The purging pyres burned brightly against the darkening night sky. Piles of dead greenskins, from tiny grots to giant nobz, were doused with blessed promethium and set ablaze. The holy fuel strong enough to burn even in the rain, sending tall pillars of smoke and fire into the air. Casualties were still being rounded up and delivered indoors for medical attention while patrols were already being set up. The omnipresent threat of rogue Orks was another concern on the list of typical post-battle demands when facing down the greenskins.
Tazmun had offered to use one of several ancient Necron artifacts in the Apakht Dynasty's possession. He claimed that it could purge even microbial life down to a planet's core but after it was revealed that not even Izfret was aware of the actual range of the device, it was unanimously decided to not risk accidently purging Holy Terra.
Instead, a more mundane solution was accepted. Citing their own Rite of Conquest, the Imperials claimed the former Ork stronghold for themselves and declared a shrine-outpost was to be erected. While an army of tech priests and servitors eagerly devoured the ramshackle base for materials, designs were being drawn up back at the Imperial rooms.
Blessed cardboard was to be laminated with a weatherproof compound concocted by the Mechanicus. Set upon a rockcrete foundation, it would possess several watchtowers built from empty aerosol air fresheners. One of Max's anime figurines would be redressed as Saint Bethel, patron saint of cheesemakers and ork slayers, with the shrine being consecrated in her name. No one could figure out the correlation between the two domains, but her name was in the Sister's book of saints and so the priests approved of it.
Taking a break from the planning and design discussion, Grand General Bragana excused himself from the Lego meeting chamber for some fresh air. He made his way to one of a handful of observation rooms, clear glass jars that hung off the ledges of windows that offered a commanding few in all directions.
Below, the convoys continued to rumble in, lines of Chimeras and Devilfish rumbled in and out of the house. Even after a battle, the activity never stopped. More fresh bodies were needed for cleanup and patrol. The Mechanicus were salivating at the chance of raw material for their forges and storehouses. And the wounded were being taken back to the hospital that was set up by Max on the Coffee Table of Peace.
Bragana looked out into the landscape, focusing on nothing in particular. Tonight's victory was won but it felt strangely hollow. This was the first major engagement since the Battle of the Black Chamber with the Necrons and despite actually purging a hostile force through strength of arms, it felt empty. Where once the Guard would have enjoyed the exaltations of victory, now it seemed more like a bitter reminder of how little action they saw and how far they had fallen from their original duties.
Major Menatat approached from behind and saluted as he entered but General Bragana did not look back, "Major, what were our losses today?"
"Casualties are minimal. We are still at full combat capacity, albeit slightly reduced in air power." The Major looked down on the data slate in his arms as a cool breeze filled the glass jar. It came from an Arvus that just took off from the runway behind the observation deck, no doubt delivering something for either the Archmagos J-1M or Inquisitor Peratix, both of whom were outside at the stronghold.
"Major, I asked what were our casualties tonight." The General's voice became lower and harsher, devoid of his typical fatherly warmth as there was a pause before Major Menatat answered.
"Acceptable, sir."
Bragana closed his eyes and sighed, "Lorian, why can't you give me a straight answer for these talks?"
"Because we both know you don't like hearing the numbers, sir." Menatat clutched the data slate, "Ever since Pagaren Fields."
Bragana shuttered at the mention of that battle. It was his most defining engagement, and it was his greatest failure. Looking back there were a million things he could have done to at least give the 31st a chance in that battle. But it was of little use now. All he could do was make sure that both the 19th and the Expedition would never have to suffer through what the 31st had too.
"Tell me Lorian, was I wrong to change my ways?" Bragana half asked his compatriot and half asked the reflection in the glass, "Was it wrong to promise to be a father to my men?"
"No sir." Lorian reassured the general, "But the Guard isn't a family. We are the wall that stands between humanity and the uncaring, ceaseless horrors beyond; a million guns pointed at a galaxy that seeks to condemn us to death or worse. We cannot afford to worry about every brick."
"But that wall is only as strong as the strength of each brick. It only takes one weak brick to form a hole, just like-"
"Just like at the Pagaren Fields. I know Railmar." Lorian spoke with similar memories.
Silence fell upon the observation jar. The General from Sallot and the Major from Armageddon had served together for decades now. Bragana watched as a young Menatat matured into a capable officer while Menatat witnessed Bragana change from a distant, apathetic commander to a father to his men. The two had been on more battlefields than they cared to count, and their professional relationship had led to a personal connection between two veteran soldiers who could implicitly trust each other. The two stood still and looked out into the yard. Lorian watched the flames of the purging pyres while Bragana was fixated at the medical convoy below.
"We are an eon away from home Lorian." Bragana loosened his posture and confessed to his friend, "There is no way back and to be honest, I don't even know what to do now. What do our oaths to the Imperium mean if there is no Imperium? The men are getting restless and we've been committing more resources than we have to on these engagements we once would have considered small. We are warriors without a war and guards without a charge."
Lorian failed to come up with a response. He knew exactly what Bragana meant. By his own numbers, the number of men and materials they were spending per engagement was completely out of proportion to the actual requirements of the mission. The recent engagement with the Orks saw the deployment of nearly every flyer and half of the 97th Armageddon Mechanized, not because the mission demanded it, but because so many of the soldiers were itching for a fight.
The xenos had their own affairs to manage; the Tau had their civilians and the Eldar were content to sit and meditate in their Hanging City. The Necrons benefited from a population of mindless robots, content to stand still for centuries at a time while their nobles played out their petty court politics over many human generations.
The Astartes had their own spiritual duties to attend to as warrior monks along with the Sisters who also had their own civilian duties. Tending to the sick, creating new works of art and writing for their cathedral library and presiding over religious matters for the Guard and their own flock. The Mechanicus too had no shortage of preoccupation with adapting technology, maintaining Imperial equipment, and absorbing as much knowledge as they could from Max. The Guard on the other hand had no such obligations and had been sticking to a routine of drills and protocols almost out of stubbornness at this point. One of the junior commissars even made an unheard-of breach of protocol when she arrived two minutes late to morning roll call.
"The report will be in your office, sir." The Major with nothing more to add pocketed the data slate and saluted, "Any additional reports from the Inquisitor or the Archmagos will be forwarded to you."
"Thank you Major. Hopefully, the Inquisitor can come up with something fruitful. He is Ordos Xenos right?"
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If it was one Xenos that Inquisitor Peratix hated the most, it was the Orks. He could handle mutant Genestealer Cults, sadistic Drukari, subversive Tau agents or even the hideous Rak'Gol. But Orks? He hated being around them and he hated himself all the more for it since it didn't stem from some righteous hatred, but from fear.
It was his pride and professionalism that kept him composed as he made his way around the ruins of the stronghold, examining every symbol and noting every observation. As the resident "expert" on all things xenos and ork related, he was assigned to investigate any possible information about the origins of the greenskins. Working against the clock as the tech priests went about disassembling structures and laying new foundations, Peratix had built up a collection of notes and observations of the stronghold.
While the concept of uniformity was alien to most Orks, it seemed the opposite in this stronghold. It was unusually organized and thought out, displaying a primitive understanding of preplanning unheard of in Orks. Workshops were clearly organized in a rough industrial zone while the housing dens had a clear attempt of standardized construction. The AA guns weren't randomly placed in open areas, but instead laid out in a way to provide maximum coverage. The armory wasn't just a disorganized pile of weapons on the ground but instead several disorganized bins of weapons and the squig leather ties on many of the vehicles were almost of a standard size and construction.
In the process of discovering more and more oddities about this stronghold and its tribe of greenskins, Peratix became increasingly worried. Although he maintained a stoic, serious gaze of a hardened Inquisitor, a voice in the back of his head whispered what he feared the most. Those fears were realized when he finally discerned the meaning of a common symbol he saw across the base and various Ork glyph tablets in the Warboss' hut. His revelation demanded the attention of the other two Imperial commanders in the field.
"Where's the Archmagos and the Lord Commissar? I need to talk with them. Immediately."
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From a mobile Chimera command post, Lord Commissar Basklow just finished laying out patrol assignments and Ork hunting parties when he was summoned by a runner. Finding himself slowing through the rapidly emptying main courtyard of the stronghold, he weathered the rain and made his way towards the Warboss hut. The servitors and tech priests had wasted no time in levelling the Ork's crude buildings with most able to be ripped apart without tools. Only a few of the buildings demanded the use of heavy machinery or specialized equipment and they were the defensive guns and the Warboss' hut.
Parting the potato chip tarp door into the hut, he found Archmagos J-1M and Inquisitor Peratix waiting for him, hunched over several tablets and pieces of metal on a table.
"Greeting: Hello, Commissar Basklow. Inquisitor Peratix has uncovered a potential threat that he feels we must take into consideration." J-1M greeted Basklow as the latter hung his high peaked hat on a sharp metal protrusion, "Addendum: I too have concluded that this threat has a high probability of being true."
"Well, what is it?" The commissar looked at the objects arrayed on the table and sneered at the crude Ork attempts at writing that meshed into a singular collection of childish pictograms in his eyes, "Long term patrol plans are being established and the start of the shrine should be up by daybreak."
"You may have to put those plans on hold for the time being, something greater will have to take priority." Peratix held up a chunk of armor with the letter "I" and an oval in it with a strike going through the middle, "There have been multiple uses of this symbol on armor, banners and even graffiti."
"Pardon me Inquisitor, but I fail to see what the importance of this symbol is. It appears to be just another greenskin tribal symbol."
"Interjection: The rate at which this symbol appears on equipment exceeds any previously reported symbols. It also does not appear in any databases of known Ork Glyphs suggesting an origination point of a singular individual Warboss. After cross referencing it with 8,714,203 known possible Warbosses, I have concluded this symbol is unique to a single Ork Warlord: Arzak Eyebrekka."
"Eyebrekka? Must be a minor Warboss. I can't imagine that he's some major figure."
"Warlord, commissar, not Warboss. The reason he's not a major figure is because most consider him too 'unorky'. He is an anomaly amongst his kind, capable of more than beastly cunning but degrees of actual thought and intelligence. He does not seek out battle, he seeks out victories no matter what to prove his strength."
"You seem quite knowledgeable about this greenskin." Basklow's commissar instincts were starting to activate, "I thought you distanced yourself from their kind."
"I did. And Eyebrekka is the reason why. I was held prisoner under him." Peratix stared at the objects before him, looking deeply at the repeated broken I symbol, "He is a monument to the hubris of my mentor; a living sin passed from the father to the son. A memory of an age passed that still comes to haunt me today."
The room went silent. Only the sounds of rain and J-1M's mechanical components piercing it.
"Excuse me, Inquisitor." Commissar Basklow's gaze shifted, and his voice went low, identical to the tone that terrified guardsmen, "What are you implying with that statement?"
Peratix let out a deep sigh as he pulled out his own Inquisitorial rosette and ran his finger across its ornate design.
"The man who inducted me into the Holy Ordos was an Inquisitor Hekmar. He was a fine mentor and a good friend, but he was not flawless. He was a part of a secret group of likeminded Inquisitors who thought that the ultimate victory against the forces of the Warp laid in taming of the greenskins. They collected spores and samples and took them back to a labyrinthine facility where they tried to raise them, tame them, control them. They even went as far as attempting to alter their genetic code to make them more docile."
"Interjection: Genetic manipulation and alteration of Orkoid DNA is imposs- ... Is considered near impossible by the Biologis." Archmagos J-1M stopped himself. He knew from his own experience in the Inquisition how the impossible was sometimes only a suggestion and a fact.
"Inquisitor," Basklow stared at Peratix who was unbowed by the stern glare of the Schola Progenium's finest, "What you are saying sounds very much heretical. Were you not charged with the task of rooting out such heresy as an Inquisitor?"
"What could I have done?" Peratix snapped back, "I was an acolyte, a new initiate! How was I, in my novice and untrained state, going to overturn the decision and belief of Inquisitors many decades or centuries my senior? At that time, I simply followed orders, a sentiment I am sure you know well, Lord Commissar."
Peratix locked eyes with Basklow, their eyes matched in attitude and sternness; neither of them backed down.
"Question: Where does the Warlord Arzak Eyebrekka factor into this?" The Archmagos broke the silence before it became lethal, "And how did you become prisoner to this Ork when he was under Inquisitorial control?"
"Eyebrekka, or Subject 71-14 as he was known at the time, was the only Ork that seemed receptive to the conclave's attempt to tame and control an Ork. He was docile enough to learn while still being savage enough to fight others of his kind and win. It was considered a huge milestone when he could successfully understand Low Gothic commands, even more so when he would follow them. So enamored with their success, the conclave failed to see that Subject 71-14 was learning far more than what they were teaching them.
Uprisings, revolts, and escape attempts were common in the facility and each time they were all crushed. Time and time again, entire generations and batches of Orks were all purged to make way for a new attempt but 71-14 stayed. He was the prized possession, proof of the possibility that the conclave's mission could be achieved. And for his part, 71-14 never seemed to exhibit any traits or desire to revolt. Maybe the genetic tampering had finally achieved something."
"Demand: Why was protocol not followed? Adeptus Mechanicus Biologis protocol stresses that all xenos samples should be purged should risk of containment breach be too great." The Archmagos chirped.
"I get the feeling that there wasn't much desire for following established practices and norms given the project's nature Archmagos." Basklow deducted.
"Yes, the success of Subject 71-14 blinded most of the senior Inquisitors, their belief and resolve only strengthened by his continued existence which they made sure of. They made sure that their perfect specimen was always big enough to contest any other Ork who'd challenge his unorthodox ways with the hope of being able to produce more Orks of his stock. Those of us who thought otherwise were too intimidated to speak up. However, Subject 71-14 would play us all for fools.
When he launched his own revolt, it came as a surprise to some who believed that this 'tamed' monster was incapable of revolting, having grown accustomed to his seemingly docile temperament that hid a cunningly quick mind. He had learned from every previously failed uprising, having studied and planned out for everything we could have thrown at him. It didn't matter what we did, 71-14 always seemed to be two steps ahead. He had grot scouts in the wents, reporting every strongpoint we set up. He threw squigs into the power generators to shut them down. He had his forces withdraw and flank us through maintenance tunnels and ambushed guards on their way to the frontline. He was even able to figure out how to use some of our own weapons against us to devastating effect."
"This is a travesty! What became of that conclave of negligent heretics?" Basklow scowled.
"Dead. Subject 71-14 slew Inquisitor Hekmar himself and took his shattered rosette as a trophy along with many others. Those senior Inquisitors found themselves isolated from their guards and picked off. Either through overwhelming numbers or subterfuge. Where do you think he got the name, 'Eyebrekka'?"
Peratix clutched his own rosette tightly as his old scars hummed with faded memories of pain.
"I was but one of a few survivors who had actually been taken prisoner. For what reasons I am still unsure, likely to either grant him access to the rest of the facility or to record his deeds so all may know his infamy. Perhaps it was even just for his own amusement."
"Inquiry: And you gave this Ork access to the facility?" Archmagos J-1M's voice was filled with more emotion than the past several decades of his life had combined.
"I was spared that task, but many of those who were captured were simple menials or researchers and not hardened Inquisitorial agents. Faith and devotion can flicker when a man is strapped to a table and has his leg eaten off while he's awake.
It was hoped that Eyebrekka would be killed off in the typical petty conflicts between the greenskins, but all the preferential treatment he received while still in captivity meant that none of the other Orks were ever large enough to threaten him. In due time, he had formed his own cadre of subordinates he believed shared his cunning and beliefs, personally removing any rising nobs deemed too 'simple' for leadership."
"How did you escape?" Basklow asked, equal parts engrossed in and appalled by the story.
"Luck and favor of the Emperor. We found one of the Astropaths hidden away in a closet and kept them safe. Eyebrekka started to catch wind and began interrogating us for information. We had several close calls, and many gave their lives to keep them hidden by shuffling them around in the labyrinthine depths of the facility, smuggling them food every so often. Eventually, they managed to contact a Rogue Trader who, bless her soul, arrived in orbit with her house soldiers and launched a rescue mission. There were a few thousand personnel in that clandestine facility. Only a dozen made it out alive in the end."
"Inquiry: What happened to the Astropath?"
For the first time, Peratix cracked a smile, "How do you think Mask came into my service?"
The two listeners were stunned silent for a few moments as they processed the entire story. Eyebrekka certainly was unlike any other greenskin either the tech priest or the commissar ever encountered and yet thrived despite it.
Peratix continued, "Eyebrekka is a testament to the sin of man's hubris. If there is even the slightest possibility that he and his horde have arrived on Holy Terra with us, then he poses a very, very dire threat. He may not be the greatest Ork to have ever lived, but he has both the ambition and the ability to rival them all.
A/N: Something a bit shorter than the previous chapters. I am officially declaring Eyebrekka as "Original Character, do not steal" lol. In all seriousness, does the lore behind him make 100% sense? Hmmm... maybe not. But neither does a bunch of 40k armies being turned into minis. If you feel otherwise, please feel free to yell at me in the reviews.
In other news, holy cow thank you everyone for 100+ favorites and followers! Your support means the world for me. I hope to keep improving and entertaining everyone with this story in the future. Hopefully this chapter wasn't too cheesy.
As always, favorites, follows and reviews are appreciated and feedback even more so. DMs are also always open! See you in the next chapter!