The air over Terra was a swirling tempest of Mankind's last outcry of despair and fury. The skies, usually a murky radioactive brown, were rent asunder by jagged bolts of unnatural light as the Warp bled into reality. Daemons of every vile shape and kind prowled the surface, skewering and butchering any mortal not serving their dark gods they could find.
From above Terra's orbit fell a massive Ork Rok. This asteroid had been hollowed out by Ork Mekboyz and then outfitted with Ork-made gunz, plasma engines, targeting systems, and whatever other large, powerful weapons the Orks could get their green hands on. Crashed into the surface of Mankind's home planet, their crude but brutally effective constructs disgorging countless greenskins. The Orks fought, breathed, and died for only war against everything they encountered—Imperials, daemons, Necrons, and even one another.
Their war cries rang out as the Orks that survived the crash flooded Terra in a sea of green. Waagh-energy coursed through the battlefield and seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment until the prophet of Gork and Mork, Ghazghkull Thraka, had become a Krork as the warboss effortlessly parried the spear of a custodian before tearing them in half with his brute strength alone.
And then, there were the Tyranids. The hive fleets had descended upon Terra like a swarm of locusts, blotting out the skies with bio-ships and spore clouds. From the depths of the hive ships, chitinous horrors spilled forth, their endless tide driven by the relentless hunger of the Hive Mind. This hunger had grown when the avenging son had been consumed while Tyranids overran Macragge a mere year ago.
-
Every street, room, and breath was a battlefield. Orks bellowed crude war cries as they charged headlong into swarms of Tyranids, their now more advanced master-crafted vehicles smashing through whatever they could run into.
As streams of terrified Imperial citizens surged through narrow corridors and broken streets at the lower levels of a hive city in the location of a long-forgotten country, their faces masks of horror as they fled from Orks, Tyranids, and worse. In this hive city near the Imperial palace, Pedro Kantor, Chapter Master of the Crimson Fists and the last known living space marine, was blasting bolter round after bolter round into whatever enemies came near any humans. Standing at 9 feet tall, his cobalt armor, once pristine, was blackened with soot, severely broken and with missing parts of the power suit, and covered in blood, but he stood unbroken.
"Move! Keep moving!" Kantor bellowed, his voice carrying through the air even with his helmet damaged and the banner of the Crimson Fists swaying behind his back.
A group of Ork boyz barreled through a collapsed wall; rusted choppers raised high as one slashed in half a mother holding onto her child. Kantor surged forward to meet them, his power fist igniting with a crackling fading energy. The first Ork swung, its jagged edge trailing sparks as it collided with Kantor's gauntlet, the blade shattering on impact. Then, with a single, crushing blow, Kantor shattered the creature's torso, sending it hurtling into its boyz.
Kantor had difficulty fighting this squad of Orks; he noted that they were becoming stronger, as had all the enemies of Mankind in recent years. The son of Dorn turned, scanning the fleeing civilians. Among them, he saw the wounded carried by the strong, children clinging to their parents, alive or dead. Those too weak to run, relying on others to pull them along, fighting all the while with whatever pipes, stub guns, swords, and maces to combat their hunters. This was a sight he had seen far too many times, but his jaw tightened beneath his cracked helm all the same as reality itself was crumbling around him. These were humanity's last people, and his duty was to protect them.
But before Kantor or anyone else could have a moment respite, the air itself seemed to bleed as they were assaulted yet again by a 16-foot giant daemon that appeared from one of Terra's old religions, this being Angron, Daemon Primarch of the World Eaters with gigantic dark sword and primitive axe in hand rushed to turn the remaining mortals into blood for his god.
Only for Kantor to rush forward, his creaking ever so slightly as he rammed into Angron, sending him slightly back as in that moment, Kantor removed his chapter's banner and quickly impaled it into the crumbling floor of this hive city. Giving his bolter to what could have been the most muscular looking of the group, a woman in her thirties, clothes tattered and stained, carrying a makeshift club—a scavenged length of pipe which she dropped at what Kantor gifted her with the last of his ammunition.
"Take this," Kantor said, his voice steady, unwavering. "It has served my chapter well in countless battles. Use it to protect yourself and others as you make your way to the palace." His personal bolter had run out of rounds hours ago.
The woman's eyes widened as she held the relic bolter, its weight nearly too much to bear. "But... my lord, this is your weapon. How will you—"
Kantor cut her off as Angron's primitive axe was crossed, catching Kantor's damaged power fist and forcing him to his knees. The Daemon Primarch loomed over him. "Go Now! Every step you take toward safety honors the Emperor!"
Her expression shifted from terror to grim resolve. Hefting the bolter sharply, some form of training, even if she was from a hive gang, as she started leading the survivors towards the last bastion that was the Imperial palace.
Angron was angered. Who could have thought that? Yet, the blood would be spilled. If not from the mortals, it would come from his nephew.
With a roar that shook the heavens, Angron punched the chapter master hard enough for one of his hearts to stop beating; the Primarch screamed as he lunged forward with his axe cut through the air to hack the Astartes to pieces. The Crimson Fist met the charge head-on, his power fist igniting with a fading corona of golden light. The weapons clashed, sparks cascading like molten rain.
Angron's strikes were wild, fueled by unfathomable rage, each swing capable of cleaving a Land Raider in two. Kantor moved precisely, deflecting the blows with calculated parries, his armor groaning under the strain as parts fell off. He was no match for Angron's raw power, but Kantor was no wild beast, which mainly kept him still standing.
The battle raged, each exchange a smaller fragment of the larger conflict. Around them, Orks and Tyranids clashed with Daemons with humans or at one another.
A backhand strike from Angron's current weapon caught Kantor's shoulder, shearing through ceramite and flesh. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, but Kantor did not falter. Clash after clash, Kantor was quickly losing the battle. And as the axe descended, Kantor surged forward one final time. The power fist crashed into Angron's chest, the energy discharge creating a brilliant flash that momentarily illuminated the battlefield. Angron staggered, but his axes found their mark as the last space marine was split in two.
The Chapter Master fell limply on the bloody ground, his body broken, but his spirit still willing to fight on. But what he thought was how every battle since the Imperium had lost Guilliman was devasting. All his years fighting for the Emperor, his brothers, the Imperium, and it's citizens had amounted to what he hoped was something. "Would you be proud of me, father?"
-
Before Angron could savor his latest kill, the battlefield was shaken by a new presence. The ground trembled beneath thunderous footsteps, and the air grew heavy with an aura of primal might that had not been seen in this galaxy since the War in Heaven.
Ghazghkull Thraka emerged from the smoke, and his massive form was now transformed into that of a Krork. Towering even over Angron, the Ork warlord's green flesh shimmered with an ethereal glow; unlike one of dem fancy-pants talky-boys, his tusks gleamed like polished ceramite. On one hand, he carried a power-klaw larger than any that had been made in a long time; in the other, a massive shoota that crackled with Waaagh and Lots and Lots of Dakka!
Angron turned to face the newcomer, his axe raising higher for more blood.
"Oi, you red-skinned git!" Ghazghkull roared, pointing a massive finger at Angron. "Ya remember Yarrick? Da humie wiv da hat? You krumped 'im, and I ain't forgot! He wuz my kill!" His eyes burned with fury, not joy of a thousand Waaagh!s. "Now I'm gonna krump ya so hard, da Warp'll spit ya right back out!"
The Krork lunged, his power-klaw swinging in a devastating arc. The duel between Angron and Kantor was forgotten, overshadowed by the clash of two titanic forces. As Daemons and Orks joined in the fray and fought each other near this clash.
Angron slashed his axe at the power klaw with green energy. The clash was thunderous, a shockwave rippling outwards and flattening anything unfortunate enough to be nearby. The Orks and daemons watching from the periphery were thrown off their feet, some disintegrated outright by the force of the impact.
"Dat all ya got?!" Ghazghkull barked, shoving Angron back with sheer brute force. "Yarrick hit harder, and he didn't need no spiky axe!"
With a roar that drowned out even the cacophony of the battlefield, Ghazghkull surged forward, slamming his iron gob into Angron's face. The daemon primarch staggered, more from the audacity of the move than the damage. Ghazghkull followed with a thunderous uppercut from his klaw, the impact sending Angron sprawling.
The Red Angel rose, his face more wrathful, and he was about to scream, but it was cut short as Ghazghkull's Klaw closed around Angron's torso. The Krork lifted the daemon Primarch high, his muscles bulging as WAAAGH!-energy flared around him.
With a titanic effort, Ghazghkull slammed Angron into the ground with enough force to crater the battlefield. The Red Angel roared, but Ghazghkull didn't let up. He raised his klaw again and brought it down, smashing Angron's chest plate into shards. The daemon Primarch howled in fury and pain.
Angron's axe rose one last time, but Ghazghkull caught it mid-swing. He snapped the weapon in half with a mighty roar and hurled the pieces aside. "Dat's fer Yarrick!" he bellowed, raising his klaw for the final blow.
The energy surged as the power klaw descended, driving into Angron's skull with a sickening crunch. The Red Angel's body convulsed, his form collapsing into a mist of crimson as his essence wasn't just banshished but given actual death, the one thing the Primarch of the world eaters had wanted since the Emperor had taken him. Ghazghkull stood over the dissipating remnants of the daemon primarch.
He raised his klaw high, green lightning crackling across the battlefield and sky, destroying whatever aircraft within a 100-mile radius. "DAT'S WOT HAPPENS WHEN YA MESS WIV GHAZGHKULL MAG URUK THRAKA!" he roared.
The Orks around him erupted into cheers as their energy surged to new heights. For a moment, even the daemons seemed to hesitate in fear of actual death; a bloodletter, in particular, threw its Hellblade away, to which dominating, red unimaginable flames erased the bloodletter as it wailed for it to be spared, but that seemed to hasten its true death. Seeing a Daemon being smitten by its Patron God quickly quelled the doubt about running away. Ghazghkull turned, his crimson gaze sweeping across the battlefield, seeking his next challenge.
"Oi! Which one of you gits is next?!" he bellowed, the unstoppable tide of the WAAAGH surging forward for the biggest and best krumping this galaxy would see!
-
Yet amidst the turmoil, within the sanctum of the Imperial Palace, deeper than any dared venture, there was a place where none but the Shadowkeepers stayed. As the invasion of Terra reached its crescendo, the unthinkable was about to occur. Borsa Thursk, Lockwarden Shield-Captain of the Shadowkeepers, his armor dark armor utterly different from the golden custodian armor, stood before the vault of subject XI, adamantium doors sealing this prison. Behind him, a contingent of Shadowkeepers waited, silent and still as statues, preparing for any enemies or horrors that dared interrupt their shield captain.
For millennia, the Shadowkeepers had guarded the forbidden locks, their lives dedicated to ensuring the seals were never broken. They alone knew the terrible truth of what lay within these dark cells, the power these hidden-away horrors held, and the catastrophic consequences should it ever be unleashed. But now, the Emperor's final contingency had been invoked.
With grim determination, Thursk stepped forward, his massive gauntlet hovering over the first of the runic locks. Each lock bore wards of containment, forged with the Emperor's own will and craftsmanship.
As Thursk's hand approached, the runes pulsed, resisting his presence with a faint hum of golden energy.
"They were never meant to be unbound," one of the Shadowkeepers murmured, his voice barely audible.
"No," Thursk replied, his voice like a grinding stone. "But the Emperor decreed it must be so. We are out of time."
With a sharp gesture, Thursk activated the disengagement sequence. The ancient mechanisms ground to life, gears screeching as the first lock released with a deafening clang. The air grew heavy as the second lock was disengaged, the wards flickering and fading like dying embers.
Each step took more effort, the sanctic circles dimming with every seal broken.
When the final lock was undone, Thursk hesitated, his hand resting on the edge of the vault. He turned to the Shadowkeepers,
"What happens now is by the will of the emperor."
The vault, forged of blackened adamantium, bore only the number XI, with an oppressive aura. Thursk began the final unbinding, uttering the Emperor's ancient cipher as the statis field began powering down. The runes on the walls flared one last time, blazing golden light, before extinguishing completely. The prison shuddered violently as the containment fields failed.
A hiss escaped from the vault as its seals ruptured and energies vented out of the prison. The Shadowkeepers braced themselves, their weapons raised, as the stasis field fractured.
The vault split open with a deafening crack, revealing darkness within. Thursk's gaze narrowed as he stepped forward, his voice steady despite the storm of energies swirling around him.
"By the Emperor's final command, you are unbound," he intoned.
From within the darkness, two eyes, burning and red hate-filled eyes, snapped open. The chamber was bathed in their light, casting long shadows that danced eerily against the walls.
In the being's perception, three words coalesced, etched into its soul: SAVE, LOAD, RESET. The option to finally do something they had been waiting for a moment, this moment to fix what had happened to their family.
It did not hesitate. The eyes blazed brighter as the choice was made: RESET.
The chamber trembled violently. A surge of energy erupted from the tomb, rippling through the corridors of the Imperial Palace and beyond into the Warp itself. The reset was not merely a moment in time but an unraveling and rewinding of existence. Time buckled and folded.
And then there was silence.
And somewhere, deep within the Emperor's golden light, a faint tremor ran through his being as he felt himself dying. He had felt the disturbance and knew who was freed. Hoping they would not destroy humanity, but what else was there to do?
-
Long ago, two species in a section of the solar system ruled together: HUMANS and MONSTERS.
As time passed, a war broke out between the two species. After the MONSTER'S home planet was destroyed, HUMANS declared victory.
The remaining MONSTERS were banished to an abandoned outpost. A powerful force field was erected, and the MONSTERS were sealed in.
Then, as if the universe itself sought to erase their existence, a warp storm swept over the outpost. It swallowed their prison & home, severing all memory of the MONSTERS from those who had caged them. They became nothing more than a forgotten footnote in the annals of human history.
Many years later...
Segmentum Tempestus
30XXX
Tales speak of a place from which human spacecraft never return, but on this day, the human that arrived here was robbed of the choice of who he would be and where he would live by both his parents and forces that craved to devour & corrupt the galaxy.
-
Two children, both at the age of nine, a human and a Monster.
The human had short, dark auburn hair that curled slightly at the edges, striking red eyes, and a perpetual smile. They wear a golden-brown sweater with suspenders and deep blue leggings decorated with star-like constellations—a practical but whimsical attire suited for a child gazing outward into the infinite and the divine.
The goat monster, on the other hand, was a stark contrast. With fluffy, snow-white fur, long floppy ears, and bright, innocent blue eyes, he looked like a creature out of the galaxy's most cherished fables. His sweater, striped in gold and cerulean with a star emblazoned on the front, matched his wide-eyed enthusiasm for the unknown.
"Come on, Chara!" Asriel chirped, swinging the telescope wildly toward a distant nebula, then toward a nearby asteroid belt, his motions enthusiastic but imprecise. "Let's point it there! I bet there's something exciting out there!"
Chara sighed, steadying the wobbling device before it toppled. "Really, We never see much of anything," they remarked. "It's just stars, dust, and the daily explosion."
"Huh, are you sure? If that's what you think, then you still don't know how to use a telescope?"
Chara didn't even glance at him. "Yes, Azzy. I know how to use a telescope." They adjusted the focus, frowning slightly as they searched for a specific star cluster. "I've only been doing this for years."
"Yeah, well," Asriel said, leaning back on his paws, "the last time you 'knew what you were doing,' we ended up locking the royal scientist out of his lab for three days."
Chara smirked. "That wasn't my fault. That was faulty wiring."
"That you tampered with!"
Chara glanced at Asriel, a small smile tugged at the corner of their lips. Asriel wasn't discouraged by the emptiness nor their antics. He seemed to care more about the adventure of it all—spending time with Chara, imagining the wonders of the galaxy, and filling the void with his endless optimism of a fluffy boy. And though Chara would never admit it aloud, they didn't mind. It was nice.
Just as they were about to abandon their impromptu stargazing session, something caught Asriel's eye. A streak of light tore out from a hole in reality that soon closed and across the Outpost, growing brighter and larger with each passing moment. It wasn't a comet or asteroid—it was a pod.
Their eyes were wide as the object impacted the surface near them in a brilliant explosion of normal dust, sending a tremor through the ground nearby, causing them both to drop.
"That's so awesome!" Asriel exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. He got up and darted toward the pod, dragging Chara behind him.
Chara went along without any resistance, and as they neared the pod, which was made of polished metal with the number XI on the side, A narrow viewing window was smudged with grime, but the shadow it made hinted at something—or someone—inside. Flickering lights cast an eerie glow, illuminating exposed machinery that hummed with mighty energy and magic. The lights cast the form of a child no older than 2 who resided inside with pale skin and a small mop of brown hair.
"Chara, it's a human! And a baby!" Asriel was overcome with excitement until he realized and slowly put together from his best friend that humans can't breathe through water. "We need to get the baby out of there! They could drown!" He bawled as he looked for any latch or handle to open the pod up.
"Relax, Azzy," Chara said, their tone light and dismissive as they folded their arms, leaning casually against the pod. "The baby's fine. Look at them." They gestured toward the viewing window, where the faint outline of the child lay still and serene amidst the flickering glow of the pod's interior.
"But what if—"
Chara cut him off with a raised hand, still remaining calm. "Azzy, just breathe, okay? The pod's keeping the baby alive. If it wasn't, we'd already know." They tilted their head toward the hallway leading back to where their family's second home was. "Why don't you go grab Mom and Dad? They'll be able to crack this open."
Asriel hesitated for a heartbeat, his floppy ears twitching as his gaze flicked between the pod and Chara. "You're sure?"
Chara nodded with a small smile. "Positive. Now go."
Asriel bolted, his paws skidding slightly against the polished floor as he turned and sprinted back to his parents. "Mom! Dad! Come quick!" he shouted, his voice fading into the distance, echoing faintly as he disappeared around a corner.
Left alone, Chara turned back to the pod, their expression relaxing as their gaze landed on the small figure inside. They reached out, pressing their fingertips against the cool glass.
"It's been awhile hasn't it Clover."