Gitfest

Squigfest. A word only a select few non-orkoids gave any significance to. But to a greenskin, or somehow-affiliated other cultures, that one single word could mean the universe. A place to eat food at. A place to be eaten by your food at. A location where friends and enemies could get together and eat a squig, just like that. In essence a place where lots of drunkards ate a whole lot of squigs. Yet so much more than that.

It was also a right big propa' piece of work. Not just for those who had to set it up and tear it down, oh no. The eyes of the Big Rok Polees Departmunt were always on the lookout for villainy, disorder and general muckin' about. On that particular day, with honorary members who had not yet gone through the full recruitment procedure, but by Gork they were killy, so zog the procedure.

During the event, polees members were required to carry banners, so as to be able to find each other in the endless crowd. So it was that brother captain Beren, champion of the Ordo Malleus, found himself with a blue rag on a stick, glued to the back of his helmet. He was a bit peeved by the whole ordeal:

"Ech. I cannot wait for this day to end."

The canoness at his side, whose banner was more elaborately crafted and sensibly placed, took another bite out of a juicy piece of meat:

"Come now, Beren, it's not that bad. You're just mad you couldn't fit the stick on your backpack."

"Damned inflexible archeotech," a group of bloodletters nearby guffawed loudly as they bit into pieces of barely-dead squig, "damned hulk."

Serena rolled her eyes and continued watching the surroundings. She had grown surprisingly fond of the whole place, if only because cults devoted to dark deities were generally frowned upon by the local populace. As kaptin Pain had put it:

"Oy, nothin' against them personalleyz, but theyz always causin' trouble. Icky bitz 'ere, brawl there. Whole lot of trouble, see?"

And while she could see the concerns of the likes of the Ordo Xenos, she saw the humans there. Devoted to the Emperor as any other, with their own little chapels and priests. One such individual stood on a nearby wooden platform, preaching about His great benevolence. He then called for a prayer, as a sign of gratitude for bestowing them all with health and plentiful food. Strangely enough, she could see a few aliens among the crowd, blueskins and even a few tyranids. Nearby daemons mostly ignored the event as something completely normal, some watched with a semblance of genuine interest. Somehow, the sight made her smile.

Blue banners darted here and there among the crowd, always in groups. The BRPD kept diligent watch over the festivities, while partaking in some of their delights, as well. The eating area was by far the most populated, though every other was packed, as well. Vendors peddled their sometimes-questionable wares, gearheads showed their prowess, which often ended with igniting at least part of their audience. This time, space usually reserved for the Metul Punchiez(TM) was taken up by Metul Warpiez.

Finally, there was the battle pit. And boy, was it an attraction. As per ork customs, any challengers to boss Nignub's way of handling things could come down and challenge him and attempt to defeat him, becoming the next boss, only to fall to a challenger at a later date. A vicious cycle, broken only by Nignub being so bloody good at clobberin'. A dozen had stepped up so far, and each now lay battered on the floor.

Nignub grinned as another challenger made a clumsy swing. He batted the blow aside and delivered a headbutt strong enough to crack a squiggoth's skull. Needless to say, the challenger didn't last long and the rest of the potential bosses started weighing the possibilities. Nignub was handed another jug of fungus beer, gulped it down in a single movement, then shouted:

"Oy, iz dat all? I waz 'opin' ta' tear a few more limbz!"

A dance contest was in full swing at the very edge of the festival, right next to an eating contest. A necron dance squad was busy crushing their opposition through their mastery of something they called simply the 'Robot'. The biter squigs, meanwhile, were starting to outnumber their orkish challengers. She noticed shadows pass overhead, daemonettes with their wings dyed navy blue, temporarily.

Everything seemed to be going just fine. And then, a cloud suddenly appeared near the ceiling, attracting the attention of anyone with functional eyes. It seemed to be moving towards the festival and soon started releasing raindrops. Beren exclaimed:

"What in the Emperor's name?!"

She could not provide an answer, but overheard a nearby ork:

"Oh, zog, 'e got loose."

The canoness turned to him:

"Who?"

"Dat be our weirdboy."

Tick, tock.

Elsewhere entirely, in the realm of the Warp, there was a garden. A paradoxical mixture of life and death. A bog of pestilence and decay, from which mighty trees and colourful plants grew. Some would perhaps be considered beautiful, but they carried within them strains of disease and poison a mortal mind could scarcely even imagine. This was the grandfather's domain, able to feed on the despair of mortals to increase its own size, only to recede again when hope found its way to their hearts.

In its middle, stood a decrepit structure. A fortress whose crumbling walls housed fumes capable of causing one's flesh to peel off the bone on its own accord. And in the very middle of this palace of pestilence... was a kitchen.

A cauldron, its contents vaster than all the oceans of the galaxy combined, stood upon ever-burning warpfire. Next to it, a massive figure stood, wider than he was tall. Two crimson eyes remained fixed upon a tome laid in front of him, while pustules on his skin burst, only to be replaced by new ones. Thick fingers flicked through a few pages and followed the text within. Without even having to say anything, a tower of nurglings brought him the necessary ingredients. They were, after all, fragments of his majestic whole. The great one called out, his voice deep, yet comforting, loving:

"Do you think a bit of bloatfruit would suit it, dear?"

The other voice was female, but no less pleasing to the ears:

"We've had that a lot recently, dear. Perhaps a little cystroot instead? Don't want the brews to get samey, do we?"

"Aaaaaah, you are right," the tower immediately retrieved the foul ingredient and it was chucked into the brew. Another tower, meanwhile, stirred the concoction without pause, "what would I do without you?"

"Make a boring stew from time to time, apparently."

They both chuckled, creating a comforting atmosphere in the chamber, at odds with the horror all around. This homely feeling was interrupted by a crackle of eldritch energy, as a rip within time and space appeared. A single, multi-coloured eye stared from the other side and a multi-tonal voice echoed through the chamber:

"Nurgle."

The bloated giant turned swiftly for his weight class, his shattered lips curled into a devilish sneer:

"Well, well, well. What have we here? Could it be the majestic Tzeentch, deeming us worthy of his attention?"

"Now, dear, don't be so rude to our guest," the figure moved just outside of the schemer's field of vision, "good arbitrary time, Tzeentch."

With a single movement, he increased the FoV to almost two hundred degrees and was finally able to see her. Dressed in a beautiful emerald robe, the goddess stood there in her full beauty. Crimson hair was tied into a single, massive braid, while her pointy, knife-like ears perked up with every sound in the chamber. A pair of shining, golden orbs returned the Changer's stare.

"And to you, Isha," he glanced back to his other fellow god, "I have something to ask of you."

The Lord of Decay almost guffawed, spilling a few more nurglings onto the ground:

"Och, what an honour! Great, mighty Tzeentch needs our aid! Have you perhaps lost hope?"

Tzeentch squawked, then continued:

"Oh, I assure you, I harbour about as much hope as your latest 'victims' around Aurelia."

"Blech. I'll have you know..."

"Gentlemen," the eldar goddess rubbed her temples, "stop bickering like daemon spawn this instant. You are giving me a headache."

"My appologies, dear. So, what are you here for, then? I already assured you no plague shall be spread to the place and I have made sure that my servants..."

"And I am grateful for the attention you paid these matters. But today, I require action."

The vast one's crimson eyes flashed for a moment:

"Oh?"

"Yes. Some of my pawns are in danger. Khorne is still peeved about the whole cursed puppy thing and Slaanesh never gets anything done."

"Except for herself, huhuhuh."

"Oh, my." Isha joined Nurgle in a fit of laughter, while Tzeentch sighed.

Tick, tock.

Serena and Beren made their way through the crowd towards the cloud. Soon enough, they reached a large cluster of blue banners, each member already soaked from the quite heavy rainfall. A small mob of orks stood there, the raindrops somehow twisting in the air so as not to hit them.

All but one seemed to be missing at least a few gears. Clad in what looked like wooden armour, the orks whispered, howled, hissed and emitted a multitude of other sounds without the slightest hint of provocation or reason. Their headwear was outlandish, twisted into a dozen different shapes and painted with every shade of colour she knew of.

The one who seemed mostly sane stood there, twitching at random intervals. He held onto a mighty staff made of scrap metal, his clothes of the finest squigskin. On his face, he wore a strange mask, shaped like the face of... one of the two orkish deities, she couldn't tell which. The canoness suspected not even the ork himself knew. Boss Nignub himself was already busy conversing with the chap:

"Oy, 'ow'd ya' even get out, anyway?"

The weirdboy sounded as if he had almost drowned in caffeine:

"Ooooooooh, me boyz let me out. Theyz do dat, sometimes. Not all da' time. And then theyz sometimes lock me back in different buildingz. Gud larf."

The boss sighed:

"Wabbajack, wot'z Iz supposed ta' do with ya'?"

"Oy, boss, no need for doin' nothin' with me! Iz had ta' see ya'!"

"Wot? Whyz?"

"I'z been seein' thingz, boss. Gork an' Mork been talkin' to me fer weekz now. Theyz be seein' some big, stompy danga'. Ain't that right, boyz," his group started shaking their heads in random directions, "eh, close enuff."

"Danga'? Wot danga'?"

"Iz... Iz dunno. Big, stompy, dead killy. Real dead killy, boss."

"Youz seein' thingz neva' be a gud thing, dat'z fer sure. Oy, could ya' stop da' rain?"

"Oh, sorryz. Waz exciteyted," he blinked his eyes individually and the cloud dispersed without warning, "there wez go."

"Gud. Right then. Youz need ta' think real 'ard and tell me wot da' fuzz be about."

"Uh, boss?" Gorasho spoke up from the crowd.

"Wot iz it, Pain?"

"Could da' danga' be them there boyz?"

Almost comically, the entire assembled force followed his finger, sometimes trampling each other in an attempts to get a better view. A bunch of orks were approaching, their skin a much darker shade of green. Their bodies seemed... somehow strange, even from a distance.

"Hmm... could bez. Clobberin' time, boyz!"

Civilians rapidly left the area as the polees assembled for a good old-fasioned brawl. Serena assembled her sisters and Beren found the handful of knights assigned to service that day. The vanguard consisted of orks, who charged to battle the squigfest-ruining ruffians with several dozen battlecries. Wabbajack and his boyz stayed behind, the weirdboy just watching with a strange look in his eyes, while the madboyz started pretending they were tanks.

"Sisters, to battle!"

"Show them why all fear the Malleus!"

The forces clashed and the home team seemed to have the clear advantage, chopping a good half of the enemy in mere moments. Serena herself gunned down a pair of orks and almost left the rest of the fighting to her compatriots. But then, the orks she gunned down rose again and her eyes went wide as she saw their wounds close up in seconds.

The tale was the same everywhere else. No matter what had been done to them, the attackers rose back up. Chopped of limbs somehow reattached themselves, shattered skulls and lost brains regrew at unfathomable speed. It was a war of attrition and their foe seemed destined to win, the realisation punctuated by their guttural laughter. And then, Wabbajack's voice rose above the battle:

"Headz down, ya' gitz!"

She instead stepped aside and looked in his direction. The weirdboy was floating in mid-air, his entire form lit up with red energy. He roared mightily, his voice amplified a hundredfold, as green light gathered in his mouth.

"By the Throne," Beren exclaimed.

From his maw, a wall of emerald flame emerged, and passed mere inches in front of her face. Somehow, she did not feel any heat and none of the other polees seemed to be harmed, either. But the enemy felt the full power of the psyker's attack, with over half of the group ignited, their flesh and bones literally melting. This inspired her. They could not produce a flame of such magnitude, but she suspected theirs would do the job.

"Sister Theresa," a sadistic grin dominated her face, "purify them."

A prayer left the battle nun's lips as the rest dispersed. The attackers rejoiced for a moment, before finally noticing their surroundings were becoming rather hot. One could say their hot-headed nature got the best of them.

Kaptin Pain knelt among the remains, muttering stuff to himself, before shouting into the crowd:

"Senior kadet Snogrot!"

The legend appeared in the flesh, riding the cutest little squigghot this side of Armageddon. Ugu was perched on the temperamental mount's head, right between a trio of horns. The madboyz roared incomprehensibly as soon as he entered the scene:

"Youz called, kaptin?"

"Where da' bloody 'ell did ya' get dat?"

"Waz just doin' my jobz, 'onest. Escaped from itz pen, so Iz waz returnin' it, see?"

Gorasho scratched his head just as the madboyz scratched each other's:

"Eh, woteva'. Listen, get some bug boyz down 'ere ta' sweep," he motioned to the puddles of goo and piles of ash, "not much left of these grotbrainz."

"Got it, kaptin! Anythin' else?"

"Yeh, get me more burna' boyz."

"Will do! Ride like da' wind, Shadeyfox!"

The mount was not quite happy with the whole procedure and unceremoniously dumped its wannabe riders on the ground. Snogrot strode off on his own legs, rubbing his behind the entire way, while Ugu trailed behind him in a playful hop. Nignub was feeling quite enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, all things considered:

"Bloody 'ell, dat waz fun. Youz clobber 'em, deyz just come back. Would make gud giftz."

Wabbajack chimed in with a triumphant fist in the air:

"Told ya' there would be troublez!"

"Yeh, and now da' troublez be burninated. Boss, Iz know who made these gitz into supa' gitz."

"Oy, dat so?"

"Yeh. Only one zogoff got da' right blend of skill, ambitiun, lack of moral standardz and pure looney. Mad dok Stabcutta' be back."

An eerie whisper spread across the surrounding crowd. Serena put on a frown, while Beren asked:

"How many old nemeses do you lot actually possess?"

The boss laughed:

"Oy, lotz. Pain 'ere be gud enuff to slowly put them from da' 'Wanted 'Unz' list to da' 'Deaded 'Unz' list. Still got a few lyin' around, unfortunateley."

"Well then," his force weapon sent a ripple into the Warp itself, "I say this mad dok deserves a little visit."

"Oh, yeh," Gorasho rubbed his chin for a change, "'e 'ad thiz lil' jungle fort once. Wonder if 'e'd be there, still?"

"Only one way ta' find out. Pain, 'umiez, get yer boyz ready, we'z gunna' 'ave some fun."

"We'z, boss?"

"Oy, fightin' these gitz be bloody fun."

Tick, tock.

With a final bellowing laugh, the vast one's side literally burst, spilling a new greater daemon into the Warp, far more individualistic than the tiny nurglings, but still undoubtedly formed in the Plaguefather's image.

"So, mighty Tzeentch requires aid to secure his pawns? Och, why am I not surprised, with your never-ending demand for variables at every point?"

"I will remind you, that you yourself depend on the project's success."

"Blech," a vile tonic drooled out of his mouth, housing a million different potential epidemics, "my memory is fine, schemer. You will have your 'intervention', worry not. My children are already on their way."

"Good," the orb flickered, "I have other matters to attend to, but I'll keep you informed. Oh, also, your bloody garden left life-sapping weeds on my walls again."

"Oh, how unfortunate."

It vanished with an echoing sigh as he turned back to his brew. A bit of pox, just a pinch of malaria. Oh, yes, the smell was potent enough to make the stomach dissolve itself already.

"Want a taste, my dear?"

"But of course," he offered her a spoonful of the still-bubbling concoction and she savoured it thoroughly. A set of rashes appeared on her forehead soon afterwards and lingered, "hmmm, I do believe that's a good result. Let's see how long it lasts."

"I do hope I managed a good one."

"Oh, you always do, dear," she gave him a light peck on the cheek and her lips threatened to swell for a few seconds. Nurgle chuckled to himself, completely oblivious to the information the eldar goddess was already sending into the cacophony of the Warp. Those with the ability to stop the father's poxes would attract it and in turn, use it to bring pandemics to their end. A vicious cycle, but one she took part in willingly. Besides, the stew wasn't half bad if you could heal through its effects.

Tick, tock.

Serena didn't know if the enemy would see them coming, but the jungle sure did. The entire overgrowth seemed to turn and watch them pass by, some of the flora snapped when they felt flamer fuel in the vicinity. The area did not seem to have much other than the aggressive weed, though and they had been walking for some time. The boss, especially, was a bit bored:

"Pain, youz sure 'e 'ad a forty bit 'ere?"

"Zog, fer da' third tme, boss, yeh."

"Well, where iz it? My trigga'... huh, not finga'. Uhhhh, trigga' fing be itchin'."

"Bloody there," he pointed with his shoota', the discharges of which always ended up as mere warning shots, and indeed, past one last line of curious trees, a large open field stretched out and in its middle, a fort. Well, a set of walls around a single, rather decrepit structure, "zog, no 'un got any bloody patience."

The mad boyz nodded enthusiastically, then started picking their noses in perfect unison. Their force emerged from the treeline and made a beeline for the fort. Figures started appearing on the walls and shouted a familiar name. Soon enough, a far more distinct shape appeared on the walls.

The creature may have once been an ork, but was reduced to an abomination. Two extra arms sprouted from his back, undoubtedly from unwilling donors. His entire body almost seemed to shift around, as if it wasn't anchored to a particular point in the materium. The definitely mad dok shouted:

"Oy, lookit all me guestz!"

"Stabcutta'!"

"Aaaaah, kaptin Pain! So nice of ya' ta' come see yer old friend. 'Ope youz like me new boyz. Took me monthz ta' convince some of da' warpy thingz in 'ere to juice uz up. Plant bitz work well with uz."

"Because they're just evolved fungi." Serena muttered to herself.

"So nice of ya' to bring da' boss, too. Real swell of ya', old buddy. As a token of apreciatiun, Iz made somethin' just fer ya'. Youz gunna' love it."

After mashing a button, small rods suddenly pushed out of the ground around them. They carried small, seed-like growths which almost immediately burst, releasing clouds of orange smoke. She tried to hold her breath, get to a safer spot, but was rammed to the ground by a panicking ork. As she impacted the ground, she gasped and almost immediately, a numbness took hold over her.

Every movement, however small, became a chore. She had to concentrate to even breathe properly. Almost the entire force lay on the ground, having difficulties. She could only make out several bulky forms through the smoke. The grey knights' archeotech, as well as a few of the sisters', proved useful at last.

"What a sight! Go get 'em, boyz!"

Moving her head slightly even as her body refused her commands, she could see the fort's gates opening. Dozens upon dozens of former orks started spilling out, unaffected by the numbing smoke.

The first few engaged those still standing and while they managed to hold the line as it were, they were severely outnumbered. Furthermore, their enemy, even when struck by their mighty weapons, just got back up. Some of the orks broke off from the main group and headed for the incapacitated. Was this how she was destined to end? In the middle of nowhere, to a foul ruse? Hardly a fitting end.

Fate, however, was on their side that day. One of the orks' head simply burst and spilled onto the surrounding terrain. The body fell and to her dismay, started growing a new one. She could hear confused shouts from among the horde and Stabcutta' soon joined in:

"Wot da' zog?! Kill 'em! Stab, chop, cut, go, go, go!"

She could not turn quite far enough to see the newcomers, but she could peek at the ground. She saw an army of armoured greaves, pale green, marching in perfect formation without pause. She could hear what must have been at least a hundred enemies unloading their arsenal, yet the host did not even slow down.

A pair of greaves suddenly consumed her entire view. An intimidatingly deep voice, somehow loving, sounded:

"Oh, what a day for a grand harvest. You are in luck, servants of other deities, for today, the Death Guard stand by you," she finally managed to make out a flowing, tattered cape and as soon as he lifted his hand, the figure's weapon. A wicked, vicious scythe, black as the heretic's soul. The mere sight of it sent a shiver down her spine, "you have sown. And now, we shall reap a terrible bounty in the Grandfather's name. March, my brothers! To the harvest!"

The Champion of Decay took a few steps and slashed the still-headless ork in half with a single, mighty swipe. Almost immediately, she could see the muscles turn to guck, the entire body wither and die. The plants provided constitution, but were not above the Plaguemaster's poxes.

Wherever the super orks clashed with the fallen marines, the results were similar. Diseases and vile sicknesses spread through them with incredible speed, halting any regeneration dead in its tracks. She could suddenly hear a loud wheezing, and the paralytic smoke was drawn elsewhere.

Feeling returned to her limbs and she managed to stand. Finally, she spotted the origin of the wheezing, several of the plague marines who seemed to be breathing the fumes in. As soon as they finished, they began a debate on how it tasted. Her attention again turned to the champion.

One of the orks embedded an axe in a shoulder joint. The host casually looked at it, then grabbed hold of the ork's neck

"Is that the best you've got," from cracks in his armour, a black swarm emerged. Thousands upon thousands of insectoid horrors started engulfing the ork, who roared in agony, "yes, my pretties! Feed! Spread your contagions!"

She needed the comfort of her bolter after seeing that.

Stabcutta' assessed the situation rather correctly and swiftly vanished from sight. The boss was not one to let a grudge go:

"Pain! 'E be gettin' away!"

"Well, let'z get 'im!"

"Oh, yeeeeeeh!"

The two hills of green muscle charged. Whatever git dared stand in their way was either stomped into the ground or split in two. The fort's main gate felt a comet-like impact and was utterly shattered as the green duo went inside. In the courtyard, the mad dok was already pouring some questionable fuel into an even more questionable, five-wheeled vehicle

"Oy, dok,"the kaptin shouted, catching the fiend's attention, "time fer yer checkup. Wez may 'ave ta' amputate everythin'."

"Bah, Iz ain't goin' down that easy! Iz got just as many arm bitz az youz!"

He charged to meet them with four separate choppas drawn. The two veterans merely looked at each other and Nignub commented:

"Amature."

The two behemoths charged to meet him, just as a strange raincloud started shooting lightning bolts in the distance. The dok did not even get to attack, as the two battering rams sent him flying to the air with cataclysmic force. Force enough to detach all of his hastily-attached limbs.

Stabcutta' realised he was in trouble as soon as the sudden absence of feeling reached his brain. His limbs were strewn about along his former trajectory, fleshy tendrils clumsily searching for the remainder of the body. Sadly enough, there was no blood. Boss and kaptin stepped towards him at a leisurely pace.

"Oy, this ain't fair! Gimme' back my armz!"

"Iz don't think so, Stabcutta'. Youz done stabbin' and cuttin' this way."

"Oy, boss, Iz got an idea."

"Wot?"

Pain grabbed hold of the dok's head and pulled. The sickening sound of cracking bones filled the air, accompanied by the nemesis' screams. Soon enough, Pain held a mere head, unfortunately still talkative:

"Oy! I'll bite yer anklez, Iz will!"

"Hurrr, Iz doubt dat. Boss, when waz da' last time wez played some pingy-pongy?"

"Oh, zog no..."

"Hmmmmm, long enuff, Pain. Iz think wez should make up fer lost timez."

"Oh, come onz, just kill me and stuff. Come onz!"

His pleas were ignored as Gorasho and Nignub made space for the game. The individual limbs were arranged into a bordering line, even as they still twitched in search of the torso.

"Get ready fer it!"

Pain tossed the dok's head into the air, then slammed it mightily with Bessy's flat side, sending it through the air at a propa' angle. Nignub aimed carefully and struck with his hammer. Back and forth they went, as the home team's forces slowly gathered in the fort and watched in an awed stupor. Through all of it, Stabcutta' kept screaming:

"Ow! Knock it off! Oy, oy, not th-aaaaaaaaagh! Stop it, Iz givez! Aaaaaaarrr! Just burninate me already! Och!"

The entire crowd's gazes moved left and right constantly, following the 'ball'. Beren exclaimed, while cleaning the tip of his weapon:

"I have seen so many vile things in my life. But that... that is fucked up."

Next to him, the herald of Nurgle chuckled:

"I never thought I'd agree on something with a loyalist."

"I never thought my nose would wish to commit suicide," Serena looked ready to barf, "you lot need some soap in your life."

"But that would wash away some of the Grandfather's gifts!"

"All the better."

After an immeasurably long stalemate, kaptin Pain finally pulled through and achieved victory. To celebrate, fifteen separate burnas were used to vaporise the entire fort and any misplaced limbs they could find. The spectacle was only surpassed when the gang returned to the squigfest, though. Typhus and his gang were given a 'district of honour', where they feasted alone, away from any troublesome noses. Only the most curious daemonettes dared venture there.

Tick, tock.

He watched the intervention come to a successful end just as the last of the weeds was removed from the wall. Agents across the materium carried out their deeds, with mixed results. One was granted an extra ear for his efforts, of dubious usefulness. Such was the fickle nature of the Changer.

His ninth eye, however, kept diligent watch. The Warp itself twisted and turned around the invader. Soon enough, his plans would have to come together or doom them all. Ideally the former, though variables could always affect the outcome. And there were so many of them. Rituals and wards subduing aggression, manipulation of entire sections of the immaterium to get things where they needed to be. Tens of thousands of hours of subtly twisting seemingly unrelated events, all leading up to this one defining moment.

The eighth eye finished the overview of several new character sheets and joined the ninth. He had gotten carried away with last session's boss enemy. It had seemed so simple, just reverse the polarity of the tachyon matrix via spouting random technobabble and then apply several quite basic metaphysical formulas to find its weakness.

He shook his many heads and remained watchful. Time was, for once, against them and he could only hope Big Rok had what it took. For his own good.

Tick, tock.

The old ornamental clock of human design echoed within the vacant hallways, toiling endlessly. It did not even need to show the right time, only to imply its passage. He had so much of that resource, after all. An eternity, to some.

Cut, extract, analyse, splice, modify, perfect. A nearly endless cycle, yet one that could bear such delicious fruit. He knew, for he was gazing at it, though the glass walls of a crude, functional incubator. With a satisfied hiss, he returned to his daily patrol route, making sure everything was in order.

It would not take much longer. He knew, for the tapestries of fate were his to observe. And eventually, his to alter, to shape however he saw fit. Just a little while longer to escape the clutches of the Warp.

Tick, tock.

And the universe would be his once more.