The Wolves, The Witch & The Oddly Placed Door

On instinct and a head full of confusion memories, I dodge rolled out of the way of a giant wolf trying to rip my throat out. It was grey with luminous yellow eyes, and it's toothy maw dripped with blood from some unfortunate bugger before me.

I had no clue why I was here, in the middle of the snowy woods, nor why I had the memories of a Catachan elite. I was Derek and I'd like to think I was a pretty standard guy - a great soldier, sure, but nothing too special. When I tried to think about where I'd just been before I showed up here, I drew up a major blank which didn't feel like it spelled out anything good for my memory.

But without anymore time to ponder the subject of my miraculous appearance here from the barracks, I pulled on a knife I somehow knew was attached to my thigh.

The wolf, snarling and growling, spittle and blood dripping from it's mouth as it bared it's teeth in a rather terrifying display, charged at me and I once again threw myself out of the way before once again acting on instinct. The knife I'd pulled out could barely be called a knife - it was about twenty inches long and looked more like a short but thick saber than anything else. Or a combat knife but on knife steroids. I remembered it's name from both sets of memories in my head.

Catachan Fang.

That...that couldn't be right, though. Because that was the knife that most Catachan Jungle Fighters used. And they were a fictional race of uber-men and women who were basically all based off of 80's action heroes. Tall, broad, muscled like an ox and absolute fighting/killing machines.

But the evidence was right in front of me and inside my head as a set of memories. Not to mention my body itself.

Because as I charged at the giant wolf, I realised I was running far faster and far more fluidly than I ever had before. Which was weird...because I was a track and field star before I entered the Paras. Then after the training I received there, I became even better physically. So to be running faster - much faster, actually - than then, I'd have to be easily breaking 30 MPH.

Not to mention that when I finally collided with the wolf, I realised just how massive my new body was. It took some time because I was distracted by the size of the wolf but this body was massive. Broad beyond belief, covered in bands of thick, hard muscle and tall enough that up close I must've not been much lighter than the beast I was driving my blade into. And boy did I drive that knife into it. The steel cut through the fur and toughened hide like it was nothing, and powered by my new bulk and preternatural strength I easily pushed the wolf onto it's side.

It gave a yowl of pain, thrashing underneath me, but instincts and muscle memory acted before I could even think and the knife was driven even deeper with a sickeningly wet crunch. The wolf let off a final death rattle before going limp.

Now would usually be the time where someone would heave and gulp air into their lungs. After all, they'd just taken down a 500lbs giant wolf with nothing but a blade. And no matter how good and sharp the blade is, that should take some mighty effort from the person wielding it. Yet I didn't feel exhausted or like I'd done anything except take a simple walk up a flight of stairs.

In fact, I felt more alert than before. My heart thumped and hammered away in my chest, and my eyes were on a swivel as they surveyed the surroundings.

Which is when I saw two more giant wolves arrive.

I pushed my worries and questions to the back of my mind for now, focusing on pulling forth the new set of memories so I could survive this situation. I have no clue how I got here or why I'm here but I am here nonetheless.

And I refuse to die to some wolves who've taken some steroids and an unhealthy dosage of human growth hormone.

Holding the blade in a reverse grip, I slowly maneuvered myself so that one of the thick trees surrounding us was at my back and then I feigned exhaustion. I wanted to see the intelligence of these wolves and whether they sacrificed it for increased size.

True to my thoughts, the smaller of the two growled and then rushed at me while the other began to prowl around, seemingly suspicious of my exhaustion. I stayed in my faked exhaustive state and held the knife ready with a grip so tight my knuckles turned white. When the smaller wolf jumped to lunge at me, I quickly dropped the act and jumped to meet it mid-air. We collided and dropped to the ground where I quickly grabbed it's snout and yanked it away from my body so as to stop it from biting me while I brought my other hand down in a flurry of speed and power, stabbing the blade over and over into it's neck.

Blood spurted out of the wound and covered my blade, the arm wielding it and even splashing up onto my face.

Pulling the knife free, I turned to spot the remaining wolf and pulled the knife up just in time to stop it's jaws from latching around my neck. The steel blade lodged in it's mouth didn't seem to deter the wolf from chomping down, it's metal-like teeth crunching against the blade. Albeit uselessly.

Bringing up a free hand to hold the spine of the blade nearer to the tip, I twisted the blade while it was still in the maw of the beast, trying to work it around the teeth as the two of us wrestled in a bout of brute strength. Surprisingly I held up easily enough but twisting the knife was still a hassle with the wolf's utterly absurd bite strength.

Finally, I worked the blade along it's teeth and gave one final but mighty push and the blade's edge cut through the wolf's cheeks and kept on going until it separated the top half of it's head from the bottom. Collapsing back on my ass and with a blood-soaked knife, I took in a deep breath, still only feeling a minor tired feeling in my chest that soon enough cleared up and disappeared all together. It wasn't until I was absolutely sure I was finally done with giant wolves that I even remotely relaxed and even then I still surveyed the surroundings like a hawk.

It at least gave me some time to look through the new memories and digest my current situation as much as possible.

So. I've somehow been transmigrated into a different place and presumably a different world unless Earth began producing giant 500lbs wolves. I have the memories of a paratrooper called Derek Smith - that's me - but I also have the memories of a Catachan Jungle Fighter who was a part of the Catachan Devils called Derek Paxan Shen who had a decade of service within the wars and fights of the Imperium and who'd been relaxing on Catachan before all this happened.

I've also somehow taken over control of that dude's memories and his absurd body. And by that I mean me, the Derek from Earth, is now in the driving seat of a Catachan elite's body. One that by using the Catachan Fang as a reference is 4.25 times the knife's length...which would make me about 7'1". Jesus Christ.

I'm not gonna tackle the questions of how or why I'm here. That sounds like a pretty fast way to a headache and I don't need the one I already have getting any worse.

A feeling of melancholy struck me as I sat on the hard and cold ground below. Would I ever see my mom again? My little sister? My dad? Any of my friends? Fuck, I'd even settle for seeing my ex-girlfriend Beth if it meant being able to get back home.

Dropping the bloodied blade to the snow covered ground in front of me, I rubbed at my eyes and forehead as I tried to release some of the tension building up there but it didn't help. No matter how much rubbing I did there, the headache brought on by how fucked my current situation was just kept getting worse. Even despite not trying to think about, I felt a distinct sense of loss at losing my past life and body and being thrust into a new world and body...it all just felt so oppressive. Like an invisible weight was being put on my shoulders.

And as broad and as impressive as they now were, the weight seemed impossible to hold up.

But the memories of a Catachan Jungle Fighter weren't just for show. Whereas before I'd have probably gone catatonic and unresponsive to the world around me as I tried to digest my situation, now I was able to handle the pressure of such a supernatural occurrence much better than I think any normal and sane person could.

Which is why when a twig snapped not too far from me, I burst into motion and picked up the blooded Catachan Fang knife and turned toward the origin of the sound. What I saw didn't put me at ease either.

It was a woman. Pretty but not outright beautiful. She had pale skin just a few shades above alabaster, and her eyes were ice blue and piercing. Her facial features were sharp and somewhat angular but what really caught my attention was the light blue hair she sported and the long, pointed ears that poked out of her straight hair. Instantly my Catachan memories saw her lithe figure and the grace she moved with and thought her an Aeldari...but she was much too short to be one of those and her face lacked any sort of arrogance known to their race.

Still, instincts were still on high and only fueled to be worse by the adrenaline pumping through my system. Which meant I didn't lower the knife and neither did I break my gaze from studying to odd-looking Elf person in front of me, my body posed to burst forth with everything I had if this person showed themselves to be a threat.

I fell back entirely on my new memories and instincts as a distraction and as a survival mechanism. This side to the new me was obviously much better at adapting to and dealing with supernatural occurrences.

The blue-haired Elf looked at me, her gaze flickering to the three dead giant wolves around me and then back to my bloodied blade.

She tilted her head and held a mysterious-looking smile on her human yet not face, "A Traveller of Planes, I see. A stranger to these lands and even the body you're in," she said such mystic shit without batting an eyelid and I narrowed my eyes at what she said - was it really that obvious? - but she continued, "Worry not, most aren't nearly as perceptive nor as old as I, Warrior of the Jungle." She gave a benign smile before waving a hand which made my body somehow even more tense but it seemed unneeded as all her actions did was cause a door made of ice and snow to grow up from the ground to her side.

I blinked in wonder and surprise at the sudden use of what seemed like magic, yet I re-focused myself on the Elf woman, still gripping at my blade, "Where am I?" I asked with a much deeper voice than I was used to.

"Arcadia is the new world you will find yourself in," the woman answered with a knowing smile which kept it's gentle look simultaneously, "The Plane you're in currently, however, is one which no mortal should be privy to. I must ask you to leave," she gestured to the snow-ice door which creaked open to show a luscious field and a far off city in the distance.

A gust of relatively warmer air burst through the door and while the air smelled fresh, it was lacking the distinct bite and sharpness of the cold air currently surrounding me. I looked to the blue-eyed Elf and then back to the door before slowly creeping toward it.

This could be a trap. Most likely is, my Catachan memories told me, but it was also my only option. I could try and stay but then I'd have to deal with the unknown ice mage who can seemingly summon portals between different planes of existence. And as much as my Catachan side said it could take her because of it's experience with Daemons, Ork Boyz, Tyranids and the savage fauna and flora of it's own world...something told me this woman was dangerous to me. A complete unknown, just like a Psyker.

So, as I walked through the door, I prepared myself for some sort of horrific trap or even just a sudden death and yet nothing happened. When I turned to look for the door, it was gone. Because of course it'd be gone.

I didn't allow myself a break just because I'd left that realm - for all I knew this was some sort of illusion - and I slowly tracked my way through the field ahead. As I approached the city in the distance, I began to see it was under attack. The city itself was quite big and surrounded by massive stone walls that must've reached 50 feet up in the air and were no doubt thick from how solid they looked.

The attacking force were made up of somewhat familiar green figures. But unlike the Orks one of my memories knew, these greenskins were more human in appearance. They were obviously still green but the hunched back and lack of a real neck were gone, replaced with a straight back and solidly thick but visible neck.

But other than that, they reminded me of Orks. They stood tall but more than that, they were wide and broad and covered in inhuman amounts of muscle. They each carried primitive weapons and were adorned in scrap metal and animal skins.

They attacked the walls with crudely made ladders of questionable make and even more raggedly put-together siege towers made of...well, they looked to have been made with whatever they could find. But it didn't deter the greenskins one bit and they rushed with reckless abandon at the walls of the city which the defenders lined.

Arrows and hot oil were shot or thrown over the side of the walls but also something a little extra was added to the fray.

At first I suspected it to be someone throwing rocks covered in oil and set alight but then I saw someone flinging lightning bolts, another throwing thick spears of ice and water and another final person conjuring spikes below the greenskin horde below. Then I thought they were Psykers. But it just didn't feel right to my instincts - this body had served next to sanctioned Psykers before and had gotten a feel for warp energy when battling Daemons. Whatever was currently happening had nothing to do with Psykers or the Warp.

That left one last thing. Magic.

I did, for a brief second, entertain the thought of it somehow being very advanced science. A sort of device one could carry that allowed them to control the elements. Yet why would such an advanced people still be living in stone-walled cities? Why would they still be using bows and arrows? It didn't add up and only solidified the magic idea.

As I came closer and closer to the horde of greenskins, I slowed my pace and pulled a second Catachan Fang knife from the back of my waist and held the two of my blades in my hand. Crouching low, I continued forward and counted the numbers of the horde.

Easily one hundred of the buggers.

When I was thinking about walking around them to the back entrance for the city - if it had one - I saw the gates for the city open up and a vanguard rushing out to meet the horde attacking the city.

Said vanguard was...just as odd as seeing the weirdly shaped Orks. There were humans, sure, but there were also Elves of all sorts of colours and there were also very short people who were unnaturally broad and thick for their size. A pick and mix vanguard if I'd ever seen one. To the Catachan in me, it looked like Humans and short Eldar working together alongside mutants. To the ordinary Earth side, it looked like a scene from a fantasy game or movie.

Watching them charge out with righteous zeal, filled with the wrath unique to those who are defending their place of living, both sides of me were in agreement. I was going to help them. The Catachan side because that side of me was a crazy bastard, it would seem, and the Earth Human side because I'd become a soldier all because I wished to protect my country and all it's people.

Even when not in the British Military, or even on Earth, I couldn't help but feel the vanguard's infectious energy to protect this city.

A passing thought came through my mind - what if this is why I was brought here? To help protect this place? Whatever it was, if I'm to be stuck in this new world, I'd like to make a good first impression on the nearest city.

And so, I charged at the greenskins, memories of hundreds of battles flooding through my mind and into my body, fuelling both it and my actions.

My Catachan side was pushing me into some sort of battle mania...and I didn't stop it.

. . .

POV Change - Nalmora Brighthandle

Nalmora felt the rush of her blood in her ears, the mix of sweat, blood and piss filling her nose as she struggled not to scrunch her face in disgust. The only solace she had was that her steel plate helmet made the horrid smell somewhat subdued but her Orcish nose still picked up a whiff of it, even with her only being a Half-Orc.

As she, Val and the rest of the vanguard rushed through the gate, she was met with the horde of Feral Orcs. Both distinct from normal Orcs through their lack of intelligence and their larger size. But that didn't stop Nalmora nor any of her comrades.

The divine power flooding through her blood made her body thrum with strength and as the leading person of the vanguard, it was here who first collided with the Feral Orcs.

Across the board, each of the Orcs were either 6'6" or above that by a few inches and were all, without doubt 300lbs or more in terms of weight. Yet when she collided with the first Feral Orc, a particularly mighty specimen on 6'8" and approximately 350lbs, it was the Feral Orc who was blasted backward due to the collision. Her sturdy bastard sword cut through the air and sliced into the off-balance Feral Orc's collarbone and chest, shredding through the dark green skin and the red flesh below like it was made of butter.

Completing the slash, Nalmora threw up her tower shield to take the crude metal axes of one of the Ferals before countering with a push that knocked it off-balance and allowed Val to land two arrows in it's neck and one of it's eyes. Catching sight of the Wood Elf Ranger, Nalmora have a slight nod to her friend before going back to keeping the Ferals in check.

She put herself between a winded Human Fighter and a more dexterous Feral, her tower shield stopping the serrated dagger before her sword cut the opponent down. She pulled on the power in her blood and a golden light burst from the edge and tip of her sword - the already big blade doubling in size as the light formed a energy blade around the metal of her sword. As she swung it, the blade cut through two lightly armoured Feral Orcs and disarmed a third before Nalmora rushed the disarmed Feral Orc and shoulder barged it to the ground.

Her armoured boot came up and then down on the Ferals' head which crushed it's skull and took it out of the fight.

The fight continued on and Nalmora wasn't even the strongest of the vanguard and despite there being 210 Feral Orcs and only 55 members of the vanguard, the horde was quite quickly pushed back.

And that's when they all saw it.

First, Nalmora thought it to be a Feral Orc because of how it was covered in blood and moving like a feral beast but then she noticed the dark silver hair and amber eyes. Not to mention the distinctly human looking figure and lack of jutting forehead and tusks. But what surprised her even more was the utter size of the apparent human. Easily taller than most the Ferals around it, and of similar broadness and muscle mass, the newcomer was cutting a bloody swath through the retreating horde.

The male Human's long knives cut through the Feral Orc's with ease and like a member of the undead, the user of said knives didn't seem to tire as he cut and sliced and crushed whatever he came across.

Despite his size, he was impossibly dexterous and fast, flickering around his immediate area with the explosive speed she'd only ever seen among Elves and wild Great Cats. And when he didn't dodge the attacks coming at him or block them with his blades, the crude axes and chopper blades failed to even cut his skin as they bounced off of him. Any attackers that did hit him were soon on the bloody end of his two knives, the two weapons attacking more like claws or fangs as they stabbed and sliced into every weak point they could find.

And before long, the Feral Orcs were decimated or scrambling away from the blood-covered man like he was some sort of Humanoid Tarrasque.

Seeing them back away and retreat, the savage man turned to them and watched them run away with the diligence and discipline of a master hunter. He watched them, still perched to charge at any attackers before they'd ran away enough to be nothing but green-blobs on the horizon. At that point, everyone of the vanguard relaxed, including Nalmora. Yet the man stood vigilant, turning to regard what remained of the vanguard with a calm but subtly ferocious gaze. He looked primed to attack if a threat to his person appeared.

Some of the the more perceptive vanguard members put their guards back up and gripped at their weapons as they slowly edged forward. Nalmora watched, having the oddest feeling that he wouldn't be a threat if the group just made sure to not show any hostility.

A sentiment seemingly shared by the eldest member of the vanguard and arguably the most well-renowned of the vanguard and the adventures among the city's branch, as Gunnar strode forward. Putting his battleaxe on his back, he held up his hands in a placating gesture and smiled through his thick white beard. Despite being a pure Human, he wasn't that far off the blood-covered man at 6'10" with a build that didn't lose out to the newcomer either.

Nalmora wondered how this would turn out.