Chapter 62: We Ork Warriors Are Fearless!

The Primarch emerged from the mound of Ork corpses, dragging the defeated Warlord Bonebreaker behind him like a broken doll. The Ork army, once a tide of unrelenting savagery, dissolved into chaos. Their lines crumbled as terror rippled through their ranks. The sheer presence of the Primarch, amplified by their own Waaagh! field, turned their fear into a palpable, choking force. Many Orks couldn't even muster the strength to lift their weapons in defiance.

The battle's objective was complete. The delay orchestrated by the Imperial forces ensured that the Orks' war effort on Organa would falter. A Warlord captured by humans was no longer fit to lead; his authority would disintegrate unless he escaped on his own. Without a new leader rising to unify the mobs, it was impossible for the Orks to muster their forces in time to join the primary conflict.

The sight of the Orks scattering like a broken wave left the remaining Imperial troops stunned. Victory against such overwhelming numbers seemed like a dream. For the Death Korps of Krieg, accustomed to grinding attrition battles, this outcome defied their grim expectations.

Krieg soldiers wiped Ork blood from their bayonets with disciplined precision. They moved toward the Primarch, awe glimmering faintly behind the cold visors of their bird-like respirators. The towering, blood-drenched figure was a symbol of power, their beacon of hope in the heart of chaos. Though their stoic demeanor remained outwardly intact, a current of triumph coursed through their hearts—a rare moment of redemption and glory in lives defined by duty and sacrifice.

When the Primarch had descended like a wrathful god, the Krieg soldiers had followed without hesitation. Now, standing amidst the carnage, the light of his presence burned even brighter.

As the battlefield quieted, countless soldiers received a synchronized command through the Heart Network. For a brief moment, their faces behind the respirators betrayed confusion, but clarity quickly returned. They moved to regroup.

The Ultramarines company, led by Captain Gray, advanced alongside the Primarch's personal guard. Despite the blood and grime of battle, the Ultramarines bore expressions of triumph. Since pledging their allegiance to the Second Primarch, they had marched from one glorious victory to the next.

The Primarch's guard, however, remained composed. These warriors, veterans of Ophelia VII, considered victory not a miracle but a certainty. Their loyalty and discipline were unwavering, forged in the crucible of countless campaigns.

One soldier, Kane, silently offered a prayer to the God-Emperor. "Your Majesty, thank you for your blessing. Victory has come to me again, though I played but a small part. I am unworthy of such glory."

With the troops assembled, the Primarch led them back to the fleet. Bonebreaker, bound and defiant, was dragged along, his fate now in the hands of Imperial intelligence.

Within the flagship's intelligence chamber, Dukel delivered the captive Ork Warlord to the gathered interrogators.

"Break his will completely," Dukel commanded, his tone as cold as the void. "This mission is critical for humanity. Can you achieve this?"

The intelligence officers exchanged uneasy glances. One finally stepped forward, choosing his words with care.

"Your Highness, our methods... most of them are designed for humans. The physiology and psychology of Orks are vastly different. Their senses are duller, and their bodies are resistant to pain. Additionally, their Waaagh! field grants them a strange resilience to conventional techniques."

He elaborated further, explaining how the crude simplicity of Ork biology rendered standard Imperial interrogation methods ineffective. Tortures that could break the most hardened human heretic might barely faze an Ork.

Dukel's brow furrowed. "This is inconvenient."

Even his psychic abilities were hampered. Ork minds were resistant to direct manipulation due to their unique genetic makeup and collective psychic presence. Breaking Bonebreaker's will would require first dismantling his psychological defenses—a task that seemed increasingly difficult.

Bonebreaker sneered despite his restraints, masking his fear with defiance. "Hah! You humies think you can break me? I'd rather die!"

Dukel's eyes narrowed. The Warlord's bravado only fueled his determination. He pondered alternative solutions, and one name came to mind: the Adeptus Mechanicus.

The Imperium's tech-priests were unparalleled in their expertise with machinery, including the tools of interrogation. Torture devices crafted by the Mechanicus could break even the hardest of wills. Humans, xenos, even stones would cry out under the precise ministrations of their instruments.

Fortunately, Dukel had access to one of the Mechanicus' greatest minds: Archmagos Gris. Though Gris was stationed on another star system, the Heart Network made distance irrelevant. Without hesitation, Dukel summoned a servitor and used it to channel Gris' consciousness into the machine's neural interface.

The servitor's mechanical eyes flickered red as Gris acclimated to his new vessel. "Your Highness," Gris began, his tone both deferential and clinical. "I see you've already captured the Warlord. Remarkable work."

"Can you extract the information we need?" Dukel asked.

"I have considered this problem before," Gris replied, his servitor body humming as he accessed stored data. "I believe it is achievable. Leave it to me."

Gris led the Ork Warlord into the interrogation chamber. His calm, methodical demeanor unnerved even the seasoned intelligence officers. The sight of the hulking Ork being restrained and the door closing behind him left the room in a heavy silence.

Bonebreaker's defiance remained unshaken. As the doors sealed, he bellowed, "You humies think you're clever? We Ork warriors don't fear nothing! Waaagh!"

But within moments, the chamber was filled with screams. The sound of machinery whirring and the guttural roars of pain echoed through the corridors. The once-boastful Warlord's cries grew louder, interspersed with desperate pleas and guttural Ork curses.

"No! Waaagh! What is this? Stop it! Aaaaargh!"

Outside the chamber, the intelligence personnel exchanged uneasy glances. The screams lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the Mechanicus' efficiency. Some began to question their own methods, wondering if they should seek training from the Mechanicus to improve their craft.

For days, the Warlord's cries resonated through the ship. Each passing moment wore down not only Bonebreaker's resolve but also the nerves of every officer who heard him.

By the end, even the most hardened among them could not forget the sound of the Ork's defiant laughter turning to screams, nor the unrelenting hum of the Mechanicus' instruments.

...

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