Chapter II: Time (Part I)
(Music: "House of the Rising Sun", by Lauren O'Connell)
Hell.
Now I was in Hell.
The monotony had returned, this time as a vampire seeping what little intrinsic desire I had left to live from me; With each bump of the almost-corpse cart, my survivability waxed and waned. Perhaps I would have been lucky to be pierced by a filthy nail and die of infection.
I was not lucky enough.
Seconds turned to minutes, turned to hours, then days. The landscapes changed effortlessly before my eyes, as I could only sit among the few others, in a broken daze that rendered me immobile in my own body. I had no more effort to live. To fight. To move.
The road was silent, save for the occasional boisterous chatter of the few Goblins and Orks escorting us to wherever they were taking us, and the groaning and sobbing from the other writhing captives onboard the cart.
And so, with nothing else to do, with no prospects of a better life or anything worth accomplishing, all I could do was think. And the freshest thoughts on my mind all revolved around those I had just lost.
Oddly, the first person that came to mind was the only other child I had thought to be my friend at the time- Helmer Roth, a young boy that had been a bit older than me at the time. We'd met after being assigned together on the same sewer patrol team once, and we both enjoyed the similarities in ambition and creativity, compared to our fellow villagers. Unfortunately, I did not find myself on the same intellectual plane with most of the others; Likely due to their lack of access to information to expand their minds outside of cult worship, fear and farm work.
Helmer was one of the very few to bridge that gap. I had felt intellectually suffocated for most of my childhood until I met that boy, and he had not only helped me understand this world more, but helped sate my desire for discussion, philosophical or otherwise. He was a great help to me over recent years, and so I spent much time thinking about the conversation we might've had at this moment.
Your situation is looking more grim by the minute, He likely would have said, a half-smile half-grimace on his face; He was one of the sorts to take brutality and death with little impact and often make light of it, as was evident from the rat-men patrols we often went on. Though it disturbed me initially, I had grown used to it, and in fact concede that it might have even helped me carry along better in this world.
Days passed. I wasn't sure how close we were to our destination, but the climate changed; We had moved through some mountain passes a while ago, and now the climate was more arid, as if we'd gone further south.
For the living slaves in the cart, we were thrown the sacks of potatoes and bread that were looted from our granaries by the Greenskins- The only source of hope for survival, as the Orks didn't seem keen on rationing food- Or much of anything other than fighting and bragging.
Despite the climate change, the travel became mundane once more; By this point, almost half the people onboard the enlarged cart had died during the trip, their bodies torn apart and feasted upon- I had gotten to know a few of them, many of them pleading for me to live on and bury their bodies under Sigmar's blessing. I could hardly utter a sound as I watched these green devils snack upon them as if they were fruits and meat.
My hatred for the Greenskins grew by the second. By this point, I was sure there were no words that could be uttered from any world before or after, to possibly describe the intense, boiling, all-encompassing rage that bristled under my skin, my bones and individual nerves every single time the sight of those pig-fucking-ugly disgusting, unholy parodies of man's worst traits shoved their miserable existences into my face.
And that in of itself was the very reason I initially survived. The intense hatred that stirred within me refused to allow me the blessing of death. No matter how much I tried to give in, I could not let go.
By some measure, I would survive and commit the most unspeakable atrocities upon them.
"GET OUT, YOOS GITZ!"
The bellowing voice of an Ork shook me violently from my slumber. Weeks had passed, until the cart suddenly came to a stop. Drained of energy, I meagerly looked around to see who was left, and felt a horrific dread bleed my insides as I saw the few squirming bodies left alive.
The sheer terror of these circumstances began to grip me more heartily, as I realized I was one of the very few survivors of the initial travel here- which only bode further horror for what was to come.
"OI SAID GET THE 'ELL OUTTA THERE, SCTHEUPID 'UMIE GITZ!"
The cart suddenly shook as the Ork grabbed the underside of the wagon, then upturned it forcefully, sending everyone in the cart flying out onto the hard desert ground below. As I got up groggily from the ground, I noticed one of the other survivors had fallen on his neck and broken it on impact.
"Hehehehehe…"
Madness began seeping into my mind; I could not stem the uncontrollable giggling that erupted from me, as if laughing in obscenity at the hopeless situation I was in. Steeling my waning resolve, I stood up from the ground, only to feel myself being shoved towards the nearby Ork camp surrounded by nothing but drylands.
"OI, WOT YOO GUFFIN ABOU', PINKSKIN?"
I covered my mouth as the towering Ork bellowed at me; The giggling had persisted. After a few seconds of peering at me, the Ork decided to ignore the matter and continued shoving us few slaves along towards the village.
My body felt bruised, battered, and bloodied; The result of a weeks-long ride in a corpse cart. There was little energy in my body, most of my strength relying on the rage that filled every pore of my being.
As we entered through the guarded wooden gates of the settlement, I peered up at the maliciously-grinning Goblins that stared down at us with wicked glee- like those of predators and wicked overseers. Not just Greenskins, but monsters with the heads of bulls and goats, fur covering every portion of their bipedal body, their hooves juxtaposing their humanoid upper half- Sordid beast-men.
Beastmen. Being so egregiously close to them, I could see how they were so aptly named. Animals with the tools and cleverness of humans.
Atrocious. Hideous. Horrendous.
As we were prodded further into the camp, I laid witness to many more grotesque and miserable sights. I saw the various games and 'forms' of entertainment around the camp, where Goblins would bet on Ork pit fights and gamble; I saw primitive transactions of sharp teeth and crude weapons or items of use between Greenskins, with some of the deals erupting into sudden violence.
By the time we passed by a group of Beastmen casually feasting on a mass of disembodied limbs and mutilated corpses, I had already become numb to the sights; Only observing the horrors around me with disconnected apathy.
Pointed ears, dwarfed bodies, pale skins and ratmen… A mix of different races had all been brought here, only to meet these grisly fates. At this point, I held nothing but silent, absolute contempt for the whole of my reality.
A few more minutes of navigating the camp (the leading Ork had gotten lost on more than one occasion), we were eventually brought to a partially-mined wall of iron ore, with crude pickaxes laying in the dirt. I glanced back to see the Ork had handed off leadership to a goblin, who was noticeably bigger than the other goblins and wore a crude assortment of jeweled armor, with a grin on his face that didn't suggest malice, but greed.
"Alroight, my giblets! Listen up!"
The goblin's voice was shrill, yet not as piercing to the ears as the other Goblins- almost as if he was instructing us.
"Mah name's Snaggi BeJewela, and OI LOOOVE shiny fings! When oi wuz bu' a li'l snotling-"
Sigmar, please end me, I thought in complete misery.
"-Oi din't 'ave nofing to mah name, an' all the big Boyz bullied mee! Even the otha Gobbos poked and baffed me 'ta no end! Bu' one day-"
The bejeweled goblin waggled his finger at us with a toothy grin, as his oversized helmet adorned with crude jewels fell below his eyes several times, causing him to have to correct the positioning on his head as he continued the long-winded speech.
"-Ooooone day, I decided 'ta make my mark! Soz ya know wha' I do? I fink abou' how I can roise ahp in my standin'! Soz I pick up a sharp rock an' start bashin' at the shoiny rock! I di' it for a long toime, unti' one day I bash ou' a BEAU'Y!"
The goblin pointed at the crudely-cut green-hued gemstone stuck in the center of his helmet; It emanated an ominous glow that singed with intense traces of energy I couldn't comprehend, yet found awfully familiar…
"-Bu' me boss finks dat HE should 'ave da gem, soz I BASH him ova da 'ead wif it! Now I'm 'ere!"
From what little I could gleam from that gibberish, I found that story to be both unnecessary and filled with gaps of missing information.
"So ere's the deal! You's all gonna mine me sum ore, and I'll give ya food an' shelta! The regula shiny's fine, you know, for makin' 'elmets an' axes an' all dat! Bu' if you's wantin' 'ta live in LUXAHRY…."
He tapped the green gem on his helmet.
"Foind me sum beau'ies loike dis!"
We stared at him with nothing to say, and the atmosphere eventually descended into a partially-awkward silence. The goblin gazed at each of our faces, as if gauging our reactions; As his beady red eyes glanced over me, they narrowed.
"Alroight, dis ain't charity work! START MOININ'!"
As we turned to pick up the rusty pickaxes, I felt the goblin's bony finger prod me, and turned my head to see him watching me with a contemplative expression.
"You's gonna come wif me!"
I felt a dread build up inside me, wondering what possible horrors this goblin had in mind. A strong urge to brain the green shit with my pickaxe came to mind, but I decided it might be better to see what this was about before committing suicide like that.
And yet, just staring at the goblin filled me with a brimming rage; Seeing the same face as those crude, shit-filled monsters that'd slaughtered my village so gleefully- It took everything in me to not bash the sharp end of the pickaxe through his fucking skull!
…
Thud.
Begrudgingly, I dropped the pickaxe, as the goblin eyed me warily, before gesturing for me to follow. We made our way up a muddy path, to a decently-sized, crudely-fashioned abode that overlooked the mining sites. I was shocked to see Snaggi had employed two Orks -almost as gem-adorned as he was- as his guardsmen, and they nodded as he made his way inside. I had thought the Orks to be prideful, 'survival-of-the-fittest' brutes that wouldn't deign to follow the orders of a little goblin, but here I was proven wrong. The hierarchy of Greenskins became ever more confusing to me.
Entering his 'house', we sat next to a shoddy fireplace with four chairs and something that resembled a coffee table, located near a rickety set of stairs that led up to a second floor. Despite being in a casual setting, the goblin did not take off any portion of his adorned armor, including the helmet that continued to fall over his eyes.
"Soz I noticed," He began in that shrill, yet calm voice. "Dat you's 'ave sum REAL meat on ya bonez, an' ya got a mean look in yer eyez! I fink you's can be my whip-cracka for these batch o' giblets!"
I was horrified by his offer- That I would cause misery by my own hand to the very people I'd suffered all these hardships with- Unthinkable!
"N-No!"
The goblin's beady eyes viewed me with suspicion.
"No?"
Fear and anxiety filled my mind; Even as I had resigned myself to death, my body refused to allow me the luxury of being executed to escape this perpetual horror.
"Listen, giblet. You's can get be'a food and yer own shoiny fings for doin' dis, or you's can starve an' die! Not an 'ard choice, is it?"
"...Enos?"
I trudged down the dirt trail with a feeling of morbid apathy having settled over me like a prickly coffin; In my hand was a crudely-fashioned whip and a cudgel. I heard the weary voice from one of the villagers working at the mining site I approached- The former farmer Malte, and one of the few who had survived on the perilous trip here with me. Despite the meager conditions, his body remained stout and strong from the repetitious agricultural work he'd done his whole life, as did his conviction in his fanatical love for our homeland.
His eyes turned to ash and fiery outrage as he saw the whip and cudgel in my hands, gritting his teeth with immense and unadulterated fury; The other villagers, while not so intense, still held that same outrage and fright as they viewed me similarly.
"By Rhya, what have those green devils told you to do?! He spoke strongly, as I came closer to him and the others.
He stormed towards me, his massive frame towering over me with ease. I felt a familiar sensation wash over me, as he resembled the Orks I'd faced in those fields. His eyes held both despair and indignation as he saw me tighten my grip on the weapons in hand.
"Young Enos, please hand those over to me-!"
He reeled back as he saw the unchanging expression of malice on my face, and his face contorted into apoplexy as he reached for my whip.
"What has overcome you, Young Enos!? I said GIVE me that-"
CRACK!
(Music: "Animal", by MISSIO)
I bashed the cudgel across Malte's cheek, sending him into the mud. He touched the bleeding bruise on the side of his face with shock, looking up at me with sheer incomprehension- only to be met with a cold, distant gaze.
CRACK!
I held no thoughts in those moments.
CRACK!
There was too much I had learned, from the moment that despicable goblin handed me these weapons to the walk down to this abominable pit.
CRACK!
This was not a world where I could be anything but uncompromising.
CRACK!
This was not a reality where sins carried any moral weight, to any degree.
CRACK!
This was how I survived.
"By Sigmar, p-please STOP! PLEASE! SOMEONE- SOMEBODY PLEASE SAVE US!"
"Ulric help us, we must be in hell!"
"AAAAAAAHHHH!"
I only felt a further rage envelop me as I heard the cries of the other slaves, wretched in their despair and agony.
Thwip-CRACK!
I cracked the whip in the air towards them violently, baring my teeth and growling- Unrecognizable to them, and myself. I was only filled with hate.
Hate.
Hate.
I hated this.
Yet it was necessary.
In a world run entirely on violence,
Power was living.
Power was experience.
Power was EVERYTHING.
I needed power so that one day…
I could wipe these fetid stains off the face of this twisted earth.