I wrote this awhile ago while I was pretty tired. And its really long, so I don't feel like going over it again and again to make it all pretty and perfect. So if there's anything wrong with it that you feel may just be my error, let me know and I'll tidy it up quick like.
Don't be put off by the fact that this chapter is entirely 40K based, either. I think its pretty damn cool from what I can remember of writing, plus you get introduced to a rather nasty antagonist.
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The pulsing purples of the walls threw an eerie glow that laced their hundreds of feet long shadows as they stretched out onto the barren wastes of the flatlands, providing shade for those daemons whose only other option was to die beneath a scorching sun in mid-day, or what would pass for mid-day, heat.
Those tiny daemons, little bigger than a small dog for the most part, snoozed lazily, safe from their larger predatory brethren in the shade, soon began to rouse from their slumber as the heat began its slow descent towards barely livable sub-zero. Such was the nature of any daemon world. All the extremes and no respite.
Such was the daily routine for the savage creatures though, to go out and hunt by the frigid temperatures. If they were lucky, then even smaller and weaker daemons would be stranded out in the cold. Otherwise, they would just turn on each other like they usually did.
Tiredly, a lone male cultist leaned against the battlements of the wall, looking down at the daemons and across the plains with scant interest. He was dejected, angry with his lot in life. He worshipped his god, he gave his god sacrifice, he gave his god all that his mortal soul could offer.
Yet there he found himself, stuck with the most dead end of positions in his cult. Guard duty. What was he, some kind of weakling Guardsman? So what if he had been at some point? So what if he still had some of the lies the Imperial dogs drilled into his brain coming to mind every now and then? He was above that lowly labor now, or at least he had hoped he would be.
Gazing down the wall again, he was surprised to see all the daemons gone, scattered about like sand grains in the wind. This was a shock to him, as generally it took them an hour or so to finally move out and start their hunting. What could make them flee so suddenly?
Suddenly, the sky above him went dark as a shadow fell over him, the twin suns blotted out by some great object. Looking up cautiously, his scream of terror was caught in his throat as it came towards him, all the tons of its bulk behind it.
Crushing the man under one of its cloven hooves, the Bloodthirster crashed through the bulk of the wall, landing in a heap amongst the rubble. All eyes of those within the walls and outside the tower were on the greater daemon as it threw off the remnants of the wall and advanced on them with a lusting thirst for blood in its eyes.
Immediately it lashed out with its whip towards the largest and nearest group of cultists, knocking back and killing scores more hapless men before they fully realized a greater daemon of Khorne had truly just landed inside their fortress and it was not an illusion. Those around the crumbled section of the wall were either dead or fleeing, and the massive daemon scanned ahead of it for more ideal targets. It saw them, many of them, near the base of the tremendous tower just a few hundred meters ahead. Probably almost a thousand cultists coming to the defense of their paradise.
Grinning as much as any daemon of Khorne was physically capable, it strode forward, hunched very slightly over with its wings poised to give it flight on a moments notice. It was met halfway by a huge, if sadly weak and inaccurate, salvo of fire as hundreds of wailing and crazed men charged from their position in the center of the large walled complex, letting lose with the measly firepower of their out of date and barely working weaponry.
All but ignoring the pathetic attacks, the daemon swung out its massive axe, countless of men as it advanced with an unnatural and psychotic pace towards the massive construct that stood so forebodingly at odds with the stark and dead landscape that stretched for many kilometers in all directions. It didn't get very far, however, despite its literal massacre of most of the cultists with hardly any effort.
The entire citadel flashed a brilliant purple as the worshippers inside brought about a massive climax of heretical pleasures, pleasing their foul deities and gaining a measure of their blessing. A tremendous hail of warp energy fired from the top spire of the citadel and tore through the Bloodthirster rapidly as it fired again and again, punching numerous holes into its chest as it sank into the very earth, rimmed by red warp fire. It roared out in anger, so enraged to be bested by servants of Slaneesh that it swung towards the citadel with its axe as if in a final, desperate attempt to strike it, before it was pulled under and banished to the deepest reaches of the warp once more.
A large procession of men snuck cautiously outside only moments later, examining the ground intently. When no sign of further incursion by the servants of Khorne could be seen, they let out a scream of victory, their shrill voices carrying far through the bleak atmosphere of the daemon world.. The assembled group soon grew to include the various heretical slaves and daemons blessed to the cult by Slaneesh himself, quickly growing to number in the hundreds. Filled with their god's blessings they fell upon each other and the bodies of their fallen comrades, the whispers of Slaneesh urging them onward as they all descended into a giant and undistinguishable orgy of increasingly maddening pleasure.
The servants of Khorne however, were not to take lightly the slaying of their master's blessing; one of his greater daemons, with which they could have spilled endless blood in his name. In fact, they were quite displeased, their maniacal and insane thirsts for blood now reaching a breaking a point. But for once, they stalled, for he was present that day, and he there was a measure of tactical finesse to be had amongst the maniacs for a change.
All the action before the citadel stopped as the tremendous whirring of many chain axes powering up sounded loud and clear through the tainted air outside the wall, carrying through the breach caused by the Bloodthirster. Some of the cultists and daemonic entities retreated into the citadel wailing in terror, but the rest stood dumbly looking around, unsure of what to do or what was coming as they remained in whatever grotesque or strange position they had been in before they heard the noise. Then they saw him.
Standing tall at the breach made by the Bloodthirster, the chosen of Khorne had gathered for the ensuing slaughter. Before them stood the sight that drove many of the unstable heretics insane. Kharn the Betrayer had come, it was unmistakable. He was their death given life...their death incarnate.
Large horns from his helmet, massive pauldrons, and the skull of Khorne on the knees of his ancient armor. On his shoulder was the badge of the World Eaters, the skull of Khorne eating a world. Nearly every inch was pockmarked with countless burns and dents, cuts and penetrations. Most pulsed with ruinous energy, the lacking of any real mechanical prowess that he trusted within the Eye forcing him to resort to patching it up with daemonic power. There was not a word spoken by either side, as he raised his plasma pistol, the ancient device dating back to before the great Heresy but still glowing eerily with super-heated death awaiting his targets.
He fired, any recoil that the gun may have made doing nothing what so ever to move his massive bulk as a brilliant purple glow seared the flesh from a random target, melting its flesh and bones and killing it near instantly. It wasn't how he preferred to kill, but it was gruesome enough that he didn't forsake the method entirely. With a light chuckle, he powered up Gorechild, the mighty daemon-possessed chain axe straining against his vice like grip to get at the enemy with an eagerness that could almost be said to belittle his own. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, a task not as simple as it would sound given the bulk of his armour, he took in his assembled followers with scant interest, seeing them as little more than cannon fodder for the enemy while he slaughtered mercilessly. Whether they killed or died, he really didn't give a damn at all. There were always more eager to serve Khorne, after all.
He holstered his pistol and raised Gorechild overheard as he turned back to look at the horrified men before the citadel, roaring madly as the berserkers of Khorne behind him followed along in grossly perfect unison that chilled to the very core even the insane men and daemons before them.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
With that the cult's fate was sealed. Kharn and his berserkers charged forward, chain axes abuzz like a swarm of crazed insects out for blood as the horrified men finally realized they were going to die. Despite this reality seeking in, instinct took over from the depths of the human worshippers minds and they fled, crying out to their god for salvation while the daemons stood their ground. There was a tense silence, split only by the random yells of Kharn's followers, as they closed the gap between them and their prey.
Barely holding onto what little sanity they had left, the chosen of Khorne put on an inhuman burst of speed at the last moment, their chain axes biting deep and tearing flesh like it was paper as they laid into the foe. The daemons issued no screams, much to the displeasure of their killers. Not even Kharn could draw a scream from his victims' lips. It was to be expected though, as they were daemons. Human worshippers, now there was a foe worth the killing, if only for the pleasure they brought through their ceaseless ability to please by their own suffering. They screamed so well, and pleased so well, it was almost ludicrous.
It was then that Kharn and the rest of his entourage noticed the fleeing men and women of the cult heading for the opposite wall where a small postern gate was scantly visible. They were all so small and weak, so tiny and insignificant. And they were running, running away from them. As far as Kharn was concerned, that would just not do.
Leaping over the brutal melee between traitor marine and daemon, Kharn brought the fleeing prey to the attention of a few other more sane of his followers, and they broke off from the fight, trailing deathly silent as their chain axes lied dormant. Even Gorechild had gone quiet, its daemonic mind understanding the need for stealth in order to fulfill a great deal of terror and pain upon the enemy that would bring a sense of pleasure rarely felt from slaying daemons and other traitor marines.
Sneaking with amazing silence up to the rear of the fleeing pack, so close they could hear their ragged breathing, Kharn and his retinue leapt high into the air, daemonic and genetic gifts granting them insane powers of physical prowess.
They came crashing down right in the center of the tiny horde, turning their chain axes back on the second before they brought the heads down on their chosen targets, causing the previously quiet air that was filled only with the faint sounds of battle on the other side of the tower to erupt with a cacophony of wild screams and whirring chain axes, of rending flesh and many gallons of blood pouring like so much rain upon the barren soil.
Shocked and terrified, they scattered in all directions, forsaking all their previous focus on reaching the gate and desperate to survive by any other means within physical possibility, that didn't involve staying and fighting of course. Kharn and the berserkers went to work then, tearing limps and bodies asunder with little effort as the ground of the daemon world that already pulsed with a twisted rainbow of colors seemed to explode with a tidal wave of crimson.
With a loud sigh of enjoyment and fulfillment, Kharn and the others switched of their chain axes and inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of blood as if wafted into the cursed and vile air. Their was a mutual feeling of awkward silence and calm as most went to the task of picking some of the larger fleshy bits out of their axes' systems, not wanting to fight with jammed chain axes later. Its not as if it mattered though, as when the lust of battle fell on them few would even be aware if their weapon stopped working anyway. And even if they did, they would just use it as a clobbering weapon and pummel the opposition until died of head trauma or something similar.
When Kharn made to move slowly back to where the sounds of battle had gone oddly silent, the rest followed quickly, not wanting to invoke any of his wrath. Given that they had come with him in the first place, that of itself said they were sane enough, outside of battle at least, to know Kharn would not hesitate to slaughter each and every one of them for incompetence. But more likely than not, he wouldn't care about anything of that nature, and would just kill them if they got in his way. Either way one looked at it, the latter sounded far more like something Kharn would be prone to do.
Rounding around the citadel, the small group, numbering about seven, not including Kharn, came upon the smoking and charred remains of a score of so of berserkers. The sight infuriated Kharn, and his very emanation of malice roused Gorechild into a frenzied whir of excitement. Perhaps he didn't care much, or rather, at all, for his followers' well being, but seeing them slaughtered by a foe that should have posed no threat truly ticked him off.
What he or none of the other seven knew however, was that the daemons of the cult were not the killers. It was something far more capable of that feat, something far more dangerous to even someone like Kharn.
Emperor's Children.
They stepped out of the shadows of the tower calmly, bringing bolters to bare on Kharn and the rest. Without a word, they fired their ancient bolt-guns, sending a salvo of explosive shells towards their foes. Kharn leapt at the last second, grabbing onto a daemonic tentacle that protruded from the side of the tower just above the enemy traitors, causing the tip to flail spasmodically for a moment.
The others in his company were not so lucky, and they were cut down and torn to pieces as the bolter rounds tore into their ceramite armour, detonating violently and shattering the berserkers from within as what was left of them collapsed, the rest, bloody chunks flying through the air and nothing more, hitting the ground here and there unceremoniously.
Growling in rage from where he hung, Kharn soon found himself in a precarious position. The roar of Gorechild gave away his position and soon his enemies on the ground were angling to send explosive death his way.
Knowing that even he wouldn't survive such a salvo, he searched for an avenue of escape. But there was none to be had. There was just solid steel construct behind him, and empty air filling the space ahead. Also, they would tear him to pieces before he got close enough to fight back. As the first rounds began hitting the tower around him, he made a final, desperate, bid for survival.
Striking the wall above him with Gorechild, he pressed in the axe head hard despite the axe's protests. Then, with a tremendous feat of strength that seemed not at all strange for him, but would quite literally be physically impossible for just about any other, he pulled himself up and flung himself high into the air. As he began to fall, he embedded Gorechild into the wall again, repeating the process as he climbed ever higher, out of range of the bolters after what seemed like an eternity.
Reaching a small opening in the tower which he guessed passed for a window, a larger and more bulkier cultist struck out at him with two chain axes, leaning dangerously far out the window to do so. Hanging by one hand, Kharn quickly burned away most of the man's face with his plasma pistol, which he holstered quickly afterward.
Catching both chain axes in one hand, he made to swing into the window when a sudden burst of bolter fire from out of it discouraged the rash action. Digging into the wall with one of the chain axes and hanging onto it, Kharn laid Gorechild over his back where it was only to happy to remain and rest after its rigorous climb. With the second in his other hand, he placed it higher than the first. Pulling himself up and drawing out the first, he repeated the process for some time, climbing higher and higher and gradually getting faster as he got more fluid at performing the precarious technique.
Coming to just about the top, he found a large balcony. With no other options, he made his way around it until he was hanging over it, making sure to keep his legs folded behind him to keep himself hidden from view. Pulling out one of the axes, he set it to maximum power, making a hell of a lot of noise that broke the stark silence abruptly.
Just as he had planned, several Emperor's Children Marines appeared on the balcony, clutching their bolters tightly and looking around in confusion for the source of the noise. Chuckling quietly to himself, he dropped down before they could look up, putting a spin into his fall. Timing it just right, he instantly decapitated three of the five after dropping right in the middle of them.
Duel chain axes held in his outstretched arms as he stood up, completely straight and still, the other two traitor marines looking at him in shock before they reacted, raising and pulling the triggers on their bolters. He dodged out of the way though, moving with inhuman speed as he advanced on the one to his right, spinning around full circle as he went and bringing both chain axes down to meet his enemy's head.
The marine dropped, its head severed from its shoulders by one axe and chopped in half by the other. Not pausing after dispatching him, he kept spinning to face the fifth, moving towards the horrified traitor with stunning speed so that he could not be hit by his foe's bolter. Spinning again, he brought both axes up from behind and over head, bringing them crashing down on his enemies' shoulders and cutting off both arms.
Raising both axes up, he brought them crashing down onto the marine's chest, shooting off sparks and blood all over himself as he ruptured both his foe's heart through the armour. Panting very slightly after his exploits, he briefly allowed himself a laugh. Against all odds, he was still alive. Truly, he really was living up to his reputation of being un-killable.
"Oh, bravo. Really, good show," said a voice in a sing-song tone accompanied by a loud clapping. "Its not everyday we get attacked by a Bloodthirster, and the mightiest of Khorne's human champions in one day. But of course, where are my manners? Welcome to my abode, Kharn the Betrayer."
Kharn spun around in an instant, expecting to face hundreds of guns pointed at him to destroy him once and for all. But instead, all he found was a man, with long blonde hair down to his waist wearing a crimson robe and nothing else, sitting on a black, obsidian throne, and flanked by two completely nude and very well figured women with collars around their necks. The man appeared to be holding the women on leashes, and neither of them seemed to possess any trace animosity for such an arrogant display of authority.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue? Ah, but of course, forgive me. You don't even know what a cat is, do you? But perhaps it is not that you are so full of lustful wishes to slaughter me. Perhaps instead you have found yourselves attracted quite fondly to my friends here," the man said slyly, indicating the two women.
"Who are you. Tell me now, before I slaughter you and bring your entire warp-spawned pleasure palace down around you. But I'll still be doing that you realize, even if you do tell me. So you may as well get your arrogance out of your system now, while you still have breath with which to speak," Kharn spat heatedly, hands clenching eagerly around the axes in his hands as Gorechild roused from its slumber on his back. He wanted to kill this man, and his 'friends'. But he figured he may as well get some mild amusement from his wordplay first. No harm done there, he figured.
"Ah, I see." The man appeared to look almost hurt for a moment, angry even, before his face returned to bear the arrogant smirk from before. "I'm afraid however, you will be doing no such thing. You see Kharn, I am a very powerful man. More powerful than you may think," he added, as Kharn snorted loudly at the bold claim.
"Yes indeed," he went on, "I am quite powerful. I am very special to Slaneesh you see, because of my services. I provide her with eldar souls upon which to feast through my network of connections. You'd be surprised how much authority I have outside the Eye right from this room right here. But yes, I do that for her, and she in turn grants me power. A lot of it. Because of those gifts, here I am, master of my own great citadel and ruler of so many affairs outside the eye." He seemed almost oblivious to Kharn as he fixed the leashes to the arms of his throne, apparently so the women couldn't run away.
He stood slowly from his throne, revealing sickly black feathered wings which burst forth from his back in an almost glorious fashion, but ultimately came off as grotesque as the skeletal frame showed a severe lacking of feather in many places.. Stepping down the five stairs between his throne and the normal floor level, he gestured to the surroundings. Kharn didn't quite understand what he was trying to do.
"Look around you, Kharn," he said, with just a hint of annoyance in his voice. "See my wonderful luxuries?" He smirked broadly as Kharn looked around, scowling at everything he saw. There were tapestries and paintings, shimmering portals to unknown and distant locations, furniture wrought from sapphire, diamonds, rubies, and even adamantium. There was enough of that stuff in the room Kharn reckoned, to fully armour a few small fleets consisting of relatively high powered ships. That, or it could make enough terminator armour to completely equip one of the old legions with it. Either way, it was a hell of a lot.
None of it though, held any interest to Kharn. It was all sick perversion to him. Who needed such comfort and luxury, really? It was disgusting to see the shear amount of sexual innuendoes all around, and the man's friends were certainly not there for decoration. Hence their extremely perfect bodies. Thinking about that for a moment, Kharn suspected they were actually some kind of daemon, and not human. They could be human, but they looked far to perfect in many ways to be human. But in the end, what did he care?
"Like what you see?" The man inquired. In response Kharn gave him a death glare and revved up the chain axes still clutched in his hands. The two women, or daemonettes, or whatever the hell they were, jumped quite noticabely in fright. However, the man just laughed. He was facing certain death at the hands of the most powerful human champion of the ruinous powers besides Abbadon, and he was laughing. As much as it enraged him, made him want to teach this cocky bastard who he was dealing with, Kharn wanted to see what his reasoning was for laughing more.
"Oh, that's a laugh! Believe me Kharn, you will have your chance to use them soon enough. But please, try not to scare the ladies." He gestured towards them delicately. "They are very fragile, and need tender love and care." The words felt like poison to Kharn's ears and he very much wanted to silence the arrogant fool once and for all, but something kept him from doing so. He wished he knew what was keeping him from it, so he could obliterate it utterly.
"Yes, its all right," the man cooed softly, gently patting the women's heads. He looked up quickly, sitting down in his thrown and gesturing the women to sit on his lap, which they did with an almost desperate swiftness. "You see Kharn, these are simply daemonettes. Lesser ones mind you, so they are rather timid and afraid. Its a natural fear really, of their larger brethren. But I protect them just fine, believe me. No harm comes to my concubines."
"But in any case, Kharn, let us continue. I've had Khorne guide you hear for a reason, you know." This statement shocked the hulking traitor marine. Him? Guided by Khorne towards the company of a Slaneeshi cult master? No...
"And that reason is...?" asked Kharn with just the tiniest hint of curiosity in his voice.
"We have need of your...talents. You will perform a service for me, and I will return you to anywhere you like so you may continue your mindless butchery."
"Heh. You seem rather sure of yourself, cult master. You speak as if I've already agreed to help you with your little errand. I would rather drive Gorechild into my own gut then do the bidding of one as low and as sickening as you." Kharn took a bold step forward after this, his left hand holding the two chain axes while his right trailed slowly towards the hilt of Gorechild.
By all reckoning, this should have offended the man. But instead, he simply smiled, and took a few steps close to Kharn. Now they were little more than two meters apart.
"Kharn. You will help me. You have to help me. They all command it. Every. Damned. One of them."
"Who?" spat Kharn.
"Nurgel. Tzeench. Slaneesh. And..."
"...Khorne," finished Kharn in a hushed voice, his hands trembling in rage. Had his own god actually abandoned him to do the bidding of some lowly bitch of Slaneesh? He wished with all of the little sanity he had left that it wasn't true.
"Yes, exactly. You see now, they all need you to do this. They tire of Abbadon's failures to...well you know. So, I've come up with a plan that they seem more than willing to go through with. You'll love it too, I'm sure, if you get back in one piece that is."
"Get back?" Kharn snarled, his temper rising along with his confusion.
"Oh yes. You didn't think this would be some kind of easy mission, did you? Quite the contrary, this mission is of the utmost importance and danger. Success in this mission assures that there will be hundreds of billions of live lost in the name of Chaos.".
Countless thoughts were racing through Kharn's mind then, and he didn't know which to believe. He had just been told he would have a part in bringing death to not millions, not billions, but hundreds of billions. For him, there was no greater desire, except perhaps cutting of the head of Slaneesh and presenting it to Khorne.
Ever though the man offered him his greatest desires, he felt the need to kill him. Kharn saw him as a servant of Slaneesh, and nothing more. He had to decide quickly what he was going to do, because he didn't doubt that the man had all those Emperor's Children marines standing by outside the chamber to blow him to oblivion if he didn't cooperate.
It was after a vicious mental battle that Kharn made his decision. One never could trust a worshipper of Slaneesh. They were far to crafty for that. Angling his view towards the man, he gripped his weapons tight and began walking forward slowly.
After a minute or so of painstakingly slow movement, the man's lips curled into a wicked smile as he looked up towards Kharn. "Yes. Its all going according to plan. The sacrifice was paid, the enchantments are done, and the warp storm is now breached once more. Farewell Kharn," he said as he waved gaily to him.
In a fit of rage, Kharn suddenly snapped, hurling himself towards his tormentor and preparing to drive one or more chain axe into his face. "Scream you swine!" The man simply waved again and winked, laughing as Kharn began to charge towards him. The moment before Kharn drove the axes into the man's head , he vanished in a brilliant flash of red and black sparks.
The man reclined in his throne, laughing insanely. The two daemonettes climbed onto the throne on either side of him, wrapping their voluptuous forms around his own as they moaned quietly, themselves trapped forever in a never ending orgasmic state of maddening pleasures. And rightly so, for that is what Slaneesh crafted them for.
"This is what true paradise is. Forget that damned ideal age I had planned. Damned fools can do what they want with their world, while they're still alive, of course. Which reminds me..." he said, trailing off as he reached over one of the daemonettes towards the cogitator.
Punching in a few runes, the image of a blindingly white interior to some kind of vessel appeared on the screen. Squinting his eyes, the cult master scanned the screen for any sign of what he was looking for. Then he saw something. A sudden splash of red across the perfect white. Raising an eyebrow, he chuckled quietly to himself at the sight of a Seraph Guard staggering slowly down the passage, gushing blood from a chest wound and backing away sloppily from some unseen foe.
Something threw the mangled corpse of a second Seraph Guard at it, knocking it off its feet. Then, suddenly, an ork leapt into view, bounding towards the wounded angel and cleaving it in two with hardly a sound. With a smirk on his face he pressed another rune and the image changed, showing the grotesque and mechanically altered face of Warboss Gutzmar Worldburna standing before the corpses of hundreds of orks and angels.
"Hello there, Gutzmar. I trust you are well?" asked the man in a voice dripping with sarcasm and false pretenses.
"Can it ya git! Now you see ere, ave been thinkin and ave found out ave been lied to!"
"Truly? By whom?" the man replied in a mocking tone.
"By you, dats who! You sed dis would be eazy! Dis isn't eazy at all! Dese angel-boyz can fight! I've lost me hundredz of boyz already, and we only just attacked! Sure, we'z alwayz love a good fight, cuz we're orkz, but even orkz have to think stratigicilly sometimes! And lozing so many boyz so fast doesn't seem very stratigic to me!"
"My apologies, Gutzmar. My most sincere apologies. But I have a feeling your fight will get even harder before long, so get used to heavy casualties. Just do you job and make sure that damnable craftworld is out of commission before the Imperials take notice, and you'll get your reinforcements. It won't take them long now that the warp storm is down."
"Ah! So youz taken it down den, eh? Full speed ahead wit da planz den, eh? Me an da boyz will be cleaning up here for a few dayz more mabiez, so just be paitint! Wez be killin da world for you weaklin Chaos boyz soon enough. And if da Imperial humies come, wez gonna give dem one big headache!"
"I'd rather you give them more then a simple headache, Gutzmar, provided they do show up. Think more along the lines of brain hemorrhage. Is that clear? Kill every damned trace of them if they arrive. Do not let a single litany or verse of their damned Emperor or Imperium sink into the minds of the people there. That would be utter disaster."
"O' course! S'all clear! Wez orkz will be killing dem all for you den, cause orkz are da biggest and da baddest!"
"Perfect. Make sure it stays that way too. I'll check in sometime in the future." The man breathed a sigh of relief and closed the cogitator, slouching back down in his throne. "Well at least that part has gone well enough. Now we just have to make sure those damned ork idiots don't decide to go freelance."
"Not that it would matter though, not that it would matter... Just you wait, you bastards. You'll see the folly of all you have fought and bled for soon enough..."
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Aww. Don't cry to me that it didn't feature a single damned thing from ToS. Don't you dare. The next chapter will be ALL ToS. ...I think. Whatever. Perhaps you'll get lucky and it won't take me a month to update next time, yes?