The response to the Shadow Legion's manifestation was not long in coming. It was not a calculated military strike from the void above, nor a cautious probe from a hidden bunker. It was a tremor. A deep, guttural vibration that began beneath the planet's crust and rose with seismic intensity. The mountains of black glass shuddered, and vast plains of ash began to split, forming jagged fissures from which steam and a cacophony of noise erupted.
Sung Jin-Woo remained motionless on his high perch, his coat undisturbed by the violent upheaval. His Marshals stood before him, a silent bulwark against the coming storm.
"Kiek! They are impatient!" Beru buzzed, rubbing his upper claws together in a gesture of ravenous anticipation. "How wonderfully rude of them!"
From the newly formed chasms, a tide of green began to pour forth. The creatures were massive, broad-shouldered humanoids of terrifying muscularity. Their skin was a tough, fungal green, and their faces were all jutting lower jaws, filled with tusk-like teeth. They were clad in mismatched armor of scavenged scrap metal, bolted and welded together in a mockery of true craftsmanship, painted with crude symbols of red and black. They carried weapons that were equally brutal and chaotic: massive, smoke-belching machine guns, chain-axes that roared like predators, and giant, crude cleavers.
And they were loud.
The silence of the dead world was shattered by a deafening, singular roar that was the sum of ten thousand voices, a bellow of pure, unadulterated aggression and joy. "WAAAGH!"
This was the Green Tide. The Orks.
At their head was a true monster, a beast that stood a full head and shoulders taller than the rest. This Warboss was a walking mountain of green muscle and crude, iron-plated cybernetics. One of his arms had been replaced with a colossal power klaw that hissed with energy, and in the other, he brandished a 'kustom shoota' the size of an Imperial Guardsman. His roar was the loudest of all, a proclamation of dominance and an invitation to glorious battle.
He saw the silent, black-clad army arrayed before him, and his piggish red eyes lit up with a primal glee. He saw not a threat, but the promise of the greatest fight his boyz had seen in ages.
"OI, LADS!" the Warboss bellowed, his voice like an avalanche. "LOOKIE 'ERE! A WHOLE ARMY O' SHINY GITZ STANDIN' ALL POLITE-LIKE! LET'S GIVE 'EM A PROPA GREETIN'!"
The Orks surged forward, a chaotic, disorganized wave of pure violence. Jin-Woo watched them come, his expression unchanging. He analyzed their physiology, their lack of discipline, their raw, unrefined power. They were strong, durable, and their psychic energy, this crude, green force they called the 'WAAAGH!', was potent in its raw simplicity. But they were artless. They were noise.
His army was silence.
As the green wave closed the distance, Igris stepped forward. He did not run; he strode, his greatsword held casually in one hand. He was a single, silent figure against a screaming horde.
The Warboss saw the knight approaching and laughed, charging ahead of his own boyz to meet him. "DAT'S IT! COME GET SOME, YA TIN-PLATED GIT!"
The two figures met. The Warboss swung his power klaw in a brutal, crushing arc meant to pulverize Igris into scrap. But Igris was no longer there. He flowed like smoke, appearing at the Warboss's side. His greatsword, wreathed in violet lightning, drew a clean, impossibly fast line across the Ork's thick side. The blow was perfect, cutting through scrap armor and tough hide, but the Warboss's sheer vitality was immense. He roared more in fury than in pain and spun, his shoota blazing.
While the commanders dueled, the armies crashed together. The Orks' charge met the silent, unyielding wall of the Shadow Legion. The ensuing battle was a study in contrasts. The Orks were a storm of individual fury, each warrior fighting for himself. The Shadow Army was a single organism, moving with a chilling, unified purpose under the unseen direction of Bellion. Knights raised their shields in perfect unison, assassins flickered through the chaos to sever Ork hamstrings, and heavy infantry held the line without yielding a single inch.
Not a single war cry escaped the Legion's lips. The only sounds were the brutal clang of metal, the wet tearing of flesh, and the enraged, then confused, then terrified screams of the Orks.
Beru, given his leave, was a whirlwind of joyous destruction. He dove headfirst into the largest mob of Nobz, his four claws a blur. "FOR THE KING!" his voice shrieked in their minds as he tore one in half, using the still-kicking legs to bludgeon another. "YOUR FLESH IS STRONG! YOUR BONES ARE THICK! KIEKEKE! WHAT WONDERFUL TOYS!" He was laughing, a high-pitched, terrifying sound that cut through even the din of battle as he reveled in the pure, physical confrontation.
Meanwhile, a hulking Ork Weirdboy at the back of the horde began to channel the roaring energy of the WAAAGH!. Green lightning crackled from his eyes and hands as he prepared to unleash a wave of raw psychic power. But before he could, a heavy pressure fell over him. Tusk stood faraway, his staff glowing with a purple, gravitational energy. The High Orc Shaman began to chant, his voice a deep, resonant bass that felt like the turning of tectonic plates.
The Weirdboy's spell fizzled as his own body was suddenly crushed by a force ten times the planet's normal gravity. He slammed into the glass ground, bones snapping, as Tusk calmly prepared his next incantation.
The duel between Igris and the Warboss reached its climax. The Ork was a force of nature, adapting to Igris's speed with sheer, unpredictable brutality. He finally landed a blow, the edge of his power klaw scraping against Igris's helm, leaving a shallow, screeching gouge. It was the first mark of damage Igris had sustained.
The Warboss roared in triumph. Igris simply paused. He tilted his head, the purple glow in his visor seeming to narrow. A new pressure emanated from him, the indignation of a proud knight whose honor had been slighted.
He moved. It was not the fluid evasion from before, but a single, direct, and final advance. He bypassed the Ork's wild swing, flowing inside his guard, and his greatsword plunged straight through the Warboss's chest, skewering his twin hearts.
The giant Ork shuddered, looking down at the black blade protruding from his torso. He looked up at Igris's impassive helmet and managed a final, bloody grin. "Heh... Good fight..." And then he fell, his massive body shaking the ground.
The fall of their leader caused a momentary lapse in the Ork's psychic momentum. In that instant of hesitation, Jin-Woo acted.
He was still on his perch, a mile away, but his presence was suddenly everywhere on the battlefield. He lifted a single hand. His lips parted, and a single word, quiet yet carrying the weight of absolute dominion, echoed across the field, not through the air, but inside every single mind.
"
A scream of pure terror erupted from the Orks nearest the Warboss's corpse. His shadow, his very soul, began to peel away from his body. It writhed, elongating and solidifying, rising into a perfect, dark replica of the Warboss himself. It was wreathed in black smoke, its eyes burning with a loyal, violet fire. The new Shadow Warboss cracked its knuckles, let out a silent, psychic roar that promised eternal service to its new master, and hefted its ethereal power klaw.
Then, it charged into the backs of its former boyz.
The effect was catastrophic. The Ork's simple, straightforward psyche could not process this ultimate betrayal. Their greatest warrior, now a shadowy puppet of the enemy, was slaughtering them. Their WAAAGH! Faltered, sputtered, and died, replaced by raw, primal fear.
The battle became a massacre.
Jin-Woo lowered his hand, his expression still neutral. The battle was won. He had a new, powerful soldier for his collection. More importantly, he had data. He now understood the baseline strength of this universe's brawlers. Tenacious. Physically powerful. Psychically potent in a crude way. But ultimately, limited.
He turned his gaze from the rout below and looked up into the bruised purple sky, toward the single, cold star that wasn't a star. The Imperial listening post.