The uprising had succeeded. Your lowly, backwater world had successfully cast off the chains of the Imperium, and was now fully independent, but only after much bloodshed. It was a day of celebration, as the people praised the Changer of Ways for his aid, and the salvation provided by the Tzaangor hordes.

You, however, had seen none of said celebration or salvation. Your mob of Traitor Guard had held a singular point for months, never giving an inch, even now that your team was reduced to a paltry six men.

A crackling rift opened before you, and atop a disc stood one of the Emperor's Angels, only this one was much different. He had a jackal's head, and armor painted in the holy colors of the god you served. He looked down upon the battlefield, and frowned, holding his staff tight to his chest. His disc floated down before you, and the Chaos Space Marine stepped off to greet you, looming over.

"Rise, little mortal." He spoke.

"I am Kyras, a Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons. I have heard you've been holding this building for a very long time, and for that I am pleased. Without your sacrifices, our plots would have likely taken an additional few years."

"You are the finest veterans this planet has to offer, it seems, and I would like to reward you, and invite you to my ship, to serve Tzeentch more directly."

Something in his stare told you, however, that he was interested in more than just your service.