Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 176: Nazdreg Ug Urdgrub

Inside the chaotic, dimly-lit bridge, scurrying Gretchin and the rhythmic thumping of hammers were everywhere, punctuated by the occasional sputtering hiss of leaking steam.

A scalded Gretchin shrieked, clutching its head as it fled, only to be chased right back by Mechanics wielding wrenches and hammers.

This entirely lacked the appearance of the command heart of a starship; rather, it looked more like a bustling, uproarious junk shop.

But this was the Ork way.

They required neither professionalism nor discipline; their own sheer instinct and crude enthusiasm were enough to accomplish many things.

Of course, they could also ruin many things.

A massive behemoth, entirely encased in yellow-and-black armor, gazed down upon the bustling bridge.

It was so towering that a mere glance confirmed it stood over four meters tall. Its neatly arranged, impossibly thick armor plating made it look sturdier than a Dreadnought. Of its two arms, one terminated in a massive Power Fist, while the other mounted a plasma cannon of staggering caliber. A gargantuan, sneering yellow moon was bolted to its left pauldron.

Black was its base color, while yellow represented roaring flames. When it turned its head, its dark red eyes resembled burning coals in the pitch-black night.

This was the infamous Nazdreg Ug Urdgrub—the greenskin pirate Warlord who caused the Imperial Navy the most profound headaches, a vile scoundrel who had pillaged hundreds, if not thousands, of human worlds.Nazdreg stood elevated in the center of the grand hall, beneath a projection holo-tank. He slowly swept his gaze around, taking in the faces of the Bosses surrounding him.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes glinted in the darkness, restless and eager, like a pack of starving beasts.

He then gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Instantly, hundreds of fists simultaneously slammed heavily against their chests.

A thunderous, violent roar erupted across the bridge.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!

This deafening bellow echoed endlessly between the warships of the fleet, broadcasted out into the void by external hull-mounted augmitters.

Even though the fleet was currently traversing the Warp, the sheer force of the roaring generated rippling psychic shockwaves, frightening off the soulless predators that stalked their wake.

Nazdreg turned back, staring at the slowly rotating projection. It displayed the very star system they were about to drop into—Vorenus. A tiny system that had previously warranted no attention whatsoever.

Suddenly, the projection shifted; the image of the planet vanished, replaced by a strategic representation of his own fleet.

Nazdreg kept the image static. Right now, he had many questions that demanded contemplation.

"Da humies 'av been bashin' against dis place for a long zoggin' time. I figured dat stupid git shouldn't 'av held out, but 'e actually lived."

He glanced again at the shifting, cloud-like purple runes, representing the warp conditions around their destination.

"I don't reckon 'e lived coz 'e's got skill."

Nazdreg looked up at the other Bosses. A few nodded, seemingly grasping their Boss's meaning, but their intellect wasn't sufficient to draw the same conclusion.

A sinister grin broke across the pirate Warlord's face.

He knew exactly how to set a trap, and he knew exactly how a trap weakened and slaughtered surprised enemies—he had used them himself in countless wars.

Without a doubt, looking at the situation right now, he saw a trap.

He didn't know who had set it, but instinct warned the greenskin Boss that danger was imminent.

"If dis is a trap meant for us..."

Nazdreg's voice overpowered the din of the hall.

"Den who... is waitin' for us?"

The pirate Warlord stared intently at the star map. Over a dozen light-runes blinked continuously—outposts situated in the asteroid belt along the system's edge, still broadcasting signals.

Logically speaking, if they were still broadcasting, it proved they hadn't fallen.

Which proved they were still safe—

Safe?

Nazdreg snorted a heavy blast of air from his nostrils, nearly laughing out loud.

In his eyes, those blinking outposts looked exactly like a chain—an iron chain attempting to strangle his neck.

This might have been enough to fool the vast majority of Orks.

But not him. He was the most cunning Boss. These tricks looked as comical to him as a Gretchin's practical joke.

Then, his gaze locked onto a single, specific link along the chain's edge. A gap. The location of a darkened, silent outpost. An area that, realistically, was completely "unsafe."

If the previous star map was accurate, then either this outpost had sprouted legs and run off, or someone had "moved" it.

It was also entirely possible someone had accidentally "smashed" it during the fighting and couldn't put it back together, forcing them to rely on this crude deception.

They undoubtedly firmly believed that he would never blindly charge into such a glaringly dangerous sector, because it was so obviously a "trap."

Excellent.

Nazdreg bared his fangs in a vicious grin.

"Boyz! Bring 'er about! We'z gonna give da humies a massive zoggin' surprise!!!!"

————

"Another week, and this patrol duty is finally over."

Captain Mydias sighed inwardly upon the bridge of his ancient warship, silver hair peeking out from beneath the naval peaked cap he had worn for decades.

His flagship, the Spear of Fearlessness, was a Dauntless-class Light Cruiser. She had served for over two centuries and undergone several major refits.

Some voices argued that the cost of maintaining this aging vessel was growing too high, and she should be decommissioned and mothballed as soon as possible.

But Mydias had never viewed his ship that way.

To him, she was her. He intimately understood every inch of her armor and the power within her heart, just as he understood exactly how the bridge beneath his feet operated with precise, meticulous order.

Servitors muttered endless streams of data to cogitators, while officers exchanged verbal commands, dataslates, and scrolls of parchment.

Tech-Priests crouched silently within their own little sanctums, unmoving unless the warship's machine spirit specifically demanded their attention.

The bridge was the brain of the warship, and what it controlled was a venerable vessel of the Imperial Navy.

This three-kilometer-long starship possessed tens of thousands of press-ganged ratings and servitors. And, just like her kin, she was born for only one singular purpose—to defend the borders of the Imperium.

His current location was near the recently destroyed asteroid. Having achieved their objective, the Astartes fleet had departed, leaving only the Spear of Fearlessness and a battle-group of twelve escort vessels holding position on the outermost edge of the asteroid belt, near the fringe of the system.

Once their patrol shift here concluded, they would be redeployed elsewhere.

Mydias was already completely sick of staring at these broken rocks.

"Warning! Abnormal Warp fluctuation detected!"

Suddenly, the pitch-black starfield near the asteroid belt began to warp and bulge. Pale purple and sickly green light instantly flooded the swelling, distorted void, spiderwebbed with tearing reality-fissures.

The bridge's Tech-Priests were the first to raise the alarm; a second later, klaxons blared wildly across every deck.

Amidst the sudden chaos, Mydias scanned the incoming flood of telemetry and assessed the probabilities.

Something was translating from the Warp into realspace.

It could be an enemy, an ally, or something entirely unknown.

Until its true identity was confirmed, the welcoming ceremony remained perfectly egalitarian.

He immediately issued the order the entire ship had been anticipating.

"All hands, assume combat stations."