Breaking into a space hulk to commit acts of sabatoge for the Imperium's Holy Order of the Inquisition was a bad idea. He knew that from the start. He knew that even before he smelled the man and his goons tramping up the alley to force him into a part for 'the greater good'. The drifter had figured they would know more horrifying ways to hurt him than much short of the Warp itself, though. Definitely more than the greenskins.
The greenskins mostly wanted a fight and food, after all, and the explosive in his teeth would settle things quickly. Messily, but quickly.
He hadn't thought it would go wrong so very fast, however. From the vaccum that sucked away his own precious, hard saved little fightercraft and all the touches of home with it, to the Warp storm that flickered eerily over the floating city state of scrap and guns' surface, to the screaming as terrors from that very beyond flayed flesh and bone from the inhabitants.
Triggering the way out was tempting by this point, certainly, but a morbid, terrified curiosity possessed him as well, to see what these rumored and forbidden terrors really looked like...
From the edge of eyes, claws and teeth ripped and tore, and as the storm gathered energy reality grew more and more uncertain. Lightning of colors with no names crackled through the surface of the city like thrown spears, leaving floating, flickering energy in their wake. One of these opened on itself and doubled with a roar, eating the broken surface of road.
The Chaos Marines that stormed out were like giants, their armor snarling as they raised their Bolters in unison and began mowing down civilians. Tau sympathist, holder to the Imperium, and almost every single person human who indicated they were allies instead of fleeing were scythed through by rounds, most of them exploding behind their victims. The sound was incredible, and as they advanced they pressed the attack.
It was only halted when an errant bolt speared through a man and into an errant, "deactivated" missile. The explosion tore through the hull and sucked out the squad, the bodies, and most of the surrounding area, one driving his gauntlets into the ground in time to bring himself closer down while air rushed by him. Someone broke their leg when it hit his pauldron on their way out.
<Fourth squad, respond! Cursed human rats-> snarled a voice over one of the general channels.
As things progressed further, he felt his heart sink. Then his legs. Then the entire gravity well. Matter of fact, the whole damn thing seemed to be tipping, veering, straight down on a collision course for a colony city that hadn't been there before but certainly was as the storm breached the simple concept of physical-and-relative space. That was what Warp travel was supposed to do on a normal basis, but it was no less terrifying, especially by accident here. One minute the waaaagh had been among the stars, and the next, he was watching his coins fall down and split open skulls out of his pockets as he clung with magnetic gloves for dear life to the nearest stantion.
Well, mission accomplished, through none of his own efforts for the Ordo Xenos. Unexpected gravity and crushing was a much more definitive end than what he'd been talked into, unless the greens were impossibly good at piloting.
The ripping wind took him and the pole off entirely despite the drifter's tools, and the next thing he knew, he was trying not to make a noise as the heavy metal slag impaled a roaring Rhino.
Only when it began to rain orks did the Marine look up, red eye lenses silently reflecting an army that hadn't been there before. The warp was fickle, but now was not the time. Slamming himself to his feet, he maglocked his boots to the surface and stood, taking aim at screaming orks, as it was the only logical thing to do. His helm clicked as he continued to vox through different channels, all remaining quiet except for crackles.
He reloaded quickly, firing with one hand and slinging a storm shield across his left in preparation for the ones that had survived to get up. Orks never stopped fighting until they were dead, they wouldn't retreat, unfortunately. The gods would drink deep. Falling back to a dying, impaled Rhino, he roared in fury at the green tide. This was supposed to have been a simple raid, not a complicated battle.
The hole in the hull had been plugged by an enormous amount of debris; as he took cover behind what had been the wall of a house, he reloaded again while his helm checked his vital signs and surroundings. His squad was still mostly alive; their own signs were stable. They were also spaced, which left him on his own here and now. He readied a grenade and cooked it for a few seconds before throwing it over the barrier.
Listening to the grenade exploding and the orks, to his genuine surprise and horror, letting out enthusiastic war cries and gutteral cheers at their own relative serendipity instead of dying like sensible crash victims, the human was once again forced to revise his thoughts and his position. The Inquisition would not be happy after all. As a matter of fact, this would somehow probably be his fault in the reports. If they kept any.
"WE'Z GOT OURSELVES SOME SHINY AND DA CHAOS LADZ WIV DA SPIKES!" a particularly large specimen roared with the relative glee of an Imperial governor given an unexpected bribe.
"Blue runty li'l gits too!" chipped in a smaller specimen with rusty, ragged meat hooks for hands, tearing apart a Tau sympathist and diplomat at a go.
Swallowing hard, he made his way off the stantion, watching the truly massive gaping hole the still-moving hulk was grinding into the ground as the Orks and supplies leapt ship headlong into killing things, and almost ran headlong into a Chaos Marine on the other side.
Well, head to knee, anyway.
The rate at which he turned tail and direction would have made a Commisar proud, if it had been towards an enemy.
An armored gauntlet shot out and seized the back of his neck, the Marine turning him to face the barrel of his gun-
An Ork jumped the barricade, and the Marine turned to shoot him down before turning back to the human. He raised his bolter again before more orcs came and he was forced to pivot, killing them again in succession. The speed of full-auto on the gun too heavy for a mortal to lift was capable of cutting through them in spears green with blood. The marine let him go, to reload once more.
His armor was somewhat a newer mark, and it looked like it had come from a forge world instead of hand me downs of the Long war. The horns of his helm were long and straight, like an antelope, but it was the only archaic thing he carried. The black plates were chevroned in a deep gold.
His helm grimly reported a low number of spare magazines. Grimacing, he looked the human over and then gestured in the direction he'd tried to run, kneeling and priming three more grenades before slowly backing up that way, shield at the ready.(edited)
He couldn't have told one Chaos faction from another, really. It took a lot of effort just to be up on what was or wasn't considered a god and heretical for someone who wandered selling salvage as a living. Say the wrong thing, know the wrong thing, a swift gunshot or a very hot flame waited. He didn't know how you would tell one traitor legion from another or their colors or insignia.
What he did know was that the thing hadn't just immediately crushed him, and slavery might be better than death, if it wasn't Slaneesh.
The trenchcoat and the detonators in his pockets flapped as he ran to follow the silent instruction.
With an explosion at their back, the Marine wasn't hard to follow; he out-and-out tore through walls with his fists and body, leaving a trail and leaving a path. Rather than deeper into the town, he was digging into the hulk and still shooting any hostiles they came across. After a stretch of brutal advancement in another direction, the Marine stopped and sneered around him at the chapel off to the side of a hallway. Breaking the relics and smashing the lectern as a matter of course, he lifted pews and barricaded the door, finally turning to the human.
<...Damned Xenos.> He growled, picking up an Aquila and then dashing it to the floor. His helm turned his voice into a mechanical snarl. <They will seek to die by my hand.>
Clicks sounded as he tried to contact the rest of his squad, but to no avail. Rising, he looked the human up and down. <Where is your weapon?... Who do you serve? The corpse-God?>
"No! No, not- I don't serve any god!" yelped the fellow. "Free trader! I sell things! I would rather live to keep doing that, please!"
"Matter of fact, my Rogue Trader got done in by the Inquisition, and they want me out and out dead too, s-s-so I wouldn't say I serve the Emperor of Mankind no sir no. I didn't even think they'd know where I was, it had been so long."
He extended a pistol out of his coat gingerly, showing he was in no way arming or aiming it. "The- there are bombs on the xenos ship I was supposed to set off for them. The tectonic plate cracking and weather changes from a ship that size collapsing into a world at that speed should already be killing all of us, I'm thinking the Warp threw that off... B-b-but I, I'm definitely open to other offers than getting blown up or shot or eaten by the guys outside."
The red lenses of his helm glared at the trader like a glowering demon, before he seemed to come to a decision and lifted his gauntlets to the neck seal. Air hissed and clasps snapped as he removed his armor, gazing back down. The Marine looked young, almost fresh-faced, his black hair close-cropped. If not for the chaos star tattooed over the right half of his head, he'd have just seemed to just be a young man in power armor instead of a slavering warrior of darkness.
"You know... Of food, the lukewarm is always, always spat out and discarded. This universe is cold and uncaring to your kind, who's lives and blood grease it's wheels. You ought to consider worshipping Chaos. The Dark Gods value you, your life, and your soul, and unlike the corpse in it's golden high chair, they take an active interest in reality-" The marine began, in a tone that held back fervency. His focus on the Trader's eyes and immortal soul was broken by a sudden violent lurch; his preaching regretfully cut off as he walked over to a hole in the wall and peered out.
"...That wasn't orks." He growled. "A damnable pity, that your bombs didn't kill them all. I have my mission, and they are complicating it dreadfully."
Drawing away just in time for a spray of bullets to hit the wall, The Marine shrugged his shield back on and drew a power sword. "They come for us. Here is my offer, human: stay close to me and aid in my objective, and I will not only keep you alive, but secure you transport from this place." He slammed his helm back on, eyes lighting up at the sound of orks yelling. <I am Lucas of the Black Legion, by the way. Who are you, free trader?>
"Holdan, Lucas. K'ier Holdan. I- I didn't expect you to be a minister," he confessed, and did not add the bit about especially with Abaddon's Legion. But salvation was salvation. "What can I do to help, master?"
Lucas made a sound like someone hitting rocks together; under his helmet he was laughing. <I'm not one- only a true believer concerned for your soul. I'd like to see you in Heaven, is all.> he shrugged, pauldrons rising and falling. <But theology can wait it's turn, there is a slaughter coming! I will kill nine out of every ten, and claim a piece of the tenth- but a half might get past me yet. Defend yourself! Our only way out is through a lake of their shorn pieces!> he snarled with relish, alighting the power sword and tensing up like a bloodthirsty volcano waiting to erupt.
More slugs and bullets hit the walls, and some punched through; Lucas stood and took them to his armor, each time he was glanced seeming to just drive his battle rage. He'd started cutting the walls and slamming his shield to his chest-
"Oy! Chaos boy, come out an' fight like an Ork!" Bellowed something green outside. Lucas tensed up. "If you won't get out, we're comin' on in!"
<If you come in, I'll come out!>
"...Then you'z stay there, and we'll stay here! Ha! Stupid git!" Came the reply, while the Legionnaire absently checked his grenades and ammunition. He had time to realize he'd left K'ier exposed by barricading the door, and had dragged more pews over for cover before the voice returned. "'EY! WAIT A DAMN MINUTE!"
<Here they come! FOR THE GLORY...OF... CHAOOOOS!> He screamed as the door exploded.
With an actual glimmer of hope at escaping alive, the man steadied his hands and dropped into a crouch, firing rapidly and professionally into the first green fang wreathed skull to enter the room with the las weapon until the audible pop of superheated flesh collapsed it in the way of its bulky companions. For all of two seconds, these being eager Orks, but long enough to cool the gun slightly and readjust his aim. Imperial Guard he was not; he lacked even their degree of armor; but the service of a Rogue Trader was dangerous. Conquistadors and conquerors as much as explorers or merchants, they were, and in their services, a man learned to be capable or a man died pretty quickly and messily when something went wrong. Not if. Not if by half, in his experience.
The acrid smoke didn't even have time to clear before another massive fungal hand was gripping it, and he shot for all he was worth at where he thought the neck should be from its position, thinking it over and muttering very quietly without mostly realizing it. The words seemed somehow addictive, empowering. The muttering became louder, until a half decent "FOR CHAOS" emerged, albeit whuffed out by Ork dakka.
The Chaos Space marine stood against the green tide, las bolts zipping past him as he braced his shield and drove forward. Chopping out in meaty blows, he split weapons and skulls and sent the edge of his shield out like a crushing chisel. Smashing a Greenskin's chest like a rotten pumpkin, he slashed outward and snatched at one of his grenades.
The explosion outside of the stone funnel shook the walls harder, and they groaned in distress. Lucas heard but didn't care, screaming at the explosion before pressing the attack. A pike nearly took him in the gut, but he chopped down and then leapt forward, annihilating everything above the orc's stomach from his swing down. The energy field sizzled as it cooked green blood. But even then more were coming.
He fell back to the front of the makeshift cover before sheathing his blade and unholstering his bolter, eyeing the count display inside his helm grimly. Even firing in controlled, disciplined bursts, it sank too fast, not enough dying to stem the tide.
A lucky shot took his hand clean off, the stump of his wrist geysering gore from the successful slugga hit. The Ork crowed in delighted surprise, since the gun was, as ever, meant more for loud noises than aim. The smell of the blood frenzied them further still, moreover, as they started carving at the shaking stone walls with the fervor of their number and choppas. A proper on Nob with a large started in enthusastically carving at the already unstable tunnel entrance. "CRUSH DA HUMIES!"
Lucas fought, and fought, and fought, one thing burning in the forefront of his mind; the mission wasn't over. It would've been nothing to give in to the battle and die here in a cairn of green corpses, but that would've meant failure, and failure was unacceptable.
He grabbed his last grenade before clenching it and cooking it in his grip, taking a last few potshots before putting himself in front of K'ier and spiking it to the ground, crossing his arms in front of his chest and face. The explosion forced him back and nearly took his footing; his armor was smoking, and the edges were cracked from the heat. While the orks closest to him had been gibbed, the others weren't stopping, and he reloaded for the second to last time. The creaking and squealing of the walls was louder than ever before-
<Fall back.> He said in tones of mechanical disgust. Knowing what was right didn't make it any less ignoble. <You first. I'll cover the retreat.>
He put a bolt through a roaring ork's mouth, and briefly smiled under his helm.
The Warp's screaming whirlstrom of souls, psychic influences, and possibilities manifest as reality ripping at what was already there took a strange sudden left turn at the hilt, the door opening to empty space, but under it, a long, long way down, a strangely abandoned island complemented with an astrarium, a library, a clocktower, and a small dock. Outside, the megacity shook with the firepower of various warfare, wind, and seismic activity. This strange otherworld, likely just the baited peaceful dream of a desperate mind meeting a predator's illusory ability, did not belong. He took the plunge, and even as he did, the scene flicked back to solid megacity concrete a foot from his nose.
It smashed messily, but the rest of his head held. Pushing up off his wrist stump, he strained to get to a stand before the next mirage formed.
When the Locust started shooting at him, he figured the burning village and odd sorts were probably slightly more stable, but an equally bad way to run.
Rising as well, the Marine stared around him in confusion. The travels and travails of the warp weren't new, but he still had no idea where he was or who was shooting at them. He raised his bolter and aimed before lowering it regretfully, instead panning his view around and then hunkering down.
<This is new.> He grunted, ignoring a hammerburst round hitting his pauldron. <We should take cover. Your wrist needs to be sealed.>
He was glad for his helm; it kept the guilt off his voice and face. Lucas was a Posthuman monster, but he still felt responsible for the wounds.
"Wh- how-" the shock was beginning to set in, and perhaps delusion, too, for he thought he saw a gigantic white creature hurtling down from the skies for a moment before a cloud covered what was surely a delusion. Well, at least until its roar caused the stone to quake and fire began to lash out from its maw in columns that consumed several of the enemies, with a strange woman perhaps even larger than Lucas scything them down (literally) from its back when it neared the ground and arced up again. Ice and flame added to the terrible confusion of man and Locust alike before the ever eager Orks, still in pursuit behind, rushed in to shoot at an unknown and therefore entertaining new enemy.
"Cover, yes," he gasped out and directed the Chaos Marine's attention to one of the hillops not running off in molten steaming streams right now.
Moving that way, Lucas kept one eye on the sky. He'd seen Dragons in the warp before, although this one only had one head and no glowing runes, and he assumed it and it's rider would just as easily kill the both of them in a crossfire. From up there, everything likely looked like kindling. Someone else was riding it, but he blinked after he looked at her. Either the dragon was smaller than he'd thought or he'd had to have seen wrong, that was all.
<At least the... Other Xenos care more of being roasted in their boots than about shooting you and I.> he said, watching Orks fight locust, Locust try to fight a dragon, and the dragon fighting everyone else. It was a certifiable clusterfuck; it looked like quite a lot of fun. Instead he knelt once more and grabbed K'ier's wrist, taking a canister off his belt and spraying it across the stump.
<This is synthskin. It will hold a seal until you can be properly treated.> Lucas said, crushing the empty can and tossing it over his shoulder. <Do you have any idea where this place is? Or what those are?> He asked, pointing and then shooting a Locust for emphasis.
"L-long time ago," the man muttered a little woozily, straining to comprehend the absolutely mind boggling business around them and how they had gotten there, "a man the Trader picked up m-muttered something about a... a different couple of reals. That the Warp poked different dreams and universes than ours. He was starting to talk about something called ZeusFights, I think, and then he mentioned seeing Erebus, and they gutted him immediately as a liar. He's one of yours, I think? U-unless he isn't. But he said... he said distinctly that the Marines were in a place that wasn't- wasn't where we all belong."
"I think- I think we may be there, but for all I know this is just more of the Warp. What are those things?"
Lucas was silent, briefly fiddling with his combat knife while he weighed up what to tell K'ier. It was Chaos Marine folklore, and sharing it with an outsider felt wrong, but considering he was the only friendly possibly on this entire space and place...
<Erebus- not the Word Bearer shit-eater, but a Night Lord captain- was defeated by his sergeant and cast adrift in the Warp. That much is known. Everything afterward is just speculation. Supposedly he killed his entire company and returned, a Marine with the capabilities of a Primarch.> He snorted disbelievingly under his helm. <Our forces tell tales of him, but none are certain and none are proven. I've heard he killed a shadow God and ate it's heart, I've heard he married a military princess and had a half-breed son, and I've heard he can control the winds and create lightning without magic. They're just stories. There is no Erebus, not anymore.>
He stood and looked around, putting his hands on his hips. <Wherever we are, we don't belong. Those Xenos have made that clear. They disgust me... Like grubs.> he sneered. <This has grown very complicated. I don't think there are any allied forces present, which means you and I are on our own, wherever we have washed up.>
<...Do you see the thing riding the dragon? Am I hallucinating or is she nearly twice my height?> He asked, troubled.
"The strange one in furs with the large scythe? It's real???"
<Damn. I'd hoped you didn't see her too.> He muttered, looking through the area. Between the roaring flames, dead bodies, and monster ours Xenos everywhere, he could dimly see the path they'd need to take. It would be up to him to clear it, but with all the force concentrated the outskirts of the area would be more hospitable. If they made it.
He took his shield to arm and drew his sword once more, taking a deep breath and then exhaling. <We'll advance down, to that cart and those corpses.> He pointed with the tip of the blade. <One of their guns will serve you... Then we head to that group of orks, beating the fat grub to death. That other pack is heading away from them, by the time we arrive they will be past earshot... Stay low. I'm sure the dragon and the other one won't hesitate to kill us either. Are you ready?> Lucas asked, tensing up.
By way of confirmation, he began to slink to the cart with a hefty nod and a gripping of the fingers he had left. He would do this. He could do this. He had come too far since this morning to be something's snack or target now, damn it. In a very real sense. If the Orks, Chaos Marines, daemons, and Locust hadn't killed him, or gravity, or the explosive tooth the Inquisition left, he would be trebly damned if he let it happen now.
He even managed to avoid wetting his trousers, though it was a near thing at the shadow of the dragon at one point.
The approach was quiet, although Lucas did clamp his teeth down on the battlecry he wanted to let loose. The two made it to the cart without any trouble; that came from the group of Greenskins turning and spotting them both, letting out cheers while five Gretchen hefted the cast away Grinder from their sport.
He interposed himself between the gun before it began to fire and K'ier, for the simple fact of the human would die if shot enough times by the weapon. He would die as well, but only after taking a heavier rate of fi-
The cart disintegrated, and rounds began impacting him and his shield like hail in a storm. There were so many that flashes of blood and torn skin erupted out of his torso, chest, and arm, the pain... Well, nothing, really. It hurt, that was all. He continued to shamble forward, step by bloody step, until with a squeal the Grinder jammed.
His shield was ruined and twisted, and he was dripping with smaller wounds, but it was still a piece of metal attached to his gauntlet. He literally crushed a Gretchin into paste before lashing out at the others with his sword, teeth clenched far tighter than before.
Locating an odd device in the grass, K'eir held its trigger and waited. Ominious looming lights appeared above, and he very nearly dropped it, but instead kept it squeezed until they aligned.... And then the skies caught fire, a massive burst of heat and energy from an orbital weapons platform beaming down in a laser meters wide that consumed everything it touched and scorched the air and land around its borders. Half blinded, he dropped the hammer of dawn behind the living warhammer that was his compatriot, but the destruction had certainly claimed several combatants.
It had also aroused a great deal more attention, although that was part of no particular plan.
Striking at everything in front of him, Lucas was backlit by the beam like a statue made of ash. He glanced behind him, a little horrified at the weapon these orcs had built before a power klaw seized his shield.
The joints whined as it crushed the metal in it's grip, the Orc festooned with tools like charms grinning menacingly before Lucas rocketed forward and headbutted him like a clenched fist hitting an egg. He ripped his shield from his arm and cast it aside, snarling at the approaching orks.
<...my good plans aren't working.> He said to K'ier, before raising his blade and screaming at the sky. The orks laughed and screamed back. <Follow me as close as you can. This will be gruesome.>
He began to run, gripping his sword with both hands as the power field crackled against the air; when he hit the orks he began to kill in earnestness, clearing a path like a lumberjack. Ork after Ork died, cleaved and cut and severed, while he ate their return blows and shots. Opening a way wasn't hard, but keeping it closed was.
He didn't full-out sprint, because he didn't want to leave K'ier to die and because he was enjoying himself in the slaughter. Under his helm he was smiling hatefully, eyes shining with only the sort of mania hypnoindoctrination could bring.
Ceasing to be quite as obliging, the storm released its grip on the COG weapons satellite the Hammer actually corresponded to, and it fell. Rather swiftly and rather violently. This actually proved to be somewhat advantageous in its own way, however, because thirty tons of screaming satellite on fire from reentry certainly crushed in the biological artillery the Locust were beginning to bring to bear on the dragon, who itself probably counted as such. The seeders split across the landscape before they could become any further of a headache for Lucas.
The wake of the Space Marine's thrilled killing was quite certainly gruesome, but the injured convert managed to keep the pace with those giant metal clad feet between the bites, claws, and weapons of the Orks, although one distinctly stopped a few paces away and bellowed angrily instead of cheerfully. "CHEATY! CHEATY CHAOS BOYS! DEM SKY LASERS NOT FAIR!"
It would, funnily enough, be a sentiment shared by the Fitemaster of the place their bloody path would eventually lead them to.
Breaking through the wall was sudden; he decapitated an Orc with a huge swing, kicked one last Gretchin into pieces, and suddenly there weren't any immediate enemies trying to murder him. Black plate ran with red as Lucas stormed onward, one long horn missing from his helm. He hadn't noticed.
He sheathed his sword and readied his bolter, taking a breath and then picking each shot. Not all their enemies were focused on them, but of the ones that were, he turned their heads while still able. They had to maintain momentum above all else. Dry grass crunched under his tread as he did his best to break them free.
He wasn't entirely certain what happened next, to be honest. One moment he was conscious and assisting to flee through a combat with unknown forces with a chaos marine in an unknown location from the Warp's machinations. And the next...
Well, the next he was sitting in the back of a fairly confined vehicle, one unadorned with any sigils of gods, machine or otherwise. A mustached man in a blue uniform he didn't recognize was talking into a very crude radio. There was a handcuff on his one wrist, and outside, street lamps shone in a place with a startling abundance of green amid the citiescape. Whatever this was, wherever it was, it definitely wasn't a hive, but it didn't seem to be feudal, either.
The police officer turned to look at him. "You awake yet? Earth to- oh, you are up! Geepers. You know how you got like that, buddy? We're taking you into protective custody for the moment, but you're in bad shape."
With a groan, Lucas stopped blocking traffic and sat up, blood running from the grille of his helm. He shook his head ponderously before looking around and taking the scenery in. There weren't any Xenos around, at least, but they'd ended up even further adrift, somewhere else.
He got to his feet, swaying and then planting himself before removing his helm. He looked shell-shocked.
"What year is it?" He slurred, asking anyone in general, staring at the road. His armor had to be mistaken.
"Holy shit a giant," muttered one of the officers standing outside the car to the one inside, but audibly so. "Holy -shit- man. This has to be one of, y'know, those things."
"It's, uh, 2018, stranger," the other leaned out the window, peering at Lucas. "March. You gonna need a ride to a hospital too?"
Lucas bowed his head; If he'd looked out of it before, he was thunderstruck now. Nearly 38,000 years. The Warp truly was a fickle thing, it was a terrible time to have finally run out of bolt rounds.
"...Yes." He said, in a surprisingly small voice for his size. "But your vehicle cannot fit me. I will march, I think, and meet you there."
"They aren't speaking Low Gothic. They can't be if it's truly then. How do we understand them?" muttered his compatriot, fidding with his boot. "How would it not have changed the very premise of coming if we had been even as long as we have been here if it was? Unless it's... it's that different the Erebus meant. Are we not in our universe? Are they Inglash?"
"English. Not really, though. This is Kuwahawi, man!"
"We may very well not be. They don't know what in hell I am." He said, gesturing to the two policemen. "I think I hear an ocean, but I don't know if this is truly Terra or not. I don't feel the warp overtaking me. It is an uncomfortable numb." He said, chaos star shining under the lamplight. Slowly, his eyebrows drew down as he frowned.
"What is Kuwahawi? This planet?" He asked, wiping blood off his armor and briefly counting the bullets he'd need to pull from joints. One of his lungs had collapsed, but it was only a passing pain. For now, talk of Erebus had put him on edge. No one could tell the same story about him or this place, and for now, he distrusted it on basic principle.
The car slowly drove along the giant, who they would reasonably have expected to be lumbering, not being aware of the carapace or power armor's capabilities. "No, Kuwahawi's a set of islands. It's not even a continent. This is Earth, man. Third rock from the sun. Er, the sun Sol, if you're from a different star system. It's got Mercury, Mars, Terra if you wanna be fancy- or Gaea, or the usual Earth-, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune. Then there's the dwarf ones, like Pluto or Eris."
"How dare you, Pluto was a planet when I was a kid."
"...Ah. I see." He said, going along without showing pain. His armor moved with him like a second skin, the scratches and dents making it look far more weathered than when he'd begun this mission. The grey, stylized wolf painted eating this very planet on his left pauldron was untouched, something he took for a good omen. The gods had blessed him with his sword, at least. That was something.
"...You didn't seem that surprised by the sight of me. Many humans are terrified, but you both were only uncertain at my appearance. Are you Koppers?" He asked, glancing at them before looking ahead. "No more laziness on my end. Drive as fast as you'd like. I will keep up." He said, half-smiling.
"Coppers? Well, police, yes, although you might be looking for the Kobbers, I guess? That sounded like a K. Like Kaiser emperor version instead of Seizer emperor version, if you're going by Caesar."
Slowly, the car accelerated. "Koppers, though, yes, we work with them either way! There've been some scary looking customers around, but we try to be accomodating if they're not, y'know, doing things to people!"
Lucas looked at them in undisguised horror as he started to run, before he shook his head and then slowly smiled. He looked almost youthful for an unholy warrior of darkness, nervous but excited to conquer, and fight, and kill in a place where legends had been made. Fortune didn't favor the timid.
When they got to the hospital he'd stayed with K'ier, removing pieces of his armor and cutting out bullets with his combat knife. The black bodyglove he wore underneath was tattered and torn, but unimportant, like the pain.
"OY! CHAOS BOY! YER A SIGHT FA SORE EYES! THOUGHT IT WAS JUST HUMIES AND TWIGGY LITTLE MONSTER GIRL THINGS FA EVERS!" bellowed a voice, as a most curious, hideous hulking Ork twelve feet in height and bound in mechanical augments waved at him, almost displacing a comically small nurse's cap. "HELLO! HELLO! DO YA WANT A NEW ARM SEWN TO YA SPINE OR SOMETHIN' FUN LIKE, OO, WHATABOUT SEVEN EYES THAT ARE ALSO LASERS!"
The beast salivated at the thought as the police tried to usher the patient into the more normal lobby, the woman behind the counter looking visibly distressed. "THEY SAID THEY DOK TOOK OFF TO ANOTHER STAR, SO I GAVE THEM MY SCALPEL LEARNINS. NEVER CARVED ONE OF YOUZ BEFORE."
"...I should have known we wouldn't be the only cast-adrifts." He muttered dumbly, sheathing his knife immediately. The temptation to hurl it was too strong to be safe. "No, I think my current number of arms and eyes will do. Mutations were never something I'd hoped for."
Miles away, in a McDonald's drive thru, Nurse Abigail paused after handing her son a happy meal. She didn't know why the sudden feeling of foreboding had fallen over her, but she tried to shake it off anyway.
"You may have your chance to peel my skin back yet." Lucas continued, eyes hard as he began to replace his armor.
"HAAAARHGHHEAHHAA", came the response, then a large, green fungal hand clamped around a clipboard and quivered with excitement. "OY! THAT'S A STUMP, THAT IS! LITTLE RUNTY NEEDS A REPLACEMENT! COME 'ERE, BITTY HUMIE, DON' BE SHY. GONNA GIVE YA A REAL NICE BIG MEATY WARCLAW."
"And Yarrick thought he was so special." Lucas said, looking from K'ier to the Ork and then back again. "This little runt has survived an Astartes sized helping of pain and trouble, without screaming or whimpering or begging a corpse for help. I would be gratified-" Lucas's voice cracked on the word, but better that then a tooth. "-If you would make sure his care and convalescence were the best."
"TOLD EM WHEN I SIGNED THE LITTLE COMPANY FORMS THAT I NEVER LOST MY PATIENCE," the Ork grinned with too many teeth entirely. "THINK THEY MIGHT HAVE TAKEN THAT FOR PATIENTS, HONEST, BUT I DON'T MAKES A HABIT OF LOSING THEM EITHER. YOU CAN'T SEW OR LEARN 'EM THEN. WHY, WITH WHAT I'VE LEARNED ABOUT THE RUNTY SPINE IN THREE WEEKS HERE, GORK AND MORK'S ODDBOYS COULD BUILD WEAPONS TO GIVE A RIGHT PROPER RUDDY GOOD SEEING TOO! DID YOU KNOW THAT THEIR LITTLE DANGLY EATY CORD GOES ON FOR BIGGER THAN THEY ARE? JUST ALL SPOOLED TOGETHER, LIKE."
He noticed the cringing nurse alongside him and roughly fixed his collar in an effort not to swat things per his nature. "SEE, THERE'S AN INHERENT PROBLEM. ORKS IS THE BEST. BUT IF ORKS KILL EVERYTHING ELSE TOO EASY, THERE AIN'T GONNA BE NO FUN ANYMORE. JUST SWATTING OTHER ORKS? BOOOOO. NO VARIETY. THERE'S LOTS AND LOTS OF FLAVORS OF YOU THINGS, BUT NOT AN ORKY RESUPPLY NUMBER. TAKES YOU CENTURIES TO BREED UP WHAT WE DOES IN YEARS."
"SO I," he announced, "AM GONNA MAKE YOU BETTER. NOT AN ORK. YA SADLY CAN'T BE AN ORK! BUT GOOD ENOUGH THAT THE BEST GREEN BOYZ AT LEAST HAVE A BLEEDING CHALLENGE WHEN THERE AIN'T BUCKETHEADS LIKE HIM AROUND."
An aide, as he lead the trader away, began to mutter to the general staff about a company trying to reproduce Ork fungoid spread and failing pretty catastrophically. Tragically even. The news showed police helicopters circling the overgrown building.
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