The 4th writing. . .

As Zalam recalled the night of his embrace, he burned with hatred. This hatred was scalding hot, so fiery that he could barely contain himself. He yearned to bury his blade in Claudius Giovanni along with the rest of the Conspiracy of Isaac. And topping that list, Augustus Giovanni. He breathed quietly to himself: “One day, I will have my revenge.”

The truth was that Zalam had never felt powerlessness like he felt that night, even back in his days at the orphanage. His twisted birth was at the hands of the orphanage. But the misery he had experienced during the Feast put that birth to shame. Just what kind of twisted abomination would be born from the Feast?

Zalam thought back to his recent dreams. Just who was the man in black whose hatred matched his? The power that man wielded seemed born from an infinite hatred that spanned eons. Zalam was no stranger to power born of hatred. For Zalam, his course seemed set. And yet, here he sat captured by the enemies of his enemies.

If only Zalam could convince them of his desire for vengeance and his alignment with whatever goals they had. He would use all his flowery language to speak on his behalf against the Conspiracy. He had to hate the Conspiracy more than his captors, after all, he was a victim of their depravity. And every night, he would forever wake with the marks of that depravity, reminding him of his impotence against their power.

Further, Zalam hated his new awakening. He hated his loss of control. He prided himself on being a monster, but a monster in control. Whatever they had done to him that night, they had taken his control. Zalam vowed to not lose himself again. Zalam would beat back the monster inside himself. He would control it. He would use it. He would allow it to rage only when it suited him.

And finally, Zalam thought of his fellow captives, all victims of the Conspiracy. He knew that he could not be alone in his desire for vengeance. Would his companions join him in his campaign of vengeance? If they would not, so be it. But if they stood in his way? They were as good as dead.

Warhammer 40,000 Armies Review

There is a lot of debate in the Warhammer 40,000 community about which army is the “best”.  Usually it depends on the current shape of the tournament scene scene, which codex was released most recently, and the scenario being played. I believe we can now call the argument settled, however. The best army is…

The Ultramarines. Period.

Smurf marines are the greatest army in the history of ever. They are the only Space Marine army that ever had their own Citadel paint color: Ultramarines Blue.

“But, Adam, that is clearly untrue. What about Dark Angels Green?”

Oh, you mean little bitch green?

“And Space Wolves Grey?”

Little bitch grey?

“But, Adam, I really like my army, the…”

Let me break this down for you:

Other Space Marines: Little bitches
Eldar: Pointy eared little bitches
Dark Eldar: Emo pointy eared little bitches
Chaos: Little metal band reject bitches
Tyranids: Little bug bitches
Imperial Guard: Little flashlight bitches
Necrons: Little bitch bots
Tau: Little anime bitches
Orks: Orks are pretty dope. They are all right.

It wasn’t always this way. There used to be room for debate, but what sealed the deal for me was this:

https://www.warhammer-community.com/2017/02/03/march-for-macragge/

Look at this shit. Feast upon it with your eyes. It is beautiful. Roboute Guilliman is back. He is here to fuck up everyone’s day. Lets just take a trip through his abilities:

He has his own special gear: the Armour of the Fates and the Emperor’s sword. That is right. He carries the sword of the Emperor of mankind. Does he need it? No. He can kill every other model in the game with his bare hands.  Look at this blonde haired, blue eyed, ubermensch looking fucker. I’m sure seeing this model gives Richard Spencer a boner.

He automatically passes all leadership tests.

He automatically wounds on all hits.

He automatically hits.

He counts as HQ, Elite, and a Troop choice.

His penis counts as a power weapon

He gets 400 attacks per turn. 401 if he is in close combat and can use his penis.

He cannot be wounded, ever.

He immediately claims all objectives on the board as soon as he is placed on it.

If the opposing player so much as looks at the model, they are struck blind.

If anyone in the gaming store fails to take a knee in reverence when you reveal the model, they are immediately killed.

You don’t deserve to field this model. No one does. He has changed the game forever. You field this model and everything dies everywhere. Game over.

Ultra. Marines.