You’ve Got Another Thing Coming

One fateful night, Ash Williams cruised down a woodland highway in his 1973 Oldsmobile Delta. The hour was late, the night dark, the road winding. He set his handless-right forearm against the steering wheel and reached across to reorient the rearview on himself. "Hello, handsome!" He winked.

As he took up a fresh cold one, Judas Priest started playing over the radio. Grinning, he turned up the volume and pressed down on the gas.

Popping the top on his beer prompted another hand-version of musical chairs, but he managed. He rounded a curve, discovering an errie light in the road, then slammed on the breaks.

The Delta squeeled as it skidded to a stop.

A massive portal stood up from the roadway—the exact thing that had previously spit him out in the ass-end of nowhere. Fortunately, this portal didn't suck so bad. Or at all, for that matter. Unfortunately, his headlights now revealed an army in the darkness, a bunch of soul-sucking deadheads crowding to span the entire roadway.

"Huh," he said and looked into the mirror. "You realize what this means." He thumbed over his shoulder. "You should've taken a left back there instead of that right. This way's clearly a dead end."

He raised his beer, toasting to his reflection before shrugging. "You live, you learn." He took a drink, dropped the Delta into reverse, then stomped the gas.

The army rushed forward as his tires smoked and wailed.

Just as he was about to whip the car around, another light shined up from behind. The Delta's backend plummeted.

Bam!

After a short drop, his car's backend slammed into the ground elsewhere, wedging the Delta like an impromptu ramp—the front end still jutting up through a portal that had opened in the ground. His surroundings were blinding. It was daytime in this new place.

The deadheads crowded around the opening, then dropped down, piling onto his hood and crushing his windshield.

Ash fought the door open, pushing against gravity before bailing to tumble across the ground. He rolled to a stop, flat on his back. He looked across the ground to see that the fall had forced his trunk open, its contents spilled across the ground.

He heard a thump and separated his knees to see that a figure had dropped to the ground nearby. It was a topless girl, her once lovely sweeter bunnies now withered, her flesh dry and cracked.

"Baby, don't take this the wrong way, but..." He scrambled to his feet and ran with her hot on his heels.

His bookstick, a sawed-off shotgun, had spilled from the trunk and lay on the ground. He dove, rolled over it, then rose in a spin.

The stock came around.

Crack!

The hard hunk of wood met her jaw, whipping her head aside and spinning her as she kicked and scattered loose shotgun shells across the ground.

Ash glanced at a shell near his foot. He slapped the barrel down over his forearm, opening its chambers as he snatched up the shell, slammed it home, and was standing again by the time she came out of her spin.

She oriented on him, her jaw dislocated, her eyes widening as she found herself staring along the barrels of his outstretched boomstick.

"Oh, it's definitely you and not me," he said.

Boom!

Her head exploded, oddly leaving the jaw untouched, where it folded down against her neck like a door knocker as she crumbled.

More deadheads dropped to the ground in a rapid sequence.

Ash sidearmed his boomstick, sending it cartwheeling across the ground. It struck one of them in the knee as it ran his direction. Its leg straightened. It fell, quickly causing a pileup as others tripped over it.

Another leaped over the pileup but barreled forward in a stumble until it tripped over the trunk's spilled contents. A chainsaw tumbled free of a clothes pile, then skidded to rest at Ash's feet.

He immediately scooped it up and thrust the handhold into a custom bracket mounted against his forarm's stump. He twisted and locked the chainsaw into place.

"Welcome home, beautiful."

He yanked the rip cord, grinning as the pile of dead dumb asses stood again, where they would no doubt be knocked down a final time within the next few seconds.

Only.

The chainsaw hadn't cranked. He tried again.

Nothing.

He tried again, again, again, before backhanding a lunging form with his powered down, traitorous companion.

Then, Ash was running, wondering where his life went wrong, feverishly yanking the cord to no avail, all while high stepping in hopes he wouldn't stumble over a day which was obviously out to get him.

That's when he remembered dropping the chainsaw into the trunk, his all too brief consideration on whether or not he should refill its gas, only to decide within two seconds. His past statement almost sounded like mockery as he recalled his deciding factor.

'Why do now, what you can do later?' Then, he had closed the trunk.

Something flickered in the sun and drew his attention. He looked to see an oblonged object cartwheeling through the air. The thing impaled the ground where a handle jutted skyward. It was a sword. His gaze backtracked its trajectory, where he spied a group standing on a hilltop with the sun at their backs.

Ash glanced over his shoulder, the mass still in pursuit. He jettisoned his chainsaw and sprinted for the sword. He arrived, snatching up its handhold and feeling something compress in his grip as he turned and swung.

What happened next was unexpected.

The sword chewed through several figures, spraying his face with gore. He swiped his eyes clear with his sleeve. It was only then that he heard the familiar buzz of a running chainsaw. A numbing tingle radiated back up his arm as he swung anew, again chewing through figures.

Ash blinked and looked at his sword. It had a damned chain running along the sword edge! It was a powered saw!

He leveled his gaze on the encroaching horde, smirked, and said, "Groovy."

The sun had crossed overhead by the time he had slain the last soul sucker. He lay sprawled, exhausted, drenched in blood, and collapsed atop so much intermingled gore that loved ones were going to have a hell of a time identifying which parts belonged to their former loved ones.

Ash blinked. He lifted his head and saw the earlier hilltop group marching his direction. They were clad in massive suits of blue armor, led by a figure carrying a red-bladed sword, which almost looked to be on fire. Then, again, he was certainly imagining the fire. That just couldn't be right.

He looked at the chainsword in his hand but could no longer lift it. Need to talk these guys into becoming a vendor. S-Mart really needs to start stocking these babies.

Then, he blacked out.

[WP] Guilliman has seen a lot of weird stuff, but this takes the cake. A man in green armor with a shotgun and a chainsaw just took down an army while playing heavy metal.

Notes: This prompt tied two established universes together: Warhammer & Evil Dead. I chose to write from Ash’s POV because I didn’t know Guilliman well enough to do his character justice. I hope the resulting story is something both Evil Dead & Warhammer fans can read with some measure of enjoyment!