War Hammer: The reality Bender Chapter 57 57: The Harvested Gestalt

It can only be said that if Hakk Fang of the Blood Axe Clan had anticipated this humie's true intent, he absolutely would have regretted not committing suicide beforehand to imdiately return to the side of Gork and Mork.

Because what occurred next was the ultimate, absolute humiliation for any Greenskin.

Rowan calmly took a step forward. Hakk Fang, who had fully intended to mount a desperate counter-attack, suddenly felt his body beco encased in invisible amber. He was rendered utterly immobile, as if the very air around him had transmuted into a hyper-dense alloy, completely sealing him within.

At this precise mont, Hakk Fang finally understood.

So, the terrifying tales spun by the Boyz who had fled the previous engagents were actually true.

Is dis exactly how Galiya got krumped?

Rowan walked slowly until he stood directly in front of the paralyzed Ork. He reached out with both hands and firmly gripped Hakk Fang by the throat.

The sheer disparity in their physical sizes made this action look exceptionally comical.

It was akin to a halfling gripping a towering giant by the neck. The visual representation of power dynamics was entirely inverted, creating a profoundly absurd tableau.

Yet, the Greenskins swarming below stared blankly at this spectacle. They watched their Warboss—an entity they fundantally believed to be invincible, a leader who had won a hundred battles—being choked by a completely ordinary-looking humie like a helpless, struggling squig.

Naturally, what they couldn't have anticipated was...

This was not the end.

The true horror was yet to co.

Rowan's gaze sharpened as he fully engaged his reality-bending dominion, pushing his willpower and focus to their absolute apex.

The formless power of reality bending seeped into every single inch of Hakk Fang's skin, penetrating every cell, perating every bone, until the Ork was thoroughly saturated.

The Waaagh! Field, which inherently possessed a certain degree of resistance against reality bending, was rendered utterly impotent. Before the overwhelming might of a Level 3 Reality Bender, it was effortlessly suppressed, reduced to a hollow shell.

Consequently, absolutely nothing remained to impede Rowan's subsequent action.

"Wot... wot is dis?!"

Hakk Fang struggled futilely, absolute despair bleeding into his crimson eyes.

He could feel his massively muscled physique—a body bursting with explosive power that was the envy of every Ork on the planet—undergoing an incomprehensible, terrifying regression.

No, it wasn't a regression; it was a violent distortion.

—It was the forcible transmutation of one physical form into an entirely different one.

His massive body was shrinking rapidly. His towering height plumted, his bulging muscles dissolved, and his skeletal structure, his mass, his everything was being violently and fundantally reconfigured. The colossal, three-ter-tall behemoth rapidly deflated like a punctured balloon.

Ultimately, his form shrank, and shrank, and shrank, until the massive disparity in size between him and Rowan was completely reversed.

Now, the "halfling" Hakk Fang was being dangled in the air by Rowan, held by the neck like a pathetic, misbehaving pet.

Hakk Fang blankly lowered his head, staring at his current body—withered, scrawny, and grotesquely deford.

This was not his body.

This was... the body of a Grot!

"I... Hakk Fang..."

In that agonizing instant, a devastating realization crushed his soul.

Hakk Fang of the Blood Axes was no longer a proud, mighty Ork Warboss.

He was a zoggin' Grot!

And below the massive Gargant, every single Greenskin who witnessed this apocalyptic spectacle fell absolutely, deathly silent, experiencing a collective sensation of suffocating horror.

Grots, also known as Runts or Gretchin, were a diminutive subspecies of the Greenskin race.

They were universally cowardly, weak, and deceitful. They were thoroughly despised by proper Ork Boyz, occupying a societal position equivalent to slaves. They served as ergency rations, living at-shields, or simply punching bags for Orks to beat up when bored.

Yet now, their mighty Warboss had been forcefully transmuted into a pathetic Grot by whatever foul sorcery this humie possessed!

Countless Orks frantically rubbed their eyes, desperately hoping to see the truth more clearly, yet they were ultimately forced to accept the horrifying reality.

When Rowan casually cast his gaze downward, the massive horde of Greenskins didn't even dare to look him in the eye. When that practically tangible gaze swept over them, they broke down, weeping and wailing in absolute terror, scrambling and crawling over one another in a desperate bid to escape his sight.

It's too zoggin' scary!

Not a single Ork wanted to be the next unlucky git turned into a Grot!

Orks were indeed a bio-engineered warrior race that fundantally did not comprehend the concept of fear.

Often, the fiercer the battle, the more euphoric they beca, relying on their fanatical bloodlust to violently demonstrate the true aning of war to the other species of the galaxy.

Death itself was fundantally incapable of halting a Waaagh! The more catastrophic the casualties, the more excited the war-addicted Orks beca, because it ant they had finally found a "proppa fight."

In the grim darkness of the future, the fanatical Greenskins would even force the Tyranids—an extragalactic apex predator species famous for its endless swarm tactics—to reluctantly adopt decapitation strike doctrines simply to deal with them.

But at this precise mont, the Ork Boyz gained a crystal-clear understanding that there were different kinds of death.

Being krumped by a mighty foe in a glorious, bloody brawl brought exhilarating satisfaction.

But being transmuted into a pathetic, scrawny Grot, only to be casually strangled to death by a humie... that was the ultimate, inescapable terror.

"Zog dis, I'm leggin' it!"

"No! Don't turn into a Grot!"

"Run! We's krumped! We's completely krumped!"

In that singular instant, the terrifying silhouette of Rowan was permanently seared into the minds of every single Greenskin present.

If they managed to survive this day without returning to Gork and Mork, this mory would beco an eternal, inescapable nightmare haunting them for the rest of their lives.

"Now, let see... who wishes to be the next Grot?"

A cordial, polite smile gracing his face, Rowan swept his gaze across the terrified horde.

He casually squeezed, snapping the neck of the entirely spiritually broken Hakk Fang, whose existence no longer held any utilitarian value. Without a shred of hesitation, he tossed the Grot-corpse aside like discarded trash.

The mont those words left his lips, the psychological breaking point of the Greenskins was completely shattered.

All vestiges of discipline and bloodlust vanished without a trace.

Desperate to escape with their lives, they abandoned everything. They left behind their prized Trukks, looted tanks, and Battle Fortresses. They discarded their beloved big shootas and massive choppas. They even stripped off their proudly worn armor plating, trampling over one another in a maddened stampede to flee in every conceivable direction.

"Hah. Effortless."

Rowan smiled faintly, evidently unsurprised by this outco.

At that mont, he turned slightly, directing his gaze to the spot where Hakk Fang had perished.

Floating in mid-air was a pale white orb of light, rhythmically pulsing and contracting.

Just a mont ago, when the collective psyche of the Greenskins shattered and the previously stable Waaagh! Field could no longer maintain its cohesion, Rowan had struck.

He imdiately deployed his reality-bending dominion, entirely intercepting and sequestering the dissipating Gestalt Field.

This inherently formless and immaterial Waaagh! Field had been forcibly granted a tangible, physical manifestation by Rowan's ontological power, rendering it into an object that could be interacted with and harvested.

Rowan slowly extended his hand, reaching toward the pulsating orb of light.

Now then, let us see exactly how this anomaly can assist my ascension.

--------------------------

Read 30 chapters ahead on Patreon!

spatreon/goatmama