Blinding light continued pouring out through the cracks in the Emperor’s statue.
The granite surface was saturated with white light, every fracture glowing as though molten metal were flowing through it from within.
The entire thirty-metre-tall statue seemed to hang in the twilight, illuminating half the sky.
Blackfang craned his neck upward and stared at the glowing statue of the Emperor for a long time, seriously finking it over.
In the end, he reached a conclusion.
What Gragoth had said…
actually seemed true.
“It really lit up…” Blackfang muttered.
His voice was drowned out by the roar of an Ork beside him.
“I thought da Primarch was just bragging!” “He can sit on da Golden Throne and shine light all da way over here?” Another Ork pointed at the white light pouring through the gaps in the statue’s breastplate, his eyes wider than his fists.
“How big a generator does that take?” A young Ork in battered iron armour stood among the crowd.
“I’ve never seen a Boss this powerful…” he muttered.
The Ork beside him immediately shoved him hard enough to make the Boy stagger half a step.
“What Boss?
That’s da Emperor!” “Right!
Da Emperor!” Blackfang suddenly grabbed the newly forged battle axe at his waist and raised it high above his head.
All three exhaust pipes on the back of his power armour simultaneously spewed a thick cloud of black smoke.
The column rose into the twilight, standing out starkly against the white light.
“DA EMPEROR!” The roar exploded from the middle of the crowd, spreading across the entire square.
No one knew who raised their gun first.
“Da Emperor!” Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Muzzles spat fire into the sky as rounds streaked upward into the darkening heavens.
A second Ork raised his gun.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
“Da Emperor!” “Da Emperor!” More and more weapons were raised overhead, muzzles pointed skyward as triggers were held down.
The clang of iron armour mixed with the gunfire, while bolter rounds burst into showers of sparks overhead.
The gunfire merged into a continuous roar.
Several hundred Orks fired wildly into the sky, tracer rounds cutting bright paths through the twilight above the Emperor’s statue.
A visible layer of grey-white smoke formed over the square.
Gragoth stood at the very front, his eyes behind the faceplate sweeping across every green face below.
He didn’t stop them.
He simply watched.
He watched greenskins who had still been full of doubt raise their weapons one after another.
He watched Blackfang completely join in.
The three exhaust pipes on the back of Blackfang’s newly made power armour belched smoke with all their might.
He held his battle axe overhead for three full minutes without moving, shouting until his voice was nearly gone.
The barrage continued for almost half a minute before gradually dying down.
Some had emptied their magazines.
Some had barrels glowing hot and smoking.
Some grimaced from aching shoulders as they lowered their guns.
But the roaring didn’t stop.
It kept rolling back and forth through the crowd.
“Da Emperor!
Da Primarch!
Da Emperor!” One Ork pounded his chest, his voice overpowering several others still shouting beside him.
“I knew it!
I was born knowing how to fight, so da Primarch must’ve stuffed da training straight into my body!” “No wonder I knew how to use a gun when I was little without anyone teaching me!” another Ork shouted.
“That junk gun of yours blew up yesterday!” “That’s ’cause my gun’s genes are bad!” “Since when do guns have genes?” “Don’t care!
They definitely do!” Gragoth listened to the increasingly ridiculous discussion, the corners of his mouth slowly spreading into a grin.
He didn’t need to invent every detail himself.
He only needed to give these Orks an explanation.
They would fink up the rest on their own.
That was simply how Ork minds worked.
Give them a beginning, and they’d come up with the ending themselves—and believe their own version more than anyone else.
“Quiet down!” His amplified voice overwhelmed the remaining gunfire and arguing across the square.
The Orks who were still debating whether guns had genes immediately shut their mouths.
Several hundred Orks gradually stopped moving and turned back toward Gragoth.
Gragoth looked across the square.
White light shone from the statue behind him, stretching his shadow into a long dark-green shape across the stone paving.
“From today onward,” Gragoth said, “I don’t wanna hear about this tribe or that tribe anymore.” He clenched his fist and struck his breastplate.
“Follow me.” “Be loyal to da Emperor.” “Be loyal to da Eleventh Legion.” “Then you’ve only got one identity.” Gragoth slammed his fist into the centre of his breastplate again.
Clang!
“Battle-brothers!” His original Boyz immediately responded.
One-Eye was the first to roar, “Battle-brothers!” The young Ork joined in.
“Battle-brothers!” Blackfang stood in the centre of the front row and turned to glance at Shatterjaw beside him.
Shatterjaw was looking back at him.
Long ago, the two had fought each other plenty of times over territory and loot, even breaking each other’s tusks.
Blackfang suddenly extended a fist.
His iron gauntlet stopped in front of Shatterjaw’s chest.
Thump.
Shatterjaw extended his own hand, and their fists struck together.
Blackfang’s power armour knocked against Shatterjaw’s battered iron armour with a metallic clang.
“Battle-brother,” Blackfang said.
Shatterjaw grinned, air whistling through the gaps in his missing teeth.
“Battle-brother.” “Ain’t battle-brothers supposed to battle each other?” “I fink you’re right!” Gragoth waited until those words had spread throughout the square, then spoke again.
“Those loyal to da Emperor and loyal to me are battle-brothers.” He paused, his gaze sweeping across every green face below.
“As for those Orks outside who don’t acknowledge da Emperor or da Primarch—” He tightened his grip on the haft of his massive axe.
“From now on, they’re rebels.” The word made the Orks in the square fall silent for a moment.
Gragoth watched them process it.
“They should’ve been following me from da start, but they dare ignore my orders and even fink they can be Boss!” Blackfang understood immediately.
He slapped his breastplate, and all three exhaust pipes cooperatively belched out a cloud of smoke.
“Oh!” “I fink they just need a beating!” “Right.” Gragoth swept his massive axe through the air, the blade tracing an arc.
“So what do we do when we see rebels?” “Beat ’em up!” A huge response immediately came from below.
Some shouted, “Smash ’em!” Others shouted, “Take all their stuff!” One Ork who clearly still didn’t fully understand what was going on shouted along twice, then turned to the one beside him.
“Who’re we beating?” “Da rebels!” “Who’re da rebels?” “Da ones outside who don’t acknowledge da Emperor!” “Oh!
Yeah, we gotta beat them!” Another voice rose from the middle of the crowd, young but exceptionally clear.
“Beat ’em, then bring ’em back as battle-brothers!” Gragoth glanced in that direction.
Gragoth looked toward the Ork who had shouted the last line.
It was a young Boy, not particularly large, but his expression was completely serious and his eyes were shining.
Not bad.
This Boy was already learning to connect the dots.
“Exactly!” Gragoth raised his voice.
“Beat ’em into submission, and they become new battle-brothers!” The crowd grew even more excited.
Some were already pounding their fists against their breastplates.
Others hammered their gunstocks against the ground.
Still others slapped nearby battle-brothers on the shoulders and loudly declared that they’d be the first to capture some rebels and bring them back as underlings.
Gragoth waited for the noise to die down slightly before bringing up the next matter.
“One more thing.” “First Company.” Blackfang immediately puffed out his chest.
Standing in the middle of the front row, he straightened his back even more than before.
As though afraid no one would notice them, the three exhaust pipes suddenly blasted out a huge cloud of black smoke, making several nearby Orks cough violently.
Big Rivet hadn’t skimped on his smokestacks, that was for sure.
“First Company of da Eleventh Legion.” Gragoth raised his right fist and extended one enormous green finger.
“I only want one hundred.” Every Boy in the front row instantly stood straighter.
Gragoth continued, “Those one hundred battle-brothers won’t just be da fightiest.
I also want—” He suddenly turned and pointed toward the face of the Emperor’s statue behind him, filled with white light.
“Da most loyal to da Emperor.” The Orks followed his hand and looked toward the statue.
White light was still pouring out through the cracks, and streams of light still spilled from the broken arm.
But for some reason, the two balls of white light inside the statue’s eye sockets suddenly became even more dazzling.
The granite face seemed more than twice as imposing as usual beneath the glare.
Gragoth seized the moment and raised his voice.
“Every one of da hundred battle-brothers who gets into First Company gets power armour!” That sentence hit even harder than the last one.
An Ork standing at the very front reacted first, immediately raising his gun and roaring, “LONG LIVE DA EMPEROR!” The Ork beside him refused to be outdone and turned toward the statue, raising his own gun.
“I’m more loyal to da Emperor!” “I’ll fight you right now for da Emperor!” The two immediately rolled up their sleeves, bared their tusks, and went chest-to-chest.
Instead of stopping them, everyone around them stepped back to make room.
But after pressing against each other for several seconds, neither one actually threw the first punch.
If they really fought and got injured, they’d be at a disadvantage when First Company was chosen.
The situation kept teetering on the edge of chaos.
Someone was already shouting, “I’ll take down thirty rebels for da Emperor!” The Ork beside him immediately shouted, “I’ll take down fifty!” Gragoth watched the Boyz glare, roar, and gesture at one another.
Good.
Power armour was far more attractive to them than any title or honour.
But it still wasn’t enough.
He didn’t just want these greenskins getting excited over a suit of iron armour.
He suddenly laughed.
After laughing, Gragoth calmly continued, “What’s power armour?” Every Ork in the front row froze.
The Boy who had just been arguing about who was more loyal to the Emperor stood there with his mouth open and tusks exposed, his expression frozen.
Gragoth continued, “In da future, da battle-brothers who fight da hardest and earn da greatest achievements for da Emperor will get something even bigger than power armour!” Blackfang jumped straight into the air.
His three-metre-plus green body leapt half a foot off the ground.
When he landed, his iron armour clanged loudly and gravel burst beneath his feet.
“What?!” Gragoth spoke one word at a time.
The amplifier drove every syllable into the ears of the several hundred Orks below.
“Dread—nought!”
It really helps the fic grow!