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[Kot]

I am pretty sure that getting smashed into separate atoms repeadetly already took care of that.

[90908]

The first time he died, Korpsman 2461 got up, picked up a gun and walked back towards the front. To do otherwise was unthinkable. He had to purge himself of his sins. The destruction of his regiment was meaningless (they died in His name, after all,) and he would be assigned a new one. War was in his blood and bones, it was what gave meaning to existence.

It was holy, righteous cleansing. Korpsman 2461 was taught from the day he was born that all he had to do was cleanse.

The second time he died, Korpsman 2461 got up, picked up a gun and, thinking for but a moment, made the sign of the Aquila. The Emperor clearly need more of him and he would oblige.

The third time he died, Korpsman 2461 got up, picked up a gun and looked up at the piles of bodies before him, each one sewn together in a horrible amalgamation in the form of a eight pointed star.

He burned it, making the sign of the Aquila.

The fourth time he died, he exploded. He felt every piece of his being torn apart by the force of a tank shell, fired from a Leman Russ. He woke up an hour later with no injuries.

He didn't make the sign of the Aquila.

The fifth time he burned. The sixth he was ripped in half. The seventh he was pulled in a hundred different, impossible directions by a laughing sorcerer.

The eight time he woke up surrounded by ruin. Bodies strewn across the streets of the world he was supposed to defend, its homes shattered and its people broken.

It was here, for the first time in his life, that he questioned.

Not that you could tell. He just walked to a body, picked up a lasgun and walked away.

Away from the front.

He had paid his due. He had seen things and done things that were beyond reason. He had died and watched other dies, uncaring but for the wonder of serving.

The ninth time he died, he lived. Korpsman 2461 walked away and died.

What kept on walking didn't have a designation or name, though he would take up many in the years to come.

He marched across the galaxy, honing his skills in combat (because, despite everything, he was but a soldier; nothing would change that) trying to avoid conflict wherever he could.

He couldn't

He would become a legend, a supposed demon from the depths of the most hellish of worlds come to bring vengeance upon the enemies of man. A glorious angel from the Emperor himself, smiting heresy from wherever it may come.

He never did like that idea. He no longer praised Him.

But, of course, it is the 41st Millenium, and there is only war. And it follows you.
______________________________________________
Sorry, first part of a first draft of a stupid thingy. Forgive me.

[Kot]

H E R E S Y.
I didin't draw so many Aquillas on him for no reason. :V

[MrRoboto75]

I serve the emperor, I die, I serve the emperor again.

[LordBaal]

EVEN IN DEATH I STILL SERVE!

[Digital Hellhound]

Are you... are you implying just dying horribly over and over would be enough to make a Korpsman question their faith? I've never heard such heresy!

[Kot]

I am not saying that you cannot corrupt a Korpsman (even though there was not a single case of this happening (of course except the initial betrayal that made Krieg into what it is now), and if there was the Guardsman in question would get shoot by his comrades faster than he could have shouted BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD... but eh, I don't think the way you presented it is in any way realistic. Those dudes lives are basically long prolonged deaths already, I am pretty sure he wouldn't even realize that walking away is an option.
The most reasonable "bad end" situation seems like becoming catatonic or actually dying so much that he would enjoy death, enabling possible Nurgle greasy haireasy.

[Ghazkull]

24601 thats important

Anyhow:

"Interrogator Plinz, you have been assigned the 88th Siege Regiment of Krieg. I want that Heretic Ring broken up by tomorrow morning."

Plinz was aghast...an entire regiment for a simple cult? Could this be correct?

At this moment what had to be the most heavily armed and most depressingly bland and at the same time haunted looking guardsman in the entirety of the Imperium enter the room.

The man wore carapace armor covered in dents and scrapes, his face was heavily scarred, an Aquila tatooed...branded? No...it somehow was imprinted into his skin as if he bumped his head far too often.

Yet his face, his face looked bland, average, average in the sense that you would forget his face the moment you were not looking at him...were it not for the scars and that aquila.

The man was also decked out in a myriad of weapons. A customized Kriegan M42 "Jurten-Fiddle" Hellgun with attached bayonet hung off of his shoulders; on his back was what looked like a meltagun. He wore an entire bandolier of gas,frag and krak grenades and to round the picture at his side hung what could only be the powersword of a Krieg Colonel.

"And who might you be?" Plinz said in a curious tone.

"88th Siege Regiment reporting for duty" the mans voice was monotone, his voice devoid of feelings.

"W-You ar-Ho-You are not wearing a mask!" is what the young Interrogator ended lamely.

"This Korpsman regrets to report that his equipment is malfunctioning. This Korpsman has already been punished by the Regimental Commander. He has been issued a whipping by Interrogator Plinz, the punishment entails thirty strikes with a Grox-Whip or equipment of similiar use. The Regimental Quartermaster has already informed the Adeptus Munitorum of the damaged equipment and is expecting replacements to arrive within the month."

"I-Why can't your Regimental Commander whip you yourself?"

"Sir, because this Korpsman, is the Regimental Commander, Sir."

"What?"

"Sir, this Korpsman represents the entirety of the 88th Siege Regiment."

"I-w-how am i to adress you then?"

"Sir, this Korpsmans original Designation was 24601, however in Adeptus Administratum reports this Korpsman is referred to as Regiment"

"I-This-"

"We are Regiment, Sir. 88th Siege Regiment reporting for Duty" the Kriegan saluted crisply, his face still devoid of any expression.

"Inquisitor Berg a word if i may..."

[Tack]

Usually am pretty harsh on fanfic, especially my own, but...
Every now and again, a man in fatigues will walk into a schola and ask to enlist. It's a fact of life here. Cadia sees a neverending war, a constant caravan of men from all corners of the galaxy constantly flowing to the bastion before the eye in order to spill their blood for the emperor.
As a part of this cycle, fragments of shattered regiments will find themselves stranded on a foreign planet. No direction, no support.

Some attempt to walk away. Perhaps their survival was due to cowardice, or like many veterans, somewhere between the fifth and five-hundredth death of a brother-in-arms, something broke. They don't last long. Cadia is a military planet. Nowhere does one "settle down". If one of our patrols does not find them, the enemy does.
So, usually, the broken and the lost will come to us, if only to show their eagerness to the commiserat.

It was that thought which seemed fixed in my mind as I stared at the new whiteshield, sitting in a field of beardless teens as he inspected and stripped his lasgun with a deftness and precision I could have (through gritted teeth, of course) attributed to an honored Kasrkin, were it not for the white stripe upon his helmet and the distinct lack of purple in his dead-eyed stare.
He came to us six months ago, with the bearing of a veteran and an identification belonging to a dead regiment which had never fought on Cadia.

We assumed heresy was at play, and who could blame us? Yet the unnamed guardsman bore under our most intensive interrogation with not stubbornness, but the defeated resignment of a man who had undergone tortures far more awful than our sanctioned psyker was capable of. We asked him his purpose here, and his only reply was 'to kill the enemies of the emperor', even as the tools we had used to plumb the depths of his mind began to shudder and eject themselves from his maimed flesh. It was resolved that we would treat him as any other dark-eyed recruit, and allow him to join a company of conscripts, who immediately and with great joy gave him the nickname "Smiles".

Unsurprisingly, Smiles took to the battlefield with what I had initially assumed was the empty-headed fearlessness of a Catachan, but quickly was shown to be a sense of insane fatalism more intense than that of any Valhallan, nor Krieger that I had ever seen in action.
His every waking moment appeared to be regarded as some almighty curse the emperor had seen fit to lay upon him, yet he healed from what should have been fatal wounds with a tenacity which went completely against his almost suicidal attitude. What possible evil he was attempting to atone for, we couldn't say.

We promoted him to sergeant, briefly. In his very first engagement he led his large squad of fearless teens directly into the teeth of a heretic ambush, shouting for the fixing of bayonets as whiteshields fell to hideous crossfire all about him. In the wake of the conflict, we found him marching back the the compound, alone, gripping a maimed arm tightly against it's ruined socket. Command quickly decided that, although his 'heroism' had indeed had a major impact upon that battle, his dangerous recklessness with both the lives of his men and his very own made him unsuited for a leadership role (or at least a non-commissioned one).
Not more than a week later he was using that supposedly ravaged arm to dig trenches. For the whole day.

Smiles was reported to have taken a battlecannon shell directly to the chest a few days ago.
The conscript who delivered the report was more shaken than I could have ever guessed, even despite this being in the wake of yet another engagement against the heretics.
I still remember the stuttered words as I offered a mug of perfunctionary tanna.
"He saw it coming, he did. He knew he was dead for almost a half-second before it hit. But he didn't scream, or shrug, or even laugh. He waited. With that emperor-damned frown on his face, he waited for that shell like it was just another frakking part of his shitty day."
That's how we remember Smiles the whiteshield.
Sorry if we're running weird places with your idea Kot.

[Kot]

Eh, honestly I can see him ~hating the Emperor for requiring way more of him than regular Kriegers, but not being STILL LOYAL AS FUCK? Please don't.

We should take this to /tg/. They will take this idea to really weird places. I am inclined to take Ghazkulls writebunchofsticky and throw my finished (soon (TM)) drawbunchofsticky on top of it and see what happens.

[Tack]

Dude 90908 was the only one who impeached his loyalty c'mon.
That's like three story posts ago, move on.

Although I found 90's really easy to read, even if the content was heresy different to your personal ideal.
I gotta learn to pita-paragraph like that.

[Kot]

Dude 90908 was the only one who impeached his loyalty c'mon.
That's like three story posts ago, move on.

It's for future reference.

[Twinwolf]

Eh, honestly I can see him ~hating the Emperor for requiring way more of him than regular Kriegers, but not being STILL LOYAL AS FUCK? Please don't.

We should take this to /tg/. They will take this idea to really weird places. I am inclined to take Ghazkulls writebunchofsticky and throw my finished (soon (TM)) drawbunchofsticky on top of it and see what happens.

Should probably mention the guy is a perpetual, or they might think he's just a singular (incredibly badass) guardsman.

[Kot]

Yeah, I know.
Let me just finish the picture, I'll edit the story a bit too... I think I actually need some more anecdotes.

[Tack]

We should take this to /tg/. They will take this idea to really weird places. I am inclined to take Ghazkulls writebunchofsticky and throw my finished (soon (TM)) drawbunchofsticky on top of it and see what happens.

1. If you're gonna go to /tg/, lunk pls.
2. You'd be better off using your pic and a synopsis/character outline. Let Ghazkull post his snip himself and thus get the credit.