The world was ending.
Granted, this was not entirely unusual for either Gotrek Gurnisson or Felix Jaeger. The pair had survived collapsing mountains, daemon incursions, the rise of ancient horrors, and one memorable incident involving an angry forest and six hundred gallons of enchanted pine sap.
But this—this was different.
Felix felt the ground heave beneath him as if the world itself were being torn apart. The sky shattered into a thousand violet cracks, each pulsing with eldritch power. An unholy wind shrieked around them like the laughter of mad gods.
"Gotrek!" Felix yelled, clutching his sword as the air warped. "What in all the hells is that?!"
Gotrek spat. "Chaos. Obviously."
The Slayer planted his boots wide as reality folded inward, forming a spiraling vortex of twisting light and shadow. His stump-tight beard whipped in the wind.
"I've seen rifts before," Felix shouted over the roar. "This feels different—wrong!"
"Aye," Gotrek grinned, muscles tensing with anticipation. "Feels like doom."
And then the world unraveled.
The pair were yanked from existence, stretched across madness, flung through a gulf of screaming light. Felix—poet, swordsman, reluctant chronicler of Gotrek's doom—tumbled through dimensions like a leaf in a hurricane.
And then he hit ground. Hard.
Felix groaned, pushing himself upright. The sky overhead was a swirling maelstrom of warp-fire and falling debris. Great starships burned as they plunged through the atmosphere. The air tasted of ozone and despair.
This was not the Old World.
Not even close.
All around him, colossal fortifications—vast trenchworks, adamantine bastions, and mile-high defense lines—shook beneath the bombardment of unimaginable weaponry.
Soldiers in flak armor sprinted past, shouting orders.
"Cadians!" one barked. "Form firing lines! Traitor Astartes incoming!"
Another pointed at Felix. "Civilian? Where in the Throne's name did you come from? Get to cover!"
"I—uh—" Felix began.
Then a shadow fell over him.
Gotrek landed beside him, cracking the ceramite pavement. "This place looks fun."
A towering warrior in baroque, crimson armor—etched with writhing runes—strode through the smoke. His helmet was shaped like a grinning skull. A daemon blade pulsed in his gauntlet.
"A Chaos Champion," Felix choked. "But…twisted. Like nothing back home."
The champion laughed metallically. "More souls for the Warmaster."
Gotrek hefted his rune axe.
"Aye. Come get one."
The two met with earth-shattering force.
Gotrek's axe clove through the traitor's guard, shearing through corrupted ceramite. Warp-fire trailed from the champion's blade as he countered, but Gotrek only roared with laughter, taking the blow on his shoulder as if it were a friendly tap.
Felix leapt in, slicing across the traitor's joints. The champion reeled—
Gotrek's axe split him clean in two.
Warp-energy screamed and dispersed.
Felix blinked. "These…people…fight wars like this every day?"
"Aye," Gotrek grunted, wiping daemonic gore from his face. "I like it here."
Explosions shook the ground. A shockwave flattened a distant fortress. Great shards of the sky—actual sky—were peeling away into the warp. The planet was dying.
Cadian regiments withdrew in organized desperation, firing at an advancing tide of heretics, mutants, and armored giants covered in screaming sigils.
And alongside them marched towering soldiers clad in white armor marked with a black cross—Stoic, disciplined, unstoppable.
Felix stared. "Emperor's teeth…who are they?"
A nearby Guardsman answered without looking, too busy firing his lasgun.
"The Black Templars, kid! Best Emperor-damned Astartes we've got!"
Gotrek narrowed his eyes. "Good. They better stay out of my way."
One Templar halted before them, towering over even Gotrek. His voice boomed like a cathedral collapsing.
"You are unknown combatants. And yet you bleed the enemy. State your allegiance."
"My axe belongs to me," Gotrek said flatly. "But I'll kill any of those," he pointed at the incoming warp-spawn, "for free."
The Templar paused. "Acceptable."
Felix sputtered. "Wait—we're fighting with them?!"
"Unless you've got a better idea," Gotrek grinned, charging.
As Cadia's final fortress—the Pylons—collapsed under the weight of the Black Legion's assault, something enormous loomed overhead: a planet-sized, warp-fused monstrosity, its surface a screaming face of iron and flame.
The Planet Killer.
Felix's heart nearly stopped. "Gotrek…we can't fight that."
"Aye," Gotrek shrugged, shouldering his axe. "But we can kill what falls out of it."
The sky vomited daemons and traitor Astartes as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Black Templars fought in resolute silence. Cadians fought because they had no other choice.
And Gotrek…fought because he lived for moments like these.
He carved a path of corpses through berserkers, plague-ridden monsters, and daemonic beasts whose names could only be whispered in nightmares.
Felix fought at his side, blade flashing silver in the warp-tainted light, refusing—again—to let Gotrek die alone.
But the planet cracked.
The pylons buckled.
Felix felt the world give way beneath him.
"Gotrek!" he shouted as the ground split open.
The Slayer grinned at the apocalypse.
"Finally…a worthy doom."
A blast of warp-light swallowed them whole.
Felix awoke to darkness.
To silence.
To a weightless void.
"Not dead," he muttered. "Probably worse."
A familiar voice rumbled beside him.
"Quiet, manling. I think we're falling again."
Felix blinked.
"…falling into what?"
Gotrek's grin glowed faintly in the darkness.
"My doom, if we're lucky."
The void roared.
And reality cracked open once more.
Granted, this was not entirely unusual for either Gotrek Gurnisson or Felix Jaeger. The pair had survived collapsing mountains, daemon incursions, the rise of ancient horrors, and one memorable incident involving an angry forest and six hundred gallons of enchanted pine sap.
But this—this was different.
Felix felt the ground heave beneath him as if the world itself were being torn apart. The sky shattered into a thousand violet cracks, each pulsing with eldritch power. An unholy wind shrieked around them like the laughter of mad gods.
"Gotrek!" Felix yelled, clutching his sword as the air warped. "What in all the hells is that?!"
Gotrek spat. "Chaos. Obviously."
The Slayer planted his boots wide as reality folded inward, forming a spiraling vortex of twisting light and shadow. His stump-tight beard whipped in the wind.
"I've seen rifts before," Felix shouted over the roar. "This feels different—wrong!"
"Aye," Gotrek grinned, muscles tensing with anticipation. "Feels like doom."
And then the world unraveled.
The pair were yanked from existence, stretched across madness, flung through a gulf of screaming light. Felix—poet, swordsman, reluctant chronicler of Gotrek's doom—tumbled through dimensions like a leaf in a hurricane.
And then he hit ground. Hard.
Felix groaned, pushing himself upright. The sky overhead was a swirling maelstrom of warp-fire and falling debris. Great starships burned as they plunged through the atmosphere. The air tasted of ozone and despair.
This was not the Old World.
Not even close.
All around him, colossal fortifications—vast trenchworks, adamantine bastions, and mile-high defense lines—shook beneath the bombardment of unimaginable weaponry.
Soldiers in flak armor sprinted past, shouting orders.
"Cadians!" one barked. "Form firing lines! Traitor Astartes incoming!"
Another pointed at Felix. "Civilian? Where in the Throne's name did you come from? Get to cover!"
"I—uh—" Felix began.
Then a shadow fell over him.
Gotrek landed beside him, cracking the ceramite pavement. "This place looks fun."
A towering warrior in baroque, crimson armor—etched with writhing runes—strode through the smoke. His helmet was shaped like a grinning skull. A daemon blade pulsed in his gauntlet.
"A Chaos Champion," Felix choked. "But…twisted. Like nothing back home."
The champion laughed metallically. "More souls for the Warmaster."
Gotrek hefted his rune axe.
"Aye. Come get one."
The two met with earth-shattering force.
Gotrek's axe clove through the traitor's guard, shearing through corrupted ceramite. Warp-fire trailed from the champion's blade as he countered, but Gotrek only roared with laughter, taking the blow on his shoulder as if it were a friendly tap.
Felix leapt in, slicing across the traitor's joints. The champion reeled—
Gotrek's axe split him clean in two.
Warp-energy screamed and dispersed.
Felix blinked. "These…people…fight wars like this every day?"
"Aye," Gotrek grunted, wiping daemonic gore from his face. "I like it here."
Explosions shook the ground. A shockwave flattened a distant fortress. Great shards of the sky—actual sky—were peeling away into the warp. The planet was dying.
Cadian regiments withdrew in organized desperation, firing at an advancing tide of heretics, mutants, and armored giants covered in screaming sigils.
And alongside them marched towering soldiers clad in white armor marked with a black cross—Stoic, disciplined, unstoppable.
Felix stared. "Emperor's teeth…who are they?"
A nearby Guardsman answered without looking, too busy firing his lasgun.
"The Black Templars, kid! Best Emperor-damned Astartes we've got!"
Gotrek narrowed his eyes. "Good. They better stay out of my way."
One Templar halted before them, towering over even Gotrek. His voice boomed like a cathedral collapsing.
"You are unknown combatants. And yet you bleed the enemy. State your allegiance."
"My axe belongs to me," Gotrek said flatly. "But I'll kill any of those," he pointed at the incoming warp-spawn, "for free."
The Templar paused. "Acceptable."
Felix sputtered. "Wait—we're fighting with them?!"
"Unless you've got a better idea," Gotrek grinned, charging.
As Cadia's final fortress—the Pylons—collapsed under the weight of the Black Legion's assault, something enormous loomed overhead: a planet-sized, warp-fused monstrosity, its surface a screaming face of iron and flame.
The Planet Killer.
Felix's heart nearly stopped. "Gotrek…we can't fight that."
"Aye," Gotrek shrugged, shouldering his axe. "But we can kill what falls out of it."
The sky vomited daemons and traitor Astartes as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Black Templars fought in resolute silence. Cadians fought because they had no other choice.
And Gotrek…fought because he lived for moments like these.
He carved a path of corpses through berserkers, plague-ridden monsters, and daemonic beasts whose names could only be whispered in nightmares.
Felix fought at his side, blade flashing silver in the warp-tainted light, refusing—again—to let Gotrek die alone.
But the planet cracked.
The pylons buckled.
Felix felt the world give way beneath him.
"Gotrek!" he shouted as the ground split open.
The Slayer grinned at the apocalypse.
"Finally…a worthy doom."
A blast of warp-light swallowed them whole.
Felix awoke to darkness.
To silence.
To a weightless void.
"Not dead," he muttered. "Probably worse."
A familiar voice rumbled beside him.
"Quiet, manling. I think we're falling again."
Felix blinked.
"…falling into what?"
Gotrek's grin glowed faintly in the darkness.
"My doom, if we're lucky."
The void roared.
And reality cracked open once more.
