1 The Son of a Hero

I lived most of my life as a failure, and while some people may try to find another path in their lives, someone like a failure of a psyker can do anything other than wait for their death. Most of the failures are either sacrificed to the God-Emperor or, in the worst case, they are sent to be experimented on by The Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition, or as it's known as the Inquisition, the worst place where someone could be taken to.

Fortunately, or maybe, unfortunately, I somehow got away thanks to my puny and barely noticeable affinity with the warp, and while I could theoretically use the powers known to most psykers, I would have to pay a price too costly for me, my own life. I wasn't a selfish person, but at the same time, I wasn't a saint that would give his own life in exchange for the greater good of mankind.

Call me whatever you want, but I will never become what my father was, a hero of the Imperium and a symbol of heroism, even if it was done for his own survival.

As many of you may have already guessed, I wasn't born like any living being. One big shot from one of the richest hive-worlds thought that it would be an honor to bring back to life the legend known as Ciaphas Cain, and while it was impossible to bring him back to life, cloning him was an alternative solution, but that wasn't all. Why would you clone Ciaphas Cain and not modify him a little, like making him a psyker, maybe adding some stronger genes and similar things like that. The result?A complete mess. My father, Emperor bless him, knew that some idiot would want to get some glory using him, so like any sane person in this fucked up world we live in, he did the impossible: total corruption of his genes, something that not even the smartest Techpriest would ever dare to do to anyone. Not only was it a suicidal procedure, but the chances of becoming a daemon were so high that even a Chapter Master would hide when this subject was mentioned.

While I was saved from a horrible, painful, and most likely lab rat life, I became the most hated person in the higher echelons of the Imperium. No matter where I tried to join, no sane regiment would actually accept a failure and a potential daemon.

So I did what most scumbags do: I became a bounty hunter in one of the hive-world's underhives, where the scum and rejects live pitiful lives in a constant struggle for survival.

At first, it was hard, and most of the time I was hunted and not the one hunting. The reason for that was quite simple, I may say... In their eyes, I was abandoned after fifteen years of training and indoctrination, only to discover that I was just a better soldier with almost no chance of living past my twentieth birthday due to my strange genes that continue to force the warp to slowly consume my soul.

The Schola Progenium is one of the many divisions of the Adeptus Ministorum, the state church of the Imperium of Man. It is responsible for the upbringing, education, and training of orphans, predominantly those of officers and nobles who have died in the service of the Imperium, often those who once served in the Astra Militarum or Imperial Navy. The place where I spent most of my early life and the place where I learned how to fight, lead, and die. Each Schola Progenium employs one or more challenges to separate those who will become Commissars from those who will join the Militarum Tempestus. These tests take diverse forms, but the primary purpose of all such Trials of Compliance is to highlight those cadets who are most committed to obeying orders in adversity, and test how they process those commands. Thus, one of the first trials was to torture, find out as much as possible from, and kill a criminal. Everything was done at the tender age of seven. As many people know, not everyone is made to become a commissar, but those who are will become the pillars of every regiment: remorseless and efficient killers, ready to do anything if that would ensure victory, especially executing comrades.

And thanks to the training that I had to undergo, I've survived for three years in the underhive of the hive city of Ave Primus.

I don't remember the exact number of deaths that I provoked, but I know the number where I stopped caring about my enemies: 4269, and every one of them was a worthless living being that would waste their life for a warlord. As a proud failure of a psyker, I could barely use one of the easiest powers to wield, The Breath Leech, and while it's just some minor power to stop the air from going into the lungs of someone, it's one of the most effective powers for an assassin, at least in my book, but unfortunately for me, I could barely use it twice before I would be assaulted by a nightmarish headache.

The worst thing is that I know how to use a few more phonemes, as the manifestation of a psyker is known.

I remember clearly the day when I was hunted by twenty gang boys and their hunting dogs and how I was forced to use one of the only stronger phonemes that I knew could kill a large group of enemies at the cost of huge warp exhaustion, as I like to call the ability to use the warp. Being forced to use the Storm of the Emperor Wrath was something few psykers would survive, not to mention a failure like me, who could barely use the warp to feel the danger around me, but, contrary to all of my instincts, I did it. I used my own body as a conductor, and when the enemy was just a few meters away from me, I gambled my life in exchange for theirs.

Unfortunately for me, I don't know how much time had passed before I woke up surrounded by scorched bodies and with tens of what I vaguely recall being called the Peacekeepers of the underhive.

They were the only reason the gangs couldn't destroy the underhive with their crazy ideas. It was a first and last stand against the worst enemy of mankind. You can easily recognize them by how well-armored most of them are and by their armor resembling the armor used by the troops of the Astra Militarum.

Looking all around me, I saw tens of lasguns aimed at me, while the most noteworthy weapons were a sword way too close to my neck and a laspistol barrel on my forehead. Taking a glance at the man who wields those weapons, I was shocked to see a commissar down here, but as quickly as I was shocked by his appearance, I could see a smile appearing on his face.

"It seems that even down here, the people know how to properly greet a commissar. Tell me, boy, why does a freak like you live here? "

Yeah, that's what we are called by the normal people: freaks of the warp or future daemons.

"Living my life, sir."

"For a commissar, you have picked the worst battlefield kid. Andre Black at your disposal and most likely your future commander. "

"Ciaphas Solomon, at least that's the name I got when I was created, but I prefer Solomon. I'm not my father, and I will never become him."

"That's why I went looking for you, kid. I may not look, but I'm as old as your gene donor, or as you call him, your father. We both served together, and I even followed his command for a few years before I managed to retire to a less dangerous battlefield. Tell me, Solomon, what do you want to do with your life? "

"Honestly, I want to continue living without fearing for my life or the lives of the people around me."

"A noble goal, but at the same time, something impossible, I don't know what they did to you, but I know a way that may save you or at least help you control that power that many people fear."

"What do I have to give in exchange for that?"

"Your life!"

As soon as he said those words, I saw him take his weapons away from me. Andre extended his hand towards me, and I didn't hesitate to take it. Even the slightest chance could change my future, and I will be damned if I don't take it.