Hi everyone, here's the next chapter in the Lost Primarchs. Apologies for the long hiatus. I've found that writing a battle, in particular one on one duels to be particularly challenging, so I had a long read of A Song of Ice and Fire to help me.
As always, I hope you enjoy.
Breaking a WAAAGH!
Out of all the xenos breeds encountered by Mankind, Orks are perhaps the most savage and formidable of them all. They had a reputation for being crude and dull-witted, but they were capable of surprising feats of cunning, and their legendary savagery, strength and resilience made them an enemy not to be underestimated.
Orks had no known centralised empire; indeed, many Imperium scholars doubted that the beasts were capable of any form of governance, but were instead spread out across the galaxy in countless groups; some as small as barbarian tribes, others as large as empires. They were so numerous that all of the twenty Astartes Legions have fought them at some point or another during the Great Crusade.
A formidable enemy, the scholars of the Imperium believe that should the Orks ever unite as a single entity, then it was unlikely that anyone – even the Astartes Legions – could stop them. Fortunately the Orks spent as much time fighting each other as they do fighting other xenos breeds and the Imperium.
However, from time to time, which was all too often, the Orks would initiate what was known as a WAAAGH! Imperium scholars and scientist agreed that during this time, a lone Ork – usually the biggest, strongest and ugliest – would gather the Orks around him through a show of strength and would emerge as what the Orks called a 'Warboss'. The Orks would then go and wage war on anyone who had the misfortune to be in their path. Whole planetary systems, both belonging to other xenos breeds and humans have fallen to the endless green tide. During a WAAAGH!, the Orks were an unstoppable force.
Or so it seemed.
From countless years of fighting the xenos, the warriors of the Legion Astartes agreed – some more reluctantly than others – that fighting an entire WAAAGH! through attrition would definitely see even the post-human champions of Mankind decimated. The War Hounds and perhaps the Wolves of Fenris would beg to disagree, claiming they could fight the WAAAGH! head on, and indeed, perhaps they were the only two Legions savage and brave enough - or, as some whispered behind their backs, insane enough - to do so. But most would also say that both Legions would run out of warriors long before they could even make a dent in the Orks' numbers.
The only way to truly stop a WAAAGH!, was to cut off its head: the Ork Warboss who started it all. Once the Warboss was dead, the beasts would fracture into smaller bands and lose all sense of unity and cohesion, quickly returning to fighting each other, making them easier to rout.
It sounded simple enough, but the Storm Eagles knew, along with the other Legions and the Imperial Army, that spotting one Ork among millions would be an extremely difficult feat; no matter how big and ugly the Ork in question may be. Fortunately, the superior technology of the Imperium and the experience of its military officers allowed them to roughly estimate the location of the Warboss.
Even then, thought Thorondor as he and his warriors soared over the howling beasts, there was still the matter of getting close enough to the Warboss to kill him.
Below, the Orks were marching on towards Tyron Prime; their numbers were so great that they covered the ground completely. From the rumbling sound of their march, Thorondor was certain that the ground itself was shaking beneath their feet. The beasts noticed the Storm Eagles flying above and not a few tried to shoot them down. But the Eagles were too high up and too agile in the air for any Ork weapon or aircraft to match, so the Storm Lord and his warriors flew on mostly unhindered.
Before long, they spotted a dark looming structure in the distance. Even as the visor lens of the other Storm Riders zoomed in on it, Thorondor's sharp eyes already saw it for what it was: an Ork stronghold.
He had seen many Ork strongholds during his time, but Thorondor had to admit that this was the biggest and most formidable one he had seen yet. Its battlements bristled with all manner of Ork guns that, while crude, were more than deadly enough to give even Astartes pause. And they were already firing away.
But not at the approaching Storm Riders.
Matharias, the Terran-born Storm Rider who served as Gwaine's second-in-command and Thorondor's equerry in the Lightning Rider's absence, spoke up first.
"My lord, those are Astartes."
Thorondor saw them; Astartes in steel-grey power armour with rusty dark brown trimming, stained dark red with Ork blood, surging like a tide of berserkers as they fought their way through the xenos. Even while Matharias's visor lens zoomed in so that he could identify their colours and the insignia painted on their armour, Thorondor's sharp eyes had already recognised them from their chaotic, nearly uncontrolled way of battle before he even spotted the reddish-brown collared hound on their armour.
The War Hounds.
The Wolves of Fenris had a reputation for being uncontrolled and undisciplined warriors, unpredictably vicious and savage and completely without mercy once they were unleashed into battle. Thorondor knew that while they were merciless in battle, to call the Vlka Fenryka uncontrolled and undisciplined was wrong. There was a method to their madness, there was organisation in their seemingly chaotic way of battle. But to call them vicious and savage; that was an apt and accurate description for the warriors of the Sixth Legion.
However, even they paled in comparison to the warriors of the Twelfth Legion. There was no Legion more vicious, more savage, more ruthless and more brutal than the War Hounds. They were truly unpredictable and to many, unreliable for anything but total slaughter. There were also unsavoury rumours of the War Hounds putting their allied mortal counterparts to the sword when they were found wanting, but no confirmation of such murder had ever been proven. What could be confirmed however, was that wherever the War Hounds were unleashed, nothing survived. Entire civilisations and populations had been reduce to seas of fire and blood by the Twelfth Legion. Some argue the same could be said of the Sixth, but the difference was that the Wolves gave human civilisations one chance to surrender. Once the War Hounds got involved, it was too late to surrender.
Because of the total destruction they inflicted, the War Council of the Imperium limited the deployment of the War Hounds to xenos civilisations. If they were unleashed upon human civilisations, then everyone knew that the goal was annihilation, not compliance. While these have been thankfully uncommon, Thorondor lamented that it had still happened far too often for his taste.
Despite the death and violence they left in their wake, Thorondor did not dislike the warriors of the Twelfth Legion. In many ways, they were like the warriors of the Sixth; belligerent and aggressive, but while they kept a guarded distance from the warriors of other Legions, those who had proven themselves on the battlefield and in the fighting pits would eventually find themselves welcomed. No Legion formed bonds of brotherhood stronger than those found in the Twelfth; to have a friend in a War Hound is to have a friend until death. It was something that the Storm Eagles understood very well.
Thorondor scanned the front-lines of the War Hounds, looking for Lhorke, the taciturn Legion Master of the Twelfth but failed to spot him. It was odd, Lhorke would usually be right at the front, carving a bloody path far ahead of his warriors.
"Where did they came from, my lord?" asked Matharias.
"They arrived here after Azan's company did," answered Thorondor. "He mentioned that they had arrived, but lost contact with them later."
"They must have been fighting behind enemy lines since then," commented Matharias.
Thorondor nodded. It was testament to the War Hounds' fighting prowess and savagery that they had managed to do so for so long.
"The War Hounds are kind enough to draw the attention of the Orks," voxed Thorondor. "Let's not waste their efforts."
"Yes, my lord." returned his warriors.
As one, they rose higher, circling around so that Tyron's star was at their backs in order to allow them to come at the Orks from the blindside. Once they were in position, they dove upon the Ork stronghold.
The Orks were too focused on the War Hounds to see the Storm Riders coming until they were right on top of the xenos. When they tried to swivel their guns around, they were blinded by the sun, costing them precious time to fire on the descending Eagles.
The Storm Riders tore the Orks off the battlements and shattered the mounted turrets and guns. Matharias led his squad in purging the outer battlements clean of xenos resistance, while another senior Storm Rider by the name of Balan led another squad in scouring the inner battlements. As for the Storm Lord himself, he headed straight for crude rendition of a keep at the centre of stronghold.
Despite the size of Garuda, the disorganisation of the Orks, the Eagle's own agility in the air and the armour-hard feathers rendered him immune to the feeble counter attack. Garuda smashed through the defenses and tore off the roof of the keep as he would a giant turtle on Tempestas.
Thorondor dismounted, landing through the wreckage and swiftly slaying some of the stunned xenos inside. Moments later, several more of his Storm Riders joined him, leaving their mounts to terrorise the Orks. The Storm Lord turned to look up at Garuda and nodded. Screeching, the Storm Eagle took off to continue killing Orks, the mounts of the other Riders swooping up to follow.
Gripping his glaive and nodding to his men, Thorondor descended into the darkness of the keep, looking for an Ork Warboss.
II II II
The Land Raider was a massive, near-indestructable battle-tank that also served as a troop transport. Its powerful armour could shrug off all but the most destructive weaponry, and the tank itself was armed with two twin-linked lascannons and two twin-linked heavy bolters, allowing it to unleash devastating fire support, if the tank didn't simply run over them first.
It was therefore most ideal for Asghar to use one as his mobile command centre. It allowed him to stay close to the battle in relative safety, and it allowed him to dive into the battle whenever he was needed quickly.
With the First Company leading the way and the Imperial Army bringing up the rear and providing fire support, Asghar's forces had been making steady progress. Time and again the Orks threw themselves at the Imperium's forces but while their attack was fierce, the discpline, superhuman strength and fighting prowess of the Astartes combined with the fire support of the Imperial Army and Asghar's tactical knowledge allowed them to throw back the xenos every time.
After nearly half a day of constant combat, they soon came within sight of the Ork stronghold. As Asghar had expected, the structure was already under attack; fires had broken out in several spots and the Storm Riders could be seen swooping in and out around it. What Asghar had not expected however, was to see the War Hounds storming up the ramparts of the stronghold's defences. Asghar would recognise the uncontrolled berserker way of fighting anywhere.
"Captain, do you see?" chimed one of his officers over the vox.
"I see them," answered Asghar. He swiftly gave out a series of orders to prepare his forces to assault the stronghold before turning to his elite squad. "Prepare for battle."
"Sir?" asked Goran, the squad sergeant. "We're going in now?"
Asghar nodded, checking his bolter gun. "Lhorke will never let me hear the end of it if we win this war while I'm sitting safe and sound in a Land Raider."
II II II
Despite its cooling systems, Azan's armour was starting to feel hot. Looking for some respite from the heat, he tore off his helmet, inhaling the cooler air outside. He welcomed it despite the stench of the Orks assaulting his enhanced sense of smell.
Since the Storm Lord's arrival, the Orks assault had grown fiercer, as though the beasts were determined to wipe out the defenders before reinforcements could arrive. They charged over their dead even as they were hit by bolter fire, lascannons, missiles and all manner of projectiles. When they did manage to scale the walls, they were greeted by weapons wielded by the superhuman strength and skill of the Astartes. Even then, the xenos did not falter, using their own inhuman strength, resilience and great numbers to swarm the defenders.
Azan had to admire their tenacity, albeit grudgingly.
He brought down his roaring chainsword down on an Ork, ripping through the beast's neck. Even as the head fell away, the body moved forward a step, weapon still half-raised before it finally registered its death, toppling over.
Astartes had incredible stamina and endurance as a result of harsh training long before they even received the enhancement of the gene-seed. As a result, they were capable of fighting for weeks, even months on end without rest. But now Azan could feel a weariness he had not felt since he was a young recruit, a time he could barely remember. He and his men, along with the Eleventh Legion had been fighting the Orks with barely any rest, and he could see the weariness finally taking them. Grimly, he reflected that if even the Astartes were growing tired, then their mortal counterparts might not be far away from dropping dead with exhaustion. But Azan also knew that they followed the Astartes's example, and his men looked to him for example, so he would not allow himself to falter.
He put more vigour into his next swing, bringing down a huge Ork brute with a much larger but cruder variation of the Lightning Claw. He repeated the process again and again until it became almost automatic. The Astartes of the Storm Eagles Second Company followed their captain's example.
But it still wasn't enough.
The Orks kept coming; their numbers seemingly endless. Azan saw men that had fought alongside him dying, brought down by the sheer weight of Ork numbers, and he felt rage take him.
He would not fail the Storm Lord, he would not fail the Emperor. If his best wasn't enough, then he'd give his all.
"Fight with the Storm in our hearts, my brothers!" roared Azan. "For the Emperor!"
Taking up the cry, the Astartes fought with renewed ferocity. But still the xenos began to overwhelm them.
A sudden blow smash into Azan, sending him to the ground. He could taste the blood in his mouth and knew he had some internal injuries. A shadow loomed over him and he saw a huge Ork standing over him, a spiked maul raised. Azan scrambled back as quickly as he could, narrowly avoiding the second blow. He seized the maul as the Ork wrenched it back up again, pulling Azan to his feet. He slashed upward with his chainsword, tearing the xenos's torso and spilling its innards. The Ork bellowed in pain but still did not die, punching Azan hard in the face, sending the Second Company captain crashing back, dangerously close to the edge. As Azan regained his balance, the Ork clutch at its innards stupidly as though trying to figure out what they were. Deciding it was unimportant, the beast stepped forward even as its blood spilled out, intent on killing Azan. The Captain didn't give it the chance, stepping forward to sever the xenos's arm before giving it another slash across the torso, finally killing it.
Azan looked around, breathing heavily. A glance down at his breastplate showed him a crack in the ceramite running down the middle, and his own rib plates had likely cracked from the impact of the Ork's attack. He could taste his own blood in his mouth.
His close brush with death had temporarily distracted him from his surroundings. His focus swiftly returned, and he saw his warriors cheering even as they engaged the Orks. Azan looked over the walls and what he saw made his hearts leap.
He saw Storm Eagles surging down the rear of the Orks, bearing the banners of the Third Company. Mighty Dreadnoughts in ocean-blue sarcophagus smashed their way through the Orks, Land Raiders and Predators mowed the greenskins down beneath their wheels or their firepower. Land Speeders sliced through the xenos ranks as quick as lightning. Best of all was the squads of Storm Eagle Astartes fighting on the battlefield with perfect coordination, every single squad working in tandem with each other as they made their way towards the beleaguered defenders. Behind them, Titans approached like the war gods of old.
Azan also spotted the tempest-grey colours mingling with the ocean-blue. His sharp eyes made out wolf or bear pelts, runic etchings on power armour, totems and fetishes tied onto weapon hilts and pommels or braided into beards and long hair. He saw the familiar wide grins, revealing the sharp canines of the warriors of the Vlka Fenryka.
The warriors of the Sixth Legion surged alongside the Storm Eagles, howling their battle cries in Wurgen. Azan could see how they fought like wolves, taking apart their enemies with a savagery so akin to the beasts. Indeed, he could see actual wolves darting in and out among them, as vicious as their masters.
Azan recognised the warrior fighting not far from Razek, the Captain of the Storm Eagles Third Company. It was Gedrath Gedrathsa, Jarl of Tra, and something of a rival to Azan. As though sensing the Storm Eagle Captain's gaze, Gedrath looked up at the wall right at him. Even from the distance, Azan could make out the gloating bastard's cocky grin.
Ignoring the pain in his torso as he straightened up, Azan cleaved an Ork in half with one vicious blow.
"Fight on Second Company! I'll not give the Wolves any false notions of us needing rescue!"
His warriors roared in assent and tripled their efforts despite their own fatigue.
At the eastern perimeter, Mika Vukona heard the roar. His side too was hard pressed by the Orks, and the roar served to heightened the morale of their mortal counterparts, and even the Astartes.
"Sir, reinforcements have arrived," voxed Te Rangi.
"I know," answered Vukona. "And not a moment to soon, thank goodness." He raised his voice so that those nearest to him could hear. "Reinforcements are here, men! Stand your ground and throw these xenos filth back!"
The cheers that greeted his words elated him. They elated him so much that Vukona failed to see the Ork axe swing forward to bury itself in his head.
II II II
Blood and limbs splattered on the wall tended to put a damper on interior decor thought Thorondor as he strode through the dark halls. Not that Ork halls were any prettier before gore became the new decoration theme. His smile widened a fraction as he imagined his brother Fulgrim's reaction to such 'artlessness'.
Artless or not, there was no denying the Orks' fighting prowess. Of the thirty Storm Riders he took with him, three were already dead and one had lost an arm. The interior of the Ork keep was too narrow for their preferred power-glaives, so his warriors had switched to short swords while Thorondor himself wielded the new power claw that had been Vulkan's gift to him prior to his departure from the Imperator Somnium.
Now that was a work of art. It was beautifully crafted, the blades shaped like eagle talons, and an eagle head shaped casing that fitted his hand perfectly. The weapon's wristplate had been crafted to look like feathers. Knowing Thorondor's dislike for excessive ornamentation, Vulkan had placed only two beautiful sapphires as the eagle's eyes, so that it stood out from intricately shaped metal. The Ork blood dripping from it made it no less beautiful to Thorondor; a deadly thing of beauty, he thought of it. It was as good as the glaive that Ferrus had forged for him.
More Orks charged out at the Primarch and his warriors. They were huge, as big as Thorondor himself. The Storm Lord dove in and slashed one of the beasts open from chest to gut. He quickly turned to catch an Ork axe by the haft before shearing through the owner's head. Another of the xenos, wielding a warhammer as big as itself, smashed an unfortunate Storm Rider into the wall, turning the warrior into pulp within his own armour. Two others quickly leaped forward, bringing down the beast and avenging their fallen brother. The Orks were big, and stronger than the Astartes, but the tight quarters worked against them, and there was also the Primarch to contend with. After a fierce but short battle, the Orks were slain, but so were another three Storm Riders.
As an apothecary knelt to harvest the fallen's gene-seeds, Thorondor gently touched each of the fallen warriors on the head, or if one was lacking a head, on the breastplate. He then turned to examine the Ork corpses.
"We're getting close to their Warboss," said Thorondor after a moment.
"How could you tell, my lord?" asked one of his warriors.
"The closer we get, the beasts get bigger and uglier," said Thorondor as he straightened up. "And deadlier too. These are probably their elite."
He gave the apothecary a questioning look and the Astartes nodded, indicating that he was done collecting the fallen warriors' gene-seeds. Thorondor nodded and gave the order to press on.
After a short journey, Thorondor and his warriors entered a huge room with an open wall that overlooked the battle raging outside. After several hours of journeying in the dark, the sudden light had them blinking temporarily.
Then they beheld the Warboss.
Thorondor had fought and slain many Ork Warbosses in his time, they had all been huge, hideous and incredibly strong, but the beast he faced now was the largest, ugliest and quite likely, the strongest by far. It was as large as a Dreadnought, dwarfing the Primarch. It bore an axe half the size of an Astartes, and its hideous face was scarred with tusks as long as swords jutting out of the misshapen jaw. Some ten Orks in crude mechanised armour, each one taller than the Primarch and three times bigger flanked the Warboss.
It regarded Thorondor and his warriors with its dark eyes and scowled, making it even uglier.
"Humies," growled the Warboss. "Them big ones, too." The dark eyes paused on Thorondor and narrowed. "You. You one of them Primark, ain't ya?"
"I am," answered Thorondor, drawing his glaive from his back as his warriors did the same. "You talk well for an Ork."
The Warboss snorted. "Killed enough of you lot to learn how ya squeal. You got the biggaz 'ead I've seen. Yer skull be nice on my axe." He raised his axe and Thorondor saw human skulls adorning the haft.
"Pretty," said Thorondor wryly.
"None of them other Warboss killed themselves a Primark yet," snarled beast. "When dey see I got yer skull, dey know I killed the bigga humie, then dey know I the bigga boss, then dey join Warboss Gagaz Bloodshowaz's Waaagh!"
It was an odd introduction, but since the Warboss had done so, Thorondor felt obliged to return the courtesy. "Your killer will be Thorondor, Lord of Tempestas and the Storm Eagles, the Second Legion Astartes."
"You ain't gonna kill me! I'm the biggaz boss there is!" roared Gagaz.
With that, battle was joined.
The Warboss's elite guard were monstrously strong, and two Storm Riders fell to them. With a swing of his glaive, Thorondor took off the head of one his warriors' killers. The other was taken down by two Storm Riders, one plunging their blade into the beast's front, the other in the back. Another Storm Rider was torn in half by another Ork, who brought down by another Storm Rider. Four of Thorondor's warriors tried to take on Gagaz, but with a single swing of his axe, the Warboss clove them in half.
Without a word, Thorondor charged the Warboss, who turned to meet him head on. Ork axe met Primarch-forged steel...
...and the force of the collision threw Thorondor right through the wall.
The seven Storm Riders who had survived the battle with Gagaz's elite warriors stared with horror at the hole in the wall where their Primarch had just crashed through.
"My lord!" cried one of them and they turned to face the Warboss, intent on avenging their lord when a voice shouted out.
"Leave him!"
They all paused, even Gagaz.
Thorondor emerged through the hole in wall, blood trickling from cuts that had already healed on his face. A dangerous smile was on his face.
"Leave him," repeated Thorondor. "This one's mine."
Warboss and Primarch engaged in battle once more, and once more, Thorondor was sent crashing into the wall, a gash in his armour and some blood pouring from where Gagaz's axe had barely nicked him.
Gagaz snorted. "You pretty tough, humie."
"So are you," answered Thorondor as he got up, and a split second later, he dove right into the battle again.
This time, rather than meet the Warboss's blade face on, Thorondor wove around it, using his incredible speed and reflexes to dodge the Ork's powerful but slower swings. He landed cuts on Gagaz, who merely grunted each one off and fought on. The beast made a grab at Thorondor, but the Storm Lord danced away and landed a blow on the massive hand, severing two fingers.
Despite the wound, Gagaz merely growled and swung out again, this time landing a blow that Thorondor was only just able to parry. But the force of it sent the Primarch crashing to the floor and Gagaz bore down on him, axe raised. Thorondor managed to roll away as the axe came down, leaving a trench-deep cut in the floor, and got to his feet before launching himself into a powerful swing, scoring the first truly damaging cut on Gagaz.
The Warboss snarled as blood gushed from his chest and threw himself at Thorondor, who retreated before the onslaught, dodging and scoring small cuts on Gagaz's torso. He managed to slash the Warboss across the face, making Gagaz drop his axe as he howled in pain. Seizing the opportunity, Thorondor dove in for the kill, plunging his glaive into the massive Ork's chest. Gagaz gurgled blood from his mouth for a moment, the death rattle...
...before striking Thorondor hard, sending the Storm Lord crashing to the floor, spitting blood.
"No puny pin can kill Warboss Gagaz!" snarled the enraged Ork, pulling out Thorondor's glaive out his chest and tossing it aside. Winded by the blow, Thorondor was too slow to get up, and the Ork smashed his fist into Thorondor's chest, sending him crashing into the wall and denting his armour.
Faster than anyone could believe possible, Gagaz quickly closed in on Thorondor and wrapped his massive hands around the Primarch's torso, squeezing murderously hard. For the first time he could remember, Thorondor screamed in pain.
"My lord!" shouted the Storm Riders, rushing to his aid.
"Stay back," rasped Thorondor as he coughed up blood. "This...is my fight."
"My lord!" cried one them but the Storm Lord silenced him with another cry of pain as Gagaz squeezed harder.
"If you...interfere..." somehow Thorondor managed to hiss even as the Warboss squeezed the life out of him. "I...will...never forgive...you..."
Torn between their love for their Primarch and obedience to him, the Storm Riders could do nothing but watch as Gagaz continued crush the Storm Lord in his hands.
Mustering all the strength the Emperor had wrought into him, Thorondor strained against Gagaz's grip. Superhuman strength strained against inhuman strength, and slowly but surely, Thorondor began to pry himself free of the Warboss's grip. His injured organs screamed in pain and his muscles protested from the strain, but gritting his bloody teeth together, Thorondor gave one last push, and forced Gagaz's hands apart. Before the Warboss could grab him again, Thorondor leaped at the Ork with the last reserves of his strength.
With the power claw gifted to him from Vulkan, Thorondor tore Gagaz's throat open, releasing a torrent of dark blood that drenched him. Amazingly, the Warboss remained standing, reaching for Thorondor, intent on killing him before he died. Once, more Thorondor mustered his strength and plunged his power claw into Gagaz's throat, this time slashing so that the head came off.
The Warboss collapsed right onto Thorondor, threatening to crush him to death. Thorondor was just musing that death in such a manner would be a poor joke when the surviving Storm Riders rushed forward to help him push Gagaz's headless corpse off.
Thorondor sat up, a figure drenched in blood, breathing heavily and clutching at his injured body. As the apothecary hurried forward to treat the Primarch's wound, Thorondor jerked at Warboss's head.
"Take it with us," he said.
"My lord?"
"I want to send it to Russ," answered Thorondor, smiling widely despite the pain. "Let's see if he can claim to have killed anything bigger."
With the death of Warboss Gagaz Bloodshowaz, the Waaagh! had finally been broken.