When Marcus opened his eyes, there was only suffocating darkness.
He was curled up in a tight, wet sac.
The walls were not wood they were thick, veined fungal membrane, pulsing faintly, hot and slick with mucus.
It stank of damp earth and copper.
“Holy shit!
Wasn’t I dead?
Someone caved my skull in with a wrench!”
He thrashed.
The membrane stretched, then tore with a wet POP.
A shaft of sickly green light cut through.
He ripped his way out, clawing through loam and tangled fungal roots.
He burst out of the ground in a ragged mushroom field.
The air hit him like a hammer rotting fish, fungus rot, and shit.
He almost puked.
And then he saw them.
A dozen small, green, long-nosed creatures, barely up to his knee, staring at him.
Skinny arms, big heads.
Goblins.
And even smaller ones behind them, the Snotlings.
`Have I…
transmigrated?
Is this Goblin Slayer?`
A cold sweat ran down his back.
He instinctively covered his ass.
Those anime goblins…
Then one of the goblins opened its mouth and shrieked, “WAAAGH!”
That one sound changed everything.
It wasn’t Goblin Slayer.
It was Warhammer.
“Holy shit, I’m a greenskin?!”
In his past life, besides mixing chemicals in a black-market lab, he did nothing but play Total War: Warhammer.
And no sane person wants to transmigrate into Warhammer Fantasy.
It’s a meat grinder world.
“Wait, you say I’m not a sane person?
Fair enough.”
Instinctively, Marcus thought `May the Emperor protect me.`
The moment he thought it, his skull felt like it was split by a double-headed axe.
**[WAAAGH!]**
A green tide of pure, belligerent psychic energy slammed into his brain.
Two colossal, grinning gods brawling in the warp turned their gaze for a millisecond.
**GORK!
MORK!**
He blacked out from the sheer pressure.
The goblins and snotlings stared at their new, biggest thing as it collapsed.
Their tiny brains short-circuited.
Was dis a new kind of sleepin’?
Better not touch it, or it’ll krump us when it wakes up.
They scattered to hide behind mushrooms.
Dusk.
Marcus woke up, head throbbing.
And a voice that was NOT his own buzzed in his head.
> **GORK & MORK HAVE NOTICED YOU.
THE WAAAGH!
FIELD RESPONDS TO YOUR THINKIN’.**
> **SYSTEM ACTIVATED: [I FINK, THEREFORE IT IZ]**
> **WAAAGH!
Energy +10**
Then a prompt:
> **I fink da boyz need a betta Choppa!
I fink I need more boyz!
DEN WE CAN HAVE A PROPA WAAAGH!**
His cheat system had arrived.
“I fucking love Gork and Mork!”
Even in this hellhole, I’ll get strong!
I’ll get a pointy-eared elf gi-
He looked down.
Flat.
Smooth.
Green.
Nothing.
His eyes widened in pure, existential horror.
“FUCK!
I’m a mushroom!
Mushrooms don’t HAVE dicks!”
While he was mourning his lost future, a particularly skinny goblin sprinted over, did a sliding kneel, and screeched.
“Ironhead Boss!
Ironhead Boss!”
Marcus looked at it.
“Me?”
The goblin nodded frantically, terrified of being hit.
“Yez!
You iz da biggest!
You iz da boss of da Ironhead Tribe now, boss!”
A system window popped up.
> **QUEST: DA BOSS’S SPEECH**
> **You iz da new Warboss of Ironhead!
Gather da grots and give ’em a proper shoutin’ so dey know who’z in charge.
If dey don’t listen, KRUMP ‘EM!**
> **REWARD: [Get Da Blood Up] – Your boyz enter a frenzy for 5 hours.
Fight harder, work faster.
Cooldown: 2 days.**
Marcus grabbed the goblin.
“What’s your name, runt?”
“Iron Egg, boss!
Me name’z Iron Egg!”
“Alright, Iron Egg.
Where are all the real Orcs?
How am I boss?”
Iron Egg scratched his head.
“Six moons ago, big boss Grom da Paunch called a GREAT WAAAGH!
Old Warboss took all da big ‘uns and went wiv Grom to smash da pointy-ears on da sea donut!
Dey never came back!
So now you iz biggest!”
Marcus understood instantly.
Grom’s WAAAGH!
to Ulthuan.
That was a one-way trip.
The old Ironhead boys were dead.
Thank the Twin Gods it was Fantasy.
If it was 40K, he’d be facing Space Marines with chainsaws.
“Alright, Iron Egg.
Go shout.
Tell all da little runts to get to da mushroom field.
Da new boss has got somethin’ to say.”
Iron Egg ran off screaming at the top of his lungs: “ALL GROTS TO DA FUNGUS FIELD!
NEW BOSS GONNA SPEAK!”
Half an hour later, about thirty goblins and a swarm of snotlings had gathered, squabbling, biting each other, and hitting each other with sticks.
Pure Green Chaos.
Marcus tried to talk.
No one listened.
Fine.
Traditional Ork management.
He waded into the crowd and started swinging.
Big green fists connected with small green faces.
He beat three goblins into the mud until they stopped moving.
Silence.
He climbed back onto a big mushroom and roared with everything his new lungs had:
**”I’M DA BOSS!
I’M BIGGER DAN ALL OF YOOZ!
SO YOU LOT LISTEN!
WE’Z GONNA GET BIG CHOPPAS!
WE’Z GONNA GET MORE BOYZ!
WE’Z GONNA HAVE A PROPA WAAAGH!”**
For a second, silence.
Then thirty throats screamed back as one:
*”WAAAGH!!!