A.N.: Welcome to my newest story! Mostly for fun, I wanted to write a story where 40k characters are forced into situations where they have to use words, not bullets for once, even if the words end up hurting worse! I'll do my best to keep the various faction's actors in character, dealing with an impossible situation and someone completely external to the 40k galaxy but fairly knowledgeable of the place dealing with the insanity of the setting in person!

Let me know your thoughts, and I hope you enjoy!

The sound of the bolter's fire boomed in the silent ruins, its user running as fast as the power armor they wore allowed them. Their teeth were gritted, their eyes glancing around to the various sensors' data as they fired precision shots to their pursuers. Shouts of glee and cackling snarls hounded him, and though it grated the space marine to run, if he stood he would die. And he intended to take down as many of the foul abominations that were once men and women of the Imperium before he fell.

Something landed near him and without hesitation he kicked it back where it had been thrown from, shouts of surprise and horror abruptly silenced by the explosion of the krak grenade. The heresy had even ensnared some of the regiment sent with his chapter. What a disgusting state of affairs.

He turned a corner, finding himself face to face with a patrol of a half-dozen or so heretical cultists. Their eyes barely had the time to widen at the sight of him before he was barely through him, painting the streets with their gore as he bodily charged through them; Hundreds of kilos of muscles and power armor moving at speeds that simply didn't seem possible. No pause, no hesitation. He didn't have time.

He needed to escape his pursuers, and then…

Then…

Then what? His squad had been slaughtered by the demons these filth had summoned. They'd given it their all, and yet… His hands clenched in fury. They'd died fighting, giving their lives for the Imperium. But that did not change the simple fact that they were dead.

They'd told him to run, to get out of the jammer's range and inform the rest of the task force of the danger, of what sorcery their foes had deployed which now put the whole of the expedition in danger.

But he would never make it. He knew it, even if he did not like it. There was simply too much distance for him to cover in hostile territory, and his pursuers were gaining ground with impossible swiftness.

He turned another corner, cursing internally at the sight before him. A whole barricade setup, with multiple autocannons pointed in his direction. His armor could endure much, but not this. Not long enough.

In a flicker of an instant he scanned the nearby area, finding a building which had some structural integrity remaining. It was better than nothing. He ran towards it, explosions detonating around him as the heretics opened fire. Lasguns shots hit his armor without effect as he ran through the entrance of the building…

And…

Found himself in a completely different location.

The sheer discrepancy was enough to cause him complete and utter pause for a solid half a second as he examined his new location.

The room he was in was large, tall enough to have accommodated a dreadnought without it touching the ceiling. The walls were made of fine wood, painted in various shades of deep blue and golden accents. Pillars of marble held up a ceiling decorated with depictions of what must be some form of mythology, likely aberrant given the number of half-human half-animal characters within them. The door behind him had slammed shut, no sound of what had been happening outside coming from it.

There were tables dispersed throughout the room, with some sporting comfortable chairs whilst others were instead sporting large couches. Some were even integrated inside of small alcoves in the walls, illuminated by floating orbs of gentle lights which slowly shifted in color. The floor was of perfectly smooth wood, and despite how heavy Dorisian knew himself to be, did not so much as creak in exertion as he took a step.

There was a circular bar counter at the center of the bar based around a large pillar of glass, with hundreds if not thousands of bottles of various liquids within it. It was an entrancing sight, but it took much more than that to distract him. No, his attention was on the individual standing behind the counter with a small smile.

They were human in appearance. Hair as white as snow, with eyes of a pure silver that seemed to almost glow in the lowlight of the bar. They wore an elegant server's outfit, resembling some of what he had seen some of those… 'butlers' in that one world where he'd attended a planetary governor's party after a victory. They looked young, perhaps as young as twenty standard years, though Dorisian knew how deceitful such things could be. They were fairly androgynous, though his scanners indicated them as male.

"Welcome to…" They began, their voice kind.

Dorisian did not give them the time to finish their sentence, drawing his bolter and firing at the head of what was clearly some sort of sorcerer. The youth's eyes widened in shock, taking a step back…

Only for the boltshell to simply vanish as it made contact.

Dorisian snorted. Of course.

"...Well, I suppose that is an underst…" Again the young man began to speak.

Again, Dorisian did not let them do so, crossing the entire length from the bar's door to the youth in seconds before smashing their fist into their face.

It felt like hitting a brick wall. No, Dorisian was fairly certain he'd punched through a few of those successfully.

It felt like striking rockcrete, and the good kind. The youth's expression grew resigned as Dorisian started firing once more, point blank, to little effect.

He tried multiple other methods of killing what was clearly some manner of witch. He tried to get over the bar to reach them, only for some invisible force to prevent them from doing so. He'd tried to grab the white haired boy, but whilst he could hold them, no matter how hard he squeezed or pulled they remained unaffected. No limbs tearing or screaming, no blood. Not even a hair out of place.

Realizing the futility of this endeavor, Dorisian stopped and took a step back.

"...You good?" There was a slightly disturbed expression on the youth's face. "Jeez, I mean I expected you guys to be violent, but… aaaaand you're walking away."

Indeed, Dorisian was walking determinedly towards the door. Whatever foul illusion had been cast upon him, he had no time for it. He needed to get back and get himself killed by the foes of the Imperium as he made them choke on his blood after all.

But the door would not budge. No matter how much strength he exerted upon it, it would not open or even suffer any damage. A quick attempt at smashing the tables and chairs of the bar proved similarly ineffective.

"Sir?" The youth called out from the bar. "If you're quite done, perhaps I could enlighten you on your predicament?" They gave what Dorisian guessed must be a reassuring smile. It would have worked better had their eyes not been screaming concern.

Dorisian stood still and silent for a moment. Whatever this place was, it was clear escaping would not be so easy as smashing his way through.

Reluctantly, he walked to the bar, looming over the youth. Their height difference was considerable, with Dorisian standing over a meter above them with their armor.

"Oh good, you're done trying to smash the place." The youth let out a sigh of relief, before putting on a radiant smile. "Hello sir! Welcome to the…"

"Witch." Dorisian's gravelly voice was enhanced to a boom by the systems in their armor. "You will free me from this sorcery."

The youth stared at them, their smile becoming fixed. Then, they slumped, letting out a groan. "Oh I knew that this assignment would suck…" They whispered, before shaking their head. "Welcome to the…" They blushed in embarrassment. "The… fourty thousand ways to get smashed…"

Dorisian silently stared at them.

"I did not choose the name."

"I care not about this. You. Will. Free. Me." The space marine loomed over, their entire being radiating menace. "Or you will be handed over to the inquisition's mercies."

The youth shivered. "Oh don't even joke about that. I know what those sick bastards do to people they like, let alone those they don't." They let out a small sigh. "I will be blunt sir. I don't control this place. I don't control who gets brought to it. I just do the job of barman, and chat with the customers about whatever they want." They shrugged. "You've seen for yourself, but this place is pretty much indestructible, and you can't leave. At least, not until you've relaxed a bit." The young man's smile grew a tad amused, with much annoyance mixed in. "If you ask me, I think the place is sentient and is doing its best to help. It's just really bad at understanding it shouldn't hold people captive until it can do that. I've managed to convince it to let anyone go after an hour or so though, so, you know. Progress."

"...Madness." Dorisian scoffed. "Or some warp trickery. I care not for your excuses, nor your petty methods. You will free me. Now."

"I just told you I can't." They groaned. "This is why dealing with you zealots is so tiring. It's always 'bah! heresy this, mutant that! die witch!'" They mimed strangling themselves, before letting out a chuckle. "Besides, if you're here, it's because you were in a bad situation. You sure you want to go back there? And not say… one click away from your base?"

The marine stayed silent. "You offer transportation." They eventually asked.

"It's a perk of the job. We can drop people off wherever. And I do mean wherever." He shrugged. "And I know, help from the witch and all that, but like I said you can't leave for an hour. And when you do leave, it'll be through that front door, at which point I decide where to leave you." The barman winked. "So I can either drop you right where you were, in whatever shitty situation that was… or I can get you close to your pals. Free of charge."

Dorisian scoffed. "You must think me mad if you believe I would accept the offer of a witch." He crossed his arms. "An offer to help, dangled on strings I cannot see and will inevitably find myself entangled in. I know better." The marine growled. "If an hour must pass… not that I have any reason to believe a word you have said… then it shall be spent seeking a way out of this place. Or finding a way to kill you." Under his helmet, the marine grinned. "I am not picky."

The barman gulped. "Ya know, I kind of got you guys would be super bloodthirsty if I met one of you space marines, but it's a whole different ballpark having one in front of you." They gestured to the column of glass behind them. "Um, do you want a drink whilst you look around and try to murder me then?" A bolt shell pinged off the glass, disappearing into the ether. "I'll take that as a no." The barman shrugged. "Well, I tried. My name is Rea, if you need anything just call it."

Dorisian ignored the witch, starting his inspection of the place. As it turned out, it was even stranger than it had already proven itself to be.

There were windows, but they led to a direct view of the void of space. Distant stars twinkled far away, nebulae and stellar formations giving a wondrous view to look at.

Dorisian did not observe them, instead trying to smash the windows, then trying to pry them open. No success there.

Some doors to other rooms, he found, were locked shut. No amount of force could open them, and neither his boltgun nor his fists could do any damage. He even tried to use a grenade, to no success. There was not even singing on the floor and walls. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, as if there had been no explosion at all. A frustrating endeavor, but Dorisian was a space marine. He did not give up.

There was a staircase, which Dorisian cautiously took, clearing each corner before walking through them. As far as he could tell, he and this… Rea individual, were the only ones here. The stairs led to a second floor, one composed of corridors meeting in a crossroad and dotted with doors, each with a number on them. Perhaps not a bar, then. An inn then? Some sort of accommodation where one could find drinks and rest.

Indestructible.

Floating in space.

In which Dorisian had apparently been teleported.

Impossible. Aberrant. Clearly the work of sorcery.

Knowing that it was sorcery did not however tell him how to deal with it, nor escape. The doors up here were similarly impossible to damage or open, and the non-numbered ones proved just as frustrating.

Dorisian had never felt so impotent. It was not a feeling he found he enjoyed.

Frustration welled within him. Doom approached the task force, and here he was, playing at trying to open doors and failing like a toddler fighting a carnifex! It was humiliating! It was… It was…

It was tiring.

Dorisian paused as he passed a window, glancing at the faint reflection he could see in it. His armor was cacked in blood and grime. Battle scars from centuries of fighting littered the once pristine power armor, marks of honor accumulated on the front lines.

When was the last time he'd relaxed? Taken a moment to himself, not fighting, not preparing to fight?

He shook his head. This place was messing with his head. It was too… too quiet.

Too peaceful.

Dorisian did not deal well with peaceful.

"Sir?" The voice called from the lower floor, the barman having apparently exited from behind the counter and now standing at the bottom of the stairs. "The door is open if you still want to leave!"

An opportunity.

Dorisian came barreling down the stairs, slamming into Rea with full force.

And was stopped instantly. Without a sign of damage on the youth, who was now staring at him unimpressed.

Damn. He had hoped the source of their invincibility lay with the counter they'd stood behind.

"If you're quite done?" Rea asked, gesturing to the front door. "It's ready for you. You can leave if you want. I hope this was a nice break from the horror that is your galaxy."

Dorisian did not deign this with a response, despite some curiosity brushing at him. 'Your' galaxy? Were they implying they were not from it? A warp spawn then perhaps, some sort of demon in disguise?

Dorisian cautiously walked to the door, paranoia fuelling him as he got closer. Was this a trap? Even if it was, what other options did he have?

He gripped the door handle and pushed it open to find a brilliant white light on the other side.

He turned, glancing at Rea.

"That's normal. Protection to avoid people seeing into the bar when someone leaves." Rea waved. "Well, it was good to meet you sir, despite the circumstances."

Dorisian pointed at them. "If we meet again, witch, it will be for your execution."

"Can't even say goodbye without a death threat." Rea grumbled as Dorisian walked into the white light…

And found himself on a hill looking over the task force's camp.

He blinked, shock overcoming him.
The witch hadn't lied. Teleportation, and clearly with none being the wiser. What a frightening ability.

Had this really happened? Or had he been in a fugue, insanity briefly overcoming him as he tried to process what had happened?
No. No, this had felt too real, and he had experience with the touch of warp trickery. This place had been real.

Considerations for later. He had a task force to save.

A.N.: Next time, someone less violent and even more out of their depths!