This choice: It was another familiar world • Go Back... Your face bore an expression of deep concern when you saw the world before you. Men wearing a drab uniform desperately fighting against hulking green brutes You have seen this scene playout at least a few dozen times. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JW1Yc9OR...
You are in the Warhammer 40k universe, the lovely setting that gave the world the word "grimdark". More specifically you're on the planet Tartarus where the first Dawn of War game took place. You like the setting and the many factions from the Imperium of Man to the Necrons, but you are greatly aware of the many awful and painful ways that you can die here. However, since not all of the factions are here your ways of death are limited to the Orks killing you for fun, the Imperials thinking you're a heretic and killing you, the Eldar killing you because they find your life, and well most human life in general, to be less than one of their own, or the Chaos Space Marines and cultists here torturing you for fun and to appease the Ruinous Powers. And the last part still leads to you being tortured by daemons for all eternity.
You believe yourself to not to be ready for this setting yet. If it wasn't for your phone vibrating you wouldn't have known it was ringing over the sounds of guns and dying from afar.
"Anon, I am sorry for this. You have my deepest apologies," said Trucker-Buddha from the other side. "This is not the original world I intended to you too."
"Well gee thanks!" you reply trying your hardest to not sound insincere as a stray Ork bullet nearly struck you. Ork aiming truly is awful you thought to yourself. "So what happened?"
"An unseen hand interfered and stuck its fingers in the portal." Explained the trucker Fabius.
Before you could ask who or what could have possibly done that you heard an ungodly screeching chorus of multiple voices in an array of tones that shouldn't exist on the phone line. "̷̸̳̙̞͙JÚ̠͖̥̣̼̲̤͂ͤ̈̉͐̈S̥̖̱͔͈͋̉̈́ͫͩT ̆̐̋͌͑ͤ̓̎͌͋̚Aͪ͘͏̵̣S̪̝͈̘̦̖̮̋ͮ̍͒͊̑̈̚ͅ ͚̓́͡P̡̧͋̅ͦͭ̚Ĺ̼̰̲̣͌̍ͣȦ̙N͌̇͂ͥͬͫ̅N͏Eͤ͌ͨ̓ͤ̓ͧ̓ ̵̤͚͚̺͔̗̜̫̯̻͔ͨͬ̎́͢ͅD̍̌ͩ͛͂̀͒͌̓̾͏̡̘̘͍̻͕̮͙̫ͅÍ ™.̸̭̲̂̀̚"̨̿ͮ͊̃́͆͐ͨ̑
Motherfugging Tzeentch. The Father of Lies, the Architect of Fate, patron Chaos God of the Thousand Sons, and what amounts to the god of hope for this fugged up setting is dicking you over right now to get one of his everchanging infinite schemes rolling. Or just because he's bored. Probably both.
Surprisingly, hearing the voice of a Chaos God over your phone didn't utterly destroy your sanity. "So, Trucker-Buddha," you say around the time Colonel Carus Brom executed the men fleeing for their lives as you've seen already dozens of times before, "Can you get me out of here?"
You expected the worst and were still disappointed when he said in return, "No I cannot. Once I send you to a world you must slay the glitches present before leaving."
"I thought you said I would be able to travel to any world I wanted to."
"Yes, but only when you have completed enough of the tasks laid down by my master and I to be free of our contract."
You rolled your eyes and groaned under your breath.
"I will compensate you for this ordeal. Instead of taking one woman from this universe you may make off with two."
You guessed that would have to do. Though your recruitment pool for harem girls is going to be limited on this planet. Most of the inhabitants here are dead or will die soon. Then again, there is one lady you remember from this you could try your hand at. Farseer Macha. You don't really see how you're going to convince Macha to come back with you, or know how you can capture a psychic space elf who's job is to see into the future but you'll figure it out eventually. Fug it, you're also going to bag one of those Howling Banshees too. You know good and well why they're popular for reasons other than how they perform on the tabletop game.
At this time, the Blood Ravens' drop pods descend and you observe good old Gabriel Angelos lead his battle-brothers into combat against the orks, saving the remaining Imperial Guardsmen from grizzly deaths.
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