"I shall enter the fray."
Blazkowicz raised his left hand, pulling the Buzzsaw Shield out from dimensional space, while his right hand tightened around the shaft of his warhammer, activating its shock-field. "To prune away these malformed, overgrown branches with violent precision."
On the third day following his arrival on Planet 3, Blazkowicz stepped through the adamantium gates, bearing the Buzzsaw Shield in one hand and the warhammer in the other.
He radiated a natural aura of intense pressure, instantly drawing every eye on the battlefield toward him.
Probing glances poured in from all directions, catching sight of a towering man standing under the massive portal against the light, casting a sprawling, ink-black shadow.
Rain spilled over the fortress walls, creating a shimmering veil of light beneath the floodlights that seemed to separate two entirely different worlds.
That godlike entity, shield in one hand and hammer in the other, stepped out from the luminous gate bare-chested.
He lifted his noble face, rain tumbling down his sharply defined cheeks as his quiet, dark eyes swept across the blood-soaked battlefield.
'Hss—!'
Wherever his gaze fell, whether upon humans, xenos, or the single-minded, frantic Orks, every heart skipped several beats, feeling as though an invisible, massive hand had seized them in a tight grip.
"Do not look at Him!" taking advantage of a thunderclap, the Great Harlequin hissed a low warning. "Withdraw our offensive gaze."
Beneath his mask, his face had gone as white as paper.
When the God-Slayer remained within the fortress, the location was a sleeping, hazy black hole—disgusting to psyker senses, yet still something that could be observed from afar.
Now that His physical form stood openly before them, that hollow, deathly stillness stabbed into their eyes like icy darkness, threatening to swallow their very souls whole through the line of sight.
The Aeldari near the mouth of the cave tumbled backward into the cavern, lying paralyzed on the jagged rocks like dead fish, their chests heaving violently.
This miserable display served as a silent warning, forcing the remaining inquisitive gazes to shrink back in terror.
"'Waaaaaagh!!!'"
A monstrous bellow echoed across the battlefield. Big Tooth Grom, clad in imposing black power armor, stood atop a Stompa and roared toward the storm with his jaws wide open.
He had grown even larger, green lightning flashing in his eyes, his aura far deeper and more brutal—resembling a massive mountain of flesh anchored to the spot.
"'Waaaaaagh!!!'"
The Ork roars converged into a surging sea, echoing their Boss's wrath with fanatical frenzy as they glared at that solitary figure in blatant provocation.
They knew: humanity's true big 'un had finally arrived!
---
Aboard the Purple Ark, the Primeval's mind wavered for a split second, causing the psychic shield it guided to tremble slightly, almost exposing a breach.
Khrave saw it clearly—the extraordinarily tall human was enveloped in the Primeval's Death Curse.
That human had once slain a Primeval—
Such a fact was utterly earth-shattering in Khrave's understanding; they had always considered the Primevals to be immortal, virtually impossible to kill.
Yet the reality was right before them.
Bloody, blatant, and completely unhidden, the Death Mark of the Primeval burned so blindingly in Khrave's vision that it was impossible to obscure.
Swallowing non-existent saliva, their multiple eyes turned toward the Primeval, their hearts suddenly sinking with trepidation.
Could they win?
Facing an entity like that, could they truly claim the Chaos Artifacts?
Khrave's resolute determination underwent a subtle shift as a serpent named "Fear" coiled tightly around their trembling souls.
---
In contrast to the panic and terror over there, another high ridge was a hive of activity.
Trazyn had selected the absolute best vantage point, deploying an all-angle capture array to freeze time and log every single nanosecond worthy of commemoration.
The Necron's face was too rigid to convey expression, yet from his aura alone, his mood was evidently fantastic.
"My Lord," the Cryptek announced with pride, "the array is fully set up. You will obtain a flawless record."
"Excellent!" The green light in Trazyn's eye sockets flared brightly as he pulled a throne out of dimensional space. "Keep your eyes locked on the equipment; I want every detail recorded."
The Necron Overlord was in exceptionally high spirits; had the timing not been inappropriate, he would have undoubtedly laid out a banquet to drink his fill.
After all, this trip was proving well worth it.
Trazyn had made thorough preparations: before claiming his primary collectibles, he would gather a few supplementary materials as bonuses to add to his Time Corridor.
He valued this chaotic war greatly—it was something worth replaying over the long spans of time, savoring every detail carefully across eternity.
"The show begins."
The Necron Overlord leaned back into his throne, resting his staff in one arm while propping his cheek on the other. His electronic eyes—the most advanced in the physical universe—flickered as he watched the battlefield with cold detachment.
---
In front of the massive gate, Blazkowicz lowered his stance, his legs exploding with raw power!
His body shot upward like a launched rocket, breaching continuous shockwaves of sonic booms as he tore off the ground.
'HUMMM—'
The air split open with a bizarre, high-pitched screech. An impact crater was carved into the adamantium ground as a dark figure traced an arcing streak through the air, shattering concentric sonic booms before slamming down onto the scrap-metal bridge like a black meteor.
'BOOM!!!'
Thousands of meters were traversed in an instant. The catastrophic shockwave of his landing exploded outward, knocking down every Ork within a hundred-meter radius while turning those closest into raw meat paste.
'Chug— chug— chug— chug—'
Beneath the gloomy curtain of rain, a crude, heavy engine seemed to roar awake.
That rumble wasn't merely heard; it felt as though it was rolling directly over the ground.
Accompanied by the harsh screech of spinning chains, a scorching heatwave surged forward, making one's skin crawl with faint static electricity, locking every muscle tight.
Along the perimeter of the Buzzsaw Shield, the teeth forged from C'tan metal began to spin, chewing through physical reality while belching out the orange-red radiance of Nyadra'zatha the Burning One.
"'Waaaaaagh!!!'"
The first giants to react bellowed furiously, raising their weapons high as they charged toward the big 'un standing inside the impact crater.
"Do not follow me," Blazkowicz growled, his deep voice reverberating with a heavy hum, stopping the Legion warriors from advancing to support him. "I need room to move freely—to prune away a few unexpected variables."
He looked upon the enraged, surging Orks that towered even taller than himself, his face as calm as the deep ocean.
Then, Blazkowicz moved—
Many years later, countess Orks would remember the rune mark carved into Blazkowicz's chest, revering it as a symbol of peak strength for their tribes.
"Hah!"
Blazkowicz let out a long, thunderous roar. The acoustic shockwave was visible to the naked eye, shattering the charging Ork Challengers on the spot!
'BANG! BANG! BANG!'
Clouds of crimson mist exploded in rapid succession; the retaliators upon whom the Orks had placed such high hopes proved no different from the pouring rain of blood.
Frail beyond measure, shattering at the slightest touch.
Following that non-human roar, absolute silence fell over the battlefield.
"Cowards!" Blazkowicz roared continuously. In truth, he disdained needless shouting, yet he needed to use speech to provoke the Orks.
His figure vanished from his original position as raw force driven by crystal power slammed the warhammer down—a strike so heavy it threatened to make the planet tremble!
'BOOM!'
Pure strength unleashed itself, venting its master's long-suppressed resolve and fury to turn all xenos to ash.
The warhammer burst with a brilliant azure radiance as it smashed into the ground, clearing a hundred-meter fan-shaped sector in an instant, reducing every Ork body within to a fine red mist!
The directional shock-field evenly distributed the kinetic force of the warhammer across every single enemy within range.
Given Blazkowicz's sheer physical strength, a single hammer strike produced an entire fan-shaped pool of blood.
"Orks!" In the brief instant the greenskins failed to comprehend, his body had already spun toward eight different directions, raining down eight hammer strikes that blasted eight sectors of absolute destruction: "Your Waaaaaagh! is far too weak!!"
Torrential rain poured like a waterfall, drowning out the roar of the battlefield.
Blazkowicz drew his warhammer once more as lightning from the shock-field coiled around it, carrying endless divine strength to crash down upon the earth!
BOOM—!
Thunder erupted. Within the boundary of the shock-field, not a single living soul was left standing.
Looking at the microscopic level within the impact range of the warhammer, the Ork Boyz suffered a harrowing, apocalyptic crushing.
From the outside in, their skin was peeled away layer by layer, followed by flesh and bone; from soft tissue to tough sinew, everything was torn away by that raw force, melting into a slop of mud upon the ground.
Yet the victims felt no agony from being flayed—the moment they were struck, their consciousness was instantly extinguished.
Strike after strike, Blazkowicz's movements appeared deliberate and slow, clear enough for a mere mortal to follow every motion; yet within this deliberate pace lay a bizarre, unnatural speed—so fast that the Orks had no way to resist.
He was like a supreme god of thunder, wildly wielding Mjölnir to punish all that was impure.
"Frail and feeble!" The god manifested in the world, unleashing a scornful, provocative roar. His footsteps never faltered; every strike of his hammer cleared a wide vacuum of absolute death.
Ork Boyz were turned into meat paste, Challengers were shattered to dust, and armored vehicles were smashed flat into iron pancakes!
Only Blazkowicz's terrifying might could master such a warhammer; even with his raw strength evenly distributed across the entire resonance radius, it inflicted such horrific lethality.
"Pathetically weak!"
Wherever he walked, enemies were thrown into total disarray.
Waves rippled through the green tide. Along the outer edges of the shock-field's vibration radius, Ork Boyz were continuously blown off their feet, screaming as they crashed into the surging horde behind them, sending up waves of flesh and blood.
No entity possessed the right to stand before Blazkowicz to face this transcendent, formidable warrior.
"Is this all your Waaagh! can muster?"
A scornful query resonated. Accompanied by the harsh clatter of its motor, the Buzzsaw Shield was hurled out. Its C'tan metal teeth spun at high speeds, igniting a flaming blade of light that surged to millions of degrees.
The orange-red wheel of light rampaged through the crowd; the moment the blade touched flesh, it carbonized bodies instantly, carving out a path lined entirely with scorched, brittle skeletons.
"Waaaaaagh!!!!"
Unable to bear the insult, three Ork Bosses disregarded Big Tooth's warnings, roaring as they charged toward the human big 'un.
"By Gork and Mork!"
They bellowed, their massive seven-meter-tall frames transforming into charging tanks of flesh and muscle, barreling straight toward Blazkowicz.
Under continuous provocation, the three beasts had completely lost their reason, their eyes brimming with hatred as they swore to avenge the disgrace brought upon Gork and Mork.
As the giant beasts stampeded wildly, every Ork pinned their hopes on this counterattack by their Bosses. Their collective belief drew upon the blessing of the Waaagh! Field, causing the Bosses' bodies to swell even larger.
"Waaaaaagh!!!"
Spittle flew as their eyes bulged with rage; the three giant beasts used sheer physical force to breach the supersonic domain, trailing stark white shockwaves behind them as they crushed all who stood in their way—friend and foe alike—in a swirling storm of blood.
Crossing over a dozen kilometers took less than half a minute under a supersonic charge; the three Ork Bosses arrived at their destination.
Catching the scent of blood that had turned almost visibly thick, the Bosses grew even more feral. The lead Ork bellowed, "I'm gonna tear ya apart and wipe away the shame of the Orks gettin' slaughtered!"
This tragic, mournful roar drew the majority of eyes across the battlefield.
Whether it was the actively warring Orks, or the spectating Necrons, Aeldari, and Khrave's forces, all monitored the situation closely, evaluating the precise combat capabilities of the human Primarch and the Ork Bosses.
"We are—!"
With a hideous visage, the Ork Boss trampled through the bloody mud as he charged the human big 'un who was butchering his Boyz, preparing to declare his illustrious name.
"The weak deserve no names!"
Blazkowicz turned sharply in the rain, black hair slinging a circle of water droplets. His eyes burned brightly, yet they were filled with sheer disdain and indifference as he rudely cut the Ork Boss off: "I have no need to remember the names of the dead."
He hurled the Buzzsaw Shield once more. With a flick of his left arm, the Death Blade snapped into place as he charged straight at the incoming Ork Bosses.
"First one!" His battle roar was deafening, using a man's authentic bellow to suppress the chaotic hum of the assembled Ork roars.
"What?"
Evidently, the Ork Boss failed to grasp what the big 'un meant by "first one."
Blazkowicz answered with action instead of words.
He pulled back his warhammer with immense force, his arm drawing an exaggerated arc behind him before he hurled the thunderous hammer straight at the Ork Boss with everything he had!
"Die!"
In the blink of an eye, the warhammer reached a hundred times the speed of sound, transforming into a streak of azure lightning.
The brilliant blue light tore through the curtain of rain. The hammerhead led the way, driving a conical shockwave forward as it surged toward the Ork Boss.
The hammerhead expanded rapidly in the Ork Boss's vision; by the time it realized what was happening, absolute destruction was already upon it!
Run!
Terror struck its heart as the burning rage in the Boss's eyes instantly cleared. An infinite chill gripped the tip of its nose, and the death knell rang loudly in its ears.
Body, move!
In that life-or-death instant, the desire to survive dominated its entire consciousness. Every cell screamed, frantically draining every drop of vitality to stay alive.
In a state of extreme excitement, its attention and reaction speed broke past normal limits; an improbable burst from the Waaagh! Field seemed to press a slow-motion button on reality.
Dodge!
In that brief yet agonizingly long instant, only one thought remained in the Ork Boss's mind: Survive!
Though it couldn't fully dodge the hammer thrown by the big 'un, it wanted to live; it wanted to escape the clutches of death.
Perhaps because its will to live was so intense, the Waaagh! Field responded to its survival instinct, producing a miracle.
Its stiff body, locked on by a sure-kill strike, exploded with a surge of strength in its direst moment, defy logic as it shifted a full meter to the left.
Then, the Ork Boss watched helplessly as the warhammer slammed straight into its right chest. The impact of supreme kinetic power created a blinding molten point, burning through its armor bit by bit.
BANG—
"ROAR!!!"
The sound of the impact and a agonized screech rang out simultaneously. As the warhammer struck the ground, the Ork Boss collapsed to its knees, barely supporting its body with its left arm to avoid falling over completely.
It was a horrific sight: the right half of its body was blown into a gaping semi-circular crater, exposing its bloody spine. Its flesh had collapsed, its ribs completely lost their ability to support its frame, and shattered internal organs spilled out onto the ground with a wet splatter.
"Kill him!"
Before collapsing, the Ork Boss endured the agony to unleash a piercing roar, begging his brothers to kill the human big 'un.
That furious shout consumed every last drop of its strength. It vomited a lump of mixed flesh and blood, its vision going dark as it slumped face-first onto the surface of the bridge.
Blazkowicz's gaze swept past it, ignoring a formidable enemy that others would never dare underestimate.
The other two rabid giant beasts had already closed the distance, meeting him within the vacuum of the Ork horde.
"Gimme your head!" A roar forced back the thunder and evaporated the pouring rain as a massive power klaw opened savagely, striking down from above.
Taking advantage of his height, the Ork Boss brought down a terrifying aura laced with lethal intent, seeking to split Blazkowicz in two with a single blow.
On the other side, a choppa slashed out with a rusty beam of light, sweeping horizontally toward his upper body.
Left and right, lethal danger closed in.
Blazkowicz moved.
His speed wasn't overly fast, yet his counterattack was direct and precise, without a single wasted motion.
He lowered his stance to dodge the horizontal chop, then shifted to the left to slip past the power klaw, calmly neutralizing both fatal strikes in one fluid motion.
Sparks erupted as steel collided; unable to pull back their momentum in time, the choppa and the power klaw slammed into each other, the violent impact causing blood to burst from the Ork Bosses' arms.
They hadn't held back—and they paid the price for missing their mark.
The Ork Boss's arm snapped, and as the violent recoil rippled through its body, its tightly clenched jaw shattered—yet its assault ultimately yielded nothing.
They yanked their weapons back, eager to launch another strike.
Blazkowicz, however, had no intention of giving the Ork Boss a second chance.
Exploiting his low evasion stance, he drove his body downward and swept out a brutal leg kick. His Archon greave struck the Ork's knee with vicious precision from the side.
'Crack—!'
Sound travels faster through bone than through air; the moment the splintering echo rang out, blinding agony hit alongside the sensation of shattered structure.
Blazkowicz's whip-kick was matchlessly sharp, carrying devastating power. The Ork Boss's body, capable of tanking direct artillery fire, was now pathetically fragile—its half-meter-thick knee snapped cleanly in two.
Marrow and bone fragments sprayed through the air as muscle bundles exploded into shredded meat, leaving behind a shattered stump of a thigh.
The assault was far from over!
His movements were lightning-fast and fluid. Executing the next sequence of his attack plan, he twisted his waist to roll into an anti-gravity flip, converting his right hand into a spear-palm to thrust directly upward.
Having abruptly lost its left leg, the Ork Boss failed to maintain its balance and pitched helplessly to the left.
Blazkowicz's hand sliced through the air, his Archon gauntlet joined into a razor-sharp blade that drove straight into that hideous, terrifying jaw!
Flesh proved useless against mystical armor; his armored hand pierced through muscle with ease, plunging deep into the Ork's cheek.
The Ork Boss's eyes bulged in pure terror as it clearly felt warm, metallic fingers sliding inside its mouth while a copper taste flooded the tip of its tongue.
'Riiiip—!'
Like tearing cheap cloth, muscle and ligaments stretched, snapped, and were completely ripped away by raw force!
"'Gurgle—!!!'"
The Ork's savage roar sounded like a broken bellows, leaking air from every tear, its fury dissolving into a harrowing screech.
Blazkowicz used the momentum to stand tall, his right hand gripping a massive jawbone. Torn straight from its host, its nervous system still triggered involuntary muscle twitches.
The Ork Boss fell to one knee, clutching its lower face to stem the spurting blood, its eyes drenched in agony.
The injury was appalling: half of its face was torn away, its tongue yanked out by the roots alongside the jawbone, pale tendons curling uselessly while its bloody windpipe lay completely exposed.
"I accept your gift."
Expressionless, Blazkowicz snapped off the jawbone's largest tusks and tossed them into dimensional space. "And I give back what's left."
He casually hurled the ruined jawbone back, his calm voice dripping with a freezing chill: "Not that you'll be needing it."
"!!!"
The Ork Boss wanted to roar in fury, but only air rushed wildly through its shredded throat. It swung its weapon in a frenzy, yet failed to touch the damned human big 'un.
Having its tusks snapped off like trophies right in front of its face was a humiliation no Ork could endure—the equivalent of being castrated on the front lines.
Incapacitated by rage, it leaned on its ruined leg, red eyes brimming with enough heat to spit fire.
If looks and wrath could kill, Blazkowicz would have been riddled with holes and burned to ash ten thousand times over.
Unfortunately, there are no "ifs."
Blazkowicz closed the distance once more, his form blurring into a phantom of terrifying speed.
With a sweeping stride, he maneuvered to position himself between the wounded Ork Boss and the remaining one, perfectly isolating the ambush into a pair of one-on-one engagements.
Ignoring the uninjured Boss who was roaring in frantic frustration, Blazkowicz blocked an incoming choppa with his Blazkowicz Blade, raised his right hand, and delivered a full-power uppercut straight into the wounded Ork Boss's head.
'BOOM!'
The head exploded like a overripe melon, showering the ground with a mixture of brain matter and blood.
The Ork Boss's massive body collapsed, its limbs still executing phantom brain commands, twitching blindly as it thrased on the ground like a dying fish.
Blazkowicz felt no joy in victory. With a cold flick of his wrist, he slammed two eyeballs wedged between his fingers into the mud.
"Glorious!!!"
The Blood God's roar reverberated through the thunderclouds as crimson lightning struck—Khorne was cheering for his warrior's brutal strike.
His favorite champion was, just as in his youth, shattering Ork skulls with the rawest, simplest hand-to-hand moves!
In under a second, an Ork Boss had perished ignominiously.
The Waaagh! Field detonated, sending green energy surging outward as the surrounding Ork Boyz trembled in absolute terror.
Blazkowicz moved like a repulsive black hole; the Waaagh! energy parted around him as he strode forward through the sea of green lightning.
He charged the final Ork Boss. Before its horrified eyes, his left hand reached out to catch the sweeping power klaw.
A violent metallic collision clanged through the air as a sonic boom exploded on the spot. Yet Blazkowicz's body remained entirely motionless, his left hand gripping the power klaw with iron certainty.
Unable to break free, the Ork Boss balled its left hand into a fist and brought it down with everything it had, slamming it heavily onto the human big 'un's head!
Blazkowicz didn't bother to dodge, letting the Ork's iron fist crash straight onto his skull as another sonic boom detonated.
Dark red blood mixed with rain, trickling down from his brow.
Yet Blazkowicz was uninjured. The Ork Boss raised its trembling hand, the courage and wild rage in its crimson eyes shattering into shivering disbelief.
Its hand bones were completely pulverized; its entire fist hung limp like a lump of wet mud.
'Hss—'
A collective gasp echoed across the entire battlefield. Everyone witnessing this moment felt their scalps go numb.
Monitoring the battle, Trazyn leapt up from his throne, practically beside himself with excitement as cold logical processors sparked with fervent heat.
'So worth it!'
The Necron Overlord cheered wildly in his mind, his hand gripping his staff shaking visibly. The green light in his eye sockets flared brilliantly, his usual suave composure completely abandoned.
He thought with supreme satisfaction: 'This harvest has already surpassed my highest expectations.'
'Everything that happens next is merely a generous bonus from this trip—no need to worry about coming out empty-handed.'
In stark contrast to Trazyn's satisfaction, the Orks felt as though the sky had fallen.
Their strongest Boss—the very symbol of power, conquest, and the Waaagh!—had delivered a full-power strike that failed to damage a single hair on the human big 'un's head, only to shatter its own hand in the process.
This undeniable reality struck them with overwhelming force under the gaze of thousands.
An inescapable wave of despair washed over the battlefield.
The Waaagh! Field was saturated with sorrow, a dense sense of powerlessness that filled the greenskins with absolute dread.
Under the gaze of the entire valley, Blazkowicz held the power klaw fast, slowly raising his head to flash a smile.
That smile, drenched in blood, looked so terrifying that the Ork Boss instinctively tried to step back—only to find itself pinned fast by the locked power klaw.
Seeing the fear in the Ork's eyes, Blazkowicz knew he had achieved his goal.
Planting fear into the hearts of Orks causes the Waaagh! to invert, turning it into an inescapable nightmare for greenskins.
He slowly raised his right fist, knuckles popping with a crisp crunch that tore through the silent rain, sending a chill down the spines of the watching Ork Boyz.
He threw a sudden, heavy strike straight into the Ork Boss's elbow joint; relentless force crushed flesh and bone alike, snapping the arm in two.
With both arms completely ruined, the color drained from the Ork Boss's face. It staggered backward two helpless steps before collapsing to its knees in total defeat.
The terrifying truth had spoken: all resistance was futile.
Rain spilled down its body, but its heart was colder than the freezing storm—extinguishing the flame that once burned hot for the Waaagh!
Blazkowicz used both hands to raise the severed power klaw high into the air, his face expressionless as he uttered: "Goodbye."
He brought his arms down with sudden violence, driving the power klaw down like a thunderbolt straight onto the Ork Boss's skull!
Countless Orks heard the sickening crunch of a spine snapping—as if the very backbone of the greenskin horde had been broken by an irresistible force.
The Ork Boss's knees buckled into deep craters as its head was driven straight down into its chest cavity, its upper body flattened into a pulp of flesh and bone in a horrific display.
Casually tossing the power klaw aside, Blazkowicz knelt down and used his Blazkowicz Blade to slice open the Ork's abdomen, retrieving another Boss tusk from the dead, wide-eyed head.
He rose slowly and looked across the area, his gaze sending the Ork Boyz shrinking back in terror.
"WHO ELSE?!!"
A furious roar echoed throuh the Adamantium Sinkhole, yet not a single soul dared to answer.
"WHO ELSE?!"
The arrogant query echoed across the landscape, but the noisy battlefield offered no response.
The Orks had been butchered into absolute terror, shrinking back in fear. Even the "King of Kings," Big Tooth Grom, forgot to use roars and bellows to bolster his crumbling morale.
Dozens of Boss-tier Orks stood dazed in the pouring storm, letting the wind and rain beat against them as a bone-deep chill seeped into their hearts, thoroughly extinguishing the battle-frenzy brought by war.
For the very first time, the Orks felt true fear born of combat.
Once, they craved war; the Waaagh! brought endless joy, infinitely amplifying their excitation and bloodlust.
Now, with the collective euphoria of the Waaagh! utterly suppressed, negative emotions festered. Fear spawned like maggots in rot, devouring the lens through which the greenskins perceived reality and death under the Waaagh! Field.
The lens was shattered: war was a bloody reality, a cruel meat grinder.
On this battlefield, if you were killed, you died!
That human big 'un had effortlessly defeated the Ork Bosses; wherever he walked became a desolate waste, forcing even Gork and Mork to recoil!
Blazkowicz raised his right hand, giving the Buzzsaw Shield a spin to retract the C'tan metal gauntlet.
Amidst the terrified silence of the Orks, he looked up at the sky, where Khorne's crimson shadow churned within the storm clouds, thunder serving as His deafening, wild laughter.
Beyond Him, within the distant shadow-clouds, green lightning outlined the colossal forms of two giant beasts, Their rage burning even hotter than Khorne's.
He withdrew his gaze, ignoring the fury of the Warp deities.
The influence of gods upon reality was always separated by an impassable veil; there was no need to pay it overmuch mind.
Blazkowicz advanced step by step, his Archon armor clacking heavily against the bridge—a rhythmic sound that hammered directly into the fragile hearts of the Orks.
The green tide parted before him; with eyes full of awe and dread, the Orks instinctively backed away, clearing a path for the human big 'un.
He was like an isolated island within the green sea, advancing toward another lone island, looking down coldly at a dying Ork Boss.
Spitting blood-froth, the Ork Boss opened its eyes wide, its crimson irises filled with disbelieving terror and shock.
"Five... five seconds..."
"It only took you five seconds." Its body trembled softly, squeezed-out words voicing an incomprehensible truth: "You killed us in just five seconds."
Blazkowicz offered no reply, his eyes devoid of sorrow or joy. He squatted down, grasped his trophy, and snapped off the steel-encased tusk.
The greenskin Boyz could do nothing to stop it; taking trophies from the weak was the right of the strong through absolute violence.
Possessing an extreme worship of raw power, they had witnessed Blazkowicz's strength firsthand, and it earned his respect from the Orks.
"Come then."
Holding his shield in one hand, Blazkowicz raised his warhammer and pointed it toward the sea of Orks, his deep voice remaining eerily calm: "You have me surrounded."
He was entirely composed, showing not a trace of panic despite standing amidst ten thousand foes; instead, he issued an even more arrogant provocation, suppressing an entire race through the sheer might of one man.
"'Waaaaaagh!!!'"
Defending the dignity of a warrior race with action, the Orks unleashed another unified roar, raising their weapons to encircle the human big 'un.
Yet this Waaagh! held no joy for battle; it was tinged with solemn tragedy.
The Boyz intended to use blazing courage and blood to defend the pride of the Ork species!
Expressionless, Blazkowicz silently activated the warhammer's shock-field and slammed it into the ground once more, blasting open zone after zone of absolute death.
Aside from necessary provocations, he disdained needless shouting in combat, preferring to express his intent through silent execution.
Hammer strike after hammer strike, zone after zone.
His towering form stood like a jagged reef in the middle of a vast ocean; the wave of greenskins surged forward, only to collapse like receding surf.
"Waa—"
A screech was cut short as a casual slap from his shield shattered an Ork warbike into pieces, turning the Speed Freek into fresh graffiti upon the metal face.
The warhammer smashed down, flattening an oncoming tracked trukk into a solid iron pancake as blood and viscera squeezed through the seams.
Embodying a harbinger of death, Blazkowicz strolled across the battlefield, mercilessly harvesting Ork lives.
With him at the center, a black hole seemed to open on the battlefield, swallowing every approaching organism whole.
Then, Blazkowicz shifted direction.
Rather than heading toward the perimeter of the Adamantium Sinkhole to purge the Ork Bosses' stronghold, he pivoted on his heel and strode straight toward the purple ark.
In his strategic blueprint, his target had never been the Ork Bosses, but rather Khrave's forces lurking greedily on the sidelines.
The sudden ambush by the Ork Bosses was merely a small, expected interlude.
As the unstoppable force abruptly altered his course, the winds of war shifted violently.
"Dammit!" The Primeval cursed under its breath, a flash of feral cruelty crossing its crimson eyes, accompanied by a deep, bottomless panic.
In Khrave's psychic vision, the psychic black hole embodied by that unstoppable entity had suddenly shifted vector, charging straight toward them.
The sheer suffocation and crushing pressure were something races without psychic sensitivity could never comprehend.
Inside the purple ark, panicked whispers spread. Khrave's personnel and the Rangdan grew frantic, their morale inevitably wavering.
Khrave knew Blazkowicz's terrifying strength through the Primeval's Death Mark; the Rangdan were even more direct—the name 'Blazkowicz Nowick' was an untouchable, forbidden taboo within their ancient race's sacred texts.
The former sought fortune amidst danger, hoping to steal the Chaos Artifact during the mayhem; the latter similarly schemed to claim that fragment of the Supreme One's divine essence.
Neither had ever intended to engage in a head-on clash, preferring to play the fisherman waiting for two rivals to exhaust each other.
Now, the situation had abruptly inverted.
That most dangerous entity had suddenly changed direction and was charging straight at them—how could these xenos, fully aware of his terror, not panic?
"What do we do?" Inside the ark, the Rangdan Warmaster asked in a stiff tone, demanding to know the Primeval's next move.
The emergency allowed no delay; the human Primarch was closing in at supersonic speeds and would arrive in moments, leaving no time for detailed deliberation.
The Primeval tore its gaze away from the rapidly approaching shadow of death and turned toward the radiance of the artifacts.
Ultimately, greed for divine power overcame the fear in its heart. A gnashing, avaricious voice echoed inside the psychic barrier: "Encircle and destroy him!"
The order was given, acting as an anchor for the allied forces' unstable morale.
The Worm-men immediately began preparations, their gray-robed warriors surging to the front line to provide cover for Khrave's forces to channel high-yield psychic spells.
The Rangdan deployed their forces, solidifying a second defensive line behind their worm-like allies.
The tactical response was correct, executed methodically by battle-hardened troops, yet the lines remained rife with nervous anxiety.
Witnessing the divine wrath of that terrifying entity, no living creature could maintain true composure.
"Hold him off for a moment," the Primeval croaked in a twisted voice, transmitting its will via psychic resonance: "Our kin shall channel the supreme power, gathering the light of destruction!"
As the words fell, all of Khrave's personnel perked up, abandoning their previous exhausted demeanor to chant secret racial incantations, channeling Warp energy into the physical realm.
Seeing this shift, the Rangdan and the Worm-men gritted their teeth in fury, realizing instantly that their own forces had been betrayed.
Khrave's faction had used mental fatigue as a pretext to shrink their psychic barrier, abandoning many of their allies in the process.
The Rangdan Warmaster barked orders to his kin in a low, heavy voice: "Solidify the defensive perimeter! Hold the human Primarch at all costs!"
At this point, survival was their single objective. Anything else would have to wait until they made it out alive.
"You know him?" The Worm-man elder cast a bizarre look at his ally, his vermiform carapace producing a raspy, friction-filled groan. "I noticed you called that anomalous human a 'Primarch'."
The Primeval diverted its attention as well, its crimson eyes locking onto their "ally" with a sudden flare of vicious intensity. "Speak!"
Inside his bio-armor, the Rangdan Warmaster's tendrils tightened.
Naturally, he had withheld critical intelligence, sharing nothing about the special existence that was a human Primarch with his allies.
These entities were the true orchestrators behind the total destruction of the Rangdan Empire, as well as the living emblems of his species' ignominious exile.
Blazkowicz Nowick had personally slain several Grand Lords—an eternal, waking nightmare for the Rangdan race, and one of the primary architects of their endless wanderings.
"I know a little," the Rangdan Warmaster replied, shaking his bio-armored head. "Though not much."
"He is every bit as dangerous as the Emperor of Mankind."
He offered a brief, surface-level overview to highlight the threat, cutting off any further interrogation from the Primeval: "There is no time to explain. He is closing in!"
With that, the Rangdan Warmaster turned away to organize his defensive line.
As he walked off, he broadcasted a encrypted message across their racial channel: "Prepare to evacuate at a moment's notice. Abandon all thoughts of reclaiming our ancestral essence."
The Warmaster had initially intended to rely on the coalition, gambling everything to reclaim his species' sacred relic. But after witnessing Khrave's cold betrayal, those lingering hopes vanished.
A fractured, self-serving alliance could never achieve a grand objective.
"Hmph!" Sensing the outright deception, the Primeval let out a cold grunt before closing its eyes to meditate on its psychic reserves.
With immediate danger looming, it chose not to strike at the Rangdan and risk triggering internal collapse.
The Worm-man elder followed the Rangdan Warmaster away. Compared to the arrogant Kraff, it far preferred dealing with the Rangdan.
After all, their two species had engaged in deep, strategic cooperation long before the Rangdan Empire was brought to ruin.
Even with the Rangdan reduced to wandering exiles, a baseline of trust endured—if only out of deference to past camaraderie and the lingering pride of their former empire.
As for Khrave's people—
They were cosmic marauders who preyed on the weak, guided by a moral compass and code of honor utterly alien to established colonial civilizations.
Like nomadic raiders and agrarian societies, an inherent racial conflict existed between them.
Had it not been for pressing reality and sheer intimidation, the Worm-men would never have associated with Khrave's faction in the first place—different paths allowed for no common counsel.
With hundreds of thousands of tiny worms squirming rapidly in unison, the elder caught up with the Rangdan Warmaster. Though no words were exchanged, a tacit agreement was silently forged between them.
'Abandon Khrave!'
It was the worst-case backup, yet also the most optimal path forward.
Unseen, the tactical formations of the Rangdan and Worm-men subtly shifted, collaborating with unspoken precision to hunt for an escape route amid the chaos.
Inside the purple ark, deep rifts tore through the three allied species. They no longer had each other's backs—instead, every ally had turned into a prime target for a backstab.
Yet these internal shifts meant nothing to Blazkowicz.
To the human race, the only good xenos was a dead xenos.
The Worm-men and Kraff's faction had dared to unite, using human flesh as incubators, gnawing at mortal bones to consume their very souls.
Such monstrous atrocities violated Blazkowicz's ultimate taboo.
These were no ordinary xenos—they demanded total, unmitigated annihilation!
His heavy footsteps shattered arcs of thunder and pools of blood, his terrifying aura rising step by step.
Compared to the naturally belligerent Orks, Blazkowicz's hatred for Khrave's forces and the Rangdan transcended mere fury.
The greenskins fought out of an obsession for war, slaying without sadism; the latter two stripped humans of their skin and sinews, seeking to enslave their free will and torment their immortal souls.
As Blazkowicz charged toward the purple ark, the calm in his eyes dissolved into a churning vortex of hatred and icy, lethal intent.
In a matter of heartbeats, he crossed the intervening distance and slammed into the front lines of the xenos coalition.
"Thunder!" the Primeval screeched, initiating the clash.
The collective psychic reserves of Khrave's faction converged onto the Primeval. This strike was devastatingly wild—a column of psychic lightning several meters thick struck down, engulfing Blazkowicz's advancing form.
'RUMBLE!'
A violent explosion of purple lightning erupted, illuminating half the sky.
The terrifying Warp energy warped physical reality itself, blasting a freezing sea of thunder across a thousand-meter radius that swirled into a spatial void.
The laws of physics were expelled as sheer Warp power assumed absolute dominance, forming a raging psychic vortex.
In an instant, within the core area of impact, the surrounding sea of Orks was utterly evaporated and vaporized, while the adamantium substrate melted into liquid slag—a display of horrific destruction comparable to a voidship's lance strike!
The Primeval smirked—a hideous, arrogant sneer.
Had such an apocalyptic attack been unleashed within the Warp, it was confident it could force even a demigod to retreat.
Within the material universe, nothing should be capable of withstanding such raw power.
The sheer destructive yield of that psychic lightning was indeed astonishing.
High above, the Aeldari Great Harlequin lowered his gaze to re-evaluate Khrave's kin. Though grotesque in appearance, their innate psychic aptitude surpassed even that of the Aeldari.
Yet its eyes were filled with scrutiny and doubt: 'How could such intense psychic resonance fail to attract the ravenous gaze of Neverborn?'
The universe held far too many anomaly species.
With humans and Aeldari, every deep meditation performed by a psyker drew countless Daemons lurking in the Warp.
Yet with Khrave's species and a handful of others, they could wield Warp energy with total impunity while the Dark Gods and their unholy hordes paid them no mind whatsoever.
Pondering the mystery without finding an answer, the Great Harlequin finally shook his head in resignation, keeping his eyes locked on every shift across the battlefield.
"HA! HA! HA! HA!"
The Primeval let out a contorted laugh, its massive ten-meter frame shaking as it celebrated its own supremacy. "All who resist me shall perish!"
Yet in the very next second, its laughter froze. Its multiple crimson eyes quivered with utter disbelief.
As the blinding lightning dissipated, a solitary figure remained standing within the sea of thunder and molten golden-dark adamantium.
An invisible forcefield enveloped his entire form, safeguarding a three-foot radius around his feet, utterly repelling every trace of psychic frost and destructive energy.
Expressionless, Blazkowicz tilted his head across the distance. His utterly unbothered gaze conveyed a silent, cold mockery: 'Is that all?'
"What in the Warp are you?!"
Its absolute proudest attack rendered completely useless, the Primeval let out a terrified shriek, nearly dropping its staff in sheer horror. "Why does the supreme power of the Realm Beyond reject you?!"
"It is not rejection," Blazkowicz said, stepping directly into the liquid adamantium, striding through the molten golden river. "My will simply denies the Warp, expelling its foul contamination."
"IMPOSSIBLE!!" The Primeval shuddered, its shattered conviction collapsing into hysterical self-denial: "Everyone, attack this blasphemer of the Supreme Power!"
Frenzied, Kraff's faction lowered their protective psychic barriers and chanted dark incantations. Warp energy spilled violently into reality, turning the pouring rain into hail the size of bird eggs.
"'Waaaaaagh!!'"
The Orks were not about to miss such an opportunity. Having found no way through the xenos' "turtle shell" before, they raised their weapons and launched a frantic charge.
The Rangdan Warmaster and the Worm elder roared in unison: "Repel the Orks!"
Instantly, sickening green and blue-white beams flared along the front lines. Bio-chemical rays from the Worm-men melted greenskins into sludge, while Rangdan plasma cannons blasted vacuum zones through the charging horde.
The Orks refused to back down. Their crude shootas were wildly inaccurate, but their sheer numbers were overwhelming.
Bellowing in fury, they threw themselves at the unshielded defensive perimeter to vent their rage.
Holding a massive grudge, the Ork Boyz had descended into total madness: 'If we can't beat the human big 'un, you think we can't beat you weird xenos scum?'
"Fire!"
"Gravity!"
"Time!"
"Enfeeblement!"
Khrave's sorcerers had descended into madness as well. To validate the supreme authority of their power, they unleashed dozens of varied spells, painting the gloomy battlefield with dazzling, unnatural light.
Virtually every spell concept known to exist was hurled at the advancing human Primarch.
Yet Blazkowicz's charge never faltered, driving forward with unwavering determination.
Magical flames flickered and died before him; heavy gravity was brushed aside; time fractured beneath his heel; and weakening curses recoiled in terror from his absolute conviction—
"AHHHH!!"
"How is this possible?!" the Primeval screamed, snapping its palm open to hurl a fell curse. Warp fire erupted across Rangdan and Ork soldiers alike as it brutally ripped out the victims' souls, feeding them into its staff to amplify its power: "You cannot deceive my eyes!"
Unwilling to accept reality, it remained convinced its senses were being fooled by some elaborate illusion.
"Dispel the Hex!" Raising its staff high, it unleashed an unprecedented wave of pure, dispelling light to purge all Warp-born illusions.
The Primeval fanatically believed that once these tricks were dispersed, it would finally see the vulnerable truth hidden behind the illusion.