The Origins of Waldetrudus August Of Hertals - PART 1

The sky over Herentals in 2126 bled a toxic purple neon as the Anglo-Germanic Coalition delivered its final, crushing blow. Waldetrudus opened his eyes and stared into the darkened sky. Fighting the stinking sensation in his eye he felt he was lying flat on his back. Then it came to him, the memory of an nearby panzerdrone that went off in the middle of his squad. Trying to regain his sense of direction, he lifted his heavy shoulders, the augmentations in his arms and body squaking and leaking. The situation was grim.

Regaining himself he crawled away from the battlefield and retreated to the once mighty church bearing his namesake, saint Waldetrudis. Wearily, he leaned against the shattered brick of a historic cathedral, his breath rattling through a damaged cybernetic lung.


The bipedal tanks and corporate death squads of the enemy systematically were erasing the last remnants of Belgian resistance. His Dutch allies—the most loyal of friends who had bled alongside him until the bitter end—lay silent in the surrounding rubble. With hunter-killer drones closing in for imminent destruction.

Then, he noticed it. THE DEVICE! The mission he was sent out for. It was right there. His mission could still be finished!

Waldetrudus dragged his battle-worn body toward the device. He heard rumours that it was supposed to be an unstable, salvaged temporal-rift... of sorts. It was not his paygrade to understand the whos and whys of this mission. He could only thing of everything and everyone he lost. His wife, his kids, his comrades. All gone or doomed.

NO! He must do this one thing. He must finish his mission! He heard an electronic alarm. The enemy anglo-germanic cyborgs and drones have noticed him. His time was up. This would be his last effort. Without thought he jumped over rubble, his legs moving on their own. His mission would be complete.

As the perimeter wall exploded in a flash of plasma fire, he slammed his cybernetic fist onto the activation switch and tumbled backward through a fracture in space-time, leaving his dying world behind.

For a while

There was nothing.

Blissful nothingness.




Consciousness returned in a cold, rain-slicked rush, his body screaming in absolute agony as his cybernetic lungs hissed and leaked sparks onto the wet cobblestones. Waldetrudus slowly forced his eyes open, bracing himself for the ash-choked ruins of Herentals or the cold steel of a Coalition execution squad.

Instead, his bewildered gaze fell upon a gathering that defied all sanity. Surrounding him were not just battle-hardened human soldiers, but a tactical squad of blue-skinned Smurfs clad in full military armor, an abnormal large corgi resting nearby , and an impossible gallery of colorful characters—including a giant, stoic panda in a grand general's uniform and sunglasses. The toxic neon and bipedal tanks of 2126 were entirely gone, replaced by this bizarre new faction watching over his broken body.

He wasn't in his Herentals anymore; against all odds, the rift had dropped him into a very weird, surreal new world.

END OF PART 1