A crossover between Warhammer 40K, Duke Nukem, Doom, Call of Duty, Blue Archive, and more.
An insane creator once thought of having various characters meet in another world. And this is the result.
Disclaimer: The author does not own anything in th...
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Ornaments lingered about the walls, and portraits of cabins, landmarks, and other artworks of familiarity were nailed everywhere.
The halls of the Red Winter Academy were nothing more than an example of luxury.
Exquisite woodwork on the walls, the essence of warmth from the chandeliers, and the fluffiness of the side furniture sparked a nostalgic memory.
"Ah, reminds me of babushka's house. All those memories where she made me some ukha..."
Doomguy breathed in, "...then drown me a platter of shashlik. But blin, they were good..." He nodded.
"You seemed to be well-versed, Sensei." Tomoe walked alongside him.
A rarity to see an outsider already induced with Slavness, without staying in the Red Winter district for eons.
"Hah! As if my accent wasn't dead giveaway, blin!" The marine chuckled.
He looked around more, admiring each piece of art for its awe-inspiring details.
But then, a particular artwork suddenly made him stop. A portrait of an individual that raised an eyebrow.
Somehow, it beckoned memories scratched into distortion. The masculine contour reminded him of someone.
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Yet, he recalled in vain. Perhaps, it was better that way. Likewise, was that a portrait of an adult he just saw?
Or perhaps a delusion. Asking would not hurt.
"Uh... comrade, is this..." Doomguy lacked the words to describe the daunting artwork with girly pigtails he nearly mistook for a hood.
Tomoe gazed alongside, "Are you referring to this portrait?" she asked.
"D-Dah. Is your leader, yes?"
The student nodded. "This is Cherino, our esteemed president, Beautifier of Lands, Scriber of Minutes, Athletics Club Captain, Chief of Sanitation, Head of All Prefects, and Maven of Meal Service!"
A blank stare conjured beneath the maska. Finally, he can recall what the hazy details were.
The ridiculous titles screamed the ugly reminiscence of the pride of the old Soviet era. An event that was frowned upon- even by his motherland.
