Mortarion wielded his great scythe like a storm of death, reaping all in its path. The scythe blade rent the air, shrieking like the wail of a phantom. Each swing was sufficient to cleave steel and stone alike.
Yet the greenskin Ork's body was extraordinarily resilient. He always managed to let the lethal blade skim past his coarse green hide by the barest margin — his footwork seemingly clumsy, yet at the last instant, exquisitely precise. The great scythe carved deep furrows into the earth, time and again, yet never touched his flesh.
"You cowardly rat — all you do is dodge!"
Mortarion roared. His assaults grew ever more savage.
After repeated failed strikes, Mortarion's wrath crystallised into cold resolution. He feigned a powerful overhead swing. The moment the Ork sidestepped to evade, as expected, he abruptly released his grip — letting the great scythe, with its full momentum, embed itself in a distant stone wall. And he himself, like a pale lightning bolt, shattered the ground beneath him and, with bare hands, lunged into the Ork's embrace!
"You greenskin xenos — you have made Mortarion unleash his full strength!"
Freed from the scythe, Mortarion's speed and agility skyrocketed. The Ork, who had seemed at ease, suddenly appeared hard‑pressed. His blocking arms went numb; even his tough hide was left with white scars.
Yet upon his face was no pressure. In his eyes blazed an even fiercer flame of excitement. He began to resist in a wilder, more direct manner. His green, heavy fists were clenched with a strange power capable of shattering ceramite plate. They clashed against Mortarion's precise, lethal assaults, producing a dull, rhythmic drumming.
The battle instantly reached fever pitch. Two figures intertwined at a speed barely discernible to the naked eye — separating, then colliding again. The Pale Lord of Death and the primordial green giant; their fight no longer followed the elegant arcs of weapons, but the most primal force and savage skill. The earth continuously fractured beneath their feet; scattered debris was hurled by their fist‑wind, whistling and shrieking.
Spotting a slight opening in his opponent, Mortarion pivoted, channelled all his strength into his right fist, and with little finesse, struck the Ork square in the chest. A sound like a battering ram. The Ork grunted; for the first time, his massive frame was genuinely pushed back. His feet skidded across the ground for several metres, gouging two deep trenches.
The thick muscles of his chest were visibly indented. But with a sharp, guttural crunchand heavy panting, the indentation swelled and restored itself at a visible rate.
"WAAAGH!!"
For the first time, pain ignited the Ork's true wrath. That wrath instantly transformed into an even sturdier battle‑lust. He no longer attempted to parry. His fists clashed together, producing a sound like the symphony of metal and iron. Then he charged at Mortarion like an enraged prehistoric behemoth.
"GLADLY!"
"I shall crush you before my father — you insolent wretch!"
The moment their eyes met, without words, both sides understood: the next strike would determine the temporary outcome of this clash.
The next second — Mortarion and the greenskin Ork collided like two meteors hurtling in opposite directions!
BOOM——!
Their pale and green fists had not yet met, yet the force compressed to its limit had already detonated first. A shockwave comparable to an explosive charge erupted in a spherical form. Sand and gravel instantly fountained to a height of tens of metres. The solid earth fractured inch by inch, like a spiderweb.
Even the Reaper soldiers standing in formation far away, nervously watching the battle, were pushed back by this fierce airwave. Their armour rattled; they could barely maintain their footing.
*Such strength! *
This thought struck both simultaneously. In this pure, savage, uncompromising clash of force, they had, for the first time, truly acknowledged each other's qualities as adversaries.
"...Should we intervene, Lord Nyx?"
Seeing that the pair remained locked in deadlock, Typhon suppressed the whispers within and glanced at Nyx.
"...Mortarion has not yet given his full measure. But this ends here."
The words fell. Nyx's figure abruptly vanished.
The next instant — he stood between them. Before their astonished eyes, he seized both their fists simultaneously, forcibly prying the struggle apart.
"Father...!"
For the first time, a trace of dissatisfaction flickered in Mortarion's heart. He was confident he could defeat this greenskin xenos.
"I understand, Mortarion. But look at this greenskin fool... He's actually friendly forces."
Nyx reluctantly spread his arms and drew in the Ork, who resembled a miniature Gork and Mork, yet whose eyes were especially 'cunning'. Unlike the Orks roaming the galaxy, this one was closer to their primordial form — an ancient Ork.
Nyx pointed to the ancient Ork's simple, mung‑bean‑like eyes and told Mortarion: this fellow harboured no malice.
"And also — explain how you ended up in my pocket dimension."
Nyx regarded the simple‑faced ancient Ork before him. The other gazed back with adoration.
"...I only remember Gork asked if I wanted to follow..."
"Better not call me Nio (censored)! Call me Boss!"
The smile on Nyx's face instantly turned icy. The ancient Ork trembled all over; his mung‑bean eyes flashed with cunning, and he smoothly corrected himself:
"—asked if I wanted to follow Boss. And I said yes."
"Oh, and Gork also had something to give Boss."
As he spoke, the ancient Ork produced, from somewhere, a fairly clean sheet of parchment, covered in various Ork glyphs.
It took Nyx several minutes to decipher it. His face gradually darkened.
...What do these wicked creatures take me for? A beloved adoptive father?!
The parchment stated that Gork, taking advantage of the spatial rift Nyx had opened, had stuffed this rare ancient Ork — who had somehow survived the War in Heaven — into it. He also said this beast recognised Nyx alone as his leader, and since he was unlike ordinary Orks in his capacity to 'think', once he acknowledged his master, he would be absolutely loyal.
In short, one sentence: Gork had forcibly shoved this ancient Ork onto Nyx, hoping that in the future, he would give Nurgle a thorough thrashing.
Nyx glanced at his forcibly acknowledged 'adopted son'. Though it had happened abruptly, at this moment, it was rather practical.
With such a devoted demeanour, Nyx had no doubt that even if he ordered him to beat up Gork, the fellow would ask: should I also krump Mork while I'm at it?
"But why... did you attack the moment you came out?"
Nyx pointed to the heap of xenos debris — pulverised to slag by that single punch. Had it not been for this, Mortarion would not have perceived him as a threat — though they would most likely have fought anyway.
"...Uh... Sorry, Boss."
"I was hungry for days. After I got bored and fell asleep, all the ration tins I had with me were gone."
"When I saw something edible... I couldn't help it."
He rubbed his belly. Those cunning eyes and that expression, at this moment, made this ancient Ork — slightly taller than Mortarion — appear somewhat pitiable.
...Well. That explains it.
Just a kid starving pure and simple.
But this ancient Ork's combat power still exceeded Nyx's expectations. In a hungry, weakened state, he could fight Mortarion to a standstill — even if Mortarion was not yet mature, this strength was remarkable enough.
This ancient Ork's potential was not at all as simple as it seemed. Nyx foresaw that his 'adopted son' would prove to be an exceptional being, even among ancient Orks.