Editing /tg/ Heresy Writefaggotry (section)

===Burning Worlds===
The world was on fire.


One could not tell if it was day or night from the eternal glow, or the ash that choked the sky. The battlefield was a picture of hell, the hell man had once believed in before the Imperial Truth had swept such superstition away. But here and now, that mythical hell was reborn upon Yaga Prime, sending countless souls to damnation.


Striding through the flames, the Sons of Fire burned everything before them. The human defenders of this world, who had refused to abandon their gods and beliefs, were now either ash or small bands of fleeing survivors, each being run down and burned one after the other.


The war had been won in a single hour and twenty-seven minutes, though the battle still raged on three weeks later.
One hour twenty-seven minutes. That had been how long it had taken for his ships to cripple the enemy fleet and fire-bomb every single major city on the planet.
Over half the enemy flotilla had been lost in the opening salvos, the rest in the hours and days after. The wreckage now orbited the capital planet, the heart of this system.
Following that, twenty-four Modalis-class atmospheric missiles had been launched from the Eternal Conflagration at the surface of Yaga Prime. Each targeted a key strategic location, major cities, strategic hubs, and within seconds billions had burned.

Thus, the war for Yaga Prime was won in one hour twenty-seven minutes. In the months that followed, all that remained was to complete the cull.


First Captain Kariman could feel the blistering heat inside the confines of his Terminator Plate. That meant that outside the temperature must be blistering, near that of the Plasma Reactors his suit had once been designed for.


He strode dispassionately through the carnage, through the fire, flanked by his standard bearer Kleast, the standard singed at the edges, and master of signal Amerauk. The first company was at the heart of the pursuit, passing the blazing hulks of tanks and troop carriers. The crackling sound of burning flesh was everywhere, and the smell, the smell of burned man. That smell was lodged in the nasal cavities of every last Son of Fire. Most loved that smell. Kariman disliked it.
''I am in the wrong Legion. I take no pleasure in what I have to do.''


Most of his brothers took glee in burning all before them, the sickness that it seemed consumed more and more of his Brothers. Even before their Primarch had joined them, the Legion had taken to the use of flame weapons more often than not. Kariman had been young then, and had hoped their Primarch would be a great leader, one who could stand shoulder to shoulder with his Brothers as the Crusade pushed ever onwards.


Then they had found their liege lord, and all had changed.

“Kariman,” A deep, booming voice suddenly crackled through the vox.

He knew instantly who it was.


His Primarch. The Burned King. The Fire Rider. Inferox.


“You are needed. One of the Sigillite’s spawn has arrived to see our progress, and I need you here with me.”

“And why is that sire?”

“So you can restrain me if I get fed up of her twittering and want to see how well she burns.”


He could see in his kind’s eye the Primarch's mighty flame-claw gauntlets flexing. Inferox was hardly co-operative. He was pointed at a world, and told to burn it. To have a representative of the Regent of Terra come, had to mean something was up.


“I’m on my way,” Kariman began, but the line was already dead.


“Kleast? Contact Captain Tamyo and tell him command’s passed to him. I have been summoned.”

“The Primarch?”

“Who else?”

Kleast lowered the standard as he turned to Kariman. “Keep him calm. The last thing we need is another ‘accidental’ death. Emperor knows we've had enough of them in the past.”