Gragoth lowered his head again and looked at his hands.
Green.
Huge.
Rough.
Brutal.
A thought suddenly popped into his mind.
“So what if I’m an Ork?” He clenched both fists.
“Who says an Ork can’t be a Primarch?” When Gragoth said it aloud, even he didn’t take it seriously.
It was more like self-mockery born from helplessness.
But the instant the final word left his mouth, a tremor came from deep within his chest.
It was as if a massive heart had suddenly beaten once.
Gragoth froze.
The gaping wound across his abdomen began healing noticeably faster.
The muscles around the edges of the wound grew and knitted together at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Within seconds, the injury that had been deep enough to expose bone was covered by newly grown green tissue.
The pain rapidly faded, replaced by a constant surge of heat.
The broken blade lodged in his shoulder was pushed straight out by his muscles and fell to the ground with a clang.
Gragoth could feel himself growing taller.
The rubble beneath his feet sank deeper into the ground, while the iron armour that had once hung loosely around him began creaking as it tightened.
The gaps between the armour plates were forced wider, and the rivets bulged outward beneath the pressure of his muscles.
Several broken straps across his breastplate snapped apart completely.
He looked at One-Eye.
Before, One-Eye had reached his chest.
Now, he only came up to somewhere below it.
“You…” One-Eye craned his neck upward, firelight reflecting off the metal plate over his left eye.
“Boss, you got bigger.” “I know.” Gragoth looked down at his palms.
They were larger and thicker than before.
The heat surging from deep within his chest was gradually fading.
But he could clearly feel that something now existed inside his body that hadn’t been there before.
It was like an invisible string had appeared inside him.
If he plucked it hard enough, something would answer.
“I fink…” Gragoth softly repeated the words.
As a Warhammer fan, he knew the greenskins’ supernatural power all too well.
Ork psychic power was entirely built upon their collective subconscious.
As long as enough of them believed in something, even something unreasonable could become reality.
“I fink I should be a Primarch!” To test whether it really worked, he said it again.
The trembling in his chest became much more obvious.
A wave of heat surged from his spine into his limbs, and his muscles swelled even further.
The iron armour that had already been stretched tight began creaking again.
A rivet on the edge of his left pauldron suddenly popped free and struck an Ork Boy in the back of the head.
“Ow!
Who hit me?!” No one paid him any attention.
Gragoth opened his fist, then slowly clenched it again.
The sense of strength in his palm had risen another level.
He could feel his wounds continuing to heal, his strength slowly increasing, and his body’s coordination adjusting to its new size.
It worked!
One-Eye stood beside him, staring in shock for several seconds before turning toward the camp and shouting, “Da Boss is still growing!
Come look!” Several nearby Ork Boyz stopped fighting over what they were holding and gathered around.
“Huh.
Bigger again.” “Gragoth was already bigger than us.” “Now he’s even bigger.” “So does that mean his punches hurt more?” “Obviously.
You wanna take one and find out?” Gragoth ignored the comments from the crowd.
He was carefully feeling out the power of finkin’.
That single declaration—”I fink I should be a Primarch”—had already caused a noticeable enhancement to this body, but the increase was limited.
His wounds hadn’t completely healed, and he’d only grown a few inches taller.
Hmm.
Looks like I need more.
More belief.
More certainty.
It wasn’t enough for him alone to believe it.
He needed others to think the same thing.
“Boss.” One-Eye’s voice interrupted Gragoth’s thoughts.
“What?” “The guy you shoved into the engine earlier still has a few of his old mates around.” Gragoth looked at One-Eye.
One-Eye continued, “They thought you were dead, so they were getting ready to take over as Boss.
Now that you’re alive, they definitely ain’t happy.
Especially…” He jerked his chin toward the eastern side of the camp.
Gragoth followed his gaze.
Three greenskins stood there, all noticeably larger than ordinary Orks.
The one in front wore a crude suit of dark red plate armour.
A massive metal chain was wrapped around his right arm, with an iron ball still dripping blood hanging from the end.
He stood with his arms folded, watching them from the corner of his eye.
“Who’s that?” Gragoth asked.
“Stikk,” One-Eye said.
“Used to be Goru’s second-in-command.
He’s always thought he should be Boss.
When you went down earlier, he’d already started gathering Boyz around the camp.” Gragoth watched the Ork called Stikk for a while.
Stikk was watching him too.
Their gazes met across the distance.
Stikk bared two huge tusks in a grin, with little respect in his expression.
“He wants to challenge you,” One-Eye said.
Stikk lowered the iron ball from his shoulder, the chain rattling loudly.
He took a step forward.
The nearby Orks fell silent for a moment.
Then Stikk kept walking, dragging the iron ball behind him until he stopped about five metres away from Gragoth.
He was almost two heads shorter than Gragoth, but as he stood there gripping the chain with both hands, he looked completely relaxed.
“Gragoth,” Stikk said.
“What?” Gragoth looked down at him.
“Your wounds ain’t healed yet.” “So?” “I fink I’d make a better Boss than you.” Low murmurs spread through the surrounding Orks.
The Orks shoved each other aside, clearing a circular space between the two of them.
Stikk raised the iron ball and swung the chain around twice.
The ball whistled past Gragoth before smashing into the ground and leaving a small crater.
“You just finished one fight and took an axe to the chest.” Stikk grinned.
“I’ll give you a little more time to catch your breath, so nobody can say I’m taking advantage of you.” Gragoth stepped forward.
He towered over Stikk by almost an entire section of his body, looking down at him from above.
Stikk instinctively took half a step back, then immediately steadied himself and tightened his grip on the chain.
“Funny,” Gragoth said.
He slowly raised his right fist, palm facing himself and the back of his hand facing Stikk.
“I fink you can’t beat me.” The instant those words left his mouth, the trembling deep within his chest suddenly intensified.
Heat surged from his spine into his limbs.
The muscles in his arm visibly swelled, and his iron armour began creaking even more rapidly.
Gragoth felt power gathering in his right arm, as though his fist itself had become heavier.
Stikk stared at his fist and swallowed, but the defiance remained on his face.
“You don’t get to decide that!” Stikk roared.
“We’ll know after we fight!” He swung the iron ball high overhead, the metal chain whistling through the air.
The watching Orks collectively backed away, expanding the clearing to nearly ten metres across.
One-Eye stood at the very front of the crowd, the metal plate over his left eye reflecting the blurred trail of the spinning iron ball.
“Fight!” he shouted.
The other Orks joined in: “Fight!” “Fight!” “Waaagh!” Gragoth glanced down at his fist, then raised his head toward the iron ball spinning above Stikk.
“Come on,” he said.
The iron ball came crashing down with a howl.
It really helps the fic grow!