Antony in Warhammer 40K - Chpt 1 [English - US]
Antony in Warhammer 40K [English - US]
Description:
Antony in Warhammer 40K is a small fanfic series, created by Antony Bindilatti with inspiration from some crossovers of several film series, series and games with Warhammer 40K – created by Rick Priestley and Andy Chambers from Games Workshop.
The story focuses on young Antony – the protagonist of Antony's Triviality; on just another ordinary day, until he finds a dimensional portal with energies that are strange to his world. However, something caught his attention to the point of investigating the other side. To the hero's surprise, he embarks on a journey to a completely different universe, in which Earth was a planet full of several megacities and rudimentary technology, at the same time advanced for its era; and human civilization – known as the Imperium of Men; followed an austere religious military doctrine that despised everything that was not part of the Imperium, such as aliens, mutants and heretics, declaring total war on these beings.
And to complete the unpleasant surprise, Antony discovers that his powers and abilities have disappeared, in which he needs to fight not only for survival but also to find a way to return to his universe and cut the connection with that world.
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Everything seemed calm. Antony was walking through the streets of an ordinary Earth city, around the year 2020. He was twenty-seven years old, with curly dark-brown hair—featuring a long lock that reached down to his navel—and eyes of the same color. He wore a white kimono with a black sash, a blue cape with gold trim that billowed slightly with each step, and knee-high leather boots. Strapped to his back in a special holster rested Archeus—a sword of ancient European design, far too heavy for any ordinary person to wield with one hand. To the eyes of passersby, however, the weapon remained camouflaged. No one saw anything other than a tall, somewhat exotic young man walking among them.
It was an ordinary day. A reconnaissance mission, a routine patrol, or perhaps just the habit of always being ready. The surrounding houses and buildings were made of brick, concrete, and wood. Ordinary windows. Ordinary people. The world still seemed predictable, with nothing out of the ordinary that called for heroic intervention on his part.
However, something happened that would change his life forever. In an alleyway, he sensed an emanation that caught the hero's attention. He peered toward the spot, brow furrowed, but found nothing unusual—save for a faint purple glow. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he felt it radiating from behind a dumpster and decided it was worth investigating.
Sword in hand, he headed toward the spot. Antony approached the source of the glow with light steps, muffling the sound as he moved. The tension mounted. He could hear his heart racing, and the air grew thin.
As he drew close to the dumpster, he turned the corner.
“What on earth is this?” the young Antony wondered.
To his surprise, it was a portal. The waves of energy were magenta tinged with purple, set against a dark background dotted with stars. It was not arcane in nature, nor did it stem from any other known energy source. Antony's brother, William, was nowhere nearby; nor had he opened a portal requiring assistance or travel to some other part of Azeroth.
Antony had no idea what it was, but he sensed that the energy was too dense to traverse safely. He could feel a kind of cruel power emanating from it.
“Come to me.” said a deep, hoarse male voice emanating from that portal.
Antony's eyes widened in fear as he recoiled slightly. He still held his sword, ready to strike down whoever might emerge from that place. His breathing was ragged.
Yet, he sensed that the portal hadn't opened by chance and that, somehow, it had to be closed from the other side, since he had no way to shut it from where he stood.
With one last glance at the city behind him, Antony stepped forward. Clutching his sword, he advanced into the gateway of dark energy. Half his body was gradually drawn inside, until the hem of his blue, gold-trimmed cloak passed through and vanished completely. Then, the portal closed.
////
The young hero stepped through the portal, finding himself in a sort of astral realm. But realizing he could no longer feel the ground beneath his feet, he was swept up in a current; he was powerless to escape as an unknown force violently dragged him along. Antony found himself caught in a swirling vortex of energy and stars, screaming in terror as he struggled to break free.
Amidst the maelstrom, he glimpsed various planets, stars, and the wreckage of spacecraft featuring designs unlike anything he had ever seen. Furthermore, faces and eyes began to emerge, accompanied by hands and fingers of strange shapes reaching out toward him—and some of these beings laughed at the poor boy.
“Leave me alone!” Antony shouted, trapped in the vortex and trying to strike out with his sword. Nothing worked.
Antony was buffeted up and down by a current of dark energy. He tried various methods to contact his own world—telepathy, a communicator—but it was all in vain. Then, spotting a blinding light, he raised his left hand to shield his eyes while straining to see who—or what—it might be.
////
In an instant, the boy was flung out of the rushing current, tumbling across the rocky, dirt-strewn ground before landing face-down. Antony felt pain throughout his body and hands. His eyes had been squeezed shut against that blinding flash; he gritted his teeth against the pain, and part of his face was dirty and slightly bruised.
As his vision returned and he struggled to his feet, the world looked a bit blurry. His head swam, though he gradually regained his bearings.
“Where… where am I?” Antony asked, confused and disoriented. His sight slowly cleared, allowing him to make out his surroundings.
Antony rose slowly, feeling a sharp pain in his head. He placed his right hand over the painful spot and felt something trickling down. When he pulled his hand away, he saw something that terrified him, his eyes widening in shock.
“What the…?”
Blood. It was his blood. The fall must have cut Antony's forehead. His hands were smeared with a bit of dirt and grime, alongside the red fluid seeping from the wound.
“Impossible…” he thought, knowing that the essence of Super Uranium should have made him invincible.
Super Uranium was a rare ore that had granted him and William superpowers no living being had ever dreamed of possessing—including invincibility and immortality. Yet, Antony found himself in a completely different world. Perhaps the turbulent vortex he had passed through had nullified those effects.
Antony stood up, feeling somewhat recovered after the fall. However, he realized he was in another world—one devoid of civilization or animals. Gray clouds blanketed the blue sky, and the ground was a mix of earth, rock, and even ash. There were trees, but they belonged to no species he recognized; some were twisted, with withered branches and no leaves. There was water, too, but it was neither clear nor fit for drinking or cleaning his wounds.
“Something tells me I'm not on Earth anymore. And going through that portal was a big mistake,” the lost young boy said. He sighed in frustration at his poor choice. “Oh well. Let's see if I can find someone to take me home.”
With that said, Antony pressed on through the desert in search of a possible city, village, or encampment, intending to leave the planet and return home. The boy used the twisted trees to his right as his primary point of reference, even though there was only a slim chance of finding anything—or any sign of sentient life.
////
Hours had passed since Antony arrived in that strange world, yet he had found no sign of sentient life. He was in a sorry state: his clothes were filthy, and he had gone without food, water, or rest. Antony trudged across the desert. The trees loomed larger as he approached them. However, he failed to notice a ravine in his path; he fell in, tumbling down until he hit the ground. Fortunately, the surface wasn't solid rock, which softened the impact of the fall.
Lying on the ground, the brave hero punched the earth in frustration. Even though the ground was sandy, the anger he felt at being trapped and lost only deepened his despair about ever escaping that place and returning home.
Then, something caught his attention. Antony lifted his head—his face smudged with dirt and marked by scratches. He heard a noise coming from the horizon, far off in the distance. It sounded like the engine of a ground vehicle.
“Is that a vehicle? Am I safe?” These questions raced through the boy's mind.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and ran toward the vehicle's path. He grabbed his sword and strapped it to his back; despite its weight, he didn't mind carrying it throughout his journey.
As he stood up to get a better look, he was surprised to see not just one vehicle, but a convoy—revealed by their lights. He was overjoyed at the prospect of rescue. However, a sudden realization made him reconsider; the scene before him wasn't quite what he had expected.
The convoy consisted of trucks with a crude, rough-hewn design. Various metal plates were welded haphazardly onto the bodies, giving the impression of shoddy, makeshift repairs. Some featured spiked plates attached to their bumpers and the sides of their cargo beds, while their exhausts belched out thick black smoke.
“Wait a minute. Those over there…”
To top it off, the crew consisted of green-skinned humanoid beings with superhuman musculature, pointed ears, yellow eyes, and sharp teeth jutting from their mouths. They wore crude attire reinforced with metal plates—as if they had raided a scrapyard and grabbed whatever scrap metal was at hand to use as armor—and carried weapons: both crude-looking melee weapons and firearms. The guns, too, were cobbled together from mismatched parts; bolts were larger than barrels, rear sights were obstructed by unnecessary accessories atop the iron sights, and the heavy-caliber ammunition was prone to jamming when the magazine was inserted.
“…are Orcs?!” he thought, his hopes of rescue vanishing.
Watching from a distance as the trucks stopped and the drivers and passengers stepped out, Antony was terrified. He thought these beings resembled the Orcs of Draenor, given their skin color and muscular builds. He tried to keep low to avoid detection by the aggressors, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword in case of an ambush.
Some distance from young Antony's position, the beings known as Orks began sweeping the terrain for any sign of humans. Some carried heavy weapons like flamethrowers and machine guns, others bore axes, and some wielded large-caliber submachine guns. One of them stood taller than the rest. He had a bionic implant in his right eye, large teeth—including one made of steel—and a deeply wrinkled face; several tubes connected his neck to a tank mounted on his left shoulder pad. His left arm was a mass of metal plating and spikes, ending in claw-like fingers capable of crushing and tearing through flesh and metal as if they were paper, while his right arm was organic, with a few steel spikes protruding from the bicep. He wore trousers of leather or heavy fabric; his right foot had been amputated and replaced with a prosthetic, while his left foot was encased in a boot. His paint scheme was predominantly red, accented with black and white markings.
“Come on, boyz! Da boss told us there are 'umies in these parts. And we're going to show them what happens to those who dare to face us!” ordered the Ork Nob. The other Orks agreed and began the search.
The other Orks agreed and began the search. During the patrol, one of the soldiers sensed something that piqued his sense of smell.
“Boss, I think I smell a 'umie around 'ere.”
“I can smell that too, you Squiggoth-spawn! Check da canyon! Remember: I'm da Boss! Now GO, you maggots!”
The Orcs' sense of smell was far too keen. Within minutes, the patrol changed direction and began to focus precisely on the area where Antony was hiding. When he rose a bit too high to gauge the distance, one of them spotted him.
“Oh no. Looks like these Orcs know I'm here,” the young hero thought, still keeping out of sight of his pursuers.
Antony stood up to see how close the group was to his position. In a moment of carelessness, he rose too high, and a shot grazed his head. Antony quickly dodged, dropping back to his previous position.
“Shit!” the boy exclaimed. His eyes were wide, and his heart was pounding.
The Orks advanced toward the hill. Their weapons were loaded and aimed, ready for the moment they spotted the lone hero, armed with nothing but a sword.
“Come on, boyz!” Shouted the Ork soldier armed with a light machine gun.
Antony tried to scramble up the hill he had tumbled down after a misstep. It was high and covered in loose gravel and sand; with every step, his feet sank in up to the heel. As he climbed, he leaned forward, using his hands to scale the steep incline.
The attackers reached the top of the rise. Pausing at the edge with weapons at the ready, they spotted the young man climbing. One of the soldiers stepped forward with a heavy pistol, laughing as he rapidly squeezed the trigger. In a flash, a projectile burst from the barrel amidst the roar of the shot.
As Antony grabbed onto a rock, it shifted out of place, causing him to lose his footing. The shot struck just above the rock, dislodging it along with a spray of sand and gravel. Antony plummeted, screaming as he fell toward the ground below. His eyes wide with terror, he frantically tried to find something else to hold onto and steady himself.
Before he could crash hard against the ground, he drew the sword from the scabbard on his back and drove it into the slope, breaking his fall just enough to regain his balance. Yet, he was back to square one. To his bitter dismay, he heard the sound of laughter—the cruel laughter of the Orcs who had knocked him down from the hilltop.
The Orc soldiers descended from the high ground, advancing toward the boy. Their weapons were aimed right at him, ready to fire at the slightest sign of aggression.
“Surrender, 'umie!” Shouted a soldier on the far left, armed with a Shoota gun. “You're surrounded!”
“There's no escape! If you try to resist us, we'll fill ya with Shoota holes!” The Ork Shoota Boyz shouted.
Antony gritted his teeth as he glared at them. The other soldiers were armed with flamethrowers, axes, Shootas, and cannons. It was a clear sign they weren't playing around; these weapons possessed immense firepower compared to Antony's sword.
To complete the encirclement, the Ork commander appeared from above; the raw, rotting metal fingers of his left arm clawed into the gravel, stone, and sand as he descended, kicking up a curtain of gray dust. When he landed, a shower of stones came down with him, clattering loudly upon impact. The commander approached, fixing a cruel gaze on the young human. The other Orks stepped aside, some shoved out of the way by that mechanical arm. Closing the distance to the human, the commander slammed his fist into the ground, leaning forward.
“Look at this. A 'umie. Judging by your clothes, you're not from the Imperium, nor are you from around these parts.” said the Ork Nob, showing his sharp teeth.
“Imperium? What's he talking about?” the boy asked in his thoughts. All Antony knew was that the Ork was twice his height. He could smell the green-skinned being's rotten breath. The whole setup might make him a bit scared to confront him directly. In either case, he kept his sword in his right hand.
“What I can say is that you iz weak, like any other 'umie.” said the attacker. Those words echoed in Antony's ears, tightening his grip on the sword's hilt. “I can finish you off with little effort and take your 'ead as a trophy.”
The boy took a step back, assuming a defensive posture.
“Back off! I'm warning you!” exclaimed Antony, positioning his left hand forward and the sword aligned with his left leg, ready to deliver a quick and accurate blow.
The boy's eyes expressed a certain intimidation. His breathing was becoming shallow. However, something made him change his gaze. He saw his attackers laugh at that threat.
“Really?” sneered the Ork commander. His eyes closed momentarily, then opened his gaze to the boy again. “Let's see if you're really going to attack me beyond your words.”
The Nob charged toward Antony. He in turn extended his left hand toward the approaching greenskin. Antony would use his divine paladin powers to stun him or strike him to the point of leaving the Ork vulnerable for a fatal blow.
“You left me no choice! HOLY SHOCK!” Antony exclaimed, casting the Holy Shock spell—a technique learned through the teachings of the Holy Light in Azeroth. However, after he called out the spell's name, something strange happened. The spell did not work; no burst of holy energy emerged from Antony's hand to strike the Orc. He tried to execute the magical attack again, but it was futile. Holy Shock simply would not cast. The other Orc soldiers laughed at the spectacle.
Antony tried to invoke the spell once more, but it failed. His eyes were wide with disbelief. As the Orc commander lunged toward him—mechanical arm swinging to deliver a blow—the hero was forced into a defensive stance, narrowly dodging the attack by a fraction of a second.
Now positioned behind his assailant, he prepared to finish him off with a slashing strike from his sword, Archeus. But disaster struck again: the blade hit a section of the Orc's armor, shattering into pieces. Antony was horrified to see his sword broken.
“No! Archeus!” he cried out in alarm. In an instant, he felt the Orc's metal hand crushing his face, instantly cutting off both his vision and his breath. Sharp fingers dug into his head, lifting him off the ground. He thrashed his arms and legs, struggling to break free, but it was useless.
“Like I said: you're weak, like any other 'umie I have ever faced. We, Orks, are strong and we'ze made to win against weak and insignificant beings like you!” said the Ork, tightening his grip on Antony's head. Then he threw the poor boy against the hill.
The hero of Earth felt his body being thrown and colliding with the wall of gravel, sand and stones. He fell after the impact of the blow. He tried to get up in order to escape, but received a blow from the attacker's boot, making him spit blood and fall again.
“I'll finish you off and take your 'ead as a trophy for my Boss.” the Commander Ork exclaimed, as the other Orks shouted in a frenzy of inspiration.
Death was certain for Antony. Without immortality, without the invincibility of Super Uranium, without his powers, and without his sword, he was truly just an ordinary, weak human in the face of the Orks' might. And alone—without the help of William, his younger brother, or the others back on Earth—he would die in that strange world he never should have entered through that mysterious portal.
Then, the sky roared. Ships with sleek, angular designs descended through the gray clouds, their engines howling. These were no Ork scrap-heaps; they were Imperial Navy Marauders. Rockets and cannons opened fire on the convoy. Trucks exploded into balls of orange and black fire. Orks were hurled through the air or simply vaporized.
“Imperium ships, here?!” exclaimed the Ork commander.
To their horror, the ships opened fire on their trucks with rockets and cannons. The explosions engulfing some of the vehicles consumed the Ork soldiers within; others leapt out, only to fall lifeless or crawl away in agony from the heat.
To make matters worse, Imperial ships landed, deploying human soldiers armed with weaponry far more sophisticated than that of the brutish raiders. Their projectiles were of a heavy caliber—much like the Orks'—but were explosive in nature. Emerging from the ships was a small detachment of women with distinctively colored hair. They all wore the same armor scheme: white undergarments, gray armor plating with silver trim, and gold accents—such as a chain connecting a magical symbol to their breastplates. Though they wielded massive heavy weapons, their firepower rivaled, or even surpassed, that of the Orks.
The Orks attempted to repel the assault by the women and their ships, but they were steadily decimated.
“Boss, there are so many of them! What are we going to do?!” shouted one of the Ork soldiers, firing his heavy pistol.
As a last resort, the commander gathered the survivors, signaling them to flee in the face of the overwhelming numbers of their new attackers.
“Come on, boyz! Let's get out of here!” shouted the Ork Nob. In response, they scrambled toward the remaining trucks and fled. Those who failed to escape were caught in the hail of bullets from the Empire’s warriors.
Meanwhile, Antony saw little of the ambush on the Orks. The blows he had sustained left him incapacitated, on the verge of succumbing to his injuries. One of the warriors spotted the near-dead young hero and shouted to the others.
“Sisters, we have a survivor!”
The other warriors rushed to her side. Some wore enclosed helmets that completely covered their heads, viewing the world through red visors. Atop the helmets was a *fleur-de-lis*—a symbol of French nobility from an era when various countries had united to form a single nation. Others went bare-headed, revealing feminine faces and a few distinctive features such as accessories, ocular implants, battle scars, and the like. Yet, all of them bore a tattoo of the same symbol that adorned their helmets and uniforms: the *fleur-de-lis*.
The youngest warrior to aid Antony had the face of a woman around twenty-three years old. Her hair was short and silver, with bangs swept to the right. She wore pinkish lipstick and had a medium-sized bust, accentuated by her corset in a way that drew the eyes of young men. She also possessed a slender waist and midriff, with legs that were lean yet firm. To some, she looked like a doll dressed for war.
Young Antony was rescued by the female warriors and placed on a stretcher to be transported by spacecraft to a sort of field hospital. His eyes opened partially, catching sight of the passing clouds as the Empire's warrior women carried him. He turned his head to the right and saw the face of the young girl who had rescued him.
“Who… who are you?” Antony asked in a low tone. The girl kept her eyes on the ship as she helped the others transport him. “Where are they taking me?”
Boarding the Marauder ship, the group placed the boy on an improvised medical cot while administering first aid. Then, the ship took off alongside the others, heading toward a destination that was uncertain for Antony but known to them.
-x-
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