to improve, and he excelled in, yet the challenge was an aspiring traitor guardsman against a kasrkin guardsman.

I saw him slaughter every single one of them; with every drop of his boiling wrath, he swung his power blade with every ounce of his strength to have his blade through the cultist's and traitor guards' armor and limbs. Their shots hit his armor; they stabbed him, beat him, but I watched him push through their attacks, each one mad, their minds filled with desires to torment Cain. The pain they managed to inflict on him only fueled his hatred as his gaze was locked on me. Limb from limb, beheadings, to stabs, to slices, tearing apart their bodies till his armor and uniform were drenched in their steaming boiling blood. But after screams of sorrow, pain, and rage, it was only him and I that stood left; he butchered his eight Kasrkin squad members in his blind rage and the mess of hailing las and auto gunfire and blood clouds that grazed the air around us.

I only stared at him, a smile on my face and murder on his. I am heartbroken as I still look back at the hit of our blades that clashed, sending sparks of the power engines within them flying across where we moved from dodges and blocks. If the warp hadn't influenced me, I would have had a much more significantly quick loss and a quick death. I knew I was going to die there, and he would be alone as time passed to the slow-coming future.

But what's a future without anyone to be with, a future with no family and loved ones to fill the emptiness... I saw it in his eyes and remained silent; I saw it, what was meant to be my ascension offerings fuel into him, Khorne's chosen abandoning me, marking me as only a holder to the true vessel, then Cain sliced off my greeting me with a kick to the ground and held me down towering over me. This was how I died, my very last moments to only feel pain as his power blade stabbed my heart, my only regret as I come to terms with that moment as the god's dark powers left my body into my brother in his blinding hatred.

My only regret was that I never suffered enough...

I stole his life, after all, took all that made him the man he once was: happy, loved, cared for, and soon fulfilled. My actions I had done now only made him as I see him lay on the cold marble stone of a xenos, castle far, far from the light of the emperor. I see the burns that stained down to his very soul, the wounds only chaos could leave on a mortal, the loss of his limbs and body replaced by metal and coils, the branding of both the Inquisition and the mark of the "X.X.th" on his nape, I made him far from a man but into a weapon collared and leashed by the Inquisition—a guardsman to a slave.

I never gave him mercy as he didn't give me; why would he anyway? I wasn't human deserving of mercy after all, nor was I his brother or family any longer... he was chosen as my executioner on that day; I was just a heretic, a mutant, and a traitor.

With a single slash, my arm sliced off, followed by my other arm; I screamed in pain and cried out for someone to hear me. I tried crawling away, but soon, another slice and my legs were gone. He flipped to my back and stabbed my stomach, gutting me open and spilling out my intestines; pinned me to the ground before kneeling on his chest with his fists curled tightly; and he beat me with his bare fists, giving the slow beating one punch at a time that I deserved. I felt every punch, after punch, after punching, he lost himself to rage, a rage of pain that he was no longer in control of. First jaw dislocated from its socket before he broke it, forcing blood to muffle and gargle my screams, making me choke on my blood; I felt my skull crack till it caved in, and then I slowly lost feeling to my body of my skull breaking with my brain crushing with his bloodied broken fists mashed my caved head to nothing but a red paste and died.

Until I awoke in a strange place. The sky and ground I lay on were pure white as I'd the snow and purity, yet the mud was a dark crimson black with pale grass that sprouted from it. It stretched out as the eyes could see in the empty white void horizon; rising to my feet, I soon found myself near the edge of a cliff that overlooked a sea of dark red water that slammed waves against the cliffs pale rocks below; this was all that remained around me for my surroundings, one way that leads to the horizon to the infinite pal and crimson dirt with the only exception being within the distance a dead pale tree. A hanging human held one of its branches with a rope around the human's neck; with each step, I saw myself not getting closer to the tree. The other path led to the sea of red that flowed under the hanging cliff; the waves of the red sea that slammed on the cliff were violent and wild, hitting the pale marble-like rocks as how a battering rams hit gates with the force of their push could be felt on the cliff that shook my feet. Then, the sight of red-tinted steam that emerged from the sea showed a boiling ocean that smelled of a copper tinge, a boiling sea of blood.

Looking back to the dead pale tree to see it still in the far distance that looked achievable by a walk yet never bared to change or move as the cliff followed with every step I took; I raised one foot and fell, falling down the edge of the cliff and slamming into the boiling bloodied waters, it burned my skin yet didn't blister, it pulled me down deeper with every push I make to break the sea sky with the light from the white void dimming. Till I only looked down at the darkness as it slowly engulfed me, and I was left in a true void with only the sounds of echoing screams of men and women, the loud clashing of metal blades striking each other, the roaring of beasts and of rambling madmen preaching hate and brutality.

Only for me to wake in silence as my body knelt to a golden statue of the God-Emperor. Seeing his closed gaze on the crafted golden statue his eyes were closed with the face of a neutral hold; anyone would be forced to pray to such a beautiful master craftsman's work, yet for me, It was a gaze of the judgment of a verdict already cast upon me as now I bear the punishment, the unworthy gift of sainthood forever to roam the Imperium; a being of faith undeserving of prayers, honors, and glory. I knew this was my punishment, yet when I thought of speaking and confessing my sins and crimes, my mind only brought a message: no. So I remained quiet for eleven years in my vow of silence and isolation till I found him. The man's life I stole, the man I broke and made into what he is now; the man that I have been gifted and unworthy sainthood and punished for taking no one but three lives away from one man.

My brother was resting unconscious on the stone grounds of a Xeno's castle, on a Xeno's world far from the broken home of Cadia and farther from the light of Terra on the other side of the galaxy. Seeing him and his body wounds and changes with the flesh was broken and aged, burnt and infused with limb enhancements and metallic infused with weapons built to his right eye, jaw, and both of his legs and arms replaced by the mechanical bionic by the mechanicus of holy mars. Two daughters of Krieg captured an animal under the will of the Tyriands, with Cain surrounded by xenos and soldiers of the guard.

He was awoken within three hours by the Tyranidic invasion. In his eyes, as the guard and xenos surrounded him, I only saw the scowling gaze of annoyance as a Heidran guard wrapped his ionic arms around his shoulders two of the xenos, a Grey horned one and a brown coated one cladded in golden armor as they all lifted him, and a tech-priest overlooking and applying their maintenance skills over his bionic limbs.

"Emperor's throne, I'm fine... just tired, alright hell." Cain said before looking at the corpses of Inquisitor Marya; his scowling gaze only turned to a sour look of sorrow but hardened; he was trying to hide his panic, worry, and pain. Though he didn't have control over his actions, he knew it was by his hand. Still, it was his blade after all that was still lodged in her chest; he slowly knelt to grab his power sword blade and slowly pulled it out from her chest; blood stained his blade as he sheathed it on his belt. I only watch him as the Heidran guard kneels, then the two Kriegmens follow with the Heidran; their hold on the captured insectoid xenos had been given to more of the other armored xenos as they dragged it away by order of a more prominent white and colorful mane as its horn glowed to only wake up a dark blue xenos similar to the large one but smaller in size, I overlook at the kneeling guard and, my eyes through openings of my mask only locked to him, Cain. Every step was limp, with his bionic arm gripping the underside of his left arm as his bionic hand gripped his left thigh, blood dripping from them to the stone ground.

I only coughed lightly, grabbing everyone's attention as Cain only stood his back and turned to me.

"C-..." I hesitated but reassured myself. "Cain, may we speak in privet?"

The very around us was cold and heavy, almost choking all guards and xenos as they stared between us. With only one word, he said to me as he limped to the main room's broken doorway that led to a hall with guardsmen and xenos known to me as "ponies," moving ruble debris and corpses away and out of the castle.

"No soul except for that one to follow; you will follow me where we can speak, alone." He said in an empty tone.

He began to limp down the hall as guards moved around him, his metal legs scraping as he dragged one foot and the other clanked with every step he limped. I only looked around at both the xeno ponies and the guard.

I'd bowed my head to them as the guard bowed theirs as I slowly lowered myself to my feet and followed behind Cain as worry filled my heart and expectations of what he would say and what he would do to me as he walked the busy halls of the ponies castles, as I am left with what to say and only pray for a slimmer that you could forgive me and be willing to end me of this misery and the eternal punishment of being an unworthy saint.

By killing me to be rid of this pain, be freed from this punishment, and finally lift all the burden, hate, pain, and sorrow of his being... by killing a saint.

Author's Note

What will happen when two brothers finally meet, an undeserving saint and a faultless, loyal sinner and criminal?

short info dumb:

Caliban is home world of daddy Lion to Dark Angels of the round table, Caliban blew up cause of chaos infection and half of the dark angels said fuck that and left becoming DA DRIPPEN (fallen) for being Based and the rest of the Dark Angels hating them trying to kill them all till Daddy woke up from a 1000 year nap and mad beyond all reason while Abaddon and pimped out Vashtor asked aby for a Mcdonalds ice cream with the only working machine on Caliban so they had to rebuild the whole world pissing off so many dark angels while The Emo Terminators bring out a new weapon and the toaster fuckers trying to stop both Pimp Vashtor and terminators.

Mean while on Mar side the daddy of toasters fuckers CAWL are collecting black stone after realizing you can give it positive and negative energy to increase or decrease chaos power like what happen on cadia to use the power of the emo terminators agaisnt them and their star gods just like from the very beginning when they made war with god while Vashtor and Aby joining the fighting them

While the tyranids are joining in for some lunch

With new lore of 40k coming I only realize that Caliban has returned cause of Vashtor wanting to be a new chaos god with a mcguffin IN Caliban and Angrons return... You Dark Angel fans must be having a real good time especially with The Lion helping the Fallen rejoin with his chapter. I come to the realization while I am making this story...

I AM HAVING FUCKING STROKE

What's stopping me from being an author who hates their fans? Like can I just hate each and every single one of you but appreciate ya at the same time, like I make flat-out death threats and ya being social masochists would take it as a compliment?

anyways next enemy race is DA ORKZ! DA BOYZ!! WAAAGH!!!

and next race to be on the side of Imperium Equestia Bats... Bats? BATS!

cya round space boy ; )