Through the Warp Portal
I own neither Warhammer nor Buffy, Angel, or any variations of either.
Inquisitor Gallus Drake, Depths of the Imperial Governor's Palace, Imperial World Calugula. “For the Emperor!”
The cry echoed around the battlefield, drowning out even the constant roar of bolters and the cracking of the air as heretical lasbolts fired into the charging Sororitas. The power-armored Sisters of Battle shrugged off the fire, for the most part. A few Sisters fell, but this was no matter. All that mattered, all that anything mattered, was stopping this ritual. This planet had been rotted from within by corruption, torn apart by rebellion, and then blown to bits by the Imperial Guard. And then, this bastard had made his presence known. Havelock Intios, former Chief Executive of Imperial Commerce of Calugula, Rebel, and one of the single most powerful Telepaths in existence. Holed up in the Imperial Palace, he had bound most of the military throughout the city to his will in the early stages of the rebellion, massacring the civilians, inciting all-out riots, and finally causing the entirety of the Planetary Defense Forces to die in one fell swoop, and then presented himself as a Prophet of the Emperor. By the time help arrived, it was far, far too late. Of the nine billion people on the planet, two billion remained, and all were devoted to Intios fanatically, and fought viciously against the Guard. For two months, the badly outnumbered Guardsmen and women desperately tried to regain control of the planet, but with limited success other than massacring the enemy forces from orbit. Fortunately, though, Gallus had been just a few months out. He arrived, with much needed firepower, supplies, twelve thousand Inquisitorial Storm Troopers, and one thousand Sisters of Battle. He had shattered the capital city by sustained orbital bombardment, and, by cover of the missiles, he and his Sisters dropped into the city. Shielded by the might of his will, they made it to the center of the city, and fought their way past the crazed civilians, and the truly rebel remnants of the PDF. They had managed to break into the Palace itself, and there they entered hell.
The place was swarming with cultists, many of whom were psykers. To make things even worse, there were two daemonhosts aiding the cultists. It had been six hours since then, and he had lost all but two hundred of his Sororitas, and he himself was almost exhausted. He must have killed hundreds, even thousands of cultists, though he could not honestly tell, but they kept coming. He had personally killed one of the daemonhosts, and the Sororitas leader had taken the other, though it had killed her in the process. The fight had been brutal. The daemon's power was simply horrifying, and he had never felt weaker than after its death. Almost an hour of brutal,vicious psychic and physical combat before he killed it. It didn't help that it kept running from him in order to kill more Sisters, taunting him with their brutal deaths. But it was almost at the close. He could feel
the bastard's presence, and wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything, to feel his power blade plunging into the heretic's chest, the flay the monster alive with his own mind. The horrors and desecration of this place would be paid for in blood.
As the battle cry echoed around him, he summoned the fearsome power of his psyk, and shattered the great wooden doors of the throne room. The sight inside was more horrible than he had expected. The shattered, twisted bodies of women and children were nailed to the walls on all sides of the room, faces still twisted in pain from their agonizing deaths. The severed heads of the men were hung from barbed, bloody chains which looped in a cross on the sealing, red with blood, expressions frozen in a rictus of terror. On the floor, daemonic sigils were painted in blood, while robed and wretched men chanted in long forgotten tongues of evil, and the air itself glowed with the power of the evil which had been committed, and which was even now being spoken.
Matched by these sights was the figure in the center of the room. The man was a far cry from the handsome, charismatic rabblerouser whose speeches and machinations had destroyed this world so completely. The man glowed
with golden power, though it was obvious no good could ever dwell within this monster. Completely naked, with Chaotic runes carved ritually over his entire body, he floated in the center of the room, arms stretched toward the heavens, a daemon made flesh looked upon the newcomers. Small, sharp horns lay upon its skull, and the thing's fingers ended in sharp, bone claws. It smiled a smile which promised death and torment to all, and spoke to him. “Welcome, Inquisitor, I Have Been Expecting You.”
Gallus clutched his hands to his ears, and felt blood flow through his fingers. His nose bled down his face, and he wept tears of blood. The daemon's was like shattered glass splintering in his head. “What Is The Matter, Inquisitor? Does My Mere Presence Frighten You So? AHHAHAH!”
The daemon's chuckle was an explosion of shrapnel in his brain, and he howled with agony as he fell to his knees. Gritting his teeth, he tasted blood, and realized he was biting through his tongue. He took a breath, and began reciting the Catechism he had been taught since birth. “Emperor, By your Grace, I shall Fear No Shadows. The Dark Holds no Terrors, for You Are My Torch. My Life is Not My Own, So Long as My Duty remains Undone. I ask for Strength in This, My Hour of Need, To Persevere, by Your Grace, But Your Light, Thy Will Shall Be Done, so long as I Hold Breath to Carry it Forth.
” Slowly, Gallus Drake rose to his feet. Gathering himself, he stared the abomination in the face, and its smile showed its blood red, razor edged teeth. “So, Inquisitor, You Turn To Your Emperor, Even In This Place? Such Childish Nonsense. I Am The Only Power Here. I, And My Master, The Architect Of Fate, The Lord Of Change, The Unknowable One, Tzeentch. He Has Granted Me Powers Beyond Your Comprehension, Mere Mortal. I Hold One Of His Blessed Creations Within My Form. My Power Is Endless, My Prowess Unmatched. You Are Far Too Late, Inquisitor. I Will Enjoy Your Screams.”
At this moment, Gallus lashed out. He had gathered all that remained of his might, and put his faith in the Emperor. If He so willed, this battle could not be lost. And an Abomination such as the being before him could never be allowed to win. Never. And even as the full power of a Gamma level psyker was unleashed, the Daemon Symbiote struck back. The blasts of pure, psychic force met, and the resulting ripples bent space itself. Many of the robed cultists seemed to twist and shatter, and then be shredded, or turned inside out. Some seemed to simply fall apart, while others disappeared, as though they were never there. And the Sororitas were not exempt. Many of them were killed in similar, horrible manners. But neither Inquisitor nor Daemon Symbiote noticed. Their wills and sight were solely focused on the other's destruction. Neither noticed the rippling getting worse, nor the warp light showing through to reality, until it was too late. The Daemon actually noticed first, when a ray of warplight obliterated part of the support beams for the room. The falling masonry then alerted Gallus, whose concentration faded as a ripple sped towards him. Even as it struck, and time and space ceased to matter, the Daemon's blast struck the ripple, and everything ceased to be anything. All was light, and indescribiable, impossible colors, unimaginable malevolence, anger, laughter, tears,
A flash, searing pain, impact, roll, noise, dazed, and solid earth. As he rolled, the scent of blood and psyk was gone, though the sounds of combat were still there. He looked up, and ducked as a daemon with a sword slashed at his, nearly removing his head. He lashed out with his mind, instinctively, and sent the beast staggering back a few steps. It looked at him, and lunged again. Another telekinetic blast, and another knockback. With growing fear, he knew something was wrong, First off, he was in a graveyard, not a throne room. Secondly, two young girls were watching carefully, each holding wooden spikes. Thirdly, he felt almost no psychic presence. And, most importantly, he could see a warp portal closing into nothing. And then the beast was upon him. He caught it with a punch to the gut, and flipped it over him, falling, with it to his back, onto one of the many head stones. He heard the grunt of pain, and followed with a quick turn and a blow to the throat, and drew his power blade, and slashed. The humming blade removed the head with ease, and, to his surprise, the entire body, severed head included, disintegrated into dust.
This was very, very bad.
Buffy hardly noticed as she staked the vampire before her, and was not even aware of Faith finishing hers. Her attention was on the man who had just appeared. The strange portal he had come through, like a rip in reality, glowing with light and painful to look at, seemed to shrivel into itself and vanish, like it was never there. The warrior, however, remained. He stood tall, as tall as Angel, but thinner. He wore a dark trench coat over what looked like black body armor, with a golden two-headed eagle design over the heart, and a great, silvery I in the middle of the chest, adorned with a skull. He wore a large, black hat with a wide rim on his head, and had a pale, piercing face. Left to right across his face was a terrible scar, and there were several fresh, painful looking burns on his cheeks and neck. Blood flowed from a cut on the side of his head, and matted his black hair. In his gauntleted hand, he held a glowing, humming combat knife, with a blade almost a foot long, and a golden handle. She saw that the hand-guard of the knife was shaped like eagle wings, with the double-head in the center. The strange warrior met her gaze, and strode forward.
“I am Inquisitor Gallus Drake of the Ordo Hereticus,” and with these words, the stranger held out an odd seal, with the same skull-adorned I upon it.
“I require your immediate assistance. You will take me to the closest Inquisitorial outpost, right now. This is a matter of grave importance, and your assistance is, needless to say, mandatory. Once there, you can report the mutant attack, but until then-”
“Just a damn minute!” Faith interrupted sharply. “Just who the hell do you think you are, coming here, barking orders to us? And what are you, from the fourteen hundreds? What the hell is your damage?!”
Buffy could only describe this-this Inquisitor's expression as “stunned”. He stared at Faith, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. He then seemed to recover, and quickly drew a strange firearm from his waist, and aimed it directly at Faith. The gun had two cords running into the Inquisitor's coat, and had an odd, glassy barrel. The body of the weapon was boxy, and had a skull design on the side.
“I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood you. I could have sworn
I just heard you defy a direct order
from an Imperial Inquisitor. But I must be mistaken. What was it you just said?”
There was a dangerous edge to the man's voice, and Buffy felt a tinge of fear. They were both at least ten feet away, and he was pointing a gun at Faith. There was no was she'd be able to disarm him before he could fire at Faith. Or at her. Faith, however, seemed to have no such reservations. She took a step forward.
“What I said
was 'Who the hell
do you think you are?'. Now I think you're deaf as well as a prick. What are you gonna do about it?” Faith grinned at the man, but her eyes were watching his every movement. Then he fired. It was as if the loudest firecrackers in the world had gone off. Painfully bright flashes of red tore up the ground around Faith, and both of them flinched from the noise. There was a U of glass around Faith where the earth had fused together.
“That was your warning. Defying an Inquisitor is an executable offense, but I dislike killing people who can be of use-” but then Faith was upon him. Before he could react, she was weaving to throw off his aim, and caught his gun arm in a vice grip and flipped him over her shoulder, slamming his back into a gravestone. The hat fell off of his head, and then Faith's fist was punching his face repeatedly. She shattered his nose, bloodied his lip horribly, and Buffy could swear she saw a tooth falling from the man's face, just as his knee struck her groin. Faith swore horribly, and then the man shoved her off and hit her with a vicious right hook. As Faith staggered, he swung a kick into her stomach, and just as he was redrawing the knife, Buffy kicked the back of his head. He fell forward, but Buffy felt a brutal blow to the face, like someone slamming a bat into her nose. She felt blood gushing forth, and throbbing pain exploding into her brain. Then she felt something grab her from behind and slam her face into a headstone, and everything went black.
Then she was back, and everything was pain. She tried to open her eyes, but everything was blurry. Blood was dripping into her eyes, and she felt like she had a huge dent in her skull. She rolled over, tried to push herself up. As she staggered to her feet, she was overcome with nausea, and she vomited. She heard swearing through the pain, and saw that Faith and the man were still fighting. She had picked up one of the Vampire's sword's, and was fighting blade to blade. But the man had a different weapon now, not glowy, not all hurty. She shook her head, and immediately regretted it as her head seemed to explode. She was hurt, and hurt bad.
But this was no time for that. Faith needed help. And with that thought, Faith kicked aside the man's knife and drove her sword through the joint of his pauldron. The man's howl echoed horribly through the night. Buffy could swear it was in her head, and out of it as well. As though his mind was screaming as much as his mouth. The knife, though, came back, and nearly evisorated Faith, even as she was trying to retrieve her weapon from the Inquisitor, or whoever or whatever the hell he was. As it was, Faith was badly cut, and she jumped back, leaving the sword in the wound. The Inquisitor grabbed the blade, and tried to pull it out. He only succeeded in pulling himself to his knees. He glared up at Faith, who was breathing heavily, but still ready to fight.
“Treacherous slime. Have you,” the Inquisitor gasped as he managed to budge the sword a bit, “any idea...what you have done? To kill an Inquisitor...you have sealed your fate. You will...beg
for your deaths!”
“Really. Like I haven't heard that one before. But seriously, just what in the hell
is the damn Inquisition? I've never heard of it, so I really don't see how I could be betraying it, you know?”
“You-what?! What do you mean, never-where are we?” the Inquisitor stammered. Buffy saw the man's cool instantly evaporate. From where she was, she could see
the panic, realization, calculation, and now desperation on his face. He was...scared? No, Buffy thought woozily. Not quite scared. More like really, really worried and surprised. She was very, very tired...
“Uh, we're in Sunnydale, duh.” Faith looked at the Inquisitor oddly, nonplussed by the sudden change.
“No, what planet
, what year?
” the man clarified, grunting in painful effort as he tried, unsuccessfully, to budge the sword again.
Faith stared for a moment, as though she was unsure if she was being messed with, but still answered.
“We're on Earth.
In 1998. What, are you, like, from the future, or something?” but even as Faith said the words, Buffy realized that the man probably was. Lasers, multiple planets, apparently, not knowing what year it was...
The man gasped. “God-Emperor, no. I have made-ah!” another agonized noise,” a terrible error. I must ask for your aid, though I admit, you have little reason to give it.”
“Damn right!” Faith exclaimed, but Buffy was getting an awful feeling.
“What do mean, an error?”, she asked, fighting through the wooziness, trying to think, she was missing something, something important...
“I am...from the future. I came here through a portal during an important battle, and I was unaware...that I was moving through time, as well as space. I am, in my time, a wielder of absolute power. My job is, essentially, to track down the most deadly of mankind's enemies, and to do so, I require the cooperation of everyone, on penalty of death. I am sorry, I believed you two were such criminals, to be defying an Inquisitor, and wasn't listening to your protests. I believe I can adequately compensate you for your troubles in helping me, but...I think I might be dying. I am almost certainly bleeding internally, and your help is appreciated. I assume, given that you were fighting those...daemons, or mutants, or Xenos, so efficiently, that you are more than the average civilian?”
Faith laughed. “Damn straight!”
The Inquisitor breathed a sigh of relief. “Excellent. Please, take me to your immediate superior. I have some supplies on me that can repair wounds, but I need a safe house, and someone who can readily deal with the unexpected, and the unknown, and who is knowledgeable of the things that lurk outside of the average person's world. I assume you do
have some sort of leader, or-ah!” the Inquisitor hissed as he pulled on the sword again.
Faith met Buffy's eyes. Even through the pain, Buffy knew who Faith was thinking of.
“Giles,” Buffy and Faith said simultaneously. –
Giles was not very surprised when he woke up to what sounded like his door being battered down. Nor was it surprising to see that it was Buffy and Faith doing the battering. The man in the dark cloak with a sword stuck clean through his shoulder, though. That was a new one.
“Hi Giles, coming through,” Buffy panted as she pushed past Giles, depositing the man on Giles' sofa.
“Buffy, Faith, who is this? What happened? Buffy, your head!” this last comment came upon noticing the bloody gash across most of Buffy's forehead.
“Don't worry, Giles, I'm fine. This guy is who I'm worried about. He passed out about a half hour ago, kept saying 'medkit, medkit,', and he isn't responding anymore.
“Why she cares, I don't know,” Faith huffed from by the door. She didn't particularly see the value is saving a man who had almost killed her.
“Buffy, what exactly happened? Who is he? Why didn't you drop him off at the hospital?” Giles went on urgently, ignoring Faith.
“Me and Faith were fighting vampires in the cemetery, and they wore leather, and had swords. Then a big, shiny, glowy hole appeared in the air, and this guy got spat out. One of the vampires attacked him, and he blasted the vampire with his hand, like some goth Jedi dude, and then he judo flipped him, the vampire, and stabbed him with the glowy knife, and the vampire, went all 'poof!', and he said something about the Inquisition, and ordering heretics, and he shot at Faith, but missed, and he hit me on a gravestone, and I woke up, and Faith stabbed him, and we think he might be a time-traveler,” Buffy was panting by the end of her explanation.
Giles sighed, massaging his forehead. “Once more, Buffy, in English, please,” he asked.
Faith interrupted suddenly. “Dude comes in, wastes a vamp, and starts barking orders at us like some kind of general. I ask him what his damn problem his, and he frickin' shoots at me! I kick his gun away, and he blasts B with some kind of Force wave, like he used on the vamp, right? She blacks out for a minute, and he gets that glowy knife he used on the vamp out, but I got the sword from one I the vamps I killed, so I catch his hand-guard, and WHAM! Knock it right out of his hand. But he does this twisting move, right? And then he's got this new knife, and he comes at me, and I'm just like, 'bring it, bitch!' and he tries to stab me, but I've got his number, and his knife just slides off of my sword, but he actually cut the entire edge off! So I'm just like, 'screw it!' and I stab him right through the shoulder. Then he says something about the Inquisition making us beg for death, and us being traitors. Then I'm saying, 'How are we
traitors? We're not in your little group. Then he gets all scared, and says he's made a mistake. And I'm all, 'duh!' and he asks where he is, and I tell him we're in Sunnydale. Then he asks what planet and year, and I tell him Earth, in 1999, and he says he's from the future, where he kills bad guys, and thought that we should have listened to him. He basically describes you, and asks us to take him to you, so we did. I don't really see why we don't just let him bleed out, though. Asshole has it coming, if you ask me.”
Giles sits down heavily in a chair. A time-traveler. Of course.
“Medkit,” the man moans from the sofa, as he tries to sit up.
Giles looks over. “What are you asking?”
“In my pocket, in my coat, there is a box, it's white, it has synthskin and antiseptics in it. Get it out, hand it to me,” the man implored, but Buffy was already going through his jacket, and brought out a large white box with a skull-adorned I on it. She handed it to the man, who grabbed it, and opened it with a click.
“Now, can someone get this damn sword out of my shoulder?” he asked, as he held a canister of what appeared to be spraypaint. Faith moved over from the door, smiling nastily.
“Gladly,” and with that, she placed her foot on his chest, which Giles now noticed was armored, grabbed the hilt of the sword, and ripped it straight out of the wound, drawing a strangled cry of agony from the newcomer. He wasted no time, however, in swiftly disassembling his armor, which fell to the floor with several loud 'thuds'. The wound was ghastly, and without the sword plugging it, blood was gushing all over. But the time-traveler appeared not to notice, and simply sprayed the contents of the can onto the wound, front and back, and then screamed. Apparently, judging by he smell, it was a powerful antiseptic. Swearing through gritted teeth, the man took another canister from the box, and again sprayed the contents onto the front and back of the wound. This time, however, liquid skin appeared to cover the hole in the shoulder, and then solidify, only distinguishable by a slightly more orange tint than the rest of the man's flesh. Giles looked on in shock.
“That is simply amazing! How did you-I mean, in that-what is that?”
“It's synthskin. It imitates the first layers of skin for a few days, so as to protect open wounds. Can I assume that you won't murder me in my sleep?” the Inquisitor look directly at Giles for the last question, clearly serious.
“Of course not!” Giles exclaimed, at the same time, Faith murmured “No promises,”. The Inquisitor sighed.
“Be honored. I'm willing to take your word for it, this one time. Mostly because I'll die anyway without rest. Touch anything in this kit, and you will regret it. Most of it is dangerous, in one way or another, including
the synthskin. Ever had flesh close over a bodily orifice? Very unpleasant, I'm told,” the Inquisitor warned. Completely untrue, but he really didn't want the man messing with his supplies. He only had the one canister of synthskin, and he was suspicious of the man's fascination with it. And judging by the looks on the peoples faces, they believed him. He suppressed an amused smile, even as he injected himself with a pain suppressant. The best part about this one was that it was also a bit of a sedative. Strong enough to let him sleep, light enough to wake him up if someone bad happened. Which, after a century in the Inquisition, he had learned it always would. There was always something bad going on...
With that light thought, Inquisitor Gallus Drake fell asleep for the first time in seventy-two hours.
Once Buffy and Faith were gone, and Giles was sure that the man was asleep, he crept over, stealthily as he could, to disarm him. He was not comfortable with an obviously trigger-happy man who could harm two
Slayers in direct physical combat, being armed in his home. Not until he learned more about the man. He was able to get both of the knives, but had slightly more trouble with the gun. The cords connected to some sort of battery on the man's back. He did manage to disconnect the cords without waking the Inquisitor, and crept back to his table to examine the weaponry. The gun was like nothing he'd ever seen. Instead of a barrel, it had a lens. Probably a laser of some sort. The knives, however, were very interesting indeed. One of them, the golden hilted one, was well over a foot long, and, when Giles pressed on a handle of the eagle's wing, the blade lit up with energy, humming loudly. Giles dropped it instantly, and it turned off. He gingerly picked it up and placed it back in the sheath upon his desk.
The other knife was smaller, perhaps eight inches, and did not appear to be high tech in nature. It had a dulled silvery blade, double edged, and a black handle, with a small, skull-marked I just below the blade. Giles ran his finger lightly upon the edge, and hissed as it sliced deep into his finger. Blood gushed from the wound, and he could instantly see that it was a bad cut. He went to his restroom, and washed and dressed the wound. Actually seeing the cut, without the blood hiding it, he grimaced. That knife was sharper than anything he had ever seen, to be able to cut so deep, so easily. It had cut almost to the muscle...
Shaking his head, Giles prepared for a long night. He didn't much fancy sleeping while this man, whoever he was, was in his house unsupervised.