[Simulation startup in progress...]
[Current Identity: Bloodclaw, Space Wolf (Warp ???)]
[Please select your identity upon arrival.]
[If you refuse, you will deploy Immediately.]
[Identity selection declined]
[Simulation startup in progress...]
[You have arrived in the Warhammer universe.]
[Time: Unknown]
[Location: Milky Way Galaxy, Storm Sector, Planet Kiavahr, Moon Lycaeus]
[You suddenly opened your eyes.]
The world snapped into focus with violent clarity.
You were falling.
Again.
The rush of wind tore at your face, whipping your gray hair into a frenzy as the ground hurtled toward you at terminal velocity. Your jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding as you twisted your body mid-air, fighting against momentum and gravity to orient yourself into something resembling a survivable landing position.
No scream escaped your throat. You'd done this enough times to know panic was useless.
Cold air bit at your exposed skin, carrying with it the acrid tang of industrial smoke. You blinked against the wind, forcing your eyes to scan the landscape below.
No lakes. No rivers. No convenient bodies of water to break your fall this time.
Just factories. Endless sprawling clusters of them, their metal chimneys belching thick columns of black smoke into the ash-gray sky. The structures stretched across the moon's surface like a rust-covered infection, their peaked roofs glinting dully in the pale light.
From those densely packed, towering factory complexes, wisps of acrid black smoke rose continuously into the atmosphere, mingling with drifting clouds of smelting ash that turned the air itself into a choking industrial haze.
The metal roof of one particular factory grew larger in your vision with each passing second. You could make out individual rivets now, the patches of corrosion spreading across its surface.
You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a roar of pure frustration.
Impact.
The metal roof gave way like paper, the screech of tearing steel piercing your ears as your body punched straight through. Then you were plunging into darkness, into something that shifted and flowed around you.
Grain.
You'd crashed into a storage silo, dozens of meters deep. The granular mass swallowed you whole, pulling you down like quicksand. Individual kernels flooded your nose and mouth as you gasped in shock. You thrashed, clawing upward, but the grain only cascaded over you in greater volumes, dragging you deeper into its suffocating embrace.
Your lungs burned. Darkness pressed in from all sides. The weight of countless tons of grain bore down on your chest, squeezing, crushing.
This is it, you thought distantly. Death by grain suffocation. What a way to go.
Then came the deafening crash of collapsing grain storage. The entire structure gave way, and a massive wave of cereal swept you out through the ruptured wall, depositing you unceremoniously back into the light of day.
You collapsed onto rough concrete, coughing and retching. Your hands scraped against the uneven floor as you knelt there, drenched in sweat that mixed with grain dust, creating a paste on your skin. Each breath came with painful effort as you expelled kernels from your nose and mouth, spitting and gagging.
Footsteps. Multiple sets, growing closer.
You looked up through watering eyes.
A crowd of workers had gathered, forming a loose semicircle around you. They were bare-chested, their skin darkened by layers of industrial grime and sweat. Rough canvas overalls hung from their hips, and their hands gripped sledgehammers and pickaxes with the casual ease of long familiarity. The smell of unwashed bodies and machine oil rolled off them in waves.
"A thrill-seeking master craftsman?" one voice cut through the murmurs, suspicious and uncertain. "Or a spy for the Tech-guilds?"
Another worker pushed forward, his face deeply lined and weathered. "Stop your nonsense, comrade. Have you ever seen a spy with his arse hanging out for all to see? I think he's one of us... wait." The man's eyes widened. "By the void, look at his teeth! Those are fangs! And his eyes, they're like an animal's! Is this some kind of experiment? Something the Tech-guilds cooked up in their labs?"
You opened your mouth to explain, to defuse the situation before it escalated.
The pickaxe came whistling through the air without warning.
Your expression shifted. Instinct took over. Your hand shot up, fingers wrapping around the pickaxe's handle mid-swing. The impact jarred your arm, but you held firm. In one fluid motion, you wrenched the tool from the attacker's grip, surged to your feet, and drove your boot into the man's midsection.
The worker flew backward with a choked scream, crashing into his fellows. They caught him, but the crowd erupted in gasps and shouts.
You gripped the pickaxe tightly, muscles coiled, ready to bolt. You needed to get out of here, find somewhere to assess the situation properly, figure out where and when you'd landed...
Movement in your peripheral vision.
Something massive, easily three meters tall, dropped from the upper levels of the factory with unnatural silence. The figure was there one moment, visible, and then...
Gone.
Your eyes darted frantically across the factory yard. Nothing. The figure had completely vanished from your field of vision, moving faster than you could track.
Even as you scanned your surroundings, you had lost all trace of the mysterious figure.
Every nerve in your body screamed danger.
The workers around you had gone quiet. They stood with arms crossed over their broad chests, watching you spin in place with expressions that held equal parts amusement and anticipation. They knew something you didn't.
The shadow fell across you from behind.
You started to turn, but it was already too late. The massive figure had emerged from the darkness behind the factory building, approaching in complete silence.
A devastating blow struck the back of your neck.
The world went black.
Consciousness faded.
But you didn't die.
Time passed in a void of nothingness.
Then, gradually, awareness returned. Your eyelids felt like lead as you forced them open. Everything hurt, a dull throb radiating from the base of your skull. You tried to move and found yourself immobilized.
The room around you was small and cluttered, every available surface covered in tools and equipment. Spare parts hung from hooks on the walls. The smell of machine grease and metal shavings filled your nostrils. And you were strapped to a battered metal chair, heavy chains wrapped around your torso and limbs with professional efficiency.
You tested the bonds, pulling with all your strength. The chains barely shifted. Whatever had secured you knew exactly what they were doing.
Directly in front of you, a dark-haired man sat crouched on the floor, shoveling noodles into his mouth from a large, chipped iron bowl held in his hands. Each bite was deliberate, methodical, as if the meal was something to be savored despite its simple nature.
Two massive scythes hung from his waist, each blade easily one and a half meters long. A heavy iron hammer completed the arsenal. The weapons scraped against the concrete floor with each small movement he made, metal grinding against stone.
"Slurp... food is precious on a mining moon like this," the man said without looking up, his voice conversational. He took another bite. "Slurp... so don't judge the workers too harshly for their suspicion. Especially now, in these critical times. They have to be careful. Can't afford mistakes."
You said nothing, watching him warily. His size alone was intimidating, that three-meter frame packed with lean muscle, but it was the casual confidence that made your pulse quicken.
He finished the last of the noodles, tilting the bowl to drain every drop of broth. Then he set it carefully on the ground beside him, treating the simple container with surprising reverence.
The dark-haired man slowly raised his head.
His face was young, almost boyish, with pale skin that seemed out of place on someone so clearly built for violence. But it was his eyes that caught you. They were pure, deep as the void of space, and they fixed on you with penetrating intensity.
"How is Father?" he asked quietly. "How are the other brothers? I thought you wouldn't arrive until after the revolution was finished..."
Your wolf-like eyes widened. You stared at him, recognition dawning like a sunrise.
"...Corax?" The name came out barely above a whisper.
"Some call me that. Others prefer Corvus, or the Deliverer." A bright smile suddenly broke across his pale face, warm and genuine as sunshine. "But I prefer it when they call me 'comrade.' That way, there's no hierarchy between us. No class distinction. We're all just people working toward the same goal."
The smile was so unexpectedly radiant that you found yourself blinking, momentarily disarmed.
You forced yourself to focus, to think tactically. "Dear Comrade Corax," you said, managing a grin despite your predicament, "would you mind releasing me? I'm a bit... disoriented at the moment."
"Hey, brother." Corax tilted his head, still smiling but making no move to stand. "What's your birth order? Maybe we met when we were young, before the scattering..."
You let out a slow breath through your nose. There was no getting around this.
So you told him. You laid out your identity, explained the nature of your time-traveling arrivals in the Warhammer universe, shared your suspicion that you might be the twenty-second Primarch, lost to history for reasons unknown.
But you kept certain things to yourself. The Emperor's eventual fate, the fall of the Imperium, the corruption of several Primarchs to Chaos... those truths remained locked behind your teeth. Some knowledge was too dangerous to share, even with a brother.
"A brother who travels through time..." Corax repeated slowly, his brow furrowing. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, processing the information. "That's..."
You expected him to pause, to take time to digest the implications. To ask more questions.
Instead, Corax exploded into motion.
One moment he was crouching on the ground. The next, he was standing before you, moving so quickly your eyes couldn't track the transition. Before you could even react, one of the scythes at his waist flashed through the air.
The chains binding you shattered with a sharp metallic clatter, broken links scattering across the floor. You could move again, blood rushing back into compressed limbs.
"Come on, stranger," Corax said, his voice warm with genuine friendliness. He extended a hand to help you up. "Let me buy you some noodles. But first, we should probably find you some clothes. Running around naked all the time tends to cause quite a stir among the mining workers, especially the women..."
Corax blinked those pure, dark eyes and flashed you another brilliant smile, his voice soft with amusement.