Dantik had not felt this comfortable in a long time. He did not need to fight bloody battles over a precious cup of water, nor did he have demon alarm clocks constantly urging him to work overtime producing more weapons and ammunition.
He silently activated the data-slate before him, leaned fully back in the chair he had welded together from collected icons of The Emperor, and watched the production operations in the demon womb factory district.
Countless female slaves were escorted in, imprisoned in cages, and force-fed until their bodies swelled to grotesque proportions.
The fattened women stitched together would become the key incubation vessels for the demon wombs. Chemical tubes were inserted, and gene-seed along with an adolescent child were placed inside the stomach sacs of these women, stretched to their limits.
The successful products, the skinless ones, would become Astartes. The failures would become mutated scraps, like Chaos Spawn.
Finally, male slaves' skin was sewn onto these skinless Astartes, and a tortured, grafted Chaos Space Marine was born.
How efficient. Though they were somewhat weaker than recruits who had passed through the countless selections and trials of those Chapters, their numbers made up for that weakness.
And today, this production was about to come to an end. The last batch of skinless ones had already been produced, while those wombs had matured and could be cut out and sent back to his planet.
This raid had been a massive profit. Countless minerals and slaves were transported back through the now-stabilized rift. And they could also drive these Imperium fools into playing a little war game.
At the thought that he no longer had to dig trenches through mud or build fortresses, Dantik and his warriors felt happy.
They had once been that sort of force, needed by endless