Mork's Will

Chapter 1

"Oi boss! How much longer doze we haffta wait?!"
  The warboss paid the impatient boy no attention; his eyes trained only at the horizon. His warband laid prone in the foliage, hidden and camouflaged, practically invisible to the naked eye. They had arrived at this Imperial planet three weeks prior. Its name was Malchia Prime and served as an important weapons manufacturing outpost, vital to supplying various human settlements with armaments.
   "Quit yer complainin'. Snickklaw knows what he's doin'." His favorite drinking comrade, Bloodtoof, replied.
   "We've been here on dis zoggin's planet for phree weeks!" the complaining boy hissed back. "I haffn't killed nuffin' yet!"
The nob and boy started to trade barbs with each other, the noise between both starting to get louder.
   "Silence." The two ceased their chattering upon the warboss's authoritative growl. In typical warboss fashion, he would have followed up this order by thoroughly clobbering the bickering duo, yet no such assault came forth. "Pay attention, you'll see what we're waiting for." The manner in which he spoke was literate, even for an Ork.
The approaching sound of vehicles rewarded the group's patience. Snikklaw's eyes focused on the Imperial Guard insignia scrawled onto the side of the truck leading the caravan, which was decked with all manner of roof-mounted artillery and machine guns, a symbol that whatever they were guarding was valuable.
   "Wait until they pass us. On my mark." Snikklaw's boyz readied their weapons, subconsciously getting ready for the action to come. When the last of the caravan vehicles passed their position, the warboss waved his group to advance. They did so in a manner that belied their hulking Orky statures, which stood twice the size of a grown man. Within seconds, they were just several feet from the convoy. As Snikklaw raised the bionic limb that earned him his name, the rest of his boyz prepared. The warboss closed the robotic pincher and his boyz leapt into action. The guardsmen barely had time to emit a sound before they were cut down. Snikklaw's signature weapon cut a swath through the Imperial Guard, while his mates shot and chopped through any stragglers. The warboss's power klaw darted left and right, slicing through the Imperial Guard with a swiftness present in smaller species. Soon, all the defenders had fallen, and the group had exactly what they had been waiting for: high-tech weaponry that was meant to supplement the frontline effort against a fleet of Elder that had intruded on this planet.
   "Mek, get to work and salvage this stuff. 'Rest of you lot, carry what you can. Their back-up will be coming soon."
   Wrenchgit, the Mek of the group, went about and began dismantling the electronics and more advanced weaponry. "Lots and lottsa killy stuff here." he cackled. "We gotta good 'aul 'ere, boss."
The group packed what they could carry and then scampered away, the sound of reinforcement vehicles roaring up behind them. Trees whizzed past them, and the grass underneath their boots became a green blur until they arrived at their escape plan: a carefully concealed warship hidden underneath foliage and branches. The rest of the boyz unloaded their gear and boarded the vessel; a routine they had perfected in the past when raiding Space Marine supply convoys, where being swift meant the difference between a horde of loot worth millions of teef and getting rendered full of holes via bolter fire. Not that Snikklaw was one to back down from a good crumpin', but he knew better than to engage in a force he was ill-equipped to meet. Once his boyz took their places on the ship, Wrenchgit kicked on the ignition, which emitted a soft purring that reminded the warboss of his beloved Squig waiting for him back at his home base, and took off. Unlike the loud vehicles that other Orks used, this vessel in particular was designed for a quick and easy escape, where a loud takeoff would end in enemy ships pursuing them.
   "Full speed ahead." Snikklaw ordered. "Let's not keep the others waiting."
   "Gat it, boss!" Wrenchgit responded, kicking the engines into high gear. The warship, Mork's Chosen, raced ahead, trailing thick smoke into the sky and disappearing into space.
Before long, a massively large orb made out of metal emerged from the darkness. Even for an Ork 'rok,' a large asteroid fashioned into a makeshift fortress by greenskins, it had a certain grace that would fool onlookers. The main artillery placement, the honeycomb-pattern of the Ork quarters, all had a sophistication that would be fit for a race less-obsessed with war, yet this formality is what set Snikklaw apart from other warbossess. Emblazoned in the center of the rok was his personal glyph; an outstretched power klaw, cloaked in fire.
Upon hearing the iconic engines of Mork's Chosen drawing near, the boys on the rok stopped what they were doing and raced to greet their warboss.
   "Back soh soon, izz he?" Painboy Gutchoppa exclaimed, stopping his operation mid-surgery much to the disgruntled squawking of his patient, who was still very much alive and vivisected. He raced out of his operating facility and joined the rest of Snikklaw's tribe, who gathered around the landing warship, chanting and hollering loudly. The door opened, the entrance ramp descended and the greenskin mob erupted into loud cheers, a tide of deafening noise and monstrous praise as Snikklaw himself emerged from the ship. He paused, taking in the atmosphere, the loyalty, the massive horde of greenskins that had flocked to his banner and raised his signature klaw. It was good to be home.
   "This is some dead killy tech we got, boss!" Wrenchgit exclaimed, dumping the Imperial arms onto his workbench. "I'll make it into the finest shoota fer you!"
   "Do what you must." Snikklaw replied, exiting the mekk's workshop.
He surveyed the settlement he had built over the years. In front of him lay Wrenchgit's workshop, the birthplace of the power klaw that adorned his left hand. To the right was Gutchoppa's infirmary, where the procedure to graft his klaw to his arm took place. To his left was his own residency, which he decided to retire to. As he stepped into his quarters, he surveyed the grisly trophies that adorned his hall, the memories of battle flooding his mind: the roar of disciplined bolter fire rang in his ears as he glanced at the azure helmets of space marines from the Ultramarine chapter, the hiss of shurikens in the air as he gazed upon the magnificent capes worn by Eldar warriors and the roar of chaotic fury that greeted him and his boyz when the traitorous minions of Korne invaded his rok; the still-flaming power gauntlet worn by their leader glaring at him. He turned away from his battle trophies and approached the large squig-leather map in the center of his room. Being a Blood Axe, his ability to plan out grand campaigns of carnage was natural. His beloved squig-hound, Febi, curled up at his feet as he crossed off the Imperial convoy his tribe had raided.
   "Oi, boss!" An overhead speaker brayed out. "We got company!!"
Snikklaw lifted his head, his ears flicking. The resounding screech of chitinous aliens roared in the air, making his whole kaptin's quarters shake. Febi barked, looking up at him and wagging her tail. "Nids." he told her. His face split into a wide grin and he strapped on his power klaw, racing out the cabin eagerly.
   What greeted him outside was absolute chaos: blotting out the sky was thousands of Tyranid spores and his camp was awash in carnage. Tyranid and Ork battled each other, scything talon against green hide and choppa meeting xeno chitin.
   "WAAAAAAAAGH!" he roared, the ground vibrating with his warcry. All nearby Tyranids diverted their attention to him and hurled themselves at the warboss. Their attempts were rewarded with his power klaw smashing into them and sending their ruined bodies into the air, trailing ichor. Bolstered by their boss's presence, his boyz raised their weapons and dove headfirst into the Tyranid invaders. Snikklaw made sure that the important members of his tribe were still alive: the metallic whirring of a high-powered shoota and the shrill of dying Nids confirmed Wrenchgit's continued service, while loud, maniacal cackling followed by loud drilling noises burrowing through chitin and into squishy organs was proof of Gutchoppa's existence.
   "They have no fear!" he shouted at his Boyz. "Why the zog do we?!"
His tribe exploded into fervent bloodlust upon this declaration; advancing towards the Tyranid mass with ferocity. Loud explosions filled the air as Wrenchgit unleashed his custom mega-blasta converted from a salvaged Imperial lascannon, while the loud screech of Gutchoppa's medical equipment ripped and tore through several hormaguants with terrifying efficiency. Buggies and war bikes zoomed past him, shredding through carapace under chain-bladed threads. Deffkoptas soared in the sky and engaged with gargoyles, mulching the winged xenos with their bladed rotors.
   A presence rose up from the Tyranid swarm. The hive tyrant, Snikklaw thought. He had experienced two of them in the past and he knew instinctively that so long as this big git continued to live, with its horned head still comfortably attached to its body and not on his wall, his boyz would continue to be butchered. He would not allow that. Not at all.
   "Oi! See that big git over there?!" he yelled, gesturing towards the tyrant. "First one that slays that gets a free war bike!"
   Spurred by their warboss's words, the greenskins started to push back against the living wall of carapaces, leaving only dead xenos in their wake. The two leaders met each other's glares, the tyrant staring at Snikklaw with black eyes filled with malice, and the warboss greeting its gaze with fiery red eyes, leering in the fervor of battle. He had no intention of letting any of his boyz reach the Tyrant; that was his honor. As his boyz ripped and tore through the xenos, the Tyrant ordered its own minions at the warboss, and the further his tribe pushed into the Tyranid ranks, the fiercer the resistance. Snikklaw knew that the Tyrant was protected by well-armored foes known as the Tyrant Guard. There were no squishy eyes to shoot out which was quite a problem.
   "LOOTAS!" he shouted. "Aim at them chunky gits!"
His lootas aimed their shoulder-mounted weapons and the sky was lit up with a blinding light. When the brightness resided, the tyrant guards were reduced to smoldering carcasses. Wrenchgit's work had truly brought fruition and his loud whooping at the carnage of his inventions rang out. Snikklaw stomped towards the tyrant, his face splitting into a toothy leer. He could sense the alien coldness that greeted him in the tyrant's gaze, and it only made him giddy with delight. He put away his shoota and pulled his chain-bladed choppa off of his back. He revved it into life, while the tyrant imbued its bonesword with psychic energy in response.
   "WAAAAGHH!!" Snikklaw roared. The threat of the tyrant was overwhelming and the possibility of death was high. Snikklaw cared little. He charged towards the tyrant in defiance, laughing maniacally...