There is no greater moment in a man’s life than to see the fruits of his labor. A manly tear tugged at the corner of my eye as I watched Grikkle slowly reach the ground, the anxious goblin clutching both handles of his harness in a tight grip. One finger held down a single trigger, ordering the machine to descend, while another carefully adjusted the radial dial on the other handle, slowly, ever so slowly decreasing the throttle. All this caution was born of a rather heart-wrenching moment mere seconds ago, when the eager greenskin had thrown the rocket into a massive upward thrust, clearing nearly forty feet in a manner of seconds. Only the massive height of the cavern had spared the unfortunate Grot, as well as the mostly functional hover controls. The goblin only barely managed to regain control as he panicked, managing to trigger the hover mode before it was too late, and he turned into so much charred and crushed meat on the ceiling.

  The entire rocket had shivered and shook as it struggled to halt the speedy ascension, but it did its job in the end, and with a delighted whoop, the goblin managed to stay more or less steady in the air. Granted, the rocket DID shake plenty, swaying slightly back and forth by a few feet, but it mostly kept to an area that about matched the rockets length size, which was so beyond what my human side thought possible, and which even surprised the Orky bits, which were now giving signs that they half expected a massive mechanical failure that would need several retrofits to properly fix. While this revelation would normally cause me extreme worry, and plenty of introspection, I was far, far too excited about what was deemed a complete success by every standard, man and Ork alike.

  I watched with a proud grin as the goblin was immediately mobbed by my sizably increased horde, each shouting in triumph, respect, and plenty of jealousy at the successful piloting of what might well be the very first Grot Rokket pilot that didn’t end in a fiery explosion, intentional or otherwise. The Grot preened before his audience, stretching to his full height, which I noted with some surprise seemed to have slightly increased. That, or the average Grot had shrunk since last I’d bothered to notice. I moved forward to intervene when a larger Grot started making motions to try it for himself, which involved none too subtle threats, but my intervention proved unnecessary, as Grikkle blasted the Rokket into the air, scattering the Grots in a wave of panicked goblin flesh. The daring Grot then flew after the now-fleeing rival, pulling his gun out of the harness with one hand, and chasing the terrified goblin out of the cave, firing round after round at the tiny greenskin. Each shot put another burst of speed into the running goblin’s legs, and though my second in command managed to fire a dozen shots before the grot exited the cave, only one landed, which only tore off an ear, rather than deal any significant damage. But despite the lack of any real victory, he promptly circled the cave, and returned with the biggest, proudest grin I’d ever seen, and once again was received with thunderous, if wary, applause.

  This time, the goblin horde kept their distance, but they still roared their approval, the noise quickly growing louder than all the background noise combined. The horde kept growing as more and more goblins came to check out the commotion, and with their minions no longer assisting, several Meks joined in. Seeing my chance to assert my achievements before potential peers, I picked up my favorite Grot, and put him on my shoulder. I strutted about the crowd, practically waving the goblin and my creation in the face of anyone and everyone who would look, loudly boasting of my success. A few Meks just walked away, often with several freshly bruised assistances trailing behind, but some came closer, curious to see just what I’d created.

  I turned to my assistant, and ordered him to milk this for everything it was worth. Not that the sneaky bastard needed any such prompting. Before I even managed to set the git on the ground, he was back in the air, the heat from the rocket blasting me full in the face. If I had hair, it’d be on fire. But I was used to getting set on fire, so I didn’t let it bother me too much. Instead, I just sidled up to another Mek, and began extolling the endless list of virtues and features of my device. This got a few nods and grunts from the Mek, along with a singular compliment that filled me with massive amount of pride.

  Unfortunately, attention is not always a good idea. Especially when you are on the small side. As I was practically panting at the feet of one of the larger meks, I failed to notice an Ork walk up to Grikkle, and toss him from the rocket, before fitting his own favorite Grot into the harness. I also failed to notice the explosion that soon followed, as the Grot crashed the rocket straight into the ceiling. I even failed to notice the pissed off Ork until his fist met the back of my head. 

  I came up with an angry splutter, cursing at whoever dared to strike me. Which is when I found myself shoulder level with one massively angry Ork. The Ork smiled as my splutters came to a halt at the sight of him. Then he punched me again. Hard. I crashed into the ground, a tooth popping out of my mouth from the impact. A small bit of me cried out in terror, begging me to stay down and not fight. The rest of me told the smaller bits to shut the fuck up, and locked them in a small corner. I grabbed my Choppa and Slugga from my belt, and got to my feet to face the Ork. My foe drew his own Choppa, licking the length of it with a massive, filthy tongue, then charged at me with a nasty snarl.

  I fired my pistol in the air, letting the sound and smell fuel the rage that was quickly flaring to meet my enemies fury, then met the charge with my own. Our blades clashed with a titanic clang that sent shivers through my whole body. I was forced to step back, even as I tried to smash my pistol in the enemy’s face. The blow missed thanks to my unbalanced form, the bayonet barely scraping a long, thin cut along the Ork’s chest, a blow so ineffective, it didn’t even register. He followed up with another Choppa cut, which I had to block with both weapons, sparks exploding everywhere as the blade cut into my pistol, digging a large divot in the weapon. I tried to shove the blade to the side and use my own, but he pushed forward, shoving me down to my knees with pure strength. Then he kicked me in the stomach, throwing me backward.

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  I was moving before I fully landed, jumping to my feet in record speed, which was barely enough to let me dodge to the side as a hunk of metal slammed where my head had sat moments before. I pushed in immediately, seeking any advantage I could get, and while I scored a clean cut to his shoulder, the blade caught on bone. The Ork grabbed my blade in one hand, shoving it in deeper to keep it trapped, then turned his own blade to me. Panic barely overwhelmed my Orkish instincts enough to remind me of the more practical uses of a pistol, which I turned to my enemy, plugging a shot into his arm. This knocked his blow off balance, but it still slammed into my shoulder, cutting through flesh and bone, barely stopping from completely removing my right arm. Fear spurred me into action, and I shoved the bayonet of my pistol into the face of the Ork, but there wasn’t enough room to build much momentum, and the blade caught on the skull, failing to penetrate. The Ork roared in elation and pain, and pulled with all his might, ripping the sword from my limp arm. He smashed the hilt into my face, catching me fully in the eye. The weak flesh was pulped beneath heavy steel, sending waves of pain through me, more than the Orkish body could contain, and my weak soul trembled beneath what a normal Ork would shrug off with a grunt. And in my pain-addled state, I fumbled on the trigger, failing to fire it before the Ork shoved me to the ground.

  I lay there, bleeding massively, barely able to see with a single, blood-covered eye. My face was a mass of pain, but my arm…. I couldn’t feel my arm. I reached for my arm, but a metal boot slammed into my stomach, hurling me several feet away. I landed with a crunch, the numb limb suddenly exploding with pain. I screamed in terror and pain, struggling to my knees, only to stare at the grinning face of my enemy. I saw death at that moment. But beyond that, I saw a familiar scene. An angry, bruised face staring down at me with a blade clutched in hand. I saw, not an Ork with a thick Choppa, but a once beautiful woman, hair in a wild tangle, clutching her broken nose as she raised a still-bloody knife, slick with blood from my slit stomach. The memory of her nose shattering beneath my fist, even as my life blood flowed out from my stomach, filled me with a joy that is near impossible to describe. A sense of vindication, of satisfaction that, despite being beaten, I hadn’t gone done without a fight. And that was where the memory split with this new reality. As I stared at the Ork, I saw no hideous wound, no final vindication before my death. And that was wrong. I wasn’t going to die without feeling that intense rush again.

  Human and Ork emotions mixed in a tempest of rage, of a desire for revenge, and a flood of energy filled my body, along with a burst of searing pain that reached beyond my body, and into my soul. I relived some of the worst moments of my life, those times when I abandoned what I loved for simple pleasures, and when I backed down when I should have stood up for truth. My past tried to shame me, to push me back down to what I used to be. But instead of buckling as I would have just a day before, those precious hours of power had given me a taste of something worth fighting for. Worth dying for. I took the pain, and let it carve hunks from my soul, replacing them with vile, oily pieces that should never see the light. I shoved a needle of thought at these new additions, urging them to the forefront of my mind. They exploded into being with a force so powerful, it entered the real world. A knife, translucent and dripping with blood, formed in front of my eyes. The blade plunged itself into the eye of the Ork, before shattering into a thousand pieces as it struck the skull. The satisfaction of an eye for an eye filled me, but still, it wasn’t enough. I would see this Ork pay a hundred fold for what it had taken from me.

  The energy flowing in me sped my heartbeat to a frantic pace, blood exploding out of my body in a veritable fountain. I used all the strength in my battered body to stand, shoving the bayonet of my pistol once again into the face of the Ork. And this time, it didn’t stop until the barrel of the gun exited the back of the Ork’s head. And with that final act, my heart burst, all the energy vanished, and the world went hazy. I blinked my single eye once before collapsing in a heap, and soon, even my one eye failed me, and I was left to face my own tarnished soul in the dark.

  I grinned at the abyss, and it grinned back at me, a mountain of oily filth that welcomed me with open arms. And I saw nothing of Ork there, nothing but my own failure. But then a faint twinkle caught my eye. I loomed over the tiny light, which revealed itself to be a tiny, infantile soul, feebly clawing at the mountain that stood before it, the oily mass of black soot I soon began to see as my rotten soul. The feeble attacks left nothing but tiny stains, easily removed with but a wipe of the hand. There was nothing there but my own cruelty, buried beneath a life of civilization and laziness. And that cruelty directed itself at the infant of a soul. A being so tiny, I could crush it with a thought. And I wanted to. I wanted to destroy the life that dared leave even the smallest stain on me. And so I saw the first real glimpses of the depths of the monster I could truly become. God help me, but I could do it. I could remove that pestering critter that dared influence my thoughts. I could do it, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it meddling with me anymore.

  And as I reached out to crush the soul, I remembered something. A thought I had had just a few hours before. Was becoming a bit more Orky really such a bad thing? Surely, it had saved my life on multiple occasions now. Could I really kill it, if it had helped me survive? Was I truly, truly that cruel? The thought sent a shiver down the black mountain of filth, a shudder so powerful, it rocked me like a dingy in a hurricane. And with reflexes ingrained deep in every human, I reached out to shield the infant soul. Only to discover that the soul was mine. The tiny, infantile soul that stood up to the mountain of filth, dirtying itself even as it pushed with all its might at the mountain was ME. And inside, I saw the potential within. The humanity, laced with the powerful, if dangerous, nature of the Ork. And I had nearly crushed it with the barest of a whim. And with that realization, I awoke to a world of light, of noise, and of intense, mind-numbing pain. A world I embraced with new eyes.

  It would only be after many days of fear and pain, after I lost my way, leaving the corpses of man and Ork alike along my crooked path, would I come to learn the truth of what had occured, of the first time I bent the Warp to my will. And by all that is good in this world, I hoped it would be the last, if the tiniest of manifestations, barely able to carve out the eye of an Ork, could rock me to such a degree. But the world does not bend so easily to the demands of one man, and my life was not to be one of easy choices. The Emperor protect me.