Chapter Text
My Dudes: The Toyhammer Chronicles
When I first got into this hobby, I was told it would be expensive. And it really really fucking was, thank you Games Workshop for practically raping my piggy bank in the ass... But it was when all the little bastards came to life that the expenses really shot up.
My name is Alex and this is the story of a really fucked up shopping list.
It all started on the afternoon of May the 3rd. The news said my town was going to be the center of the freak thunderstorm which had NOAA confused. "Literally came out of nowhere" and the usual stuff incompetent bureaucrats use to excuse themselves when they fuck up but want to keep their job security...
I looked out the window and the clouds certainly looked freakish enough; the usual black was streaked with the kind of pink-purple sort-of-nebula look you'd expect from a Warp Storm in 40k. This gave me an idea; I fired up my PC and went to the 40k internet forum I used. Eventually I was typing up a few jokes in the forums, such as the Sisters of Battle reminding me of all those sexually-repressed Evangelical chicks in high-school abstinence clubs... the Space Wolves being a bunch of alcoholics and how all that rowdy viking bromance is just an invitation for the slash fangirls to go wild... the Salamanders having a really obvious pyrophilia problem (let's be honest, the black jokes are getting tired)... and don't even get me started on the Blood Angels (please Lord Tzeentch, don't let Slaanesh make the Blood Angels popular amongst Twilight Moms!).
Half way through writing the post, a savage crack boomed through my ears and all the power went out; my screen died like Angron's adoptive 'family' (yeah, I know, cruel joke... if you really want to hear cruel jokes, ask me for the Holocaust humor!). Lightning I presumed before I got out of my chair and walked through several darkened rooms to reset the fuse box.
Then I returned to my room and first encountered the situation which would render my finances tighter than a Sister of Battle's vagina.
I froze in place; my jaw dropped and my eyes went wide. My irises darted around wildly as I saw my squad of Blood Angels flying around with working jetpacks and hovering around my head like a bunch of mosquitos.
"Unidentified creature sighted," one of them said clinically.
"The Codex Astartes mentions nothing about this situation..." came another voice from atop my desk; my squad of Ultramarines was lined up in a perfectly ordered phalanx formation behind their Sergeant, who was flicking through a very small tome and scanning the pages like a college student that swallowed a whole bottle of Adderall.
"Put that book away, pauldron-polishers, and take a look!!!" came a nearby bellow from my Space Wolf squad; one of the pack's Blood Claws was pointing his chainsword in my direction.
"'Tis a titan of a man, larger than Russ himself! Clearly a trick of Chaos! Let us purge the abomination!!"
"May I suggest using fire?" said the Salamanders Sergeant. His voice was deeper than the others, and more ponderous. I rolled my eyes at his predictable statement; at least you didn't say anything relating to fried chicken and/or watermelon.
"In the Emperor's name," came a voice much more in the treble register, "we shall bring His light and rid ourselves of this monstrosity!" My squad of Sisters of Battle stood atop a small stack of books on my nightstand. The Sister Superior looked down at those books beneath her feet for one moment before she looked me straight in the eye with an angry glare.
"IT'S A SERVANT OF SLAANESH!" she screeched.
Okay, it wasn't really a stack of books they were standing on. I admit it.
I raised my hands very slowly; the Blood Angels manouvered away and maintained a moderate distance.
"I'm not chaotic. I'm a normal human. And you're all very far from home" I said as steadily as I could... which wasn't very steadily considering that the only rational explanation for what I was seeing in front of me was the consumption of a massive quantity of LSD.
The Blood Claw laughed momentarily before his yellow eyes met mine; his sharp teeth were bared.
"Trying to delay your end, Xeno?" he asked rhetorically as his chainsword whirred.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a solitary white pauldron on one of the Blood Angels; I remembered when I painted his model. Sanguinary Priest. He can prove this I recalled before I shifted my gaze to him.
"Hey, you, Sanguinary Priest..." I said with a touch of nervousness in my tone.
The flying medic hovered in place but did not verbally reply. The scarlet glow of his helmet's eyes remained constant.
"Take a sample of my blood. Scan it. You'll find no mutations. No Chaos stuff. Normal human DNA."
The Sanguinary Priest drifted forward slowly; his fellow Blood Angels pointed their bolters right at my face.
"Hold still," he said in a voice which made it hard to remember that the Blood Angels are one of the nicest chapters of Space Marines. He disappeared from my sight as he neared my neck (Anne Rice made having a vampire near your neck sound much, much more erotic than it was right now... then again with the Sisters thinking I was Slaaneshi, I was probably safer this way). A sudden but very mild sting shot from my neck to my brain as the tiny needle punctured my skin.
A few moments later, the Sanguinary Priest hovered back. "By the blood," he whispered.
"He's human..." the Priest said two seconds later.
"So can you put the bolters down now guys?" I asked of the bloodsuckers flying around my cranium. They slowly lowered their weapons half-way.
I swear that the talkative Space Wolf looked disappointed at the Sanguinary Priest's reaction.
The Ultramarine Sergeant stepped forward at that time and removed his helmet; his hair was blond and worn in a flat-top. His blue armor was trimmed with purple.
"I am Tremarius Corronus," he began in a professional yet assertive tone, "Sergeant of the Eighth Tactical Squad of the Seventh Company of the Ultramarines." His tone then became more commanding; "In the name of the Emperor we make the following requests."
The Ultramarines stood perfectly still behind Corronus; the Space Wolves were clustered together and gripped at their weapons. The Salamanders remained still and observed silently, while the Blood Angels remained in the air only about two feet away from my face. The Sisters of Battle clutched at their bolters like a particularly devout Catholic would clutch at their Rosary beads.
Just before Sergeant Corronus opened his mouth to list his demands, a vile roar of rage came from a small black case on my bookshelves; the figure within swung two axes at the plastic confines surrounding him. Those confines were shredded as if they were tissue paper. The figure stood and his bronze-and-red armor gleamed even in the room's low light.
Every Space Marine and Sister looked towards that figure and all of their eyes widened. A few gasps of disbelief were heard. The Space Wolves began to growl threateningly. The pilot flames of the Salamander's weapons seemed to grow brighter.
Yet the figure now freed from the box did not run; indeed, he fell to his knees and clutched at the bronze-colored conduits that streaked across his skull. His bellow was a blend of pain and anger, with only the barest hint of a whimper mixed into it.
"LET IT END!!!" Angron yelled with skull-splitting violence.
Just what I need. A fucking warzone in my bedroom I thought. At that moment I was very glad that the Canadian border was close by and their liquor laws weren't written by a bunch of neurotic pre-menstural soccer moms.
MAY 3 - EVENING
"It cannot be..." Sergeant Corronus whispered. Yet as he kept his gaze upon Angron his widened eyes narrowed back. He didn't fire his weapon at the figure on the shelf.
"He's meant to be larger," the talkative Space Wolf declared with clear disappointment in his voice. "No matter... Today a Daemon Prince shall fall!"
"I look into his eyes and sense no taint upon him," the Salamander Sergeant said in a level tone before he looked over at Sergeant Corronus.
The tiny Primarch remained on his knees and howled again. Ragged, frantic gasps came from the small figure as he pulled in as much air into his lungs as he could.
"A betrayer of the Emperor must be confronted with no haste!" cried the Sister Superior; I heard a small click as she readied her weapon.
"Prepare your soul for it's reckoning, Khornate traitor!"
"Do not," spat the Primarch back in a voice which boomed like artillery fire, "even mention that name."
He dragged in another breath; no one interrupted him as he prepared to continue.
"Do not dare mention the one tyrant I hate as much as your liar Emperor!"
The Space Marines and Sisters paused for a few seconds as they took in those words. Angron leant over and rested on his hands momentarily. His axes lay at his sides and he did not keep ahold of them. His inhales and exhales sounded more like noises from an engine than a person. He managed to haul himself back up to his feet, yet the axes remained on the ground.
"A simple trick!" the talkative Fenrisian declared angrily as he kept his yellow gaze pointed at the Primarch.
"Khornates are not the kind to make tricks," the Salamander Sergeant said to the Fenrisian.
The Blood Angels flew closer to the larger figurine and orbited the stationary target.
Angron looked up at them and grit his sharpened teeth.
"You bloodsucking demons with angel's faces..." he rasped, "you want to exterminate me like one of your Black Rage-riddled brethren?"
The Blood Angels did not respond. Soft clicks came as they cocked their weapons.
Slowly, Angron began unfastening his armor; tiny bursts of steam came as bolts seemed to unscrew. The sarcophagus of ceramite which had surrounded the primarch opened and revealed his body; even as small as he now was, the immense muscles made his form look inhumanly large and far beyond even the most abusive consumption of steroids. Random scars almost coated the entire surface area of his skin; that skin was almost as bronze as his armor.
"You wish to end it, Blood Angels? Then do so." His voice somehow managed to become even more hateful as he continued; "grant me the Emperor's Peace."
He fell back down on his knees and raised his hands; he looked expectantly at every flying Marine. There was something in his eyes which made me think he truly wanted them to kill him.
"By Russ's hairy ass," the talkative Space Wolf said as his eyes widened. "It cannot be..."
"You know there's some message in this," I said as I looked over at the viking with a smug smirk on my face, "about things like not rushing to judgment and not assuming you're always right..." I then looked over towards the kneeling Primarch before I continued; "but right now I'm too stunned at seeing Angron negotiate a ceasefire."
A few moments later, Sergeant Corronus paced forward and cleared his throat before he took the parade rest stance. He faced me as his voice returned to the strident tone of before.
"And why should we, the Emperor's Angels of Death, delay the execution of a known traitor like Angron? Why should justice be delayed?"
"Because we are in this man's home," the Salamanders Sergeant replied before gesturing to the bed and giving a long stare towards Corronus. He took his own helmet off and directed his scarlet eyes to me.
"This is your domicile, and we shall respect that. I truly cannot explain what has caused us to shrink down to this size but for now, we are guests in this place. Vulkan would not wish for innocents to be dragged into the fires of war."
"How could you suggest such an utter heresy?!?" screeched the Sister Superior from atop my nightstand.
"The Emperor commands us to wage ceaseless war against His foes! Angron must be punished without delay!"
I couldn't help myself from responding to Jihadist Jane right then; "I know, he was mean to your boyfriend," I said snarkily. I heard harsh barks of laughter come from the pack of Space Wolves.
She only scowled at me before continuing to address the armored men atop my desk.
"Your faith is weak and you lack conviction in His deity. Hence you show mercy."
"Sister," Corronus replied firmly, "the Sergeant of the Salamanders is right. We may not be in a Macragge temple but basic courtesy requires that we respect this... titan-like human's abode. We can deal with Angron in time and we can work on why we are smaller than a mortal human's thumb and find some way to reverse the situation. I support a ceasefire, binding upon all parties."
"As do I," came the voice of one of the Blood Angels; the red-armored Space Marine landed on my desk and removed his helmet as he walked towards Corronus and the Salamander Sergeant.
The Blood Angel wasn't the Sanguinary Priest from earlier; I quickly inferred that it was the Sergeant who had just landed (and thankfully he didn't sparkle in the light of my desk lamp).
"Patrols can be instituted and the threat of Angron can be monitored and guarded against. It would be foolish to act in a situation we know so little about."
"You are obstructing the proper work of the Ordo Ministorium" said the Sister Superior, only to get immediately cut off by the talkative Space Wolf.
"Then I stand with my brothers, wench," he retorted as he strolled towards the three Sergeants. "The Wolves of Fenris agree to a ceasefire and shall reserve violence for defense."
"Pagan heretic," she snarled in response.
I then walked over to the shelf holding Angron; he still was on his knees.
"I have no desire to kill you," he stated in a low rumble. "I accept the terms of a ceasefire."
At that moment my stress levels plunged to what would be the lowest I would have to deal with for a month.
MAY 3 - LATE NIGHT
I really wish my parents never gave me Lego when I was a kid.
I was just trying to sleep (because frankly it is really hard to sleep when you have about fifty guests, all of whom have swallowed more Kool-Aid than the average suicide bomber, and are armed to the teeth). Then a crashing sound came from my closet. The door to it was open and Blood Angels were airlifting brick after brick of my rudimentary Lego collection up onto my desk.
"Sturdy prefabricated materials..." Sergeant Corronus said approvingly as he sorted through the pile of plastic blocks. He even came close to smiling when he took ahold of a gleaming white piece. His fellow smurfs were sorting the blocks out into various piles, categorized by color and size.
In one corner of the desk the Sisters were already constructing a shrine to You-Know-Who. They were going through the few Lego People.
"No, this doesn't resemble our Lord, this cannot be enshrined..." one of them stated as she moved her hand over the plastic figurine in a suspiciously slow fashion. She then pushed it away.
One of the Blood Angels stood atop an A4 sheet of paper and seemed to be marking it; one of my pencils sat next to him and the lead of it had been broken. As the space-vampire sketched away with that shard of graphite, the other Blood Angels stood around him and commented on his work.
"It must testify greatly to the majesty of our chapter," one of them said.
The Space Wolves had already managed to assemble a simple table; it was more than long enough for all of them to sit next to each other on the same side. As they kept constructing it, they added what seemed to be shelves behind the other side.
"Shrunk as we may be, we shall not be denied a mead hall," one of them grumbled.
The Salamanders already had one wall constructed; they used black bricks yet the base used green ones, and in the center of the wall were several red and yellow bricks arranged into an approximation of a flame.
"Erm, guys?" I said rather harshly as I flicked on the reading lamp, "some of us actually need to sleep for more than two hours a day you know!"
Every single Space Marine and Sister paused momentarily. The Sister Superior glared with righteous indignation, Corronus remained impassive, the Blood Angels simply cast their helmet-covered visages towards me and the Space Wolves seemed to ignore me.
Again it was the Salamanders Sergeant who stepped forward.
"We apologize for disrupting you," he said, "yet we must protect ourselves against our enemy."
From the shelf, the familiar rumble of Angron's voice came; "I lack any interest in smashing your skulls. I'd laugh were our host to do that for me, however."
He didn't sound like he was sadistically relishing the thought though; to my ear he sounded weary and frustrated.
"Look," I said, "how about this. Keep it quiet tonight. Let me get some shuteye. And tomorrow I'll get you guys some supplies so you can build yourselves what you need?"
The Space Marines all looked at each other; I saw several of them nod, including Corronus.
"That is acceptable," the Ultrasmurf stated.
"You are in no place to speak for the Wolves of Fenris, spawn of Guilliman!" roared one of the space vikings (I couldn't tell whether or not it was the same one from before). All of his packmates quickly added the usual "rabble-rabble-rabble."
I just groaned. Fuck my life. Fuck it with a fucking chainsword at this rate...
"Do I need to get you guys drunk to shut you up?"
Immediately, the Fenrisians fell silent and looked at each other. I could hear whispers begin to rise from them. The talkative one from before stepped forward and flashed a grin at me; his sharp teeth glinted. His hair was a rich chestnut-brown and worn in a single long braid, and his eyes were almost sea-green in color.
"Were you to get us drunk, Titan," he said in a tone which was cocky yet not demeaning, "you shall have the gratitude of all of us!"
I grumbled as I clambered out of bed.
"Alright. Back in a minute. And don't trash the place while I'm gone."
When I came back I held a small glass of whiskey in my hand; I looked around the room and noticed that most of the Lego had been placed on the desk in relatively neat piles by now. At least they're being sort-of-clean I thought begrudgingly as I placed the glass of booze down near the Fenrisians and gave them a small measuring spoon for them to scoop it out with.
One of the Wolves quickly hauled out a spoonful - a tub by their standards - of whisky. He took a generous swallow before passing the spoon around (I really need to get these guys something to drink out of but what would be small enough?). Each of the tiny Space Wolves took a large gulp.
"By the Allfather," said the talkative Blood Claw as a surprisingly friendly smile crossed his face, "this is almost as good as Fenrisian Ale!"
He then looked me right in the eye with gratitude and nodded towards me respectfully.
"Thank you, titan!" he declared, "tonight my brothers and I shall say toasts to your name!"
You know, I should've been flattered. But I knew then that there was no chance in the Warp of me getting any sleep with a Space Wolf party going on. I walked over to my bed and sat down upon it. The Fenrisians asked for my name, and I told them it was Alex. After the third toast to my name, I heard a voice from the Primarch on the shelf; the subterranean gravel was remarkably quiet this time.
"I'd be in your debt if you would spare me from the noise of the mongrels," he said in a growl which somehow bore the urgency of a plead. "Let me leave with you."
The Blood Angels overheard and quickly took flight; they hovered in front of my face yet seemed to look more towards Angron than me.
"We insist on escorting you," their Sergeant said into my ear with an helmet-filtered voice. "And we advise that you make the traitor leave his weapons here."
"Good idea," I responded. I smiled slightly at the protective gesture from the space-vampires before I placed my shoulder next to the shelves.
"Jump on," I said to Angron, "but leave your axes."
Angron silently climbed aboard my shoulder. He didn't complain, although he glared towards the Blood Angels. The primarch's weight surprised me and I could feel his body heat through my shirt.
The bloodsuckers kept their distance with the escort but kept their weapons pointed at Angron.
"Space Wolves aren't good for headaches, huh?" I asked rhetorically.
"Bloodshed is the only salve for mine," the bronze-tanned Primarch grumbled grimly. I turned my head to look at him; his head was bowed and posture slumped. The metal conduits of the Butcher's Nails shone even in the low light of the hallway. I remembered Angron's utterly-fucking-miserable backstory and how those implants constantly inflicted pain upon him unless he was killing people. If normal-size scotch keeps little Space Wolves drunk... I wonder... I thought as I walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. I took out a bottle of ibuprofen mini-tablets.
"Try these... you might have to grind them up first though. Want some water?"
About half an hour later, I was sitting on the couch in the lounge room. The Blood Angels alternated between hovering around the room and patrolling across various items of furniture. And Angron finally spoke again.
"It works..." he growled. "I cannot feel the nails right now." I turned my head to see the Primarch sitting on the armrest of the sofa.
"Keep them with you," I responded; the pill bottle came up to his waist as I placed it next to him. He held onto it and... did he smile?
"The Father of Lies gave me an army after he took away my brethren and sistren. Were he to free me from my pain he would've taken away even more. Your benevolence far outstrips his." His gravelly rumble remained flat as he spoke of that, but a quiet note of wonder crept into his voice as he continued;
"I no longer hear the call of Khorne. This place is beyond the reach of Chaos. From what I see beyond the windows, this is a paradise world. Yet you are human?"
"You either went back in time or got dragged into an alternate reality entirely. I hope that makes sense." Because it makes fucking zero sense to me.
"It makes enough," Angron stated simply.
I fell asleep on the couch shortly after.
MAY 4 - MORNING
I woke up to this awful reek coming from the kitchen. It smells like some really bad cooking. What, the guys decided to make me breakfast? I instantly wondered about the best way to exploit an army of miniature workers but the stench made me question the wisdom of using them as chefs.
When I walked into the kitchen I saw the Salamanders worshipping the ignited stove; they chanted as one of them played around with the gas dial and caused the flames to grow. Then I saw another one holding a fork in the fire and yet another was out of armor.
So that's what burning human flesh smells like I realized with horror before I ran to the bathroom and struggled with some nausea.
Its okay, they're just sick Westboro-level religious-nuts who have their own sick S&M Rammstein-Concert rituals. You can deal with it. It isn't like they brand themselves every ten minutes... they only do it on special occasions. I'd rather drink a whole bottle of champagne on special occasions but whatever.. as long as they don't burn down the fucking kitchen or go around branding other people...
My breathing steadied as I kept my eyes focused on their reflection in the mirror. It wasn't like I could just ask them to get over their religion ("hey there Mr. ISIS, how about giving up that silly Islam!"). Not yet, anyway.
MAY 4 - MIDDAY
"Alright," I began reluctantly as I looked at the immensely tiny army in front of me, "I'm going to get some stuff for all of you guys today. I guess the Sergeants will represent their squads and the Sister Superior will represent the Sisters of Battle." I then cast my eyes over to the Space Wolves; "you guys, elect your representative or fight for the right to. I don't care which as long as you don't make a mess."
A pen sat in my hand, and a notepad lay in front of the miniaturized military.
Sergeant Corronus stepped forward and stood at attention.
"Sergeant Tremarius Corronus of the Eighth Tactical Squad of the Seventh Compa.."
"I know already," I interrupted. I smirked a little at Corronus' sour face.
The talkative Space Wolf from before casually strode forward and chuckled at the Ultramarine's expression.
"My pack and I are starting to like you, Titan," he said with a grin that bore his sharp canines. His sea-green eyes, however, seemed tainted by red.
"Your liquor has left my brethren and I with a hangover. Since I am in the least amount of pain, I shall speak for them."
Well that explains why they didn't fight over it...
"Haldor Rangvald, Blood Claw. Wolf Lord Tarben died valiantly in the battle before we arrived here," he continued as his voice got slightly somber, "so I speak for my pack. At least for now."
As if on cue, the Blood Angel sergeant came forward; he removed his helmet and a slight hiss of air met my eardrums. My jaw almost fell open when I got a look at him; his long hair shone like black chrome and was darker than any midnight. His metallic silver irises only enhanced his ability to suddenly make my writing worse than Stephenie Fucking Meyer's.
"Raphael Araxion," he began in a deep and seemingly-haunted voice, "of the Fourth Tactical Squad of the Seventh Company." The twin white blood-drops on his right pauldron and single red blood-drop on his jet-black right knee plate confirmed his statements. I'd go on about the lustre of his blood-red armor if that wouldn't make me sound like a goddamn Twilight fangirl.
Then one of the Salamanders stepped forward and removed his helmet; unsurprisingly his eyes were red and skin was the exact same color as Araxion's hair. Yeah, I know its racist to say "all black people look the same to me" but all Salamanders actually do look the same!
"Q'dal Py'ron," he introduced himself as (and I don't know if this is the correct spelling but Salamanders love apostraphes so I'm erring on the side of caution); his speech was deep and steady, as if every syllable were carefully considered. His pauldrons were black, with a green salamander head painted upon the left one. Unsurprisingly, a golden flame was painted on the right pauldron.
"Second Tactical Squad of the Fourth Company," he stated.
Then the Sister Superior from before strode out, and even her gait reminded me of those Holier-Than-Thou fundie chicks in Abstinence Club in high school (the only club devoted specifically to not doing something). Her armor was silver, and her robes were white with red insides. Her weapon matched the color of the lining. Her hair was chin-length and bone white, and her eyes were brown.
"Sister Superior Helena Marianas of the Order or the Argent Shroud of the Adepta Sororitas," she said in a voice one would expect from a preacher going into graphic detail about the punishments which await "the fags" once they arrive in hell.
"And your Lord and Emperor would not approve of that heretical filth you read," she added with a contemptuous sneer. It's just a goddamn porn stash, get over it...
I then approached the notepad with my pen in hand; I sat at the desk and began to write. The first item read "painkillers," owing to Angron's needs.
"Okay, so what will you guys be needing?"
I knew I'd regret asking that question.
End of Part 1