He had been a great man once, before the ruin and betrayal of their race Lord Ümabar thought to himself in a momentary passing of clarity…They were getting fewer and fewer; those moments where he felt alive, where his imagination would run free and his memory could come flooding back to him. Although Ümabar couldn’t complain too much, in comparison to the rest of their lifeless race, the Udin Dynasty held the largest number of minds that still had an essence of their past – well at least after the great civil war they did.
Ümabar was stood at his Overlords side, looking over the battlefield like they had done many millennia ago, watching unworthy alien races, with no desire but to destroy, meet their doom. He could almost feel the breeze that passed over the green hilltop – the smell of the wildlife, the heat of the sun but then – the moment passed.
Overlord Varek Záakesh turned to his left to see Ümabar shudder, as though a chill had passed through him, before standing to perfect attention, waiting for his Overlord’s orders. Looking at the metallic body that housed his friend and brother in arm’s damaged soul, Varek noted that his eyes were glowing a duller green, a sign that the sleeping plague had taken over the vessel that was more akin to a skeleton made of polished metal than a man.
Looking down at his own metallic hand, he turned it over as if to inspect it, the bright sunlight from the planet’s nearby star glinting off the polished silver.
Then he started to feel it – the hunger within. Shifting his gaze away from the body that his previous Overlord had imparted on him, he turned back to look over the battlefield.
Orks. A mindless race bent on destroying, devouring and infesting everything in their path, even a beautiful planet such as this only escalated their desire to be ‘Da biggest and da best!’. Usually their great hulking, green hides were ripped with muscles, their weapons cobbled together out of old scraps and their machinery crude and made from simple technologies; their real strength was their numbers and their determination.
But try as they might, Varek’s warriors had been warring and defeating greater foes long before these creatures even existed, and that was before their blessing of eternal life and indestructible bodies. There was very little chance that their Wargh! would be fruitful this day.
Already, Varek could feel his tactical genius destroying the ork’s greater numbers like an ant under a boot. He’d lure them onto the largest open field he could find and draw upon their desire for an all-out fight – they thought they couldn’t be outflanked if there was nowhere to plan an ambush from.
Of course Varek’s forces didn’t need trees, hills or terrain for the sort of neanderthalic ambush the orks were expecting, his main forces had, of course, made themselves present on the fields, waiting for the green tide – his specialist ships and warriors however, had been lying in wait in a pocket dimension, ready to appear as though out of thin air to disrupt the ork charge, leave them confused and turn them all into corpses.
Naturally Varek knew that to defeat an ork host, the easiest solution was to simply slay their Warboss; he’d got his elite Deathmarks waiting in reserves encase he should try anything too unpredictable, but he thought this would be a good training exercise for his men.
Just as planned the orks were starting to emerge on the opposite side of the vast plain, hundreds of thousands of them – any mere mortal would probably succumb to the sight, or the smell for that matter – being able to turn his atmospheric perception protocols off was probably one of the few things that Varek could enjoy about his Necron form.
Using his enhanced optical sensors he looked across the plain to identify the host’s Warboss, a good specimen. Hulking over his warriors like they were children, the ten foot tall Warboss was kitted out with more scraps of metal and machinery than skin, however instead of the polished metal that Varek and his men were made of, the orcs machinery was scrappy, run by a crude combustion engine with thick, black smoke pouring out of the exhausts mounted on his back. With huge power claws for hands, guns of various descriptions mounted under each and a retinue of larger orks clad in similar wargear surrounding him, Varek considered meeting him on the battlefield; to see how worthy a foe he would present himself as.
Then he heard it, the distinctive roar of an ork warbands cry, in unison, thousands of the green creatures roared their war chants as they charged across the battlefield, towards the immaculate silver and red warriors of the Udin Dynasty.
As the green tide halved the gap, Varek raised his mighty warscythe in the air, ready to give the signal for his warriors to strike. He knew he didn’t have to make a physical signal, the synaptic connection he shared with his warriors would have been enough, but it was the little things that made this hellish existence more bearable.
500 yards, 400 yards, 300 yards – Varek brought the crackling warscythe down and his trap sprung.
The first to arrive was the Doomsday Arcs, floating platforms each encasing a mighty doomsday cannon in a spiderlike grasp. To their flanks materialised Annihilation Barges and Immortals. Manned by three warriors each, the Annihilation Barges were mobile turrets that could drown an enemy under their mighty tesla and gauss fire whilst the Immortals were the elite warriors of the Udin Dynasty, more heavily armoured and armed than the lowly warriors assigned as a decoy and far more deadly.
Explosions of green energy mixed with the deep, almost black blood of the orks flashed in the ork ranks as Varek’s Doomsday Arks fired into the host, culling hundreds in their first volley. The orks reacted, spreading out to try and tackle Vareks elite on the left and right as well as his group of Warriors – but try as they might there pace had been slowed and confused, not the rush of green it once was, providing plenty of time for his shorter ranged weapons to come to bare.
Raising his warscythe once more his Warriors and Immortals raised their weapons into a firing stance and as the orks reached the 100 yard mark – he let their gauss weapons loose.
Content that the orks now had to claw their way through the piles of their own dead to get to Varek’s soldiers, he turned his attention back to the Warboss. Predictably he hadn’t thought of how to react to this new threat, his retinue had simply screamed at any orks slowing down and was now about to lead the bulk of them into his Warriors whose lesser weapons were struggling to deal with the tougher armour his retinue were sporting.
Seeing the Warboss shout something at one of his group before smashing him in the face with a power claw, Varek noted that the warboss was speaking over some form of communication device. No doubt to signal the advance of his armoured column that the Deathmarks had informed Varek of days before.
“Order the Doom Sycthes to interrupt their armoured column,” Varek said to Ümabar in a calm tone. Turning to him, his eyes were a brighter green now and reacted to Varek as a living being, rather than a metallic corpse.
“Yes Overlord, it shall be done,” he replied.
As Ümabar turned towards the hulking Monolith behind them Varek placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, “Take some warriors with you and make sure they’re dealt with, there’s a good bit of sport to be had on this day old friend.”
Ümabar turned back to Varek and he knew that if he could of, he would have been smiling ear to ear. “Fine sport indeed, although I think your quarry will be a little more difficult than mine.”
Before Varek could reply Ümabar interrupted him, “I know you’ve been eyeing up their chief, you always did have a soft spot for a challenge.”
Chuckling to himself, Ümabar disappeared into the dimensional gateway on the monolith.
And I do hope this once provides a challenge, Varek thought as he turned and headed into the monolith, his retinue of Lychguard close behind him.