Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Admidel's prowess exceeded Goldtooth's expectations. Although the man could do little against him either, the fact that Admidel could hold his own under the combined siege of Goldtooth and the other Orks had already won the other shrimpies a chance to evacuate.

I've gotten this much stronger—how come I still can't take down one tinned shrimpy?!

This fact made Goldtooth irritable, and at this moment the Priest's words jabbed right at his sore spot. He abruptly hoisted up the possessed weirdboy and snarled ferociously:

"I've already come down to the lower deck just like ya told me, so don't ya go hollerin' and stirrin' up trouble here, ya little runt!"

His bloody froth and flecks of spittle sprayed across the weirdboy's face, a truly horrifying sight.

But this posed no threat whatsoever to the Priest, who was remotely controlling the weirdboy with psychic power: "You did it, and then? Did you do it well?"

Goldtooth flew into a rage and throttled the weirdboy to death outright: "This was yer bloody plan—don't ask me!"

He flung the weirdboy aside like a tattered rag, but this could not stop the Priest from pestering him. The Priest easily possessed another Ork boy and went on with his interrogation:

"Our plan was to hold back the shrimpies' tinned boyz—how many of them did you hold back?"

Goldtooth swung this Ork boy around and beat him to death, but the Priest still clung to him like a shadow: "But I heard you got hold of the shrimpies' Black Sword..."

"Hand that Black Sword over to me, and I can overlook your faults."

But such a demand instead set Goldtooth hopping mad, and it instantly reminded him of those tinned shrimpies who'd been hollering earlier for him to hand over the Black Sword:

"Why're ya bloody well just the same as them shrimpies?! What would I want with that dingy little black knife for?! How many times have I gotta say it—that thing ain't even in my hands at all!"

The Priest was a little surprised; he realized Goldtooth wasn't lying, but this only made him all the more disappointed in Goldtooth.

Goldtooth's eyes rolled; he noticed that the Priest did indeed seem to care quite a lot about that shrimpy trinket.

Throwing tantrums the whole time was clearly no solution, so he switched tack and made the Priest a promise: "Let's go plunder together! We'll burn, kill, and loot our way across the shrimpies' planet, and I can still be the big warlord! And you'll still be my right-hand man!"

"That's no longer the case now."

The Priest's voice turned icy: "Goldtooth, Gork and Mork are very disappointed in you."

"The hell's that supposed ta mean?" Goldtooth grew frantic: "I'm the one who's meant ta become the big warlord—don't ya go pullin' anything, ya little runt!"

The Priest paid him no more heed; instead he turned and gave an order to the Ork boyz under his command:

"Fire the cannons!"

A violent explosion set Goldtooth's battleship trembling. Several shards of shrapnel grazed past Goldtooth's hardened skull, leaving streak after streak of scratches across the armour.

Goldtooth froze for a moment; before he could react, he turned his head and looked through the deck toward the colossal hulk not far off—that was the Priest's battleship.

The firelight of the explosion lit up his bewildered face.

The second salvo followed hard on its heels. This time, several shells landed directly amid the Ork throng, tearing the beasts nearby to shreds. The violent blasts shook the entire battlefield, and the thick black smoke carried the stench of shredded flesh and blood.

Goldtooth finally understood what was happening.

"Priest!" he roared, "What the hell d'ya think yer playin' at?! The ones we're supposed ta be fightin' are the shrimpies, the shrimpies!"

"I'm not hitting the wrong target. Goldtooth, the one I'm hitting is you!"

The Orks' offensive gradually ground to a halt under the bombardment, and they looked in fear toward the distant battleship. The battleship that should have been blocking the tinned boyz now lay broadside before them, every cannon along its flank trained upon them, the pitch-black muzzles foretelling the wretched fate that awaited them.

This was not at all what they wanted!

They weren't afraid of death—but the ways they were willing to die absolutely did not include being turned into frozen space-meat by someone else without even getting to fight!

Fear erupted within the Ork throng, and the power of 'I reckon' that linked the greenskins' emotions together instantly spread the panic to every single boy. Although the Ork warlord had not yet been slain, the Orks' greatest flaw was now laid utterly bare in this moment.

As the third wave of bombardment arrived, the Ork horde had already scattered into utter disarray, each one scrambling toward wherever he reckoned was safe. No matter how Goldtooth screamed himself hoarse trying to stop them, he could not halt the rout of the boyz under his command.

"Get back to the bridge, get back to the bridge! Let's drive the ship and ram that goddamn Priest ta death!"

Not a single boy paid the warlord any mind. In an Ork horde where communication basically relied on shouting, his bellowing simply couldn't drown out the roar of the cannons. Realizing he was powerless to turn the tide, Goldtooth could only seize the boy the Priest had possessed and beg for mercy:

"I can let ya be the big warlord! I can be yer second-in-command! Please, Priest, I'm beggin' ya, stop shootin' at me!"

Goldtooth's pleading delighted the Priest; standing only around three metres tall himself, he relished the sensation of such a giant grovelling before him.

"Only this isn't enough to satisfy my appetite." He shook his head in refusal.

A glint of resentment flashed in the depths of Goldtooth's eyes, but even he knew he had to conceal it carefully at this moment: "I... I can even give ya three-tenths—no, half—of my boyz, so ya can become the biggest, most waaagh warlord of all! I'll do exactly as I say!"

"Now that idea is real gud, real gud..." the Priest mused.

A trace of hope flashed in Goldtooth's eyes.

"I won't deny it... but I won't accept."

Goldtooth felt as though he'd plunged into an icy pit.

"You dolt, trying to bargain with me using that? How foolish! Once you're dead, won't it all be mine anyway?"

The Priest waved his hand, signalling the boyz under him to intensify the bombardment.

"As a reward for you amusing me, ya little runt—Goldtooth, I'll send you off on your way myself!"

Goldtooth let out a wail of grief; he throttled the boy the Priest had possessed and, just like the other Ork boyz, began to flee.

Although he could no longer see Goldtooth's expression, the Priest felt an extraordinary satisfaction at this.

From the very beginning he had never intended to accept Goldtooth's surrender. Rather, his aim from the start had been to do away with the tinned boyz and Goldtooth together.

He just hadn't expected that runt Goldtooth to be so useless that he couldn't even hold back that bunch of tinned boyz.

But that didn't matter either; at least he had laughed last in the contest among the three warlords.

How I laugh that Goldtooth wants for wit, and Gadda wants for cunning.

Those two beasts, though warlords, were nothing more than common things to be toyed with in the palm of his hand!

Only faith and wisdom could let him transcend this world and gaze down upon all living beings.

They would no longer be brainless beasts who could only waaaagh!

He had completely forgotten the sorry state he'd been in earlier, threatened by Goldtooth brandishing a chopper, and felt only satisfaction with the present situation.

A certain blue bird-headed being who had earlier bestowed wisdom upon him in the name of Brother Mork was now circling clamorously through his mind, seemingly berating the Priest's world-shaking wisdom while also trying to step forward and give the Priest a couple of slaps.

But the power of 'I reckon', surging at this moment, left the Priest utterly indifferent to such an attack. With but the slightest stirring of his thoughts, that blue bird-head was crushed by the immense green psychic energy, leaving nothing behind but a scatter of feathers across the floor.

Hmph, the Lord of Change?

Perhaps by now my wisdom has nearly surpassed that Lord of Change by a wide margin!

"Fire all guns!" he declared smugly. "More than those shrimpies, what I want to see right now is that fool's doom!"

The boyz below fervently rallied behind the Priest's decision; they had clearly been won over by the Priest's wisdom.

To have become the grand warlord uniting all the greenskins without lifting a finger—this was truly...

"Waaaagh!"

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