Beast… No Primarch

Auto crouched at the edge of the swamp, his ribs visible beneath his tattered tunic, every breath a shallow whisper of exhaustion. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the boundary between the swamp and the plains. He had been out here for hours, scouring the area for any signs of food, any chance at quelling the gnawing hunger that plagued him.

The villagers called him a fool for coming so close to the swamp. They whispered that anyone wandering near it was tempting fate, inviting death. The swamp was home to horrors—mutated creatures, strange beasts, and things that defied even old bed time stories. Yet for Auto, it was a risk worth taking. Better a quick end in the jaws of some beast than a slow, agonizing death by starvation in the fields, where life was a fragile dance with starvation.

His hand brushed a small, skeleton—what remained of a mutated creature. It had been partially devoured, its flesh ripped away in jagged chunks when he found it. He had found it days ago, and though it was barely edible, he had clung to it like a divine treasure, his first meal in days. Since then, he had returned to this cursed place each day, hoping for another stroke of luck.

But today, there was nothing. The swamp was eerily quiet, its usual chorus of distant screeches and howls strangely absent. Auto felt suspicion settle in his chest. but then before he contemplate further his stomach growled, and he winced. It was time to turn back, to face another night with little more than hope to fill his belly.

Then, something caught his eye.

Footprints. Fresh ones, leading from the swamp's edge, straight toward the plains. Auto squinted, crouching lower to get a better look. The prints were small, too small for a man, and too big to be a rodent. They were too uniform, too deliberate, to belong to a beast. His pulse quickened as he followed the trail with his eyes. The footprints led to something... strange.

A hole.

Roughly three feet wide, perfectly square, and dug deep into the dry land beyond the swamp. Auto's heart raced, suspicion bubbling to the surface. No one from the village would dig such a thing, especially so close to the swamp. Most people didn't even venture this far, let alone leave behind something as bizarre as this.

Who could have done it? And why?

He crept closer, his curiosity warring with the instinctual fear that gnawed at him. The hole was unnerving, too precise to be natural, yet its depth vanished into darkness, as if something—or someone—had intentionally carved out a pit to conceal themselves. Auto's gut told him this wasn't a random act of nature. But if not that, then what?

The breeze shifted, carrying with it the damp, earthy scent of the swamp, tinged with the faint stench of rotting meat. Auto's stomach twisted, and his sense of unease grew. He knew better than to investigate on his own. Not out here, where the swamp's dangers could spring from the shadows at any moment.

He stepped back, keeping his eyes locked on the hole. There was no telling what could be lurking inside, waiting to strike the moment he got too close. He may have been desperate, but he wasn't reckless. He'd survived 18 years by knowing when to push his luck and when to walk away. And this... this was something far beyond anything he had ever encountered.

"I'll tell the Chief," Auto murmured to himself, swallowing his fear. He turned his back on the hole, his limbs suddenly stiff with anxiety. The village elders would know what to do. Maybe they could send a hunting party, or maybe they'd tell him to leave it alone—warn him not to get involved. Either way, it wasn't his problem anymore. Not if he made it back safely.

The sun just reaching its zenith as Auto began the long trek back toward the village, every step heavy with the weight of his decision. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed—something dangerous was stirring. But whatever it was, it would have to wait.

He wouldn't investigate that hole alone. He wasn't that foolish.

As he glanced back one final time, the dark mouth of the hole seemed to stare back at him, as if daring him to return. Something, or someone, was down there. And whoever had left those footprints... was either a dead man or soon to be one.

The village Chief needed to know.

As Auto approached the village gates, his steps grew lighter, hoping to slip through unnoticed. But he could feel the weight of the lookout's gaze boring into him. The small village may have been Auto's home, but its guards never trusted anyone who ventured out of the village. The gate's lookout, perched high on the wooden walls, kept a hawk's eye on every return.

Just when Auto thought he might make it past without incident, the lookout's signal came—a quick, sharp whistle that caught the attention of Ishmael, the gate's lead guardsman.

Ishmael, broad-shouldered and stern, stepped forward, spear in hand. The tip of the weapon gleamed in the midday sun, and he raised it slightly, leveling it in Auto's direction. Auto's heart sank, and an involuntary twitch jerked at his eye.

"Ishmael, you've got to be kidding me," Auto snapped, his voice exasperated but trying to stay calm. "Are you really going to stop me at the gate? You know I always leave in the morning and return by noon. It's been the same every day for weeks now. You can't just prevent me from entering without a reason."

Ishmael didn't respond immediately. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over Auto from head to toe. Auto felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead, though whether from the heat or the intensity of Ishmael's gaze, he wasn't sure. The silence dragged on, and Auto shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

The gate guardsman wasn't known for his conversational skills, but his silence now carried an air of suspicion that made Auto's skin prickle.

Auto sighed, realizing that this wasn't going to be as easy as slipping past unnoticed. "Fine, look, there's something you should know," he began, his voice dropping a notch. "Near the swamp, I found something... unusual. Footprints—like nothing I've seen before. And a hole, perfectly square, about three feet wide, just... dug into the ground. I didn't go near it, but it's not natural, I'm sure of that."

For the first time, Ishmael's expression shifted, though only slightly. He lowered the spear a fraction, his interest piqued, but his suspicion remained. "A hole, you say?" His voice was gravelly, like stones grinding together. "And footprints? No one's been near the swamp for days, not since those beasts were spotted roaming too close to the village."

"Exactly!" Auto said, nodding eagerly. "That's why I came straight here. I didn't go looking for trouble—I just thought the Chief needed to know. It's strange, Ishmael. You've seen the way the swamp changes things. Whatever made those prints... it's not something from around here."

Ishmael considered him for another moment before finally lowering his spear fully. His eyes swept the area behind Auto, scanning the horizon toward the swamp, as if expecting to see whatever had left those footprints trailing behind the young scavenger.

"Come with me," he muttered, gesturing toward the village with a jerk of his chin. "The Chief'll want to hear this himself."

Relief washed over Auto, though it was tempered by the knowledge of what he was about to share. He fell in step beside Ishmael, who led him down the narrow, dirt-packed streets of the village. Small houses, their roofs thatched with straw, lined the way as curious villagers peered out from their windows, eyeing Auto's arrival.

The chief's house stood at the heart of the village, an old stone structure, larger than most but worn by time and weather. Ishmael pushed the heavy wooden door open, gesturing for Auto to enter first.

Inside, Chief Nara sat by a low fire, his aging but sharp eyes rising to meet Auto's as soon as he stepped across the threshold. His gray hair was pulled back tightly, and the weight of authority rested heavily in the lines of his face. He motioned for them to speak without even waiting for an introduction.

"What is it, Auto?" he asked, her voice as firm as stone but laced with curiosity. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Auto hesitated for a moment, feeling the intensity of both Ishmael's and the Chief's eyes on him. He took a breath, straightened his posture, and spoke.

"Chief Nara," he began, "I found something strange near the swamp. There were footprints—small ones, in the soil, leading from the swamp toward the dry land. And there's a hole, perfectly square, dug straight into the ground. It's not something a beast would do. I don't know who or what made it, but it's like nothing I've seen before."

The room fell silent. Chief Nara's brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the wooden table beside him. "A hole, you say? How deep?"

"I couldn't see the bottom," Auto replied, swallowing. "But it's at least several feet deep. Whatever made it did it quickly—it wasn't there yesterday."

Nara's eyes narrowed in thought. "And no one else has ventured that close to the swamp?"

"No one but me," Auto confirmed, his voice steady.

Chief Nara sat back in his chair, folding his hands together. "We've long known the swamp harbors strange things, but this... is different. If something—or someone—has come from that place, we need to know what we're dealing with."

He looked to Ishmael, who nodded in silent agreement. "We'll send a group to investigate," the Chief said firmly. "And you, Auto, will lead them to this place."

Auto's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected to be immediately involved beyond reporting what he'd seen, but the weight of the Chief's words was final. There was no room for protest.

"Yes, Chief," he said, nodding.

Whatever was in that hole, whoever had left those prints, the village would soon find out.

Gazing up at the sunny sky, Auto estimated there were about four hours left until sunset. "Just ahead," he announced. With all eyes on him, Auto peered into the remaining hole, the footprints still evident. "See, I'm not insane; the hole and the footprints are right there," he proclaimed.

The men exchanged looks and nodded.

Auto's eye twitched again. "You've got to be joking; you can't expect me to do all the work! I'm the one who discovered this accursed hole. Shouldn't one of you go down there to check for any lurking beasts?"

The men exchanged looks and nodded once more.

Witnessing the unanimous nodding, Auto felt a surge of apprehension.

His eye twitched again. "You've got to be joking; you can't just tie me up and lower me down as if I'm fish bait." As he was about to object once more, Ishmael's menacing gaze met his. Clearing his throat, Auto quickly amended, "I mean, please handle me with care. I'm always eager to assist."

Ishmael's demeanor softened. "Don't fret, if you perish, we'll consume only your limbs and bury the rest," he assured.

Heaving a deep sigh, Auto gripped the copper dagger Ishmael had handed him. Anxiety mounting, he glimpsed the bottom of the hole, leading him to ponder who could have excavated such a depth.

Just when Auto assumed the hole was vacant, he noticed a diminutive humanoid form, blood-stained and encrusted with dry mud.

A startled yelp escaped him as the humanoid's eyes burst open. Deep, luminous blue eyes locked with his, and then it happened. I thrust the dagger blindly at the figure, but it was akin to striking a steel barrier; the copper blade deflected off the creature's hand. It retaliated, its arm thrusting like a lance. The beast charged, but fortuitously, as I had pivoted while lunging with the dagger, the creature's arm whizzed by, skewering the rock beside me as though slicing through butter.

As the boy landed softly on the ground, his glowing blue eyes burned with an intensity that immediately halted any thoughts of retreat. His mud-caked form was a sharp contrast to the aura he exuded. The men who had prepared to flee stood frozen, torn between primal fear and sheer amazement.

Auto, still recovering from his plunge into the hole, wiped his sweaty brow and adjusted his stance. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The boy—no, the beast—had not attacked. Not yet, at least. Instead, it simply stood there, surveying the small group of villagers like an apex predator watching prey.

"Are we dead?" someone muttered under their breath.

Ishmael, like always, was silent. His hand, which normally gripped his spear with unwavering confidence, now trembled slightly as his eyes flickered between the boy and Auto. The copper dagger—his dagger—was in the boy's grasp. It looked like a child's toy in the boy's hand.

"No... not dead," Auto replied, his voice weak but managing a thread of bravado. "But if any of you make a move, I think he might change his mind about that."

The group stood in a tense silence. It was only then that Auto noticed the finer details of the boy's appearance. He was tall for what looked to be a child, his muscles already well-developed, with a physique that shouldn't belong to anyone so young. His skin, though pale and covered in dried blood and grime, had an almost metallic sheen in the sunlight. Those eyes, still glowing, weren't human. His eyes filled with something deeper than a mere child should possess.

Auto swallowed, realizing that he had just come face-to-face with something far beyond any mutated creature from the swamp. This boy—this beast—was something... else.

"Who are you?" Auto asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though loud enough to break the eerie stillness.

The boy's eyes snapped to Auto, locking onto him with a focus that made Auto regret speaking at all. But instead of attacking, the boy tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. His lips parted, and though his voice was rough and unused to forming words, it carried a strange weight.

"I... am Atlas."

The name hung in the air like a thunderclap, drawing a collective breath from the group. Auto, Ishmael, and the others exchanged looks. This thing—had a name. An unfamiliar name.

"Atlas," Auto repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "Where did you come from?"

Atlas didn't respond immediately. Instead, he looked at his surroundings again, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as if reflecting on something distant and lost. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, his gaze locking with Auto's once more.

"I was... thrown here," Atlas said, his voice low but steady, as though he was recalling a memory buried deep within. "From a place beyond your understanding."

The words were strange, but something about them felt true. Auto's throat tightened as he took a small step back. "Thrown here? By who? Or... by what?"

Atlas's eyes flashed briefly with a fierce, unknowable light. "By forces that do not care for your world. Forces... that are greater than this swamp, this village. Forces that want to kill me."

His words echoed with something ominous, something that sent chills down Auto's spine. But before Auto could ask more, Ishmael, breaking out of his trance-like shock, stepped forward with surprising boldness.

"You... You're not from here," Ishmael stated, more as a realization than a question. "But you're not a beast either."

Atlas turned his glowing eyes to Ishmael. "No," he replied, his tone cold but not hostile. "I am not."

The group stood frozen again, unsure of what to do. Auto could sense the unease rising like the tide. The villagers were simple people, not equipped to understand or handle whatever Atlas was.

"Atlas," Auto said carefully, "we don't know what brought you here, but we don't want to fight you. If... If you need help, or food, or anything, the village might be able to—"

But before Auto could finish, Atlas turned his gaze to Auto again. His expression, which had been unreadable until now, shifted into something more focused, more driven.

Then, without a warning, Atlas raised the copper dagger high. For a brief moment, everyone tensed, expecting the worst. But instead of hurling it at one of them, he tossed it down at Auto's feet, the blade landing harmlessly in the dirt.

"I have no need of this," Atlas said simply.

Auto's eyes widened, then he glanced at Ishmael, who shrugged helplessly. The villagers stood still, unsure whether to run or to engage. But Auto, sensing that there was something bigger going on, something beyond their understanding, took a cautious step toward Atlas.

"I need nothing from you," he said softly, his eyes still glowing as he seemed to unfocused staring blankly forward. But you will need me.

And with that, Atlas disappeared, leaving only the wide-eyed villagers behind.

Auto stood in the silence, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Ishmael, still gripping his spear tightly, exhaled deeply.

"What... was that?" one of the men muttered.

Auto, for once, was at a loss for words. He stared at the spot where Atlas had vanished, wondering what he had just unleashed into the world.

Atlas grinned, both surprised and delighted. His instincts had proven right—he could teleport between the strange, chaotic world of Warhammer into his own private Minecraft-like dimension at will. Teleportation to a different reality at will is definitely going to be coming in handy. looking ahead there's a deep hole a cave, "Hope mobs don't spawn down there... wouldn't want a creeper sneaking up on me." His brows furrowed as he thought about it, but he quickly shook off the concern.

He redirected his focus to his immediate environment—a vast forest biome that bore a striking resemblance to reality, albeit with cubic trees and terrain. As Atlas surveyed the forest, he noticed a square-headed zombie shuffling into sight from behind a tree, emitting a groan as it drew nearer. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched instinctively. The pangs of hunger and the desperation that had haunted him not to long ago lingered, but this time... he was prepared.

Before the zombie could get too close, Atlas darted forward with a speed that surprised even himself. His bare hands, honed from his battle with real-world monstrosities, made quick work of the undead foe. He grabbed the zombie by its square head and twisted, tearing it from its shoulders with a sickening crunch. The zombie's body dissolved into the familiar gray smoke of Minecraft's death mechanic, and Atlas stepped back, watching the remnants turn into two pieces of rotten flesh the size of stakes.

Atlas wrinkled his nose at the foul-smelling meat, lifting it and tossing it to the side. "Definitely not food," he muttered, remembering his earlier desperation to eat anything just to survive.

But something else caught his attention. As the zombie's remains dissipated, a small orb of energy floated above the spot where the body had fallen. It flickered between yellow and green, glowing faintly in the dim light. Atlas raised an eyebrow.

"Forgot about that."

Drawing nearer, the moment he was close enough, it shot directly into his chest, a wave of energy pouring into him, its warmth spreading through his veins. It was more than mere energy; it was a substance that could solve even his hunger problem. Instinctively, he grasped its nature—experience, akin to that in the game, yet slightly different. His mind buzzed with new awareness, an understanding that he could grow stronger, eat sorta, and maybe even store experience inside me and then automatically consume it when hungry again.

The orb popped out of existence with a soft "ding," and Atlas couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, that's useful." His grin widened, excitement building inside him. The possibilities this new world held were endless.

He surveyed the pixelated landscape before him, feeling more in control than ever. With the power of this dimension under his command, Atlas realized he could shape his own reality in the Warhammer universe, one block—and one world—at a time.

"Let's see how far I can push this," he muttered, setting his sights on his next pray.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon in his Minecraft dimension, casting long shadows across his modest ranch, Atlas stood still, contemplating his next move. The sight of the cows lazily grazing on the grass-filled enclosures brought a smile to his face. He had built this place in a matter of hours, something he could never have dreamed of accomplishing so quickly in the real world. Wheat fields swayed gently in the breeze, and the rhythmic grunting of pigs, bleating of sheep, and lowing of cows formed a peaceful, pastoral symphony.

Atlas glanced at his infinite inventory, the sheer size of it beyond comprehension. The sensation of endless resources at his fingertips was intoxicating. With a few swipes and mental commands, he had everything he needed, and he knew that he could carry even more without ever becoming overburdened. A slight smirk crept onto his face. This was a power unlike any other, and it felt... limitless.

But then, reality snapped back into his mind. The villagers. He had left them standing, mouths agape, confused and frightened, near the hole he had dug just beyond the swamp. They had stared at him as if he were some celestial being, and in their eyes, he probably was. He had spoken to them, but he hadn't considered their needs, their fears, or even the fact that he might be able to help them.

Atlas's face wrinkled in sudden realization. They were simple people, likely facing starvation, danger from predators, and the harshness of their environment. He had just walked away, without a second thought. The ranch he had built here could be their salvation. The crops, the animals—all of it could make a difference for them.

He needed to exercise greater diligence. He was, quite possibly, the only one within a couple of light-years who could afford to be whimsical in his actions without paying too high a price. But the question remained: how would his actions affect those around him? Or rather, how had his actions already affected them? Clenching his fists, Atlas refocused himself.

Without wasting another moment, he rushed toward two cows, placing a hand on each. Closing his eyes, he focused his will, feeling the familiar pulse of energy as he prepared to return to the Warhammer universe. His thoughts centered on the spot he was before he teleported to the Minecraft dimension.

The transition was seamless. As Atlas opened his eyes, he was welcomed by the still-bright sunny sky of the real world. Rising to his feet in mild confusion, he caught the astonished stares of the villagers. Next to him stood two cows, their eyes wide but their demeanor otherwise serene.

The vibrant glow emanating from his eyes drew the villagers' attention, even as he reappeared holding two full-grown cows the attention remained on himself. Atlas felt a twinge of excitement. The cows—real, tangible, and alive—had made it through the transition with him. This was not just a simple teleportation trick; it was something far more powerful. It was the confirmation he could bring resources from his dimension into this world.

"Not bad," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the cows that had already begun grazing on the grass. He had done it—he had bridged two realities.

Without delay, he turned to Auto, striding purposefully towards him, the two cows following behind him obediently. As he neared Atlas knew he needed to approach carefully; these people were on edge after seeing his display of power.

Approaching the Auto, he called out. "I've returned," his voice steady but loud enough for all to hear.

Autos face just barely starting to relax immediately turned wary again. His eyes flicked from Atlas to the cows, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity crossing his face.

"You brought... animals?" Auto asked, his voice uncertain, as if questioning whether what he saw was real.

"Yes," Atlas replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Food. Resources. Your village will never go hungry again."

Behind Auto, more villagers gathered around, astonished eyes. Murmurs spread through the crowd as they saw the cows, and the realization slowly dawned on them that this strange, powerful boy had indeed brought something that could change their lives.

Atlas stepped forward, the cows following at his heels. "This is just the beginning," he said, addressing the growing crowd. "I can bring more—crops, animals, whatever you need. But first, I must ensure you a safe trip back to your village before night.

The crowd remained silent, still processing the enormity of what had just happened. Auto, who had been among them, stepped forward, his face a mixture of awe and relief.

"Let's begin by heading back," Auto suggested softly. "There, you can assist us."

Atlas nodded, his grin widening. This was it—the beginning of something bigger. The power to shape worlds was his, and now, he could use it to change the lives of these people. And maybe, just maybe, it would lead him closer to understanding the full extent of his abilities in this strange, dangerous universe.

"Then let's," Atlas said, I'm ready to reshape this whole world. So fixing up a mere village should be peanuts.

As Atlas and the small herd of cows walked toward the village gates, a palpable shift in the villagers' attitudes began to take hold. Where there had once been fear, suspicion, and a hint of resentment, there was now curiosity and a growing sense of hope. The promise of food—real, substantial food—was something none of them could ignore.

Murmurs followed Atlas as they entered the village. Women, men, and children peeked out from their modest homes, eyes wide and hungry, not just for the food but for the answers behind the miracle that had seemingly materialized at their gates. The cows, strange as they were to these people, represented something more than just meat—they were a sign of salvation.

Ishmael, who had initially been so cautious and wary, now walked beside Atlas, casting glances at the cows and the boy who had summoned them as if they were both foreign creatures. Auto trailed close behind, rubbing his arms nervously, but even he couldn't hide the glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

"How... how did you bring them?" one of the villagers, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, called out from the edge of the crowd. "Where did they come from?"

Atlas glanced her way, feeling the weight of all their eyes on him. His mind raced. He couldn't explain everything—not yet. How could he describe a Minecraft-like dimension that obeyed his will in a universe they couldn't even begin to fathom? The truth was too strange for them. But still, he had to give them something.

"They come from a place... far away," he replied, keeping his tone mysterious but calm. "A place where resources are plentiful, and I have the means to bring them here. You don't need to understand everything just yet, only that I can help."

The villagers nodded, but the curiosity in their eyes only grew. They needed him to be their savior, but they also hungered for the secrets of his power. Ishmael, his hand resting on the hilt of his spear, finally spoke up after a long silence.

"We've all seen strange things before, but never this. You have powers no one else does. If you can bring food, animals—whatever you say—why are you here? Why help us?"

Atlas paused, thoughtful. He didn't have a grand purpose for being there, other than surviving and exploring the vast potential of his newfound abilities. But there was something about these people—desperate, struggling, and hopeful—that tugged at him.

"Because I want to," Atlas said finally, his voice steady. "I may not be from here, but I can help, and I will. If we work together, your village will prosper."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, as if a dam had broken, the villagers erupted in relieved murmurs. A few tentative smiles began to spread, and the fear that had once gripped them seemed to ease.

Atlas felt something stir within him, a warmth, a connection he hadn't expected. He was their hope now, and though he hadn't planned for it, it was a responsibility he was willing to bear.

One of the older villagers stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly as he raised his voice. "We're grateful for your help, lad. If there's anything we can do in return—anything at all—you just say the word."

Atlas nodded appreciatively. "I may take you up on that. But for now, let's start with feeding everyone. Tomorrow, I'll bring crops, more animals—whatever you need to make sure no one goes hungry again."

The night deepened as the villagers slowly dispersed, but the air was lighter, filled with hope. For the first time in a long while, they didn't have to worry about what they would eat the next day.

As Atlas watched them return to their homes, Auto stood beside him, his usual twitchiness replaced by something more reflective. "I still don't know who—or what—you are," Auto muttered. "But I'll say this: the people are starting to believe in you."

Atlas glanced up at Auto, his own thoughts swirling. "Let them believe. As long as I can help them, that's all that matters."

But deep down, Atlas knew this was only the beginning. His powers would soon draw more attention—not just from the villagers but from the forces at play in this world. And when that happened, he needed to be ready.