There are few things more exhilarating than a plan perfectly executed. I eyed the refuse pile with glee, hearing plenty of quiet snores from within. A small warren had been dug into the pile, whose detritus and scrap had formed into something resembling concrete. A decent hiding place, but also a deadly trap. My herd had carefully surrounded the entrances, several nets and trip traps set before the small holes. A perfect place to lie in wait until the enemy was flushed out of their den. I had ordered a small group to split off to find the other set of passages that would most definitely exist, as no self-respecting goblin would build a home with only one set of exits.
All that was left was the wait. The goblins would flush the sleeping enemy, who would run straight into our traps. We'd nab them, and smack any that got passed until they gave up or went unconscious. Orders were to kill any Grots that were too big to handle, being both stronger and more intelligent, making them more trouble than they were worth. I needed laborers, not craftsmen.
Anticipation mounted as time passed, nearly growing too strong to bear. My fists clenched into knots, and my eyes strained to see deeper into the tunnels. A thirst for blood crept up on me, and without realizing it, I drew my Choppa. Then the screams began, echoing out from the small hideout. Terrified goblins exploded out of the tunnels, only to fall prey to my clever plan. Grots were tangled up in nets, or tripped up, clogging the tunnels further. My own Grots screamed in fury and excitement and rushed the frantic scramble, clubs and weapons falling indiscriminately. I was too far gone in my own lust that I failed to notice the obvious problem of killing and maiming the future slaves, merely basking in the glow of carnage. Of course, I refrained from joining in, as the fight was so beneath me, it would be embarrassing to engage.
Fortunately, my help was not needed. Especially when the gunfire started. A few cries could be heard above the din, demanding surrender in the Orkish way. “Get on dah ground, orz we gonna gut you where you stand!” This request was promptly followed up by most of the goblins, and even a few I recognized as my own. Not the brightest bunch, goblins. Those few that still tried to flee were cut down with speed, not a single Grot managing to escape. And still more goblins poured from the cave, most immediately surrendering when they caught sight of those being spared by groveling on the floor. Finally, after dozens escaped from the tunnel and were cut down or surrendered, familiar-ish faces emerged, chasing the last fleeing enemy down. A few hauled surrendered goblins with them, which were promptly tossed to the ground.
A few goblins were too far gone into the bloodrage, and continued to brutally maim and kill those that had already surrendered, but were soon stopped by a few smarter goblins, who had been sated of their desire for slaughter and remembered the purpose of our excursion. Finally, over thirty goblins, mostly of the smaller Gretchin variety, were corralled into a circle, where things were explained by my head Grot. Grikkle strutted before his audience, gun pointed haphazardly at the crowd. “Alright, you gitz! You’z dah slaves of UZ now. You do wot we sayz, or you getz krumped. Gotz it?!”
Heads nodded so fast, I thought the scrawny necks might snap in half. While I wasn't sure if slaving was as common an occurrence that the goblins knew how to act, or if the cowardice, power and fear were so deeply ingrained into their essence, they understood on a fundamental level what was to be done. With the work handled with more or less decent results, it was time to make an entrance. I began to step forward, but without warning, the world shuddered, everything taking on an oily tone. Colors shifted wildly along a massive spectrum, and everything seemed to stretch and shrink at random. Tears in the fabric of reality opened everywhere, and lithe, semi-nude monstrosities, whose forms crudely mimicked the human form, clawed and tore at the holes, seeking to pull themselves through.
The world gave a final shudder, then stopped shaking, colors returning to normal, but the monstrosities pulling themselves out of the tears remained. Everything exploded into chaos. Screams of fear and bloodlust filled the air. Goblins were grabbed in long, crab-like hands and pulled into the shifting reality that hung behind the tears in reality. Some few fought back with mixed success against the mostly immobile foe, while the rest fled in a screaming tidal wave. There was no time to think further, as an emaciated purple arm swung at my face, reaching through a thin hole barely wide enough for the limb. I grabbed the hand at the wrist, and swung my blade down, severing the arm at the elbow. I drew my gun, and sent two Slugga rounds through the portal, causing the creature to reel back, and with a snap, the hole closed.
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A pair of talons raked across my back, and another pair pierced into my shoulder. I roared in fury as partly healed wounds were reopened. I ripped myself out of the grasp of my unknown assailant, turning swiftly and plugging four shots into the willowy horror at close range, not a single shot missing. The monster staggered back, massive holes gaping in its chest, but still it strove for my throat. I buried my blade in its disturbingly human face, and it crumpled with a disgusting cry of ecstasy. Pandemonium reigned supreme, with death and blood filling the air with a heavy stench. My head pounded to an unsteady rhythm that fueled a growing fury inside me. I handed the reigns over to instinct.
Blood and bone exploded from the now caved in head of an ugly hag creature that dared to take a swing at me, the body immediately crisping from a sudden flare of internal heat. I ripped my blade from the corpse, flaming oil still clinging to its edge. I fired my pistol into the air, letting the sound and smell of gunfire fuel the unsteady beat of war. A Grot leaped on my back, firing wildly with his tiny Slugga. He added a shrill battle cry to my own, and a bolt of emotion struck my mind like lightning, slamming against an iron wall that hung between my consciousness and the fury within, sending sparks and mental shrapnel exploding through my mind. A faint tingle of power flowed through the cracks in the wall and into me, along with emotions from Grikkle, the Grot on my shoulder. Great mountains of fear warred with an undercurrent of twin furies, one born of a two giants dwelling deep within, the other directed at itself for being so weak and pitiful. The emotions resonated with my own on a level so deep, I could barely distinguish where Grikkle's anger ended, and mine began.
We lit the world with our fury. Blood and fire and death and war. All fueled the rage within. When crab claws reached for my back, they were met with a hailstorm of bullets from Grikkle. When hands reached upward, seeking to take my Grot from me, my blade ripped them from their bodies. Gore filled the world, and red permeated every inch of my vision. Bodies were ripped apart, even as they clawed at mine.
And slowly, ever so tantalizingly slowly, the battle inched to its conclusion. The lack of mobility from the enemy spelled their doom. The tears in reality closed, despite the powerful efforts of those behind, struggling to rip their way through. Those that managed to fully escape were cut down by my hand, aided by those few surviving greenskins that dared join the battle. And when the fight ended, and every corpse stilled, it wasn't enough. The fire inside me demanded more, more control, more bloodshed, more war to enact all the pent up fury inside. It had been in a cage too long. It NEEDED to be free, NEEDED to have what by rights belonged to it, and not the foul, weak intruder that ruled over the Ork body.
These thoughts struck me much the same way a bird strikes a window. A soft thump, a startled homeowner, and a dead bird. The blow was so pitiful, I slapped it away with a burst of anger, but despite being small, the fire didn't die. It clung to the thoughts I struck it with, burning away at my control. Again, I slapped it, but the fire grew, fueled by my anger. The more I shoved and struggled, the larger it grew. Seeing a failing tactic for what it was, I threw something different at it. I smothered the attack in the feeling of hopeless atrophy that had so filled my life months ago. But the feelings were well known to the trapped Ork soul, as I was coming to understand the attacker to be. The fire was growing too big, almost taking over control, and panic set in. I looked around desperately searched for any mental power that could defeat the fury. And that is when my human mind truly processed the corpses around me. Androgynous, sickening creatures lay strewn about, half-nude forms a sickly sweet temptation. Slaanesh.
And with that single word as inspiration, I found what I needed. The pent up lust and desires that no Ork would understand. And you can't beat what you don't understand. I shoved the powerful desire that motivated so many of my actions. The fire grappled with the emotions, but was unable to defeat it, unable to even understand the basic principles that brought about the feeling. It struggled mightily, but by throwing itself so fully into the battle, it gave me an opportunity I didn't understood and couldn't resist. I grabbed at the soul that dwelt somewhere in my consciousness, lacing greed and need into the tug of war between lust and fury. I ripped the tiniest of fragments from the fire, which dissolved into my mind like sugar in water, some small bits mixing into my mind, while the rest sank like silt, waiting to be stirred before truly mixing with the whole. And what entered my mind was a trophy worth all the pain, fear and much, much more. The complexities of Orkish teknology inundated me, and I saw in my mind's eye a rocket whose power far exceeded that which I no longer had. A grin split my face, the glee filling me matched by the trickle of emotions I sensed coming from my Grot companion. Despite the Grot losses, we were still in business.