Chapter 2: Facing the Defense Together as Brothers

Chop, and then chop again!

Heretics must be chopped, xenos must be chopped, demons—where are the demons? Why have they vanished?

I don’t care what you are, I’ll chop and chop and chop! Not a single loss, every two is a profit. One by one, you monsters unworthy of being called human, I’ll send you all down below!

Immersed in the relentless rhythm of victory, Arthur listened to the sound of the Disintegration Field tearing through flesh and bone. Though a part of him still felt a trace of horror and revulsion, he was not truly afraid or anxious; in fact, he found a strange solace in mindless slaughter.

There was no need to ponder a nebulous future, nor to dwell on the terror of the present. All he had to do was cut down these abominations, with blade and shield tearing a savage path through the writhing masses of blood and flesh.

In this moment, he was the master of everything around him.

Suddenly, he could understand the mindset of Greenskins and devotees of Khorne. In this universe, to be able to kill with fervor and joy—was that not a kind of blessing?

Arthur didn’t even bother to question where his expert combat skills came from. He simply focused on the enemies before him. His seamless swordplay, blending attack and defense, flowed ever more freely through the narrow corridor. The ever-increasing numbers in his field of vision, rising with every kill, felt almost considerate.

Have I really cut down this many?

A fleeting doubt quickly vanished as his blade, weaving like art among the enemy ranks, suddenly halted in midair. Arthur was forced to confront a new problem.

A stranger appeared before him.

He was a Space Marine clad in masterfully crafted blue power armor, standing as tall as Arthur himself, wielding a multi-barreled melta gun connected to an ammunition pack on his back. An iron halo, inlaid with the Ω insignia, gleamed brightly atop his power pack in the dim corridor.

At this moment, the Marine raised one hand in a defensive stance. Arthur’s blade, its Disintegration Field flickering with turbulent blue light, hovered a mere centimeter from the armored glove, gently scraping the painted surface.

...

The two men locked eyes.

Bang!

A surge of molten metal erupted from the melta, clearing a wide swath of the corridor.

The power sword grazed the iron halo. With a flash, a Chaos sorcerer wielding foul magic was pinned to the wall. Arthur lifted his shield, slashing as he tore through the sorcerer’s body and cleaved a Genestealer in half.

Clang!

Ceramite met ceramite as the two stood back-to-back.

“Arthur?”

The Ultramarine spoke in the language of the Dragon’s Ancient Empire, snapping Arthur out of his battle-driven trance.

Arthur’s enhanced mind processed a flurry of thoughts in seconds. He recalled the equipment of the Marine behind him, how he had blocked a cultist’s leaping strike with his shield, the shockwave sending several mortals reeling in terror. Arthur ventured a guess.

“Romulus?”

Romulus—Arthur’s old comrade in arms, from Darktide to Space Marine II, from the Old World to Warhammer 40,000. They had known each other since childhood.

In-game, Romulus’s preferred color scheme was exactly this one.

“Yes,” the Ultramarine replied softly. He tapped a few controls on his arm, projecting a 3D map into Arthur’s field of vision.

“You lead the way. I’ll cover. Go straight down the corridor, and mind you don’t fall to the lower level.”

“Alright.”

Both of them, well aware of the nature of this universe, tacitly avoided using real names. Arthur strode forward.

Romulus casually tossed aside the multi-melta. When he raised his hand again, he was wielding a heavy bolter.

“Did you get blessed by a Chaos God or something?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask as Romulus’s precision fire thudded past him into the melee.

Anyone familiar with Warhammer knew that pulling weapons out of thin air reeked of Vashtorr or some other Chaos entity’s handiwork. Since when did Space Marines switch arms like this?

“Blessed?” Romulus chuckled. “You can buy them for thirty points. You should try it.”

“Huh?”

Bullets came in a stream. Arthur frowned, raising his shield to protect Romulus behind him.

“Haven’t you noticed your anomalies?” Romulus tossed an armor-piercing grenade, silencing the machine gunner entrenched ahead, then continued. “A safe zone in the Warp, numbers in your vision that increase as you slay sentient beings, and you haven’t noticed the demons you kill are gone for good?”

Arthur froze. Now that he thought of it, after he’d slain a few demons at the start, only xenos and cultists had surrounded him since. The demons seemed to be avoiding him entirely.

It’s common knowledge that demons exist in the Warp; aside from devouring one another, there’s almost no way to truly kill a demon, and nothing but death can make one fear.

“Uh.” The two pressed onward, a somewhat awkward expression flickering across Arthur’s face beneath his helmet.

“I got carried away chopping things up. I figured if I ended up in this hellhole, I might as well drag a few down with me. You know, if someone can cross into the Warhammer universe and not break down crying, that’s already a testament to strong nerves.”

He explained his actions, somewhat embarrassed, insisting it wasn’t his fault.

“Khorne would surely like you,” Romulus sighed, then explained further. “I haven’t figured it all out yet, but here’s what I know: We have a domain in the Warp, like a safe house. Killing sentient beings increases our power, shown as numbers in our minds. We can spend these points to affect reality, like conjuring objects out of thin air.”

“Are we becoming Warp demons ourselves?” Arthur asked, cleaving an Ork climbing from below, watching his points tick upward with a twitch of his eye.

He couldn’t dismiss his suspicion. All he knew was that he’d transmigrated, landed as a fallen angel but at least as a Space Marine, and now seemed to have some kind of cheat. But knowing the nature of the Warp, this so-called cheat might very well be tied to the malevolent denizens of the Immaterium. If he grew too hopeful, he’d be a joke the moment he ran into a Pariah and found his cheat cut off.

He was even starting to suspect his old friend was actually a demon in disguise, sent to guide him toward some sinister purpose.

Yes, such things were not unheard of.

His grip on his sword tightened as Arthur grew more wary of the comrade behind him.

To think he could so readily accept such carnage right after transmigrating, cutting down monsters without revulsion—this, too, was suspicious. He had to be cautious.

“Who knows? We’ll have to wait until we’re out of the Warp to be sure,” Romulus shook his head. Rationally, he doubted that simply killing a few people could earn one a Space Marine’s body—none of the Four Gods were that generous, or the galaxy would already be theirs.

But now was not the time for such discussions.