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The deck is silent, despite all the ranking officers—your fellow battle brothers—circled around the holo projector. It depicts the planet that the void ship, Gigante, is closing in on. You can see the speck of it outside the observation deck, above the heads of the serfs navigating the ship. The planet in question was named Serena, a pleasure world, out here on the Periphery. On the wrong side of the Great Rift, on the wrong side of the Eye of Terror.

“We will conduct the Red Tithe here,” the Reaper Prime, captain of the entire company, spoke through an open air vox caster. There was simply no other way for him to communicate, for he was a dreadnought. A massive hulk of armor, a white center flanked by obsidian arms, covered in exile markings, plumes of predators’ teeth around the visor. Armed with melta, bolters and chain-bladed claws, Reaper Nikora has served the Fourth Company of the Carcharodons Astra for centuries. Still of sound mind, his body was torn to shreds by drukhari decades ago.

The Red Tithe meant taking their due. Even on a pleasure planet, there were candidates for new Astartes, new chapter serfs. You recall a tropical world you once called home. A peaceful life among islands, surrounded by blue seas and sky. ‘Even from frail material such as you can come our future,’ the apothecary Whetu had said to you before implanting the gene-seed into your body.

“We couldn’t have chosen a better time,” Nikora said again, his robotic hand making a small gesture. The serf at the holo projector zoomed in on the image. The human population was mustering a defense. It felt strange to think of them as such. They were not men of the Imperium. This subsector had seceded and became the Severan Dominate. Rebels against the Void Father. This Tithe was more targeted than ones in the past, you knew it.

You truly were a shark circling around prey in desperate straits. The projector showed the xenos invaders…

>Vote for one
>Orks
>Tau
>Drukhari
>Aeldari
>Necrons
>Tyranids