Man

In a green lush planet filled with life many cities is erected across the surface of the planet, among this city is Kaluum the biggest city and the capital of the planet. The palace where the activities of governance is done for the planet.

The gothic building basked in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the bustling city life below. People hurried to work, children played, and conversations flowed as residents went about their day.

For generations, the citizens of Rolum Mai have basked in an era of peace that stretches back 400 years. Many have never known the horrors of war, for their planet holds no strategic value. It lacks resources that the Imperium, or any other galactic power, would find enticing. This extended peace is indeed a rare occurrence, even for a world deemed useless by potential invaders.

Yet, for generations, the governors of Rolum Mai, under the noble House of Nihrak, have ensured the planet's security and prosperity despite its lack of strategic value and extended peace. Earning the titles "benevolent," "loyal," and "distant," the Nihraks have ruled since the 38th millennium, prioritizing planetary development over personal gain or imperial influence.

Through strategic propaganda and staying out of galactic politics, they've effectively harnessed their planet's potential without attracting unwanted attention.

Amidst the bustling streets of Kaluum, two PDF soldiers stood guard before the metallic doors of a gothic skyscraper. Amolvarn Osgar, one of the soldiers, scanned his surroundings with keen brown eyes, his gaze lingering on the passersby.

Amolvarn Osgar, a name he now bore with unwavering resolve, stood watch. Time had become a hazy concept since the fateful day he'd left his own universe. A misstep, a fall down a staircase, and what should have been the end was merely a transition.

Instead of eternal slumber, a god, a being resembling a colossal cyclops, emerged from the void, presenting a choice: fade into oblivion or embark on a grand odyssey across infinite realities.

Osgar, ever the adventurer, chose the latter. The god, with a booming laughter that echoed through the emptiness, spun a fantastical wheel. The pointer landed decisively on "Warhammer 40k."

Disoriented and alone, Osgar found himself deposited in a dark alleyway within the bowels of Kaluum, a sprawling city on an unknown world.

His attire, simple clothes from a bygone era (the 21st century, a concept now hazy in his mind), was all he had left. The life he once knew, his principles, morals, and beliefs – all seemed like relics of a distant dream. In this strange new world, he was Amolvarn Osgar, and survival was his only directive.

Yet 7 years have passed and Osgar have changed for 6 years he have trained and experienced the life of a Guardsman a soldier of the imperium man and a son of the Emperor.

Then, suddenly the sound of the metalic door opening enter the ear of Osgar as Inquisitor Erasmus Rur cuts an imposing figure. His black trench coat billows behind him, concealing flak armor plating beneath.

A weathered leather chestplate adds another layer of defense. Sturdy combat boots and dark trousers complete the utilitarian base. A massive silver Inquisitorial Rosette hangs from a chain around his neck, a symbol of his authority. A single, gleaming Aquila adorns his right shoulder pad, a subtle reminder of his unwavering faith in the Emperor.

Inquisitor Rur walked with Osgar and his fellow PDF, tasked by the governor to protect the Inquisitor. However, both Osgar and his companions were also tasked with keeping a discreet eye on the Inquisitor's activities.

The oppressive heat of Kaluum pressed down on Inquisitor Rur as he strode purposefully through the labyrinthine streets. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that speared through gaps in the towering, archaic hab-blocks that crowded the narrow passage.

Rur' imposing figure, clad in the dark plate armor of his inquisitorial wargear, cut a stark contrast to the drab clothing of the shuffling masses that filled the thoroughfare.

Every so often, a ragged figure would dare to steal a glance at the inquisitorial rosette emblazoned on Rur' chest, their faces a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Foreigners were a rarity on this backwater world, and the arrival of an Inquisitor from the Imperium was an event that would be whispered about in hushed tones for years to come.

Several minutes later, Inquisitor Rur and his escorts emerged from the bustling marketplace and into Kaluum's western sprawl. This sector, a stark contrast to the teeming marketplace, was dominated by the hulking edifice of the PDF's central command. Smoke plumed from industrial chimneys, and the rhythmic clang of machinery echoed through the air. Here, security was tighter, and guards in faded olive fatigues scrutinized them with suspicion.

Osgar, picking up on the tension, barked a curt order at his companions, his voice laced with annoyance. The younger troopers, their gazes lingering on the imposing figure of the Inquisitor, sheepishly looked away. Rur, ever vigilant, remained impassive, his face a mask of grim determination. Seasoned veterans, unlike their green counterparts, kept their focus on their duties, the alien visitor a mere blip in the daily routine of securing this remote corner of the Imperium.

In front of the imposing edifice of the PDF's High Command, Inquisitor Rur turned and curtly nodded to Osgar and his companion before disappearing through the heavily fortified main gate. The gate, constructed from salvaged tank treads and armored plates, bore the scars of countless battles fought in the planet's troubled past. Osgar and his fellow soldier, Enos Vyrrc, settled in to wait, their postures adopting a practiced vigilance.

"What's that Inquisitorial hammer doing here anyway?" Enos grumbled, his weathered face creased with suspicion. "The Governor's been acting skittish ever since that message arrived."

Osgar shrugged, his gaze sweeping across the facade of the PDF building. Constructed from massive, prefabricated slabs of grey plasteel, the structure resembled a squat fortress, a testament to the ever-present need for vigilance on this frontier world. Floodlights bathed the exterior in a harsh, sterile light, and the rhythmic thrum of power generators filled the air. Atop the central tower, a massive Aquila flapped proudly in the dusty wind, a beacon of Imperial authority amidst the sprawling industrial complex.

"Just doing his duty, I suppose," Osgar replied finally. "Though I wouldn't mind if he finished it quickly. Governor Wernoff doesn't strike me as the kind who enjoys Inquisitorial scrutiny."

Enos chuckled grimly. "Like anyone does. Still, better the Inquisition sniffing around here than some genestealer cult, eh?" He patted the lasgun strapped to his thigh, a grim reminder of their recent skirmishes with a heretical sect that had taken root in the Morra Forest. The memory sent a shiver down Osgar's spine. He wasn't looking forward to whatever the Inquisitor might unearth on this visit.

Osgar's reply died in his throat. His head snapped up, ears swiveling towards the imposing PDF complex. A sharp crack echoed from within, the unmistakable report of a bolter round.

Impossible. Bolters were tightly regulated on this backwater world, issued only in exceptional circumstances.

"You hear that?" Osgar hissed, his voice tight with urgency.

Enos, his brow furrowed in confusion, shook his head.

But before he could voice his denial, another sound erupted from the building - a bloodcurdling scream that sent shivers down Osgar's spine. It was a sound of pure terror, an undeniable cry for help.

"Shit," Enos swore, his hand instinctively dropping to the lasgun at his hip.

The urgency of the situation was clear.

Osgar wasted no time. Punching in a rapid sequence of codes on the control panel beside the gate, he barked a silent prayer for the malfunctioning comm unit that prevented them from calling for backup. The heavy metal gate groaned as its hydraulics strained, opening with agonizing slowness.

Time was a luxury they didn't have. With a shared look of grim determination, Osgar and Enos crouched low and bolted through the entrance, the imposing edifice of the PDF High Command swallowing them whole.

The flickering emergency lights cast long, ominous shadows that danced across the polished metal floor. The sterile air hung heavy with the metallic tang of machine oil and the faint hum of unseen machinery.

Wanted posters plastered on the corridor walls were momentarily illuminated by the strobing lights, the faces of notorious heretics and rogue mutants glaring down at them - a grim reminder of the constant threats that plagued this frontier world.

As they raced towards the source of the commotion, weapons drawn and senses on high alert, the flickering lights and haunting visages added to the oppressive atmosphere of the PDF headquarters. They encountered no sign of life, neither lower-ranking officers nor the missing Inquisitor.

Their pounding footsteps stopped at a mangled metal door. A gaping hole punched through the center confirmed the source of the bolter fire. With a deep breath, Osgar nudged the door open, its hinges groaning in protest. The stench of burnt flesh and ozone assaulted them.

The sight that greeted them was a nightmare. Two PDF sergeants lay sprawled on the floor, their bodies contorted in death.

Across the room, Colonel Morcant, Kaluum's highest-ranking military officer, slumped lifelessly over a table, his uniform a mess of blood and viscera. But it was the figure standing over him that sent shivers down their spines.

Inquisitor Rur, his face grim and his armor spattered with gore, held the lifeless form of Captain Clinton Solarus, a beloved hero of the Kaluum PDF, aloft in one hand.

"By the Emperor..." Enos whispered, his voice thick with horror.

Lasguns rose in both men's hands, fingers near the triggers. Doubt clouded their rage and suspicion. The Inquisitor stood amidst the carnage, the holy symbol of the Inquisition glinting on his chest plate.