I don't own Warhammer and I don't own My Little Pony. There. I said it.

"Frag 'em 'ta Zog boyz!" Warlord Rashbag Flashteef roared, leveling his snazzgun in the general direction of a mob of chaos cultists and letting loose with all three weapon bashed into its frame; a twin linked big shoota, Space marine heavy bolter and Imperial guard auto cannon roaring to life, their recoil nearly twisting the weapon out of the hulking Orks hand as they chewed through the packs of screaming chaos fanatics.

The green tide of Orks surrounding their boss roared their approval of this act of slaughter before doing their best to imitate and outdo their boss. Rashbag grinned an ugly grin that exposed a wide mouthful of fanged teeth.

No one could outdo his dakka, and he knew it. But the boyz could try all they wanted; it gave them something to aspire to. The roar of chain-axes caught his attention and he followed the sound to find a swarm of Khornate berserkers charging some of his nobs, screaming to their dark god and brandishing their gore-stained weapons as they scrambled across the rocky ground in front of Rashbags capital fortress. The burly nobs hefted their two handed big choppas and clanking power-klaws before letting loose with a joyous shout and cutting their way into the horde of Chaos marines.

"Dat's it lads! Get stuck in!" Rashbag exhorted his followers, resting his ramshackle gun across his shoulders as he surveyed the sprawling battlefield to see how they were faring. A double handful of stormboyz streaked by overhead on jets if greasy black smoke, chanting "'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go!" loud enough to be heard over the roar of their sputtering rocket packs, while a battlewagon was crushing it's way to the heart of the Chaos forces, deffrolla caked in gore as it slewed to halt to disgorge a mob of nobs clad in rusted, bulky mega armor, Rashbag laughing as he watched them smash into a squad of bewildered Chaos space marines. He heard the heavy metal gates of his fortress begin to slide open, and he turned to see that the Mek-boyz had finally gotten their act together and sent out the stompas and gargants. Rashbags grin grew wider as the ramshackle Ork walkers let loose with the heavy artillery built into their frames.

"You spikey-boyz picked da' wrong Ork ta' mess wiv!" Rashbag shouted at the reeling Chaos troops, his hearts filled with pride for himself and his boyz, "'Dis 'ere planet belongs to da Dictata uv Dakka! Which is me, ya gits!" To emphasize the point, he blazed away with his shoota' again, the wildly aimed shots whizzing over the heads of his own troops before sparking harmlessly off of a chaos dreadnought.

The warlord felt something tugging on his pants leg and looked down to find Monty, his Gretchin aide-de-camp, looking nervously up at him.

"Wot da you want runt?" Rashbag growled, narrowing his red eyes as he glared down at the haggard looking grot.

" 'Er, beggin; yer pardon, my lord, but da bosses wanted a word about 'ow the scraps goin'."

"Can't 'dey see?" Rashbag incredulously asked, gazing down on the battlefield where the ork forces were driving the army of Chaos invaders before them in an increasingly panicked rout; big gunz and looted imperial artillery were pounding into their flanks while the center was sagging under the weight of a green tide of slugga and choppa wielding boyz supported by clanking, buzz-saw armed ranks of Dreadnaughts and Killa Kans.

"Er' boss, I thinks they was meaning more of a big-picture thing. Y'know, Warlordy stuff."

Rashbag sighed in defeat; sometimes being warlord wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Reluctantly, he turned away from the battlefield, and, after giving Monty an affectionate boot to the gut, stalked back down the rocky hillside to the small valley where his commanders and underbosses had gathered.

Some of his good spirits returned as he looked at the array of looted humie vehicles and technology drawn up around his field headquarters. Only recently had his Waaagh! come to this system, launching itself from the heart of his empire when it was discovered just what a treasure was hidden within the heavily fortified human system next door; a Departmento Munitorum supply system, every planet stocked with enough ordinance, equipment and supplies to keep the local Imperial Guard regiments fighting for a decades. Rashbag smiled happily as he remembered the day he'd tortured that little tid-bit out of an Eldar scouting party his fly-boyz had shot down over one of the worlds in his territory. After that it had been just a few days to gather his fleets and launch an all-out Waagh! to relieve the humies of their stockpiles. He's lost dozens of ships and thousands of boys breaching the defenses, but it was definitely worth it; his lads had looted enough hardware and supplies to keep his Waagh going for years, and more warbands showed up every day, eager to grab a piece of the pie or simply wanting to get on the big scrap they knew was brewing, as Rashbag prepared to unleash his new toys on the neighboring systems. But of course, no Ork could have a good time for long, it seemed, and a massive warp storm had suddenly built up around the newly conquered solar system, cutting Rashbag off from the rest of his empire and bringing forth a fleet of Chaos raiders; either they'd come because they wanted the supplies themselves and though the Orks easy picking, or they'd simply thought they'd be facing the same weak resistance from the handful of Imperial Navy and Guard units the green skins had annihilated. Either way, they were going to be disappointed.

"So wot do you gits want?" Rashbag asked, as he swaggered into the captured mobile command vehicle his meks had given him after they'd captured and "orkified" it. The new red paint job really did do it wonders…

"Well, sir, I's just a bit curious about 'da overall stategeric situation." One of the assembled warbosses answered, puffing out the heavily be-medaled chest of his(by Ork standards) immaculate dress uniform.

Rashbag eyed the Warboss suspiciously; his name was Orvin Tankcrusha, and he hailed form the Ork clan known as the Blood-Axes. Alone amongst the Ork clans, the Blood-Axes made a conscious effort to imitate the humans, both in their sense of fashion and their alarming habits to treat warfare as serious business, rather than the best party since the invention of fungus beer (an event passed down through Orkish oral tradition as one of the greatest days of Ork history, and one all Orks venerated with a fervor other races might reserve for a religious holiday), naturally this led the other Orks to regard the Blood-Axes with a mixture of disdain and mistrust. Rashbag was a Badmoons Clan Ork, renowned for being among the most heavily armed of Ork clans, by virtue of also being the richest; Badmoons grew more teeth than other Orks, and since Orks used their own shed teeth as currency, the coffers of the Bad Moons were always bulging with the green-skins peculiar dental currency, which they loved to spend on the best war gear and heaviest weaponry.

Rashbag opened his mouth to answer the Blood-Axes' question, but before he could speak, bolter fire erupted outside the heavily armored shell of the command vehicle, and an Orkish voice shouted,


Instantly, the Orkish commanders sprang into action, drawing weapons and piling out the heavy doors to get into the fight going on outside. Dozens of chaos marines were surrounding the command center, pouring forth from warp portals torn into reality while their demon infused bolters worked a horrible slaughter amongst the surprised Ork defenders.

Rashbag bellowed in fury as he saw some of his best Nob bodyguards scythed down by heavy bolter fire, and charged full tilt at the red and silver armored Chaos space marine wielding the heavy weapon.

"Elazriel! Watch your flank!" one of the other traitor Astartes shouted, pointing at Rashbag with a crozious in the shape of an eight pointed star. The heavy gunner whirled around to fid Rashbag nearly on top of him and lashed out with his skull-bedecked bolter; the demon possed weapon seemed to laugh as it made contact with the huge ork, sending him reeling backwards with far more force than the quick blow could possibly have possessed.

"You'll pay for 'dat, humie!" Rashbag roared, unslinging his snazzgun as the Chaos marine lined the warlord up with his weapons muzzle.

"I got 'em for ya boss!" a Big Mek shouted, leaping between Rashbag and his opponent before leveling his Shokk Attack Gun and bringing its bizarre firing mechanism spinning to life.

"Oi! Zogbits! I told ya ta' never fire 'dat fing while I's around!" Rashbag roared, leaping forward to tackle the Mek before he had a chance to fire the horribly unstable weapon. But it was too late, and the Big Mek squeezed the firing lever, opening a portal to the warp itself five feet in front of their faces.

The Chaos marine who carried the crozious had seen the Orks preparing to fire, and he roared a dark incantation which sent bolts if eldritch lighting streaking towards them, just as Zogbits had begun to fire his weapon; the two opposing manipulations met head on, and the results were…dramatic.

The small hole in the warp normally ripped open by the Shokk Attack Guns mechanisms grew into a maelstrom suspended in mid-air, crackling with unstable warp power that quickly sucked Zogbits straight through it, screaming at the top of his lungs. Warlord Flashteef leapt back and wrapped his muscled arms around a strut that stabilized the massive command vehicle, before clinging on for dear life as the miniature warp-vortex began pull in anything near it with the force of a cyclone.

The chaos marine with the heavy bolter dashed backwards to the side of his comrade who wielded the dark crozious,

"What's happening my Apostle?" he asked, shouting to be heard over the screaming wind that was beginning to whip through the small valley,

"The beast's weapon and my castings are reacting with the warp storm! We can't stay here!" The Dark Apostle keyed the voxcaster in his helm; "Word Bearers! Retreat!" his screeching voice sounded through the com pieces of his host, "Retreat through the portals!"

As the Chaos marines retreated back into their sanctuaries in the warp, the Orks they had not cut down were being sucked into the swirling vortex; Nobs, boyz, screaming Gretchin, Trukks laden with weaponry and supplies, a mob of Evil Sunz warbikers that purposefully ran their machines into the maw of the vortex yelling in sheer joy as they were sucked into the unknown, a pair of fighta-bommaz plucked straight form the skies above, Rashbags' personal battlewagon and a few errant squigs were all plucked off the ground and sent spiraling into the unknown.

And through it all, Rashbag still clung gamely to the side of the command vehicle.

"Boss! 'Elp! 'Elp! I don't wanna die!"

Rashbag looked up in time to see Monty being sucked out if the command vehicle, still desperately clinging unto a piece of broken railing. Rashbag reached out with one massive hand and plucked the wailing Grot out of the air with one hand, before holding on like a vice grip.

As Monty breathed a sigh of relief and Rashbag clung onto the strut for dear life, a maintenance hatch just above the Warlords head slid back to reveal a dimly lit access way.

" S' about time ya got me outta 'ere ya squig-brained…" Rashbag started to growl, before finding his presumed rescuers to be Warboss Tankcrusha and a pair of his Blood-Axe Nobs, all of them grinning malevolently down at him.

Grasping their intentions immediately, Rashbag roared,

"You's bloody backstabbing Blood-Axe gits! I'll frag ya ta bits, ya Arseholesssss…"

The Warlords final curses were lost to the vortex as Tankcrusha brought his immaculately polished jackboot down on Rashbag's fingers, sending the Warlord and his Gretchin slave hurtling into to the twisting nether of the warp vortex.

"Ohh…zog…I got bits hurtin' in places I's didn't even know I 'ad…" Zogbits muttered, when he found he remembered how to speak. The Big Mek was currently entangled in the remnants of his Shokk Attack Gun which had found a way to wrap itself around his body during the turbulent trip through the warp that deposited him…Zogbits blinked, realizing that his current view of his surroundings consisted of the launch tube of the Shokk Attack Gun. The Mek groaned as his senses were assailed by the smell of the terrified Snotlings the weapon used for ammunition. He managed to work his hands and arms free from whatever workings of his weapon they'd been trapped in and then tore his head free of its foul-smelling prison. Zogbits groaned again, thus time in relief, as warm sunlight streamed across his face. He opened his eyes and saw…a very large pair of Squig-blood colored Ork boots, one jagged, rusty metal toe cap tapping the grassy ground impatiently.

The Big Mek looked up from where he lay on the ground to see the looming figure of Warlord Flashteef looking down at him.

"'Ello Zogbits. 'Avin a bit of trouble, are ya?"

" Er…yeah boss."

"Well, by all means, let me 'elps ya!" Rashbag reached down and lifted the Big Mek to his feet by his collar, ignoring the extra weight of the smashed Shokk Attack Gun still wrapped around Zogbits' body, "So tell me…" the Walord began, brushing dirt off of Zogbits' oil-stained coveralls, "What wos dat one fing I told you's nevah' ta' do?"

Zogbits thought, hard, for a few moments, before realization hit him, and he knew that all of his aches and pains were about to seem very minor.

"Fire me Shokk Attack Gun when you's around…"

"And wot did ya' do, Zogbits?" Rashbag ominously prompted,

"Fired me Shokk Attack Gun when you was around."

Rashbag nodded, before letting go of Zogbits'collar and bringing his ham-sized fist crashing into the Meks gut.

"You stoopid zoggin' grot! You's just cost me me 'ole bloody empire!" Rashbag chucked the Big Mek to the ground and proceeded to apply a generous helping of boot to his torso.

"Boss!" Monty yelled, doing his ineffective best to haul the Warlord away from the hapless Big Mek , straining away with both spindly arms on Rashbags flowing overcoat, "Boss, if 'ya stomps him we won't 'ave no way of gettin' back home! 'E's da only one wot can build ships an' Tellyporta's, boss!"

Warlord Flashteef, lost in bloodlust, didn't even seem to hear his Grethcin's warnings as he lined up a kick to the Mek's forehead. Thinking quickly, Monty came up with the one thing that the Rashbag might hear over his bellowing fury, and shouted at the top of his lungs;

"Boss! I fink yer Snazzguns broke!"

"WOT?" Rashbag demanded, panic filling his voice as he whirled around so fast he sent Monty crashing into Zogbit's armored chest. He snatched up his massive weapon from the ground, where it had fallen during his rampage, and inspected it carefully, "Where? Where's it broke?"

"Er…" Monty stood up, shaking his head and hoping the starts dancing in the corners of his vision would go away soon, "I'm not sure…it's just somefings wrong. Warp travel 'as a negative effect on 'da workin' of shoota's, I've been told." Monty explained, with a meaningful look over at Zogbits,

"Er…oh yeah!" The Mek said, catching on as he spat out broken teeth, " 'Der's some delicate mechanisms in da gubbins wot can go get all turned around. I kin take a look if ya like." He offered, as he pulled himself out from the last broken bits of his Shokk Attack Gun, broken bones already being mended by the Ork's remarkable healing abilities.

Rashbag fixed a suspicious look upon his Gretchin slave, and Monty gulped. The Warlord was notoriously shrewd, for an Ork, and the spindly grot began to have visions of being on the bad end of a test-firing of Flashteefs' shoota. Flashteef however, proved to be a very shrewd Ork indeed.

"Fine 'den, Mek-Boy." He growled, stripping the crude ammunition hopper off the side of his Snazzgun, "You's better 'ope you can get it in orda' in an hour, boy, or I'll finish wot I started." He growled, dropping the weapon in front of the kneeling Mek, "And you'd best not try an' 'improves' it any, yeah?"

Zogbits nodded slowly, before carefully picking up the heavy weapon from the ground and prying open an access plate with a screwdriver he fished out of one of his pockets, "You got it boss!"

Rashbag grunted, before turning away from the Big Mek and surveying their surroundings. "C'mere Monty!" he snapped, pointing one gnarled finger at the ground next to him.

"Yes your dakka-ness?" Monty asked, sidling cautiously over to the Warlords side. Without uttering a word, Rashbag snatched the smaller orkoid off the ground by the neck held his squirming body at eye level,

"Iffen you's eva' try those sneaky little grot tricks on me again, Monty, I'll break ya in 'arf 'an eat yer legs in fronta, ya. Got it?" Rashbag snarled, his hoarse voice reduced to a whisper,

"Yeah Boss!" Monty gasped, as Rashbag loosened his grip, "But…" confusion cut through the terror for a moment, and the Gretchin asked, "If ya' knew it was a trick boss, 'den why'd ya let Zogbits go?"

"What are ya', stoopid? We needs a Big Mek ta' build us a spaceships an fings like 'dat. Now I might 'ave forgot dat in 'da heat 'uv 'da moment, but long term, we need 'ol Zogbits alive, fer all 'dat E's a crazy 'git 'E's da best Mek boy we got." Rashbag unceremoniously deposited Monty back unto the hard ground, "I's will admit yer little trick provided me with a good way 'ta gets outta killin' 'im though. If I gave up on me own, I'da looked like a right squig-brain in fronta da boyz. Can't 'ave dat can we?" Rashbag surveyed the motley collection of Orks the warp vortex had deposited in the strange clearing, tacking stock of his forces and making a mental list of whose head he might have to kick in, "Politics Monty. Bein' da Warlord is all 'bout politics." Setting his hands on the twin holsters attached to his heavy belt, Flashteef swaggered off into the mob, bellowing loudly and kicking random Orks as he asserted his control.

Monty stared after him, rubbing his sore neck and wondering how he'd gotten himself into this mess until he heard Flashteef shout;

"Monty! Get yer useless scrawny arse ovah' 'ere! I's need a boy wot can count past ten!"

Slowly, Monty stood up, before breaking into a dash to catch up to Rashbag.

Little did the Orks know that they were being watched, and had been since they'd arrived in this new land.

"Twilight? What are those things?" Rainbow Dash asked, the normally loudmouthed Pegasus lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper.

"I told you Dash, I have no idea!" the purple Unicorn whispered back, trying to hunker lower to the ground as one of the green skinned creatures stomped past the thicket of bushes she and Rainbow dash had hidden in when the sky had erupted into a crackling, sickly pink miasma that began to vomit forth both the green skinned creatures and an array of strange metal contraptions the likes of which nopony could even imagine.

Rainbow Dash's eyes grew fearful as the true implication of what Twilight was saying sank in; if the most well-read, intelligent pony she knew couldn't even venture a guess about the origins of these creatures…Dash's thought went back to the insane, twisted storm that seemed to have brought these creatures forth unto Equestria. She knew it had obviously been no normal storm, not even one created by nature instead of by ponykind, but what if…it had been created by something else? What if…

"Twilight? I don't think these things are from Equestria at all." the Pegasus whispered.

Twilight opened her mouth to protest, but abruptly shut it. What Rainbow Dash said made almost perfect sense, besides the insane idea of their being life outside of Equestria.

"C'mon Rainbow, they're probably just from the far side of the planet…or something." Twilight said, arguing as much with herself as her friend.

"Yeah, right. And where on Equestrian have they been hiding, exactly? Because I think someone would have mentioned the hulking green colored monsters in one of your books at some point." Some of Rainbow Dash's attitude shone through her cautious demeanor, and her voice rose slightly.

"Shh!" Twilight hissed, desperate to quiet her friend down before one of the creatures heard her, "Fine, Dash, they might be from another planet. Or another dimension. I admit it. Do you feel better?"

Rainbow Dash hesitated a moment before answering back;

"No. Not really."

Twilight nodded, "Me neither. Now let's get out of here before Pinky Pie and Fluttershy show up. They were supposed to meet us about now…" Twilight said, judging the time with a quick glance up at the sunlit sky.

Twilight felt something heavy settle down by her side as she carefully watched the crowd of green-skinned creatures, trying to judge the best time to make a quiet dash for safety. The prospects looked grim; the creatures had quickly sorted themselves and were patrolling the forest clearing in a manner that seemed downright…militant. Twilight dredged the word up from a history book she'd read a long time ago, although she couldn't quite remember what it meant. The heavy weigh by her side shifted again and Twilight whispered,

"Dash, could you please stop squirming? I'm trying to concentrate."

"Me? You're the one who felt the need to cuddle!"

Twlight froze.

"So you're not touching me right now?"

"What are you…talking…about…"

Both ponies fell silent, and turned their heads in the same slow, quiet movement to face the ground between them.

Their wide eyed gazes were met by a pair of, beady, malevolent red eyes that darted back and forth between them. Their gaze traveled down form the wicked eyes, past a pointed, ape like noise, down a long, green colored and black paint smeared face, to a lantern jaw framing the evilest, fanged mouth either pony had ever seen. Heavy arms draped themselves across both ponies backs, one ending in a massive, gore-stained metal claw, the other in a huge, five fingered hand topped with talon-like fingernails. The creature wrapped both arms around a pony, and pulled them closer in, insuring they got a full dose of both his now obvious stench and the foul odor of his breath.

"'Ello! 'Ow're you lot doin' today?" the Kommando cheerfully asked, just before the ponies began to scream in terror.