Purge the Witch

A Soul Eater x Warhammer 40,000 crossover

(Author's note: I apologise in advance for this. The me currently writing is high as heaven and decided that today would be the day to show you this. I apologise again.)

Chapter one: Grim days.

"Gellar field stabilised! Preparing to warp in approximately ten minutes!"

Captain Ryyke breathed a sigh of relief and turned away from the bustle of the command deck. Admiral Scholtz had arranged for them to meet, but she was busy giving orders and he had had to wait through the nervous testing of the Gellar field, somehow simultaneously bored and frightened. It seemed as though she were done, and the two came face to face as the both of them strode toward each other. She was young, for such a high-ranking naval officer. Ten years his junior, as far as Ryyke knew, but she strode with such an air of confidence that he felt they were equal. Then she was talking, and Ryyke started to listen.

"Our casualties were heavy. Most of our main guns are disabled or damaged in some capacity. I fear that another victory like that could wipe us out." She began sharply. Down to business as usual. Ryyke nodded in tired agreement.

"I concur. Most of my men are injured, if not all. The same goes for Captain Jarl. Most of his men are severely wounded." Scholtz raised an eyebrow.

"I thought that Captain Ymir was-" she began, but Ryyke shook his head.

"Ann- Uh, Captain Ymir is listed as one of the casualties. Her First Lieutenant took the promotion I gave him." Scholtz nodded and wiped her brow with a handkerchief.

"Our Gellar field is stable, for the most part. It took a beating, I must say. The same goes for our engines. We are lucky to still have our navigator, too. The command deck was struck many times."

Ryyke nodded at that last part, surveying all the damage and wounded he could see in the room.

"Is it likely the men will start hearing voices when we jump?" Ryyke asked humourlessly. Scholtz looked as dejected as an officer could be allowed to be seen as she answered:

"I advise your men to travel in groups. This may be an…. Unstable journey." Ryyken swallowed hard and nodded.

"Acknowledged." Sighing, Ryyken turned to leave.

"Wait." Scholtz commanded. Ryyken turned back and waited. Scholtz dabbed at her brow again and said "Be careful yourself. It wouldn't do well for both Captains to be dead."

"No. It would not."


"Ahh, Voss!"

Ryyke had been on his way back to the Command deck to the residential halls, marching through halls and corridors he was unfamiliar with, until he encountered his faithful First Lieutenant, Voss. Voss, his companion through Officer Academy back on Alquis Major. Through thick and thin, Voss had been unflinchingly loyal and brave. When Captain Reiss retired, it was Voss who volunteered Ryyke for the mantle. Voss, who had seen two wars and yet remained optimistic. And yet, his cheerful face was strained and tense. The two walked through the halls together, discussing their next move.

"I've got two hundred and fifty-two either missing or dead, the data's been checked and double checked."

"Damn. That brings our total to-" Ryyken began to speak, but Voss was quicker.

"Six thousand, seven hundred, and fifty-six. Just over a quarter of our men. And that's our dead." Voss was tired in such a way that it spread to Ryyke like a virus of sorts. A dour mood had settled over Ryyken and he sought to shake it off.

"Are we still reasonably combat-effective?" he asked, hoping for some good news.

"Against pirates? Perhaps. Anything else, we'll have a problem. Pretty much every one of us is wounded in some way. Some more so than others."

Wounds can heal, Ryyken thought miserably. But what of their mental ones? How many will be able to face combat, truly, when it inevitably strikes us once more?

As Ryyken pondered, the ship had entered the warp. Demons, Enslavers, Psychenneuins, parted to let the battered ship through, the Gellar field holding strong. But the Princess Cyclone was not safe. An entity, beyond mortal comprehension, was disturbed by some intangible thought, and the storms it sent flickering in its thought caught the little frigate, and sent it spiralling into chaos.