Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 191

Orkamemnon wasn't busy preparing his Waaagh to advance, he wasn't chasing errant strays from the battle or riling up his mobs for the next fight. The Warboss left it all behind, marching straight to the home of the Maker. Nobody dared question his approach, for his aura was menacing. Always a hulking fusion of Ork and machine, now he was a terrifying embodiment of Waaagh energy. Power radiated off him and no Ork, even the Goffs, dared look him in the eye. Orkamemnon felt their terror at his passing and it was good, he wanted more.

"Boss, iz dis a gud idea?" Sorkrates hissed.

"You'ze getting soft on me?!" Orkamemnon growled.

"Hah, just wantz ta know da plan. Da Maker, he got ta have a plan for dis."

"Tvos is a hoomie, and likes all hoomies he tinks he smarter den smart. Big planz and clever tricks, dat da hoomie way. But ting bout planz iz dey only work till some berk set 'em on fire."

"Rite," Sorkrates relented, "Gud ta know."

Orkamemnon turned his head to Diorkgenes and asked, "Ya got dat clanking bodge job wit ya?"

The Mad Dok cocked his head to one side, "Me masterpiece ya mean?"

"Ya, dat piece a crap, call it up."

"Whyz?"

"Cause I said so, now hop ta it!"

The Mad Dok stuck two fingers in his maw and let out a shrill whistle. From the surrounding mobs lurched his creation, the drooling remains of an Ork driver, fused with mechanical legs and guns. It looked pretty battered, evidently it had seen some fighting but Orkamemnon hadn't cared to look for it on the battlefield. That hardly mattered, it walked and it fought, that was all he needed. Not that it was in any way impressive, but as a proof-of-concept it would suffice. He didn't know why that was important but the stream of elevated thoughts passing through his skull seemed pretty sure.

The trio marched past victorious mobs, many of them squabbling over petty spoils. Most prized of all were Astartes remains, knives, bits of plate, banner poles and gauntlets. He saw a pile of Orks fighting over a blue helm, the oozing head still inside. All of them claimed the right to own the trophy and it wasn't long till knives were pulled and the blood began to flow. Orkamemnon didn't care to intervene; they could sort it out among themselves.

Out of the Palace they strode, to find the Maker's transport squatting beyond the main gate. The surrounding Orks milled aimlessly, waiting for their warboss to tell them which way to run. Orkamemnon gave them no mind, nor did he pay any attention to the looming Stompas, yet again being worked over by Mekboyz. Only seven remained, a serious blow to his forces but he paid it no mind. Tvos was his goal, everything else could wait.

The Warboss strode up to the transport and pulled himself up a ladder. Into the cramped interior he ducked, followed by his companions. No guards troubled him, the Maker was sure the leash was tight and so had no need to fear incursions. Any Ork who entered was his creation, sentient or hardwired, to worry about security would be a distraction and nothing would pull him away from his studies. They found Tvos in his laboritorum, gazing out over rows of gestation tubes. The next generation of Black Orks lay within, and he hated to be parted from his work so close to completion.

"Why have you interrupted my work?" Tvos snapped without turning around.

"Gotz someting ta tell ya," Orkamemnon replied as he squared up to the Maker's back.

"You have my crown?!"

"Nah."

"You dare return to me in failure?!"

Orkamemnon's face split into a leer as he expound, "I'z touched it, I'z held in in me hand. And when did, it blew me mind. Such thoughts, da universe opened to me. I saw it all, I saw all da tings ya hid from me. Ya had no idea what ya was doing when ya sent me after dat crown, ya shoulda gone urself!"

Tvos finally turned, his patience fraying, "I shall punish you for this!"

"Ur punishing iz over. It be my turn now!"

"Impudence!"

"I dunt know da meaning 'a dat word!"

"It means… pain!"

Orkamemnon's heightened awareness sensed what was happening. Devices drilled into his skull responded to the trigger word and fired electrical discharges across his pain centres. It was crude engineering, entirely mechanical, without any real understanding of Ork biology. Tvos had hammered nails into the meat of his brain but had no comprehension of the true potential of Waaagh energy. With Orkamemnon's enhanced perceptions it was easy to divert the current along other nerve endings, sending the torrent into regions of strength and vitality. He swelled with pleasure as his muscles grew denser, stimulated by the primal Ork urge to grow through conflict. Tvos' attack only made him stronger.

"Pain!" Tvos yelled not seeing what was happening, "Pain! Pain! Pain! Terminate! Terminate!"

Orkamemnon grinned, "Try all ur like, it aint happenin!"

"Impossible!" Tvos stammered, "How can this be?!"

"I'z haz outgrown ya! Da leash iz off!"

"Sorkrates, kill him!" Tvos shrieked.

"He'z mine now, all mine!"

Indeed with the enhanced power Orkamemnon was able to override the compulsion to obey. The Black Ork had been fashioned from the first cell division, his genes spliced with Astartes coding and Pariah effects, but that was nothing to the sheer power of the Waaagh. Orkamemnon was able to smother Sorkrates' brain in a protective cocoon of psychic energy, blanketing out the compulsion to obey. Sorkrates was free and angry. The Black Ork stepped forward and smashed him across the room with a backhanded blow of his shield, throwing the Maker to the floor in a heap of metal clattering.

Orkamemnon grabbed the dazed adept before his comrades could finish the job and heaved Tvos onto a medical slab. Quickly he bound the man's arms and legs, then the head and chest. All those implants were designed for intelligence boosting, not raw aggression, he lacked the physical might to break his bonds. So weak, so frail, it was insulting that so weedy a foe had held Orkamemnon in thrall all these years. A grievance the Warboss intended to settle very, very slowly.

"It…" Tvos groaned as his systems reset, "It can't be…"

"It iz," Orkamemnon growled.

"Platork! Help me, Platork!"

"He'z ded ya loony! Ya been jabbering at empty skulls for years an years. I thought ya were mockin' me, but ya just bent in da brainpan. Ya got ten screws loose!"

Sorkrates piped up, "Letz kill 'im now!"

"Nah, he gotta suffer," Orkamemnon hissed, "Go fetch da Red an yellow and green, and da blue. Dirorkenes, come 'ere!"

The Mad Dok stepped nearer and Orkamemnon felt their connection grow. All the genetic lore of the biological arts was available, secrets of science and physiology encoded into their race so long ago. Orkamemnon barely comprehended it but let his hands go to work as he moved to the cogitators and began inputting new commands. Chemical injectors and growth mediums were dumped into nutrient lines, sent piping through the walls until they were flushed into the gestation chambers beyond. The embryonic Black Orks began to jerk and writhe as new chemicals were introduced to their bloodstreams, causing them to swell insanely fast.

"No!" Tvos howled, "What are you doing?!"

"Makin some improovoments," Orkamemnon chuckled.

"You're ruining them!" Tvos shouted, "All my hard work is being undone!"

"Yah wantz petty little Orks, weak and runty, obedient ta ya command. I'z say frak that! Da Orks iz meant ta be big and strong, unruly, uncontrollable, unstoppable! I'z makin dem da biggest and meanest Orks who'ze ever lived!"

"Stop it!" Tvos howled, "Stop it!"

Orkamemnon turned on his maker and hissed, "Da Crown show me da secrets a deep time, so long ago you'ze cannot imagine it. Da Orks were beyond mighty once, we'z can be again. Yah tink ya know of da war, ya give it a name like it had a beginning and an end, but da war never endz. So long as one Ork remains, the war doez too! Past, present, future, da iz only war! Ya a fool ta tink ya could make uz into pets, the Orks will always be Orks!"

Sorkrates hurried over with an armful of injectors and saidz, "Here ye go."

The interference of two comrades so close was making his head throb painful, "Back up, dat's better. Now den, Maker, I'z seen ya on da Blue and da Green and da Yellow… but you'ze never tried Red…"

"No!" Tvos pleaded, "No, not that one!"

"I taut yah say dat!"

Orkamemnon picked up an injector of red and stabbed it into the one of the few fleshy bits of Tvos left. The adept jerked in his bonds, muscles firing randomly. Crimson veins crawled over what remained of skin and his voice became a garbled shriek of agonised insanity. The bulk of his body was steel and chrome but his brain remained human and it began to cook in the chemical fires of the Red. Fashioned long ago by a Thunder Warrior to boost strength and aggression, to the carefully cultivated intellect of a Magos Biologis it was a flamethrower to his thoughts.

"Guuuurgggghhh!" Tvos gargled in torment.

"Ha!" Orkamemnon chuckled, "Ha, ha, ha!"

"Stooooooppppp!" Tvos pleaded.

"Boss…" Diorkgenes warned.

"I aint' quitting now!"

"Boss!"

"I wanna see him suffer!"

"No boss, dat over dere!"

Orkamemnon turned his head and saw the Black Orks were thrashing in their gestation tubes. Misshapen hands beating on the glassic, as engorged eyes stared in madness. It was too much to contain and a fist of spiked bones shattered through the thin membrane, spilling a body more muscle than skin onto the deck. Another followed and another, a hundred malformed, twisted Black Orks dropping into life, drawing their first breaths into mutated lungs. They were hulking and monstrous, with eyeballs the size of dinner plates and fangs that grew out of forearms, legs mismatched and spines bent by fused vertebrae. Whatever goal Tvos had planned for them, this was not it.

"Bootiful!" Orkamemnon crooned.

"Dey a bit… rough…" Sorkrates gulped.

"Dey just fine," Orkamemnon dismissed, "Dirokgenes, ya go fit dem up gud an proper."

"I doez wot?" the Mad Dok blinked.

"Ya did it for dat driver, now ya does it for dem. Hammer dem some armour and choppy bits. Make dem da killyest killaz ever seen."

"Ya wantz Killa Cyborks?" Dirorkgenes grinned, "I can do dat! I givez ya nastiest of nasty Killaz!"

Diorkgenes waddled off, eager to get to work rebuilding the Black Orks. Orkamemnon trusted he'd have fun doing it, and the result would be spectacular. But for now he had his own task to enjoy. He looked upon Tvos, who was quivering in his bonds and knew the hoomie would be in tortuous pain. A small recompense for the years of suffering Orkamemnon had endured at his hands.

"Gaaaaaahhhh…" Tvos gargled in agony.

"Hutz dunt it?" Orkamemnon leered.

"My work…." Tvos wailed, "My genius!"

"All minez now!"

"Kill me!" Tovs pleaded, "Don't make me watch that idiot spoiling my labours with his fumbling fingers!"

But Orkamemnon leaned in to hiss, "First ya gonna watch as I'z take it all from ya, then ya gonna tell me all ya secrets. Only when I got every last juicy morsel from ya, only when I have pulled every last scream from ya bones, will I nail ya to me bosspole, as a warning to every berk out dere. Dis iz gonna be long and painful and before itz over all da worlds will know dat nobody messes with da Orks!"