Warboss Mad-Wheels of the Evil Sunz Clan always firmly believed he was the chosen champion of Gork and Mork.
Ever since he dragged himself out of the fungal spawning pits and beca a newly birthed, joyous Ork Boy, Mad-Wheels had been profoundly obsessed with the exhilarating thrill of pure speed.
Only amidst a high-velocity charge could he truly comprehend the absolute essence of Waaagh!.
And the greenskins Mad-Wheels despised above all else were those zoggin' Blood Axes who did nothing but mimic the humies. Could they even call themselves Orks?!
Those gits wore patched-up, humie-style military uniforms, strapped stolen Imperial weapons to their hips, and practically obsessed over that laughable concept called 'discipline'. They weren't Orky in the slightest, and they definitely weren't Waaagh! at all!
He constantly cursed his atrocious luck for being spawned into the Blood Axe Clan. Consequently, Mad-Wheels unilaterally changed his clan affiliation to the Evil Sunz and actively began evangelizing the "true Ork lifestyle" to any Boy who would listen.
Naturally, taking advantage of Warboss Hakk Fang's indifference, Mad-Wheels successfully cultivated a highly dedicated cult of Speed Freeks and amassed a substantial mob of warbikes.
However, his first actual combat deploynt had been an unmitigated disaster.
Out on the open plains—the first ti in his Ork life he had ever operated in terrain so perfectly suited for a high-speed charge—he beca so overwheld by adrenaline that he forgot everything else. Like an absolute idiot, he led a blind charge directly into a pre-sighted Imperial kill-zone, instantaneously feeding the vast majority of his newly ford mob to the at grinder.
Ever since that day, Mad-Wheels had sworn a blood oath to exact his vengeance upon the humies.
Just like he was doing right now.
"WAAAAAGH!!"
Mad-Wheels roared furiously. The massive warbike beneath him emitted an ear-splitting chanical screech as its tires violently kicked up a chaotic storm of gravel in his wake.
The gale-force winds blasted against his face, rushing into his massive, fang-filled maw and stinging his bulging eyeballs.
But the surging torrent of absolute fury and ecstatic joy swelling within his chest made Mad-Wheels entirely disregard the discomfort.
Charge 'em! Krump 'em! Smash every last one of dem zoggin' humies into scrap tal!
Once he krumped this humie army, he would definitely salvage their shiny tanks, kustomize them to perfection, exponentially increase his own power, and then violently stomp that arrogant Hakk Fang directly into the dirt!
He would show that git who the true Warboss was!
However, the brief, beautiful daydream was violently shattered by the sudden, sky-tearing shriek of atmospheric displacent.
Mad-Wheels's pupils contracted violently as he snapped his head upward.
Wot?!
An apocalyptic wall of munitions was screaming toward them. High-explosive bolts and tracer rounds drew an impossibly dense web of trajectories, descending upon the charging Speed Freeks like an inescapable iron net.
Before the Orks had even broken cover, a multitude of Imperial tanks and armored transports—variants Mad-Wheels couldn't even begin to na—had already flawlessly traversed their turrets, locking their sights directly onto the incoming ambush.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!!!
Mad-Wheels watched with crystal clarity as the entire front echelon of his Speed Freeks was instantaneously vaporized. Mangled warbike chassis, violently entangled with shredded flesh and bone, were launched high into the air before crashing heavily back down to the blood-soaked earth.
Relying on his terrifying transhuman reflexes, he violently wrenched the handlebars, narrowly dodging the flaming wreckage of a destroyed bike. But the Boyz flanking him were already being mowed down in droves, leaving practically no survivors.
"Don't panic! Keep pushin'!"
Mad-Wheels bellowed at the top of his lungs, desperately attempting to drown out the apocalyptic roar of the Imperial barrage.
"We're Evil Sunz! Just keep goin' fasta and we win!"
That battle-cry might have successfully deluded the majority of the blind, adrenaline-crazed Boyz, but it couldn't deceive him.
In that singular microsecond, Mad-Wheels realized the fundantal truth: the entire premise of this high-speed charge was to utilize the elent of surprise to catch the humies off-guard.
However, given that the Imperial armored column had clearly anticipated the ambush and pre-sighted their kill-zones, the lightly armored biker Boyz were nothing more than high-velocity target practice.
But he absolutely refused to accept this.
Recalling Hakk Fang's contemptuous glare, and rembering the mocking snickers of the Blood Axe Boyz when he had returned from his previous catastrophic defeat...
The Ork Nob's eyes burned a furious crimson. He slamd a heavy, aty fist onto the massive red button mounted on the dashboard. The rear thrusters violently spewed thick columns of fla, the engine howling in chanical agony as he miraculously threaded the needle through the impossibly dense wall of fire, charging directly toward a super-heavy tank.
At da very least, I'm gonna make dese humies taste da wrath of da Evil Sunz!
Mad-Wheels hoisted his Rokkit Hamr high, fully prepared to slam it into the tank's side armor and execute a flawless vehicle kill.
BOOM!
A violent explosion erupted.
But it wasn't the sound of Mad-Wheels successfully detonating his hamr against the tank hull. It was the sound of his Rokkit Hamr being violently, prematurely detonated in mid-air. The catastrophic shockwave hit him with such force that even a massively built Ork Nob like Mad-Wheels was violently thrown off balance, tumbling aggressively from his warbike.
Zog it all! Wot happened?!
Mad-Wheels's eyes bulged in shock.
Standing directly before him was a towering transhuman clad in auric Terminator armor. The giant slowly turned, regarding the heavily muscled prey with absolute, chilling apathy, the barrels of his assault cannon glowing cherry-red.
Only then did Mad-Wheels fully grasp the severity of the situation.
Briefly scanning his surroundings, he realized that perfectly integrated within the rolling tide of Imperial steel were nurous Astartes.
Relying on their terrifying transhuman reflexes and centuries of combat experience, they maintained flawless tactical synergy with the armored elents.
When the ambush occurred, the Astartes had utilized incredibly precise marksmanship to systematically execute any Orks that managed to slip through the primary kill-zones. Countless Speed Freeks who thought they had successfully breached the fire-net were gunned down before they could even utter a war cry.
And Mad-Wheels abruptly realized that he was the only Greenskin who had successfully penetrated the armored periter.
"Impossible!"
The Ork Nob roared hysterically. He violently discarded the mangled remnants of his Rokkit Hamr, flexing his massive power klaw as he prepared to charge the humie tin-can and engage in brutal lee combat.
However, even this desperate attempt was entirely thwarted. The storm of mass-reactive rounds unleashed by the assault cannon rcilessly hamred him, violently driving him back into the dirt.
The Terminator calmly withdrew his gaze, smoothly acquiring the next xenos target slated for termination.
"Zog it all! I ain't done yet!"
Mad-Wheels struggled violently to his feet. While the mass-reactive rounds had knocked him down, his incredibly thick ga-armor had absorbed the brunt of the kinetic shock; he wasn't critically injured.
What truly infuriated him, however, was that the Terminator didn't even bother to spare him a second glance, casually moving on to dispense the Emperor's wrath elsewhere.
A microsecond later, Mad-Wheels understood exactly why.
The earth trembled violently. A colossal shadow violently eclipsed the sun, falling entirely over Mad-Wheels's face. The Ork Nob's eyes widened in profound disbelief.
A towering Castraferrum Dreadnought, resembling a localized god of war forged from guntal and rage, took heavy, earth-shattering strides and lood directly over him.
Before Mad-Wheels could even attempt to react, the Dreadnought's massive hydraulic power claw violently shot forward, clamping around him like a titan's vice and hoisting his massive fra entirely off the ground.
Then, with a terrifying surge of chanical force, the Dreadnought violently slamd the Ork Nob face-first against the side armor of a nearby Rogal Dorn battle tank.
CRASH!
... Snap.
Accompanied by a sickeningly crisp crunch, several of Mad-Wheels's impossibly thick ribs instantly shattered. He began to thrash violently, like a fish desperately fighting the butcher's knife, but it was utterly futile against the adamantium grip of the Dreadnought.
"No! I'm Gork and Mork's chosen! I ain't dyin' 'ere!"
Entirely ignoring the xenos's frantic, guttural shrieks, the Dreadnought calmly retracted its massive power fist, before driving it forward in a devastating strike.
Mad-Wheels's reinforced skull instantaneously fractured; his consciousness began to violently fragnt.
The second strike landed, and an eyeball violently popped from its socket, bursting against the hull.
The third strike landed. Fangs and shattered bone violently sprayed across the tank's armor plating with a sharp, rattling sound.
By the ti the fourth strike landed, Mad-Wheels had entirely lost consciousness. All his grandiose delusions of glory, of becoming the greatest Boss, of leading the ultimate Waaagh!, and of being divine chosen... were ultimately reduced to an indistinguishable sar of bloody paste decorating the side of an Imperial tank.
Paying absolutely zero mind to the extermination of a single Greenskin, the rolling tide of Imperial steel maintained its relentless advance, driving ever forward toward its ultimate objective.
Exactly as they had done ten millennia ago.
--------------------------
Read 30 chapters ahead on Patreon!
spatreon/goatmama
User Comments
0 comments from readers