The second part of the Zogmekiad. I decided I'd wait a bit before posting this one. Before continuing, please read the first part, and also the great writeup on the Orks, and I'd also reccomend Kage Prototype's excellent writeup on the Imperium.
Many months passed. Zogmek's armour had been usable by the time the raid on Zendarl was conducted, but he wanted it to be perfect when he horrified his superiors by wearing it into a battle.
In that time, his reputation as a Mek had grown. Nobz, bosses and boyz of all sorts would come to him for kustom jobz on weapons, bikes and armour, because many such modifications detracted from specifications set by Centrul Kommand. Once, under cover of darkness, he had been visited by Nozbet himself, wanting modifications done to his own weapon. Zogmek performed them without charge, and his modifications - converting his oomie Grenade Launcher from the gas-pressure type to rocket propelled type, as well as making it gravity loaded as opposed to single-action - made Nozbet decide to tolerate his errant ways, even assign him guards and send him supplies. He was offered a group of spannerz as payment for his work, but he declined, saying he preffered to work alone.
As the customers flowed in, Zogmek's personal wealth increased, and he was forever tinkering and improving his personal equipment, which he kept hidden in a secret part of his bunker: a warbike, a plasmy kannon, and of course his Mega-Armour, which he was always rebuilding - to him, it was always missing something.
One day, Zogmek was busy adding some weapons to the rokkit pack belonging to one of the Stormboyz Drillbosses, totally oblivious to the drama that was
unfolding in space high above him.
Whenever Captain Nerec entered her commanding officer's quarters, she always had to take a moment to prepare herself. Taking a deep breath, she depressed the call button on his door.
"COME." boomed the unmistakable voice of Inquisitor Cronus.
The door slid away, and Nerec entered with her eyes to the ground.
"REPORT."
"We have entered the Xorn system and expect to arrive in orbit within two hours. The stealth field is functioning normally. We are following a course that will keep us at maximal distance from the alien craft at all times, to
avoid tripping any gravometric sensors, in the unlikely event they may have any."
"EXCELLENT. I WILL BE MONITORING THE APPROACH FROM HERE. DISMISSED."
Cronus noted the captain still refused to make eye contact with him as she left. Perhaps she thought it would prevent him from reaching into her mind.
Perhaps she was a spy.. No, a quick psychic probe reassured him that her soul was pure.
As the door closed, Cronus reassessed the situation in his mind's eye. Two weeks ago, the Orks based in the Xorn system mounted a raid on the partially volcanic forge world Zendarl II. Such raids had transpired before, and even though the Orks inhabiting Xorn IV possessed a certain amount of precision and discipline that was unusual, but not unheard of among their species, the swiftness and brutality of this raid was enough to make the planetary governor to order a counter-attack.
This was all meaningless to the Inquisition, however. What had prompted Cronus to act was a report sent by the Governor himself regarding an anomaly discovered once the Orks had withdrawn. In the center of one factory city that the Orks had destroyed was a pyramid shaped artifact made by piling pieces of metal upon one another and joining them using some kind of melta weapon. Even this could have been overlooked as some kind of battle curiosity, a piece of random wreckage - were it not for the writings the Ork
commander had left on the pyramid's three faces.
On one side, written in Ork glyphs, was a warning that a huge war would soon erupt, engulfing humanity on all sides as Orks from across the galaxy converged on Human space for a final and terrible battle. This message was typical of the megalomaniacal rantings of the Ork warlords Inquisitor Cronus had encountered in his long career, but what troubled him was that on the second face of the artifact the message was written again - this time in High Gothic.
The writings on the third face were in a language that eluded the Imperial linguists. Cronus concluded that after dealing with the Ork commander he would return to Zendarl and deal to the artifact too, along with all those who had come into contact with the object.
Cronus thought over his plan again. It was quite simple: insert a Vindicare Assassin north of the main concentration of Orks with instructions to identify and kill the Ork commander there. He would maintain a telepathic
link to the Vindicare so he could see the creature for himself. It would be a simple mission, and Cronus would never even have to leave his quarters.
As the Dark Ship Mercy's Sabre IX made her final approach to Xorn's only habitable planet, Captain Catherine Nerec made her final instrument checks. This was the critical part of the mission.
The steath field was functioning properly. That was the main thing. The void dampeners on the drive unit were at 96% effectiveness. That didn't matter - the Orks of this world certainly had no gravometric sensor technology, and probably had no infra-red units capable of distinguishing between the heat radiated by the agri-world and a minute heat leak from an aperture only centimeters wide. Weapons were on stand-by - if they were powered up it would reduce the effectiveness of the stealth field. Besides, the Imperium had lost void dampener technology aeons ago, and while some Dark Ships
possessed weapons that could be fired without fear of detection, this one had lost hers in a battle against the Eldar. It didn't really matter. There was absolutely no way the Orks could detect them. She relaxed and brought the ship into orbit.
Ork Mekboyz have an innate problem solving ability. In essence, all Oddboyz are specialized problem solvers - Doks dealing with injuries, Sumboyz dealing with teef, and so forth.
Although the Imperium doesn't like to admit it, the Orks posess field technologies centuries ahead of their own. Mekboyz can create colossal bubble fields the size of Space Hulks. These are used to hold the air in so that the Boyz traveling on the hulk can breathe. They can also manipulate
electromagnetic fields expertly to create the Pulsa bombs, as well as highly advanced fusion reactors, plasma weapons, and have an understanding of the dynamics of light and lasers that superscedes that of even the Eldar.
In the past, some Mekboy had used a force field to bend the light field around an object, making it appear invisible. The problem with that was that no light reached the object that the field was hiding, which made it impractical for battlefield use. Such fields had been used to hide spacebourne mines and orbital construction yards.
Mekboss Gorlug had solved this problem. He had integrated density sensors into his bionik eye. He'd adapted the sensor from one he'd found in an oomie prospecting satellite decades ago. With the density sensor, he was able to perceive objects through a light-bending stealth field. Useless planetside, he followed his Speed Freek instincts and took to space. His Blackhawk
Fighta-Bomma, Og Gorlug Narzagofslagurluk, was simultaneously ridiculed and respected by the other Fighta-Bommerz of Nozbet's 1st Attak Fleet.
His fighta-bommerz wing was based from a carrier that was in a barely stable orbit around Xorn II. It was ooman, crippled in the initial attack on the planet. Originally a cargo freighter, it had been converted to form a launch platform for a small number of highly elite bommer pilotz.
Gorlug was the only Ork in the entire fleet with a stealth field. And thanks to his density sensors, he was also the only Ork who could see the Dark Ship
entering a geosynchronous orbit.
"This iz Gorlug. Wazzsmashaz 2 throo 5, get reddy to launch. WAAAAA!!!!"
Gorlug shot out of the
kroozer at colossal speed, his stealth field immediately engaging. The other fighta-bommerz completed their preflight procedures and waited for Gorlug's go. They were a little mystified, but
squinted through their canopies looking for any sign of combat.
Aiming for the densest part of the ship, Gorlug let loose a volley of konkussion rokkitz. There was a storm of explosions as the void dampeners on the drive unit were torn away. Gorlug triggered the fighta-bommerz main weapon, a
plasmy beam mounted just under the cockpit. His wingmates watched as the beam cut through the drive plate and bits of superconductive ceramic glowed an ionized blue as the drive unit was destroyed by a series of internal explosions.
"Mark!" barked Gorlug as he pulled to the right into a barrel roll. Aiming for a dense bubble on the right side of the enemy craft, almost certainly a weapon blister, he let loose a Pulsa bom. He flicked one of the big red switches on his instrument panel. The bomma lurched forward as the twin turbo boostaz kicked in. A bleep sounded - the plasmy kannon was back to full power. He pulled up, hearing his bommer groan under the immense g-force of his boosta climb. He knew Narzag could take it. He'd done this maneuver scores of times.
Pressing down hard on one of the foot pedals, he executed a 180-degree yaw that would have dazzled anyone watching, if they could see him. He gracefully leant with his bommer to one side. Behind him, he detected the rippling Pulsa field expanding. He fired the plasmy beam blindly, causing a hull breach in one section of the enemy craft. He pulled
up again, only just staying out of the expanding Pulsa bubble.
"Report!" yelled Nerec.
"Main drive destroyed. No response from aft section. Starboard stealth field generator offline. Aft weapons array has failed to deploy. Hull breach in center section. Holy Throne! Tactical cant even see what hit
us! Where the drekk is the bandit? Frontal gun battery is responsive, but I can't see the attacker!"
What had seemed a simple mission had quickly turned into a disaster.
She glanced at the tactical display above her head. Four blips were approaching in an attack formation from behind. But the initial attacker remained undetected. How did they know?
The bridge lurched violently to one side as a storm of missiles struck one side of the ship.
"Shit!"
"I've got nothing, nothing!" screamed voice from behind Catherine. The weapons officer. She didn't have time to remember his name.
Nerec keyed in a sequence on her command console, ordering evasive maneuvers. 'Starboard manifold is unresponsive!' came another voice. It was hopeless. She sat dumbstruck by a feeling of total disbelief.
A fifth blip appeared on the tactical readout. An Ork Fighta-Bommer came into view from the starboard side of the main viewer. The delta wing craft swept across the bridge in a swallow maneuver - its undercarriage boasting
'0-110,000k IN NO TIME AT ALL' in crude Low Gothic. The rough looking craft gracefully vanished, and the viewer was again blank. As quickly as it had appeared, the fith blip had vanished from the tac display.
'That ork's got a drekking stealth rig!' The weapons officer, again. Smith.
How could she have forgotten a name like Smith?
She watched the tac readout as the other four blips converged on the now crippled Dark Ship. She felt the ship shudder as the aft section was practically severed from the rest of the craft. She was going to die. They were all going to die, she thought. Not even Cronus, secure in his quarters, would survive the impact that they were about to experience.
Gorlug disengaged his stealth field and laughed out loud as he watched the ailing craft, now visible with the naked eye, split in two. The larger, front section plummeted nose first. The aft portion erupted in flame as its innards were exposed to the atmosphere.
The other four bommerz formed up around him, and they watched the show.
Fleet Admirul Rukzag came over the comm.
'Phwooar, dat wun took uz by surprise! You wuz flying like a maniak! Good werk!'
'Job'z dun, boyz. Letz burn.', said a triumphant Gorlug to his wingmen. He could hear them yelling and jabbering as they yelled as they went for a victory run in system.
Having completed the modifications to Boss Zagtog's jump pack, Zogmek was demonstrating the unit when a tremendous firestorm erupted in the sky far to the south of him.
'By Mork's own shit!' he explained. He watched as the fiery mass dipped lower and lower in the sky. He had no idea it was, but he felt a tremendous urge to find out. 'Ere, no charge.', he said to Zagtog as he ran back to his subterranean workshop.
'No guarantees, neither!' he added.
He slid down on the rungs of the ladder, and immediately slid aside the enormous tool chest that concealed the door to his personal work area.
Zogmek's plasmy kannon slipped snugly over his left hand. He mounted his warbike, giving the handlebars a final polish. He looked at his Mega-Armour, wondering if he should bring it. No. The strain on the warbike's engine would be tremendous. If the warbike broke down, it would take days to reach the crash site. No, the Mega-Armour would have its day.
Soon.
He reached for his portable toolbox, which he snapped into place on the back of the bike. Depressing a button on the handlebar, he watched as the wall in front of him slowly lifted up.
Since discovering the bunker many months ago, he had determined that it was a tank facility. In fact, there
was a non-operational ooman tank in one of the bunker's workshops that Zogmek was working on. It had taken weeks for Zogmek to find the hidden exit that the tanks had used to get in and out of the bunker.
He revved his warbike's engine a few times, and tore off, heavy tires squealing. He sped along a couple of hundred meters of ramp before emerging from some undergrowth on the far side of the shrubbery that was his domain.
It took him six hours of riding at full throttle to reach the crash site.
The front section of the Dark Ship had gouged a three-kilometer long trench into the tundra. The nose was buried, but the back section was exposed to the air. Zogmek whistled to himself, and stopped his bike at the base of the
craft. Whole, it would have been the size of a small kroozer. It was too big to be merely a gunboat or troop transport. Strangely, the craft was cool to the touch. After an atmosheric crash landing it should have been hot for
days. Zogmek guessed the hull was made of some kind of super heat resistant material.
He took a few steps inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light.
The lower deck where he was was obviously a cargo hold. High above there was another three decks, but Zog could see no way to get there. No matter. He took a long walk through the eerily empty hold. He guessed any cargo must have been spilled after the hull was decompressed.
He came to a bulkhead bearing an Imperial insignia. It was locked, of course, and very thick. The controls refused to respond to him, of course, so Zogmek looked for a manual control. No luck. It would take days to cut through the thick plasteel. There had to be another way.
He removed the control panel's faceplate, and selected a few likely looking wires. He ejected the power cell from his plasmy kannon, and connected it to the cables. Sure enough, the bulkhead began to open. It had risen enough for him to squeeze under when the power cell sputtered and died. No matter.
He was inside now.
Zogmek scrambled under the bulkhead, and stood up. There was no light at all. The apertures in his eyes had opened fully, and he could still barely see.
He struck a flare. When his eyes had adjusted to the new light level, Zogmek could hardly believe what he saw.
He stared for a full minute in quiet contemplation.
In the middle of the room there was a giant suit of armour secured by clamps to the floor. Hundreds of cables snaked out of ducts in the roof, linking it directly into the ship. The suit itself wasn't damaged, but anything inside would have been subjected to horrific stresses as the ship plummeted from space. His eyes washed over the colossal figure, scanning for joins in the armour. As he began to cut, he pictured what he might find inside: he thought maybe thousands upon thousands of levers and buttons, a little Gretchin with its head split open slumped against a viewscreen.
The Mega-Armour he'd left in his bunker meant nothing to Zogmek anymore.
With this giant to work from he could go far beyond Mega-Armour. Mega-Armor with more dakka, more chomp.
Giga-Armor.
Supream Kommanda Nozbet heard the news the next day, and immediately set out for the crash site. It took his battle wagon two days to get there. As his elite troops secured a perimiter, he spotted a force approaching from the south.
Morgoff.
Perhaps now would be the time to rid himself of the Warlord, and regain supremacy. Morgoff was indeed a fearsome individual, but Nozbet was confident he could beat him in single combat. Morgoff's forces greatly outnumbered Nozbet's own, but the predominantly Deathskull tribe lacked the
discipline and training Nozbet had given his Blood Axe forsus.
'Force ug two thousand comin' from da South, Kommanda.', reported a Sarjent.
'Call for air support.' Nozbet ordered.
'Already dun, Sir.'
Nozbet could see Zogmek's warbike outside the wreckage. Zogmek had proven himself to be the greatest Mek on Xorn II. If anyone could uncover the secrets of the wreck, he could. Nozbet knew Zogmek could only work alone, and so he had ordered a protective perimiter be set up around the wreck. He had full confidence in Zogmek's abilities.
Nozbet rubbed his hands together underneath his heavy mesh cloak. Several Gretchin were struggling to steady his colossal axe, which stood inverted easily within his reach. The sun was shining brightly, but Orks are used to heat, and Nozbet's Commisar hat kept the harsh blue light out of his eyes.
Four hours later, Morgoff arrived on the scene.
'Well, if it iznt my lickspittle Supream Kommanda Nozbet', he snorted as he stepped down from his trukk. Nozbet looked him up and down.
He was a clanless Warlord, his black 'Eavy Armour bearing alien symbols in the place of a clan insignia. His face and arms were heavily scarred. One
eye was made of glass, and glinted evilly in the harsh sunlight. He carried no gunz - the only weapon he had was some kind of staff slung across his back.
He barked a command in some kind of battle language, and smashed a nearby Grot in the face. The Gretchin staggered a short distance towards Nozbet and collapsed, a small puddle of blood forming under his shattered nose. Nozbet could see his eyes cloud over.
From when he had first laid eyes on Morgoff, Nozbet could tell he ruled by fear absolutely. Nozbet was convinced the ragtag Boyz would follow his lead when Morgoff was removed from office.
Outside the perimiter, some of Morgoff's mekboyz were limbing down the walls of the canyon the crash had created. They made it to the bottom, though one Spanna tripped and rolled down. Two of the Meks cuffed him across the face.
They approached the perimiter boyz and tried to push past. One boy smashed a mek in the face with the butt of his shoota.
Morgoff snarled, and turned towards Nozbet. "Let dem past!" he demanded.
Nozbet laughed deeply. "Dey iz not getting' past. And you iz not leaving here either!" Nozbet lifted his axe with one hand. The gretchin axe-bearers scattered in fear. Morgoff's massive muscles rippled and his left pupil shrunk to a pinprick as he watched his rival spin the huge axe around one hand.
Gargrllshrlagur howled as its pyschic forcefeild ionized air.
"So, it'z finally come to dis." Morgoff reached behind him and unfastened the staff. He gripped it with two hands, and gave it a sharp twist. A long, vicious looking blade snapped out from one end of the staff. It glowed an evil red.
Nozbet had never seen such a weapon before. It was marked with the same runes as Morgoff's armour.
The two warlords began to circle, tracing out the circle that designated where no Boy could cross. They dragged their feet in the dirt, never looking away their rivals.
But before the circle was completed, a thunderous voice echoed across the canyon the crashed ship had gouged into the earth.
"MORGOFF DA KROOL!"
The two warlords looked for the source of the terrible voice. Technically, the fight could not begin until the circle was completed. In that time, another challenger could make himself known.
"MORGOFF DA KROOL!" the voice repeated.
"Who challenges Morgoff?" the warlord yelled. The challenger did not reply.
The rival warlords were standing meters from the edge of the crevice. The voice was coming from inside the wreck. Everyone had their eyes on the vacuous hole that led into the crashed Dark Ship.
Nobody was fully prepared for what stepped out.
With every second inside his new armor, Zogmek was growing more powerful. He was changing, his primary nervous system adapting to the alien device protruding from the back of his head that served as the interpreter, connecting his Ork nerve impulses to those of his machine.
Already he was attracting the attention of creatures beyond his understanding. He could feel their presence on the fringes of his mind, beings that could sense his potential, his growing power. It took all of his will to close his mind to them, but they were always there, scratching at the mental barrier.
Zogmek took another step. A rush of nausea blurred his vision, and then it was gone. He closed his eyes, and tried to reach to Gork and Mork, to ask for their help in defeating the creatures.
He took another step, and suddenly felt an arid calmness. His mind was filled with an eerie clarity, as though some titanic psychic entity was protecting him from the barrage.
He could barely see through the artificial senses designed for the original occupant of the suit. Snarling with frustration, he tore the electrodes from his eyes, and there was darkness. He fumbled for the manual release.
His head was exposed to the air again. All he could see was a bright circle of light coming from the exposed end of the hull.
He took another step.
Outside the wreckage, on the ridge above, Nozbet and Morgoff were still waiting. And wondering. Both felt a twinge of fear, mixed with excitement: battle-lust. But the challenge had been issued to Morgoff only. Nozbet took
a step back from the edge.
Both warlords were starting to feel the power inside the ship. It's Waagh was small, but growing. It was greater then that of an aspiring Nob, but much smaller than that of a conquering Warlord.
A metal foot extended tenuously from the wreckage, and stepped into the dirt.
"Morgoff da krool!" a different voice sounded.
Now Nozbet recognized the challengers voice. But how? How could a Mekboy, even one as skilled as Zogmek, accumulate this amount of Waagh? He knew Mekboyz challenged their superiors to duels, but it was not in their nature
to lead. They could never be Warbosses.
As the second foot stepped out of the wreckage, the answer suddenly became clear. The muscles in Morgoff's jaw visibly slackened. Both warlords stared in bitter disbelief.
Below them, at the base of the dusty cliff, was one of the most terrible sights either Warlord had seen. Nozbet had heard whispered tales of Morgoff's rise to power, of his gruesome origins - but even their gruesome tales inspired none of the horror that Zogmek now did.
He was in a towering suit of armor, almost five meters high. Blues, blacks and silvers glittered in the sunlight. Bolted to the left limb was a snub-nosed weapon, and thick cabling running from the back alluded to the destructive power it could produce. Nozbet suspected it was a plasma or
melta weapon. Below it, a perfectly formed power fist tested itself, coursing with energy. The right arm hung limply, reaching down to the knee of the suit. The entire assembly was a massive power klaw, with heavy servos sitting idle and expectant right along the length of the limb. The monstrous, armored hulk moved with speed and grace, as if the wearer was completely unhindered by it. It turned to face the Warlords.
Across the left shoulder, three badges were riveted into the metal. The first identified it as an Evil Sun. The second, a spanner, identified the owner as a Mek. The third was a stylized fist enveloped in lightning. Zogmek's personal rune.
Zogmek's head, which looked obscenely small between the huge shoulders of the machine, looked directly at Morgoff. Most of his face was obscured by a massive power jaw, which added to his overall menace. Above him, something resembling a helmet, or perhaps a cockpit, had been slid away. His eyes fixed on Morgoff.
"You be challenged, Warlord. Why you not yet accept?" The emotion in Zogmek's face was obscured by the power jaw, but his eyes burned with vigor.
Morgoff did not meet his gaze. He looked shaken to the core. Seeing his chance, Nozbet lifted Gargrllshrlagur over his head and roared..
"NO!" boomed Zogmek. Nozbet froze in mid action. Morgoff leapt to one side, his weapon readied. From the corner of his eye, Nozbet could see Zogmek training his weapon on him.
"Kill him, and you die also. This fight is
between Morgoff an' me, and that'z all." He dropped the axe, and his Gretchen servants scurried to catch it.
Morgoff took a deep breath. "Da challenge iz accepted," he said. He deftly slid down the sloping cliffside, and strode confidently to the middle of the canyon floor. "Let'z get dis over wif.", he barked. Everyone could see he
was trembling slightly. He took another deep breath. His courage returned, and he held his weapon in both hands.
It made pure Orkish sense that since Morgoff was the smaller of the two fighters he would be the faster. In a flurry of fancy moves, Morgoff swung his weapon wildly, spinning it across his back and his hands, and making
thrusting and slashing movements at the air. In a personal insult, Zogmek stood with his arms at his sides, and laughed.
This made Morgoff especially angry.
His honed battle instincts pointed out weak points: Zogmek's exposed head the obvious one, but the exposed servos and cabling on the arms and legs were also vulnerabilities.
He snarled, and lunged at his enemy's leg.
Laughing, Zogmek stepped out of the blow, and enveloped him in the power klaw. He lifted Morgoff high above him, and there, in full view of Nozbet and all the assembled boyz, he crushed the warlord as if he were a bloated piece of fungus.
Time seemed to slow around him. The warlord's thick blood stained the power klaw, and lazy droplets made patterns in the dust. One by one, Zogmek's senses closed off. If he tried very hard, he could just hear his heartbeat.
Then he felt it. A rush of pain, unlike anything he had felt before. It began in his eyes, and quickly engulfed his whole body. But he welcomed the pain. He felt a tremendous sense of achievement. Glittering lights played in his mind - Zogmek thought they resembled the face of Gork or Mork, nodding in approval.
Then the voices began. Zogmek recognized them immediately - the same voices he had heard when he realized he was a Mek. The lights in his mind disintegrated and reformed rapidly, forming into battle tactics, strategies.
Starmaps, supply routes and attack paths danced before his mind's eye.
The voices stopped. But Zogmek only had time to take part of a breath before a different voice sounded in his mind, and different images flashed before him. The alien device in his brain struggled to make sense of the mixed signals. Within the armor, and hidden from view, his body pasmed and
jerked as his mind fought the onslaught.
Memories flooded his mind, the memories of his defeated foe. He learnt languages, torture techniques. He learnt how to use his body as a weapon, how to use his hands to kill even the most powerful enemies. He saw visions of terrible violence. The images increased in their ferocity. He saw clan life on some distant planet through Morgoff's eyes, and then watched as a swift and brutal enemy butchered an entire tribe of Orks, everyone dressed in black, everything a sharp edge. Their appearance oozed manic cruelty. He saw himself - or rather, Morgoff, captured, and while still on the
battlefield, subjected to horrible tortures. But he saw Morgoff escape, and kill the torturer, before killing a guard standing outside the torture cell.
He watched Morgoff slay enemy after enemy with the same brutality they had shown his tribe. He watched him make it out into the wilderness, out into the alien plants of a distant jungle planet. Through angry eyes, he watched
the alien craft lift off their landing pylons and vanish from sight.
The visions suddenly stopped, and Zogmek felt parts of Morgoff's personality attempt to bind with his own. He willed them away, and felt in command of tremendous mental energies. He willed the pain away, and it dulled and
disappeared. He returned to conciousness.
Time returned to normal - He was still holding Morgoff's crushed body, the alien weapon hanging limply from one hand. Zogmek now recognized that weapon as a Punisher. The race that made it, and parts of Morgoff's black armour, was called the Dark Eldar.
From relative safety at the top of the cliff, Nozbet watched the victor hurl Morgoff's body at the crashed ship. The body hit the top of the hull with a deep 'thunk'. It slumped over the wreck, legs dangling in a way no body with intact bones could.
His eyes returned to Zogmek, as he leant back and spread his arms wide in a victory pose. There, on the torso, was a fourth symbol - the twin eagles of the Emperor atop the unmistakable symbol of the Inquisition. Below that, the
word 'CRONUS' was written in stylized Gothic script.
"WAAAGH!!!!"
Zogmek had declared himself victor, and his
Waagh was growing exponentially.
Nozbet's mind was seared with the image of the Waagh that Zogmek was drawing from him and the assembled Boyz.
Zogmek looked into Nozbet's eyes. Nozbet could sense his power. It had surpassed Morgoff's and his own combined. There was no disputing his new position.
"Well fought, Warlord Zogmek."
"I iz not a warlord," he replied.