Terribad official Space Marine fiction:
Zitat:
Next came the grafting in of the Preomnor, the second stomach seated within the chest that would let a Marine eat poisonous victuals, if need be, and nourish himself upon mere roughage.
To celebrate the success of this implant, a feast of foul unfood was held in the banner-decked Assimularum Hall, presided over by Commander Vladimir Pugh himself and the Masters of the Chapter. The cadets, who had fasted for five days, now gorged themselves on toxic fungi from a death world specially grown in the hydro-culture vats, slurped up glutinous soup made from decomposing venomgland fish, devoured foul cadavers heaped with stenchful excremental sauce, and chewed their way through discarded parchment and leather, while officers, battle-brothers, and older cadets dined more modestly on fresh fruit and vegetables. After half an hour, if each junior cadet was able to fill a three-litre vessel with vomit, the celebrants cleansed their palates with avocado and mango, eggplants and gloryberries.
Zitat:
Implant of the Omophagea followed, so that a Marine could learn from what he ate, absorbing some memories from the molecules in his meal of beast or sapient enemy. During a further feast, each cadet had to announce some details of the inner nature of his disguised nourishment.
On this occasion, Biff Tundrish arose and shut his eyes tight to concentrate. Those eyes, like two green beetles which a squirming tattooed spider had now digested…
“I have four nimble legs,” he announced, an eerie whinny in his voice—and Lexandro almost sniggered. Four nimble legs on either side, perhaps? Had they stewed up a supper of some giant arachnid for Tundrish? But no, for the ex-scumnik continued: “I yearn to run across wide grasslands with a rider on my back, my tail pluming in the wind. Yet I am so little and I live behind hard iron bars, eating synthoats…”
“That creature is known as a horse,” confirmed the chief adept, consulting his annotated menu codex. “In this case it is a dwarf specimen, cage-bred for succulence. It dreams its genetic past.”
Zitat:
Yeremi Valence reported that his meal had swum in foetid swamps beneath a blue sun. Its many teeth were sharp; so was its appetite. Its tail was long and armoured. Its thoughts were red with blood.
Lexandro rose and shut his eyes.
“I run…” Mist swirled in his mind, a wraith taking shape within the viscous haze, reflecting and congealing his image of that other self within himself. “On two legs I run. My belly is swollen and my… breasts are full.” Could he be wrong? Could he be mistaken? “My loins are… featureless. My skin is a tattooed map of the secrets known to serpents concerning the invisible world… The serpent god came to me in sleep and filled my belly.” Lexandro strained to grasp the memories. “The priestess must be caught and cut, to remove the godling for sacrifice… Yet faceless demons whose hands spit fire have killed my holy hunters…”
“Enough,” said the Gastronomus. “You have eaten the liver of a feral tribeswoman from a death world.” He clicked his heels and bowed to Lexandro briefly, though ceremoniously. “Always there is one savage human included in this feast. One day you may need to eat an organ of your enemy in order to interrogate him or her, especially if that enemy is alien.”
Zitat:
"She trotted lithely back from her tour, to the main family chamber. All these tunnels and chambers below the temple were a sewer of alien evil - of an evil compelled by a foul, cunning, imperative joke of nature to be none other than just that; evil that even wore a mask of ultimate community. However, Shandabar City was also plumbed in the sanitary sense. In a privy, Meh'Lindi defecated her transformed supper of the previous night and before flushing that away with a push of her claw wondered whether her excrement had been doubly metamorphosed, the food transformed not only into dung, but into identifiably genestealer dung. Perhaps her bowels remained her own. Perhaps her dirt was the talisman of her identity. If so - considering the keen senses of genestealers - thanks be for plumbing. In the Callidus part of her she made a mental note to mention this aspect of her mission. Could an assassin, transformed into an alien, be tripped up… by an all too human stool?"
