Barbarus, nightfall, within a medium-sized village.
Hades, clutching a crossbow, stood with his back against an earthen wall. He aimed intently at the door, every muscle taut, every sense alert.
From outside, a soft, eerie laughter echoed. The wooden door seemed to be scratched by nails, and a sickly yellow-green mist seeped through the cracks.
Hades kept his eyes on the door.
A slender, eerily pale finger, slick with a dark purple mucus, slid through the topmost crack of the door. As it descended, reaching the iron bolt, the metal corroded instantly. The once-new bolt now bore the marks of decay.
Anticipating the next move, Hades raised his crossbow. He had but one shot.
The soft laughter returned, brushing past Hades's ear.
The finger flicked downwards, slicing through the bolt as if it were tofu. The bolt fell with a muted thud, its purpose now ended.
A grotesque face, dominated by a massive pale eye, peered in from the top of the door, searching for its prey.
In a split second, as the creature leaned in, Hades released the bolt. It flew straight for that comically large eye!
Simultaneously, without hesitation, Hades grabbed his dagger. One hand with the crossbow, the other with the dagger, he charged towards the door. This creature, known as the Pale Laugher, resembled a long-legged spider. Even if it blocked the door, Hades could escape beneath its legs!
Hades had a plan: once out, he'd run for the cornfields. These creatures weren't the lordly slaver squads but mere beasts that roamed the mists, with low intelligence. They attacked villages for food.
Typically, a Pale Laugher wouldn't stray from its group and moved slowly. This meant if Hades could break their line of sight, he might survive!
The creature seemed oblivious to Hades's defiance. The bolt pierced its eye.
"Hisss-hahahaha-AAAAH!"
Crimson blood sprayed from its eye. Stuck at the door, its legs flailed wildly. The pain made its smile even more grotesque.
Hades darted beneath the creature, using his dagger to fend off its thrashing legs. Still, his left arm took a heavy blow. Blood splattered.
Emerging from the house, Hades saw four or five more Pale Laughers roaming the village. Dead bodies were hoisted high. He recognized Heidira, a childhood friend. Her entrails smeared a Pale Laugher's face, her limbs still twitching.
Hades felt his teeth pierce his lower lip, blood trickling down. Anger and despair gripped him. His mind raced.
The gap in power was too vast. He had to flee.
Adrenaline heightened his senses. He sprinted towards the white cornfields outside the village. His heart pounded, the wind roaring past.
The Pale Laugher pursued relentlessly, its insect-like feet scraping the soft earth.
Hades felt its rage, its shrieks echoing behind him.
Almost there!
He dove into the towering cornfields. Corn leaves scratched his face. He ran desperately, the toxic mist swirling around him. He was heading deeper into the poisonous zone, but he had no choice.
When you're weak, all you can do is run.
...
Hades didn't know how long he ran. The sounds behind him faded, leaving only the rustling of corn leaves and the wind.
The creature had retreated.
Such pack creatures wouldn't stray too far. In the food chain of Barbarus, they were mid to low-tier.
He'd gambled right.
Reaching the edge of the cornfield, Hades stopped. The adrenaline wore off, his chest ached, his legs trembled, and his left arm's wound showed signs of infection.
He looked around, ensuring no creatures lurked nearby. He tried to bandage his wound, knowing that bleeding in Barbarus was dangerous. It attracted predators and allowed the toxic mist to seep in.
He'd been careless. He should've brought water and herbs. Instead, he'd only grabbed weapons and a gas mask.
He was unprepared.
The coming hours would be tough.
Gritting his teeth, Hades felt pain everywhere. The meager porridge he'd had for dinner wasn't enough. He felt weak, his mind foggy.
He was vulnerable.
He reloaded his crossbow, holding his dagger, and staggered through the cornfield. He knew of a freshly dug grave nearby, with a cart of corpses. It could offer some cover.
But Barbarus showed no mercy to the weak.
Distant noises grew louder. Hades hid deep within the cornfield, covering his wound to mask the scent of blood.
Soon, he recognized the sounds: footsteps, wails, the rumble of steam-powered vehicles, the clatter of tank treads.
Damn it! Damn it all!
It was the elite alien lords' slaver squad!
Was Hades destined to die today?
The magically-enslaved minions of the lords, though mindless, could easily detect the scent of blood in the mist. Hades had little hope of remaining hidden.
Suddenly, a vast net, soaked in toxins, descended upon him.
Hades didn't resist. He couldn't break free. He felt despair and chose to conserve his energy.
He was dragged from the cornfield and shoved into a crowded cart.
Numbly, he looked around. Men, women, old, young, all weeping in despair.
There was no hope. The power gap was immense in this cruel world.
This was the world of Warhammer 40K, where weakness was a sin.
He couldn't save anyone, not even himself.
Despair and exhaustion overtook Hades, and he blacked out.
Today, Hades cried like a pitiful wretch.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ah, a bit of torment, a bit of torment. A little torment is refreshing. The protagonist's pitiful fate will continue for a few more chapters. After all, he's young, and it's a grimdark world.
The author tries to balance between torment and dominance.
Later, when he becomes the Death Guard Astartes, the protagonist will have his moments of dominance.