Just as Chandler was sinking into despair, a figure opened its eyes in the deepest part of Karl-2's core zone.
Sith "Great Foot."
His physique was only a head larger than a standard Ork, but his clouded grey eyes crackled with heart-stopping lightning. This was the mark of an awakened psyker and the foundation of his status within this Greenskin alliance. He was the Weirdboy most trusted by Ragna and the second-in-command sent by Dorido to monitor Chandler.
He had never liked that Big Mek. That arrogant git, relying on his ability to build things, never gave anyone a shred of respect. Every meeting was filled with cold mockery, with Chandler frequently calling him a "waste without ambition" or "Ragna's dog."
But now, Chandler was right about one thing. Ragna the Great Stomach needed him to hold Karl-2. If Chandler died, the place would become leaderless, and the Boyz would fall into total chaos. Even if Sith could eventually retake control, it would take time. If the humies outside launched an offensive during that window, Karl-2 might not hold. Ragna would be disappointed.
Sith closed his eyes and opened them again. He stood up, and half the Weirdboyz in the core zone rose with him.
"Prepare to use that move," Sith's ethereal voice echoed.
Seconds later, several bolts of lightning struck an open space in the center of the core zone. As the white smoke cleared, over a hundred Weirdboyz appeared. Their heads were generally larger than those of other Boyz, their eyes glowing with green light. Many possessed grey-green skin with faint electrical currents coiling around them. They stood together, looking up at Sith on his high platform, clutching their staves nervously.
Sith didn't speak. He simply raised his hand and closed his eyes. Then, he began to drain their psychic energy.
The Weirdboyz screamed. They could feel their power being siphoned away, flowing like water toward the figure on the platform. Some Boyz collapsed on the spot, bleeding from their facial orifices; others had their eyes burst into flames in agonizing pain.
But Sith did not stop. He needed enough power to manifest that technique. That returning Big Mek, as annoying as he was, had to live.
The Turbulence-class frigate was about to collide with the escape pod. Luna could already see the rivets on the surface of the ugly craft. In a few more seconds, she would capture the Warboss with her own hands. A victorious smile spread across her face.
Suddenly, a horrific pressure descended upon the frigate. Luna looked up, and through her eyes opened to the psychic realm, she saw nothing but shock and despair.
A colossal Ork phantom materialized out of thin air above the frigate. Ten thousand meters tall and clad in crude armor, its face was blurred, but its eyes—burning with green fire—demanded total submission. Its right foot was raised high, aimed directly at the "tiny" frigate.
Gork.
The god of Greenskin faith, representing brutality and strength—legendarily both brutal and cunning. He lowered that foot, a limb capable of crushing stars.
He stepped down.
The strongest Waaagh! spell of Sith Great Foot—Gork's Foot!
There is no sound in space, yet the moment the foot landed was shattering. A circular shockwave expanded through the void. The entire forward section of the Turbulence-class frigate vanished instantly. Along with it went the crew operating the weapons, the technical personnel piloting the ship, and Luna herself—standing on the bridge with a smile still on her face.
The front half of the frigate was gone as if it had never existed. The remaining rear section tumbled and drifted through space. The vessel that had just been pursuing Chandler at full speed was now a pile of worthless space junk. The massive phantom lasted less than three seconds before slowly dissipating, leaving only a heap of scrap and the horned prow continuing its flight.
Inside the escape pod, Chandler stared at the horrific scene outside for a second. Then, he erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter from his narrow escape.
"Hahaha! Waaaagh!"
He shook so violently that the wound on his severed right arm burst open again, spilling blood. "I knew it! I knew dat dog would move!"
He waved his remaining left hand at the frigate-turned-scrap as if bidding farewell to an old friend. "Stupid git! Try an' catch me now! Go on! Hahaha!"
The escape pod continued forward, finally entering Karl-2's anti-air zone. The massive turrets watched it pass in silence, making no move. He was safe.
In the core zone of Karl-2, Sith sat back down in his seat. His green face was deathly pale, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his body trembled uncontrollably. That single strike had nearly drained all his psychic energy and had killed over a dozen Weirdboyz. Those who were drained too harshly had been reduced to charred husks.
The surrounding Weirdboyz crowded forward, wanting to support him. He waved them away.
"Out. Let me rest," Sith panted heavily. Clearly, that strike had taken a massive toll on him. The Weirdboyz exchanged glances and then retreated. Sith closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing. He needed to recover; now that the Big Mek was back, there would surely be a pile of trouble to handle. But at least he had completed the task given by Ragna and protected Karl-2.
Minutes later, the doors to the core zone swung open. Chandler limped inside. He was covered in bandages, his right arm and left leg positions were empty, and his gait was hilariously pathetic. Yet he wore a triumphant smirk, clutching the golden sphere tightly. The Mecha Secret Vault—the treasure he had traded his life for.
He stopped in front of Sith. "Cheers," he said.
The tone was light, as if he were dismissing a servant. Sith opened his eyes and glanced at him. His clouded eyes held no emotion.
Chandler continued, "If it weren't for dat foot, I'd be scrap today. I'll build ya a new toy later."
The tone and attitude were blatantly filled with disdain and charity. The faces of the surrounding Weirdboyz changed visibly. They looked at Sith, the lightning on their bodies becoming more active. They all knew what had happened. Sith had nearly drained himself dry to save this bastard. A dozen of their brothers had died because of him. Yet this bastard didn't even offer a sincere thank you.
Sith remained silent. He simply closed his eyes and continued his meditation. Seeing this, Chandler let out a snort and turned to leave.
"Borin' git," he muttered, his voice loud enough for the entire hall to hear. All he knew was how to act deep; Chandler couldn't fathom what Ragna saw in an ambitionless waste like him.
Chandler walked away. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him.
In Chandler's eyes, Greenskins like Sith were the most pathetic. Despite possessing such immense power, he was content to be Ragna's dog instead of becoming a Boss himself. No ambition, only obedience. Such an Ork, no matter how strong, was beneath his notice. He didn't need to thank such a waste; to him, Sith was merely a tool to be used.
Once he fully understood the Mecha Secret Vault and built something truly massive, perhaps he'd even have a chance to sit in Ragna the Great Stomach's place. He walked on, already calculating which workshop to go to first and which Mek Boyz to summon for help.
Behind him, Sith watched him. Watching the limping back and the glowing sphere in his arms, a strange emotion flickered in his eyes. He seemed to be weighing something.