As I always say, Khârn the Betrayer was pretty fun to be around, and contrary to p

opular belief he actually had a sense of humor as well. Probably the best exampl
e was in the middle of the campaign during a sweeping of an Imperial Guard comma
nd post, with Khorne Berserkers and our Red Rivers company marching directly int
o the defensive fire. The closer we got, the more apparent it became that the on
ly thing holding the Guardsmen together was a grizzled looking Commissar in full
uniform, one gun turned on us and another firing on any of his men who looked l
ike running.
Khârn was at the tip of the assault, and so he got to the Commissar first, pluckin
g the screaming officer up by the neck and holding him over his head.
Then, out of nowhere one of the other berserkers grabs the Commissar's legs and
roars "MAKE A WISH!". Well, as you can imagine everyone on both sides forgets ab
out the fight, and watches Khârn and this other Khorne-worshiping marine just star
t pulling on this Commissar at both ends, the old man screaming out oaths and cu
rses like you wouldn't believe! You could almost hear the sound of flesh tearing
and bone snapping over the cheering.
Then, Khârn just let go. Totally not expecting it and pulling with all his might,
the Khorne Berserker just falls backwards and starts tumbling with the near dead
Commissar into a damaged hellhound, his armor grating off it and sparking!
Well, after the explosion we all turned back to Khârn, who had managed to keep a h
old of the Commissar's fancy hat. Ol' Khârn put it on, and damned if it wasn't the
funniest thing any of us had ever seen... till he turned to us and bellowed "I'
M THE NEW COMMISSAR" at us.
They tell me five thousand traitor guardsmen died that day before someone could
take that hat off him.
What a kidder!
Sporting his new hat.
Contrary to popular belief, Khârn the Betrayer was a pretty fun guy to be around d
uring a blood-letting campaign. Sure, he'd get so wrapped up in the blood-lust t
hat he'd butcher friend and foe alike but it's not like you didn't get a fair wa
rning from his name or anything.
I served in the traitor guardsman legions known as the Red Rivers, because we go
t sent in first to soften up the positions and you could see our progress by the
red river of our blood. I kept running into Khârn during one of the bigger scourg
ing campaigns, and he wasn't dickish about the whole him being a space marine an
d me being killed by flashlights or angry glances at all.
The first time I saw him, I was on perimeter patrol at one of our forward outpos
ts, we'd just overrun a Sororitas non-militant chapel, and I was watching from a
far when Khârn strides up, cool as you like holding the largest stone pillar I've
ever seen. I turned back and the whole chapel was falling down. He'd just ripped
the thing right out and was carrying it on his shoulders!
Then, if that wasn't insane enough he went and hefted this whole pillar through
the air, and crushed the entire congregation of Slaaneshii, all in one go.
I was just standing there dumbfounded when Khârn looked at me, as though noticing
me for the first time and yet not surprised by my presence at all. He held his p
alm out, and I obliged him a high five. He'd earned it.
Shattered every bone in my arm doing it though.
Nice guy, that Khârn.
Khârn, being a /b/tard.
The second time I crossed paths with Khârn was in a later stage in the campaign. W
e were besieging one of the major hives of the planet, and I tell you what that
place was locked up tighter than a Dark Eldar's pants. My commander, Oxlor the V
ilest, was stuck in an argument with some idiot leader of some group of Death Gu
ard. You could see the smell it was so bad. I could tell Oxlor wasn't happy, sin
ce everyone knows the Death Guard's answer to everything is to just walk at it a
nd watch your bits fly off. Not so good for us soft and squishy guys.
Out of nowhere, this big hand grabs our commander by the shoulder and just hefts
him aside, three whole trenches back where he rebounds off a basilisk. The crew
was so shocked they fired off a round on a horrible trajectory, and the shell s
treaked high into the sky.
Khârn the Betrayer just dusts himself down, and then picks back up what he had bee
n holding. Now, I'm no techpriest and I never will be, but I know a nuclear warh
ead when I see it. I don't know where he got it.
No one says anything, so The Betrayer just punches the Plague marine in the face
, and stuffs the warhead into the leaking mess of his stomach while he was still
reeling.
No run up, no preparation. He just fucking throws the other marine into the air
at the hive. For a moment it actually looks like he's thrown the warp-damned foo
l OVER the hive, but as he flies over the top the basilisk shell comes down and
spears him through the whole hive! There's a low boom noise, the ground shakes,
and then the whole hive IMPLODES!
Everything clears, and Khârn looks at me, and I feel about one foot tall. I don't
know if he recognized me, but he leans down and whispers. Khârn WHISPERS to me.
"I was trying to hit the Emperor's Children on the other side" he confides in me
, and then nudges me as though it's supposed to be our little secret.
I was in traction for a MONTH.
I've been fairly insistent to you readers out there that Khârn the Betrayer was a
pretty fun guy to be around. I know he gets a bad rap for the whole 'slaughterin
g his own allies' thing, but unless you've been there after a battle with him yo
u don't really appreciate how much he strives to please his chaos god.
It was after one of our many conflicts that the Red Rivers Infantry were prepari
ng to march on to our next destination. Never mind that it was half the planet a
way, we as traitor guard didn't get transport vehicles. So as you can imagine wh
en someone declared they'd found an Imperial Drop-ship in working condition ever
yone clamored and fought to get a free ride to our next engagement.
Knowing full well I was too far away to get on the ship, I stayed with some of m
y fellow traitors at the battlefield. I'd seen Khârn after the battle, and as soon
as we'd gotten our marching orders he was picking up corpses and putting them d
own elsewhere. This took an hour before he was satisfied, and seeing an audience
he happily led us up onto a hill as the drop-ship flew a pass over the top of u
s, probably to gloat. Proudly, Khârn gestured to the battlefield, and then waved u
p at the drop-ship with his other hand. I peered down the hill, and realized he'
d arranged the bodies to make out words, so many killed to form:
On your drop ship hull
I planted a melta bomb
Blood for the Blood God
It was at that point the drop-ship erupted in a violent plume, and crashed down
on top of the haiku. Roaring in a cheer, we lifted Khârn up together and made to c
arry him to the next battlefield as a sign of our appreciation and devotion to h
is art.
We got about five paces before our spines liquefied, but Khârn didn't hold it agai
nst us for trying.
Seriously, what a guy.
Kharn's not afraid to switch things up every once in a while
I've always said Khârn the Betrayer is a heck of a guy in spite of his reputation.
But even I have often wondered just which side of him was more prevalent. The g
reat guy or the butcher?
I got my answer when The Red Rivers sacked an Adeptus Mechanicus primary researc
h facility. Aided by renegade tech priests we opened the bulkhead doors of the H
ead Magos's research chamber, and ended his life. In this room was a huge throne
that the Magos used, a massive collection of wires around a cold metal frame us
ed to interface with the facility.
Grinning, a guardsman jumped onto the throne and yelled "HEY GUYS! I'M THE EMPER
OR!". We barely had time to chuckle before hearing a loud clang behind us.
Behind us stood Khârn, his axe having slipped from his grasp as he stared at us. W
e weren't sure what was happening till frothing blood began to spill out his hel
met.
With a roar of anger that drowned out our own cries Khârn rushed the throne, rippi
ng it out of the wall over his head as the guardsman remained sitting in it scre
aming helplessly. With a cry of "REVENGE!" Khârn drove the entire throne through t
he floor, utterly destroying it and the guardsman in an explosion of gore. We ra
n.
I was too slow and the other guys sealed the bulkhead behind them, leaving me al
one and cowering as Khârn advanced. He was almost upon me when he stopped and burs
t out laughing at me.
"APRIL FOOLS!"
Rattled but relieved, I burst into an exhausted laugh at the clever gag. Suitabl
y pleased, Khârn slapped me on the back and praised me for being such a good sport
. The Tech Priests tell me they've never seen a bulkhead breached by a human bod
y before, but that's Khârn for you. Heck of a guy.
It was a normal day, just like any other, almost. Commissars were shooting their
men, etc. But there I was, with the Red Rivers, sitting on some shithole of a b
unker, when we just heard this loud crash. Of course, we thought it was an attac
k, it being in the middle of the damn night and all. A few of the guardsmen jump
ed next to the bunker wall, while I hit the ground. Suddenly, another crash was
heard, this time closer. It sounded like it came from the inside of the bunker.
IT S MY DAY OFF! Khârn spoke as he broke the reinforced concrete wall, smashed a few g
uardsman directly in his path, and ran off. I didn t know what had happened until
a bit later.
Across the land, several hundred kilometers out, lived a farmer, who took care o
f his heard of bronto-cattle. When he awoke this day, he grabbed his boots, put
on his hat, got his tools, and stepped out the door, where several hundred dinos
aur sized cattle were flipped on their backs with their insides scatter around t
he field. Carved in each one with what looked like a rusty fence post was the wo
rds IT S MY DAY OFF .
Blood of the people, skin of the innocent, bones of the pure, all laid out in a
complex pattern. The cultists performed the exact ritual, syllable to movements,
all in accordance with whatever Tzeentch had wished. Skies were darkening, wild
life fleeing, storms that shouldn t happen this time of year started appearing. Th
en, out from the bushes, Khârn leapt, slamming a cultist into the arrangement, and
instantly turning him into liquefied pulp. Across the land, a sound of a giant
record stopping was heard.
A single cultist watched as Khârn continued on his way, oblivious to the ritual. Wo
w, I wasn t expecting that . He was then instantly destroyed.
The commissar watched the mountains surrounding him. Fortified in his city, wait
ing for the forces of Chaos to come, all he needed was to wait until- ENEMY SPOTT
ED. FIRE ON COORDINATES A voice screamed through his earpiece. The basilisks quic
kly responded, firing at all the coordinates shouted through the comm. units. Ev
entually, they exhausted their ammo. The Commissar looked on the mountains, expe
cting to see the ruined army of Chaos. Instead, he saw nothing but splintered tr
ees and rocks, and the craters from the barrage, which seemed to spell out IT S MY
DAY OFF!
You know, being a part of a Chaos Campaign isn't just one great big conga line o
f decadence and killing like they probably tell you in the cults. There's lots o
f long moments where you're sitting in some shattered ruin waiting for the sorce
rers to finish divining the next place to move. During these times I try to find
whatever books I can and just read a bit. Sometimes you just get propaganda, bu
t occasionally you find something someone has hidden away from all eyes. Heretic
al stuff.
I found this one book in the city of Majoris Prime. It was like reading about Tz
eentch without the tentacles.
That was about the time Khârn found me, apparently bored with beating the Slaanesh
worshippers. He asked me what I was reading, and unable to quite explain it I p
assed the book to him. The berserker flicked through the first few pages idly, t
hen as though captivated kept flicking through rapidly, head turning as he ran d
own the pages at lightning speeds as though possessed... I waited for him to say
something, but for the longest time he just seemed entranced.
At last he looked up, staring not at me but into the distance as if struck by a
revelation. I was scared, more than usual.
"I..." he started, "I have completely forgotten how to read."
Then he dared me to eat the book. A great time was had by all.
Down time between raids can be pretty boring, especially in the case of the Conv
ent Complex of Decapitus IV, where the victims kill themselves before you get to
them, and the crazies have nothing to torture. The Slaanesh guys are the worst.
Without something to toy with they get all antsy and bother everyone.
The Red Rivers had deployed to a hillside nearby the complex, mostly just taking
stock of our own dead's gear and handing it out to one another. Most of us were
Khorne boys, but there were always a few that had to be different.
I was doing a quick search for more gear when I heard a series of almighty squea
ls, and a pair of bodies hurtled through the trees to my feet. I didn't have tim
e to do anything before a head also came flying out and struck me in the face wi
th an almighty crack. Broke my nose and knocked me dizzy.
When my head cleared I found Khârn standing over me, with a small beret on. In one
hand he had a paint brush, the other a little board with paints on it (though t
hey were all just shades of red).
"SORRY ABOUT THAT" Khârn yelled, much to my chagrin with the headache and all. He
explained that he was painting, and the two fellows (Slaanesh, typical) had been
giving him critique when all he wanted was a bit of peace. Once I'd gotten my b
earings, I stood up and he showed me his work.
"Khârn it... it looks like a painting of my eyes?" We shared a deep stare for a mo
ment, then Khârn looked back to his work with a sigh.
"I WAS TRYING TO DRAW A DUCK"
The Annual Red Rivers costume party is more than just a traditional excuse to ge
t drunk and invite some Daemonettes over, at least to me and those few of us who
lived through last years: it will forever serve as yet another shining example
of how Kharn's just a great guy to party with.
There we were, in the middle of fun. The disco light was going, and we had an en
tire (formerly) Imperial planet all to ourselves to get dressed up and destroy i
n a fest of bad techno music. Everyone had shown up, it seemed, and even Abaddon
was fairly relaxed; he waited a whole three hours before killing the DJ, and we
were all drunk enough at this point to not mind the smell wafting over from the
plague marine contingent, who spent most of the evening moping over the fact no
ne of the daemonettes would dance with them.
As I'd said, the party was in full swing when all of a sudden there was a horrib
le scream of rage, and then in through the window came everyone's favorite party
guy, Khârn. He'd painted his armor all pink, and he'd ripped shreds of carapace o
ff something to make a crude tail coming off his back. In the window he came, an
d landed squarely on the Daemonette I'd spent the last half hour chatting up, cr
ushing her to a pulp and covering me in a spray of bits. He then proceeded to st
and there for the next eight hours of the party, ignoring any and all attempts t
o lure him into conversation, or to get off the daemonette, who was still half a
live after being crushed.
I was kind of despondent after that, and spent the rest of the night drinking wh
ile Kharn spent the rest of the night standing still. Finally, just before we we
re about to dim the lights, Khârn took in a deep breath, and in a tone of horror a
nd fear, shouted, "LOOK OUT, SLAANESHI WHORE!"
The entire room burst into laughter. Man, what a kidder.
"WHERE IS MY EQUERRY?!" Angron's roaring voice echoed throughout the ship, buckl
ing two bulkheads and killing an astropath within the 'anger zone'. The World Ea
ter's Primarch stormed through the corridors with his head held high, smashing i
t through several ornate archways as his feet battered and dented the floor with
each step like the beating of a war drum.
Captain Khârn of the Fifth Assault Company, Equerry of the World Eaters had been a
dmiring the ornate workings of a dreadnought sarcophagus, a low sigh issuing for
th from his helmet as he heard his lord approaching. With a thunderous crash, An
gron threw his weight against the loudly snoring construct, sending it bowling i
nto a nearby row of its fellows, knocking them all about like skittles.
"TREACHERY! BLOOD! TRAITORS!" Angron screamed, flecks of spittle splattering all
over the equerry's armor, "I'LL HAVE MY REVENGE! IN BLOOD! I'LL KILL HIS FAMILY
! ALL OF THEM!"
"What's wrong, my lord?" Khârn asked, his voice low as to not startle his already
over-stimulated commander.
Angron thrust a small plastcrete cube in front of the Captain's face, three litt
le movable rows covered in colored squares. Even if it weren't practically being
crammed up his nose, Khârn could clearly make out the shapes of Angron's armored
fingers forced into every tile.
"WHO MADE THIS?! I WANT TO EAT THEIR SKULL AND LINE MY BED WITH THEIR BONES! BLO
OD!" Angron screamed again, utterly soaking Khârn head to toe in spittle.
"I AM AWAKE?! IS IT TIME TO BATTLE?!" One of the dreadnoughts cried out, the sar
cophagus merely wobbling on its side without being connected to its proper frame
, as Angron and the Tech-priests continued screaming at everything.
"And that" Khârn the Betrayer spoke to his audience of Red Rivers infantrymen, as
he ineffectually plinked a skull full of blood against his mouthpiece and spille
d it all down his front, "is why I decided to start killing everyone"
There were victory celebrations, that much I can remember. Then the blood and ot
her body fluids flowed.
I woke up on some busted old bed in the remains of what was the Planetary Govern
or's palace, my blood-and-filth encrusted shirt half-draped out a nearby window.
My head was ringing and as I groaned and rolled to my left, I came eye to eye w
ith what I thought was one of those Sororitas. For a moment my heart skipped a f
ew beats.
It all came back slowly. She was one of those holy ladies once, but she realized
she liked burning and cutting things more than actually praying. Now she was ju
st like me, only with more tattoos to Khorne and a rusty nail put through her li
p.
"Hey there beast" that fallen lady grinned, before kissing me on the cheek and g
iving me a big ol' scar in the process with her 'jewelery', "You guys were pheno
menal"
"'You guys'?" I groaned out, whilst rubbing my cheek. It was then I became aware
of a shuffling behind me, and hurriedly I rolled over.
There was Khârn, still in full armor, reading a newspaper that was a week old, a c
igar jammed in his helmet's respirator.
"Great fight." the fallen sister remarked.
Khârn glanced up from his newspaper and stared at me. After a very long moment, he
put out his fist. I did the same, and as we brought our fists together, we both
shouted "RESPECT KNUCKLES!" as I felt my entire arm shatter.
Despite all the stories and rumors of him slaughtering his own men, Khârn was actu
ally a fun guy to be around.
I remember a game he would play. "Toss the guardsmen" it was called. Simple game
really. You basically picked up a guardsmen tied to a pole and tried to throw h
im as far as you could into a field of big pointy metal spikes. Whoever threw th
e farthest would win. Khârn encouraged me to give it a shot and despite my misgivi
ngs about how weak I was, the big guy talked as if he believed I was the best pe
rson for it. So not wanting to disappoint him (and also figuring "Why the hell n
ot?") I gave it a go. Not too surprising, I was too weak for the game and only m
anaged to lift the pole (and the guardsmen tied to it) up just enough to have bo
th fall on top of me. At first the Chaos marines started to laugh, well at least
some of them did, the others made loud grunting noises that sounded like they w
ere trying to loosen some phlegm.
Khârn then walks up to me and says "Here, let me show you how it's done.", and pro
ceeds to grab the pole. He takes a step back and launches it into the air. It ke
eps getting higher and higher and higher. It continues its accent into the sky u
ntil eventually; we lose sight of it and just assume that it landed in some rand
om location. As I m beginning to stand, up alarms go off. We hear from some random
cultist that some random regiment from the Imperial guard is attacking us. I ge
t my gear and run into position. I run into a trench and begin to watch for any
movement. It takes only a few minutes before I begin to see guardsmen charging t
owards us. The Khornite cultists and marines do their thing. Screaming BLOOD FOR
THE BLOOD GOD! while they hack and bludgeon the loyalists into bloody chunks.
Now, during this, I become aware that Khârn has been standing next to me the whole
time. He does nothing but stand perfectly still, neither looking at me nor sayi
ng a word. Now during my little space out, the sound of a Baneblade heavy tank a
pproaching us reminds me that I was in the midst of a battle. As I see it get cl
oser and closer to us, I begin to slightly freak out as to how I m gonna possibly
deal with that. The thing stops to aim and proceeds to blow up a group of Khorni
te berserkers and cultists. Now absolutely terrified, I attempt to run for bette
r cover but find myself paralyzed with fear (along with a need to find a clean p
air of pants). Khârn then gets on one knee; rests his hand on my shoulder, points
to the Baneblade and says, You re going to love this . Then a most peculiar sound cat
ches my ear. I hear a slight whistling sound, like a basilisk shell falling back
to earth. Khârn then points to the sky and sure enough I see a faint object falli
ng toward us. I take it for a shell at first, but then I realize that there woul
d be more if the loyalists were launching an artillery strike. So ruling that ou
t, I continue to stare at it. It gets closer and closer until I can make out its
shape slightly. To my amazement, it s the very same guardsmen tied to the pole fr
om before. He continues to fall, getting faster and faster. Finally against all
odds he actually hits the Baneblade and penetrates the armor! Now I m not sure wha
t exactly did it, and I do have some ideas, but whatever the case was, the tank
explodes. The shrapnel and debris go flying and rip several guardsmen (a quite a
few cultists as well) to shreds. Khârn turns his head to me and says in the calme
st voice, And THAT is how it s done. He jumps out the trench and charges toward the
enemy.
Every single one of them died.
Fun guy, that Khârn.
Khârn the Betrayer is a pretty surprising guy, he pretty well known for it, but mo
st of the time people ignore the humorous side of these outburtss of temporary i
nsanity.
One time, after overrunning a refugee camp that hadn't been evacuated in time we
decided to engage in some party games to relieve the monotony of senseless slau
ghter: spin the prisoner, throw the prisoner, shoot the prisoner, prisioner of f
ortune etc. Now after we blink when one of them gets nailed by a 100 yard headsh
ot from a lasgun. This is pretty impressive considering the general state of mos
t of my regiment s lasguns. Lately I've taken to just throwing mine at the enemy a
nd finding a corpse to hide under if required to use it in any kind if defensive
fashion.
Anyways the ace yells "Wooo! One shot!"
So, the ace is getting high-fives cheers when Khârn appears behind him. He picks u
p the lasgun from the ground, and throws into a group of loyalists and he overlo
aded it and it blows them off the face of the planet
"WOOO!" he yells, fist in the air. "ONE SHOT!"
The guy s priceless I tell ya. Priceless.
You know what the worst thing about besieging a hive for the Ruinous Gods is? It
's not being forced to run at the hive so your bodies pile up high enough so you
r uncaring Traitor Astartes types can climb up you (and boy, when you're pinned
under a pile of your dead comrades don't you ALWAYS get an itch?), no it's the w
aiting.
We were into the sixth month of the Draxian Persecution. Hive Draxia Primary was
this pretty huge hive that had somewhere along the line hopped onto the backsid
e of a mining facility and never gotten off, burying halfway into this huge moun
tain that tried to race to the top. No biggy for the Red Rivers. They were going
to hold us back until a small crack appeared in the defences and then send us i
n to die in horrible droves.
The Khorne guys in the army didn't take so well to that, and neither did Khârn. Bi
g fella got really antsy after about the second minute of the siege, and the bal
l of yarn just wasn't working the way it used to when it came to distracting him
.
So we're just waiting for something to happen and Khârn grabs a bunch of us, and a
sks us politely to come with him. After screaming a little due to his polite req
uest (he had charts about what he was going to do to the entire planet if we did
n't. I don't know where he got the stationary), about fifty of the Rivers joined
his party to ascend the Draxia Spire-Mountain.
After ten days, three dares of "I bet you can't jump that gap", an avalanche cau
sed by Khârn punching a mountain goat and almost all of us dying in horrible ways,
we finally reached the summit of the mountain. Flat on top was that summit almo
st eerily so... like it had been hacked off by someone with a large axe.
Anyway, we get there and what does Khârn do? Breaks out the marbles. I don't know,
I don't know where he keeps getting these things. He challenges the last four o
f us to a game, and since we had nothing better to do we had a run of it.
Three more fatalities later and it was clear I was going to win. Khârn just didn't
have the patience for marbles. He could see my smiling and in return nodded his
helmeted head as if to say "Just watch THIS shot, Smug McSmuggy" ... shortly be
fore screaming "TRICK SHOT" and hurling his sole marble down the side of the mou
ntain.
We stood there in silence and watched as the marble plinked from sight, and a ra
ther large amount of debris took its place. This debris loosened even more of it
, as the entire mountain began to shake and tear away from the hive. Draxia Prim
ary shuddered a moment, and then began to collapse.
Neither of us looked away from the sheer destruction and loss of life that had j
ust been wrought, and the sound of our respect knuckles dapping together and my
entire arm dislocating in the aftershock were muffled even from the great height
we were at. It took a further two days for things to settle, and through it all
neither of us said a word.
It was Khârn who broke the silence, that competitive look somehow burning from wha
t little I could see of his crazed eyes set in his helmet, as he bent forwards s
imply so he could stare right into my face. I could see up his nose too. It was
pretty gross.
"RACE TO THE BOTTOM"
Don't worry, Khârn made sure it was fair by giving me a head-start. Even pushed me
hard enough that I cleared about half of the mountain. Medics are telling me th
at I should probably be dead instead of unable to move or feel my anything, but
Khârn himself told me no one ever won a race by not landing head first in the twis
ted wreckage of humanity's folly.
He's a deep guy.
The absolute worst part about being in the Red Rivers (aside from the food) is i
nterplanetary travel. You would think with the whole falling to ruinous powers t
hing that you'd be able to get to where you wanted to go easy as pie, but then y
ou take an actual trip and the Chaos Space Marines dragging you along as death f
odder burst into fits of laughter when you ask why the Gellar Field hasn't activ
ated. Then a horror crawls out your nose.
Mostly it's the boredom that gets you though, when they stuff you down in the da
rk holds with nothing to do but play cards and avoid sleeping near the Slaanesh
worshippers. It wasn't so bad though. One time we were down there and saw Khârn wa
lking around just knocking on the hold walls. We assumed he'd been asked politel
y to come down here after once again trying to comandeer the ship and crash it i
nto the other ones so that they could make an explosion to make them go faster.
So there he was, just wandering, knocking and listening. Bored as we were we fol
lowed, just to see where it would go.
Well, it took most of the trip and a great deal of wandering but as the call to
prepare for planetfall began to go out, Khârn finally got the knock he wanted and
punched through the entire wall. Just pulled back and walloped a great big tear
into the wall. Which exposed us to space. Khârn saw our looks of horror as the voi
d threatened to pull us out, and quickly made over to grab a few of us then jump
ed out of the hole, cool as you like.
Well, I've made plenty of planetfalls but never before was I instructed on how t
o enter the atmosphere surfing on a berserker chaos marine. I don't think I'll g
row most of my hair or skin back, but I'll one heck of a story to tell my kids.
A story about a heck of a ride on a heck of a guy.
High above the world of Peacarius (soon to be renamed SLAUGHTERBLOODDEATH), the
World Eaters and Emperor's Children stood waiting aboard Angron's flagship "BLOO
D AND MURDER YOU NAME THE BLOODY THING" as their primarchs conferenced for war.
The people of Peacarius were a timid lot, not well informed in the ways of war,
and had made the fatal error of suing for peace the very second Angron's ships h
ad entered orbit. When Fulgrim arrived it was to find the World Eaters primarch
trying to tape a nuclear warhead to his fists, but lacking the ability to do it
one handed had meant that instead he'd been kicking drop-ships at the Peacarius
capital and screaming into space.
The equerry of the World Eaters regarded the perfect array of troops resplandant
in the golden aquila, and then his own men as they stood twitching and idly swi
nging their deactivated chain-axes at one another so they harmlessly bounced off
each other's helmets. It was no secret that neither Legion got along, but the o
rders of their Emperor and their Warmaster were to be obeyed. Khârn let out a sigh
, as he heard his Primarch storming down the hallways towards them.
"DAMNATION AND SKULLS" Angron cried out, kicking a bulkhead door open as he forc
ed two screaming Remembrancers into his mouth and ate them, "WHY HAVE WE NOT LEF
T YET EQUERRY?!"
"My lord. You destroyed all our landing craft trying to weld them together into
a bigger landing craft" Khârn the Equerry answered. In response Angron began to he
adbutt the floor. Roused from their non-killing stupour, the other World Eaters
began to do so as well. Again Khârn sighed. He wasn't sure he had enough yarn in s
tock to calm them all down.
"WELL UNTIL WE GET THE THRICE BLOOD DAMNED THINGS I'M GOING TO BE REARRANGING TH
E SKULL TROPHIES IN MY DAMNED TEN TIMES BLOOD MURDER BEDROOM" Angron screamed, b
efore storming out. Seconds later there was an almighty crash, and the section o
f the ship that housed Angron could be seen making entry into the planet's atmos
phere.
"Do not worry, equerry" Fulgrim spoke softly as he appeared inexplicably behind
Khârn your primarch as best we can..."
Khârn was going to respond, but became distinctly aware of Fulgrim's tongue caress
ing his ear.
The Traitor Guardsman eyed each other nervously. They had asked Khârn to tell them
another story about his time before the Horus Heresy, but after agreeing to do
so, he had begun to sit there staring at the campfire. After a minute froth bega
n to build up around his helmet's mouthpiece, and he crushed the skull he had be
en drinking from. Everyone was too terrified to move or say a word, each hoping
for someone else to make the first move.
They were trapped there for weeks.
Khârn the Betrayer, as I've often told skeptics from other legions, is a hell of a
guy. His mighty axe isn't his greatest weapon; it's his charm.
Take the battle of Camrae III. We hadn't expected the loyalist legions there to
last for more than a week, but the thrice-damned Imperium had managed to sneak a
massive Warlord Titan onto the planet without our knowledge. (They'd literally
buried it under a mountain.) We'd been trying to kill the thing for a solid mont
h, but wherever the war machine tromped, the legions of Chaos died.
That was, until Tuesday.
On Tuesday, we'd been chasing a legion of weakened Astartes down a long, winding
canyon to slaughter them in the name of Khorne, when we heard the war-horn of t
he Titan braying its triumph as it emerged around a bend in the rocky passage. O
ur blood turned to water and our knees turned to jelly as we realized that we we
re trapped in the canyon we had sought to turn to our advantage, about to be und
one by the gargantuan deathbringer. The loyalist Astartes hooted at us as the ho
use-sized cannons began to glow with the fire of a thousand suns, warming up our
demise, and we gritted our teeth in anticipation of the end.
Then, we saw Khârn.
He was running along the edge of the sheer sides of the rocky canyon, full-tilt,
his armor-clad boots kicking rocks, dirt, and occasionally small animals over t
he cliff face as he sprinted. With both loyalist and chaos marine alike looking
on in awe, he coiled his legs beneath him, crushing a couple of deep footprints
into the solid rock at the cliff edge, and launched himself into the air. For a
brief moment, time stood still as he sailed over the heads of the combatants bel
ow, his arms gracefully extended like a swan's wings, if that swan had been fath
ered by a Chaos god and granted an insatiable lust for blood.
With a clang, he landed on the bridge of the Titan, the void shields swirling us
elessly around him. He drew back one superhuman fist and punched a giant goddamn
ed hole in the armor of the machine with a sound like two Thunderhawks colliding
in midair. His monstrous hands grappled the torn adamantium and as the metal sh
uddered under the force of his sheer rage he paused as he cast his gaze into the
hole he had created.
"TEN POINTS," bellowed Khârn as he continued to peel the titan's armor back like a
car door. Raw sunlight was cast into the titan's cockpit for the first time in
millenia, and the crew turned to face their aggressor. The princeps had just rem
oved himself from the machine but had barely any time to react and only yelped i
n terror as Khârn ripped him from his control seat and tossed him out into the ope
n air. The red dot that was Khârn scrambled inside and we, at that point, could on
ly figure that he was giving himself a crash course with learning how to pilot t
he damned thing.
Every warrior froze as the titan seized up and began jerking about, when from ov
er the sound systems Styx's "Mr. Roboto" began blasting out over the battlefield
as the titan itself began rampaging across the canyon floor. The fighting resum
ed as quickly as it had halted, the loyalists fighting in a last ditch effort to
flee from being caught underfoot of the former Imperial controlled titan. The m
en of the Red Rivers could barely aim their lasguns proper as we all roared with
laughter through the whole ordeal. Even still, as the battle drew to a close, w
e finally lost it and gripped our sides in laughter as the titan finally collaps
ed onto its back and went critical after Khârn cleared the scene. As he came back
up to us I raised my arm for a high five, which he gladly obliged and broke ever
y bone in my hand.
As he looked back over the smoking husk and ruined corpses strewn about the cany
on I asked him what caused him to lose his balance, and he looked down at me and
said, "I WAS TRYING TO GET IT TO BREAK DANCE BUT IT HAD NO SOUL."
That's Khârn for you. Hell of a guy.