Antony in Warhammer 40K - Chpt 2 [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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Chapter 2
The tension Antony had faced with the Orks was now behind him; he was no longer in mortal danger at the hands of those brutal, green-skinned creatures. Yet, he was still fighting for survival aboard a Marauder gunship en route to a field hospital. Women clad in white-and-silver armor tended to him, administering first aid and hooking him up to various life-support machines to keep his vital organs functioning.
One of the women caring for the young human was the one with short, silver hair. She held the plasma bag, gradually administering the fluid into a vein in Antony's right arm. As she oversaw his treatment, her eyes remained fixed on his face. Although she belonged to a detachment of warriors trained to show no emotion toward anyone—save for a xenophobic rancor, ultranationalist zeal, and unprecedented fanaticism against those outside the Imperium of Man—she displayed genuine concern for the boy's life after he had suffered two crushing blows from the Ork Nob.
The other Sisters moved silently through the cabin. No one spoke. The only sound, aside from the engines, was the rhythmic beeping of the vital-sign monitors.
The gunship continued flying toward the base from which it had departed. Its engines roared, spewing flames from the exhaust ports as the pilot maintained maximum thrust. The flight was somewhat turbulent, despite the absence of bad weather or potential aerial or ground-based threats that might endanger the crew. Eventually, the craft was joined by others of the same model and faction.
////
Fifteen minutes later, the ship landed. Antony was transferred to a cot in a makeshift field hospital within the settlement. It was dark and cold. There were various life-support machines, computers of a rather rudimentary design, and several hospital beds—most of them empty. His eyes slowly began to open. To his surprise, a section of the room was illuminated.
There was no one nearby to talk to, save for a man standing in the room, watching him with his arms crossed behind his back. Judging by his khaki clothing—along with a chest piece, helmet, and bits of green armor—he was a guard. He also carried a rifle of a design distinct from the weapons those women had used; it was green, matching his armor, with little visible metal, a flash hider on the barrel, and a gold-engraved double-headed eagle.
Antony noticed that the guard remained rooted to the spot, never once taking his eyes off him—waiting, it seemed, for a single false move so he could grab his rifle and blow a hole in the hero's chest. Antony realized he was stripped of his clothes, cape, boots, and his sword, Archeus. He had only a few IV lines attached to his body, delivering saline, plasma, and medication. Antony felt a twinge of anxiety; he disliked having such things inserted into him, even for medical reasons.
The guard remained motionless. Faced with this, Antony came up with a way to get his attention.
“Hey, you,” Antony called out. The guard didn't react. “You there. Could you call a doctor? I need to… uh, use the restroom.”
The guard didn't react. The young man's gaze shifted to the left, signaling that the ruse wasn't working. In response, Antony forced a weak smile.
“Look, you're doing a good job. How about we make a deal? You help me get out of here, take me back home, and I'll buy you a drink. What do you say?”
Just like before, the guard showed no interest in Antony's little proposal. Antony glanced to the left, realizing he was running out of options to escape the place. He tried a serious approach again.
“All right. I hate to be rude. But why the hell are you keeping me here?”
As the boy asked the question, he heard a sound emerging from the opening door—a deep hydraulic hiss. His eyes turned toward the source of the noise, catching sight of the female warriors entering the hospital room. There were four of them in total. They all wore the same uniform and armor pieces, though each sported a different hairstyle.
The first had medium-length brown hair with white streaks extending down to her chin. Her face bore a few wrinkles and scars—on the right side of her lower lip, her eyebrow, and her left cheek. She had an implant in her right ear, the site of a past injury that had caused partial deafness. Her outfit featured more ornamentation than the others', marking her as the group's leader.
Two of the others appeared to be the same age as the warrior with silver-streaked bangs who had rescued Antony from the Orks; however, the second woman was blonde with long, straight hair reaching her shoulders. The third had light brown hair styled in a pageboy cut. Both possessed similar physiques: medium-to-large busts, strong legs, and slender waists and midriffs.
Watching them line up side by side, Antony murmured, “Man, looks like I'm in for some pretty 'warm' company.”
The warriors' commander turned to the guard who had been monitoring Earth's young hero.
“Good work. You may leave. We'll take it from here,” the older warrior ordered.
“Yes, ma'am,” the Imperial guard replied, saluting her before leaving them alone with Antony.
The door closed after the uniformed man left. The boy's gaze then turned toward them as the older warrior stepped forward.
“I am Canoness Dolores,” the commander introduced herself, then introduced the other warriors. “These are Clara, Rachel, and Danubia. We are Sisters of Battle of the Order of the Argent Shroud, in the service of the Ecclesiarchy.”
Dolores, the group's commander, stood in the center; to her right was Clara, with a light-brown pageboy cut; to her left was Rachel, with blonde hair; and Danubia stood at the far left.
“I appreciate the help you gave me back then, and everything else,” Antony said, leaning forward with a sincere expression. “Truly. But I need to get back to my world.”
“You are under Imperium custody. You will not leave this place until you answer our questions to our satisfaction.”
Antony raised an eyebrow.
“Custody? Why?”
“You are not in a position to ask questions,” Dolores replied, her voice cold as steel. “You are in a position to answer them. Who are you? How did you get here? Where did you come from?”
Antony found himself with no escape from the questions posed by the Sisters of Battle commander. The young man straightened up as much as the tubes allowed.
“My name is Antony. I am a paladin in the service of the Light.”
Clara tilted her head, curious.
“Paladin of the Light?”
“And where were your paladin powers, Antony? Why didn't you use them?” Dolores asked, without a trace of mockery. Only coldness.
“I tried to use them. They didn't work. They vanished… along with my sword.”
Dolores didn't seem impressed.
“Forget that. Where did you come from, and how did you get to this world?”
“I was on a routine patrol in my world…” he began, before being interrupted by the seasoned warrior.
“Which world?”
Antony sighed. “Earth.”
“'Earth'?” Danúbia interjected, curious to hear the name.
“That's right. Earth. The third planet in the solar system.”
“He's talking about Holy Terra. Just by its old name,” Danubia whispered to Clara. However, the Canoness shot them a stern look, demanding silence.
“Continue,” she said curtly.
“I found a portal in an alley. Magenta and purple energy. A voice called out to me. I… stepped inside.”
The four Sisters exchanged quick glances.
“What kind of portal?” Dolores asked.
“It was… unlike anything I'd ever seen. It wasn't arcane. It wasn't of the Light. It was… dense. Cold. Wrong. Inside it were twisted stars, ship wreckage, dead planets… and eyes. So many eyes. And hands trying to grab me. And in the end, I arrived here—in this strange world, so different from my own. Surrounded by sand, rocks, and then… the Orks.”
Silence hung in the room. No one spoke for a moment. Rachel was the first to break the quiet, her voice barely a whisper.
“Sister… do you think…”
“There is no doubt,” Dolores cut in. “It was a Warp Portal.”
Antony frowned.
“Sorry. A Portal to what?”
“The Warp,” the Canoness explained. “The Immaterium dimension. Few can open stable passages through it. And almost no one survives when the passage is unstable. You were summoned by something that dwells within.”
As the warriors subjected him to a process akin to an interrogation, a sense of unease rippled through their ranks. A Warp Portal opened between this world and another—spanning different universes and eras—with a man stepping through after being summoned by agents of Chaos; this was a clear signal that a swift response was required.
“We shall report this to the Ecclesiarchy and the Ordo Hereticus. They will decide what is to be done with him.”
Dolores and the others turned toward the exit. Confused by the Sisters' commander's response, Antony tried to stand.
“Wait. I want to help. I'm not…”
“You are under Imperium custody,” Dolores interrupted. “Until ordered otherwise, any attempt to leave this location will be deemed an act of heresy. And heresy is punishable by death.”
Her look left no room for argument.
“Can't I even use the bathroom?” Antony asked, already knowing the answer.
“There are tubes in the bed for that. Don't worry.”
The four Sisters withdrew. The guard returned to his post. Antony was left alone, staring at the cold ceiling, the feeling of being a prisoner fully setting in.
////
Outside the hospital, the Sisters of Battle made their way along a cold, dark corridor filled with Gothic architecture and sinister arches. Their commander led the way, with Rachel and Clara flanking her and Danúbia bringing up the rear.
“It was a mistake to bring him here,” Dolores said, her expression cold and serious.
“Why do you say that, Sister?” Clara asked.
“A human boy—claiming to be from Earth, from an era when humanity slaughtered itself for bizarre reasons—arriving here via a Warp Portal? It is a clear sign that the forces of Chaos are plotting a new form of attack against the Imperium of Man. He could well be an agent of Chaos!”
“But, ma'am, I don't believe Antony is capable of such a thing. Perhaps he could…” Danúbia began, but the commander cut her off, stopping in the middle of the corridor.
“I cannot rely on such assumptions, Danúbia. He could be a heretic, and you know that full well,” the elite warrior pointed out.
“But we also can't be certain he conspired with the forces of Chaos before being ambushed by the Orks,” Rachel added.
“Only an Inquisitor can confirm that. We need to notify the Ordo Hereticus to investigate his story. Until then, no one is permitted to visit him for any reason, unless I am present. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the others replied.
“Good. Let's move,” Dolores concluded.
Dolores and the other warriors proceeded to the communications room to contact the Ecclesiarchy. Danúbia glanced back, thinking of the young human she had rescued from the Orks, before continuing on with the group.
////
Night fell over the settlement. Guards monitored the entire perimeter, weapons loaded and at the ready against an invasion or attack by aliens—or by anyone allied with the Chaos Gods.
The room was dark. Antony slept restlessly in his bed. He lay unclothed, feeling the air around him grow frigid. Yet, something began to rouse him from his slumber. Whispers echoed in Antony's mind as he tossed and turned. Then, the voices began. The air around him grew hot.
“So, you have finally arrived,” said a mysterious, deep, and cruel voice, laced with the crackle of flames that hissed and burned as it spoke. Khorne, the God of War, Blood, and Slaughter.
Next came a cold, meticulous hiss.
“The human from a world beyond the Emperor's influence.”
Tzeentch, the God of Change, Illusion, and Sorcery.
Antony tried to focus on sleep, but the voices coursing through his mind left him agitated and unsettled.
“W-who are you?” Antony asked in a low voice, confused as to how they knew his name and of his arrival.
Then came an androgynous tone—sweet and poisonous all at once.
“We are the Gods of immense power. From long before the False Emperor.”
Slaanesh, the God of Pleasure, Lust, and Desire.
“False Emperor?” Antony asked; he was trying to sleep, wondering why these beings speaking to him referred to the central figure of humanity—the founder of the Imperium—as the False Emperor.
Finally, a wet voice, thick with secretions and disease.
“The Emperor of Mankind is nothing more than a fetid corpse sitting upon his golden throne.”
Nurgle, the God of Death, Disease, and Decay.
“And he is a person, like any other. Flesh, bone, and blood,” added Tzeentch.
“He is nothing but an empty image that many humans in this universe blindly follow,” added Slaanesh.
“We are the true manifestation of the powers emanating from this Universe! The true order!” added the burning, violent voice of Khorne.
Antony sweated in his sleep. The voices were making him anxious.
“What do you want from me?”
“You do not belong to this universe. You came from another world—one that shall also fall under our influence,” Nurgle replied amidst coughs and pestilent wheezing.
“You possess a potential unlike that of most beings in this universe. Far beyond the restrictive dogmas the Emperor imposes upon his pawns,” Tzeentch said in a cold, meticulous, hissing tone.
“We can offer you anything you desire,” Slaanesh replied.
Then, the other Chaos Gods whispering in Antony's ears spoke in unison. His eyes squeezed shut. The whispers echoed in his mind, leaving him in turmoil. Images struck him like blows. He saw himself as the champion of each of the Chaos Gods.
The first was of the young boy standing, dressed for war and with a sword pointing at the horizon filled with red and orange clouds. Around him were several destroyed cities, with buildings falling to pieces after a war of global scale the likes of which had never been seen before. Antony's eyes glowed red, his teeth were sharp and pointed like saws, his body was formed by superhuman muscles, with some bone spikes emerging from his flesh and metal claws in place of his left hand. On his belt, he carried the heads of people he had killed, be they criminals, political leaders or even his former comrades.
“Weapons of war and worlds conquered.” Khorne said, showing young Antony the image of himself as a champion of war.
The second was of him carrying a sort of scepter or staff with a magical stone. It glowed blue, as did his eyes. He found himself in a dark chamber, illuminated by several bolts of lightning summoned around him and from the ceiling above. His attire consisted of long robes adorned with gems, magical symbols, and energy, with shoulder pads and pieces of armor of Egyptian design. Behind Antony was a manifestation of Tzeentch. Similar to its patronus, the creature resembled a two-headed bird with humanoid arms and legs. Its neck was long and its feathers were dark blue.
“Overwhelming power and supreme knowledge.” said Tzeentch, showing the image of the hero as the most powerful sorcerer under his command.
In the third, he found himself wandering in a world completely devastated by a virulent plague, extinguishing life across the planet. Those who survived were walking corpses of rotting flesh, with no hope of being rescued or cured. As for the young hero, his body was gray and green, with scars that had not healed and contaminated wounds, full of pus, secretions and acid. However, he showed no pain or discomfort from them.
“Eternal life and free of pain.” said Nurgle, showing the image of the hero as an immortal creature.
In the last image, he was seen sitting on a kind of throne, with his body covered in tattoos, piercings and various deformations, such as some faces emerging from his chest, the fingers of his left hand were longer than those of his right, the forked tongue that resembled a serpent and horns on the top of his forehead. He carried a chalice of wine in his right hand. Around him were several scantily clad women, caressing his body; and various treasures and riches.
“Unending riches and insatiable pleasures.” Slaanesh said, showing the image reserved for a future filled with excessive pleasures for Antony.
Antony tried to ignore the images as he forced his eyelids shut.
“You can be whatever you want,” they whispered in unison. “You need only surrender.”
Antony struggled in his bed, resisting those images and voices.
“No. No, please. Leave me alone!” the hero shouted, thrashing about in bed.
“The Emperor of Mankind holds no power over you. You have the power to choose. Surrender to us.”
“No!” Antony shouted, sitting up in bed, his body drenched in sweat. “I will never join you!”
Silence returned to the room. There was no one around him. Only a final phrase remained, like a distant echo:
“You will never escape one of us.”
The young man was breathless, his heart racing from the visit of those Dark Gods and the sinister visions of the futures that awaited him should he succumb to their influence. With them gone for the moment and finding himself alone, Antony chose to go back to sleep—though he dreaded closing his eyes and being confronted by the Dark Gods once more.
////
In the camp's communications room, Canoness Dolores sat down to access the Vox unit and contact the Ordo Hereticus. Suspecting that Antony might be a Chaos agent, she believed summoning an Inquisitor from the Order was essential—not only to verify his nature but also to potentially gain information regarding how he had arrived in this universe.
The device was powered on. Dolores waited for the signal to reach one of the Ordo Hereticus ships or operational stations. Finally, one of them answered the call, opening a channel to the Sisters of Battle commander.
“This is Canoness Dolores of the Sisters of Battle, Order of the Argent Shroud. I need to speak with an Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor. This is a matter of extreme urgency,” the Canoness stated over the Vox. There was some static, yet the signal remained clear.
The connection finally stabilized. A man appeared on the screen featuring an ocular implant in place of his left eye, a throat-mounted device that replaced his natural speech, and several mechanical arms extending from his back. He was a Mechanicus Servitor serving the Ordo Hereticus.
“Ah. Canoness Dolores,” replied the humanoid figure on the device's screen. “It has been some time since you appeared or made contact with the Order.”
“Blix, you know I tire easily of listening to that voice of yours,” the Canoness replied, losing patience with Blix, the Inquisitors' servitor. “I need to speak with Inquisitor Val Merkutius, and I need to do so now.”
“Ah, Dolores. You know the Inquisitor is too busy for anything related to the Order.” Blix said through the device. His tone of voice expressed a certain disapproval of her.
“I don't care. I must speak to him NOW!”
Blix sighed in dissatisfaction at Dolores's speech. “Fine. Whatever you say, Dolores. But the inquisitor doesn't like it when he's called during his meetings…”
Just as the Servitor was about to finish speaking, he was interrupted by a deep voice from behind. Turning to look, she saw a tall, pale man; part of his head consisted of metal cables connected at the crown, and he had the face of a man in his late sixties, lined with wrinkles and battle scars, a neatly trimmed gray beard, and amber eyes. His attire included a heavy coat made of a sturdy fabric, large dark-brown boots, black gloves, and shoulder pads resembling those of a 19th-century naval officer. He wore the same symbol that adorned the Sisters of Battle's pauldrons: a large capital “I” with a skull in the center. His right arm and two fingers on his left hand had been replaced by cybernetic implants.
“I'll take it from here, Blix. Leave us,” said the Inquisitor, ordering the Servitor to exit the room. Blix obeyed his master's command.
Meanwhile, Dolores watched Inquisitor Merkutius take his seat.
“Dolores. I hope this is important enough to interrupt my meditation,” he said, his expression cold and bitter.
“My Lord. We found a survivor during the operation against the Orks. A human. He claims to be from Terra… from an era prior to the Imperium. And he asserts that he arrived here through a Warp Portal.”
The Inquisitor leaned forward. His bionic eye narrowed.
“A Warp Portal. Are you certain?”
“I am. I suspect he may be an agent of Chaos. Or, at the very least, a vector for contamination,” the Canoness replied gravely, placing her hands on the table.
“And this 'boy who came from Terra'—is he still with you?”
“Yes. He remains in the hospital room, still under Imperial supervision.”
Inquisitor Merkutius leaned back in his chair, moving away from the screen. His expression softened slightly—though it remained cold—as he issued his next order.
“Very well. We will send an escorted vessel to retrieve him.”
Dolores kept her gaze fixed on her superior via the screen.
“Until then, he is not to leave that room under any circumstances. If he shows any sign of corruption… eliminate him. Heretics have no right to live.”
“Understood, sir,” the Canoness acknowledged.
Merkutius ended the Vox transmission from his end. Having received her orders and being informed that the Inquisitorial fleet was en route to collect Antony, Dolores left the room to rejoin the other Sisters of Battle. Her eyes burned with intensity at the thought that the young man in the hospital room might be a heretic or an agent of Chaos, regardless of his own denials. She had orders to kill him if the suspicions proved true. For now, she would await the fleet and let Inquisitor Merkutius take charge of the case.
////
Back in the hospital room, Antony lay awake, staring at the ceiling following the sudden appearance of the Chaos Gods. For the first time since crossing the portal, he was certain of one thing: this universe didn't just want to kill him. It wanted to turn him into something far worse.
“I have to get out of here!” he thought to himself.
-x-
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