They had come.
Krell had never believed his grandmother's stories, of how great metal birds came from the sky, spitting flames from their wings and vomiting demons from their bellies. But now here they were, just like she said. Cutting down the young men of the tribe, just like she said they did to his grandfather. They wielded long staves that spit fire and blades that roared when they cut. Krell swallowed down bile. He was a young warrior, the tattoos on his face and chest that marked his ascension to manhood were still healing. He had only cut another clansman's head off in a wild melee.
But now, here was a chance for glorious death.
Krell charged, bellowing the warcries of his people, swinging his axe left and right. He struck! But the demon's metal hides turned his blow. He struck again, this time found a chink. Red blood spurted. Krell roared, swung wildly, all around him. He struck again and again and again, until one fired a net at him. It cinched tight around his limbs, immobilizing him. They dragged him into the metal bird. He would never see Sarduk again.
A paradise world. Luscious green meadows stitched with clear brooks. Birds singing in the trees.
Krell hated it.
That was where they trained him. To kill "civilized", guns and thin blades and garrotes instead of his beloved axe. And when that was done, men and women in robes taught him of the God-Emperor of mankind. They called him blessed that the Death Cult had chosen to take him from his home.
Krell believed. Not because of what they told him, but what he'd seen. God had defeated his people, who were well known to be strongest clan on Sarduk. He clothed his minions in armor, he remade them when they were broken. He gave them the sight to hurtle across the void.
But not everyone did.
Inquisitors. They bought him from the Death Cult. And they told Krell of heretics, those who did not believe in the God Emperor.
They told Krell of the heretics.
Krell killed them.
That was his life, and it was good.
Character sheet attached