As Michael came up over the next rise, he was surprised by what he saw.

It had been right to assume that the denizens of this world were primitive, but apparently they weren't as far behind as once thought. The armor donned by the fighters looked ahead of the Medieval Age, but not by much. The weapons, however, were a strange mix of the primitive and the moderately advanced.

One man, who was wearing strange armor that made him look like a walking castle, was firing from a large gun that apparently was a combination of a bow and arrow as well as a gun. The shells it fired were the size of those fed into Michael's own heavy bolter, but their slow speed evidenced their comparative lack of power.

The beasts that they fought against resembled T-rexes. That was puzzling. Michael knew that there were movies of semi-modern worlds with ancient wildlife, though he had never seen them. Was that the case on this world?

Just then, one of the warriors fighting the dinosaur-like beasts was thrown to the ground by one of them. One of the eight largest ones present. The creature reared back to rip him apart with its powerful jaws. The man would not be able to reach his sword (one far too large for him to even lift, Michael thought) before the strike.

The monster's head exploded into a mass of shattered bone and blood. The dead trunk heaped to the ground. The man, his once shining armor now splattered with gore, slowly uncovered his eyes and shakily stood. His eyes, as well of those of every living thing there, were locked on Michael.

Michael calmly lifted his heavy bolter, allowing the smoke from the last shot drift away into the dry wind. Showing remarkable intelligence for dinosaurs, three of the three of the remaining monsters turned and fled, bringing their packs of smaller reptiles with them. The remaining four roared and charged him, correctly assuming him to be the greatest threat.

With a roar of his own, Michael charged down the hill, releasing the pent up fury at the deaths of his battle brothers. The smaller creatures pranced in a circle around him, waiting for a moment to strike. The largest ones simply ran forward.

The first did not die immediately. Instead, the bolter shells tore open its flank, causing the monstrosity's insides to spill onto the ground, cursing it to a long and painful death. The second had its skull shattered by the force applied to it with Michael's fist. Several of the smaller ones simply disappeared in the masses of bolter explosions. The third larger one tried to turn its side to him and body slam him, only to have its chest caved in. The fourth and final one, deprived of its allies and pack, merely jutted its open maw forward.

All too easy.

Michael grabbed its face by the frills on either side and heaved. With a sickening wrench, the beast's entire face came off.

Michael stood panting, not with exertion, but with the thrill of battle. The group of warriors around him simply stared, and with good reason, too. His crimson armor was covered in deep splotches of deeper red, the beasts' blood. The golden eagles on his shoulders were stained with the mess. The man with the primitive gun stepped forward (the leader of the group, if his manner and gait were anything to go by).

"Hot diggity damn," he said in awe. "I don't know who the hell you are, but do you have any idea how hard it is t'kill four Great Jaggis like that?"

Michael said nothing, he merely took note that the beasts were called jaggi.

"No, I do not," he said after a moment. The man gave him an odd look (his eyes were barely visible through his helmet), as did the rest of the group. All except for one, who stood apart from the rest, glaring at him suspiciously.

"You're not from here, are you?" the man asked. Michael shook his head. "Can't get back home too easily?" Another shake.

The man questioned him on a few other things, which Michael obliged him to. It was becoming increasingly likely that he would need allies in this apparently inhospitable landscape.

"So," the man said after another question. "You must've come in an airship, where did it crash?"

Michael hesitated, but decided that "airship" would be the best description of his pod until they saw it. He pointed at the cliff near where the pod had crashed, which was barely visible over the hills between it and his position.

"Right," the man said. Then he turned to the man that had been pinned by the Great Jaggi.

"Matthew," he said. "D'ya think you can bring the airship around? We might be able to repair...wait, what's your name?"

"Michael," the Space Marine said, deciding that no harm could be done in them merely knowing his name.

"Right, we might be able to repair Michael's ship if we can bring it to Loc Lac," the man continued. Matthew nodded before turned and began jogging to the north, in the opposite direction.

The gun-armed man gestured. "Lead the way...But first, let me introduce myself." He held out his hand. "Call me Jazz," he said. Michael shook his hand, enclosing it it his armored gauntlet.


A/N: Once again, if I've made any errors with the Warhammer part of this story, just tell me. Also, please tell me if you see anything like these: i /i. They are symbols that I have to use when I post chapter on Deviantart, and I may have missed some when I deleted them.