The roar instantly doubled in volume.
One-Eye stood slightly behind Gragoth, grinning so widely that all his tusks were showing.
“Primarch.” One-Eye asked, “How are we gonna fight this?” Gragoth grinned.
“We ain’t going to war.” “I’m going recruiting.” At a certain outpost.
Blackfang sat at a table, gripping a roasted Squig and tearing into it.
When the megaphone Ork returned, Blackfang casually tossed a leg bone to the Gretchin squatting at his feet.
“Boss.” Blackfang looked up.
“What’d Gragoth say?” The megaphone Ork put the iron megaphone on the ground.
“He said—” “Said what?” “He said he’s coming right now.” Blackfang stopped chewing for a moment, then broke into a grin.
His two blackened upper tusks were noticeably thicker than those of an ordinary Ork.
“He said he’s coming right now?” “Yeah.” “Hahaha!
With those few Boyz of his?
He just finished fighting among his own.
How many fighters has he even got left?” The megaphone Ork hesitated.
“He also built some big iron shell and put it on.” Blackfang waved a hand.
“What’s an iron shell gonna do?
I’ll chop it apart with one swing of my axe!” Then he sat back down, snatched the leg bone out of the Gretchin’s mouth, and took another vicious bite.
Three hours later.
Blackfang’s first outer outpost had been built where three abandoned railway lines intersected.
Several train cars had been welded together into a wall, with sandbags and iron plates piled into the gaps.
The outpost was commanded by a Nob named Shatterjaw.
He had nearly seventy Boyz under him, along with two war vehicles fitted with heavy guns.
That afternoon, Shatterjaw was squatting by the outpost gate eating mushrooms when he looked up and saw black smoke in the distance.
His eyes narrowed.
“Boss, someone’s coming.” The smoke grew thicker, and the roar of engines drew closer.
The vehicle at the front swerved from side to side as it approached.
A chimney belching black smoke had been welded to its roof, and the vehicle itself was painted dark green.
Shatterjaw stood up and rested his iron club on his shoulder.
“Those are Gragoth’s colours.
What are they doing here?” The vehicle came racing toward them.
The Orks aboard waved their weapons and started howling while they were still far away.
Shatterjaw threw aside the unfinished food in his hand and rushed into the outpost.
“Close da gate!
Everyone get up!” The gate had barely closed halfway when Gragoth jumped out of the first vehicle.
A four-metre-tall iron shell rose above the vehicle’s roof.
Four exhaust pipes spewed black smoke at the same time, instantly shrouding the front of the outpost in a thick black cloud.
The feet of the power armour planted themselves on the edge of the vehicle’s front end, crushing part of the bonnet beneath them.
Gragoth jumped down and reached the outpost gate in two strides.
The hydraulic piston on his right arm extended with a metallic creak.
He pulled the massive axe from his back and gripped it in both hands.
Twisting at the waist, he swung the blade upward from the lower right.
Gragoth split the gate open, cut down the two Boyz beside it, and charged inside.
“Da Primarch’s in!” One-Eye jumped down from the second vehicle with a heavy bolter in his hands.
The rest of Gragoth’s original Boyz jumped down from the vehicles one after another, yelling as they followed Gragoth through the breach.
The inside of the outpost immediately descended into chaos.
Shatterjaw had only just grabbed his weapon when Gragoth’s massive iron fist slammed into his head and sent him flying.
Shatterjaw struggled back to his feet and watched the four-metre-tall iron shell walk toward him.
The ground shook with every step, making the scattered metal parts around his feet jump.
“You Shatterjaw?” Gragoth asked.
Shatterjaw raised his iron club.
He was two heads shorter than Gragoth.
Even with the club raised over his head, it only reached Gragoth’s chin.
“You—” Before he could finish, Gragoth reached out with one massive hand and grabbed the middle of Shatterjaw’s iron club.
The hydraulic piston contracted with a harsh creak.
The iron club immediately warped in his grip, scraping two bloody lines across Shatterjaw’s palms.
The club slipped from his hands.
Gragoth slammed another punch into Shatterjaw’s breastplate.
Shatterjaw flew backward and crashed into a stack of ammunition crates behind him.
The metal boxes caved inward, and dozens of rounds spilled out and rolled across the ground.
Seeing the Primarch displaying such overwhelming strength, One-Eye grew even more excited.
“Fight!” One-Eye roared.
Gragoth’s original Boyz crashed deeper into the outpost and met Shatterjaw’s Boyz head-on.
The clang of iron armour mixed with the sound of fists smashing into faces, booming through the small outpost.
Gragoth ploughed through the Gretchin like an Ambull.
He didn’t even need to swing his axe.
Simply charging forward sent two Boyz flying, and the sound of bones breaking could be heard even through his armour.
He reached out with his left hand, grabbed an Ork by the head, and slammed him face-first into the ground.
The Ork’s face sank into the dirt, his body twitched twice, and then he stopped moving.
A sweep of Gragoth’s right elbow broke half the tusks off another Boy.
The Ork spun through the air and crashed into three others behind him, knocking all of them down.
These Boyz were no match for Gragoth at all.
Less than ten minutes passed from beginning to end.
Shatterjaw finally managed to struggle free of the pile of ammunition crates.
His breastplate was caved in, one of his two tusks was broken, and blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
He staggered to his feet and picked up a broken piece of iron club from the ground.
Just as he was about to charge Gragoth, his gaze met the eyes behind Gragoth’s faceplate.
Then he stopped.
The outpost had already fallen quiet.
Almost all of Shatterjaw’s Boyz were lying on the ground.
Some were still struggling, some were pinned down and unable to move, while others sat there clutching their wounds.
Gragoth’s Boyz stood around them, heavy breaths forcing their way through the gaps between their tusks.
Gragoth looked around at the Orks scattered across the ground.
Most of them were only wounded, not dead.
Orks were tough.
As long as their wounds weren’t fatal, they could still get back up.
He walked forward two steps.
His boot came down on a loose iron chain, making it rattle beneath him.
“You lot lying on da ground.” Gragoth spoke.
“You wanna die, or you wanna get up and keep fighting with me?” An Ork Boy lying face-down raised his head.
His right eye was swollen until only a narrow slit remained.
“Who are you fighting next?” “Blackfang.” The Boy was silent for a second, then pushed himself up from the ground.
He bent down, picked up a fallen gun nearby, and slung its strap back around his neck.
“You’re stronger than Blackfang.
I’ll go with you.” A second Boy stood up.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Some immediately went to retrieve their weapons after getting up.
Others first glared at whoever had beaten them down.
The other side glared right back, but neither started fighting again.
One-Eye ran over and swept his gaze around.
“Primarch, looks like they’ve still got about forty Boyz left.” Gragoth nodded.
That was about what he’d expected.
Shatterjaw staggered over.
He threw the broken piece of his iron club onto the ground, kicked it aside, then walked up to Gragoth.
“I ain’t convinced.” Gragoth looked down at him.
“I wasn’t ready just now,” Shatterjaw said.
He looked up into the eyes behind Gragoth’s faceplate, his mouth opening around his broken tusk.
“You might be bigger than me, but I ain’t scared of you.” The surrounding Orks fell silent.
Shatterjaw’s Boyz, who had just gotten back to their feet, also turned to watch.
Gragoth bent down, bringing his faceplate close to Shatterjaw’s face.
“You ready now?” Shatterjaw clenched his fists and swallowed.
“Ready.” “Heh.
I’ll give you another chance.” Gragoth straightened and stepped back twice.
He shifted the massive axe from his right hand to his left, freeing his right arm, then clenched his gauntleted fist.
“I’ll even let you hit first.” Shatterjaw gritted his teeth and charged at Gragoth.
His fist whistled toward the joint between Gragoth’s gorget and breastplate beneath the faceplate.
Gragoth turned sideways.
The fist scraped past his pauldron, and Shatterjaw’s entire body rushed past him.
Gragoth raised his right leg and stepped forward, planting his foot directly between Shatterjaw’s legs as his right fist swung out from his waist.
The punch struck the already dented section of Shatterjaw’s breastplate dead centre.
The iron plate caved in a second time, and both of Shatterjaw’s feet left the ground as he flew backward.
His back slammed into the sheet-metal wall of the outpost, denting it inward into a Shatterjaw-shaped crater.
Shatterjaw slid down the metal wall and ended up sitting on the ground with his back against the dented sheet.
He looked down at the iron armour on his chest, then raised his head toward Gragoth.
Gragoth walked over and stopped in front of him.
“You convinced now?” Shatterjaw remained seated and took two breaths before pushing himself up against the wall.
“I’m convinced, I’m convinced.
You’re definitely stronger than Blackfang.” He reached down with his left hand and picked up an iron club that had been knocked away earlier.
“I’ll go fight him with you.” Gragoth nodded.
“Then get up.
You’ve got a few minutes to find a Painboy and get patched up, then you’re coming with me to fight Blackfang.” Shatterjaw got back to his feet.
He turned toward his Boyz and shouted, “Everyone up!
Grab your gear!
We’re going to fight Blackfang!” The remaining Orks sitting on the ground also got up.
Some of them even looked excited.
Gragoth stood in the middle of the outpost, listening to the clang of metal, the roar of engines starting up, and the rough shouts of the Orks around him.
He looked down at his gauntlet.
There were only a few new scratches across its surface, and it was otherwise intact.
Big Rivet really knew his stuff.
Big Rivet squeezed through from the side of the outpost, carrying a welding torch in one hand with his goggles pushed up onto his forehead.
“Primarch!
I fink that gate broke just right.
We can rip it off and stick it on a vehicle.” Gragoth turned toward him.
“Do it.” Big Rivet immediately turned and ran toward the gate frame.
Gragoth rested the massive axe on his shoulder again and walked to the entrance of the outpost.
The convoy was parked in an open area outside.
None of the vehicles had shut off their engines.
They rumbled loudly as black smoke rose from every direction.
He stepped onto the front of the first vehicle, climbed up, then turned to face everyone behind him.
“Everyone listen up.” The Orks fell silent.
In the open ground outside the outpost, beside the vehicles and around the breach in the wall, more than a hundred green figures stopped what they were doing at the same time.
Gragoth raised his massive axe.
“From now on, wherever I go, you go.” “If you don’t hear me say stop, don’t stop.” “If you run into someone bigger than you, don’t all rush him like idiots.
Tell me first.” After the three orders, the Orks looked at one another and nodded.
“Good,” Gragoth said.
He turned to face the direction of Blackfang’s camp.
Gragoth pointed his axe forward.
“Move out!” The convoy continued forward.
A long trail of black smoke stretched out behind the outpost.
It really helps the fic grow!