A massive ork fleet was slowly encircling the Conqueror.
This ork army had followed Hulk through countless campaigns over many years. In the eyes of most orks, their boss was invincible — never failing in attack, never losing in battle. He had even earned the recognition of Gork and Mork, becoming the sole God-Chosen among all orkkind.
"WAAAAGH!"
Every ork on the warships excitedly beat their weapons together, anticipating the battle ahead — ready to WAAAGH alongside their boss!
Even from a distance, you could tell these orks were massive. Some of the bigger ones could rival Primaris Space Marines in size, and their raw physical stats would qualify them as Warbosses among other greenskins.
Yet even these hulking brutes were merely Hulk's personal guard. Some of the weapons they carried could only be lifted by walking tanks — it was absolutely deranged.
"Time to move out!"
On the other side — Angron had already prepared his boarding torpedoes, ready to force-breach the enemy vessel with his sons.
He'd brought only a single company, small in number but composed entirely of Terminator veterans. Among them were several Leviathan Terminators — called Terminators in name only, but larger in practice than some Dreadnoughts. Their disintegration weapons could use the energy of the Warp to tear a target apart completely, no matter how tough — one shot was all it took.
The only downside was a non-trivial chance of catastrophic misfire. And a misfire here wouldn't just knock you off your feet.
"Primarch, we are ready!"
"...Though we still feel this mission carries too much risk."
"Relax." Angron's palm came down on the anxious warrior's head.
In moments, the man's heart was flooded with calm.
Angron had recovered his psychic abilities. Everything the God of War had taken from him — it had all come back.
"The ork leader who contacted us is no ork at all," Angron said. "He appears to be a highly unusual mutant. Though judging by his skull structure, he may not even be a mutant."
"The strange thing is — I spoke with him twice, and his body was a different size each time."
Angron didn't yet know the nature of Hulk's abilities. If he had, the fight would likely be quite different.
Hulk's power was immense — at peak rage, the upper limit was almost inconceivable. But it had its weaknesses. It was all emotion-dependent.
If something could suppress that emotion, Angron could win. Without question.
Standing before his sons, Angron raised his twin axes and roared:
"My sons — today you are liberators!"
"Remember — every life you take today has meaning!"
"This killing serves to save more lives. Never forget that. Do not kill without purpose!"
And with that, he led from the front.
He boarded the torpedo alone, launched himself forward.
His sons followed. By now they could all hear Angron's inner voice, so they already knew what he was going to say before he said it.
[Angron: I really hope my children stop getting lost in mindless slaughter…]
[After this fight, I need to have a good talk with all of them.]
Upon hearing this, the already fired-up members of the Twelfth Legion lit up with golden fire in their eyes.
No warrior could refuse a personal talk with their Primarch. For all of them, it was one of the rare, precious opportunities to be close to their mother figure.
Caleb had no idea that the World Eaters had basically turned into devoted fans of their Primarch.
Some of them had quietly changed their personal creed to: Fight to protect the Primarch.
Their loyalty — or betrayal — rested entirely in Angron's hands. If Angron chose to serve the Emperor, they would follow without hesitation. If Angron chose to rebel, they would follow without hesitation.
The torpedoes struck their designated coordinates — the meeting point agreed upon by both sides.
Caleb was genuinely stunned. Two absolute brutes, and they were fighting like it was a formal duel out of the movies. Both sides were actually following the rules. It was nothing short of miraculous.
BANG.
The boarding torpedo punched through layer after layer of scrap plating and crashed into a massive dueling hall.
Everything here was forged from metal, and at its center stood two enormous statues of Gork and Mork.
"Hah," Caleb muttered. "These two giant greenskins… I really want to give them some custom paintwork. Can I just dip my brush onto the board? They're dueling — they shouldn't mind a little graffiti, right?"
He stretched his paint-covered brush toward the board — and it bounced right back.
He couldn't even deploy anything.
[WARNING: Your current permissions do not allow modification of Gork and/or Mork.]
[Players must abide by game rules. Complete the campaign mission before making modifications.]
"Fine."
Truthfully, Caleb was worried about whether Angron could actually win this.
This was THE Hulk, after all. At peak rage, the man could literally punch Angron into a pancake.
"Everyone, CHARGE! Hit them HARD!"
"If you can't even beat a bunch led by some girl, don't bother eating dinner tonight!"
True to form — one sentence and it was WAAAAGH time.
The massive ork brutes who had been straining at the leash could hold back no longer and surged forward.
These orks were among the most feared and capable fighters in the whole warband. They followed Hulk because he had promised to become the strongest human alive — and kept fighting to prove it.
Seeing the charge, the World Eaters wasted no time. They raised their heavy weapons, picked up their shields, and began advancing in tight formation.
Withering fire swept through wave after wave of charging fodder.
"Wait, this isn't right…"
"Waaaagh~"
"Aren't these the World Eaters?"
"Why do they look like they're fighting like the Iron Warriors?"
Watching the methodical, layered advance, Caleb realized — this Angron really was nothing like before.
Through the psychic network, he was issuing a constant stream of precise commands, locking his warriors into tight formation and driving them steadily toward the enemy leader.
[Angron: Yes, yes, exactly like that — hold the formation, advance steadily! Beautiful! Good boys!]
[What is the sniper team doing?! Get those guns taken out NOW!]
[Another few men just got skewered — what kind of lunatic mounts a cannon that big on their arm?!]
Angron commanded and complained at the same time. Through his psychic reach, the entire company moved as one — like extensions of his own body, responding to his will instantly.
These warriors were no longer simply warriors. They were part of Angron.
"Interesting," Caleb said.
"Every squad is coordinating beautifully. The Twelfth Legion used to be a discipline nightmare — they'd spiral into mindless slaughter and fall apart. But fighting like this… casualties should stay manageable. Hopefully they'll have enough strength left to finish the job."
He wasn't worried about Hulk dying. If Hulk actually got killed, he'd just return to Caleb's hand — nothing to worry about.
But if Angron died — the penalty would be catastrophic.
Caleb had absolutely no desire to be reincarnated into Warhammer as some kind of daemon spawn.
"Move aside. You're all rookies. Looks like I'll have to handle this myself."
Watching his handpicked bruisers getting pushed back, Hulk had seen enough.
He shoved through his own men and broke into a sprint.
Then a single leap — and he came crashing down right into the middle of the enemy formation.
[Angron: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!]
[That's bigger than I was when I was daemonic — is this thing actually human?!]
Bolter rounds rained against Hulk like hailstones — including several heavy shells, the kind mounted on Dreadnoughts, capable of shredding light armor with ease.
Against Hulk, they might as well have been tickles.
He moved like a rampaging bull, smashing left and right through the formation. He tore a gaping hole in the line and let a mob of his biggest orks pour through behind him.
"...Well."
Caleb went quiet.
Was this what they called getting beaten by your own hand? His piece was simply too powerful.
Within moments, Hulk had personally beaten dozens of Astartes into pulp. Those hands — wider than a man's shoulders — could flatten someone with a single slap.
"Fall back. Let me handle this."
"State your name. I challenge you to single combat — to the death."
Angron leapt to the front. His twin axes came crashing down.
The sheer force behind the blow made Hulk's hands go slightly numb.
Hulk blinked — impressed that this compact human had that kind of power. And impressed that she hadn't been cowering in the back.
This little one had courage.
"I — am Hulk! Human! God-Chosen of Gork and Mork! My ambition is to become the strongest human alive, and I hereby challenge the strongest human among your lot!"
"WAAAAGH!"
The orks who'd just witnessed that exchange of power instantly agreed — this was a worthy opponent for their boss.
The greenskins settled in to watch. They were fully confident. In a straight fight, nothing beats Hulk. It said so in their hearts.
Angron, meanwhile, didn't particularly want to fight this strange figure.
Not simply because of the formidable combat power — but because the moment he realized his enemy was a human hiding among orks, something in his worldview quietly cracked.
[Angron: When did a mutant start running a greenskin outfit? What has the Imperium come to?]
Hulk, somehow, heard it.
Ordinarily, xenos couldn't hear Angron's inner voice. But Hulk, unfortunately for Angron, was no xenos.
"Don't call me a mutant!"
"Last time someone claiming to be a son of the Space Wolves called me that, I left him half-paralyzed."
"You're the leader of these humans?"
"Good. You're worthy of fighting me. When I defeat you, your warriors will listen to me."
Angron understood every individual word. Strung together, they produced a sensation of profound disorientation.
Something felt off. A human this absurdly powerful, this relentlessly combat-hungry, growing stronger the more he fought — and his previous employer had no interest in him?
Well. Maybe that tracked. This was exactly the kind of specimen that would drive Khorne into a frenzy. If the Blood God ever laid eyes on this man, he'd be more excited than he'd ever been over Sanguinius.
"Did that self-styled God of War ever try to recruit you? The red daemon. Ring any bells?"
"You mean that waste of space called Khorne who calls himself the God of War?!"
"I found him completely boring. All he ever wanted was for me to kill, kill, kill — with no point to any of it!"
"Absolutely useless!"
"He's got nothing on Gork and Mork. At least with them, I get to pick my own fights!"
The World Eaters listening in began to feel a chill — because through Angron's psychic link, they were picking up both sides of the conversation.
Their Primarch was... chatting with the enemy boss.
[Everyone: Is this okay?]
[Angron: Yes, it's fine. My old boss was an idiot.]
[He only ever wanted mindless killing — no point to any of it.]
[Hulk: Back when I was under Khorne's boot, I single-handedly brawled 88 greater daemons. That coward didn't even dare stand up to face me. Clearly terrified.]
"..."
Caleb stared in silence.
These two were still actively beating each other up — and somehow they'd already started chatting on a private channel?
This truth-or-dare situation had escalated far beyond expectations. Mid-brawl, the two seemed to be becoming friends.
The atmosphere had reached a point where it felt like they were one second away from swearing brotherhood in front of a shrine.
Especially when it came to their mutual former employer — both found immediate common ground in how thoroughly they despised a certain someone whose sacred number is 8.
Their spiritual alignment was complete. Literally — they punched each other into agreement.
Deep in the Warp, seated upon the Brass Throne, a certain presence felt a sudden, inexplicable chill.
Something was distorting his Warp essence. Absurd as it sounded, it was undeniably happening.
[Khorne: cough cough cough—]
[Someone is talking about me. I have no proof. Why does the cursing in the Warp keep flickering? WHO IS IT?]
Having recently lost a major piece, Khorne was already frustrated and looking for a new fight.
And then — in a corner of the Nebulous Star Domain — he spotted a former employee.
Angron, now inhabiting the form of an adorable girl with little fangs, still carried that familiar sharpness in her eyes. But the Warp-signature underneath? That couldn't be faked.
[Khorne: Wait — how did Angron end up here?]
[No — that's not how you fight! Why has all that rage just... vanished after all those hits?!]
[This is wrong. This is all wrong.]
[You're supposed to be furious at each other! That's how I build affinity! That's how I recruit you both!]
His white whale — and a former employee — going at it in single combat.
Khorne couldn't sit still.
Never one to give up, he reached out to summon a Daemon Gate—
A golden hand emerged from the Warp and slapped him across the face.
CRACK.
The sound rang out across the entire Immaterium. The other three Chaos Gods heard it clearly.
For a moment, the other three stared. The most warlike of the Chaos Gods. Just slapped.
They were about to start laughing when Caleb's voice echoed through every corner of the Warp.
[Is it your turn? No. Stay out of it.]
[Sit down. You don't have a role in this match.]
[Player KHORNE — has been removed from the board. For the duration of this campaign, the target is prohibited from interfering in the material universe.]