The fortress world of Halcyon Ultima burned. Once the jewel of Veilstrider's Wake, the last bastion of the Imperium in the system, its skies were now choked with the smoke of ruined hive spires and the shattered hulks of fallen voidships. The final hive city, Gildrath Magna, stood as the last desperate stand of humanity, a sprawling mega-monolith of towering gothic cathedrals, adamantium bastions, and hive-spanning manufactorums that had once been an unassailable fortress. Now, it was a warzone beyond imagination. The Ultramarines 3rd Company, their cerulean armor blackened with soot and gore, defended the palace district, holding the last line with precision and discipline. The Raven Guard, shadowy specters among the rubble, struck from hidden kill-zones, their ambushes thinning the Ork tide but barely making a dent. The Cadian 501st and the Krieg 143rd Siege Regiment fought with grim determination, trenches filled with the dead and dying, artillery batteries firing nonstop until their barrels melted, only to be replaced by more. At the heart of the city, Shield-Captain Aurex Valion and what remained of the Adeptus Custodes shield-company prepared for their inevitable, final battle. Around them, millions of desperate civilians and shattered regiments fought for their lives, knowing death was the only certainty.
From the east, Killkrumpa Weirdblitz and the Waaagh! Eternal charged, a tide of cybernetic horrors, war-warped monstrosities, and gargantuan war machines. Supanobz, in hulking armor bigger than Dreadnoughts, led the charge, while Warp Mekz unleashed weapons that defied reason, twisting reality with every shot. The Psychoz green-lit with crackling Waaagh energy and turned entire Imperial formations into pulped meat with unhinged psychic fury. Gargant Rokz had already smashed through the outer defenses, their impact craters now churning with a relentless flood of Orks and war machines. Red, the nightmare intelligence at the heart of the Waaagh Eternal, had already crippled the city's last anti-Ork auspex relays, ensuring no one saw what was coming until it was too late.
From the west, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka and the Green Krusade stormed forward, a more brutal, meat-grinder force of Meganobs, Deff Dreads, and sheer, unfiltered brutality. Warbosses that had crushed entire sectors under their boots fought side by side, Meganobz smashed into the crumbling walls like living battering rams, and massive Squiggoths trampled Imperial lines into gore-streaked paste. Where Killkrumpa's army was a precise, calculated nightmare, Ghazghkull's was an unrelenting storm of pure, primal Ork savagery. And neither Waaagh slowed down. Neither stopped. Neither turned on the other.
Not yet.
Instead, they carved a path through the hive city with ruthless efficiency, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake. Titan-killers, fortress-busters, and city-smashers rampaged through every street, past entire regiments of doomed humans who tried, in vain, to halt them. Knights of House Vyronii fell screaming as Killkrumpa tore one in half before flipping another into a charging Baneblade. Ghazghkull shoulder-checked a Warhound Titan, sending it crashing through five buildings, then ripped its crew out of their seats and bit the Princeps in half, chewing thoughtfully as he kicked the burning wreckage aside. The Death Korps of Krieg, unshaken, fought to the last, collapsing tunnels and detonating strongholds, but nothing stopped the inevitable.
In the midst of the maelstrom, the two warlords marched forward, never slowing, never hesitating. Killkrumpa's four massive arms unloaded titanic bursts of dakka, vaporizing Space Marines and tanks alike, while his tail lashed out, half a squad of Raven Guard, their black-armored bodies dangling like meat on a butcher's hook. Ghazghkull, laughing, backhanded a Black Templar so hard he was launched into the next hive sector, then crushed a Land Raider beneath his boot with a sickening crunch of ceramite and bone.
Then, at last, they met.
The air crackled with raw Waaagh energy, reality itself distorting as the two titanic Orks stood face to face at the center of the city, in the shattered ruins of the Saint Solis Cathedral, its massive gothic arches now barely standing. The battlefield fell silent, Orks, Imperials, and even the dying civilians pausing as a force beyond reason took hold of the world itself. The very stones beneath them hummed with unnatural energy, the sheer presence of these two warlords warping the battlefield into something unrecognizable.
Killkrumpa grinned, his massive fanged maw split wide, his Necrodermis flesh rippling with raw power. Ghazghkull cracked his knuckles, the crude, brutal cybernetics of his war form grinding with savage purpose. There were no words now. No taunts. No boasts.
Just bloodshed.
The collision shattered the ruins, sending a shockwave that collapsed entire districts, the sheer force of the impact tearing the ground asunder. They traded blows that would have obliterated Titans, fists, claws, and brutal weapons crashing against each other with earth-splitting force. Ghazghkull swung his Power Klaw, and Killkrumpa caught it with his own, the air between them exploding in a burst of Waaagh lightning. Killkrumpa's tail slammed into Ghazghkull's gut, launching the Prophet of the Waaagh through the remains of a manufactorum, but he crashed through the rubble and came back laughing, swinging his Klaw with renewed fury.
They fought for hours, locked in a battle so intense that the very fabric of reality warped around them. Each blow they exchanged sent shockwaves ripping through the city, collapsing structures that had stood for centuries, obliterating war machines, and reducing entire battalions of desperate defenders to splatters of red and steel. The streets of Gildrath Magna ran thick with fire and blood as the two titanic Orks waged war upon each other with a savagery beyond mortal comprehension. Their roars shook the heavens; their laughter echoed over the battlefield like rolling thunder, and with every clash of their monstrous fists, the world itself seemed to recoil from the sheer force of their rage.
Killkrumpa launched himself forward with a speed unnatural for his size, his four massive arms swinging in a brutal flurry. Ghazghkull met the charge with his own devastating power, his massive Klaw swiping with bone-shattering force, his iron-plated skull smashing into his foe with the impact of a Titan's charge. The two behemoths collided again and again, their blows striking with such cataclysmic force that the ground beneath them split open, sending jagged fissures racing through the city, swallowing men, tanks, and even entire hab-blocks in its gaping maw. The Imperials, who still fought for their lives, could do nothing but flee in terror or be caught in the wake of this apocalyptic duel.
The Reaver Titan, its mighty war horns blaring in defiance, stomped through the burning streets, its plasma blastgun glowing white-hot as it aimed the battling Orks. It never got the chance to fire. Ghazghkull, roaring with savage delight, grabbed Killkrumpa by the throat and hurled him straight into the god-machine's armored chest. The impact sent the massive war engine stumbling back, its stabilizers screaming, its void shields flickering uselessly. But Killkrumpa, laughing like a storm given voice, recovered instantly, his four massive hands clawing into the Titan's leg plating with monstrous force. With a deep, bellowing roar, he wrenched the entire limb free in a cataclysm of torn metal, severed servos, and screaming hydraulics, sending fountains of fire and smoke geyser into the sky. The god-machine groaned like a dying beast, sparks vomiting from its ruined limb as it tilted precariously. Killkrumpa didn't give it time to fall. With a wild grin, he heaved the entire Titan up with a strength that defied all logic, the guttural screech of rending steel echoing across the battlefield. Then, with a mighty bellow, he hurled the multi-ton war engine straight at Ghazghkull. The Prophet of Gork and Mork barely had time to register what was happening before the Reaver crashed into him like a falling mountain, its entire collapsing bulk smashing him through a row of shattered hab-blocks, burying him under thousands of tons of burning wreckage. The Imperials who witnessed the scene stood frozen in horror, unable to comprehend the sheer, impossible brutality unfolding before them, as Killkrumpa, still grinning, stalked toward the ruin, ready for more. The Titan blew.
The explosion sent both warlords hurtling through the air, smashing through burning habs, crashing through manufactorums, and rolling through crumbling chapels like wrecking balls given sentience. The wreckage of Imperial industry crumbled around them as they fought through the inferno, never slowing, never stopping. Fuel reserves ignited, sending plumes of fire into the sky, the orange glow bathing the city in an eerie light as the two Orks slammed each other into the remains of gothic cathedrals, the towering structures folding like paper beneath their might.
They tore into a heavily fortified bastion where the last remnants of the Cadian 501st had set up their final stand. Lasguns fired wildly, plasma cannons blazed, and desperate men screamed prayers to the Emperor as they tried to hold the line. It was a futile effort. Killkrumpa grabbed a Leman Russ battle tank, its treads still grinding against the rubble, and swung it like a club. The turret snapped off like a twig as the makeshift weapon crashed through the defenders, crushing dozens of men in a single swing, turning them into a splattered mess of red and armor. Ghazghkull, not to be outdone, picked up a Baneblade that had been firing into the Ork horde, lifted it above his head, and threw it straight into a Basilica of Saint Karos, the holy structure imploding in a massive detonation of faith, fuel, and screaming bodies.
Through the fire and wreckage, the two monsters crashed into each other again, their battle drowning out the cries of the dying, the gunfire, and even the blaring alarms of the city's failing defenses. A Land Raider attempted to intervene, its heavy bolters chugging, its lascannons cutting through the smoke. Killkrumpa ignored the scorching beams of light searing against his necrodermis flesh, reached out, grabbed the tank by its front, and ripped it open like a ration can, exposing the horrified Space Marines inside. Before they could even react, he reached in and pulled one out by the leg, swinging the screaming Astartes into the others like a grotesque club until there was nothing left but ruined ceramite and blood-slicked meat.
The ruins of Saint Solis Cathedral, once the grandest structure in the entire hive city, became their next battleground. Its shattered spires and ruined halls were painted in the blood of priests and nobles who had thought the Emperor would save them. Now, it was a tomb of broken faith, a warzone where two living gods of destruction clashed with unholy fury. Killkrumpa tackled Ghazghkull through the massive stained-glass windows, sending them both crashing through the altar, their combined impact shattering the ancient stone like brittle bone. Holy relics were crushed underfoot, golden statues of the Emperor were torn apart in their struggle, and a massive Aquila, once a beacon of Imperial faith, was reduced to nothing more than jagged wreckage beneath the weight of their battle.
Through the cathedral, they fought, bashing each other through sanctuaries, collapsing balconies, destroying entire sections of the hive without a second thought. The last remaining Custodian Guard, Shield-Captain Aurex Valion, charged into the fray, his golden armor gleaming even in the midst of destruction. He was the Emperor's chosen, a warrior without equal, his guardian spear slicing through the air with blinding speed as he aimed for the biggest threat to mankind. Neither Ork even looked at him.
A single, careless backhand from Ghazghkull hit him in mid-charge, the blow shattering his armor, crushing his ribcage, and launching him across the battlefield like a thrown doll. He hit the remains of a shattered adamantium pillar, his body exploding on impact, his golden armor painted red with the gore that had once been his insides. His spear clattered to the ground, useless, forgotten.
They did not stop.
The battle continued, wading through the broken corpses of Astartes, Custodians, Krieg, Templars, and civilians alike, neither caring about the billions dying around them, only the fight that mattered. Entire districts crumbled, plasma reactors exploded, void shields flickered and failed, and even the fabric of the Warp itself trembled at the sheer energy radiating from the two warlords.
But in the end, Killkrumpa always won.
Killkrumpa stood over the smoking wreckage, his massive form casting a monstrous shadow over the battered and beaten Ghazghkull. The fight was done, the city around them a ruined testament to their sheer, unrelenting fury. Buildings lay in heaps of rubble, war machines burned in the distance, and the ground itself had been shattered under the weight of their blows. The Imperials who had fought so desperately for their lives were nothing more than scattered remnants, their defenses obliterated by the unstoppable tide of green.
Ghazghkull bloodied but still breathing, forced himself onto his feet, glaring at the biggest, baddest Ork who had ever walked the galaxy. His armor was cracked, his power klaw sparked and trembled, but his spirit refused to break. He spat out a glob of thick, dark blood and snarled through his tusks. "Ain't done yet, ya great git."
Killkrumpa let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his massive tusks splitting into a jagged grin. "Yeah, ya are. But dat's alrigh'. Ya fought good, Ghazzy. Best fight I had since…eva." He leaned down, his burning green eyes locking onto Ghazghkull's own. "But dere ain't room fer two biggest bosses. An' dere sure as zog ain't no Waaagh dat stands on its own when I'm around."
Ghazghkull's hands clenched into fists. The urge to swing again, to fight until there was nothing left of him, burned in his gut. But something in Killkrumpa's gaze stopped him. It wasn't just victory. It wasn't just brute strength. It was something more. Something worse.
Killkrumpa's grin widened. "I ain't gonna kill ya, ya dumb git. Dat'd be a waste. Nah… I got sumfin better fer ya." He stood back to his full, impossible height and spread his four massive arms wide. "Yer gonna be my Ultranob. Da biggest, nastiest Nob in da whole zoggin' Waaagh! Eternal. Ya ain't just any Ork no more, Ghazzy. Yer gonna stand beside me. Under me. But still, beside me."
Ghazghkull's growl deepened. "I ain't no git's lackey."
Killkrumpa barked a laugh. "Yer right. Yer da Prophet of Gork and Mork. Da meanest, fightiest, toughest Ork before I showed up. An' now? Now yer da second meanest, second fightiest, second toughest. But ya ain't no lackey. Yer da zoggin' Ultranob of da Waaagh Eternal. Da whole zoggin' galaxy's gonna know yer name—same way dey know mine. Ya get to fight, krump, lead da boyz, an' burn da whole zoggin' Imperium down, right next to me."
For the first time in his life, Ghazghkull hesitated. He had led Waaaghs that shook the stars. He had krumped demigods in their golden armor. But he had never faced an Ork like this. Never fought a beast that made the galaxy itself shake with fear. And deep down, in the burning remnants of his bones, he knew.
Killkrumpa was right.
Killkrumpa lifted a single, massive claw and flicked his fingers.
The sky above them split open.
Invisible, insidious control threads, billions upon billions of them, surged through the Warp, pouring down like an unseen storm. They latched onto Ghazghkull and his entire Waaagh, weaving through their thick skulls, wrapping around their minds like chains of steel. Ghazghkull's body tensed, his muscles locking as a pressure unlike anything he had ever felt crashed down on him, an impossible weight pressing into his brain, into his bones, into the very core of what made him Ork.
He resisted.
But it was like trying to hold back an ocean with his bare hands.
With a great, shuddering growl, his knee hit the ground. He fought it, even then, veins bulging, teeth clenched, his whole body trembling against the compulsion sinking into him.
And then, he knelt.
One by one, his Boyz followed. Meganobz, Warbosses, entire mobs of once-independent Orks, the Green Krusade itself—all of them bent the knee, their defiant roars twisting into something else. Not fear. Not submission.
Acceptance.
Killkrumpa threw back his head and roared, the sound splitting the heavens, shaking the ruined city to its foundations, a deafening, thunderous declaration of dominance. "WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
The Waaagh! Eternal, now greater than ever, joined the cry, their voices rising into a planet-shaking, Warp-splitting, soul-shredding howl of raw, undeniable power. And Orks throughout the galaxy felt it.
From the ruins of Gildrath Magna, from the wreckage of a thousand worlds, from every greenskin in the galaxy, the cry rose in answer.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"
The universe shit itself.