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[Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor] Chapter 154
🕑 Added 2025-01-13 16:00:08 +0000 UTCAn Unknown Ship
The exterior of the monstrous warship was an amalgamation of scrap metal and spikes, haphazardly cobbled together like a junkyard's fever dream.
Some parts of the hull weren't even welded but held together by thick iron wires.
As the warship sped through the warp, it swayed violently in every direction, as if it might fall apart at any moment.
Traveling through the warp on such a ship would instill terror in anyone.
This was akin to performing reckless stunts in the face of Death itself, with the risk of being obliterated entirely at any second.
Yet the passengers aboard this grotesque vessel showed no fear. Instead, they bellowed joyfully, "Waaagh!"
These were Orks, one of the most fearsome species in the galaxy.
The ship was packed with an entire Ork warband, a disaster no human civilization could easily withstand.
Orks, often mockingly referred to as "greenskins," were warrior creations of the Old Ones.
Their appearance resembled savage, humanoid beasts, but their true nature was that of a highly adaptive psychic fungus.
Orks were extraordinarily resilient, with bodies that could withstand injuries fatal to humans, often brushing them off as mere scratches.
What made Orks unique was their psychic nature.
Every Ork was a natural-born psyker, yet their psychic network functioned independently of the Warp.
Instead, they operated on a localized "Waaagh-field," a form of collective psychic resonance.
When enough Orks believed in something, their collective psychic power could manifest it into reality.
This power, humorously dubbed the "I Reckon" force, could turn the absurd into the achievable.
For example, Orks believed that winning battles made them stronger, while losers were pitiful weaklings.
This belief caused a feedback loop in their psychic field, enabling physical growth or even evolutionary changes after victories.
Conversely, Orks that suffered defeat or couldn't fight would weaken and shrink.
Their mantra was simple:
"We're born to fight and win!"
Orks' reproduction was as astounding as their physiology.
Adult Orks unconsciously spread spores into their surroundings. These spores grew into massive fungal colonies, incubating Ork embryos in subterranean root pods.
Once matured, these Orks would claw their way to the surface, ready for battle.
This spore-based reproduction meant Orks were almost impossible to eradicate. Killing one often led to many more sprouting up in its place.
Without high-temperature weapons to destroy the spores, fighting Orks often resulted in "the more you kill, the more they grow."
Despite their brutish demeanor, Orks were surprisingly cunning and possessed advanced technological knowledge.
The Old Ones had encoded vast amounts of technical expertise into their genetic ancestors, allowing them to adapt and battle enemies with any level of technology.
As Orks fought, they continuously learned and unlocked new technological capabilities.
Their technology, however crude, was highly effective.
Ork Mekboys could cobble together functional machinery using scrap and sheer belief, powered by the "I Reckon" force.
For example, an Ork armed with a club could, over time, scavenge parts to create firearms, armored vehicles, or even massive warships.
The most brilliant Mekboys could construct battle satellites—massive orbital stations capable of housing entire armies and functioning as weapons of mass destruction.
For Orks, life revolved around fighting.
They viewed death not as a tragedy but as a natural part of their violent existence.
Their philosophy was simple:
"Fight more, grow more boyz, and build bigger dakka!"
The Ork way of life was an endless cycle of battling, looting, and celebrating their victories.
For other species, however, they were a green-skinned apocalypse.
When you spotted a single greenskin, it was likely there were thousands more nearby.
The only viable option was to flee, or call for reinforcements from the Imperium.
If even the Imperial Navy couldn't handle the threat, an Exterminatus might be the only solution—if there was still time.
In the Warp.
Onboard the 10-kilometer-long Ork warship Kool Krusha,
A towering Ork, over three meters tall, stood by an observation window.
Clad in oversized exoskeletal armor, this was Big Klaw Ura, the Warboss of the tribe.
The biggest, baddest, and greenest of them all.
As for the name "Big Klaw," it was a tribute to the massive yellow claw on his armor, stained with blood—a weapon capable of cutting through Terminator armor.
This iconic weapon was crafted by a team of Mekboys under Ura's command.
Having devastated an agricultural planet upon his ascension, Ura wasn't satisfied with such a "small-scale" Waaagh.
He sought greater battles.
Leading his warband, he boarded the Kool Krusha and set out on an epic Waaagh-crusade.
Ura squinted, not from thought, but because the Warp winds were strong.
That's right—the Kool Krusha wasn't sealed. The observation window lacked protective alloy glass.
Even with a Gellar Field and shields in place, energy storms seeped through.
Nearby, a group of Gretchin scuttled forward, trembling as they carried a large map.
One of them squealed as a gust of wind swept it into the ship's power turbines, turning it into mush.
The rest pressed on, more terrified of Ura than the storm.
Finally, they reached him, laying the map at his feet.
Ura grabbed it and kicked the Gretchin away.
He squinted at the map—a chaotic mess of doodles and star system markers on parchment.
"Waaagh!" Ura roared, frustrated.
"Go fight there!"
He jabbed a finger at a random spot, puncturing the map, and handed it to a Mekboy.
The Mekboy glanced at it, shoved it at the Gretchin, and clanked off to the helm.
It didn't matter if they understood the map. The "I Reckon" force would guide them.
If anyone could decipher the map, they would see Ura's chosen target: the Goliath Sector.
Alarmingly close to Urth.
For Urth, this spelled disaster.
The Kool Krusha veered sharply, speeding toward its destination...
(End of Chapter)
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