…
Crack.
"FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
As I fell, I kept going over every excruciatingly minor detail in my memories; my life flashed before my eyes. Below me, hundreds of people were milling about, going about their ordinary and mundane days. I didn't finish my curse as I hit the ground.
A few police cars were blaring their sirens, aiming for the building I just oh-so-gracefully left. Why may you ask? Well, I met a somewhat psychotic asswipe while laying on the roof, trying to destress from a long day of reality.
Then, from the pits of wherever the fuck ever- a batshit crazy, blood-covered, insane wet napkin, burst through the apartment building's rooftop door. Me, being the apathetic man I am, barely even gave the door bursting open a second thought until he started screaming bloody murder. No words, no nothing. Only incessant screeching.
That had got my attention. So much so that I stood ram-rod straight, stared into bloodshot eyes, and knew I had fucked up. Oh, how I had fucked up.
First came even more screeching, and even a bit of blood spurting from this fucker's mouth. He had a knife sticking out of his left side, rags for clothes that told me he was homeless. And the moment he stopped his ungodly war cry, he charged me.
Frozen in shock, I barely reacted to the very same knife swinging down on my head. I dodged to his left, my blue eyes wide open. Another swing, this time aimed at my gut. I didn't avoid it. The pain almost didn't register for a moment before I doubled over and stumbled. The screeching came back; this time, it cut abruptly.
The bastard was choking on his own blood.
With what amounted to a herculean effort on my part, I shoved the fucker over. He fell on the small wall at the edge of the building, and as he went to stand up, I kicked him. He grabbed my leg. As the force of my kick knocked him over the side of the building, I went with him.
The world spun as I managed to grab the ledge with both hands. My grip felt like a vice, but my unwanted passenger made it nearly impossible. The new hole in my stomach didn't help either. His knife had fallen away, but that didn't stop him from climbing up and trying to bite through my jeans. A raspy voice came to my ears, cracked and broken.
"Blood fo- for the Blood G-" He didn't finish. My foot shoved his nose into his skull and broke his jaw. With hysterical and shaky breaths, I sighed in relief. Thankfully, my hands weren't cramping, adrenaline blocked out the pain of the knife wound. Everything seemed to calm down, the sheer insanity had passed...
Then the ledge cracked.
"-UUUUUUCK!" I jolted awake, sitting up so fast I was a blur.
The first thing my scrambled mind did was blank. I froze. For a while, my conscious mind was uncomprehending of my surroundings. The only thoughts to go through my head were simple.
THE FLYING BLUEBERRY FUCK?
Dimly, I heard the crack of a stick. At that moment, an ingrained instinct, one I never had before, kicked in. It was like it had just appeared there. With speed I shouldn't have, my body flew to its feet. I grabbed a helmet beside me and slammed it into place on my head, a visor came up. Without a single wasted movement, my weapon zeroed in on a curious deer, staring directly at me.
Wait, what.
My Bolter?! Visor!? Completely forgetting the now frightened deer, I stared at the weapon in my hands. It was simple. A Nocturne-Ultima, my brain told me. The sight crushed as if something had fallen on it… Absentmindedly, I took it off. Muttering something I couldn't understand. I froze again. As I spotted my hand, I nearly felt my mind crack in half.
Instead of pink flesh, I was staring right at a green, gauntleted hand. Much bigger than it was supposed to be. Another moment passed. With a shaky sigh, I resolved myself.
I am a fucking Space Marine.
I could only blink, I didn't seem to feel anything but confused and understandably surprised. Shock kicked in, I assumed, so I used it to my advantage. My next action was to look around. Nothing but trees, the chirping of a bird off in the distance, and-
The discordant cries of someone falling?
"Ow… I think I've broken something."
That voice… it's familiar.
I heard the muffled conversation of a few people, which was interrupted by someone calling out, "Mushrooms!"
I slowly moved towards the voices. My… Bolter lowered. My left hand reached for a Power Sword at my side I didn't notice before. It was instinctive. Another oddity of my predicament, I note. A wail screamed its way on the wind, which had picked up out of nowhere. If not for my altered hearing, I wouldn't have heard a thing.
"Get off the road!"
Oh, that's where I am.
A dark feeling washed over me. A Ringwraith. Instead of absolute fear and dread, I felt hatred for the damned thing, disgust, even. It took a fraction of a second for my blade to be drawn, the power cell engaged, and I to dash forward.
The relatively thin underbrush was being downtrodden under the strength and weight of an Astartes. With a roar that didn't seem to be my own, my arm swung out at the fell being standing obliviously over four Hobbits. In a blinding instant, it had reared back and brandished its blade.
Its reaction was so fast and inhuman it was wrong, and the grating screech it made was the same. My strike had missed by a few inches. The next one is from the left this time, faster than before. It connects, and my sword drags across the Ringwraith's chest. It screeched at the adamantium blade's touch.
Another wordless war cry and I ran the Ringwraith through. It pulled off of my blade, stumbling back, and then struck at me. I failed to stop it in time and was hit with an overhead strike, straight onto my forehead. If I hadn't been wearing my helmet, my head would've been cleaved in two.
Instead, I was stunned, and a moment of clarity struck me as well. I realized what I was doing mid retaliation and hesitated, earning myself another strike horizontally across my face. The Nazgul's blade chipped, steel being no match for high-quality eramite.
That had snapped any conscious thought out, and it felt as if I was running on mechanical instinct. My body moved of its own will, and my Power Sword came down on the Ringwraith's shoulder fast, I wasn't sure if it could see the blade.
So filled with malice and hate was the noise that erupted, I was sure a demon had just manifested itself in front of me. My mind registered what I had done. I dismembered a Ringwraith, was all it could say.
An arm fell to the ground, writhing, and seemed to disappear in a cloud of black smoke. It screeched and screeched, and I couldn't stand it anymore. I should've been on the ground, panicking and crying in terror, it was such a damned noise the fleeing Hobbits keeled over.
"They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear." I realized why I'm not crying like a little child because of this. The shock I had thought I was going through turned out to be… whatever the fuck an Astartes would react with. I didn't feel afraid, just surprised, confused… and angry.
I raised my sword over my head in a two-handed grip. The Nazgul filth fell to its knees, still screaming, and then my blade came down with the fury of the Imperium of Man. The screeching halted, replaced by an unnatural calm. I took my blade out of it and noted it didn't disappear into nothingness as the Witch-king did. It wasn't dead, or wouldn't be for long.
Sam, among the near paralyzed Hobbits, gathered what tiny amount of courage he had left. "W-who are you?"
I blinked beneath my helmet. The various readings make sense, and not at the same time. I spoke, and they didn't hear me at all. My vox was off, I thought. I turned it on with foreign ease to speak again, and instead was interrupted by a furious screech from the distance, along with the sound of stomping hooves.
"Run," I barked. Sam flinched at the sound of my voice, the others and Frodo mindlessly listened. Still affected by the Nazgul's cry. I sheathed my Power Sword, and only then did I remember the Bolter in my other hand. As I followed the Hobbits through the trees, I kept an eye on everything around me.
We ran, or rather Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin did. I followed at what felt like a speed walk, barely bordering on a jog. They ran too slow. I growled in annoyance, a distant insult of "Damned Ratlings." In the back of my mind. I stamped that line of thinking out, not wanting to fall prey to senseless hatred of the Forty-First Millenium. Thankfully, it didn't come back.
Screw that, hell no, fuck your bullshit. I am NOT a racist CUNT… I couldn't help but sigh. But they're so slow!
I mag-locked my Bolter to my leg and dashed forward. I swooped up Frodo and Sam with my right arm and Merry and Pippin with my left. I could feel two hearts beating in my chest as I started to run. Trees blew past us as I ran, kicking some rotten and fallen trees out of my path with barely any effort to not fall on my face.
"What was that? What are you?" Merry looked to Frodo at first, before turning and looking up at me. He studied the faceplate of my helmet, the red eyes unnerved him. He shuddered. Frodo was staring at the double-headed Eagle on my chest. The Imperial Aquila. He said nothing, only squirming around to look at that thing he carried…
I kept running until the sun was gone, and I let the Hobbits down. Gently. Sam managed to land on uncertain feet, wobbling. Merry and Pippin landed ungracefully on each other, and Frodo was caught by a dutiful Sam before he could suffer the same fate.
Frodo stared at me, they all did. "Who are you?" Sam asked, stepping between me and his friend. "What was that-" Frodo put a hand on Sam's shoulder calmingly.
"Sam, we may have died if not for him… Thank you, Sir Knight-"
"I am not a Knight. I am-" I hesitated, not sure what to call myself. Am I still… Human? I can't be, I'm too different now, too… I shushed my thoughts and realized Frodo had an odd look on his face.
"An Astartes. My name is… Dakus Grant." I praised my time reading fanfiction and whatever else I got my hands on for the improv name. I can tell them my real one later- when we aren't pursued by Nazgul… if I remember it. Still, I got odd looks for the odd name.
"Well, Mr. Grant, thank you." He reached out a disturbingly small hand for me to shake, and only now did I realize how tall I was. I had to be eight feet tall, I know Hobbits are short but really! I hummed in response. "Dakus is fine," Then I asked for their names, each of them. I couldn't let it slip that I knew them beforehand.
"If you would let me, I will stay with you. You four seem in need of help." I had no other plans, no goals, nothing. Staying with these four meant I could meet Gandalf… Maybe he'd have some wizardy advice or insight into my predicament.
Merry and Pippin were in awe of my strength and speed, and wary too, but they weren't going to say no. Sam was reluctant, only agreeing because Frodo explained that if I had any bad intentions, I'd not have saved them. In the back of my mind, I thought that naivety was foolish. I stamped that out with some degree of effort. Frodo also kept glancing at the Aquila on my chest. He'd stare at it before forcefully pulling his eyes away.
"This is all well and dear but," Pippin spoke up, "What's going on?" Frodo was reluctant to tell the two tag-along Hobbits. Sam quieted down, and I started scanning the forest around us. Skills and tactics I shouldn't know flooded my mind. But of course, Astarte's tactics weren't always suited for subtlety. Use that tree as cover for the Hobbits, charge and engage in melee combat. Wasting precious ammunition on…
My thoughts drifted, and I almost missed the moving shadow in the distance. "You are being hunted." I pointed at the black mass moving in the twilight. "Get down." The hobbits dropped low, and I did so too, silent as a phantom.
"I have to leave the Shire- Sam and I must go to Bree!" He whispered as it moved away, searching in the fading light. Merry looked to Frodo, realization dawning on his features.
"Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me!" He rushed off, and the others followed suit. I stayed behind them all to watch the rear, to keep the evil fucks in my sights.
