The presence of Gork and Mork loomed over me, vast and incomprehensible, as though I was standing before twin suns, their raw, primal power radiating waves of heat and fury. They were far more than just gods of the Orks; they were embodiments of brutal cunning and cunning brutality, pure and unfiltered in their chaotic nature. To challenge them was to challenge the very essence of what it meant to be Ork – a race born for war, bred for conflict, and sustained by the sheer will to fight and survive.

As I reached deeper into the Warboss's soul, I could feel their attention shift toward me, a sensation like being crushed under the weight of a mountain. It wasn't just their power that I felt but also their rage – a boiling cauldron of violence and savagery, threatening to overflow and consume everything in its path. I could hear their voices, guttural and ancient, speaking in a language that was more feeling than sound. It was a language of war and slaughter, of endless WAAAGH!s and the unyielding desire for conquest.

"You'z tink ya can take us on, 'umie?" one of them snarled, the voice reverberating through my mind like the clash of titanic weapons. I couldn't tell if it was Gork or Mork – perhaps it was both, speaking as one. "We'z da Godz of da Orks! Da biggest, da strongest, da meanest! You'z nuffin' but a runt! Ya little Gamer!"

I steeled myself, focusing every ounce of my will on the task at hand. It was clear that I couldn't win this fight through sheer brute force; Gork and Mork were beings of a higher order, their strength far beyond anything I could muster in the physical realm. But this was no longer just about physical strength – this was a battle of wills, of concepts, of souls.

I could feel the Warboss beneath me, thrashing and struggling, his body a conduit for the godly power that threatened to tear me apart. But I couldn't let go, not now. My hands, still gripping the Warboss's head, began to glow with a cold, blue light – the manifestation of my [Concept Shaping] ability, a power that allowed me to reach into the very essence of reality and twist it to my will.

I focused on the concept of separation – the idea of dividing one thing from another, of isolating the Warboss from the power that flowed through him. It was like trying to split an ocean with a knife, the sheer magnitude of the task nearly overwhelming me. But I pressed on, pushing deeper into the Warboss's soul, searching for the threads that bound him to his gods.

The resistance was immense. Gork and Mork fought back with everything they had, their power crashing against my mind like a tidal wave. It was a struggle just to hold on, to keep my grip on the Warboss's soul without being swept away by the sheer force of their will. But I couldn't afford to back down – not now, not when I was so close.

"Youse a tough git, I'll give ya dat," the voice growled, almost amused. "But ya'z gonna hafta do better den dat if ya wanna beat us!"

I gritted my teeth, pouring more of my will into the [Concept Shaping], focusing on the connection between the Warboss and his gods. I could see it now, a thick, ropy strand of green energy, pulsating with power. It was the lifeline that tied the Warboss to Gork and Mork, the source of his newfound strength.

With a grunt of effort, I reached out with my mind and grabbed hold of the strand. It was like trying to wrestle a live wire, the energy shocking and burning me as I tried to pull it free. But I held on, refusing to let go. I could feel the Warboss struggling beneath me, his body convulsing as I tried to sever the connection.

"Oi! Wot da zog ya think ya doin'?" the voice roared, now tinged with anger. "Dat's our boy! You'z ain't takin' him from us!"

I didn't respond. There was no point in arguing with gods. Instead, I poured everything I had into the [Concept Shaping], focusing on the idea of cutting – of severing the bond between the Warboss and his gods. I could feel the strand starting to fray, the energy within it sputtering and sparking as I applied more and more pressure.

But Gork and Mork weren't going to let go without a fight. I felt a surge of power from the other end of the connection, a torrent of raw, untamed energy that threatened to rip me apart. My vision blurred, my thoughts scattered, and for a moment, I nearly lost my grip. But then, with a final, desperate push, I severed the strand.

The effect was immediate. The Warboss let out a deafening roar, his body convulsing as the power that had been flowing through him was suddenly cut off. The green flames that had engulfed him flickered and died, leaving behind only the charred remnants of his former limbs. His eyes, once blazing with godly fire, now stared at me with a mix of confusion and rage. But that anger was impotent. Without the power of Gork and Mork, the Warboss was literally incapable of even walking. By the natural law of the Orks, he wasn't even the Warboss anymore, unless a Mad Dok got to him in time and strapped a bunch of cybernetics over his stumps, which, to be certain, was still a possibility.

With a flicker of will, I forced my tendrils into every muscle, organ, and bone within the Warboss's crumbling body and then ripped them all out in every conceivable direction, shredding the Ork's massive form into little more than ribbons of flesh, shards of bone, and puddles of blood and gore. No Mad Dok was reviving anything from that one. Afterwards, I absorbed all of his biomass into myself, no sense letting it go to waste, after all. And now, with the death of their Warboss, the Orks should descend into a mad scramble to fill in the vacuum of power, which would impede their ability to wage war as the Nobz fought over who gets to be the new Warboss. And, because of that, our forces, accompanied by the Lucifer Blacks and the Custodes, would very quickly push through the Ork Lines, devastating their uncoordinated legions – not that they had much coordination to begin with.

That was it. My one and only responsibility was done.

All that was left for me to do was to slaughter the rest of the Orks that plagued this Hive City, something I've been wanting to do since I stepped inside with the Kharsons. Fortunately, I had just the right tool for the job. With a grin, I summoned [Mjolnir] into my grasp, the oddly-shaped hammer appearing with a cackle of lightning and a boom of thunder. It was the most destructive weapon I had in my arsenal. Perfect. Thunderclouds gathered above me, roaring and twisting, arcs of lightning flashing every few seconds.

I grinned. "Hear me, Greenskins! In the name of the God Emperor, I sentence you all to oblivion!"

I hefted [Mjolnir] in my hands, feeling the power thrumming through the hammer. It was almost alive, pulsating with a barely contained fury, begging to be unleashed. And who was I to say no?

The first bolt of lightning lanced down from the heavens, striking an Ork tank that had been trundling down the street below. The machine exploded in a shower of metal and fire, its crude engine torn apart by the raw power of the storm. The shockwave rippled out, sending nearby Orks flying, their bodies breaking like twigs as they hit the ground.

I laughed, the sound carrying above the cacophony of the battle below. [Mjolnir] was an extension of my will, and my will was that these Orks were wiped from existence. I raised the hammer high, channeling the storm's power through it, and unleashed a torrent of lightning down on the teeming masses of green. The air sizzled and popped with electricity, each bolt leaving the scent of ozone in its wake. Orks were incinerated where they stood, their crude armor offering no protection against the fury of the storm. Those that survived were sent into a frenzy, driven mad by the sheer power on display.

But I wasn't done yet.

I swung [Mjolnir] in a wide arc, sending out a wave of lightning that crackled along the ground, jumping from one Ork to another, leaping from weapon to weapon, sparking off anything that was even remotely conductive. Nobz screamed as their power klaws overloaded, the energy coursing through their bodies until they were nothing but charred husks. Lootas and Burna Boyz exploded like fireworks as their own weapons were turned against them. It was beautiful in its brutality, a symphony of destruction orchestrated by my hand.

The storm above me grew, dark clouds roiling and churning, lit from within by the flashes of lightning. Thunder boomed, so loud it shook the very foundations of the Hive City. The Orks looked up in awe, some in terror, but none could tear their eyes away from the spectacle. I was a god to them now, a living avatar of the storm, and they were helpless before my might.

I took a deep breath, feeling the power of the storm surge through me. My senses expanded, taking in the battlefield with perfect clarity. I could see every Ork, every ruined building, every broken piece of machinery. I could see the fear in their eyes, the realization that they were not the masters here. Not anymore. That was a rare thing among Orks. Fear was not at all a common emotion from the Greenskins.

With a thought, I sent a pillar of lightning crashing down on a mob of Boyz that had been trying to rally. The ground exploded beneath them, sending bodies flying in all directions. A deff dread charged toward me, its massive metal fists raised to crush me. I pointed [Mjolnir] at it, and a bolt of lightning blasted through its chest, melting the crude wiring inside and causing the machine to topple over, lifeless.

The carnage was indescribable. Whole sections of the city were turned to ash and rubble as the storm tore through them. Buildings collapsed, their supports blasted away by lightning strikes. The ground was scorched black, littered with the smoldering remains of Orks and their war machines. Fires raged out of control, adding their smoke to the already choking atmosphere. The Hive City was becoming a graveyard, each blast marking the end of another enemy.

I could feel the Orks' morale crumbling. Without their Warboss, without their leaders, they were lost. They had no direction, no purpose, except to die. And die they did. By the hundreds, by the thousands, falling beneath the fury of the storm. My storm.

For a moment, I stood there, watching the chaos I had unleashed. This was power. Real power. Not just the strength to kill, but the strength to shape reality, to bend the world to my will. To be a god among men and monsters. And it felt good.

But there was no time to savor the victory. More Orks were coming, flooding out of the depths of the Hive City, drawn by the sounds of battle. They would keep coming until there was nothing left of them. That was the nature of Orks—an endless tide of violence and death. But I could end this, here and now. I could break them, once and for all.

I raised [Mjolnir] one final time, channeling all the power of the storm into a single, devastating attack. The clouds above swirled, focusing their energy on the hammer. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone, the pressure building to an almost unbearable level.

And then I unleashed it.

And, for a moment, the entire planet shook.

AN: Chapter 66 is out on (Pat)reon!