Chapter I
A Storm Brewing
A lone man stood at the edge of their encampment, eyes focused on the enemy. This was a new war, a different kind of war. There were no trenches or chemical weapons, the nightmares and horror stories that had come from the Great War. No, this was more brutal some how. Killing was becoming a science, new weapons and vehicles threatened the common man by the thousands on this new battlefield.
The tall man squinted as he tried to focus on the milling of the enemy mere miles away. They were coming for his capitol. He was here to stop them. He had every intention of doing it all by himself. You see this new war had been going badly for his people. Then the winter came and they thought all would be right, that they could turn back the fascists. They were wrong. The wall that was the Russian winter, the quagmire that made Bonaparte tuck his tail and run, had failed them. You see the fascists had brought a new weapon the Stalingrad. Because of this despite the best efforts or men like Zaytsev, the Nazi's had rolled through. They did so because there was a man no bullet could find.
Without feeling the cold the man further wrapped his jacket around him, more an absent minded action of comfort than actually doing him any good. He thought about the man he may have to face soon. You see when the Germans had changed the game, when they brought the Queen into play and knocked all their Pawns down, the Russians did some searching and came up with their own answer. They brought out their own super soldiers. They decided to show the Germans they were indeed not the master race, that they had men far superior to the Germans. The pinnacle of their search was this man.
A soldier runs up to the man with a frozen glove wrapped around a dispatch. *"Comrade Rasputin! Stalin sends word directly! Do not delay!" The soldier quaked as Rasputin stood, unmoving in the wind. He stood a full foot and a half over the soldier who himself was quite tall at six feet. Rasputin was nearly a third his height wide at the shoulders and dominated the terrain. Without turning he responded.
*"What does Mother Russia need of her son?"
*"To attack. They are not to move a single inch closer, comrade. We-you are to crush them. Here, now. Comrade Stalin wants them pushed back. He wants you to show them Mother Russia is an unrelenting force. That you are unrelenting. Unstoppable."
*"Then we shall. They stop here. Let us show them the way home." Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin said with the resolve of steel. He looked over his shoulder at the man for the first time. He was scared and probably away from his own collective farm for the first time. Piotr even thought the man may have been used to warmer climates or at least warmer attire. Even had he been as vulnerable as flesh and blood Piotr wouldn't have noticed the cold on the outskirts of Moscow. He was from Siberia, after all.
*"Worry not, I shall go myself. Instruct the General to hold all our forces unless they begin to slip past me. I intend to make a point." What he didn't tell the soldier was he was queasy at the idea of taking a life, let alone the hundreds if not thousands he was about to. He was not a soldier. He was a farmer and an artist. He would have been in the boy's spot if not for his abilities. When the government came they had heard he may have been…special. They asked to see what he was capable of. They made him an exception for him. They wanted him to march into Moscow himself. Piotr was of course the good Soviet. He did what he was told, never complaining, never slowing down. He did as he was told. In return he would be a hero of the Soviet Union. His family would enjoy favor with Comrade Stalin.
Piotr let his long coat slide off his enormous frame revealing bare arms that looked like solid steel. As he shrugged the coat to his right hand he tossed it to the soldier. He pulled the cold weather trooper's cap from his scalp. These were mere regulation, they provided no comfort. Again he threw the cap at the boy. His close cropped hair was made of steel as well. He turned and revealed that the rumors were true and he was indeed a giant made of indestructible metal. The boy's eyes widened. He could not believe what he saw. Piotr stood there in his black tunic, buttoned up the front, in silence. A thick black belt held his regulations slacks fast, again in black, which terminated in his combat boots. A single splash of color, a red sickle and hammer, resided small on the upper left portion of his chest.
*"Y-you are going now, comrade Rasputin?"
Resolved crossed the man's face as he turned, preparing to head out and punish the invaders. Before he took a mighty leap forward he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
*"Colossus. Call me Colossus."
A/N: * From the Russian