3rd POV – Ashlands of Gar'zhul, Ork Fortress Outskirts
The air reeked of oil, scorched flesh, and Ork musk.
The ground trembled beneath crude, diesel-belching war wagons rolling over broken stone. At the heart of the desert waste loomed a twisted fortress, half-built from stolen Imperial debris, half-grown from rust and madness. The banners of Skarnok Skullfuser flapped in the furnace wind — painted with crude depictions of burning Astartes heads and shattered Aquilas.
Shawn Newman stood atop a jagged ridge, cloak fluttering. His eyes burned silver.
"This is it," he said quietly. "No more tests. No more experiments. This is the real fight."
Beside him stood Vulkar, silent, fists clenched and blackened with dense Armament Haki. Tahak's gaze scanned the fields below, Observation Haki flaring as golden threads of possibility shimmered in his vision. Basur's breathing was slow, controlled, yet his body quivered with barely restrained rage.
Behind them, Inquisitor Valen gripped his staff, psychic flame pulsing between his fingers.
They descended without a word.
3rd POV – Ambush Valley, Before the Fortress Gates
The Orks came like a tide — green muscle, metal jaws, rusted cleavers and blood-stained shootas. Weirdboyz shrieked from behind, their heads glowing with sickly warplight.
The Salamanders hit them like meteors.
Vulkar moved first, fists wreathed in dense black Haki. He punched a Nob in the chest so hard its ribcage turned to dust. With every strike, his Will seemed to explode from him in bursts — cratering the ground, distorting the air. He didn't just hit; he broke history, undoing the moment of impact with sheer resolve.
Tahak moved between shadows. His Observation Haki let him dodge bullets before they were fired. He slipped past axes and hooks, his own fists snapping Ork necks with precision strikes to nerves and spine. Each motion was silent poetry written in blood and breath.
Basur… unleashed hell.
He roared and slammed his palms together, the shockwave flattening five Orks at once. His entire body blackened with Haki, arms thick as pillars, eyes wide and wild. Every punch cratered skulls. Every kick shattered femurs. He moved like a wrecking ball given thought and rage.
Shawn dove in last.
Twin gauntlet blades of liquid silver-black extended from his forearms, arcing with Haki energy. He spun between enemies, slicing through armor and hide. His Spirit Projection moved like instinct — extending into shields, turning into whips, then collapsing back into his core. He danced with death like a predator long familiar with the hunt.
And above all, Valen burned.
The Inquisitor unleashed warpflame sigils, incinerating Ork mobs with divine fire. He tore minds apart with psychic screams. His thoughts shielded the group from Weirdboy mental assaults.
But the fortress ahead still stood.
And behind its gates, something stirred.
Main Arena – Warboss Skarnok Skullfuser's Hall
The gates exploded open, revealing Skarnok.
Three meters tall, broader than a dreadnought, draped in mega-armored plating covered in the skulls of Astartes. His left arm bore a warp-infused burna axe that leaked flame like blood. His right arm had been fused with a power klaw, grown massive and bristling with pipes and cables.
He roared, a sound like tectonic plates grinding, and pointed the axe at them.
"Oi! Ya zoggin' humies think ya can krump Skarnok?! BRING IT!!"
Thunderous footfalls signaled the start.
The Battle
Skarnok charged straight for Basur.
The brute met him halfway.
Their fists collided — Klaw against Haki — and a crater formed beneath them. Basur growled, digging his heels in. Skarnok laughed and slammed him into a wall. Basur coughed blood but stood back up, face twisted in feral determination. "You're gonna die SCREAMING!" he bellowed and rushed again, fists ablaze.
Vulkar circled the Warboss, weaving between blows. Each time Skarnok's axe came down, Vulkar's Observation Haki screamed — and he reacted a fraction before death.
Then he struck.
A left hook coated in Will, smashing into the Warboss's gut. The armor dented. Skarnok roared, backhanded him across the field — but Vulkar rolled with the force, black blood on his lip, and stood again.
Tahak slipped behind, moving like a phantom. He struck pressure points, joints, muscle seams. Not to damage — but to distract. To build the moment.
And Shawn waited.
Watching. Feeling.
Then it came.
Skarnok laughed too loud. Left side exposed.
Shawn moved.
He dashed forward, Spirit Projection igniting around him — twin gauntlet blades slicing in perfect arcs. His blades caught the Warboss's side — carving through armor, drawing ichor.
Skarnok howled in pain and fury.
"I'LL EAT YA BONES, GLOWY BASTARD!"
He unleashed a warp pulse from his axe — a burning green nova that knocked everyone off their feet.
The Weirdboyz outside screamed and died, overwhelmed by their own feedback.
Only one man stood: Valen.
His eyes glowed, robes aflame, psychic lightning crackling.
"No more chaos filth," he snarled and unleashed a beam of pure thought. It struck Skarnok in the mind — halting him mid-roar.
The Warboss shuddered, frozen for just a heartbeat.
But that was enough.
Basur leapt, fists blackened and seething, and slammed them into Skarnok's face. Bone crunched. Vulkar struck next, from below — a punch so dense with Armament it echoed like thunder. Tahak landed a spinning kick across Skarnok's knee — shattering it.
Then Shawn.
He appeared behind the Warboss, blades humming.
"Fall."
He crossed the twin blades — and drove them straight into Skarnok's neck.
A silence followed.
Then blood. Thick. Green. The warboss staggered, knees cracking, then crashed to the earth.
Aftermath
Skarnok's fortress was silent.
Only breath, and dust.
Shawn fell to one knee, panting, blades dissolving. His muscles ached. His soul burned.
Vulkar approached, arm bleeding.
"Is it over?"
"For now," Shawn said.
Valen looked to the skies. "There will be more."
Basur sat on Skarnok's corpse. "Let them come."
Tahak simply nodded.
They stood over a battlefield once ruled by madness.
But now, it echoed only with Will.
And fire.
To Be Continued