Well there's always room for a Part 3, this one's pretty long
The two thunderhawks streaked through the afternoon sky of... the Desert World. Across the front was the symbol of the Ordo Hereticus. The first thunderhawk touched down in a seemingly abandoned field and was thrown into the air by the 20 land mines beneath it.
Just to be safe, the pilot of the second thunderhawk landed on the roof of what appeared to be some sort of stadium.
"So much for the storm troopers." muttered the tall armored figure that disembarked from the aircraft. Behind him were his retinue, a gaggle of warriors, scribes, and an orthodontist.
"You, minion, are you sure this is the right planet?"
"I have a name, my lord"
"So do I! You dont see me bragging about it all day."
"Very well sir, it seems that a group of space marines have turned from the light of the emperor and pledged themselves to one of the dark gods."
"Hmm... which one? Nurgle? The Blood God? The one with the magic?"
"I believe your referring to Tzeencth my lord, and according to our data, they have become followers of Fuchismo, god of Potatoes and Potato Products."
"Data is for the Weak, Generic Minion"
The Inquisitor and his cronies walked toward the roof access door while the thunderhawk took off, with no real intention of coming back. Out of the door two space marines with waist length tabards walked, carrying what appeared to be wooden scythes.
"Hey Fancy Lad! You here for the Hockey game?"
"I am Inquisitor Svengal of the Ordo Hereticus. Are you heretics?"
The two marines looked at each other. The following conversation took place on their interhelmet vox links:
"Hey Bill, what's a 'heretic'?"
"I think its a type of duck."
"No no, this guy clearly knows were not birds, we're wearing power armor."
"For all he knows we could be ducks wearing power armor"
"Ducks cant wear power armor!"
"Maybe not alone! But if a bunch of ducks got together they could fill up a suit."
"Ducks aren't that coordinated."
Meanwhile Inquisitor Svengal became increasingly more offended by the two marines apparently trying to stare him down. Behin him his followers nervously milled about, wondering if there was something they should be doing. Finally, One of the marines said "Were space marines."
"Uh I realize this. That would explain the armor."
"We could have been ducks."
"Look, is their someone else I could talk to."
"Sure, there's a bunch of guys behind you, you could talk to them. There's about 300 people in the building below us, Heck there are trillions of people in the galaxy with a sentience level high enough for you to carry on a conversation."
The Inquisitor just stared at them, at a loss for words. Finally, one of his warrior acolytes stepped forward and pointed a laspistol at one of the marines heads.
"Now you listen to me, the inquisitor would like to speak with your commanding officer."
Before the two marines could have another conversation about who specifically the tiny man was referring to, the Inquistor barged past them and down into the stadium below. He made his way outside to the deserted street.
"Minion, where is the Space Marine base, I am to find the chapter master and investigate him for chaotic taint."
One of his followers pointed down the street toward a building with a large neon sign that said "Earl's Steakhouse, The Best Grox On the Planet, as Far as You Know!"
"Fool! That is a steakhouse! That is no place for space marines. Now I see some marines coming down the road."
"My Lord it appears that there has been some sort of mishap on the battlefield and a dreadnaught has become lodged in that rhino."
"Come my loyal henchmen! We must assist and or purge them."
Big Crazy Jim was having a bad day, his marines had spent the night partying and by the time he got the defiler running the crew was in no shape to drive. Then, this morning he had found out that the techmarines were just guys who had painted themselves red as a joke and knew nothing about mechanics. and those blasted rebels were still... rebellious.
Now there was some rich guy coming this way, probably wanting to hire out his warriors to protect their estate from poor people or something like that. Well, he would show that snob that Fuchismo's chosen warriors were not the playthings of the wealthy!
"Techmar- I mean Hank, get my gun. The big one."
The marine quickly brought the chapter master's gun, a stormbolter with a built in grenade launcher, chainsaw bayonet, and french fry cooker. He jammed a clip into the deep fryer (he had not exactly abstained from the 180 proof liquor) then just decided to fire a grenade. With a devastating roar the chainsaw bayonet snagged on the grenade, was ripped off and flew toward the Inquisitor.
"Emperor's Bowels!" The Inquisitor shouted as a grenade with a chainsaw bounced toward him.
"Quick men! Alpha formation!"
His cronies formed a human shield just in time for the grenade to detonate and send chainsaw teeth shredding through half a dozen of the retinue.
"My Lord, I think we can safely assume they are heretics."
"Yeah they're heretics! Look what they did to my cape! there's blood on it! Those devious chaos filth!"
The surviving minions drew their weapons and fired in the general direction of the column of marines while diving into cover.
"That rich son of a grox! Kilroy, get on the vox to the Terminator Squa- oh, wait. Scratch that Kilroy, instead send word to the Hockey Rink. Tell the Devastators to put down their sticks and pick up their heavy weapons."
The vox marine switched the radio off the talk station and relayed the message to the game. Big Crazy Jim lifted the Spear of Fuchismo and prepared to show the Inquisitor how he acquired his moniker.
Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition!
Accuracy is directly proportional to enemy numbers
Fuchismo, god of potatoes!
Spuds for the spud god!