# Daemon Rights



## AceSage (Jun 29, 2009)

Well, this is an idea I got after having a sudden craving to collect the new Chaos Daemons army, though I managed to satiate myself by simply writing a story about them instead of going out and using £40 of my already-limited money. :victory: So anyway, yeah, here's the first chapter, hope you all enjoy :good: 

*Chapter One – The Gift of Life...with a twist*
“Sergeant...what was that noise?” said Lance Corporal Kalev, a little bit louder than the sergeant would have liked, to Sergeant Conall as the fifteen men of fifth platoon hunkered down in a room on the lowers level of a multi-storey hab-block. The ongoing war with the forces of chaos had proven difficult the past five months, and signs of fatigue were present on every face in the room. 

Kalev was silenced with a raise of the sergeant’s palm, before Conall turned to look at his men. Two were standing at either side of the window at the back of the room, peeking out every once in a while down at the massive sewers they had been battling through mere minutes ago, three were working on the platoon’s broken vox-caster, three were manning the back door where they had all barged through, five were sat in the middle continuously scanning the room, and three were standing by the large double doors that led out into the street ahead, where as Conall and Kalev were knelt down next to the only blank wall in the room. 

“Shh! They’ll hear us,” Conall whispered angrily. He never really got used to Kalev since he had been transferred from seventh platoon after Conall’s second-in-command had been slaughtered three weeks ago in close combat with a daemon. “Sorry, Sarge, but what do we do if it is...you know, them,” Kalev asked darkly. Conall scrunched his face in concentration, before raising his hand.

“Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do: fourth platoon are about two clicks behind us advancing up the sewers, if we can get that vox working, wait, hold on,” Conall signalled over the vox-operator, Private Samir, who rushed over and stopped in front of him.

“Sirs?” He asked, flicking his gaze from Conall to Kalev. 

“How long till we get that vox working again?” Conall queried. For his plan to work a functioning vox was crucial.

“Uh, can’t say for certain, but we should be able to transfer and receive messages within a 100 metre distance in the next few minutes, anything further than that and it’s frazzed,” Samir said, sighing from minor exhaustion.

“Good, keep working on it,” Conall said, and Samir scurried back to the vox.

“Right, now if we can get that vox working before fourth reach us, we can get them to sweep back and around through a hab-block into the street behind the enemy. Then, while they’re distracted fighting fourth, we can charge out and finish them off.”

“Brilliant, Sarge, absolutely-fucking-brilliant,” Kalev congratulated.

“Thanks Kalev, now we ju-“ Conall began, before Kalev cut him off. 

“But what if Samir can’t get the vox fixed and we don’t get a hold of fourth?”

“Then we’re fucked, ain’t we Kalev?” Conall exclaimed, laughing. 

Just a little too loud

The wall behind them smashed as a seven foot tall traitor marine charged through, sending Conall and Kalev flying, and slamming into the wall at the other side of the room. The remaining thirteen men still standing fumbled around with their weapons frantically as the marine raised his whirring, bloody chainaxe high in the air, and swung it in an deadly arc, decapitating three men in the centre of the room and halving another. The last guardsman in the centre of the room was thrown to the floor, before his skull was crushed under the heavy boots of the traitor marine. The marine quickly aimed the bolt pistol in his left hand and sent three bolts spinning towards another three guardsmen. Two had the whole upper half of their bodies shredded to pieces, and the third bolt passed straight through a guardsman’s throat and impacted against the wall behind him. Before it detonated.

The rockrete wall exploded, and a chunk of debris ripped right through the throat-less man’s stomach, spraying viscera all over the private next to him, who began screaming as the remains slid slowly down his face. Privates Tobias, previously wielding a shotgun, threw it away, and began running towards the front door, barging out, only to be cut down by the masses of traitor guard outside.

The four remaining guardsmen opened fire with their lasguns, but the las-bolts merely deflected off of the tough gore red ceramite armour, and the marine picked off another two with his bolt pistol, laughing, and made to blast a fourth, when the pistol clicked empty. He threw it viciously at a guardsman reloading his lasgun, and the pistol smashed his windpipe and he fell to his knees clutching his throat, unable to scream. 

“Run! Run for your life!” Screamed the last guardsman, who threw his lasgun helplessly at the marine and ran for the large window on the opposite side of the room and dove through it, smashing the glass and cutting his face on the shards, before the audible crack of bones was heard as the private’s body smashed off of the tough rockrete slope. The remaining guardsman began sobbing, or so it seemed like sobbing, as the sounds coming from the man were inconsistent burst of moans or wheezes. The marine began slowly walking towards him, laughing maniacally, before he raised his chainaxe above his head, and slashed downwards, powering the chainaxe down until the guardsman’s torso dropped to each side. The marine looked around the room for any survivors and saw no movement, so, feeling proud, he stalked over to Kalev, dropped his chainaxe by his side, and lifted the guardsman off the ground, taking a hold of his head and wrapping his free hand around his neck, and forcefully ripped Kalev’s head off. 

xxx

Osiris dropped the headless body back to the ground and took one of his trophy spikes from his shoulder and impaled Kalev’s head onto it, sliding it all the way down till it hit against the head of a tyranid from a past battle. He turned and stepped over to the double doors, hefting his trophy spike high in the air, “SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!” Bawled Osiris, and the traitor guard massed all up the street roared in response, chanting his name or shouting “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” 

Osiris replaced his trophy spike and took off his helmet, before smashing it against his skull and letting the blood from the cut he had just created flow freely down his face, licking at it with thirst. This elicited a bigger raucous from the traitors...before they were all silenced. 

Osiris hadn’t thought Conall to be still breathing when he saw him lying prone in the room, he hadn’t seem his raise the shotgun dropped by Tobias either, he didn’t see Conall blow his head off with a high-calibre shotgun shell, and he certainly didn’t see the massive rush of traitor guardsmen stampeding over his corpse to tear Conall apart limb by limb. 

xxx

Osiris felt like he was falling. He felt like he would never land. And...he, he couldn’t see. Osiris suddenly remembered: some bastard had blown his head off...he was dead. 

The sudden realisation hit him like a krak missile, but so did the ground he smashed off of. Apparently he would land. He did land. Was this what death was like? Would he be forced to wander around, wherever he was, headless, stumbling into things, falling every other minute? He loathed the possibility. 
All of a sudden, there was the sound of deep, heavy breathing. Osiris had no idea how he could hear it if he didn’t have a head, but for some reason he could. Maybe the blood god had chosen to at least grant him the ability to hear, even in death. 

“You have failed, young champion,” a deep, dark voice sounded from all around, and Osiris flinched, turning frantically to locate the source of the sound, but there was none. It had come from everywhere. 

“Such promise, such...talent,” the voice said, loudly and clearly. Osiris wished he could talk, wish he could see, wished he could somehow respond with whatever was taunting him...so he could rip its fucking head off. A faint, echoing laugh resounded, in that same monotone way the words were spoken in. “Mortal fool, you could not hope to kill me, as you see...or you don’t see...I’m already dead.”

So there was a way to communicate: through thought, maybe Osiris could find a way to regain what he so dearly missed. _Where am I!?_ Osiris rasped, somehow able to think without a brain. 

“You are in no position to ask the questions. Listen to me and maybe...maybe! I’ll give you a second chance,” the voice drifted off. The prospects at a second chance was...wait.

_A second chance at what!?_
Osiris didn’t have the sight to be able to ready himself for the blow that sent him flying 20 feet into the air, where he didn’t come down. Something was holding him here. He tried struggling, tried to move his arms or legs, to no avail. Despite the futile attempts he still tried to break free of the invisible grasp keeping him airborne. “You are NOT asking ANY questions, lest I feed you to the hounds...over and over again. Do you understand?” It was not a question. 

_Yes_. Osiris said obediently, before the holds keeping him in the air loosened, and he crashed 20 feet towards the ground.

“Get up!” Commanded the voice, and even though the blow was shattering, and all his muscles screamed at him to stay down, he nevertheless pulled himself up. “Good. Now we are making progress.”

“Do you know why you are here?” Asked the voice. 
_I don’t know where here is_, Osiris responded smartly. 
“Fine, since you persist even with the dangerous repercussions, I’ll tell you exactly where you are: You are in the Immaterium, the Warp, the Realm of Chaos."

“Now, do you know why you are here?” The voice repeated. Osiris could have guessed he was in the Warp, though with Chaos, nothing is set in stone.

_Yes, I’m here because I was killed._

“And do you know why you were killed?”

_Because I was careless._

“NO!” Protested the dark voice. 

_No?_ Osiris thought, confused. 

“No,” the voice repeated, “You were killed because you are human! And, as a result of your mortality, you were careless. Do you understand?” 

_I think_, Osiris thought. The voice had basically just explained the reason for Osiris’s carelessness, so Osiris was right the first time. _Though I don’t see how this helps me_.

“This doesn’t help you! Only I can. And there is only one way I can,” the voice said cynically. 

_What must I do?_ Osiris asked, desperate to try anything to get his head back.

“Oh, dear mortal, you mustn’t do anything...anything but endure,” the voice laughed maniacally, before Osiris felt like his body was being dipped into a pool of acid, toasted by multiple flamers and blasted at with hundreds of plasma and melta guns, all at the same time. Then he blacked out.

xxx

Osiris’s whole body was burning, his limbs ached, and he had one massive headache...wait, headache? That must have meant he had been given a head! That damned voice had helped him, even if it did mean being subject to the most immense pain in the universe. Osiris had been captured by Dark Eldar and tortured for six years before he had escaped that dark place, yet nothing was worse than what he had just experienced. He pried opened his eyes, and when they blurred he blinked furiously, clearing his vision...his precious, precious vision.

The first thing he saw when he opened his new eyes was a black ceiling, and there was a sharp smell of incense that pierced his nose, and he could hear the sound of burning candles: the source of the smell. He made to sit up, but found his arms and legs restrained, and he craned his neck to see what was holding him. His wrists and ankles were locked firmly in place by metal clamps, and they didn’t look like they would budge easily. He dropped his head back carelessly, and felt the...rockrete?

Why would the table be made of rockrete and the clamps of metal. It didn’t add up. Maybe it was some kind of test, a challenge to prove he should have his head back. If so, how would he escape?

He wouldn’t be able to smash the rockrete underneath his hands or feet as they didn’t allow enough room. Maybe he could smash through the rockrete with his head, and then try and create a hole under his legs and torso by slamming himself against the hopefully weakened rockrete underneath him. It was his best shot. 

_Slam!_

He pummelled his head back against the rockrete, and heard a slight crack, though whether it was his skull or the rockrete, he was uncertain. 

_Slam!_

Another crack, louder this time, which meant it must have been the rockrete, since he was still conscious. 

_Slam!_

He heard the sound of falling debris, meaning the rockrete under his head was beginning to weaken. 

_SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!_
Head-butting the rockrete did nothing to help his already splitting headache, and one after the other with a half-second break in between each left him feeling like his head was going to crumble before the rockrete did, but as he slammed his head back for an eighth time, he felt relieved as his head hit nothing but air. Obviously the headache was muting his hearing, as he hadn’t even heard the rockrete hit the floor. Then he felt it: the slow trickle of blood that hung to the back of his head, even as his head lolled backwards and hung down below the table. Sighing heavily, he prepared to smash in his body to try and crack the rockrete of the table.


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## Lupercal101 (Jan 26, 2009)

really good man can't wait for chapter 2! +rep!


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## Israfil (Jul 6, 2008)

very awesome, can't wait for the next part


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## Chocobuncle (Feb 5, 2009)

yea i have no time right now to read it but if these guys thinks its good ill read it soon and +rep


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