Chapter IV: ORKY (Part II)

CRUNCH!

Locke seemed more confused than in pain as I wildly bit into his forearm and tore a large chunk of his flesh out, gnawing on it ravenously in front of him. The loony action had shocked him so much that he momentarily reverted into speaking at a normal volume.

"Yooz got a fuckin' screw loose, mate."

I gulped the raw flesh down my throat, savoring its taste…

Ribeye steak…. with sautéed mushrooms. What the fuck?

Delicious.

How insanely convenient.

"Heheheh…" I chuckled, half-madly and half in utter euphoric malice. My hunger throes were at an end, and the solution to this years-long endeavor had been surrounding me this entire time. "HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!"

I threw my head back, cackling at the Dark Gods and all the vicious forces that acted against me, and much to the Big 'Un's further perplexity. My gaze took aim straight into Locke's red beady eyes, grinning with flesh-coated and bloodstained teeth glimmering in the arriving dawn's orange-hued light.

"Your flesh is a meal. Let me feast."

Locke's face furrowed and burst into a toothy grin, as he entered fight mode and charged me without hesitation. The burst of energy I'd gained from that hefty chunk of meat allowed me more dexterity and agility, which I used to sidestep and dodge the heavy but slow punches Locke was throwing my way.

(Music: "Mauled", by Brand X Music)

Energy began to dissipate in my body once again, and so after evading a haymaker I lunged for his tricep and took another chunk out of his flesh. My teeth tore at his dense skin, my canines enhanced by what I could only deduce to be the work of Malal, and felt myself flung across the ground as the Ork shoved me away with his shoulder.

This gory fest carried on for minutes, with me waiting for moments to tear at flesh to consume while the Ork continued throwing massive punches and shook me off violently with every bite. Even one punch from this beastly being would evaporate the impacted body part, so I was practically moving with only my feet and teeth in mind. Blunt attacks wouldn't work on Locke.

I was relying on my bite strength and agility. One misstep meant evisceration.

After a minute or so, I was standing before a maimed and mutilated Ork, chunks of its flesh missing from its arms, legs, torso, and back. I was incredibly lucky that this foetid Greenskin had underestimated me so as to approach without its armor on.

"YOOZ FINK DIS IS COMEDY?!"

The Greenskin had grown outraged at its inability to land a blow on me, but the extent of damage across its body had rendered its fighting ability low. It tried for another swing of its brutish, massive arm, leading me to sidestep and watch the mighty figure stumble.

How convenient we had fought so close to the cliffhang. I dashed behind the Ork in its seconds of faltering and shoved it with all my might.

I fell to the ground while the Ork fell to its presumed death, plummeting several hundred feet and breaking its body across the steep slopes of the wasteland. I had enough observed knowledge of Ork durability to know they could not regenerate limbs, and only the most resilient of the Orks (usually the leaders and top enforcers) could have a chance of surviving fatal blows.

No matter what Locke's fate was, I would track him down later and end him. Weaponized with the invaluable information I gained from consumption, my one-track mind turned inward to the settlement. The energy gained from Locke's flesh was almost instantaneous- like some kind of fast-acting drug for my stomach.

I needed more. More. More. More-

SNIK

Snik Pineshrieker zipped through the shadows of the Ork encampment, known to him as Slauga; he was eager to deliver recently-developing news to his fr- ally, that stupidly-persistent man-thing with a penchant for seemingly thriving in this crappy climate.

"Ngh!"

Snik veiled himself behind an inlaid cove in the settlement wall, waiting for a Goblin to pass by before snaking his blade into the back of the Goblin's neck. Before the Goblin could drop dead to the ground, Snik managed to slice several of its fleshy parts to snack on and store for later consumption, before slipping back into the shadows and heading towards his pre-intended destination.

For all its shittiness, Ork encampments were an incredibly easy source of food for clandestine individuals like Snik and the larger Eshin Clan. Orks gave no shits whatsoever about the lives of its denizens and usually wouldn't bother checking on anyone missing, especially Goblins and other lower life forms in the Greenskin race bracket.

This, paired with the fact that a cadre of Eshin nightrunners could vacate an entire castle of its soldiery without the lord being any wiser, made for an insanely easy source of food for Snik.

"Nghh-hehehe, these are thing-things that I, Snik Pineshrieker, have learn-gained in my long life-span!"

The Skaven chittered triumphantly to himself, so confident in its covert movement that it boasted its own intellect to sate its staggering hubris, if only momentarily.

Eventually, the Skaven came close to the outer worksite, seeing the usual bustling activity of the mixed man-thing green-thing population that Enos had managed to keep together for a while now. Oddly, though, Snik didn't see Enos anywhere in sight. Wondering if he'd ventured into the camp to speak with Snaggi (as Snik had memorized Enos' entire daily routine) the rat-man scurried over the walls and peered around-

"Ngh- HOLY SHIT-FUCK!"

Snik darted back into cover as a bloodied Goblin corpse came plummeting from above and smashed into red paste on impact, heralding the cacophony of violent bloodshed and warfare that Snik could perceive from just around the corner.

"What the fuck-fuck?!" Snik squeaked in fright; he'd carried enough battle experience on him to know that these kinds of violent deaths only occurred at the hands of beasts and beings with supernatural strength or muscle mass- in fact, he'd more often than not watched Skavenslaves get pulverized or sent several meters flying through the air by cavalry, artillery and towering monstrous beasts (sometimes all in one group).

Clenching his rat-paw in steely determination, he peeked his whiskers around the corner, shaking more than usual, and scampered up the alley, following the source of the boisterous bloodletting and meaty impacts signaling brutal fighting was taking place. Only to see-

"RAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

A disorienting guttural bellow sounded from the east, and Snik scurried over to glimpse a most bizarre and frightening sight.

Enos, trying to tear through a gang of Orks who were beating on him mercilessly at the far end of the camp, near the outer worksite. As Snik got even closer, the fight was somehow even-matched; Enos had somehow grown considerably taller since Snik had last seen him only a week ago, and was now towering over the Orks he was engaged with in a deadly brawl.

Enos roared once more, slamming his fist through the Skull of the first Ork and sending him flying backwards into a nearby Goblin stall. His other hand clenched the throat of the second Ork, who wailed on his arm in futile effort as Enos began slowly crushing his esophagus. The third Ork picked up a nearby plank and bashed Enos over the head with it, and finally did he come crashing to the ground in a temporarily dazed state.

The Orks descended on him with quick and battle-infused haste, beating on him while he was trying to get up from the ground.

Snik chittered in hesitation, wondering if he should sneak out and help the man-thing with an ambush.

No, no! His Skaven psyche protested. It was not the Skaven way to go out of one's convenience to benefit someone else. It worked against his very nature to be 'helpful'!

And yet, no matter how much the Eshin assassin quarreled against himself, he could not forget the moment, years ago, when Enos had gone out of his way to help his enemy by giving him a large stick of bread. Snik remembered how life-changingly delicious that bread was to him, in his tormenting state of starvation. He remembered how the hope he had abandoned for living had resurged in throes of body-encompassing passion, refueling his instinctive need to survive every day that passed.

It was antithetical to the Skaven's nature to reflect on the kindness of others, and he had never done it before; but literally everyone and everything the Skaven interacted with only benefitted them if it also benefitted themselves. Those that didn't work with the Skaven abhorred them and called for their extermination as a societal norm. Tacking that onto the fact that Skaven needed to eat five times a day, and the only recipe that could be conjured up was one of world domination to ensure that every Skaven could eat without ever experiencing starvation again.

It wasn't a fun existence. But in that singular, passing moment the Skaven had with Enos, Snik had seen another world- one of advancement, social progress and inclusivity of people from across the world. It was like peering into another universe, one undaunted and unplagued by the horrors this world proffered on a regular basis.

At the end of the day, Snik adhered to his stomach more than anything else. He relied on it not only to keep him alive, but to act as his 'gut' instinct. If his stomach rumbled, it meant that there was still blood to be spilled, and food to feast upon. If his stomach was filled, it meant that he had good allies and victories ahead which would keep his source of food secured.

He had never experienced both at the same time, but just that had occurred the moment Enos had given him that piece of bread.

Of course, all of this pontification occurred in the span of mere seconds; Skaven minds were, if nothing else, exceedingly clever and intelligent- on par with that of professional engineers, lawyers and doctors. They were very fucking smart. And that included social intelligence, too- though without a drop of empathy involved.

Imagine, if you will, an entire race of intelligent rat-men who could design mechanical innovations and weapons of mass destruction with ease; their only drawback being that they are cowardly, unbreakably self-serving, and distrustful without a fault.

Additionally, they were lying, cheating, stealing, back-stabbing and absolutely unreliable as long-term allies, or even short-term.

In this singular moment, Snik managed to break all of these societal norms of a Skaven society with the sheer force of emotional affection, personal enlightenment and gratuitous self-justification. Centuries, if not millennia of social reinforcement to adhere to oneself and no one else- it had crumbled with frightening quickness. The cause of this could not be reasonably or factually identified. Only by observation alone could one discern that this singular Skaven had acted unlike none other of its race in the following hour.

Snik came to his decision, sober and rational.

He would help Enos, and risk his life, because he believed that this man-thing alone could change the world and benefit Snik himself in the long-run. This was exactly what his gut feeling told him, with all its prescience and confidence as a stomach that did stomach things.

And so, without a moment's further hesitation, Snik darted over the cover he used and dashed with murderous intent towards the Ork that had originally bashed Enos over the head with a plank.

With deadly silence, Snik climbed atop the Ork and opened its throat with speediness, then hopped onto the next Ork's head to do the same. It managed to shake him off with its hulking arms, but not before Snik snatched a blade from his own hand with his tail and sliced the Greenskin's throat before landing on the ground.

"Hehe! I have made Deathmaster Snikch proud with this death-blow!"

The first Ork whose face had been caved in by Enos finally recovered, stumbling back into the fight with careless ferocity. Snik acted quick to skitter forward and slice its heels, causing the towering beast to plummet into the dirt. Before it could raise itself back up, Snik pounced on its vulnerable demeanor and lacerated the Ork before sticking a blade through the back of its neck.

The second Ork refocused its attention on the rat-man and charged predictably. The Eshin assassin had to use no more than a few dozen muscles, utilizing its tail to pick up and flick the cumbersome sword of the fallen Ork at the aggressive assailant.

THUNK!

The sword cleaved through the approaching Ork's face, causing it to collapse into the dirt. Rain soon followed its timely death, and Snik scurried over to Enos' beaten body to check on his health.

What-what the fuck-fuck are you doing, you stupid rat-thing!

Snik's inner Skaven nature screamed obscenities at him for his incredibly unbecoming behavior. He may as well have been a different race for how contrasted his actions were in accordance with what his race displayed at all times. But he cared not. The selfless nature of Enos was something that Snik could hardly see as cowardice, or naivete, or any other sort of weakness; for Enos was clearly more than aware of the potential risks to his actions and proceeded anyways.

"Man-thing…. Enos! Get back to your camp-site, you stupid man-thing!"

Despite the desperate gibberings of the Skaven, Enos picked himself up, and for the first time the Skaven saw what true malice looked like.

(Music: "The Eyes of My Mother", by MORIS BLAK)

Every portion of Enos' face was pulled back in teeth-gritting, unrealized rage. He was deadset on whatever horrid objective nested within his mind. His muscles pulsed with flowing wrath manifested, his eyes dilated in frenzied murderous rage. Waves of unspeakable and magical power pulsed outward from his body, afflicting Snik with a chaotic mixture of extreme emotions that overloaded his sensory nerves.

Intimidated utterly by Enos' demeanor, Snik fell behind him and followed as Enos began his warpath against the camp, renewed and emboldened through his own damaged psyche and the encouragement of another ally on the battlefield.

Enos stomped through the camp, and for the first minutes any Greenskin that stood in his way which he didn't recognize as his own was immediately pulverized by cudgel. The first Greenskin he'd encountered after his recovery- a Goblin- was pounced upon and torn to shreds. Enos dug his thumbs into its eyes, relishing in its screams of terror and agonizing pain, before crushing its head entirely. The next Greenskin, a moderate-sized Ork, bellowed in rapacious excitement and charged Enos head-on. It was not prepared when Enos sidestepped its rampaging path, tripping it by its feet before stabbing the Ork dozens of times in the head and body. Then he partially ate the corpse right in front of Snik.

Snik was awfully impressed. He didn't think that Enos was capable of demonstrating such ferocity, nor did he believe that Enos was hardy enough to gorge on any meal that sat before him. On both accounts he was wrong, and now Snik was dedicated to watching Enos' next bouts. This man-thing was more Skaven-like in behavior than expected! That alone was enough to reinforce Snik's trust in this gut feeling that propelled him so readily to back Enos in this oncoming onslaught.

After consuming the previous Ork, Enos' wounds had almost instantaneously regenerated, an effect which the rat-man both abhorred and was extremely excited by. Bodily regeneration was a long-coveted rumor of the Skaven, for he who could heal his body in the same moment he was wounded could prove invincible and undaunted, which would allow such a fortunate individual to gain notoriety and status in no time at all. And tons of food!

What an enviable skill!

Content with the result of his actions, Snik continued watching Enos as he rampaged through the camp, fighting all that challenged him and miraculously leaving the submissive Greenskins alone. How Enos had managed to retain his sanity during this onslaught, the rat-man had to ponder ferociously.

Snik then started noticing others joining in alongside the fighting with Enos. A few human slaves, both male and female, took up arms with their tools to wage havoc alongside Enos, as well as a mob of Goblins, Gretchins and Snotlings that Snik had identified as workers and artisans in Enos' camp-site.

What a surreal experience! Snik had experienced a plentitude of Greenskins in his short lifespan, and never before had he seen them fighting alongside non-Greenskin races. This was a historical precedent, but naturally it would be lost in the fervor of battle as many profound revelations were.

The constancy of battle never wavered; As Enos led the way with his growing alliance of mixed races, Snik covered the flank for any sneaky Goblins or Orks with a penchant for ambushing. The group of battle-frenzied maniacs led by Enos would either surround fight-ready Orks and beat them to smithereens or clash with a Greenskin gang that grew belligerent to their insubordinate fightiness.

Enos' makeshift gang had reached halfway into the camp by now, and already there were fights beginning to erupt near their path of havoc; the inherent genetic desire for brutality and violence had erupted in Greenskins who bore witness to the collective battle, and soon enough everyone was fighting practically everyone else.

Snik watched on in gleeful malice as heads caved in, ribs cracked, bones broke and blood flew; for the corpses and half-dead bodies that crashed onto the ground were now prime food for the ever-ravenous Eshin Skaven. He feasted on the Greenskins with a priority; they tasted far better raw and bled far less compared to humans, which made for a more enjoyable dining experience and was less likely to taint his pristine, stygian-black outfit.

And yet, in the midst of feasting upon a sinewy and bulky Ork, Snik's eyes glanced upward in curiosity, only to dilate in apprehension and awe once his beady pupils laid upon the center of attention.

By this stage of the fight, most of those on his side were becoming fatigued from the continuous raging battle, as was a sign of the mortality of all finite beings in this world. Yet Enos showed no signs of such exhaustion, and in fact seemed even more emboldened and strengthened by the extensive and constant warfare laying waste to everyone and everything in the vicinity of this miasmic figure.

Orks flocked to him for battle like ducklings to a crocodile; utterly fanatic to the art of fighting, and yet exercising complete futility in the pursuit of their unending goal.

Enos craned his fist and slung it with the strength of a Rat Ogre, obliterating the side of an Ork's face into red mash and sending its body careening into the nearby pit of work stations a few meters away. Two Orks took its place, only to be clotheslined by Enos's forearms and subsequently mobbed by his followers.

With each enemy felled, more of the camp's onlookers were increasingly showing their favoritism towards Enos and his group; Those Greenskins that weren't fighting against him were joining on his side to fight as they saw the battle going ever in his favor, and human slaves joined almost instantly upon seeing one of their own fighting against the status quo.

The rotation of exhausted and replenished fervor of the group reached the center of the camp, and by this time there was naught a single resident of the camp who wasn't fighting on one of the two sides of this conflict. Snik's feasting had come to an end, for he was now occupied in the middle of a slaughterfest that encapsulated the entire camp- akin to a miniature civil war.

"OOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WUZ ALL DIS DEN?"

(Music: "U Got That - DRIFT PHONK", by ZØMB)

The fight seemed to halt for just a singular moment as a powerful, booming and menacingly-gravelly voice bellowed over the entire camp. All heads turned up to look at the massive Black Ork standing atop the Boss' Rock (where the leader of the camp resided when not fighting). Seemingly over nine feet tall, equipped in coarse-black jagged armor and boasting a full crude helmet over its head.

WHOOMPF!

The Black Ork hopped off the rock and shattered the ground with his impact into the middle of the foray, yet not a single soul dared move in his presence. He wielded a huge two-headed battleaxe in both his hands, swinging it around in the air as if a part of his own body. The aura of a great murderer with years of experience simply exuded from his pores, infecting those around him with an antediluvian fear of being violently slaughtered, even in those Orks who instinctively loved a fight- there was no battle to be had in a one-sided beatdown. Without so much as a hint of showing fear or caution, the Black Ork swaggered through the crowd of sweat-heavy, battle-weary combatants all around him, his gaze focused singularly on one person only.

Snik's gaze switched to Enos, who had seemingly not registered anything much around him as he was still caught in the middle of a bloodlusting kill-frenzy. Those Orks he was still fighting were slaughtered as they were caught off-guard and distracted by the Black Ork's presence, and eventually Enos turned his murderous sockets on the biggest fighter in the camp.

"WOKE ME UP FROM ME NAP, YA FUCKIN' 'UMIE! YOOZ BETTA 'AVE A GOOD FOIGHT IN YA FOR DAT TRANS-GREH-SHUN!"

Without another word spoken, the Black Ork effortlessly lifted the battleaxe over his head and swung downwards on Enos' neck. In half a second, Enos dove away just as the battleaxe missed him and cleaved into the Ork Enos was holding down, splitting him in two. The Black Ork chuckled low and ominously.

"JUS' WANTED 'TA CON-FURM, PINKSKIN!"

Snik looked on in apprehension. He'd gained more than enough information on this Black Ork, and the more he learned the less he was inclined to believe Enos would win this fight.

Known as Rayza Bakk, this Black Ork had personally served in the elite Black Ork legion under Grimgor Ironhide himself, one of the most renowned Black Orks in the entire world. Snik had managed to find out that Rayza and his squad were dispatched to Ogkaz's clan as a sign of alliance, but instead of using them in battle, Ogkaz had delegated them to oversee the various encampments and tribes he ran throughout the Badlands.

This had infuriated the Black Orks, and especially Rayza as he was almost set up to embark on a campaign against Varenka Hills, one of the Dwarves' strongholds in the Badlands and a surefire way to get involved in a massive war-ridden campaign. To give Black Orks the promise of bloodshed only to resign them to boring administrative positions was no doubt one of the highest forms of sacrilege to an Ork, and so Snik wondered if there might be a way to turn this fight into a form of compromise.

However, that didn't seem to be quite possible at the moment.

CRACK!

The Black Ork had expressed surprise as his face took the full brunt of Enos' punch, launching the Ork crashing several meters into the dirt and careening through the horde of fighters gathered in the middle of the camp. With that blow, the camp's fighting broke out once more, and thick mists of blood soon floated about the camp's atmosphere.

Enos and Rayza fought through the hordes, ignoring all other possible threats and focusing purely on each other. Their fight stuck out in the crowd of battle like a shining beacon of pure warfare; Rayza would launch a flurry of battleaxe swings, and Enos would swiftly dodge and block the swings with his cudgel, which proved unnaturally resilient to the hulking and well-maintained weapon in the Ork's hands.

Their fighting was fluid, and both combatants kept advancing up the mound of rocks leading up to the Boss' Rock to try and leverage a higher ground on the other. Neither fighter cared for those around them, swinging their great weapons around them for momentum and carelessly bashing or cleaving through the unlucky individuals caught in their destructive moving bout.

What magnificence!, Snik shrieked internally. To see such a glorious sight of slaughter and carnage, to see his betting horse matching evenly with such a fearsome foe as a Black Ork, to relish in the independence he had from Skaven society and to view this as a third and wholly-unrelated party.

MAGNIFICENT!

Snik chittered, almost cackling in utter delight at the fortune shining upon him. He praised the Great Horned Rat for this mind-numbingly ecstatic experience! His ego grew in proportion with his soaring hopes for the future; he wanted badly to see how far Enos could carry this insane and logic-defying vie for power.

However, Snik was wary of his prized steed being slain before he could reach the apex of greatness, and propel Snik to even greater heights. Hurriedly, he skittered across the battlements, weaving his way around the edges of the battle and masterfully disposing of any who tried to turn their weapons on him. Extremely agile and exceedingly covert, as was conditioned in all Eshin Skaven who survived such brutal training over the years.

Snik reached the Boss' Rock and managed to glimpse a sight of Enos and the Black Ork dueling violently, though this time both of them were covered in noticeable wounds; Enos' face, arms, torso and legs were littered with gashes and near-miss slices; there was even a considerable laceration cleaved a couple inches into Enos' side, yet he seemed no less distressed than before; the same malicious and violence-seeking expression outlined every crevice in his face.

Rayza was also battered, but noticeably less so than Enos; portions of his painted armor were severely dented or puncturing into the Ork's flesh, and his helmet was nearly caved into his skull. Frustrated with the discomfort, Rayza took off the helmet with one hand and threw it to the side, revealing a battle-scarred green Orkish face, coupled with glowering red-beaded eyes staring with heavy interest at his opponent.

"YOOZ A REAL FOIGHTA. TOO BAD YOOZ WEREN'T BORN GREEN, OR OI WOULDA BRUNG YOO INTO DA LEGION!"

Enos stood up, his demeanor changed. It was clear he'd come down from the frenzied state he'd found himself in at the beginning of this rampage, and now his eyes were fixed on the Black Ork with a different kind of malice. He swiped a spiked mace from a makeshift weapon rack behind him, glancing down at it with calculating malevolence.

"This'll do."