Chapter 11 NOOOOO

While the leadership of the Minor Crusade, having finally guessed who was aboard the shuttle, was tearing their hair out and frantically issuing orders to launch an assault, the small "Arvus" was already almost within reach of the ork positions. 

Inside the vehicle was not only the Saint, but also two pilots. Both of them were utterly devoted to the Saint and saw absolutely no problem with flying straight into the heart of the ork horde. 

- 'Ey, sum git, shoot down dat tiny flyin' tin-can! – bellowed Ghazghkull, sneering as he glared at the small shuttle. 

And since the warboss hadn't specified who exactly should open fire, a great multitude of orks raised their dakka to the skies, gleefully squeezing triggers and firing buttons. 

"DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA!" roared thousands of shootas and big shootas, sending heavy lead slugs hurtling toward the little machine. 

"BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!" The massive gargants and stompas joined in, their thunderous shots shaking the ground. 

But fate, it seemed, had other plans today. 

A spark and a momentary short circuit in the shuttle's fried wiring disabled the pilots' controls, causing the craft to suddenly dip downward. This allowed the massive tank shells and mega-laser beams to whiz past, mere centimeters away. 

Before the pilots could even panic, the controls came back online. But due to the twisted control stick, the shuttle spun wildly around its axis, sending it into a chaotic spiral... 

...sending the shuttle into a series of barrel rolls, narrowly dodging yet another wave of incoming shells. 

The sensors, flickering off for just a second, forced the pilots to pull up sharply, causing the next volley of shells meant for them to miss entirely and fly off into the void. 

Meanwhile, on the ground, the human command was rapidly going gray from stress, while the orks were losing their tempers. 

- Wot da zog are ya lot doin', ya bunch o' grot-brains?! – roared Mag Uruk Thraka, furious at the poor aim of his boys. – It's just one lil' tin-can! Shoot it down! Or else me power klaw's gonna find its way up sumwun's backside! 

With such a "motivational" pep talk, the orks redoubled their efforts, firing even more wildly in their desperate attempt to bring down the cheeky little machine. 

But, as it turned out, this was proving to be insanely difficult. 

Two tank shells fired by neighboring gargants managed to collide mid-air, creating a massive explosion. The blast not only obscured the view of the shuttle but also sent it careening sideways with the shockwave, allowing it to dodge yet another barrage of fire. This sent the orks into a frothing rage, their anger boiling over as they screamed and cursed at the elusive target. 

- Gra-ahhhh!" the huge orc roared in pain, and then, wheezing, fell silent forever. Kharn jumped from his body, holding the severed head of some random nameless boss by its implanted steel horns.

Obeying the fleeting desire of Kharn's chosen one, a wave of hellfire traveled across the skull, obliterating any hint of flesh, leaving only a bare, smoking skull.

- Skulls for the Skull Throne! - shouted Kharn, lifting the head of the now dead boss with his bare, monstrously muscular arm.

His cry was echoed by hundreds of the nearest damned space marines, who chose to be forever immersed in a bloody meat grinder that had no end in sight.

However, what Kharn had always liked about orcs was their ability to spill their blood. When fighting Orks, blood was always plentiful. Once the World Eaters had slaughtered one band of orcs, ten more would come at them.

Moreover, a wave of hatred was sweeping through the ranks of Khorn's berserkers. If there was one thing the Blood God's warriors didn't like, it was sorcery and psykers, and right now they were the ones attacking!

A whole army of weirdos were advancing, causing space itself to crackle and burst with green lightning bolts.

The Chaos Champion's fists clenched so tightly that his armor crackled. A web of swollen veins ran down Kharn's helmeted forehead from the strain.

-Ki-i-i-i-ll! - Kharn's howl echoed across the battlefield, causing even the orcs under the WAAAGH to shake for a split second. - Kill them all!

And the brutal, bloody battle erupted once more under the merciless laughter of the Dark Gods.

Watching the seemingly invincible little tin-can ignore the firepower of the entire ork horde, Ghazghkull began to feel a twinge of doubt. What he was seeing with his own eyes was impossible, yet it was happening right here, right now. 

To make matters worse, the warboss could easily predict the shuttle's trajectory. If it kept flying the way it was, it would land right next to him—or worse, crash directly on top of him! 

Something was very, very wrong! 

- 'Ey, you! – Ghazghkull's power klaw pointed menacingly at one of the nobz. – Tell dem weirdboyz to krump dat flyin' git! Now! 

- Right, boss! 

The order was given, and the weirdboyz, trembling with psychic convulsions, turned their glowing, energy-filled eyes toward the shuttle. 

The power of a weirdboy depended on the WAAAGH! energy fueling them, and with so many orks riled up, this had both good and bad sides. 

Yes, the weirdboyz were at their peak power, but there was a catch. There was so much energy that they couldn't control it. 

One of the weirdboyz raised his steel staff, crackling with green lightning, and unleashed his magic, aiming to destroy the pesky flying ship. 

But he immediately realized something was wrong. 

There was too much energy. The ork psyker tried to control the overwhelming power, but it effortlessly brought him to his knees. 

Two concentrated beams of green light shot from his eyes. Unable to contain the energy, the weirdboy opened his massive mouth in a scream, and another beam of green light erupted from it. 

Completely losing control, the weirdboy became an unstable magical bomb, ready to explode at any moment! 

But the universe of war never misses a chance to make any situation worse than it already is. 

You think the Imperium is a hellhole that can't be topped? "Hold our beer," say the Dark Mechanicus worlds. 

The out-of-control weirdboy began radiating massive waves of pure WAAAGH! energy in all directions. Nearby weirdboyz, caught in the blast, also started losing control, and within seconds, they too went mad, joining the expanding wave of green insanity. 

Noticing the chaos, Ghazghkull ordered his boys to start shooting the glowing green weirdboyz, but it was already too late... 

"Die—die—die!" Khârn snarled furiously, his boot grinding the mangled remains of one of the freaks into the wreckage of the blown-up tank. 

Finally, the Champion of Khorne regained some semblance of clarity and noticed something was wrong. Dozens of weirdboys had gathered together, performing some strange but undoubtedly powerful ritual. 

Khârn had lived an unnaturally long life, and he had faced psykers far too often not to recognize the danger of such rituals. 

His hand blurred through the air as he hurled one of his cursed axes, trembling with rage. 

In an instant, the weapon crossed hundreds of meters, striking directly into the skull of one of the weirdboys. But, strangely, the ork's head didn't explode—it merely jerked to the side, disrupting the carefully channeled stream of energy pouring from its mouth. 

The freak only had time to widen its eyes in terror before a blinding green flash consumed them all.

A deafening green explosion shook the orkish ranks.

The stompas closest to the blast were flipped onto their backs by the magical shockwave, while the orks unfortunate enough to be near the epicenter were incinerated in an instant. 

Even those who survived weren't left unscathed. The expanding shockwave was a "right nasty git," showing no mercy to anyone caught in its crushing embrace. 

"WOT DA ZOG?!" Ghazghkull roared, shaking his head and leaping to his feet. His bloodshot eyes scanned the chaotic mess of his forces. "WOT'S DIS ZOGGIN' MESS?! WOT'S ALL DIS GROT-SH—" The Warboss cut himself off as the smoke cleared, revealing the aftermath of the weirdboys' ritual. Or rather, their new masters. 

Ghazghkull's massive, steel-reinforced jaw dropped as the realization of who he was looking at finally hit his green skull. 

The towering former captain of the World Eaters surveyed the transformed battlefield. Khârn, unfazed by the sudden change in circumstances, stood ready. After centuries of war, both in the real world and the Warp, there were few things that could unsettle the terrifying war machine that he was. The same could be said for the other World Eaters who had arrived. In their blood-crazed frenzy, they would've charged an Imperial Titan head-on. 

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" The nightmarish cry shattered the fragile equilibrium that had somehow formed, and all hell broke loose. 

It was said that a mere dozen Space Marines could conquer an entire world. And the terrifying truth was that these tales often undersold the horror that the Emperor's sons truly were. Faster, stronger, and armored to the point where conventional weapons were useless, these warriors possessed senses and reflexes so heightened that ordinary humans moved like sluggish flies to them. 

Even though the orks still numbered over six hundred thousand after the explosion, two hundred World Eaters were not something to be ignored. Especially when they were right in the middle of your ranks. 

Ghazghkull cursed loudly, grinding his teeth so hard that a couple of them cracked and fell out. Had Gork and Mork abandoned him? Was everything he touched doomed to go squig-shape? 

And as if that wasn't enough, the damned shuttle was still there. Not only that, but it was now heading straight for him—and fast! 

"KILL IT!" Ghazghkull barked, employing a rare but useful tactic reserved for the truly cunning orks. The Warboss assessed the situation, ran a complex mental simulation, and made a difficult yet calculated decision. 

He ran. 

The servos in his mega-armor whirred as Ghazghkull's massive frame barreled away from the approaching shuttle. Despite the ongoing anti-air fire, the Warp-touched machine refused to be deterred. It only got closer! 

The orks who saw their Warboss sprinting past stared in wide-eyed disbelief, but Ghazghkull didn't care. Turning around, he unleashed a storm of bullets at the shuttle, but they either missed or harmlessly ricocheted off its armor. 

"I'M GHAZGKHULL MAG URUK THRAKA!" the Warboss bellowed. "I'M DA PROPHET OF GORK AND MORK! I CAN'T DIE LIKE SOME GROT!" 

The last words were shouted in panic as it became clear that no amount of mega-armor would save him. Given the shuttle's mass and speed, all that would be left of Ghazghkull would be a bloody smear. 

Desperate, Thraka slammed his claw against the red button labeled "EMERGENCY TELEPORT." The contraption, cobbled together from Eldar teleporters by a particularly ambitious mek, was still untested. The mek had advised using it only in "da most dire situations, boss." 

Ghazghkull decided this qualified. If not now, when? 

The teleport device let out a loud crack, a hiss, and… nothing. 

"YA ZOGGIN' PIECE OF SCRAP!" Ghazghkull roared, frantically running and hammering the button. "WORK, YA GROT! WORK-WORK-WORK!" 

Only when the shuttle's nose gently tapped the back of his mega-armor did the teleport finally activate. 

"BANG!" The shuttle crashed into the ground, plowing through the orks in its path. Meanwhile, about forty meters away, a green flash erupted, and a cursing Ghazghkull fell from a height of ten meters, landing headfirst in the dirt. 

"SPIT-SPIT-SPIT!" the terror of the galaxy spat out ash as he got back on his stubby legs. He and the shuttle were now in a massive crater, making it seem like the battle was happening somewhere far away. 

"BOSS, YA ALIVE?!" his bodyguards finally caught up to him. 

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M DEAD, YA ZOGGIN' GITS?!" Ghazghkull snarled, clearly in a foul mood. "WELL?!" 

"NO, BOSS!" the nobs quickly shook their heads, eager to avoid his wrath. 

A sudden noise behind Ghazghkull made him twitch and spin around. The smoking shuttle, riddled with bullet holes and covered in ork blood and guts, slowly opened its hatch. 

"GET READY!" Ghazghkull growled, bracing himself for whoever—or whatever—was about to step out. 

"BOOM. BOOM. BOOM." Heavy footsteps echoed as a tall, bald man clad in golden power armor emerged. He took a deep breath, savoring the blood-soaked air, and looked up at the ash-blackened sky. 

"Today is a good day to die," he said quietly, but Ghazghkull's enhanced senses picked up the words amidst the chaos, making him tense even more. 

Somewhere in the distance, a series of explosions and wild screams confirmed that the man's forces had also joined the fray. 

Ghazghkull clenched his teeth. Stuck here with this human, he couldn't command his forces, which were now under attack from both within and without. To make matters worse, he could hear suspicious movements from the Hades Hive. That damned Yarrick was up to something. If Ghazghkull had initially had more than enough strength to crush the commissar's pathetic assault, now he was in a precarious position. 

And yet, something held him back from simply killing the human and returning to command. Ghazghkull hadn't become the Warboss he was without a supernatural sense of danger, and right now, that sense was screaming at him to stay away from the man approaching him. 

This bald, golden-armored figure with a white cloak could be described in one word: DEATH. 

"Boss-boss," one of the nobs whispered (by ork standards). "Dis 'umie's da boss who krumped Krewel Tooth." 

This revelation did little to calm Ghazghkull. If anything, it made him even more uneasy. 

The Warboss frantically tried to figure out what to do. 

"Oi, lads, dis is between me an' 'im!" Ghazghkull suddenly barked at his guards. "GET DA ZOG OUTTA 'ERE! I'MMA KRUMP DIS 'UMIE ONE-ON-ONE!" 

"But boss—" one of the nobs began, only to be torn apart by Ghazghkull's claw. 

"YES, BOSS!" the nobs quickly scrambled away. 

Soon, only the man and the massive ork remained in the crater. The shuttle's pilots had closed the doors, unaware of what was happening outside. All their sensors had been destroyed during the flight and subsequent crash. 

Stanislav watched in disbelief as the nobs scrambled up the slope. He began to worry but relaxed when he saw that the biggest, most familiar ork from his past life was still there. 

"Human, uh," Ghazghkull began, clearly uneasy and uncharacteristically unsure of himself. It looked so strange and comical that Stanislav even paused. "Don't get me wrong. I'm all fer a good scrap..." 

The Warboss let out an awkward, rumbling laugh, and his claw began to slowly rise under the man's suspicious gaze. 

"But, uh… dere ain't enough boyz 'ere. Yeah, dat's it! We'll meet again when we've got more lads! Make it a propa fight!" 

Stanislav finally noticed the small, blinking red button on Ghazghkull's chest. A terrible realization shot through the Saint. 

"You wouldn't dare," Stanislav said carefully, taking a small step toward the nervously shifting Warboss. 

"Uh…" Ghazghkull sighed sadly. 

"Please," Stanislav pleaded, taking another step and smiling sweetly at the towering ork. 

"We'll meet again," Ghazghkull said apologetically. 

"Don't you dare!" Stanislav roared, noticing the Warboss's claw twitch toward the button. 

Stanislav lunged, but his hands closed on empty air as Ghazghkull's form shimmered and vanished in a burst of teleportation energy. 

"NOOOO!" Stanislav's furious cry echoed as the psychic field of the Warboss dissipated, sending the nearby orks into a panic. When the forces of Hades Hive, led by the one-armed Commissar Yarrick, struck, the orks broke and ran. 

The weakening of the WAAAGH! also affected the World Eaters. As the orkish ritual faltered, the Chaos Space Marines were teleported back to their planet, leaving only devastation in their wake. 

Once again, Ghazghkull had proven that orks were the most advanced and intelligent race in the cursed galaxy. After all, when the situation called for it, he knew how to use the most important and useful military tool of all: "Knowin' when ta leg it."

How do you like my edit? I've been doing it long enough.