Chapter Text
The man, the myth, the legend—Duke Nukem himself strutted through the multiversal corridor with his signature swagger, sunglasses reflecting the cosmic light that emanated from the floor beneath them. Stars themselves formed the pathway, swirling galaxies and nebulae visible with each footstep, stretching into infinity. Beside Duke walked a shorter, hooded figure, his shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear inside the dark fabric that concealed most of his features.
"Quite the fucking spectacle, isn't it?" Duke's voice boomed, gesturing broadly at the countless doors lining both sides of the corridor. Each portal shimmered with scenes from different realities—some peaceful, some engulfed in war, others downright bizarre. "Been doing this shit for fifteen years and it still gets my dick hard every time I walk through."
They passed fellow Company agents, some alone and others accompanied by their waifus. A statuesque woman in black leather with guns strapped to her stiletto heels walked arm-in-arm with a stern-faced man in a tactical suit. Nearby, a muscular woman in a blue qipao practiced kicks while her contractor watched admiringly. Stranger still was the orange bandicoot spinning in circles around a laughing agent, and further down, a spiky-haired blond man with an impossibly large sword rested against a wall, looking bored as his contractor filled out paperwork on a holographic tablet.
Duke took out a glowing blue file from inside his jacket, the documents within seemingly shifting and rearranging themselves as he opened it. "Says here you're... Agent L, is that right?" he asked, eyes scanning the details. "Not anymore. Tell me what your name is, kid."
"Agent—" the hooded figure began, his voice soft and uncertain.
"No, no," Duke cut him off with an impatient wave. "What name were you given for this mission? The one in the file. The one that matters."
The figure hesitated, then replied quietly, "Aurelian."
"That's right," Duke nodded, slapping the file closed with a sound like thunder. "Aurelian. That's your fucking name now. Forget whatever the hell you were before. The Company gave you a second chance, and a sweet-ass name to boot. Most people get stuck with alphanumeric bullshit."
Duke casually tossed the file into the air where it dissolved into particles of light. "I'll be your handler since this is your first rodeo. The big bosses upstairs thought you needed someone experienced to keep your ass alive. You excited?" His grin exuded confidence, clearly expecting an affirmative response.
The newly christened Aurelian didn't nod. Instead, he pulled his hood back slightly, revealing dark skin and closely-cropped hair, his eyes downcast. "I was... happier in the Company library. The Librarian position suited me. All those books from across the multiverse—histories that never happened, sciences beyond comprehension. I was learning so much."
"Yeah, well, those were the fucking breaks, kid," Duke laughed, slapping Aurelian's back hard enough to make him stumble forward. "Look, I get it. When the Company picks up a soul from Earth after death, they give you time to adjust. But that grace period is over. The bosses didn't build this whole interdimensional empire because they're charitable. They thrive on entertainment and new experiences—and they sure as shit won't get any watching you jerk off to dusty tomes and shy away from waifus."
Aurelian swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Duke's words. "But I didn't even get to choose the world I was going to," he protested, his voice gaining a hint of desperation. "Shouldn't I at least have some say in my first assignment?"
"Listen here, bookworm," Duke said, stopping in his tracks to stare Aurelian down. "You've been sitting on your ass in that library for five fucking years since the Company took you in. Five. Years." He held up a hand, fingers splayed for emphasis. "If the bosses weren't ROBs with billions of schemes running simultaneously, if they hadn't actually noticed one of their millions of agents slacking off in a goddamn reading nook, I'm pretty sure you would've stayed there until the stars went out."
Aurelian flinched but stood his ground. "I wasn't slacking. I was learning, studying the multiverse, preparing myself—"
"Save it," Duke cut him off, resuming his stride down the cosmic corridor. "Your ROB sponsor took those five years of 'preparation' into account when choosing your first mission. Consider it making up for lost time." His boots left starry footprints that faded moments after he passed.
"I understand that much," Aurelian conceded, jogging to catch up. "But why Warhammer 40K? For fuck's sake, Duke—Warhammer Fantasy would have been more merciful! At least there I wouldn't have to worry about the fucking Tyranids eating my soul or Chaos gods turning my ass inside out!"
Duke snorted, swiping his hand through the air to materialize Aurelian's file again, this time as a holographic display. He flipped through pages of data with practiced ease. "And fantasy didn't have those same gods? You'll be fine, especially since you splurged your points on double Talents and Defense perks from the catalog. Smart choices, by the way—most rookies blow it all on fancy weapons they don't know how to use."
"That doesn't matter," Aurelian insisted, his voice rising with genuine fear. "The Warhammer 40K universe is a goddamn deathtrap! Even with perks, the average lifespan of a human can be measured in minutes depending on where you drop. I'm not Cherico or Leecifer—I can't pull a victory out of my ass from nowhere!"
Duke's laughter echoed through the corridor, drawing glances from passing agents. "You should thank your lucky stars you're not Cherico or Leecifer," he said, wiping an imaginary tear from beneath his sunglasses. "Their originals retired millennia ago, but their copies are still working for slutlife." He spat the last word with such disgust that a globule of his saliva transformed into a miniature supernova before dissipating.
"Slutlife? The competitor?" Aurelian asked, momentarily distracted from his impending doom.
"If you can call them that," Duke growled. "For all their agent classes and fucked up paperwork and fucking each other over, they still come to the Company hat in hand whenever they need world engines or powerful enchantments to put in their expensive catalogs." He dismissed the holographic file with a flick of his wrist. "Their whole operation is a cosmic joke."
Aurelian's hands gestured wildly as he tried to make Duke understand the magnitude of what was being asked of him. "Have you ever actually read the mission reports from Warhammer 40K? Out of thousands of Company agents who've tried to 'win' that universe, only thirty have fucking succeeded!" His voice cracked with stress. "And every single one of them had an army of waifus and bros from across the multiverse at their disposal. Eldritch horrors, superheroes, demigods—they needed all of them just to survive!"
Duke took a cigar from his breast pocket, biting off the end and spitting it into the cosmic void where it transformed into a tiny shooting star. He snapped his fingers, summoning a small flame that danced on his thumb, and lit the cigar with practiced ease. Smoke curled upward, forming intricate patterns of skulls and eagles before dissipating.
"Kid, you need to learn how to read between the lines," Duke said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that smelled vaguely of gunpowder and whiskey. He flipped another page in the holographic file. "Your success parameters aren't the same as theirs. Those other agents were playing on extreme difficulty."
"And I'm not?" Aurelian countered, gesturing to the file. "I'm going in as a single human being into the most grimdark universe in the catalog! Even with my perks, I'll be lucky to last a week before being turned into biomass for the Tyranids or sacrificed to some backwater planet's machine god!"
Duke stopped scrolling through the file and looked up, his sunglasses sliding down his nose just enough to reveal piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow with an unnatural light. "Not human."
Aurelian blinked. "What?"
"You're not going in as a human," Duke repeated, tapping a specific line in the file. The holographic text expanded, revealing detailed specifications that made Aurelian's mouth fall open. "Says right here, you're being inserted as one of the lost Primarchs. The Second, to be exact."
"That's... that's impossible," Aurelian whispered, eyes wide as he stared at the specifications. "The Second and Eleventh Primarchs are blank slates in the lore. Their records were expunged. Nobody knows—"
"Exactly," Duke interrupted, taking another long drag from his cigar. "Blank fucking slate. Perfect canvas for your ROB sponsor to work with. And your mission isn't to 'win' the setting, genius. It's to make changes that create a less shitty version of 40K. Give humanity a fighting chance by the 41st millennium instead of the slow death spiral it's caught in."
Aurelian leaned against the corridor wall, suddenly feeling lightheaded. The implications were staggering. A Primarch—one of the Emperor's twenty gene-crafted demigod sons, each designed to lead humanity's conquest of the stars. "But the lost Primarchs were erased from history for a reason. What if there's something wrong with me? What if I'm innately flawed or corrupted?"
Duke chuckled, flicking ash that transformed into a miniature nebula before fading away. "With all your defense perks? unlikely. Plus, your ROB sponsor thought of that too. They're giving you a head start—a Warp-protected world with some advantages you'll discover when you arrive. Daemons and Chaos won't be a problem until you're ready to face them." He swiped to another page in the file. "Plus, there are Warp storms throughout the immediate sector where your planet is located. The Emperor won't find you as quickly as he found the others."
"Giving me time for what?" Aurelian asked, his scholar's mind already whirring with possibilities.
Duke pointed to three empty spaces in the holographic file, each pulsing with a gentle blue light. "You get to choose three Primarch fates to change. Your ROB sponsor will create... let's call it 'interference'... ensuring the Emperor doesn't find them first. You'll get to them before daddy dearest and potentially alter the course of the Heresy."
Aurelian's breath caught in his throat. "Change the Heresy? That's... that would rewrite everything. The entire grimdark future hinges on those events."
"That's the fucking point," Duke said, exhaling a perfect smoke ring that transformed into the shape of the eight-pointed star of Chaos before he waved it away with disgust. "Look, kid, I don't pretend to understand all the political bullshit in that universe, but I know this: the ROBs didn't pick you because you were a failure. No agent of the company ever is, even when they fail."
Aurelian stared at the file, his mind racing through the complex web of Warhammer 40K lore—endless wars, cosmic horrors, and the grim tragedy of the Primarchs. The weight of the decision pressed down on him like a physical force. Each Primarch had their own tragic arc, their own fatal flaws that led half of them to betray the Emperor and plunge the galaxy into ten thousand years of darkness.
"Don't think too fucking deep about it," Duke said, noticing Aurelian's furrowed brow. He took another drag of his cigar, the smoke forming tiny Imperial Aquilas that dissolved into the cosmic void. "Just go with your gut. Which of those demigod sons of bitches would've done better staying on daddy's side? Which ones got screwed by circumstance rather than being irredeemable assholes from the start?"
"You make it sound so simple," Aurelian muttered, shaking his head. "Each Primarch's fall was a series of betrayal, manipulation, and personal weakness. Chaos didn't just corrupt them—it exploited existing fractures in their psyches, wounds inflicted by the damn Emperor himself in many cases."
Duke rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, you're overthinking this shit. We don't have all fucking day—there's a warp storm beginning to form that'll give you cover when you land. So hurry up and pick your space brothers to save before the window closes."
Aurelian sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping under the cosmic burden. After several moments of contemplative silence, he straightened his back and faced Duke.
"Angron," he said firmly. "The Butcher's Nails turned him into a weapon rather than a leader. Without those archeotech implants destroying his mind, he could have been one of the greatest Primarchs—compassionate toward the weak, utterly loyal to those who earned his respect."
Duke nodded and scribbled something in the file with a pen that leaked ink like liquid starlight. "One down. Next?"
"Konrad Curze," Aurelian continued, his voice growing more confident. "His precognitive abilities showed him only the worst possible futures, driving him to madness. He believed in justice but became its darkest perversion. With guidance—with someone who understands his visions but can show him alternatives—he could be redeemed."
"The fucking Batman knockoff, got it," Duke muttered as he wrote. "That's two. One more for your rescue list."
Aurelian didn't hesitate. "Mortarion. His hatred for tyrants and witches made him an easy target for Nurgle. He was betrayed by his father then manipulated by Horus into seeing the Emperor as just another tyrant, not to mention that damned lieutenant of his sending them straight into the warp and nurgles arms His Legion was always loyal to a fault—they just followed his lead into damnation."
Duke finished writing and snapped the file shut with a sound like thunder. "Interesting choices. Not Magnus? Most Company agents would save the big red nerd first, given how his story played out."
"Magnus was always destined to fall," Aurelian replied, shaking his head. "His hubris, his willingness to break any rule for knowledge—those aren't flaws you can simply remove. They're fundamental to who he is. Even knowing the risks, he would make the same choices again."
With a flourish, Duke finalized the paperwork, causing the holographic display to shimmer with confirmation sigils. "There. Your three saved brothers. I hope they're fucking worth it."
"Can't I save them all?" Aurelian asked, his scholar's mind already plotting potential timelines and interventions. "If I could reach each Primarch before their breaking points—"
"Not a chance," Duke shrugged, cutting him off. "After you've secured these three, the Emperor will have already found the rest and launched the Great Crusade and will finally find you four. The timeline's got to maintain some fucking coherence, kid. Whether you can change the others' fates will depend on timing and whether you're in the right place at the right time. The further things diverge from the original timeline, the harder it gets to predict what'll happen next."
The corridor around them seemed to pulse, stars dimming slightly as if responding to the weight of their conversation. Duke pointed to a single blank spot on the holographic form that pulsed with an eerie blue light.
"What's that for?" Aurelian asked, peering at the empty field.
Duke's expression grew uncharacteristically solemn. "That, my friend, is your ace in the hole. Even if the Heresy still goes down—even with your three rescued brothers fighting for daddy—the aftermath is still a shitstorm. Many of the loyalist Primarchs end up dead like Ferrus Manus and Sanguinius, or go missing in action like Vulkan and Corvus Corax."
"I don't understand," Aurelian said, though the cold knot forming in his stomach suggested otherwise.
"Lore-wise, Guilliman and Lion El'Jonson eventually return if they share the fates of their canon counterparts," Duke explained, his voice unusually gentle. "But this choice"—he tapped the empty field—"ensures that one loyalist Primarch is still around when the aftershocks of the Heresy finally settle. One beacon of hope in the grimdark future. Choose carefully."
Silence stretched between them as Aurelian contemplated the implications. The cosmic corridor seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his decision. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Sanguinius."
Duke's eyebrows shot up above his sunglasses. "You sure about that? According to Company records, no matter how many times the lore gets retconned in the main earth timeline by those GW writers, Sanguinius always dies facing Horus. It's his defining moment—breaking the Warmaster's armor before falling, buying the Emperor time to arrive." He leaned forward, his intense gaze boring into Aurelian. "If ROB makes it so he isn't there fighting Horus, then who takes his place?"
Aurelian met Duke's stare unflinchingly. "Me."
The single word hung in the air between them like a suspended drop of blood.
"I'll take his place on the Vengeful Spirit," Aurelian continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. "If it gives the Imperium the Golden Angel to lead them through forty thousand years of darkness, then it should be me on that bridge facing Horus."
Duke was silent, his face unreadable behind those perpetual sunglasses. Then, without warning, he smacked Aurelian hard on the back, nearly sending the soon-to-be Primarch sprawling.
"You've got some serious fucking balls, kid," he boomed, his laughter echoing through the corridor. "Most agents I've handled would be looking for ways to save their own ass, not volunteering for a suicide mission against the goddamn Warmaster!"
"Is it really suicide though?" Aurelian asked, rubbing his shoulder where Duke had slapped him. "I'll be a Primarch with Company perks. Maybe I can actually win that fight."
Duke's laughter cut off abruptly. "Don't get cocky. Horus at that point was jacked up on the power of all four Chaos Gods. Even with your perks, facing him would be like playing Russian roulette with five bullets in the chamber." He shook his head, a newfound respect in his demeanor. "But I respect the plan. The Angel as a beacon of hope for the Imperium... that could change everything."
"That's the point, isn't it?" Aurelian said quietly. "To make changes that create a less shitty version of 40K."
Duke nodded slowly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a golden coin. He flipped it to Aurelian, who caught it reflexively. Looking down, he saw it bore the image of a two-headed Imperial Aquila.
"What's this for?" he asked, turning the coin over in his palm.
"Insurance," Duke replied with a wink. "When the time comes—if the time comes—and you're standing on that bridge facing Horus, flip it. Heads, you kick his ass. Tails..." He grinned wickedly. "Well, let's just say my ROB friends might intervene in unexpected ways."
Duke checked his watch, the face of which seemed to display not just time but various multiversal coordinates and probability streams. "We're cutting it close," he muttered, swiping a finger across the display. "But I see you've still got about 900 points left after all your choices. That's plenty for a decent starting roster."
"Starting roster?" Aurelian asked, brow furrowed.
"Your waifus, kid!" Duke exclaimed, materializing a holographic catalog that expanded into a three-dimensional display of countless women from across the multiverse. Images and profiles scrolled past—warriors, sorceresses, scientists, goddesses, all categorized by power level, personality type, and compatibility ratings. "We've still got time to pick at least two or three top-tier companions to help you survive that hellhole. Maybe someone with healing abilities, definitely a fighter..."
Aurelian held up his hand firmly. "I'm not picking any waifus."
Duke's fingers froze mid-swipe, the catalog suspended between them. "Come again?"
"I said I'm not taking any waifus with me," Aurelian repeated, his voice steady and resolute.
Duke stared at him over the rim of his sunglasses, his piercing blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "Oh, I get it. You want to choose them after you land? Get a feel for your surroundings first? Not a bad strategy, although—"
"No, Duke," Aurelian interrupted, shaking his head. "I'm not choosing waifus at all. Not now, not later."
"What the actual fuck?" Duke's voice echoed through the corridor, startling a passing agent who clutched their blue-haired catgirl waifu protectively. The holographic catalog vanished as Duke threw his hands up in exasperation. "Jesus Christ, I didn't take you for one of those 'no slavery' types. Is that what this is about?"
Aurelian crossed his arms. "I didn't say anything about slavery."
"Well good, because waifus aren't fucking slaves!" Duke jabbed a finger into Aurelian's chest. "Literally most of their originals were saved from dying universes or fate-worse-than-death scenarios. Their copies WANT to be contracted to agents. I know you understand the multiverse concept, bookworm—there are trillions of versions of these ladies. The Company makes damn sure to choose the ones who want a partner."
"Like how you 'chose' me?" Aurelian asked pointedly.
Duke ignored the barb and continued, "We're not Slutlife who stamps every unwilling woman then makes them want it after years of brainwashing. That's not how we operate."
"I've read the fine print in the Company's contracts, Duke," Aurelian said quietly. "I spent five years in the library, remember? Interest induced by a Company stamp isn't love. It's manufactured attraction at best, Stockholm syndrome at worst."
Duke pulled out the small ink stamp from his pocket—the binding tool that linked waifus to their contractors. The device gleamed with an unnatural light, the Company's logo etched into its surface. "The stamp is literally just to keep them from betraying you until—"
"—until they're completely loyal to me," Aurelian finished for him. "Which implies they wouldn't want to be there in the first place if they needed magical binding to ensure loyalty."
Duke groaned, running a hand down his face. "Christ on a fucking stick. I should have taken you to the 'Waifus Love You' seminar by Tifa and Aerith before this mission. They explain this way better than I can." He tucked the stamp back into his pocket. "Look, the stamp only initiates the contract. It's like... think of it as cosmic matchmaking. The Company identifies compatible souls across the multiverse, and the stamp just establishes the connection."
"Then why not just let people meet naturally?" Aurelian challenged. "If there's such compatible souls out there, let them find each other without magical coercion."
"Because we don't have ten thousand fucking years for you to play the dating game while the entire Imperium goes to shit!" Duke snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Fine. Have it your way. You'll still have your points when you inevitably realize that being a lone Primarch in that hellhole isn't sustainable. The catalog will be there when you need it."
Aurelian's expression softened slightly. "If I want a woman in my life, Duke, I want her to love me first—not because some magic ink told her to."
Duke snorted and reached for a doorknob that seemed to materialize out of the cosmic void itself. As he turned it, reality beyond the door shifted and swirled, revealing glimpses of a rugged, mountainous landscape under an alien sky. "You wouldn't be saying that if Lady and Trish from Devil May Cry told you they wanted to share you in bed," he muttered. "Trust me, I've been there. Best fucking weekend of my life."
Despite the tension, Aurelian couldn't help but crack a small smile. "I'm sure it was."
The door fully opened, and a rush of cool, alien air swept through the corridor. Duke's expression softened just a fraction as he extended his hand. "Good luck out there, Primarch Aurelian. Don't get yourself killed before I check in." When Aurelian took his hand, Duke pulled him into an unexpected, bone-crushing hug. "Seriously, kid. The universe you're heading into... it's not kind. But maybe you can make it a little less shitty."
"I'll do my best," Aurelian promised.
Duke stepped back, his usual cocky grin returning. "I'll keep in touch through the neural link. And when you're ready to admit I was right about the waifus, just give a shout." Before Aurelian could respond, Duke placed a hand on his back and gave him a firm shove through the doorway. "May you have lots of waifus and children!"
Aurelian's surprised protest echoed as he fell through the portal, the cosmic corridor and Duke's laughter fading behind him as he plunged toward his new life in the grim darkness of the far future.
Aurelian's consciousness stirred slowly, as if emerging from the depths of an endless ocean. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy as they fluttered open, revealing a world of shimmering gold. He was suspended in a luminous amber liquid that should have burned his lungs—yet he felt no urge to breathe, no panic, only a profound sense of... belonging.
Where am I? The thought drifted lazily through his mind before information began flooding his consciousness in waves. Knowledge, memories, purpose—all crashing against the shores of his awareness. He was an agent, a man named L…..who had agreed to a mission. He was also... more.
"I am Aurelian," he whispered, his voice distorted by the viscous fluid surrounding him. "Primarch. Son of the Emperor." The contradiction should have been jarring, yet the two identities merged seamlessly in his mind, like tributaries joining to form a mighty river. The Emperor had crafted him with purpose, Duke had sent him with a mission. Both were true, both were him.
Beyond the curved walls of his gestation pod, the Warp churned and roiled—a psychedelic maelstrom of impossible colors and tortured geometries. Predatory entities clawed at his vessel, their faces contorted with hatred and hunger. Daemons, he recognized, creatures of pure malevolence born from the darkest corners of mortal consciousness. One particularly massive horror, a writhing mass of tentacles and gnashing teeth, slammed against the pod's exterior.
The moment its flesh touched the gleaming surface, golden light flared from intricate patterns etched into the pod's hull. The daemon shrieked—a sound that existed beyond physical hearing—as its substance unraveled like thread pulled from a sweater. The Enuncian symbols pulsed with cosmic authority, not merely banishing the creature but erasing it from existence. Throughout the Immaterium, the death-scream echoed, causing lesser entities to flee in terror.
"Interesting," Aurelian murmured, watching the display with analytical detachment. "The Emperor's work, or Duke's insurance policy?"
A violent lurch interrupted his musings as the pod suddenly burst through the membrane separating the Warp from realspace. The transition was jarring—one moment surrounded by chaos, the next drifting amid the cold, beautiful clarity of stars. Behind his vessel, the tear in reality sealed itself, accompanied by the distant, rage-filled howls of thwarted daemons.
The pod's systems hummed to life, plotting a trajectory toward a blue-green orb hanging in the void. Aurelian felt a strange pull toward this world—a connection he couldn't explain but instinctively trusted. As gravity claimed his vessel, flames licked the exterior while atmospheric entry commenced. The pod's velocity was catastrophic, descending like a meteor toward the planet's verdant surface.
"This is going to hurt," he predicted calmly, bracing himself against the interior walls. The golden fluid began draining away, leaving him shivering slightly as the air touched his skin for the first time. With the final impact approaching, Aurelian closed his eyes, his enhanced physiology already preparing for the trauma.
The crash was deafening—a cacophony of tortured metal and pulverized earth. When consciousness returned, Aurelian found himself lying in a crumpled heap inside the damaged pod. Pain radiated through his body, but even as he registered it, he could feel his accelerated healing already repairing the damage. A hissing sound preceded the pod's hatch blowing outward, revealing a slice of blue sky.
Climbing out on unsteady legs, Aurelian surveyed his surroundings. He was in the center of a modest crater, smoking earth radiating outward from his landing site. Beyond the impact zone stretched a pristine forest of ancient trees with massive trunks and verdant canopies unlike anything he'd seen before. The air—Emperor's blood—the air was something else entirely. Each breath filled his lungs with crispness that made Terra's atmosphere seem like toxic waste by comparison.
"Breathable," he assessed, feeling his enhanced senses cataloging the chemical composition automatically. "No pollutants, high oxygen content, trace elements I can't even identify." Something about this place resonated with him on a fundamental level. Was this his Wild Talent activating? His Land Talent connecting him to this virgin ecosystem? Or perhaps simply his Primarch physiology responding to an environment unspoiled by millennia of human industry?
Aurelian looked down at himself, surprised to find the body of a child—albeit one already standing at the height of a young boy. His proportions were perfect, his muscles already defined in ways no human child's could be. The golden fluid from the pod had dried on his skin, flaking away to reveal unblemished flesh beneath.
Distant roars and calls echoed through the forest, a complex symphony of sounds that spoke of teeming life. Aurelian cocked his head, attempting to identify them before realizing they matched no creature in his considerable databanks. Curious, he began making his way out of the crater, following what appeared to be a natural game trail.
He'd walked perhaps half a kilometer when movement caught his eye. A small creature, approximately the size of a large dog but with an unusual reptilian appearance, emerged from the underbrush. It had leathery gray skin with distinctive black stripes patterning its back. Its head was most unusual—crested like some ancient Terran dinosaur with a flat, herbivore's mouth.
"Hello there," Aurelian said softly, kneeling down as the young creature approached him without fear.
The juvenile animal sniffed at him curiously before butting its head gently against his knee, seemingly accepting his presence without reservation. A moment later, a much larger version of the creature emerged from the trees—a massive, car-sized beast with the same leathery hide but sporting two impressive horns atop its crested head.
Rather than displaying aggression, the adult animal merely sniffed at Aurelian before nudging him gently with its massive snout. The behavior was puzzling until he remembered his Creature Defense capabilities. Animals wouldn't view him as a threat unless provoked.
"Well, aren't you friendly?" Aurelian murmured, cautiously placing a hand on the creature's flank. The texture reminded him of weathered leather, warm and alive beneath his palm.
As he stood there, information crystalized in his mind. He knew this creature—had seen it before he died. Plenty of times whenever he played a certain game….. "Aptonoth," he whispered, the name surfacing from somewhere in his memory. "You're an Aptonoth from Monster Hunter."
The realization crashed over him like a wave. The pristine forest, the unique flora, the distinctive fauna—he hadn't landed on some random alien world. This was a planet that mirrored the game. The geography around him even resembled the starting area from Monster Hunter World, a game he vaguely remembered from his life before becoming an agent.
A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped his throat as he looked skyward, addressing an entity he couldn't see but knew was watching. "Really? You couldn't just send me to the grimdark future? You had to throw in a curveball?" The mother Aptonoth nudged him again, perhaps sensing his change in mood. Aurelian sighed, gently scratching the creature's crest.
"Fuck you, ROB," he muttered, using the traditional invocation that countless displaced individuals had employed before him when confronting the machinations of Random Omnipotent Beings. "Monster Hunter meets Warhammer. This should be interesting."
As if in response, a distant roar echoed through the forest—something far larger and more predatory than his new Aptonoth friends. The mother creature tensed, positioning herself between the sound and both Aurelian and her offspring.
"Sounds like we might have company," Aurelian said grimly, his eyes scanning the treeline. "And I bet it's not coming to welcome me to the neighborhood."
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Current Agent name: Aurelian Lars, Primarch son of the Emperor
Current/"Birth" World: Aurion. World copied by Aurelians ROB sponsor to be fashioned after the world of Monster Hunter with all the creature this choice entails. World has an aggressive Warp resistant shield around it and all monster are completely hostile to warp creatures and daemons. On the very rare cases these appear, they are hunted down ruthlessly. The planet can be classified as feudal as there are 5 human kingdoms upon it, the rest of the humans of the making small or medium settlements but also has classifications of a Feral world thanks to its various monsters, with later imperial scholars arguing it to be classified as a Death world thanks to the power of some of its monsters. The world is only inhabited by Felynes and Humans though there are rumors of Eldari once visiting the world. Unlike the monster hunter world, there is no guild, hunters training newer generations of hunters through mentorship. As they are the only ones who can deal with these threats, some hunters are nobles though many refuse titles and stay close to monsters in tight communities.
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World
Name: Warhammer 40K
Rating:10 (2500)
Difficulty
Default Intensity
Origin
The second Primarch (Substitute) of T1 [Dragon]
Binding & Lure
Bindings:
[ Additional Bindingᶜ, Tantric Arts, Company Stamp, Shroud of Power ]
Lures:
[ Sticky Fingers, Faerie Feast, Alluring Whisper ]
Other Controls:
[ Signed and Sealedᵈˡᶜ ]
Heritage ( Your tier - T7 )
[ Dragon Heart, Dragon Scale, Dragon Aura, Dragon Thrall ]
Talents & Perks
-
Ride:
No Ride
-
Home:
[ Pocket Space, Pocket Apartment(x2), All Roads Lead to Home ]
-
Talents:
[ Body Tune-Up(x2), Athletic(x2), Soul(x2), Everlasting, Martial, Wild, Communication, Administrative, Performance, Inexhaustible, Blessed, Land, Science, Engineering, Aesthetic, Educationalᵈˡᶜ, Moneyᵈˡᶜ ]
-
Defenses:
[ Mind(x2), Corruption(x2), Possession(x2), Information(x2), Creature(x2), Fatality(x2), Addiction(x2), Polymorph(x3), Drain(x2), Wyldscape(x3), Paradox(x2), Body(x2), Wild(x2), Environmental(x2), Stress(x2), Destiny(x2), Trace(x2) ]
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Misc:
[ Psychic Paper, Sexual Calibration, Time-Saversᵈˡᶜ, Green Eye Orb, Fertility Calibration I, Designer Babiesᵈˡᶜ(x3), Presentationᵈˡᶜ ]
Remaining: 900 points.
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