With heavy footsteps and excited chatter, the Ogryn players marched valiantly onto the strike cruiser of the Astral Claws Chapter.
To the mortal crew of this warship, abhumans like Ogryns were no strangers. Usually, however, the appearance of such creatures was accompanied by a sickening body odor, layers of unwashed filth, and episodes of incontinence triggered by claustrophobia.
Thus, when the sailors responsible for reception saw the dark mass of mountain-like Ogryns crowding into the deck corridors, they reacted almost instinctively. Moving in unison, they covered their noses with pained expressions and retreated repeatedly, attempting to put distance between themselves and these "biochemical weapons."
"We're doomed. So many Ogryns," a sailor in charge of deck cleaning grumbled, his voice muffled behind his fingers. "Just cleaning up the smell they leave behind and—those other things—we're going to be suffering for a while—"
His companions nodded fervently, their eyes full of despair. In the enclosed environment of a starship, the stench of an Ogryn was nothing short of a catastrophe.
However, several seconds passed, and the expected stench did not arrive.
"Uh, wait," someone said, puzzled. He loosened his grip on his nose and took a cautious breath. "Why don't I smell anything?"
The air was filled with the familiar scents of machine oil, incense, and metal—but the signature sour, rotting stench was nowhere to be found.
"Huh? I don't smell it either," another sailor said, lowering his hand in amazement. He even dared to lean forward slightly. "These are actually a batch of odorless Ogryns!"
This discovery hit the crowd like a bombshell. Everyone began whispering, their faces written with disbelief.
"Incredible! Where did the lords find Ogryns that don't stink?"
"They're even cleaner than our living quarters on the lower decks!"
"My family has worked on this ship for three generations, and I've never heard of such a thing! Is this some kind of new genetically modified breed?"
Just as the mortal crew were pointing and staring at the players as if they were rare animals, an Ogryn player with sharp hearing caught their conversation. He stopped in his tracks and turned his head, his massive face clouding with annoyance.
"Oi! You lot over there!" he bellowed, his voice making the deck plates hum. "What do you mean 'actually'? Don't you lot know anything about hygiene? I shower every day, of course I don't smell! Don't go lumping us in with those dirty gits, alright!"
Looking at the player's mountain-like physique and an arm thicker than their own waists, the sailors were scared out of their wits. Their curiosity vanished instantly, replaced by deep terror.
"Our apologies! We didn't know! Please forgive our ignorance!"
the sailors shrank back, folding immediately. Some even began to tremble. After all, if an Ogryn lost its temper, crushing a mortal's skull was no harder than breaking a grox egg. It was best not to provoke them.
Just as the scene was becoming chaotic, a heavy, rhythmic metallic clanking approached.
An Astral Claws Space Marine clad in silver-blue power armor strode forward. At the sight of this demigod-like giant, the mortal sailors who had been begging for mercy fell silent instantly. They knelt on one knee in perfect unison, bowing their heads deeply, not daring to gaze upon the Astartes' glory.
However, the Astral Claw didn't spare the mortals even a glance. He ignored the sailors kneeling all over the floor and walked straight to the group of Ogryn players who were looking around curiously.
"Big guys, follow me!"
Finally reaching the guiding NPC, the players followed him enthusiastically, looking like a pack of hungry wolves waiting for dinner. They moved through complex corridors, finally arriving at a heavy blast door. As the doors slowly slid open, the Astral Claws' armory was revealed.
The room was filled with equipment that Huron had specifically authorized to win over this elite force. Aside from the standard Ogryn issue—thick metal clubs, heavy iron plate armor, and shields the size of door panels—the most eye-catching items were the rows of heavy firearms lined against the walls. They were heavy autocannons that looked as if they had just been ripped off the wings of a fighter jet.
"Holy crap! This thing looks bloody awesome!"
An Ogryn player couldn't wait. He rushed forward and lifted one of the heavy weapons—weighing over a hundred kilograms—with a single hand as if it were a toy. The cold metallic touch and the exaggerated caliber made his eyes light up, and he nearly started drooling.
"Look at this barrel! Look at the caliber! This is way better than a ripper gun!"
"This is what a real man should use!"
The Astral Claw guide had originally intended to maintain order and help distribute the gear to prevent these simple-minded brutes from fighting over weapons—a common occurrence in Ogryn units. To his surprise, however, while the big fellows were noisy, their actions were exceptionally orderly.
Those who wanted to play "tank" went for the shields, those who wanted "DPS" went for the autocannons, and some were even consulting each other on equipment builds. There was no fighting or brawling whatsoever.
Seeing this, the Astartes silently dismissed the idea of intervening and simply stood aside to explain: "These were prepared specifically for you. These heavy autocannons are usually mounted on vehicles or fixed positions, but considering your physique, you can carry them as individual weapons."
He pointed to the mountain of ammo crates nearby: "In combat, you'll carry specialized ammo backpacks with belt-feed systems. Every one of you will be a mobile turret with incredible endurance."
The players were overjoyed, already imagining themselves as human-shaped Gundams, slaughtering everything in their path across the Maelstrom war zone.
"However," the Astral Claw added, pointing to a red device above the receiver, "to prevent you from holding down the trigger in excitement and dumping all your ammo in minutes, we've added a mechanical limiter inside the trigger guard to force burst fire. Removing this is very difficult; it requires—"
Click.
Snap.
Before he could finish, the crisp sound of snapping metal and dismantling parts interrupted him.
The Astral Claw froze. He turned to see many Ogryn players had already ripped off their limiters and tossed them onto the floor, looking disgusted. "Are you kidding? What kind of real man uses burst fire? It's only fun if you're spraying on full auto!"
"Exactly. Anti-human designs like fire-rate locks should have been tossed in the bin ages ago."
Looking at the floor littered with limiter parts, the Astral Claw finally remembered: these Ogryns from the Perdita Helldivers were not your average Ogryns.
"Fine," the Astartes shook his head helplessly. "Our Techmarine brothers haven't fought alongside you yet; they truly underestimated you. It seems a puzzle that would stump a Grox is indeed no match for you."