Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k or Puella Magi Madoka Magica
"Captain! We're picking up a disturbance on the long-range auspex. Unknown entity. The signal doesn't match any recorded loadouts."
Remius didn't bother questioning where it came from. From his position upon the bridge, even his mortal eyes could see the direction the enemy were planning to take. The shimmering half-light that stretched across the black void like translucent flesh, exuding a sense of malicious intent, heralded their arrival perfectly well by itself.
"Understood." He replied, a hint of a grin cutting at the edges of his features. "All hands prepare for action. Take us to the rallying position. Keep the Inquisitor's ships between us and the foe. Just as we planned."
"Aye captain!"
The Apocrypha rumbled into motion, groaning in complaint even as her engines flared to life. Though she and the two escort vessels had survived their ordeal with the Ork fleet, they were not without scars. The damage they'd sustained would have taken many months, or more likely years, to have fully repaired in a proper Imperial port.
The enemy however, was not nearly so patient. Not even a week after the greenskins had been pushed back, the servants of the Grand Witch were now converging on their position.
No rest for the righteous man. Captain Remius thought wryly to himself. And no peace among the heavens. The Emperor shall not find us wanting.
Out in the inky blackness of space, the colossal battleship that had brought the Lord Inquisitor and his forces shone like a beacon of defiance against the corruption of the dark universe, putting itself in the midst of the projected battlefield. The Sanguine Shield would live up to its name, providing a bulwark against what would no doubt be a tide of darkness seeking to drown them under its vile momentum.
He could not see the Eldar vessels that would supposedly be supporting them, but he knew from long experience that the only time one actually saw Eldar ships was the moment they swept in for the kill. They would be stalking the edges of the battlefield, waiting for the enemy to expose itself, and then lance down the monsters in a hail of fire.
Or so the plan went.
"Unidentified crafts are coming within visual range captain. What are your orders?"
"Give me a readout." Remius commanded. "Size? Armaments? What manner of vessel do they emulate? I want numbers."
"Sir… I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that…" The crewman replied nervously, eyes fixed to the screen as he worked. "We don't seem to be able to get a proper readout on… anything."
"Are they jamming us somehow?" He demanded, brows furrowing. The Warp disturbances would be getting worse with the approach of the Grand Witch. This he knew, but if they were starting to directly affect systems besides those directly dependent upon the Warp itself…
"No sir, I don't believe so." Came his reply. "It would appear more like… the enemy vessels don't adhere to any measurable descriptor. I'm sorry captain, I don't know how else to say it."
Remius leaned back, hands tight against the railing of his podium as he let the information sink in. Far in the distance, the vague impressions of dark shapes could be seen swimming through the distorted mirror-skin of the anomaly, heading directly for them. It wouldn't be long before they came within striking distance of the long-range macro-batteries.
"In that case, we play this by ear." He replied, working to keep his voice even. He didn't need to bring it up directly for his men to understand just how dangerous a prospect that was. "Keep your wits about you, and have eyes all across the battlefield. It is unlikely that we will be able to maintain contact with the rest of the fleet once the Warp anomaly encloses us within its distortions, so be prepared to act in support of our allies with or without their direction."
"Aye captain. Understood."
The mood was grim, but there was a fire yet burning in the hearts of the naval officers. One foe had already been struck down. Another was upon them, but they didn't stand alone any longer. Whatever fiends thought they could stand against the might of the Imperium would learn a harsh lesson on this day.
Despite himself, captain Remius found a smile slowly creeping along his features, cutting a sharp road over his face despite the storm brewing right before his eyes.
"Once more into the breach, dear friends." He muttered under his breath, before steeling himself for the trial to come.
There was a chill in the air as Sayaka drew up to her hiding spot. Nothing that she'd have taken note of at any other time, merely a sparse drop in temperature that tickled the back of her throat, but that alone was enough to peak her senses. Up until this point, the industrial center of humanity on Paltua IV had been a warm and busy place. For it to take a sudden turn, no matter how subtle or unimportant that change may seem, meant that something was shifting in the background. Something she knew may well be tied to the coming of their greatest enemy.
Though the air may have only carried a mild chill, she could feel a cold sinking into her stomach that she had no words to explain.
"Miki. Eyes front." Ordered Navarre, perched in the second story window of a nearby building. "We can ill afford distraction at a time like this."
She took a breath, forcing back the stupor she'd been momentarily encapsulated within, and refocusing. It was foolish to become fixated on such unimportant details while in the midst of an active operation. She was better than that.
"Understood Athair." She responded. "It was a momentary weakness. It will not happen again."
His response was to step back into the shadows, concealing himself from sight. The rest of the Troupe would be in similar positions, hidden from view as they awaited the signal. Half nearby, joining in her in the strike against the Ork chieftain, and half led by Tseranis, disrupting the enemy formation and drawing away the bulk of the green menace.
No matter how many they managed to pull however, their numbers would be far too few to take on a prolonged engagement. Success depended entirely upon their ability to fell the Warboss and be away before his malicious warband could rally themselves.
Her breath quieted, Sayaka stalked through the shadows of the setting sun without a sound, moving in tandem with the invisible Troupe towards the spot where they would wait. Once an opening was made, they would strike like a dagger into the open wound and pierce the heart of the Ork army, felling it once and for all.
Or they would be surrounded, cut off, and slaughtered. In either case, this grudge would be settled within the next few hours.
Far in the distance, the first shot was sounded, and the trap fell into place.
Orks were ever at home when there was fighting to be had. No matter how horrid the living conditions, no matter how brutal their surroundings, so long as they could get in a good scrap, the greenskins could endure an otherwise obscene amount of discomfort for the sake of their bloodlust. That was why, reeling and devoid of any chance for a good battle, the boyz under Mag'den had grown tense and restless. That was why, riled up with a frustrated cocktail of turmoil they couldn't properly vent, the Ork encampment had become a powder keg waiting to be set off.
That was why, given just a tiny push in the right direction, it all came apart so suddenly.
A single shot rang out from the pistol of a hidden Trouper, slicing through the cranial cavity of a Shoota Boy on the periphery of the camp. The blade struck true, carving into the poor excuse for a brain that resided in the beast's head, and slaying it before it even realized it was under attack. The Ork dropped back with a small spray of blood, collapsing in the dirt amidst the throng of other greenskins working on patrol duty.
For a long moment, those in the nearby area stopped their rounds, silently fixated on the corpse in their midst with uncomprehending expressions, before one Ork, quicker than the rest, caught onto what had just happened.
"Oi!" It cried out, indignant shock and alarm written clear in its tone. "Oo the 'ell just zogged Gutzlog!?"
The answer came in another volley of fire, shrieking shuriken fire ringing out from all directions as sudden, precise, and deadly fire rained in on the masses of greenskins.
Pandemonium erupted instantaneously. Without any sense of rhyme or reason, the Orks responded in the only way they knew how, with wild vicious abandon. Gunfire took the place of raid sirens, alerting the rest of the camp that they were under attack as the overzealous Shootas began to lay fire into the surrounding area without any sense of thought or cohesion. Unable to pin down where the assailants had come from, they instead drowned the area in lead, gunning wildly into the dark as they sought to bring down foes who were no longer there.
As if to mock the disjointed storm of bullets, flashes of return fire echoed out from the surrounding buildings, each shot lacerating their victims with lethal accuracy. With no sight on their assailants, the Orks were left in a state of disarray, too caught up in their own misdirected confusion to consider a proper response.
That is, until one managed to wrest control away from the chaos.
A Nob bullied its way through the crowd, shoving aside the lesser greenskins as it charged to the forefront of the pack. Whether its primitive brain recognized the tactical need for action, or its savage desire for close combat simply drove it from its hiding place, none could tell, but the effect was immediate.
The large Ork barreled out from the xenos lines, roaring its fury in the face of enemy attack. Though the Eldar response was almost instantaneous, a hail of controlled shuriken fire slicing the beast apart before it had taken half a dozen steps, the damage had been done.
The Nob's example spread like wildfire as the cowering greenskins turned towards aggression. Having been subdued, beaten down, and pushed over in recent events, the need to vent their crushing sense of helplessness overruled the calamity that had been taking hold of their senses. Choppas were drawn. Guns were dropped by the wayside. The primal warcry of the Orkish race reverberated from hundreds of throats as the mass of enraged muscle charged out in all directions. The fire from their hidden foes picked off small pockets, but their deaths were nothing but a drop in the green tide that surged forth.
Seeing that the jig was up, the Harlequins abandoned their hiding places, trading stealth for speed as they sprinted away from the oncoming wall of death. With their prey in sight, the Orks redoubled their efforts, previous fears and doubts forgotten amidst the sheer euphoria of having something tangible to sink their blades into. Quite literally stampeding over one another with the fevered excitement to reach the enemy first, they gave chase towards the brightly colored players without a second thought.
The Eldar were caught off guard, put on the back foot as the greenskins responded far more quickly than anticipated. Even with the agility of their species, they found themselves only barely managing to outpace the rushing horde while running at full tilt. Even so, iron discipline and forwards planning ensured that they kept their nerve, splitting apart at just the right time and directing their pursuers in all directions.
The Orks didn't hesitate. With pure fighting spirit washing over their ranks like wildfire, they sprinted after the Eldar like hunting hounds, chasing them down winding back alleys, twisted pathways, and branching side streets. Before long, the arteries of the city were choked with green beasts, cursing and bludgeoning one another aside as they were harried by their elusive targets, sitting ever just outside of reach.
Back at camp, the result was no less dramatic. With the sounds of imminent battle echoing on the winds, the remainder of the Ork forces were thrown into a frenzy, rapidly being dragged away from their posts at the promise of such cathartic violence. All attempts to maintain order, a tenuous prospect in any greenskin camp, were swept aside as tensions reached their breaking point. Whatever foolish or overly loyal boyz tried to enforce that order quickly found themselves acting as the appetizer for the battle that their fellows so eagerly rushed towards.
Positions were abandoned. Formations fell apart. Vehicles were loaded up, rushed into motion, and launched forth, some crashing or running over other Orks in their haste to join the fighting. A groups of Deff Dredz, previously chained to the wall for "safe keeping" broke free from their shackles, rampaging through their own lines with the kind of wild ferocity that only a furious, mentally unstable greenskin could hope to manage.
The bait had worked perfectly. Too perfectly in fact, as the sheer aggression displayed by the chasing Orks had left the fleeing Harlequins in a desperate dance with death. Bullets of all shapes and sizes tore through the air, ricocheting off steel and rockcrete foundations, shattering glass to dust, and threatening to tear into the backs of the unprotected Troupers. Were it not for the psychic protection of Tseranis clouding their vision and distorting the projectiles of the green tide, half their number would have fallen before drawing the mass more than half a block away.
But the devotees of the Laughing God did not fall so easily, as many an unfortunate warrior had found throughout the centuries. Ever one step ahead of their hunters, the players of the Broken Oath fanned outwards, forcing the Orks to split their numbers into smaller, more manageable groups. So caught up in their aggression-fueled mania were they that none realized just how far from their position they were being pulled.
None but the guest of honor.
"Oooh the 'ell gave the orda ta charge out!?" Mag'den shouted, his booming voice shattering through the wall of noise like a fist through solid brick. "I didn't sayz you gitz was allowed to run amok wifout me tellin ya'z to!"
Seeing the Warboss stomping angrily into their midst with his fearsome armored guards, some manner of sense returned to those greenskins who were within earshot. That number, however, proved to be miniscule, less than two dozen boyz, as the rest had already gone too far to notice the displeasure of their warlord.
"Get back here'z! Back I saiz!" The colossal brute shouted, causing small pockets of Orks to stutter in their charge. Ultimately, their need for violence won out, and the remaining greenskins disobeyed the command, much to the ire of their lord.
"You grot humpin runtz!" Mag'den cried in a rage, snapping his massive power klaw in the air out of sheer fury. "You'ze gonna pay for dis! Nobody runz out on Mag'den! Nobodyz! When I get me 'ands on you lot, I'm gonna krump you like you'ze never been krumped afore! You 'ear me!? I'll tear you're zoggin eadz off!"
The anger of the Warboss proved to be futile, as his curses and oaths of vengeance fell on deaf ears. Only those few who'd answered his call in the first place were around to tremble under his voice any longer, and they were now seriously questioning their decision, which had landed them within reaching distance of a very angry Ork chieftain.
"Wutz we gonna do bozz?" One of the Mega-Nobz rumbled, its words taking on a deep, guttural tone as they were forced through half-metal jaws. "We'z gonn chase 'em too?"
Mag'den rounded on his guard, bashing him across the head with a blow that would have decapitated a lesser Ork, but merely knocked the Nob backwards a step.
"NO!" He frothed, snarling at the surrounding mob. "I'z never said nuffin 'bout runnin out after some zoggin runts in da middle of da night!"
Most Orks, by their very nature, were not particularly well versed in the subtleties of tactical forethought. That said, to come to any amount of success among such a brutal and unforgiving culture as theirs, those in a position of power were required to develop instincts to help protect them from the downright un-Orky tactics that so many other races resorted to using. In this instance, something in the back of Mag'den's mind was telling him that this was no ordinary attack.
Had the enemy wanted to fight, they'd have stood their ground, or they'd have been pushed back in a panic assuming their nerve broke as soon as the greenskins returned the favor. These one's, whoever they were, had darted away without committing, and with far more preparedness than a battalion of terrified humies. The shots had been placed specifically to cause the most confusion, and the assailants had fled through dark and twisting pathways, implying that they'd scouted the area prior to engaging.
Mag'den was not consciously aware of any of these things, but their combined presence in the back of his awareness was enough to kick his Orkish senses into working order, allowing him to recognize that something about this whole situation was off.
"No… we'ze ain't chasin' after no zoggin panzies oo can't even give us a good fight…" He growled under his breath. "Dey'z lookin ta stick us in da back. Das wutz goin on 'ere. An we'ze gonna stick 'em first, afore that 'appens!"
The rest of the Orks looked on in bewilderment, utterly oblivious to the factors that had led their boss to this assertion, but Mag'den couldn't have cared less about their opinions on the matter. He was the boss. His was the only word that meant anything.
"Come on yoo runtz!" He hollered, causing his boyz to jump into motion. "We'ze got some slinky gitz what think they'z cleverz! Let's see how cleverz they'z feelin with a choppa in der 'eads!"
Not knowing who their leader was referring to, but understanding the implications of a fight, his warriors raised a cry of affirmation, the light of eager battle-hunger burning in their eyes. The sight as enough to bring a ruthless grin to Mag'den's face.
Whoever these 'assassins' were, he would teach them a hard lesson. They'd make for a good practice bout before he went on to fight his true opponent. And after that… war. Without. End.
He could hardly wait.
The sounds of raucous gunfire and howls of frenzied savagery echoed throughout the streets and alleyways, creating a primal, unnerving contrast with the nearly empty area that Sayaka currently occupied. She could see the faint glimmers of miniature explosions and glints of flame off in the distance, but from this angle, almost the complete opposite direction of where the horde was being drawn, there were precious few living things besides the Harlequins themselves.
That would change soon. Gliding low to the ground, slipping from cover to cover without a trace, Sayaka could detect the subtle changes in the air more clearly now. The strange sensations on her skin, the lingering aftertaste that stuck in the back of her throat, the soundless voices that existed just outside of her perception. Just like it had been aboard the Leshara's Grace. Somewhere, be it on the mortal plane or in the depths of the Warp, the Grand Witch was drawing near.
The all-too-clear memory of what had befallen her during that last battle was still fresh in her mind, adding an edge of dread even as she redoubled the effort to keep her will steady. She could not afford to falter. Destiny was merely the end goal. Whether it was fulfilled or not still depended on the individual in question. No matter where her soul may end up, she could never forgive herself were she to fall at the hands of this oversized Ork before the conflict with Walpurgisnacht was settled.
'The Ork warband is being split apart. Tseranis reports that the foe is hot on their heels, and they will not be able to evade them for long. Should we seek to strike the Warboss, we must do so swiftly or risk the savages regrouping their forces.'
The psychic communication pushed her back into the present, focusing her mind on the task at hand even as her body darted into motion. Slipping through the war-torn streets like a phantom of the mists, she advanced in tandem with the rest of the Troupe, moving on the unspoken orders that had followed the message.
'Worry not, for we shall be away long before the bumbling beasts have regained their senses.' Came Navarre's reply. 'Go forth and take up your stations. This performance shall be a vicious and bloody affair, mark my words. Fear not the weapons of the foe, but do not allow them to operate as they please. As the Laughing God wills, step forth and regale these primitives with the truest art of warfare.'
Sayaka wove her way into a labor shop on the right side of the road, darting swiftly up the stairwells to reach the third floor. From there, she jumped from the balcony across to the next building in line, repeating the process as their squad of Troupers progressed onwards. She could catch momentary glimpses of her fellow Harlequins mimicking her tactics, spreading across all sides as they prepared to assault the lead Ork's position. Only Navarre, who would be playing the part of the affronting challenger, remained in the open at ground level. The rest would be talons of Kurnos, falling upon the foe like birds of prey.
Distantly, but growing closer by the second, she could hear the grinding of metal on metal and the barbaric cries of hulking greenskins. The guttural din of the lesser Ork boyz, interspersed with the deeper, roaring tones of their Nob leaders.
And above it all, the commanding bellows that defied reason with their sheer, bone-shaking force. A sound that could only belong to one breed of greenskin.
Sayaka closed her eyes, driving away all other though besides the singular purity of purpose for that moment. Concern for the future, fear of the past, dread of the present. Everything faded into the background, giving way to the drive that had kept her going even as hell itself had opened within her mind.
She remembered what she fought for. Who she fought for. And that alone was enough to steady her heart against the trial at hand.
Opening her eyes again, she took up her blade and swept into position, hidden, but prepared to strike with all the speed and vicious power that was the hallmark of her people.
With Cegorach as her witness, she would suffer no Ork to live this night.
Mag'den had seen on many occasions how the weaker races of the galaxy dealt with these 'assassination attempts' as they called them. He'd seen them run. Hide. Cower behind an army with guns pointed in all directions. Without fail, he'd seen them all die at the hands of the very things they thought to protect themselves from, choking out their last breaths in an inglorious show of cowardly fragility.
That was why he didn't hide. He didn't run. Assassins were things of darkness, preying on the weak and weary. He was neither. He was an Ork. He was the boss.
He thundered out in the open, marching fearlessly as the night sky shone overhead, casting the scene in a pale blanket of darkness. Flames spat forth from the pipes in his armor, wreathing him in a shining aura of power for all to see. He did not shrink away from the threat of the assassin's blade. He challenged it. Dared them to try and strike him down. With his boyz ready for war and his blood pumping for a good fight, he roared his beligerance in the face of these would-be killers.
And his call was answered.
"Greetings, mighty warlord!"
There was a brief lull as the Ork mob ground to a halt, taking in the sight of a single, brightly-colored individual standing in the middle of the road. Having expected some manner of shadowy ambush, the sight of one revealing themselves succeeded in catching the greenskins off guard long enough for him to speak once more.
"I am to understand that you're in charge of this motley band of savages." The figure remarked, its facemask leering out in the darkness. "Not that I'm much one to judge a motley nature, after all. But I'm afraid that your kind has become inconvenient. For that reason, I must bid you adieu. Farewell grotesque one. May death bring you the peace you lacked in life."
Mag'den had heard enough. Irate at the sheer arrogance displayed by this puny creature who dared to mock him, he whipped out his wrist mounted shoota.
"If you'z thinkin ya can kill me, den come get some ya zoggin grot!" The massive Ork shouted, unleashing a storm of fire. Too swift for the eye to follow, the figure in the road seemed to explode into a shower of colors, darting away at impossible speed.
In that same breath, chaos erupted in force.
The surrounding buildings became a scene of carnage as shards of light shrieked out from the windows, cutting through his lesser boyz with revolting ease. Several shots tore across Mag'den's own face, tearing deep gouges in his leathery hide as figures leapt into the sky overhead.
They came from above. A storm of color and fury, blades shining in the moonlight as they descended upon the heads of the greenskins. The Ork response was jumbled, some dropping their shootas in place of drawing close combat weapons while others hastily tried to line up shots on the foes falling upon them.
Neither proved helpful, as the Harlequins dropped into their midst. Blood erupted in the streets as impossibly sharp blades sliced apart the Ork mob with terrible force, felling boyz with such swift violence that, just for a moment, it appeared as if the greenskins would lose their nerve.
But Mag'den would have none of that. Unimpressed by the sudden burst of savagery, his massive klaw shot out, bisecting one of his boyz who'd tried to flee from the melee. With a primal cry, the Warboss threw himself into the fight.
The first runt never saw it coming. He must have thought himself awful fancy, twirling his sword around in such pretty patterns, but with his attention occupied as he danced between two of the Meganobz, he didn't notice the massive fist headed his way until it connected with his spine. The Harlequin was hurled almost thirty feet down the road under the force of the blow, smashing into the pavement with a satisfying crack. He didn't rise.
That first death marked a change in the tide of the battle. The greenskins had been suffering. From the Imperials. From the Chaos forces. From everything. But now they had an enemy within arm's reach. One that, as their boss had demonstrated, could be crushed under tangible force.
The Orks retaliated with newfound energy, striking back against the Harlequins while roaring their brutish war shouts to the skies above. The lesser Ork boyz didn't crumble as they had initially, fighting back with enough tenacity to bog down the nimble Eldar combatants. The Meganobz had found their center, and with their opponents suddenly on the back foot, they were quick to capitalize on the change.
In a rush of muscle and blood, two more Harlequins were killed in quick succession. One fell, screaming, to a pair of whirling Kill-Saws wielded by a berserking armored giant, while the other was shot in the back, her blade too embedded in another Ork to move out of the way in time. Mag'den sneered his approval, snatching a fourth Harlequin out of the air from its attempted feint and slamming it into the ground until it was nothing more than a limp piece of broken flesh.
"Iz zat all you'ze got?" The Warboss cackled, deep, resounding laughter echoing across the scene of carnage. "Wotza matter? Can't fight an Ork wut knowz where you is? I'z flattened grots oo put up more of a fight den you lot!"
The garish alien assassins had fallen back to a more defensive posture, incapable of facing the sheer weight of aggression head on, but unable or unwilling to disengage. They darted amidst the periphery of the Ork formation, slashing at arms, legs, and throats wherever possible, before fleeing the reprisal that was coming their way. Their sheer speed and momentum, coupled with their infuriating ability to be in just the wrong spot at just the right time made shooting them without gunning down their own numbers in the process all but impossible. Not that the threat of friendly fire stopped many greenskins from trying, but when Mag'den saw six of his Orks blown apart by shots meant for the enemy, he decided to put an end to the idiocy by crushing the head of the offending shoota boy.
"Quit krumping each uvver!" He shouted, holding the decapitated skull of his victim for emphasis. "Dey'z the ones you'z should be choppin!"
Most of the boyz he'd rallied were dead by this point, only a handful remaining amidst the piles of corpses that had built up in the brief but bloody struggle. The Meganobz had fared much better, only suffering a single casualty thanks to the sheer durability of their enhanced armor. The Harlequins on the other hand, were hard-pressed. Only six remained alive, and they were in a desperate battle of survival against the overwhelming force arranged against them.
But, much to the Ork warlord's annoyance, they weren't crumbling. Rather, they seemed to have become even more fervent in their efforts. One in particular stood out among the group.
Smaller than the rest, she hunted his boyz without mercy, cutting down the lesser greenskins like a shadow of death, using darkness and misdirection to weave through their ranks and strike where they were weakest. Her skill with the blade, while not as experienced as some of the others, carried a level of natural prowess that set her apart from her peers.
She was a warrior. A champion of some kind.
And now, she was his target.
Mag'den charged, his Orks practically falling over themselves to get out of the way as he stormed through his own ranks. No care was given to avoiding them, as the only thought going through his head was the desire to catch, crush, and kill this weakling who dared to stand and oppose him.
Driven by some instinctive battle-sense, the Harlequin spun on her heel to find him baring down on her, an almost imperceptible pause interrupting her lightning-quick movements as her mind was forced to stop and process the terrible threat headed her way.
With a bellow that shook the earth, Mag'den swung his klaw down in a murderous arc.
Reflexes alone were the only thing that saved Sayaka's life. The massive greenskin possessed a speed that went far above and beyond what a creature its size should have possessed. As she turned to find its hideous visage closing in, her feet were already propelling her backwards, launching away from impending doom not a moment too soon.
Its weapon, a gargantuan abomination of serrated metal and fire, whipped through the space she'd occupied like a storm of death, slamming into the ground so hard that the pavement exploded underfoot, sending up a shower of stinging shrapnel and dust in its wake.
Sayaka whirled backwards, putting distance between herself and her assailant. The pause that followed was long enough for her to catch a glimpse of the monster, and realize just what situation she now found herself in.
A towering hulk of muscle, flesh, and rage. Half-delirious memories of the same figure baring down on the one she'd sworn to protect. Bloodthirsty eyes alight with a battle fury that could never be quenched. Rather than being the one to hunt the Warboss, she'd found herself as its prey.
The titanic Ork let loose a battle cry that shook her entire frame, rattling her bones under the sheer weight of its volume. In response, Sayaka darted away, loosing a volley of shuriken fire from her pistol in the hopes of distracting the beast long enough for her to disengage.
It didn't so much as react as the razor sharp blades tore deep gouges in its face, only to reflect off the iron-hard bones of the chieftain's skull. Completely unfazed, the Warboss hurled itself towards her, overtaking her speed through sheer momentum.
Sayaka leapt to one side, narrowly avoiding being torn in half by the Ork's klaw. She changed tactics. Pulling away wasn't working, so she shot forwards, driving into the shadow cast by the monster's bulk and sprinting between its legs. The beast lashed out, trying to land a kick that would have shattered her bones like matchsticks, but her agility proved too much as she undercut the swipe and struck out with her blade, carving through the greenskin's hamstrings.
In one lighting fast sweep of her blade, the tendons of both the Ork's legs were split apart. Against most opponents, such an injury would be beyond crippling. Agony would freeze their movements, leaving them all but helpless as their lower body buckled beneath them.
The Warboss didn't seem to notice.
Slamming its foot down with enough force to shake the ground in the nearby area, it whirled upon her instantly, refusing to let her escape. Sayaka jumped under its sweeping limbs, narrowly avoiding being crushed to death by a single stray attack as she frantically fought to stay one step ahead. If she hesitated, if she paused even for a moment, the end would be swift and brutal. By this point, a counterattack was almost impossible. She could only focus on staying alive.
Frustrated at the agility displayed by its opponent, the Warboss threw itself at her wholesale, trying to use its massive bulk to cut off all escape. Sayaka was forced on the defensive, gasping in exertion as she sprinted out of the way. The Ork's claw rocketed past so near that she could feel the tips of its blades slicing the fabric on her back, and snapping shut on the place she'd been.
She dropped down, hitting the ground in a quick roll and catapulting herself away in a bid to escape its reach before it managed to catch up to her. She'd already seen what had befalling Merizurr when he'd been grabbed, and she had no intention of following in his footsteps.
Her gambit paid dividends, as she was propelled beyond the greenskin's immediate grasp and given a precious instant to regain her bearings. Around her, the Troupe was struggling against the oppressive might of the Meganobz, but the chaff had been dealt with entirely. Not a single Ork boy remained alive thanks to their decisive strikes against the lesser greenskins.
That knowledge proved to be a cold comfort as the Ork Warboss charged towards her once more. It was relentless in its assault, and she'd managed to wrest its attentions through her own martial displays. Sayaka dropped to a crouch, readying her blade for a preemptive strike. Her only hope was to end the battle quickly. She couldn't win a battle of attrition.
Her pistol would prove useless, so she let it fall as she grasped her sword in a two handed grip. Her own wordless cry of valor rose in answer to the chieftain's howl of fury, giving strength to her limbs as she shot forwards. She didn't know what hope she had of facing off against the beast alone, but there were few alternatives left open.
She struck, flying forth like a serpent as the monster lunged forwards. Its prodigious size cracked the earth underfoot, threatening to upset her balance as she ran towards the beast. Drawing in her breath, she waited until the last possible moment to divert her course, spinning away from the crushing grip of the Ork's klaw just in time to avoid being shorn apart.
There. She jumped forth, driving in too swift for the beast's free arm to grab her and struck out at its throat. The Warboss reared back, ichorous discharge spewing forth as her blade bit deep into its neck, its strangled cry of pained rage drowned out by a surge of its own lifeblood filling its mouth, bringing a surge of elation to the girl.
It was a mistake. The wound which would have killed most other opponents, only served to push the monster further into its maddened fury. Faster than she would have thought possible, the Ork's knee shot out to strike her.
Even as the blow came, her body was already twisting away. She was fast, but her speed had its own limits. At such a close distance, she could not hope to avoid it entirely.
The brutal jab only just made contact. The barest fragment of a hit, narrowly caressing her side as she tried to get out of the way.
It was cataclysmic.
Life, fire, agony, and tearing, unbearable, pain exploded in her chest like the detonation of a miniature sun. She felt her ribs bend inwards, nearly cracking under the blow as her body was thrown aside. She spun through the air, crashing into the ground like a discarded toy, feeling her shoulder wrench at a wrong angle as she tumbled to a halt. The air was ripped from her lungs, her sword dropped from her nerveless grasp in the confusion.
Sayaka choked out a mangled scream, panic surging through her system as she struggled to rise. She could see the Warboss racing towards her with a malevolent grin cutting across its bloodied features. And then…
"Might I cut into this duel?"
Even she could not hope to understand what happened next. A storm of movement. A spray of crimson. The beast was pushed backwards, wailing in torment as one of its eyes disappeared in a shower of gore.
"Rise, Sayaka Miki. Your part is not yet done."
She looked up into the daemonic mask of her Troupe Master. Navarre faced the Warboss, the moonlight giving a murderous edge to his features as he put himself between the two of them. In one hand, he held out her sword, offering it to her hilt-first. In the other, his own was damaged, much of the upper half of its blade chipped off in the socket of the Ork's eye.
She rose. Against the torment of her battered frame, she rose and grasped her blade once more. Even as the pain of her movements sought to bring her down, she pushed past it and stood by his side.
The two faced down the wounded Warboss together. As the battle raged around them, the monstrous Orks rose to its full gargantuan height, glaring down at the pair through its remaining eye.
Sayaka steadied herself against the tremors that ran through her limbs. This fight was only just beginning.
