The savage, feral, primal battle-cries, like a chain reaction of explosions, erupted one after another across this sector of Lithoeremos-313, quickly merging into a deafening green roar.
This was not merely the shouting of Eric and his few dozen temporary followers; it was the collective howl of countless Orks drawn by the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and the intoxicating pheromones of "there's a fight and loot to be had."
From every direction, more mushroom holes were pried open, more Ork Boys and Gretchin sprouting up like weeds after rain.
Some, like Eric, were bare-skinned; others had already scavenged crude weapons. Without exception, every pair of eyes was locked onto the black pyramid and the metal skeletons around it, clutching their "shiny boom-sticks."
The momentary terror of the gauss weapons' firepower was utterly crushed by the yearning for those cool weapons and, more importantly, by the primal, irresistible drive for a fight that was big enough, hard enough, and Waaagh!!! enough.
The green tide had begun to surge in earnest, launching a chaotic but terrifying charge against the Necron tomb complex.
The Necron warriors remained silent, precise, efficient. They formed neat firing lines, their gauss rifles steadily spitting lethal green beams.
Each shot instantly "vaporized" a charging Ork Boy or Gretchin, leaving not even a trace behind. They were the most merciless of harvesting machines, inexorably thinning the leading edge of the green tide.
Yet the sheer numbers of the Orks, combined with their horrifying rate of replenishment and battle-madness, began to show their power. One Ork disintegrated, and three more surged forward in its place, then five!
They trampled the spores left behind by their fallen kin and charged onward without a shred of fear. Distances closed, casualties mounted, yet the green tide's momentum did not waver in the slightest. If anything, it grew fiercer as more and more Orks joined the swarm.
For the first time, the Necron firing line began to falter. Not through tactical error, but through sheer physical inundation.
When hundreds, possibly thousands, of Orks crashed forward in the most brutal fashion imaginable, even the most precise shooting could not hold them all back.
At last, the first Necron warrior was brought down by a mob of Ork Boys.
Though it immediately counter-attacked with its metallic limbs and energy blades, cutting two Orks in half in an instant, more piled on, hammering, tearing, and gnawing at that black metal body with rusty blades, iron bars, teeth, and bare fists.
Though unable to inflict fatal damage immediately, this savage entanglement severely disrupted its ability to fire.
Once the breach was opened, it widened rapidly. More and more Orks broke through the firing lines, dragging the Necron warriors into the most chaotic, most primal close-quarters brawl.
Eric was swept along in this wave. He had wised up and stopped charging in a straight line. Instead, he followed the other Orks, using terrain and cannon-fodder as cover to work his way around to the flanks.
When a Necron warrior had just shot down the Ork in front of him and was swinging its barrel around, Eric burst from behind a chunk of metal wreckage to the warrior's side, and with every ounce of his strength, drove his fist into the smooth metal skull.
"CLANG!"
A dull crash rang out. Eric felt as though he had punched solid steel, his arm going numb from the impact. But the Necron was staggered by the unexpected force, its gauss rifle nearly flying from its grip.
Now or never! Eric's eyes were quicker than his thoughts. He seized the faintly warm barrel of the gauss rifle and wrenched hard, actually tearing it free from the warrior's grasp. At the same moment, he drove his foot into the warrior's chest, kicking it back several paces.
"Hah... this thing..." Eric panted, examining the strangely shaped weapon in his hands, heavy enough to feel serious, humming faintly with energy. A peculiar sense of achievement welled up in him. So this was a "boom-stick?" It did look pretty damn cool.
"Warboss is awesome! He snagged a boom-stick! So cool!" His first follower, Scrapjaw, materialized out of nowhere, waving what could charitably be called a "cleaver" assembled from several scrap metal plates, a few rusty bolts, and a length of thick wire, his face full of admiration.
"When did you make that?" Eric stared at the contraption, at a loss for words.
"Just picked it up! There's loads of scrap over there!" Scrapjaw excitedly jabbed a finger toward a pile of what might have been destroyed vehicle wreckage at the edge of the battlefield. "Boss, let's keep Waaaagh!!! -ing forward! There's gotta be even better stuff inside!"
Just then, an Ork a full head broader than a typical Ork Boy, his skin a shade or two darker green, sauntered over to Eric's vicinity carrying a scavenged gauss rifle and trailing a dozen followers. He looked Eric up and down with those wild little eyes, paying particular attention to the gauss rifle, then spoke in a grating, coarse voice:
"Oi! You there, new runt! Not bad moves, nickin' a boom-stick. Come over here and be one of my lads! Follow me into that metal tin-can tomb and grab even more good stuff!"
Eric blinked, then felt a wave of absurdity wash over him. Was this an internal Ork "headhunting" attempt? Or the opening round of another "who's da Warboss" contest?
"Why would I?" He furrowed his brow.
"Why would ya?" The stocky Ork seemed to find this question monumentally stupid. He grinned wide, baring jagged yellow teeth.
"Because I'm bigger than ya! Harder than ya! And I got me own boom-stick too! Don't like it? Then we scrap! Whoever wins is da Boss, and all the lads follow him in for a proper Waaagh!!!"
He did not even wait for Eric to respond. He simply raised his gauss rifle and leveled it at Eric, grinning wickedly as he pulled the trigger.
"What the-!" Every hair on Eric's body stood on end. On pure instinct, he threw himself into a rolling dive, forward and to the side. A green beam skimmed past his shoulder, melting a smooth crater into the rock behind him.
"You cheating git!" Eric's temper snapped. He raised his newly acquired gauss rifle and hosed a wild spray of fire in the stocky Ork's direction.
He had never fired an energy weapon before; the recoil and shot dispersion were all wrong, and most beams went wide. But one or two grazed the followers nearby, triggering a chorus of howling chaos.
Seeing Eric fire back, the stocky Ork grew even more excited, howling as he returned fire. The two of them traded shots across the battlefield at a range of several dozen meters, wielding freshly stolen weapons they had no idea how to properly use, conducting what could only be described as a supremely amateurish gun duel.
The Orks around them made no move to stop it; instead, they whooped, cheered, and rooted enthusiastically for both sides.
"Fight! Boss, blast him!"
"The new runt's got somethin'! Waaagh him!"
"Yeah yeah, keep shootin'! That's it!"
The battlefield briefly became equal parts farcical and lethal.
Finally, during one exchange, Eric's gauss beam struck the stocky Ork's right arm, the one holding the rifle.
There was no blood and gore. The portion of the arm caught by the beam simply ceased to exist, as though erased by an eraser, exposing the metal bone beneath and the dead energy conduits. The arm dropped lifelessly to his side, and the gauss rifle clanged to the ground.
"ARGH!" The stocky Ork let out a cry of pain, staring at his ruined arm with a mix of shock and fury.
Eric seized the moment, stopped firing, and leveled his rifle at the Ork. "Still wanna keep going?!"
The stocky Ork looked at his wrecked arm, then at the Ork Boys around him who were clearly beginning to lean toward Eric. The fierce light in his eyes flickered and, at last, faded into grudging acceptance.
"Alright, alright! You win! Your aim... erm, yer luck is better than mine!" He was surprisingly gracious about it, clutching his stump as he bellowed, "From now on, you're da Boss for all of us! Lead the lads into that metal tomb, Waaagh!!! the hell out of it, and loot every shiny thing inside!"
"Waaaaaagh!!!"
"Waaaaaagh!!!"
"New Boss! What the hell Boss! Waaaaaagh!!!"
With the challenger's submission, the thousands of Orks surrounding them erupted in a thunderous, earth-shaking war cry. The wave of sound surged skyward, so powerful that even the cold black pyramid seemed to tremble ever so slightly.
Eric stood surrounded by the green horde, gauss rifle in hand, watching the boiling green sea before him.
The sense of absurdity in his chest reached its absolute peak, yet alongside it, a strange emotion was taking root: a tangle of pressure, responsibility, and a hint of something dangerously close to excitement.
At that moment, the system notification quietly appeared:
[Your 'Reputation' has increased significantly.]
[You have become a figure of note within the Ork society of Lithoeremos-313.]
[You have earned the initial loyalty of a sizeable Ork Warband (approximately several thousand units). Lead them into battle, into plunder, and into an ever-greater Waaagh!!! Note: in the course of continued warfare, various special 'elite units' or 'distinct troop types' may emerge spontaneously among your followers.]
Eric drew a deep breath, shouldered his gauss rifle, and swept his gaze across his "green army."
Scrapjaw sidled up to him, eyes wide with expectation. "Boss, what now? Do we just Waaagh!!! straight in?"
Eric looked at the pyramid tomb, still disgorging Necron warriors through its gate, then looked back at his own forces: vast in number, laughably equipped, and screaming their heads off.
"What's the rush." He did his best to imitate what he imagined a proper Warboss should sound like, though it came out a little stiff.
"Have the lads pick up every boom-stick off the deck first! Every last one! If they don't know how to use it, find someone who does and have 'em teach! Once the weapons are collected, pull everyone together a bit, don't let them scatter too wide!"
He paused, then jabbed a finger at the pyramid tomb's open entrance, still vomiting enemies, and roared with everything he had:
"And then, follow me! Waaaaaagh!!! in there! We tear apart that iron coffin and loot every last shiny thing inside!"
"Waaaaaagh!!!!!!"
The answer that came back was wilder, more unified, and filled with such violent hunger for destruction and plunder that it shook the very air.