On the bridge, Lufgt Huron stared at the armory report transmitted by the Astartes. An irrepressible curve hooked the corner of his mouth as his fingers tapped rhythmically against the arm of his throne. He was in a state of absolute euphoria.
Throne be praised! Three thousand Ogryns with normal intelligence!
In the common understanding of the Imperium, while Ogryns possessed Herculean strength, their brains were severely lacking, relegating them to roles as meat shields or simple shock troops. But these giants from the Perditia Forlorn were different; they possessed a cunning and tactical acumen that rivaled any baseline human.
Even if their individual combat capability couldn't quite match a fully modified and trained Astartes, their terrifying physique and heavy firepower meant they could effectively count as 0.8 of a Space Marine.
Huron quickly ran the numbers in his head: the Astral Claws currently numbered 3,500 Space Marines, all told. With the addition of these three thousand fully armed Ogryns, the Chapter's theoretical combat power had effectively increased by more than half overnight!
"Hahahaha—!" Huron laughed wildly in his mind, the flames of ambition burning bright in his lone eye. With this force, he would make those arrogant xenos and despicable heretics in the Maelstrom kneel and sing of his conquest!
As time passed, the Astral Claws' fleet shuddered violently as the veil of reality was torn asunder, and the warships slowly transitioned out of the Warp.
Outside the viewports, the magnificent and deadly nebulae of the Maelstrom came into view. Violent Warp energies lashed out like tentacles between the star systems; this was a tumor on the Imperium, but a paradise for the ambitious.
However, the fleet was still some distance from the Astral Claws' headquarters in the Badab Sector. The energy currents at the center of the Maelstrom were extremely complex and unpredictable—a desert of logic where standard Warp navigation was impossible. This was the fundamental reason why the Imperium found it so difficult to govern the Maelstrom region directly.
Just as the fleet exited the Warp lanes and began adjusting engine output, the alarms on the bridge suddenly blared.
"Lord! Unidentified vessels are approaching at high speed!" the auspex operator reported loudly. "No identification signals—wait, visual confirmation... it's a—uh, a pile of junk?"
As the reconnaissance feed zoomed in, a dozen or so ramshackle, bizarre warships appeared on the screen, looking as though they had been forcibly welded together from countless pieces of scrap metal. They belched thick black smoke, their hulls covered in chaotic paint and massive tusk icons. Clearly, this was the handiwork of Orks.
"Greenskin Bucanners," Huron snorted with disdain.
"Report: we are receiving a visual communication request from the opposition," the comms officer said hesitantly.
"Put it through," Huron said, adjusting his power armor and settling into his command seat. "Let's see what sort of thing dares to block the path of the Astral Claws."
The screen flickered a few times before a massive green face suddenly filled the frame. It was an Ork Warboss with a mouth full of rotten teeth and a sheet-metal jaw. It stared through the screen with bloodshot little eyes, sizing up Huron.
"WAAAAGH! Lookie 'ere, it's a shiny tin Humie!" The Warboss let out a piercing laugh, spittle practically flying off the screen. "Oi! You there, Humie-Can! You'z in our way! So we have to krump ya! No hard feelingz!"
It waved a massive power claw, roaring arrogantly: "But I'm feelin' noice! If you Humies get outta da way real noice-like and leave us some crates of da 'good dakka,' I might just be good and let you tin cans go!"
The entire bridge went dead silent. The mortal crew members looked at Huron in terror.
Huron was actually amused by such ignorant bravado. In the Maelstrom, no one dared speak to the Astral Claws like that.
He flashed a cruel smile, the red light in his eye flickering: "Xenos, your ignorance makes me laugh. Your only end is destruction."
The Ork clearly hadn't expected a rebuttal. It froze for a second before flying into a rage, slamming its fists onto the console with a thunderous *clack-clack*: "Right then! You un-finkin' Humie-Can! I'm gonna show you who'z da Boss! Boyz! Give 'em a propa Waagh welcome! WAAAAAGH !!!"
The communication cut out amidst the ear-piercing roar.
"Brother Huron, the First Company is ready for boarding actions," the bodyguard Captain requested in a low voice.
Huron raised a hand to stop him, watching the scrap-metal Ork ship accelerating toward them on the screen with a playful glint in his eyes.
"No, there is no need to deploy the Astartes," Huron ordered, his voice laced with anticipation. "Release the Ogryns. This is a perfect field test. Let me see exactly how much power my fully armed Ogryns can truly exert!"
Facing the black smoke-belching Greenskin vessel that was charging like a mad dog, the Astral Claws strike cruiser displayed a breathtaking arrogance. Under Huron's direction, the ship didn't even attempt a single evasive maneuver.
"BOOM—!!!"
Accompanied by the soul-wrenching sound of twisting metal and violent vibrations, the Ork ship—a mountain of junk welded together—slammed squarely into the hull of the Astral Claws vessel. Though the Imperial warship was heavily armored, the savage physical impact still sent a shudder through the entire craft.
Immediately following, like a parasite clinging to bone, the Ork ship launched countless rusted boarding torpedoes painted with large red arrows. With piercing shrieks, they bored into the strike cruiser's outer armor, pinning themselves to the hull like nails.
"Boyz! Dis ship belongs to us now!"
With the muffled thuds of hatches blowing open, the Greenskins immediately began their favorite pastime: boarding combat.
At one of the breached openings, as the steam cleared, a squad of Greenskins poured out of the torpedo bay with wild screeches. Leading them was an Ork Boss in tattered heavy armor, waving a chain-axe dripping with engine oil, his face flushed with excitement.
"WAAAAGH!!!"
He was the first to charge into the corridor, opening his maw to roar: "Li'l Humies! We'z 'ere to take yer 'eads—"
However, his roar stopped abruptly half a second later, as if an invisible hand had suddenly snatched him by the throat.
The Ork Boss remained frozen in his axe-swinging pose, staring blankly at the scene before him.
The scene he expected—panicked mortal sailors fleeing in all directions, or even a few Space Marines in power armor—did not appear. Instead, waiting for them was a group of gargantuan figures that crowded the wide corridor so tightly not even water could leak through.
These creatures wore thick, master-crafted plate armor and held heavy autocannons that could easily double as war hammers. Every single one of them was a full head taller than even the Ork Boss, with shoulders as broad as stone walls.
Now, dozens of eyes were staring down at him. There was no fear in those gazes; instead, there was a kind of... excitement, like they had just spotted prey.
The Ork Boss's Adam's apple bobbed. He instinctively gauged the height difference—his hulking physique, his greatest pride, actually seemed a bit petite in front of these behemoths.
He stared with beady eyes, his menacing expression instantly collapsing into pure confusion: "Mork's teef... why'z dese Humies so big?"