(POV: Magnus)
Currently in Warp
'Victor' a term used for the person who wins not by dominating the opponents, definetly not the one who slaughter the enemy.
A side is truly become victors when they made less mistake then their opponents.
As mentioned earlier, plans never go according to it's original trajectory.
The ones who truly accept mistakes, recalibrate, and execute on their hands are the enemy that truly terrifies me.
And I hope to become that type of enemy to my opponents but clearly I am far from that level but I can only take one step at a time.
My plan to stall for time to activate teleport lay in ruins, the reason: teleportation ban field laid by Tzeentch Sorcerers.
My physical condition worse then ever, my shoulders armor destroyed, the chest plate of the same side shattered.
Stamina to maintain my dance with death all time low.
When I was reincarnated in this accursed universe as a primarch, my instinctive thought was maybe I am like those protagonists in novels.
Even though being losers in their original worlds once they transmigrate with their golden finger, they would slap arrogant young masters, subdue cold jade beauties, refine earth and ordered heavens.
But clearly I am not that protagonist, maybe my fate is decided on the whims of a fanfic author.
Maybe my whole life was made to be miserable by the writer of the story.
If that is true he or she better pray that I would die by the relentless assault of this endless daemon horde otherwise, I will peel away his/her skin, feed his/her muscles to dogs and grind his/her bones.
And use his/her organs to make pentinent dreadnought.
Those were my thoughts as I was drowned in the ocean like a daemon battlefield only my bare hand pointing finger toward the mystical sky of warp as person who is drowning in the ocean.
"Sacrifice what you have," was all my I could say telepathically as I started losing consciousness.
(POV: Leyliah)
It has been one month since I had my first meeting with the Crimson God.
During this one month, I had fought with my fellow gladiators against the beasts enslaved by butchers nail.
Although we won against the beast, albeit only our one tenth compatriots survived that hell.
But I obtained a weapon which I can easily conceal, it was a spear which can folded into a single palm length rod.
The circumstances during which I had retrieved is very peculiar.
That day after we had killed the beast, I saw a shiny glimmer in a dent on soil where my fellow slave had her head crushed.
When I went to examine in disguise to mourn and check on the body of the slave, I had retrieved it and concealed it with psychic power.
At night, now I am examining the working principle behind this artifact.
Suddenly, I had this heartache like my heart is going to get ripped from my heart.
Then I heard an order from my lord, to sacrifice this artificat also with the ritual information.
The number to use in the ritual circle which was drawn from blood was 5 or any multiple of 5 but it would be much better if it was 15.
And I did as I was instructed.
First I found a secluded spot then i drew a 5 point star with circle encompassing entirety of the star.
Then I write 5 in each arm or each triangle of star and wrote 15 on the center of star with my blood.
After that, I placed the spear and started reciting the honorific name of my God:
The Red Priest born with the calamity
You who reigns over the clouds of blood
The Crimson Emperor, one who controls symphonies of War, Iron, and fire.
As I finished reciting, suddenly the temperature around me increased like I was in scorching desert harsher then the desert of Nuceria.
Then a blood coloured fog started to form finally taking on the form of gates.
The gate was of black color with red symbol which skull with cloak on both gates.
There was a fiery light being emitted from the skull's eyes, nose and mouth of skull.
A scene was craved on both gates that depicted a warzone where humans were trampling on eachother on the mound of corpses.
While their hands were raised toward the symbol like they are reaching out to their only salvation.
And the eyes and their mouth also glowed with the same fiery light.
Suddenly, the gate opened and only saw endless blood mist then the weapon was sucked in gate by invisible force.
The gate suddenly vanished, and the surrounding temperature returned to normal again.
(POV: Tzeentch Daemon (Magnus Lackey))
I wanted to help him, the only friend I had ever made. I am powerless to do so.
As I met him for the first time, my memory before becoming daemon started recovering.
It was like an addict who got sudden clarity from the haze of drugs and alcohol.
Before becoming a daemon, I was born on the knight world of Sewtaal.
A world ravaged by storms and warp beasts. I was born into a noble knight family.
But when I was born our estate was destroyed by storm and only I survived.
Afterwards I was adopted by my maternal grandfather, when I was 4 he died fighting warp beasts.
After that people branded me as a symbol of badluck and ruin. I was a lonely figure in the entire noble circle.
When people who encountered me they try to stay far away as possible.
As I was drowning in solitude, I got this sudden epiphany; what if I am the symbol of bad luck? What if they're afraid of me?
I would gather knowledge about everything, if they want to learn about anything they had to kneel infront of me.
But during that pursuit alas I doomed my entire planet to damnation.
After who knows how many year I have a friend albeit his goals were somewhat question but in the end he was still my friend.
I ran toward him to bring him out of the endless horde of daemons but suddenly I heard his order about sacrifice.
There is only one thing that I count as my everything that is my grimmiore in which my century of knowledge was stored.
So I sacrificed it to save him; maybe he can save me from the clutches of Tzeentch.
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Donate some powerstone will ya?