So here's the premise of this short little exploration. The gods of the fictional world of Berserk, the God Hand, bear many similarities to Chaos in Warhammer40k. This story follows the simple premise of the world of Berserk actually being a world lost in the Warp. Now. A Battle Barge full of Space Marines has conveniently managed to get itself lost in the Warp following Primarch Guilliman's heroic effort at escaping the forces of Chaos. They are forced to make an emergency landing onto an unknown world - which, luckily enough - is the world of Berserk. We join the story as the Battle Barge Avenging Wrath plummets from the sky like a falling comet.
P.S this story is not written with lore accuracy in mind (and it's not all that polished), though I try to keep in the confines of what lore I know and remember. I'm more concerned with making this a fun little story.
P.P.S I've dished out some major edits, and managed to improve the flow of the chapter some.
This is both the pilot and Chapter One of this series. My plan is to write about Berserk and 40k for a while, and then continue the warp-adventures of Tagiel Grimhammer and his indomitable Ultramarines in other settings. Feel free to make suggestions, too! ;)
The Arrival
The city of Falconia shone brightly in the horizon. Its very existence was a beacon of hope to the people, but it was also an indomitable fortress that imbued the citizens of the realm with a reassurance - nothing could touch them here. The city thus embodied Divinity itself. To the people, it was an avatar of perfection, a beautiful symbol of resistance and strength that shone over the once-blighted lands, giving them the Falcon's blessing to grow and prosper. It was only here where the demonic creatures of the dark forests and the vengeful spirits of the dead dared not venture. The Falcon - Griffith - had created a realm of such outward beauty that its like had never been seen before on this world.
Farmlands stretched out to either side of the city, extending as far as the eye could see and beyond; orchards and other colorful plantations grew and prospered behind it, descending into a valley; and in front of the great city the Falcon had built one perfect highroad, flanked by pristine rows of trees and green, peaceful fields. Even the very air smelled fresh here, free of the rank stench of death and decay that had become so commonplace in this world. It was only here that farmers could till the fields in peace, only here where the roads were patrolled by immaculately garbed guardsmen and only here that a powerful enough army existed to shield the people from the horrors of the out-world. That was what the people believed, anyhow. All was well in the realm. But then one man pointed to the sky and yelled.
A ball of fire appeared into the blue sky, first as a pale red dot, then slowly increasing in size and volume. Nobody had seen its like before in their lifetimes. Guardsman and farmer alike stood rooted in place, uncertain of what else to do than stare in confusion at the mysterious falling object. Even the priests of the interior city hesitated. Their zeal did not prevent them from realizing, perhaps out of some base and primal instinct, that something about this was very, very wrong. Even Griffith, the Falcon of Light himself and the veritable God of this realm, looked up in shock from his customary spot on the battlements, bafflement stark on his features. He could feel no fear; not anymore. But something prickled him in the dark confines of his battered soul. A memory of an emotion?
Only seconds had passed from the first sighting of this "fireball" before the first man whimpered, scrambled up from his seat and began to run. It didn't take long for the next one to follow suit, and soon thousands of people were frantically jostling to get out of the city. Even as the panicked masses rushed towards the main gate, streaming out of them like ants from a flaming anthill, the mysterious object plummeted out of the sky, blanketing the entire city in its humongous shadow. The citizens had only the briefest moment to contemplate the size of the falling spacecraft before it crashed straight through the massive walls of Falconia, toppled the Great Palace and made bloody paste of those unlucky enough to have wandered near the gates.
A farmer, whose name – though unimportant – was Tarkus, looked on from the outer fields in complete silence, his brain perhaps too horrified and shocked to process what exactly had just happened. Whatever had just attacked the city had obliterated an entire section - gods, it must've been at least half a mile in length - of Falconia's unimaginably high walls and turned massive swathes of land around it into a burning wasteland! Tarkus fell to his knees and found himself weeping. Oh, Lord… oh, Falcon of Light! Pray that he was well!
Alien World
Force Commander Tagiel Asparte waited until the shock of the impact had passed completely. Then, mustering all of the fervor and zeal he could manage, he did what he had been meant to do. He spoke through his mask, zealous words booming into the helmets of his warriors. The ship's airlocks unlocked simultaneously with a sharp hiss.
"SECURE THE PERIMETER! ULTRAMARINES! IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME, CHARGE!"
The Ultramarines stormed out of their Battle Barge from its dozens of entrances, chanting a deadly song of battle in the Emperor's name. Any citizens unlucky enough to have survived the landing soon perished under a hail bolter-fire, their carcasses ripped apart by the Ultramarines' unholy firepower. The word 'overkill' entered the minds of more than a few marines, but they were professionals – genetically modified, superhuman professionals. They remained focused on any possible threats, and more than a few farmers out in the fields perished to more bolter-fire as some of the Ultramarines fired through the massive hole they'd left in the wall. Their Librarian, Rochus the Blue, had long since detected and informed them of several strange but powerful psychic signatures on this world. These readings only had one logical conclusion, naturally, and it was one that the ancient librarian had been keen to make often and vigorously for the last several hundred years. As Rochus himself put it - this time accompanied only by a bit of innocent cackling - "This can only mean Chaos!"
It was only when the smoke had cleared and their completely alien-free perimeter had been established when they finally noticed that this world did not look like any Chaos world they'd ever seen before. Nowhere could they see roaming hordes of Daemons battling one another for the dominance of this planet, or rivers running red with the blood of sacrificed men, or - to the Librarian's dismay - planet-wide orgies celebrating the perversions of Slaanesh. Those always made the best bloodbaths. The Librarian glared at the citizens' dead remains, as if taunting the landscape to release its illusion and turn into the corrupted wasteland they thought they'd find here - and he did so until they all felt a massive psychic presence from the center of the city.
"Rochus? What is it?" Tagiel hissed as the Librarian collapsed onto his knees, holding his head in both hands, muttering something incoherent to himself. The psyker slowly struggled up to his feet. He raised his hands as if to channel some powerful magic. Tagiel, understanding that his old friend was engaged in a brutal psychic duel, came to a decision of his own.
"Scouts, race ahead and find us that psyker. 1st Company, follow me – the rest stay here and protect our Brother Librarian while we're gone!"
Rochus began to mutter under his breath, but seemed to be able to struggle on somehow. Tagiel felt a chill. Whatever could make the man struggle so much must be incredibly powerful. The Epistolary was a veteran of a thousand battlefields, a master of psychic duels and his mind was like an indomitable fortress of order and reason. He had survived daemonic invasions of his mind before in countless numbers. Surely this one would not be any different. Tagiel only hesitated for a millisecond before he forced his gaze away, his iron will manifesting in a yet another show of force as he bellowed the order to move out, setting off towards the source of that foul psychic signature.
The Psyker
The Ultramarines advanced steadily through the streets, their caution all but obvious in their movements. Their scouts had not returned, but the direction of that psychic presence had remained the same. Communications from the Battle Barge said that the Librarian was still locked in his psychic contest, but that they had managed to parse some of his muttered words. Apparently, they had amounted to something like "Powerful... stench... like... Terran... sandwiches..."
Tagiel would have smirked, but he had a reputation to take care of. As he soon came to realize, however, any smile would have died down on his lips instantly. For as he was advancing through the streets, he'd spotted something strange in his peripheral vision. Tagiel lumbered to a halt, half-twisting to see it clearly.
He looked on in wonder as a man – the most beautiful man he had ever seen – appeared in front of him. He was as tall as an Astartes, glowing an inner light that almost made Tagiel think that this apparition was nothing but light, a trick of the eyes or a ghost. When his gaze drew up to the figure's eyes, the word 'divine' suddenly – and forcefully – asserted itself into his subconscious. Subservience to this man suddenly seemed like the natural thing to do. Who was he to oppose this… this force of nature, this…
But I am a humble servant of the Emperor, and I know no other Master.
Tagiel snapped out of it. His scanners had long since locked onto the glowing form walking towards him. He let out a methodical burst of bolter-fire, and suddenly felt his shoulder-mounted iron halo heating up from absorbed psychic energy. This he had expected. He raised his voice over the gunfire, a challenge booming from his helmet with superhuman volume.
"Do they teach you psychic farts where you come from or was that actually supposed to be an attack?!"
Soon following his example and perhaps awakened by the sound of their commander's voice, the other Ultramarines around him snapped out of their stupor and opened fire on the glowing man.
Tagiel couldn't believe his eyes when he saw what happened next. The exploding bolter rounds tore up the pavement behind the glowing figure, giving the primitive architecture a much-needed renovation but entirely missing the psyker's form. His confusion only lasted for a moment. Tagiel was a survivor of a countless number of alien battlefields, each one with its own unique terrors he'd had to counter and overcome. If bolters didn't work, then he would bring the Emperor's justice down upon this warp-spawn from up close. The bolter dropped with an unceremonious clang even as the Daemonhammer burst free of its constricting holster, humming softly in the air as Tagiel leapt into an Astarter super-sprint. His battle-brothers had evidently realized the same thing, and with a slight delay, followed him into the fray, the jagged edges of their standard issue chainswords coming alive in their hands with high-pitched screeches.
Tagiel felt his halo heating up again as he closed in on the glowing form, and some unknown force pressed against him, slowing him down but not stopping him. He let out another superhuman bellow and jumped, leaping six feet into the air and smashing the Daemonhammer into the pavement with an earth-shattering crunch. Stone blew apart like styrofoam, indiscriminate splinters flying everywhere. The psyker had moved away in time, however, and stood in another spot, seemingly quite unperturbed. He gave Tagiel a look that meant something like 'Oh, were you aiming there?'
Well, at least he had to dodge this one.
Tagiel let the battle consume him. Before the crater had even had time to fully form, he ripped the Daemonhammer free from the ground and blitzed towards his enemy with wordless determination. Once, twice, thrice the hammer was flung through the air, but each time the man's form seemed to blur somehow, ending up in a different place than before. It wasn't a displacer field - those were far too janky, and this guy's phasing far too easy. When his weapon whirled through the air for the fourth time, his battle-brothers finally joined the fray and began laying into the teleporting stranger with cold professionalism - or would have, if not for what the man did next.
He disappeared.
All at once, the whole battlefield seemed to dim down, all of the light draining out of Tagiel's world. Only a single light shone in the darkness.
Suddenly Tagiel had the distinct feeling of being watched by the eyes of a predator. He raised a hand to cover his eyes against the near-blinding glare from that pale white light, hefting his weapon in a warding gesture.
"You are quite interesting."
The voice that said the words seemed to come out of everywhere at the same time, and it was completely devoid of any human emotion. In another time, at another place, Tagiel might have felt a grudging empathy for the owner of that voice. It took one to know one, after all. But the sound of that voice invoked in him a reaction he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt a cold dread slowly taking root in his soul.
"Who are you, psyker?" he called out at the encroaching light.
The formless voice seemed to consider his question, as if confused.
"I am called Griffith. But who are you?"
"Very well, Griffith. You've evaded me so far, but by the Emperor, you will not evade me forever."
The voice grew more insistent.
"Who are you, stranger?"
The light had finally come close enough. Tagiel's only response was a low growl and an angry swing of his Daemonhammer. It struck the light, soundlessly cleaving it apart.
The light winked out of existence, leaving a faint afterimage burned into Tagiel's retinae. The cloud of darkness around him seemed to sigh, as if all this was too tiresome to keep up, and began to burn away, much like a thin strip of cloth would burn when you prodded it with a promethium torch. He returned to the primitive cityscape. And regretted it almost instantly.
Bodies. The street was littered with bodies.
Just what the hell happened here? Tagiel thought, taking in his surroundings. It had gone dark - there was only a bit of sunlight left, just enough to see in - but he could see the bodies clearly. Most of them were some kind of beasts, while others looked like some manner of Slaaneshi monstrosities with tentacles and multitudes of eyes, but what he saw next chilled him the most. Peeking through the piles of inhuman corpses he saw flashes of blue Terminator armour, of the dead and mangled bodies of his battle-brothers of the First Company. He immediately thought of Griffith. He must've been behind this. He'd opened up a warp-rift, called in a tide of daemons. It was all too plausible. The Ultramarines had fought back, surprised but standing firm, and retreated back towards the Battle Barge, forced to leave their disappeared commander behind.
No doubt they're already looking for me. He switched on the radio comms.
Only silence answered him. No... this wasn't right. Something tugged faintly at his heartstrings, something cold and incomprehensible. It couldn't have been over already.
That was when he heard someone whisper sharply in the comms.
'I have movement. Bell tower, second floor.'
'Copy. Scanning the perimeter.'
After a small moment, the second voice spoke again. Tagiel thought he could hear a faint crack in the air, like the sound of a lasgun firing once.
'Target neutralized.'
A surge of relief threatened to overwhelm Tagiel as soon as he heard the voices, but then he forced the emotion in check and picked his bolter up from the ground. One of the voices belonged to a man he'd known for a long time - an indomitable veteran of his First Company, and a respected battle-brother. The other one, Tagiel noted with satisfaction, belonged to him. The one they'd left in the ship, that is.
Well, only one thing left to do. Judging the correct direction from the sound of gunfire, he began to run.