Illusions.
Illusions everywhere.
Yarrick only felt himself falling endlessly, chaotic lights and shadowy patterns filling his entire vision, leaving him with no idea where he was.
Who knew how long had passed.
At last, all the Chaos dissipated.
Yarrick slowly opened his eyes and found himself lying on the ground.
He braced himself with one hand and quickly climbed to his feet, his brow furrowing slightly.
The ground did not feel like normal ground. Its texture was closer to some kind of soft plastic. He stamped his foot again, only to find that it felt like the skin of some strange kind of flesh.
No, this was not the time to worry about that.
The training he had undergone as an Imperial Commissar swiftly brought Yarrick back to his senses.
The next moment, the clamor around him flooded into his ears.
The sound of cleavers biting into flesh, roars, screams, gunfire, artillery fire, explosions, howls... all the sounds intertwined into a symphony called "war," stirring boundless fighting spirit within him.
Yarrick looked around. War filled his vision.
An immense number of Ork Boyz—so many that even an Imperial Commissar who had dealt with greenskins for nearly half his life was stunned—were reveling and roaring, wielding all manner of bizarre weapons and firearms as they madly unleashed slaughter upon their own kind.
Why not enjoy war?
It was the only pastime in the dark Galaxy!
Yarrick fell into thought.
Where was this place?
"Oi, wot's this? A Shrimp!"
An Ork Boy hacked off a head with his Chainsword. As he looked around for his next opponent, he spotted Yarrick, dressed in an Imperial uniform and utterly out of place amid the surrounding green.
"How'd a Shrimp end up in a place like this? How did Gork and Mork let this Shrimp