Red Mael Zun's heavy boots fell with thunderous weight on the cold metal floor as he advanced down the dimly lit corridors of the nomad vessel. Each step echoed like a war drum in the silence that followed the earlier boarding chaos.
The air smelled stale, mixed with burnt circuits and something strangely earthy—an odd scent for a starship. His cybernetic eyes flicked, scanning every shadowed corner.
Hydroponics bay, Varlisk had said. The place where the greenskins were breeding like some festering rot.
Zun's lips curled in a slow, cruel grin. Let them breed. I'll crush the infestation myself.
The narrow passageways crept tighter as he approached the ship's botanical section—a sprawling maze of metal and glass chambers housing fragile plants, water systems, and the strange fungal growths the nomads cultivated for food.
Then the quiet shattered.
A guttural roar tore through the corridor—rough, wild, and terrifying.
"WAAAGH!!!"
Bootlicka and his growing band of Orks burst from hidden compartments and vents, their green faces wild with rage and bloodlust. They wielded weapons cobbled together from the ship's wreckage: jagged pipes turned into brutal clubs, makeshift flamers sputtering out choking flames, and scrap metal welded into crude but deadly blades.
The air exploded with the sharp clang of metal on metal and the deafening roar of Ork voices. The pirates, caught mid-advance, scrambled for cover, but the Orks fought with a berserker fury unlike anything the disciplined raiders expected.
Sskarn-of-the-Third-Brood's squad opened fire with plasma carbines, but the Orks surged forward like a tidal wave, shrugging off shots with reckless abandon. Bootlicka's growls and snarls commanded the mob, and he hacked a pirate in two with a jagged pipe, grinning as green blood sprayed.
Zun's cybernetic eyes glinted cold beneath his wild mane as he assessed the battle unfolding.
'These greenskins are no mere pests', he thought, 'they've learned to fight.'
Bootlicka's mob hurled scavenged grenades that exploded in fiery bursts, sending shrapnel and sparks flying. Orks with ramshackle shields slammed into the pirates, knocking them to the floor. A makeshift catapult—a crude contraption of metal springs and scrap—launched flaming debris, setting parts of the corridor ablaze.
Zun's elite guard formed a defensive perimeter, cutting down orks with practiced precision, but even they were tested by the chaotic, brutal onslaught.
"Keep pushing!" Zun roared over the din, his voice like thunder. "Don't let them regroup!"
But deep down, a slight unease formed in his mind. These Orks fought with savage cunning and brutal improvisation. And not to forget their numbers that seems to keep increasing.
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Kael leaned against a scorched bulkhead on the upper deck, watching the chaotic green tide surge through the ship's corridors below. The pirate forces clashed with Bootlicka's Orks in a brutal, noisy melee, but the tides of battle were still unpredictable.
Bootlicka paced nearby, grinning wildly as he hacked another pirate with a scrap pipe. "Boss! We's smashing good! Orks fightin' like da best!"
Looking at the situation below he couldn't help but slightly gin remembering how he taught bootlicka earlier.....
Before the boarding of Red Zun:
Kael sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Yeah, you're strong. But strength alone won't win this fight. You need to think a little… smarter."
Bootlicka blinked, confusion flickering behind his wild eyes. "Smarter? Orks don't do smart! We smash!"
Kael chuckled. "I know you like smashing. But sometimes you gotta trick the enemy. Use their expectations against them. Hit them where they don't expect it."
He grabbed a makeshift pointer and began sketching rough battle plans on the scorched wall.
"Look here," Kael said, pointing at a crude map of the ship's corridors he'd memorized. "Pirates expect you to charge straight at 'em. So let's change it up."
Bootlicka squinted, trying to follow.
"Set traps. Use the environment. Hit fast, then disappear before they can shoot back. Flank 'em from the sides or behind. Use noise and shadows to confuse 'em. Make them think twice before chasing."
Bootlicka's face lit up. "We'z sneaky? Like a squig in da grass?"
Kael nodded. "Exactly. You're not just muscle anymore. You're hunters."
"Boss, dat sounds… CUNNIN AND BRUTAL," Bootlicka muttered, but his grin only grew wider.
Kael grinned back. "Good. 'Cause if you learn this, the pirates won't know what hit 'em. And I get to keep breathing."
He then looked at bootlicka remembering his more humanlike thinking and shinier spiritual node compared to the other orks wondering where did his intelligence come from? The average ork shouldn't be this smart right?
But he soon shrugged the thought, anyways bootlicka follows him so there's nothing wrong with that.
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The corridors were drenched in the cacophony of clashing steel, guttural screams, and the sickening thud of bodies hitting metal. The Skullclamp Pirates fought desperately, but every step forward was soaked in blood—and it wasn't theirs.
Orks surged like a tide, relentless and brutal. The pirates' formation crumbled under sheer weight of numbers, their plasma bursts thinning but never stopping the flood. Varlisk shouted orders, but the chaos was too thick, the enemies too many.
"We're losing the ground!" Varlisk spat, narrowly dodging a wild swing from an Ork wielding a rusted scrap blade. "This is bad, boss!"
Red Mael Zun's eyes burned with a furious light as he surveyed the wreckage. The tide of greenskins was overwhelming his elite guard. Their scars and trophies did little to intimidate the horde.
With a low growl, Mael Zun slammed his cybernetic arms into the wall, sending sparks and dents rippling through the steel.
"No more crawling!" he roared.
His claws hummed with lethal energy, fingers crackling with shock pulses. The lion-man's muscles tensed as he pushed past the remaining pirates, stepping into the open.
Bootlicka noticed immediately—the aura of death that now surrounded their leader made even the Orks pause, snarling but hesitant.
Mael Zun unleashed a feral scream that shook the bulkheads.
Then he exploded into motion.
His cybernetic arms became a blur, slashing through Orks with savage precision. Each strike sent sparks flying and bodies flying backwards, cracking armor and crushing bones.
Pirates rallied behind him, fueled by their lord's fury.
But even Mael Zun's brutal assault couldn't stem the tide completely. Orks kept coming—dumb, loud, and indestructible.
Bootlicka met Mael Zun's onslaught head-on, grinning wildly, eyes burning with stubborn fire.
"Try 'arder, big boss! We'z all got fightin' in us!"
Mael Zun snarled, "then I'll carve you all apart!"
The two clashed like forces of nature—brute strength and wild ferocity crashing in endless waves.
Yet the pirates were losing. For every Ork crushed, two more took its place. The battle wasn't just about skill—it was a raw war of attrition.
And attrition was a game the Orks played better than anyone their strength becoming stronger by the second, their size increasing. The more they fought the harder they became to dead with.