I want you to analy the following text and provide me with, the theme and meta narrative. And if possible the person you deem to be "the good guy". The text starts now: "Pity the guardsmen

A weak sack of flesh destined to die for a dead god that never cared. It spends its pitiful, brief life, alone in his foxhole with nothing to keep him company or to keep him safe other than the cheapest, most disposable of equipment. Perhaps the glow from his lasgun barrel keeps him warm at night.

Me? As a servant of the powers, I enjoy the delights of all this world and the warp has to offer. Power, it courses through my veins. The gifts of the chaos gods will soon overtake me, and one day I may even ‘ascend’. What has the guardsman to look forward to but a grim life, and if he is lucky perhaps he will feel nothing as my axe sends his soul to Khorne.

He lives for a corpse god, and he shall join his god, as a corpse. I shall spare a half second to think of him and his kind. Then, I shall only laugh. Hail Chaos!

You would laugh monster, But let me remind you.

Within that weak sack of meat and bone, uncared for by his God and wept for by none, beats a heart. A human heart, that carries with it the strength and courage of all mankind. Within that sack of meat is ensconced the hope, the will, and the fury of every man woman and child from every corner of the Imperium. Within that weak sack of meat, festooned in thin armour and weapons only powerful in numbers, beats the heart of a man. And for ten thousand years, the hearts of men have beaten, strongly, in defiance of your so called "powers". For ten thousand years, the hearts of men have stood united against a galaxy that despises them for no reason save that they had the audacity not to lay down and die. For ten thousand years, your black crusades have been pushed back, beaten down and made a mockery of, by weak sacks of flesh with cheap weapons and disposable equipment.

For that weak sack of flesh that you so gleefully mock is no super soldier, no immortal warrior, no creature cursed by chaos like you. He is a man, an imperial guardsmen drawn from some forgotten corner of the Imperium to fight for his species and for the safety of the people he loves. He is a factory worker, a farmer, a storekeeper, a father, a brother, a son, a mere man. And against creatures like you, teeming and numberless, powered by the very will of thirsting gods… He holds the line and he has held the line for ten thousand years.

So what’s your excuse, monster?"
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