A/N: Should I change the story description to something perhaps more serious or blurb-esque? The current one is really to the point, but it also could be kind of misleading. What do you think? Thanks for reading this far, and remember: reviews, good or bad, are always welcome. Let me know what you think!


"A Gargant?" I whispered hoarsely, watching the mobile fortress chug towards our base with a growing sense of dread.

"An ork Titan," Thurion grimly clarified, fingers tightening around the hilt of his power sword. Then, a spark gleamed in his eye as something occurred to him. "Press on without me, human," he ordered, turning around sharply and starting back up the hill. "I thought I saw something in the wreckage of the ship that might prove invaluable to us." Before I could ask what he meant, the Luna Wolf was storming up the incline, leaving me alone with my guns and a clear view of the ork warband heading towards our base, milling around the base of the Gargant. It didn't take superhuman hearing for their distant cries of 'WAAAGH' to reach my ears.

With a resigned sigh, I pulled out my bolt and plasma pistols and sallied forth. I laughed at the oddity of this situation – in all my life, I'd never imagined that I'd be racing towards a horde of orks. I had yet to work out a strategy with which to actually make it through them all and reach the base beyond, and I was thinking about developing one when a familiar gravelly voice broke out over the base's vox speakers, drowning out even the greenskins' thunderous war cries. The sudden noise startled me; I hadn't known our base even had vox speakers. The horde, and the enormous rickety construct in their midst, stopped at the door to hear the message.

"Attention, greenskins," Marrlë bawled, his cheerful tones instantly recognizable even through the crackling distortion of the vox. "I, Marrlë of this band of heretics, happily welcome you to our humble base. As you can see, in anticipation of your arrival, we've prepared you a delicious feast. For starters, we have autocannons."

I watched in astonishment as the two closest dakkaguns on the wall swivelled, shaking and clanking, and began letting loose a blazing stream of gunfire, pounding into the massed orks below. The volume of their howls redoubled, and one of the cannons mounted on the Gargant aimed itself squarely at the barred doors of our base. As it prepared to blow our doors to pieces, Marrlë's voice crackled through the air once more.

"With a side of Chaos sorcery."

The unmistakable figure of Damantin, prowling along the walltop, now faced the Gargant head-on. Pointing towards the ork construct, the sorcerer sent a bolt of green lightning arcing through the air at the joints connecting the arm-cannon to the Gargant's main body, causing the cannon to swivel off-course and fire into the top of our eastern wall instead. Chunks of iron and stone flew through the air, leaving a sizeable crater at the top of the wall, and several Stormboyz immediately made for it.

A flicker of purple and black, closing on the contested position with incredible speed, told me that Rosie was taking care of it. Without waiting a moment longer, the greenskin mob howled and drove against our gate, rattling its immense iron hinges, as the vox boomed out a final time.

"And for the main course, an explosive helping of Khornate! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

A figure raced out from behind one of the dakkaguns, the chainaxe in his grip already roaring with bloodlust. With a howl of exhilaration, Marrlë sprang onto Damantin's armoured shoulder and launched himself from the wall. I watched in awed terror, certain that he would fall into the seething mob below and be torn apart. My fear was ill-founded; the inhuman strength behind that leap carried the Khornate further than seemed possible, axe drawn back for a massive strike – straight into the Gargant. With a painful-sounding clang, Marrlë hit the front of the construct, his axe burying itself into the rickety metal and holding fast.

While all of this was going on, I was scratching my head, wondering how to get over the wall with all my limbs intact. I could see no obvious route, besides Damantin's bizarre flying disc, and something told me that I didn't want to hitch a ride on that thing. Especially after seeing the eye on its underside blink.

As if on cue, the ground suddenly shook from a tremendous impact, sending me stumbling forward. Regaining my balance, I turned quickly, pistols raised, to see Thurion rising to his feet not five metres away from me, with a bulky apparatus fixed onto the power pack on his back. What sounded like a pair of powerful engines hummed loudly as they cooled, and I understood that this must have been what he had gone back for.

Quickly taking in the situation, Thurion's eyes glittered in amusement when he saw Marrlë scaling the side of the Gargant, using his axe as a climbing pick. "How predictable," he murmured, and in a few quick strides was at my side, looking down at me with the single most unsettling grin I had ever seen. "Ready or not, human, here we go."

"Here we go?" I echoed hollowly, before his gauntleted hand snatched me by the back of my flak vest, the engines mounted on his back engaged, and we were rocketing upwards at a speed humans weren't meant to attain. The wind was knocked right out of me, and I thought I could hear my bones creaking as Thurion hauled me along through the air with him. The sight of the ground rushing away so quickly made me glad I hadn't eaten breakfast that day.

At the vertex of Thurion's skyward charge, I found myself looking down at a metal platform atop the Gargant, and I realized he had flown us directly overtop of the huge construct. We seemed to hang there for a moment, and just as Thurion began his descent, I felt his hand release my jacket, and I fell three metres down, landing on the platform with a resounding clang.

I nearly lost my footing and tumbled over the edge down to the manic horde below, and would have if not for the timely hand that snatched me by the front of my flak armour and yanked me forwards. I fell to one knee, gasping for breath and prodding my ribs to make sure nothing new was broken, and heard my saviour speak.

"Well, well. I didn't know you'd be dropping in."

"Me neither." I choked out a laugh, struggling to my feet. Once I was sure I hadn't shattered my ribcage during the ascent, I looked over at Marrlë and very nearly screamed; a net stuffed full of grenades was bound to his back by a leather strap. He must've raided the armoury for every handheld explosive he could find when he saw the Gargant coming. But this – this was insane, even for him. If even one bullet had hit him on the way up…

He thumped me on the shoulder and pointed his axe at a rather discreet flight of stairs that descended into the belly of the Gargant. "Engine room and control panel are in there, I'm pretty sure. Watch out, though – there's bound to be a couple Mekboys waiting for us."

"Ah." I'd never met a Mekboy before, but I knew what they looked like from Damantin's illusions during shooting practice, and I understood their function in the rough patchwork that was ork society. Without any further ado, Marrlë unstrapped the net full of grenades and shoved it into my arms. I scrambled to get a good hold on it before it blew us both to Terra.

"Here, hold that. I can't fight with it on my back." And before I could protest, the Khornate was charging down the stairs, a battle cry on his lips and Gorelady loudly demanding blood. With a beleaguered sigh, I strapped on the net and followed suit.

Marrlë kicked open the scrap-metal door at the bottom of the stairs, and the two of us burst into the engine room, guns blazing and chainaxe screaming. The closest Mekboy didn't have time to yell as Gorelady drove a vertical line clean through its body. The next ducked backwards just in time as the axe roared through the air, passing where the ork's head had just been. It drew a six-shoota from a holster on its back, but a shot from my bolt pistol ruptured its arm not a half-second before I took off its head with a blast of plasma.

I smiled grimly at the effectiveness of my handguns, each far outstripping my lasrifle in terms of raw power. Of course, the standard-issue weapon was still slung over my shoulder, but here, in the close quarters granted by the engine room, I had much better alternatives at my disposal. With the fighting momentarily lulled, I took a moment to take stock of my surroundings.

The control room was hot, full of crude control panels and flashing lights. All was slightly obscured by a thin haze of smoke that drifted through the air. To keep from breathing that in, I crouched and peered into the haze, trying to get a better view from below.

On the far side of the room, a hunched figure angrily pounded its fist against a set of buttons, glaring into a bright screen. "Zoggin' spiky shiny boyz flyin' around, 'splodin' Skraptung's cannons, hurtin' Skraptung's Gargant! I'll show dem… just got ter get da rokkits locked an' loaded."

Marrlë's spiked boot clanged as he stepped forward. "Oi! The spiky boys are right here, ork. Your krumpin' days are over!"

"Oho! Iz dat so?" The ork turned to face us and rose out of its stoop, rolling its massive shoulders and hefting a wrench as big as Marrlë's chainaxe. Despite our superior armaments, I gulped; this thing was even taller and broader than our Space Marine companions. For his part, my Khornate comrade just grinned, gave Gorelady a rev, and went for it.

I started strafing around the side of the engine room, looking for a chance to get in a clear shot, when I remembered the explosives strapped to my back. Of course – that was why Marrlë had scaled the Gargant. He had planned to blow the machine sky-high, and with all these assorted grenades, odds were he had the explosive power to do it. Now that he was locked in combat with the Big Mek, that task was on me.

Unshouldering the net, I searched for the most unstable-looking piece of machinery in the room. There – on the other side of the haze-filled chamber was a yellow-and-black marked set of levers, likely meant to regulate the power circuitry and workings of the Gargant's many, many guns. Of course, I didn't understand this back then, but it looked – as the orks would put it – 'splodey.

Hesitating not a moment longer, I punted a wayward gretchin out of the way and darted around the combatants, who were busy banging up the floor and low ceiling with their vicious strikes. They seemed evenly matched, the Big Mek and the Khornate, with Marrlë making up for the ork's greater strength with superior agility. The red-headed warrior was a blur, leaping around and dragging his chainaxe in great sweeping arcs, seeming to use it as a center of gravity as much as he did his own body. It made sense – the thing probably weighed half as much as he did. Conversely, the towering ork stayed grounded, its monstrous wrench clanging against everything within reach as it swung with abandon. It hadn't hit Marrlë yet, but one hit would likely be all the Big Mek needed.

Having reached the panel of levers, I plunked the grenade-filled net on top of it, hoping that something wouldn't blow prematurely, and promptly realized that I had no safe way to trigger a detonation. Pulling one of the pins now and trying to run for it would get both me and Marrlë killed. I silently cursed the Khornate's lack of foresight, but stopped short, remembering something that might save the day after all.

I turned back to the fight, pistols ready to let fly, only to find the Big Mek howling in pain, clutching at the bleeding stump where its left leg used to be, and Marrlë lying in a daze against the far wall, half of his face covered in a gigantic red welt. Holstering my pistols, I immediately rushed to grab my comrade. While the ork roared and tried hobbling towards us, I hauled the dazed warrior to his feet, threw the single grenade I had clipped at my belt, and half-ran, half-dragged Marrlë out of the engine room as fast as I could.

Behind us, the world exploded, and the metal platform on which we stood caught fire and tilted dramatically. I staggered, trying in vain to balance myself and Marrlë, and at once the two of us tumbled backwards, head over heels, and tipped off the edge of the platform, just as the world exploded once more, this time below. Fire and shrapnel went soaring in all directions as the mechanical repercussions of the top half of the Gargant's destruction reached its lower half as well.

As we fell, I flailed and thrashed with my free left arm, reaching out for something to grab on to, and found a twisted steel pipe, narrowly managing to curl my fingers around it. One of my nails tore clean off from the friction, and my others began to bleed, slowly slickening the pipe.

Before I even had time to process this agony, I was introduced to a new height of pain as Marrlë caught himself on my opposite wrist, wrenching that arm out of place. I screamed in anguish as the pain burned incessantly through my dislocated arm, the combined weight of my ally and his chainaxe increasing the pressure on my straining left hand. Eyes wide open and teeth grinding against each other, I looked down and met the Khornate's eyes, and I knew I'd never forget the expression on his face.

It was the only moment, in all my time of knowing him, that Marrlë ever looked truly afraid.

Perhaps it was that look of fear that made me decide, inexorably and unbendingly, that I was not going to let go of the pipe. Even if I lost consciousness, even if a bullet pierced my wrist, I would hold on and keep us from falling. The only force that could make me let go would be the will of the Emperor himself.

Well, that, or Damantin soaring up to us on his disc and calling for me to drop down. At first I didn't register it; my hearing had grown dim, and in a half-conscious state I recall curiously feeling like I'd left the stove on. What made this even more curious was that there was no stove for me to have left on, which left me in a state of insensate befuddlement. In retrospect, this was probably my mind blocking out the horrific pain tearing through my shoulders at that moment.

At last, the sorcerer rose up and manually pried me from the pipe, which had been on the verge of giving way. Marrlë and I tumbled onto his flying disc, the ends of the renegade's crimson hair singed black, and burns covering his unprotected back. Forcing myself onto my hands and knees, I felt a cough coming up my throat and nearly puked instead. Opening my bleary eyes, I looked down at the surface of the disc, which then looked back at me.

"Just as planned," it deadpanned.

That was simply too much for my embattled mind to handle, and I promptly slumped forward and slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

When I awoke, I was lying on a medi-table in the garrison's laboratory. A bright ceiling light blinked down at me, causing me to squint and avert my eyes. There beside me was Rosie, arranging some medical supplies, her four arms flickering to and fro in a graceful blur of motion. I groaned, feeling the joints in my arms ache when I tried to move, and she quickly came over, eyes raking across my prone body with concern mixed with something else. I became a little worried.

"What happened?" I asked, wincing at the ongoing burn in my shoulders.

"The orks breached our gate, and we were fighting them inside the walls when the Gargant exploded," she explained, moving to stand above my head and running her claws over my shoulders. The pain quickly turned to bliss, and I closed my eyes and let out a quiet moan. As she went on, her voice grew increasingly velvety. "We thought you were dead at first. The anger and sadness when I thought you were gone – oh, it was ecstatic. You should almost die more often, Fen."

"I'll keep that in mind," I mumbled, accepting this as normal and wondering if I wasn't insane already.

"But then, Damantin saw you and Marrlë hanging up there. Oh, the happiness then-" I gasped, feeling her claws dig into my shoulders, breaking the surface of my skin. Even that felt glorious when she did it. "You were passed out, and I took care of you…" her voice had become a sultry hiss. I opened my eyes to find her straddling me, a terrifyingly suggestive expression on her supernaturally beautiful face.

Her long, barbed tongue trailed out of her lips as hunger filled her eyes. "Look at what you've gone and done. Just being near you is making me hot all over." Her delicate hands slid up my chest while her claws bit into the solid material of the medi-table, gouging through it with ease. I gulped, feeling a bead of sweat run down my forehead. She brought her face close to mine and stared at me with the fathomless black eyes of a man-eating monster.

"Take responsibility."

I emerged from the makeshift infirmary some two hours later with a set of new battle scars, and practically tumbled out of the garrison door. There I found Thurion and Damantin discussing in grave voices while Marrlë sat cross-legged on the ground, his back to me, staring out of the destroyed gate. I cleared my throat, and the Space Marines each acknowledged me with a glance before following Marrlë's gaze out of the door, appearing to see something beyond the dust-swathed wasteland visible to me.

"What are you all looking at?" I asked, quietly annoyed that I couldn't see whatever was so impressive that they had to goggle at it without telling me what it was.

"Nothing yet." It was Marrlë who spoke, and the excitement in his tone clashed sharply with the severity of that of the Space Marines. "Nothing yet, but it won't be that way for long."

"No, it won't," Damantin agreed. "My Augury suggests it will be here in no more than a month."

I was growing frustrated. "What are you talking about?"

"The Gargant, human," Thurion growled, "or rather – what it entails."

"I thought us destroying it entails that we defeated the orks," I said, my frustration now mingling with confusion. "Doesn't it?"

"On the contrary," said the black-armoured marine, crossing his arms grimly. "It means that our darkest hour has yet to come." At my look of total lack of understanding, Damantin gently placed a hand on my shoulder and finally made things plain.

"When a Gargant appears on a planet, it is a sign, Fenwick. A sign that the orks on that world have achieved enough cohesion to build such a construct. And when all the orks warbands on a planet come together under a single banner…"

I understood now, and immediately wished I didn't. "They become a Waaagh," I murmured. Suddenly, the garrison, the walls and the autocannons seemed terribly inadequate. If what Damantin had explained to me was true, it meant that we would be fighting orks not in their dozens or hundreds, but in their thousands, or even hundreds of thousands. We were tough as nails, but to think that the five of us stood any chance at all against such a host was delusional.

So why, then, was Marrlë still smiling?

The red-haired youth turned his head to look at me, and my mouth fell open; half of his face was a shiny purple and swollen to twice its normal size. His right eye was buried under the puffy flesh, and half of his iron teeth were hidden by the heavy bruising on his thin lips. As I gawked at the injury, he spoke.

"You saved my life, Fenwick."

I stopped, suddenly realizing that yes, I had. If I hadn't held on to that pipe, both of us would now be dead, incinerated in the flames of the exploding Gargant. "I suppose I did," I said, walking over to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, and I realized that was the arm he had used to keep himself from falling.

I was about to apologize when I heard him chuckle and felt him rap his knuckles on my flak jacket in a gesture of solidarity. Rosie's familiar sweet aura filled the air just before I felt her lean gently on my shoulder. Damantin and Thurion stepped up to either side of us, their presences quietly reassuring and inspiring. For just a moment – one single moment, in this dark millennium of unending pain and hatred – I felt invincible. With all of us bound together by fellowship, steel and a burning desire to live, it seemed unthinkable that any force could overcome us.

Then the dust in the wind blew across my face, making me blink, and the feeling of invulnerability was gone, replaced by a creeping dread. In no more than a month, Damantin had said, death would come in the form of a roaring green tide. We didn't know from where, and we didn't know how many, but all that was certain was that we could not possibly defeat them.

Nevertheless, we had to try.

One month of time to fortify our position. One month to put every gun, wire and explosive in this place to use. One month to dig ourselves in so deep that the orks couldn't dig us out again. The five of us couldn't possibly be ready for them. But then, nothing could prepare the orks for us.

Whatever they had in store for us, we would return a hundredfold.