Colchis - 831.M30
In the arid deserts of Colchis, where the sun scorched the land and the winds whispered secrets of ancient civilizations, Dharok stood at the precipice of his destiny. He was no ordinary man; he was Lorgar's cousin, your nephew. Dharok yearned for something more, a cosmic purpose that transcended mere mortality.
The gene-seed, the sacred essence of the Space Marines, held the promise of transformation. Those who underwent the ritual would emerge reborn, their bodies enhanced, their minds sharpened, and their souls bound to the stars.
You held the vial containing the gene-seed. "Dharok," you intoned, "you seek transformation. But remember, the path you tread is treacherous. Chaos whispers to those who want to wield power."
Dharok nodded, his resolve unyielding. He had seen the chaos cults, their twisted forms and corrupted minds. Lorgar's rejection of chaos and his purification had taught him caution, but also curiosity. What lay beyond the veil of mortality? What secrets did the gene-seed hold?
The injection was swift, a searing pain that coursed through his veins. But it was the moment he made the wish that his vision blurred. Dharok felt as if the desert sands shifted beneath him. Memories flooded his mind, battles fought on distant worlds, the taste of alien blood, the weight of a bolter in his hands. Was this the gene-seed's legacy, or his own imagination?
Minutes passed, and Dharok's body changed. His muscles swelled, his bones hardened, and his senses sharpened. He could hear the whispers of the stars, feel the cosmic currents that flowed through the universe. But with power came sacrifice. Dreams haunted him, visions of chaos gods, their eyes like black holes, pulling at his soul.
Dharok's senses expanded. He saw the warp, the chaotic realm that lay beyond reality, tearing at the edges of his perception. It beckoned him, promising unimaginable might. But there was a price. Always a price.
The first test came swiftly. A vision materialized, a battlefield strewn with broken bodies. Space Marines, clad in Power armor, fought against a tide of daemons. Their bolters roared, but the daemons kept coming. Dharok did not recognized the insignia.
"Join us," a voice whispered. It was not the voice of Lorgar or his uncle. No, this voice was seductive, honeyed. "Serve chaos, and you will be invincible."
Dharok hesitated. He had been freed of the horrors of the Warp by his Cousin. But now, as the warp tugged at him, he wondered if he had made a mistake forsaking Chaos. He stood at the precipice, the maddening whispers of the Warp clawing at his mind. The twisted energies that had once consumed him now beckoned, promising power, vengeance, and release from the shackles of mortality.
The Chaos Gods hungered for their lost champion. They whispered sweet nothings, promising dominion over worlds, the ecstasy of slaughter, and the thrill of eternal war. Dharok's blood boiled with conflicting desires, the righteous fury of vengeance against the seductive lure of forbidden power.
Dharok clenched his fists. He remembered the faces of those he had sacrificed, their screams as his former men tore them apart. The rage burned within him, but so did the memory of Lorgar's courage. Lorgar had severed his connection to the Warp, sealing it away only for it to now be forced back open again.
Dharok made his decision. He would oppose the Chaos Gods, not with their own twisted gifts, but with Faith, steel and fire. The Gods in the Warp howled, but he resisted, channeling his rage into purpose.
He stepped onto the battlefield. The ground trembled beneath his armored boots. Daemons lunged at him, twisted abominations with eyes like black holes. Their claws scraped against his ceramite plate, leaving gouges. But Dharok did not falter. He swung his power fists, smashing limbs, and his bolter spat death.
The Marines watched him. Their leader approached. His eyes held both suspicion and hope. "Who are you?" The Captain demanded.
"Dharok," he replied. "A recruit."
The Captain's gaze bore into him. "Recruits don't fight like that. You move with the grace of a veteran."
Dharok clenched his fists. "I fight for humanity."
The Captain did not reply, instead raising his bolter and pointing it at Dharok. Dharok stepped forward, at the ready.
"Captain," he replied, his tone steady. "I am no Warp-Xenos. I fight against them."
The Captain's skepticism deepened. "Your sudden appearance raises questions."
Dharok's gaze swept the battlefield.
"I emerged from a rift, a tear in reality. The same rift that disgorged these daemons. I seek answers, not bloodshed." He said honestly.
The Captain studied him. "And why should I believe you?"
"Because I know of your bloodline," Dharok said. "Because of Lorgar."
The Captain's grip tightened on his power sword but Dharok spoke on. That name had clearly ment something, even if the Captain was not sure what.
"I come in peace, Captain." Dharok spoke.
"Your loyalty is untested." The Captain said finally after a long pause, lowering his bolter reluctantly.
"Then test it," Dharok challenged. "Let me prove myself. Together, we can close the rift, banish the warp Xenos, and save this world."
The battle raged on, the daemons relentless, the sky torn by Warp storms. The Captain glanced at his squad, then back at Dharok. "Very well. Fight at my side. Earn your trust."
Dharok nodded, and they charged into the fray. Plasma bolts seared daemonic flesh, and power fists shattered their forms. Dharok fought with a controlled fury, his purple eyes unwavering.
As the rift pulsed, threatening to widen, Dharok channeled his inner light. The ground trembled, and the rift shrank. The Captain fought alongside him, their blades and fists a symphony of defiance.
The battle raged on. Dharok's blood sang with adrenaline. He felt the warp's pull, the promise of godhood. But he also saw the Marines fall, their valor unmatched, their sacrifice noble. They fought not for themselves, but for Humanity.
He saw as the Captain's blade clashed with a daemon's.
"Choose, Dharok. Valor or chaos." A voice, suspiciously like Lorgar, spoke to him.
Dharok hesitated. The daemons closed in, their eyes hungry. And then he made his choice.
He lunged at the Daemon, the source of the whispers. His power fists screamed, and the Daemon's head tumbled. The whispers ceased.
"Valor," he said. "Always valor."
The aftermath of Dharok's decisive blow left the Daemon's mutilated body sprawled across the blood-soaked ground. The other daemons, momentarily stunned, regrouped with renewed fury. Their eyes glowed malevolently, hungering for vengeance.
That was when things went from bad to worse. As he stepped back, a sudden tremor shook the battlefield. The ground split open, revealing a gaping chasm.
Dharok's side arms slipped from his grasp, vanishing into the void. His armor cracked, and the warp seeped through, twisting his mind. The whispers returned, louder, more insistent. They promised power, salvation, or damnation, each voice pulling at his sanity.
Dharok teetered on the edge of the abyss. His choices would shape his destiny:
CHOOSE ONE:
[] Leap into the Abyss: The whispers beckoned. Dharok could plunge into the darkness, risking everything for his allies.
[] Invoke Lorgar's Name: Dharok could call upon the Lorgar's light, banishing the whispers.
[] Seal the Abyss: Dharok might attempt to close the rift, sacrificing his own life.