Chapter Text
“They’ve been speakin…” The blood axe said, looking around worriedly, clearly not wanting to be the one to say it.They looked back to the orks they had entered with, all of them looking at them impatiently. They were the smallest, it was clear why they had chosen, or well, forced them to tell whatever these bad news were, but that didn’t make the ork in question much happier.They looked back at Ghazghkull “Humies have been saying, Sebastian Yarrick is dead”
Ghazghkull stopped mid step, just processing the words.
The room was dead silent, even the other orks who had been talking and muttering at the side lines went quiet at the news. They were all exchanging looks that went between surprised to doubtful. However, most of them were just looked at Ghazghkull, watching him, waiting for his response, which could either come with words, or blasting the Blood Axe’s head off, most hoped for the latter.
Sebastian Yarrick. Few of the orks used that name, most just said Bale eye, sounded more orkish, sounded more fierce than a weird humie name. Bale eye fitted him much better if you asked Ghazghkull.
He turned his head to the blood axe, making them straighten their back under the gaze of the mighty warlord.
“Old Bale eye?” he asked, frowning but in the same breath dismissed the claim “Nah he can’t be, he's my favorite enemy, if he’s going to die it will be by my hand” he closed his claw, imagining Yarrick’s body in it, knowing it would chop him up into pieces with just a bit too tight of a squeeze.
“They seemed pretty sure boss,” they continued, “A…”It was clear they were trying to think of a way to explain it with their limited human knowledge. Blood axes were usually better at humans than other clans (the little humie loving gits that they were, working as dirty mercenaries), but their limited intelligence could only take them so far “They held an event for his death. Shot their dakka and stuff”
“Then they’re too stupid to realize Bale eye don’t die” he huffed “Who’s claimin the kill?” he then added. Who was the person walking around all high and mighty saying they slayed the mighty Yarrick? Who considered themselves that skilled, while also daring to spit at Ghazghkull like this, claiming they stole what was rightfully his kill under his nose. If it was another ork, then Ghazghkull was about to teach them a lesson about lying, or about stealing, and this kind of informarion was best learnt by ripping that gits head off, that would teach them to not do it again.
“None claimin, but it’s been given to some big red spiky bloke, A… um…Agro? Angron? Algor? Alistor -”
“Listen here” Ghazghkull quickly took a step closer, and loomed over them, the smaller ork staring up at him with wide eyes and falling silent at once. “Bale eye is not dead, because I haven't killed him yet. Dat’s simply it! If Yarrick was dead I would have felt it” he slammed his claw into his chest, letting out a loud metal ‘clang’ as he did. “He's not dead, so get that idiocy out of your head, it's a humie trick”
Ghazghkull would not consider it surprising if this was a trick by the humans, or even Yarrick himself. The Umie vanished and faked his death to do a surprise attack later, trying to catch Ghazghkull off guard, or maybe he was thinking this would throw him off? Make the warlord focus on chasing this daemon person who they said killed him. That sounded like something old bale eye would do. Or…Or Yarrick just wanted to vanish. Maybe he had gotten bored by this battle between them.
Ghazghkull shook that idea right out of his head. No, Yarrick would not stop, Because Yarrick was well, he was Yarrick.
He was the endless fire, the eternal engine, like a speed freak who could never run out of gas. He would chase, he would hunt, he would never stop, he would never tier. He would not stop moving before Ghazghkull was dead, that he was sure of.
The orks quickly nodded.
“What a foul humie tricke” a Bad Moon huffed from the side, before giving the messenger a dirty look “Almost as bad as a Blood Axe trick”
The blood axe ork snapped their way at once, baring his teeth.
“Whatcha say?” the Blood Axe growled at them, followed by a punch, which was followed by a fight but at that point Ghazghkulll had lost interest, what a lode of drops. Yarrick, dead? What idiocy. Yarrick could not be just killed, deamon or no deamon…
He started to walk away, making his way through the ship but his strides soon slowed.
He would have known, right? He would have felt it if he died. He knew he had no reason to actually believe that, but there was just something that told him he should know, should feel it if Yarrick let his head get cut off by someone else.
Ghazghkull hesitated, thoughts moving through his head. One of the side effects of being da biggest and smartest, thoughts like this was always plaguing him, making him at times wish back for times he would be more simple minded, when the world was less complex, times he was happily ignorant, when low ghotic was nothing more than stupid umie scribbles and weird scrawny shrill noises they made at each other in panic when they spotted them.
What if it wasn’t a trick? What if Yarrick had finally been bested, so rudely allowed himself to be killed by someone else, or doin it just to spite him, what was Ghazghkull supposed to do then? Celebrate? Hunt the git who stole his favorite enemy from him? Just go on like normal? No, doing nothing was out of the question.
It was weird, he hadn’t even considered this possibility before now. Yarrick had always just been…there. Since the first time Ghazghkull attacked armageddon the umie had been there to meet him, a worthy enemy putting on a good fight, someone finally worthy of his attention, of his brain and tactics, it was almost Gork and Mork themselves had given him just for Ghazghkull so he would have someone fun and someone on his level to fight with.
Who would meet the challenge if Yarrick was gone? Ghazghkull had battled other umie leaders who none got even close to the skill of Yarrick.
He shook his head again. By Mork’s teeth, forget all this thinking, he would have sensed if Yarrick was dead, would have felt it in his gut. He just had to wait, wait and see where old Bale eye would pop up next, what this new game was that he was playing.
He heard speaking, a language he knew but that provided him no comfort as it was not gothic, but orkish.
Of course there were orks here, there always were orks around, it didn’t matter if you were on the most insignificant world to the edges of the galaxy, there was always some ork sniffing around, and grabbing anything it could getits dirty little green paws at.
He didn’t even have to see it to guess it was a deathskull, here to loot whatever it could just to sell it to someone else for some teeth. Scavengers, like vultures picking off the flesh of the dead's bones, not seeing the person it had once belonged to as anything more than just a quick good meal.
The orks were the only thing alive for what was probably miles. Everyone else was dead, or had retreated at this point. Yarrick had called out in the beginning, hearing his own voice echoing out over the now quiet battlefield. It had once been filled with moans and groans, people like him, beaten but not dead yet screaming out for help, for relief, for anyone to tell them they were going to be okay, for the Emperor to save them or finally take them home into his light.
The voices had died out, one by one, like snuffing candle lights until they all were silent. Only Yarrick remained.
He could barely breathe, rubble on his chest making it feel like his ribs were being crushed, that his own ribs were teeth biting down into his organs. His power claw had been broken into scrap, and he had a worrying lack of feeling in one of his legs, he had a suspicion it was either gone or broken to the degree it would have to be replaced anyway.
The air smelled like smoke, gunpowder and sulfur, it was burning in his nose all the way into his lungs as he was laying there on his back staring up at the sky with his one eye.
Why wasn’t he dead yet?
He had lost the sense of time but he was pretty sure he'd been here for days. He knew he was bleeding out, could feel his blood wet clothes sticking to his skin. He had a giant cut in his side, he hadn’t tried looked down but he was fearing that if he did he would see his own guts snaking their way out of him. He’s been here by death's door and still he could not step through, couldn’t take that final step over the threshold.
It might be the will of the Emperor, that He didn’t want to collect him yet, that he still had work to do in his name. Yarrick was hoping that was the case but he had a feeling it was not the Emperor keeping him from the embrace of death, that at this point would be accepted with open arms, but these damn orks and their weird reality distortion.
Bale eye . The greatest human warrior, the only one who could go toe to toe with Ghazghkull, the most brutal and most cunning human. The one that survived every battle, survived being an ork prisoner, and an explosion. Unkillable .
Yarrick almost wanted to laugh. Unkillable , and here he lay bleeding just waiting for death to claim him, for the Emperor to collect him while the orks' weird belief that only Ghazghkull could possibly slay him kept him bound to his broken flesh.
His view of the open sky got ruined as an ork face with blue face paint entered his vision and looked down at him, its eyes going wide at once followed by a yelp. It took a step back so quickly it almost fell, earning it a laugh from the other which seemed to piss it off.
“Stop laughing!” it snapped with a huff, and slowly made its way back over looking down at Yarrick for a second time with so big eyes it looked like they were about to pop right out of its skull.
“Kneecrusha, look at dis git!” it yelled to the other “Ain’t dat Bale eye?”
“Bale eye?” the other quickly responded with a lot of doubt and the sound of its footsteps got closer before the new green face came into view and looked down at him, staring at Yarrick with his mouth agape.
“I fink you right” it said, sounding surprised and giddy.
“Whatcha fink happen to em?” the other with face paint said, Kneecrusha just shrugged.
“Dunno, but if it’s strong enuff to take out Bale eye it must be really good at krumping” Kneecrusha moved its gun and poked at Yarrick hard in the side, like a kid poking a dead animal with a stick. The touch made the commissar let out an involuntary grunt as his ribs flared up in pain, which made the two orks jump before a laugh escaped Kneecrusha “But not good enuff it seems,” it said with a cruel but excited laugh.
“Of course not! Bale eye don’t die so easily!” the other said, sounding absolutely certain.
Yarrick stopped looking at them and instead stared up at the sky once again, trying to shut them out, hoping they would move on and let him die in peace, no matter how unlikely that was.
Why was it always orks? Why was he cursed to always attract them, as if he was a flame and they were all moths seeking his fire, seeing his light and unable to stay away, going right towards it even if they knew it would be their death, knew they would be burnt to ash and dust.
Yarrick pulled in a breath, feeling how it made his lungs burn and ribcage ache so badly he had to bite his tongue to not scream out. His mouth was so dry, what he wouldn't give for a couple of drops of water, that small relief.
He now wished the deamons had just killed him, to not let him fall to the hands of orks and give them the satisfaction of claming his death.
The orks looked down at him, even those two brutes must realize he was in bad shape. That he could not fight them, that even the mighty Bale eye had met his match.
‘Humies are so squishy’ they always said, ‘Deir blood is bright red and therefore bleed fasta’, and here they saw him, bleeding out, defenceless, a chance to kill the great Bale eye and claim the glory, claim his head and put it on a spike to wave around in front of the other orks and make them all jealous.
The orks just stared down at him, almost mesmerized, like the stupid animals they were. Yarrick would say it looked like they were thinking, but that might give them too much credit.
Finally the face painted one turned to the other.
“How much you fink Ghazghkull will pay for him?”
Yarrick felt the blood left in his body run cold.
No.
The other grinned .
“A pretty price I’m sure” the other replied with a laugh and a dreamy expression as if its wicked mind was already imagining all the possible loot it would get for this. However, Yarrick was pretty sure it was just as big of a chance that they both would be shot as a ‘Thank you’.
Despite his dry throat and mouth Yarrick forced open his cracked lips and spoke.
“Just…Kill…me” he hissed. Just kill him, shoot him dead, it was better than being brought in front of Ghazghkull and subjected to his cruelty, better than allowing him the satisfaction of letting seeing the life drain from his eyes. To look at the ork warlord and see his expression as he won this battle they had waged for years.
He felt fear grasping at his heart, his lungs demanding his breathing to be quicker making his body ache in pain even more.
Just kill him. Just shoot him in the head and be over with it.
“Kill you?” Kneecrusha asked, sounding confused. Of course it sounded confused, to stupid to understand that some things were worse than death. “He must have hit his head or sumethin”
“Just grab him, the painboy will patch him back up on the way…Maybe...Hopefully…” the other ork just nodded and reached towards Yarrick. He felt his heart speed up, as panic grabbed a hold of his heart and squeezed it so tight to the point it felt like the old thing was going to give out right then and there.
“No, just shoot-” Yarrick didn't get further as the ork grabbed him by the coat and just yanked him up out of the rubble, the rock falling off him.
Pain. Searing pain as every wound that covered Yarricks body got disturbed and he screamed out, however the agony didn’t last long as it quickly overwhelmed all his senses and his body gave him the small mercy of making him black out.