How much time passed, Srunak in his delirium did not know. The darkness still encompassed him, and he saw nothing. He could hear the din of the ship's engines, maybe occasionally the loud metallic footsteps of a machine man, but these sounds were dulled by the walls between them. After an interval, more footsteps joined, sounding faster and more hurried than usual. There were more hurried sounds, then explosions, followed by more distant ones that sounded like they were not from the ship. He heard men shouting and then a jarring crunch that rocked the capsule backward and shook the room with the tremendous force. More explosions quickly followed, and there were humans shouting and discharging their weapons. What followed was a mass of guttural war cries, the plodding of feet, and a roar of gunfire.
There was another explosion, but this time it was very near. Light flooded Srunak's prison, and the capsule's shell suddenly struck against his fractured chest. The capsule's door buckled from the blast, while the room itself was exposed to the hall in front. He shoved against the door again, and it creaked upon before falling off its hinges and hitting the floor. At last he was free!
He scrambled out of the odious prison and into the hall before him and looked to his left. There was one of the red-robed humans running away from him, but he had not noticed Srunak's escape. At long last, the flesh would be his to satiate his growing hunger. He charged forward, dropping to all fours, his elongated fingers scraping the floor with ear-piercing sounds. Hearing this cacophony the human briefly turned, then quickened his pace to a sprint, while frantically yelling into something he held in his hand. Srunak lunged his right hand into the human's chest, stopping him mid-sentence and changing his speech to incoherent gagging. He stood up and decapitated his prey with his left hand, sending sparks into his face. Where was the flesh? This human's body was made of bundles of metal, wires, and glass. There was no flesh, no beautiful flesh to satisfy his senses. He screamed and flailed the corpse about in frustration, splitting it into chunks that shot out sparks as computerized tendons were severed.
He did not stop to inspect the corpse any longer; he heard sounds of battle further down the hall; there must be flesh there. Running down the rest of the hall following the dim yellow lights, he entered another room. On one side were a group of humans, led by the one with the red coat he saw when boarding the ship. Among him were more humans adorned with gadgetry and long lasrifles. Others had guns built into their arms firing mechanically at their targets. Across from them were a throng of muscular, green-skinned aliens firing massive makeshift guns and bellowing guttural war cries as they flooded into the room. Their toothy faces were fierce yet subtly cheerful as they fought with unprecedented savagery. A faint memory momentarily forced its way past his desire for flesh: Orks. That was what these aliens were, an enemy as ancient as he was.
The Orks had so much flesh, it was irresistable. Without a second thought Srunak charged the aliens while they were distracted with their human opponents, and the slaughter began. He no longer had the disadvantage of prior restraint, now he was free to unleash the full might of the Necron on these unsuspecting lesser beings. He scampered on all fours and waved his claws this way and that to slice off limbs and skin. The more diminutive greenskins he shredded to pieces, while larger ones took more time to dispatch. Though some noticed and fought back, they were too few to stop Srunak's rampage. The rest remained fixated on their human quarry, and many had already reached their positions and were forcing them back, cutting them with giant axes and crushing what was left of them with their fists.
After dispatching three Orks, Srunak got down and flayed the corpses of their precious skin. He wrapped the wet green hides around him; it was so gratifying to have it on his body again, but he wanted more, more! He saw the hall the Orks came from, and down it he could see more of them all carrying with them just as much flesh as the first three had. Among them were smaller greenskins with large noses wielding weapons fitting for their size. They were a ragtag, boisterous group of aliens, perfect for satisfying Srunak's cravings. He charged again and slashed at the closest Ork, one that wore a black tricorne with a skull emblazoned on it, catching him off guard, and before he could fire his pistol his legs were dissected, bringing him to the floor with a howl. Another slash at the back of his neck confirmed the kill. Srunak turned to the next Ork who wore a red cap. He came at the Necron with an axe and struck him across the chest, knocking him back and tearing the skins he had carefully wrapped around his body just a minute before. Enraged by this act of defilement, he dove under the Ork as he swung again, and lopped off the arms of his opponent before he could ready his axe again, sending showers of dark green blood into Srunak's face. This was too fun, the longer the battle lasted, the more flesh and blood there would be to play with. Once all the Orks were dead, he will play with all of it. He ran further down the corridor where a few more of the miniscule Orks were, and he cleaved each one in two barely slowing down. The sounds of battle were all around, with some behind him while more war cries were in front. Much of the lesser races' blood will flow, it truly was his hour.
Upon reaching the end of the corridor, he entered another spacious room, but it was in much worse shape than the previous ones he saw in the human ship. Its floor, walls, and ceiling were rusted sheets of metal barely held together with nails and screws inserted in a disheveled manner, while several were hanging from one side. There were catwalks made of the same corroded material that crossed this way and that with no realistic pattern, and in the center were generators belching steam and making sputtering and chugging sounds as if they were about to break down. Most important of all, the ramshackle chamber was filled with Orks, all dressed in foppish outfits of longcoats, tricornes, and brightly colored caps. Some were equipped and ready for battle, while others had tools tending to the machinery. Regardless of what each Ork was doing, they all turned to Srunak. There was so much flesh and skin Srunak did not know where to start. The Orks were not expecting to encounter this strange creature, for they were expecting to fight humans and take from them whatever they wished. But any non-Ork was another opponent to smash, and after the briefest tenuous pause they raised their weapons in the air, shouted in unison, and came for Srunak. Srunak met them head-on lashing out at each greenskin, and arms, legs, heads, and viscera flew through the air. As the battle continued, more Orks ran into the room to inquire on the commotion and joined the fray. He was shot several times, and many of the Orks' crude axes struck his arms and head, but these injuries did not allay his bloodlust. As the fight drew on the battle behind him seemed to subside, and he heard the running of lighter feet behind him; the humans must be regrouping. He had to find a way out before they attacked him from behind, but the angry mob of Orks left no opening. Worse still, despite Srunak's fighting prowess, the Orks had the advantage of numbers, and each attack brought him closer to the floor. Finally, two large Orks seized his arms, ignoring the blades sinking into their flesh, and pinned him to the floor. A third stepped on his chest and levelled a pistol at his eye. Srunak jerked his left leg, destabilizing the Ork about to kill him, and sunk his fingers deeper into the two holding him down, but through their grunts of pain held steady.
He saw a gray object fly over his head and into the throng of Orks. The object exploded, freeing Srunak and eviscerating the greenskins. Another object flew over, followed by a second explosion and a hissing sound. Now on his feet, he turned to the source of the projectiles, and saw the mechanical humans behind him, all armed with guns and other peculiar implements on their bodies that had a disturbing lack of flesh on them. If there was no flesh, there was no reason to fight them. He turned and fled, but not before two more projectiles shot into the room and exploded, and the walls and ceiling began to crumble. Dodging the scraps of sheet metal and pipes hitting the floor, he rushed through an open blast door on the far side of the chamber as it collapsed. There was an explosion, followed by metal grinding on metal and a sudden force began to pull him back toward the door. He stabbed one claw into the wall and tried to stabilize his feet on the edges of the doorway as his green trophy flapped against his body, with individual pieces of tissue stretching and breaking off and being sucked into the void.
But in that moment fortune smiled on Srunak, for the door below him slammed shut, and he collapsed to the floor as the ship's gravity restored itself. He got up on all fours and looked up to see what shut the door. There was an Ork right in front of him, as broad as the door itself, with one paw-like hand on a panel embedded into the wall. The creature grinned as it raised a clunky pistol and fired. Srunak instinctively rolled over before standing, dodging several shots, then swung at the pistol, segmenting it and cutting off the Ork's hand in the process. The Ork stared dumbly at the stump gushing blood with a look of surprise, and Srunak beheaded it. Before its corpse could hit the floor, Srunak set to work flaying the skin from his latest victim. It was taut from the well-developed musculature and held an aesthetically pleasing deep green color, with some light blue tattoos complementing it well. Srunak wrapped the hide around his waist so it would also cover his legs, allowing his whole body to be covered in lovely skin. With his whole body covered, his desire for flesh and skin seemed to abate. It was still there, but not as strong or intoxicating as before. He could think rationally again and recall some more of what these Orks were and how they spoke. It will do him well to know their plans so he may kill them more effectively and without risking death so often.
With his latest trophy in tow, Srunak moved further down the hall to another door. It was wider, had a circular design, and more protected with sloped blocks of steel jutting out at its base, giving the sense more care was put into its construction unlike the rest of the makeshift nature of the ship. Behind the door was a throng of bellicose voices shouting at one another. With his mind clearer from his recent indulging, he could make out what they were saying. There may be too many Orks to handle behind the door, so instead he leaned against it to listen.
"Da mek humies was tougher den we tought, we'z gotta go now!"
"Dem only humies, youse a coward! You ain't da Kaptin so I'm gonna fight!"
There was a crunching sound as the former bellowed with rage. "Da Kaptin is dead! And dat makes me da biggest, meanest Ork on dis 'ere ship. Da Kaptin was a dumb git, he broke da tubey fing dat makes us go from our ship to da one of da humies. If we go on da humie ship, we'z all gonna die and not get any loot. We'z gonna go to da Warp and find a new place for lootin' and fightin', da whole fing. If you gits don't like dat, den you can go out dere and fight dem yourself!" There were no more objections.
"Now dat's more like it! I'm da Kaptin now, so you gits better do what I say! Now, let's go to da Warp and find some loot!" Srunak heard rumbling in the floor. The Orks were heading somewhere, that he was sure of, and he must find out what it was, but he could not go through the door and risk losing the ensuing battle. He recalled incapacitation would condemn him to forever being scrap metal on the ship since he could not teleport, and he would be consumed by eternal darkness with no flesh or skin to comfort him.
Sending those premonitions to the back of his mind, he turned away from the imposing door and went back down the hall to find another entrance, a more subtle way of getting to the Orks' location. There were no other doors to go through, but on the ceiling was a large pipe, large enough for him to fit through, and it had turns and intersections arranged manically, allowing for passage to another part of the ship. In the center of the hall it had an outlet with a filthy latch covering it. Srunak tore it off, and it was fortunately empty. He put his head inside to inspect the interior, and he saw no rushing liquid. Reassured, he crawled up inside and down the pipe toward the room the Orks were in, remaining poised to strike if the pipe were to collapse under his weight. It took several lefts and rights as if its designer had been constantly distracted while constructing it or simply had no wider purpose for it other than aesthetics, a typical mark of the lunacy in Ork design.
As he crawled along his claws incessantly scrapped against the pipe's walls; they were even longer than the last time he observed them in the repugnant depths of Catalus at nearly two feet. The newly forming joints in his legs were still expanding, and he could bend them further than before, though not yet as much as his knees. If the change continued, he would need to keep his knees constantly bent to allow him to stand, which would reduce his height considerably. He was unsure when this augmentation of his body would end, but at least his hands allowed him to easily slay and flay the bodies of the lesser races he happened upon. As long as he could acquire flesh, he cared little for these changes.
He crawled for several more minutes, and the Orks' voices were growing louder; he was close. As he continued, the angry guttural tones of these barbarians moved from in front of him to his left, though through the pipe he was unable to discern what they were saying. The pipe was moving straight with no diversions, he needed to find an exit soon. He stopped briefly again to listen to the Orks, but he never got the chance, for a deep, grating roar filled the ship, causing its very foundation to shake. Combined with this was a ghastly ensemble of screams, shouts, cries, and other unimaginable expressions of emotion that streaked through the ship that pierced the stagnant air. But this was only a herald of the horror Srunak heard next. There were sounds that resembled something between an explosion, the rushing of water, and the crackling of flames. Following this were screeches and roars of beasts that were neither human nor Ork. He heard them all throughout the ship, but they were quickly drowned out by the Orks' shouts of joy at new enemies to kill and the firing of their weapons. Crawling along a little further amidst the chaos happening all around him, he found an intersection in the pipe with a hole in its floor that ended with a latch. With the Orks distracted by whatever new enemy that was in the ship, Srunak hoped to ambush them and ensure his solitude. Then he would have plenty more skin and flesh to play with. After that he did not know what he would do, perhaps he would try to steer the ship himself. He did not know; his only certainty was the ships' current owners needed to be disposed of.
He thrust his right arm down through the latch, breaking its flimsy seal. Crawling down, he fell headfirst and hit the floor. Standing up to scope his surroundings, he saw he was in a small room with piles of debris and scrap metal with a window on the right. Outside the window he did not see the void of space, but a swirling mass of indescribable colors, layered with misshapen faces contorted in expressions of pain, joy, anger, terror, and countless other emotions being consumed by a whirlwind of more colors and faces and other formless creatures, and then spat out again to heave and dip. There was no rhyme or reason to the mass's movement, yet it never ceased its horrifying display of madness and carnage. Though he could not hear it, he was sure any sounds produced by it would be just as incomprehensible. He turned away, not wishing to watch that miserable being any longer. It was, to him, a being that had lost itself, that could remember nothing, and was driven by the most primal of instincts. It was above all a disgusting creature, and one he knew he will never be.
He surveyed the room again, and confirmed no beasts were present or waiting in the shadows. He was alone for now, but the Orks' constant shouting and the peculiar mix of shrill shrieks meant he would not be for long. Taking advantage of the noisy battle happening around him, he crept between crates looking for a way out, moving slowly and silently like a predator stalking its next meal.
Rounding a corner, Srunak beheld something he had never seen in his millions of years of life. It was a creature that could only be called a parody of humanoids. Its naked body was covered with deep red skin and its hands had sharp yellow claws while every joint had menacing spikes protruding from them. It held no weapon, the dark blood dripping from said claws showed it needed none to do its grim duty. Its head had two black horns jutting out and curling down to its chin, while its hideous face was fixed in a snarl with inches-long fangs, and it had deep, blazing green eyes that spoke of death. But when its eyes locked with Srunak's its expression suddenly changed, if only slightly, to one of confusion, then realization, then unending rage. The creature gave a deafening howl and leapt at him, clawing and slashing. He instinctively retaliated with his own claws, and soon the two were rolling on the floor hacking and slicing with pure hatred for one another. The red monster made several deep scratches on Srunak's armor, but it held firm while he was able to scoop out chunks of flesh from the creature's body. Despite the injuries, the creature lost none of its will to fight, and continued its assault until Srunak cut off every limb and dismembered the rest of its body. When this was done it finally stopped moving, and the room was quiet again. It was a peculiar opponent, but he welcomed it regardless for the flesh, skin, and bone it brought him.
He knelt down to pick the viscera up and eat it. He scooped up a chunk in his hand and brought it to his mouth, but before he could attempt to consume it, the flesh burst into flames. The flesh on the floor too burned with pinkish flame while puddles of blood boiled themselves away. He thrust his claws into it, trying to retrieve whatever he could, but it was no use. All the gobbets of flesh disintegrated in his hands, leaving not even ash in its wake. Why was it disappearing? Why did cruel fate deny him his precious flesh? He flailed his body and arms in rage, screaming as he did so. He needed to find Ork flesh, at least theirs did not disappear. He had to find more. He wanted more. He needed more. He climbed over crates in front of him and jumped down to find a door ripped open, with a gaping maw of darkness beyond, but within were shouts, screams, gunshots, crunching, and slicing. He sprinted inside.