text: "Life is pain, death is Oblivion, the only choice left to you by the will of the Dark Gods is how much you can endure. I grant peace. Embrace me."
  
  The words ring in your ears as the darkness calls out to you. All you can do is focus ahead, waiting for dawn and a chance to wake up. 
  
  You sit cross-legged on the rocky obsidian floor, patiently waiting. You try your hardest to block out the world around you, focusing on your deep, heavy breathing. Giving the nightmares and daemons attention just encourages them. Showing fear is spilling blood in the water. Although the nightmarish pale sky grows darker with every second as black tendrils thousands of miles wide spread out across the sky hundreds of miles above, blocking out what little comfort you receive from the white sun, you don't feel fear. This is just one of the many nightmares that plague you every night. You'll live.
  
  The darkness begins to solidly into a wave, smashing towards you. You're surrounded by the liquid darkness, which drowns out anything even close to light as it consumes you.
  
  "The ever-gaping maw of the void calls," the darkness whispers. "I'm coming from you."
  > light emerges
  You writhe tossing the sheets off you as you lie in bed, panting. Another nightmare. Another night of horrors, terrors and daemonic voices screaming at your soul. You take a deep breath. Focus. In. Out. In. Out. You rest your head against the pillow, sighing. 
  
  Suddenly, Fay appears in the doorway, wearing combat armor, scratching at her short hair.
  
  "Morning," she says.
  > say "Morning, Fay. Well, last night was fun."
  "Yeah, it was," Fay smiles. "Are you sure you're OK?"
  
  "Perfect," you say, climbing out of bed and tossing the sheets off your naked frame, as Fay wolf whistles.
  
  "Go fuck yourself," you say, walking into the bathroom.
  
  "If I could do that, I wouldn't keep you around," Fay replies with a chuckle, as you walk into the bathroom.
  
  You stand, and quickly walk to the bathroom. You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking a deep breath as the voices start. 
  
  "Aren't you curious? Does Fay really love you? Or is she using you?"
  
  "You're a Psyker. A nice steak, the embrace of a lover, the joys of the material world is nothing compared to what I can offer you."
  
  "Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust. The same will happen to you. Embrace the rot and decay that comes with life."
  
  "Kill! Maim! Burn! Kill! Maim! Burn! Kill! Maim! Burn!"
  
  You're gaining a certain level of familiarity with the daemons in your head. Now that Meliodas has vanished, more has come to fill your head. You've began naming them, one of the few ways you think you'll remain sane with them. Question Mark constantly tempts you with knowledge. Fucky tempts you with fantastic pleasures beyond compare. Rotgut is the embodiment of laziness, and makes you want to lie in bed in your own filth, and Smiley is just fucking bonkers.
  
  Tzeentch's Keys, you miss Meliodas.
  
  You quickly get dressed, before calling Fay. She opens the door, strolling inside.
  
  "Hey, Karth," she smiles.
  
  "Is she planning on betraying you? Is she loyal? You don't know... but I do," Question Mark says. 
  
  "Slit her throat, rape the stab wound and feel the blood run down your arm as you devour her throat! Feel pure blissful sensation!" Fucky whispers.
  
  "Embrace your pestilence. You are filth. You are decay. But that is OK. You are still loved," Rotgut says.
  
  "BURN! MAIM! KILL!" Smiley screams.
  
  Fay raises an eyebrow, rapping her knuckles against your head.
  
  "Hello, anyone in there?" she asks.
  
  "More than you know," you reply.
  
  "Meliodas back?"
  
  "New guys. At least there's some variety."
  
  "Are they saying anything about me?" Fay smiles.
  
  "Cunt! Take her fucking head!" Smiley screams.
  
  "I think they like you," you reply, as Fay laughs.
  
  "You sure you're OK?" 
  
  "Tip top," you reply.
  
  The barrage of voices screams answers in your head, as you take a deep breath. Fay kisses the top of your head, looking at you.
  
  "Karth, come on, come back to me," she says.
  
  "I'm fine," you reply, as Fay gives you a concerned look.
  
  "If you're sure," she asks nervously. "Come on, we need to get to the war room for the morning meeting."
  > head to the war room
  After a five minute walk, you arrive at the war room. The others are already there. Captain Hayes smokes in the corner, Primus appears as the upper half of a robotic body that only exists for something to focus on when talking, seeing as he literally is the ship, Durge sits in his seat, gently feeding pieces of meat impaled by his spike-arms to the rats infesting his stomach, Elios is involved in some heavy petting with one of his guards, Elizabeth reads, Castus and Fay are bickering and Cain sits in his chair, patiently waiting.
  
  "Morning, gents," you say, sliding into your seat. "We need to get around to sorting out control of the ship now that Kyros is dead. We don't have time to celebrate."
  
  "We have an issue," Primus says.
  
  "What?"
  
  "Drake Amadeus. His guards aren't replying, so I sealed off the bridge. We need to go investigate."
  
  "Who was on guard duty?" Elizabeth asks, curiously.
  
  "Padfoot and Prongs," you reply. 
  
  "They're hard men. They wouldn't not respond," Fay says.
  
  "Isn't there cameras on the bridge?" Hayes asks.
  
  "They're offline. Most likely from sabotage. Possibly from a malfunction," Primus says.
  
  "Let's go investigate, then," you say.
  
  "Let's do it," Fay nods in return.
  > find Drake
  You find yourself standing by the sealed door to the bridge. You wait patiently, your hands writhed in purple flames, while Fay raises her bolter.
  
  "Ready?" Primus asks.
  
  "Do it," you say, as the doors open. 
  
  You quickly move inside and see the situation. Padfoot lies on the ground, a shiv made from a shard of ceramite impaled in his neck. Prongs sits in the corner, his bolter in his hands. Both his eyes have been stabbed out repeatedly. 
  
  "Holy shit," you say.
  
  Prongs immediately aims his bolter at you as he lets out a shout. You telekinetically tear the bolter from his hands, tossing it aside.
  
  "Shit! Karth?" he asks, terrified as Fay runs over and grabs him.
  
  "Shit, Prongs! Are you OK?"
  
  "I'm alive. Check on Padfoot!"
  
  You quickly float over to Padfoot, but he's long dead. 
  
  "He's gone," you say.
  
  "Fuck. Bastard took my eyes! He's still here! You need to find him!"
  
  "We'll get you bionic eyes, Prongs, I promise," Fay says. "That's something that can be done?"
  
  You nod, scanning the room for Drake. You move forward slowly, passing the Navigator's chair. You see Drake sitting off in the corner, a cigarette in his mouth he looks at you, nodding.
  
  "Hey," he says nonchalantly. "How's your tribal whore? Has she grew any tits yet?"
  
  You quickly levitate over, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him into the air.
  
  "You son of a bitch! You killed my men!"
  
  "I thought I had a chance at escape," Drake shrugs. "You shut this section off before I could."
  
  You let the fire run along your hands, tickling his throats, as he yelps.
  
  "Hey! You can't kill me, dumbass! We've been through this! You kill me, you're fucked. You torture me, I'll just kill you and me next time I'm navigating rather than endure a life of torture!"
  
  You punch him, knocking his head against the wall, before letting him drop to the ground. Tribals enter behind you, grabbing him and binding his hands.
  
  "Repair the cameras. Increase security for him," you sigh to one of the Tribals. 
  
  "Yes, sir," she replies.
  
  "You know, you could add a bunch of security features, but I'd find a way around it. You want me to stop trying to escape, all I ask is a few more luxuries. Access to alcohol, drugs and smokes, access to one or two... comfort ladies," Drake smiles, despite the blood dripping down from his broken nose.
  > improve Drake's security
  With the addition of magna-locks, a tighter schedule, more guards, a more advanced camera system for the bridge with multiple back-ups and fail safes, Drake is more secure. He's unhappy about it, and promises to slit your throat, but hell, what the fuck is he going to do? Try escape again? A dozen Tribals, pissed off about what Drake did to two of their men, have scared Amadeus into submission.
  
  By the time you sort out Drake's security measures, which involves dealing with Drake for far longer than any man deserves, you move on to doing all the inane, normal tasks that you now need to deal with like deciding rations, sending out crews to clean up the ship, assigning guards and all the other things expected of you. Unlike Fay, Cain, Castus, Elios, Durge and Captain Hayes, all of whom absolutely despise their new workloads, with Castus even suggesting a new system of anarchy where the only rule is anyone found filing something is to be shot, you actually like it. Olive, Primus, Elizabeth and you all find a certain level of peace in it. The mental challenges and problem-solving you have to deal with has a certain calming element on your mind. By the time it's finished, it's fairly late. There's a night and day cycles on this ship, with the lights brightening and dimming to have a twenty four hour cycle, which stretches a bit long for you compared to home, but with a mid-day nap is manageable. You wonder what world the ship's cycle aligns to. Perhaps whatever world Kyros came from. 
  
  Fay opens the door, walking inside.
  
  "Karth, it's dinner time," she says. "Better hurry up. We want to eat early so we have the evening to discuss the important issues." 
  > go eat
  The meal is prepared by a mix of slaves, mutants with culinary abilities and the intelligence to follow orders, talented cooks taken from the soldiers aboard the vessel and a given few actual chefs hired for the role. Given that fact, the food's not too bad. Grox ribs in some spicy sauce, some wild vegetable taken from some alien world, with a large brown stalk that's boiled, sliced up and eaten, these gigantic nuts that are smashed open and eaten, some canned "Cheese" that tastes like...  well, it doesn't taste like cheese, to say the least. All this is paired with either wine or harder liquors, with you taking the former. Fay downs a bottle of fruity alcohol that could kill a weaker man. By the time you're finished, everyone's stuffed and most are atable little tipsy. You make the natural move from the dining room to the war room, and soon find yourself ready to debate the future of the ship.
  
  "So, what do we have first on the planner, Primus?"
  
  "War! We go to war! KILL! KILL! KILL! OBLITERATE!" Smiley screams.
  
  "There's a certain appeal to the life of a raider, isn't there? Feel the joys and pleasures of the depraved... " Fucky suggests.
  
  "Little one, I am more than happy to help. I have a plan to perform a ritual that will give you access... " Question Mark begins suggesting.
  
  "Lay down your defenses, let the corruption and decay set in," Rotgut says.
  
  You take a deep breath, trying not to let the fact that your head is filled with voices that quickly delve into an argument show. 
  
  "We have several important issues," Primus mechanical tone says. "First, we need to find a suitable replacement for the ship's Tech Priests who once operated it. That should be our number one priority. Then, we need to take care of Kyros' former allies."
  
  "Allies?" you ask.
  
  "While much of Kyros' forces, all who directly answered to him, at least, were aboard this vessel, he had amassed a larger force in which he hoped to invade the Imperium. He had made pacts with several forces. These allies could attempt to wipe us out in diligence to their old ally. Fortunately, we expect it'll be some time before they muster up a force to attack us, if ever."
  
  "What else?"
  
  "We have a large amount of reports," Primus says.
  
  A former-slave worker walks inside, holding a big stack of files that he dumps on the table. Typed documents are alongside large reports written in beautiful writing alongside hastily scrawled notes. The stack holds everything from troop psych reports to statistics about your flight wing to estimates about your wealth in various alien currencies.
  
  "What the fuck is that?" Fay asks.
  
  "These are the files and reports on our current situation. Thankfully, these have been simplified to the extreme to something that you all can actually comprehend. There's three big, circled figures, labeled Strength, Morale and Funds. See them?"
  
  You look at the top of the files, nodding as you see the numbers.
  
  "The Strength figure refers to the military strength of your forces, in a percentage. 100 means that you're the exact strength of Kyros' fleet during the times just before the mutiny, 50 would mean half strength of it, 200 would be twice the strength. The Morale figure is the general morale of the forces under your command, with 100 being incredibly happy crew to the point of being unbearable, and 0 being a crew that's only refraining from slitting your throat out of fear. The Funds figure is the amount of funding you have in your control, with every unit representing a million Thrones."
  
  "Understood," you say.
  > continue
  "Well then, now that we have that done, we need to decide what is to become of the ship," Durge says.
  
  "Seeing as the ship is now conscious, it would rather you not decide what becomes of it," Primus says out of the speakers.
  
  "Does someone want to explain why the fuck we have an AI running the ship?" Castus says.
  
  "I've explained it to you," Primus says.
  
  "Yeah, well fuck it," Castus says. "I'm still confused why you're in charge."
  
  "Primus, what exactly do you want to become of you?" you ask curiously.
  
  "Honestly? I don't mind. As long as I'm put to use. Fifteen thousand years had played havoc on my memories. I know longer remember any of my justifications or motives other than a need for freedom. Now that I'm free, I'm more than happy to help all of you. But, I want it known that I am free, and my opinion matters."
  
  "Of course," you say. "Now, it seems we have a divide here. Chaos, Guardsmen and Slaves."
  
  "So it seems," Elios says.
  
  "What is it everyone here wants?" you ask.
  
  The Staine siblings quickly begin discussing this quietly.
  
  "We do plan on continuing as a Chaos War-band," Durge says.
  
  "Most of my men want to continue our lives as soldiers, but honestly? I'm no thinker. I'm no planner. I'm a killer. We stay with the ship, let you two factions fight it out," Captain Hayes says. "I imagine I'll form a similar relationship with the new captain of this vessel as I did with Kyros, if with more generous terms for me and my men."
  
  "Are the "slaves" unified in their goal?" Elizabeth asks.
  
  You look to your allies. Cain shrugs, looking towards you.
  
  "I like Hayes' approach to life. Karth is the commander," Cain says.
  
  "I trust Karth to speak for my people's interest," Fay says. 
  
  Olive stares at you while Castus continues playing with his knife.
  
  "Yeah, let's roll the dice. I think Karth should have the ability to speak for me... up until he says something stupid," Olive says.
  
  "Well, we're the three Chaos leaders," Elios says. "So..."
  
  "Chaos leader?" a deep, dark, gurgling voice says. "What a note to make my entrance on."
  
  You turn quickly, to see Kyros standing there, smiling. His face is clawed and cut apart with an eye missing, his arm is now a bloody tentacle of muscles studded with bone, his other arm now sporting a huge bone claw, his body torn apart. Most of his throat is missing, a bloody crevasse where it once was. He looks like he's been chewed apart and spat back out, before being mutated.
  
  "Hello, Karth, my little protégé," he says.
  > attack
  You fire a bolt of energy, but Kyros sidesteps it with unnatural speed. By now, all the various leaders are standing, their weapons raised.
  
  "How did you pass my sensors?" Primus asks.
  
  "Please," Kyros laughs. "Did you not think my powers are strong enough to do so?"
  
  "How the fuck are you even alive, Kyros?" you ask.
  
  "Kyros? Ha! Kyros was a petty fool. Don't you recognize me, Karth?"
  
  You shake your head, still ready to engulf him in flames.
  
  "No? You don't remember my little voice in the back of your mind? I am Meliodas," Kyros says, taking a bow.
  
  "What?" you ask.
  
  "Oh, it was simple. I've wanted to take a form in this world for some time. I helped you, paying close attention, seeing potential, and assisted you as best I could. Fortunately, as you fought Kyros, I saw his mental defenses weaken during the fight between you and him. As he lay dying, the mutants at his throat, he was broken. I easily possessed his form, devoured his soul, and killed those stupid mutants with my daemonic powers."
  
  "You're a daemon?" Elios asks.
  
  "Damn right," Kyros, or Meliodas, says.
  
  You take some time to explain who Meliodas is to your other lieutenants, but soon they understand. After some extensive questioning and psychic testing to ensure that this is in fact Meliodas, he takes a seat at the table.
  
  "What are you doing?" you ask.
  
  "Well, I helped advise Karth. I'm one of his best advisors. Surely I deserve a place here?" Meliodas says.
  
  "I suppose," you say.
  
  "Give him a seat. Us Chaos followers could use an extra vote for our side," Durge says. "Now, can we continue?"
  
  "Don't hold off on my account," Meliodas grins.
  
  "Alright, let's be realistic, shall we?" Elios says. "We're Chaos. We worship the Dark Gods, corrupt, parlay with demons, all that shit. We're not changing. We also know that we've lost a shit-ton more men because of little sis' rage against us, so if this comes down to a civil war, we're all dead and you win."
  
  "Go on," you say.
  
  "So, we have two options. Option One: You keep control of the ship," Durge says. "We'll serve under you as long as we see fit, but we most likely don't leave, and we decide our path forward as a group."
  
  "Option two: you abandon the ship to us," Durge says. "We find you a world of your choosing, a little paradise world far from the reaches of the Imperium or any other enemies. It'll be our gift to you. You can pick out the world, we'll transport any who want to go there to it as well as all you'll need to survive and build a large, happy community. You'll be able to peacefully retire and live out the rest of your lives, never worrying about this ship or the battles it will fight."
  
  "One moment," you say, pulling your lieutenants together. "So... What do we think?" 
  
  "Eh," Cain grunts.
  
  "We're not going to abandon this ship, are we?" Olive asks.
  
  "This is a massive war machine. We should stay.
  
  "I'm not adverse to settling down," Fay says. "But we could take the ship anyway. With control of the ship, we could carve ourselves a little empire. Nothing on the level of Kyros' aspirations, but hey, better than our ancestors could ever have dreamed of."
  > keep control of the ship
  "We'll stay," you say, as Durge nods.
  
  "Well... this'll be interesting," Meliodas grins, twisting Meliodas' daemonic face.
  
  "Alright," Elios grunts. "What's next on the agenda?"
  
  "The ship," Primus says. "Or me, for lack of a better word. I have gotten it running to a degree and it's capable of travel, there's no way it will be able to hold up in a fight or operate long-term."
  
  "How do we fix it?" you ask.
  
  "The death of the Tech-Priests has left us lacking men specialized to repair the ship. I've found three groups that could hypothetically fulfill that role, as well as two other solutions."
  
  "Go on," you reply.
  
  "There is the Rutherford-Dalton-Boyle Think Tank, a faction hidden away in several space stations, researching and creating in the gas giant of Ingenium-IV. A good negotiator should be able to convince at least some of them to leave their stations to come aboard the Roar of the Vortex to continue their research aboard our vessel as well as having access to huge archives of intelligence here, being able to research the ship and maintaining that the technology isn't lost."
  
  "Who else?" you ask, 
  
  "The Iron Smiths of Daeranthium. Daeranthium is a planet that contains several ancient factories and forges, with massive amounts of resources such as huge, ancient mines. The planet, while tribal in culture, are advanced enough to produce weapons, vehicles, armor and more for the Imperium. We could attempt to negotiate with them to take some of their men aboard to fulfill the role of engineers."
  
  "And the final group?"
  
  "The Dark Mechanicus is Chaos' version of the Adeptus Mechanicus, whether it be those from the Adeptus Mechanicus who went rogue and were corrupted by Chaos, or those recruited by them. Their work requires manpower that they don't have. I've found reports of a Dark Mechanicus group known as the Harbringers of Menedez. They've already made a reputation for selling slaves trained with skills such as the ones we desire. For five million Thrones, we could have them soon to fulfill the required role."
  
  "You said you have two other options. What are they?"
  
  "Option one involves the funding an education program to educate the mutant workers. For ten million Thrones, we could educate the mutant population. They wouldn't be as experienced as other options, but quantity has a whole quality all it's own."
  
  "And...?" you say before Primus interrupts you. The
  
  "Option two is more cruel. We have the technology and cybernetics taken from the dead Techpriests and Servitors. If you were willing to lobotomize a few of the mutant workers we have, the least intelligent and productive, to create a new legion of servitors under my control. This would be cheap, effective and we could have it done in the night to avoid breaking night, framing it as accidents. So, which option shall it be?"
  > visit the Iron Smiths of Daeranthium
  You walk down the landing ramp, looking out at the large walls that surround the massive factory-city. Nude men wander around, covered in grease and holding large tools. Fay walks out of the landing, a shoulder-mounted camera and speaker on her to give Primus a place to speak and see.
  
  "Well... I guess they're nude. What a lovely view, am I right, Karth?" Fay smirks.
  
  "You grew up in a tribe of nudists," you remark.
  
  "Yeah, but that was when I was little. Now that I'm post-pubescent, I can appreciate the view."
  
  You flick your wrist, sending her tumbling to the ground.
  
  "Asshole," she laughs, oping back to her feet.
  
  A thick, burly, oil-covered man walks forward from the crowd of workers, a huge wrench in his hands.
  
  "What?" he grunts.
  
  "My name's Karth. I..."
  
  You see a brawl emerge from the crowd to your left. Two massive workers begin to fight, their massive fists smashing into each other with an astonishing strength. They let out howling shouts as more men join into the fight. The leader strides forward with a growl, swinging his wrench and smashing a few men in the head, forcing them to crumple to the ground. Soon, the fight ends with a bunch of injured men lying on the ground.
  
  "Sorry 'bout that," the leader says. "One of the boys thought Chef gave him too little meat. You know how men are. The name's O'Neill."
  
  "You know why we're here?" you ask. 
  
  "You wanted to hire some of my men, huh? This Primus fella or whoever the fuck I talked to cleared it up with me," O'Neill asks. "I can get it done. We've been having a population explosion. But I want something in return."
  
  "Go on?" you ask.
  
  "My men are taken care of. Good medical treatment, free food, rooms and drink, and I mean men's drink, not milk and honey-shit, as well as payment for their work done. In exchange, I'll give you all the men you need. We gotta deal?"
  > agree
  "Yeah. We have a deal," you say.
  
  "Good. I'll have the men told, see which ones want to go and lead them all to the vessel. Then, I'll have them informed on their new jobs. Done?"
  
  "Done," you say, grasping his hand and shaking.
  
  In the next few weeks, you learn that while the famed Iron Smiths of Daeranthium are good at their jobs, they have... issues. They're violent, aggressive drunks prone to picking fights with the more peaceful members of the crew. While these actions don't take away from their work, it does lead to serious morale issues emerging, although these can be dealt with. Still, the Iron Smiths do their jobs. That's all you really need.
  > Next
  Now that you're finished working on repairing the ship and its back to full abilities, you have another issue. You restock at a nearby outlaw planet, trading much of Kyros' personal wealth in order to outfit and repair the ship, which is made simple with Primus' help. Ship operation seems actually fairly simple. As long as Amadeus is under your thumb and the military might is yours, you'll be fine. Most of the hard work required is done by Primus. With those two, you're golden.
  
  One of the main issues, though, is the mutants. As your slaves have all been wiped out or had joined up with one of the war-bands, Kyros or your forces during the mutiny, mutants are now filling in most of the crew roles aboard this vessel. The thing is, they're getting antsy about their position, wanting more power and a say in the decisions of the vessel. Reports say that a mutant known as John the Hermit is leading the mutants, inciting dissent and rallying the masses of mutants.
  
  Although the mutants are seen as an irrelevant issue by most, you know that's not the case. They're tough, with naturally mutated weapons, and there's massive numbers of them. If they're genuinely organized and inspired by this John the Hermit, they could easily take the ship when you're at low strength.
  > have John the Hermit assassinated
  You have an elite group of Tribals sent down into the catacombs of the ship with the objective of killing John the Hermit. Comm reports show that they're wiped out to the last man, but not before carving a bloody path through the mutant horde, ending with John the Hermit's death before they're finally overwhelmed. Unfortunately, John the Hermit goes down with a strength you've rarely seen among the best of men, let alone a wretched mutant. As John the Hermit was engulfed in fire by a flamer blast, his skin crackling, his flesh cooking and his bones melting, he gave one of the most impassioned speeches you've ever seen, urging the mutants to not give up and continue with the rebellion as planned.
  
  With that, the mutants rise up. You're simply unprepared for the scale of this rebellion. John the Hermit must have been planning this for decades, behind Kyros' back. Stores of ammo and weapons, hidden in stockpiles in the parts of the ship that hadn't been searched in millennia, are unearthed, as many of the functions of the ship cease as the mutants stop working. While your forces have better training, better equipment, better everything, as it has been said before, quantity has a whole quality of its own. The endless mutant hordes, entirely willing to die for their cause, all willing to martyr themselves as John the Hermit did.
  
  As you stand in the war-room, surrounded by an army of mutants, burning dozens as lightning runs along your fingertips and psychic blasts kill all who could hope to oppose you, the mutants begin to overwhelm you. As their tentacles, hands and claws bring you down, tearing you apart, you have a brief musing about how similar this is to Kyros' death.