Pursued by Laughing Gods, there is no End to the War

[Hjonk]

Tanya had grown severely tired of Being X. She'd been tired after just the first few months on the front, to be fair, but this was different. For years, she'd fought that pointless war, pulling the Empire through conflict after conflict, dragging the entire country towards victory and beating back the encroaching loss in a magic-fueled World War by sheer force of will and efficient management of her Human Resources. She'd succeeded where no victory could reasonably be expected, in the face of total war and foreign influence and the nagging, persistence interference of a self-aggrandising divine moron.

And while her convictions stood strong as ever, while she'd managed to even find some happiness in that accursed torture, made comrades of those she'd sought to exploit for her own survival (well, more like they'd made a comrade of her. She still felt foolish after realising exactly how much she'd started to care without even noticing), she still had lost that war. It wasn't a surprise, to her at least; writing had been on the wall before she'd even gone off to fight in the desert colonies.

No nation, not even one as spectacularly efficient and streamlined for warfare as Glorious Germania, could fight off the entire world on it's own. In the end, she hadn't even gotten the chance to paperclip herself and her grudgingly-beloved War Maniacs, nor even run away to some secret bunker to disappear themselves. She'd been considering it when the call for surrender had come, of running away with whoever would join her, disappearing into the south-Americas and starting her own PMC or something like that.

Then those bastards had used her location as the world's first test-site for nuclear weaponry.

It hadn't been a proper nuke, she wouldn't have been able to notice it before she was dead if it had been. Something magic-based, perhaps, or a hybrid device of Being X's design. The result was the same regardless: Major Tanya von Degurechaff, along with her Kampfgruppe and a sizable part of the mountain they'd been based on, was simply gone, wiped off the map.

She'd expected him to appear once more then, to claim victory like she'd been playing chess against a pigeon, only... he didn't come to gloat. Being X failed to materialise, even as she drifted through the void between worlds, watching numbly as the souls of her men - or whatever they were, though she would recognise her Battalion's Mage Signatures anywhere - floated around her.
Time seemed to lose meaning then, as she had no way to tell whether it passed at all in that pure white void, and then suddenly there was colour.

Colour in ways she'd never seen, in ways she couldn't see nor comprehend. New shades that no human could decipher, a chaotic kaleidoscope that rushed and slowed and spiralled and expanded and shrunk all around her. She reached out with her magic, or what she thought was her magic, and clutched on to the familiar presences around her, keeping them close to her own self as they hurtled through this nightmare of sensation.

She didn't pray. This was probably just another 'test' by Being X, some foolish attempt to prove the old saying that 'nothing was more terrifying than the unknown'. Instead, she retreated into herself, ignoring the un-world around herself in favour of repeating the old mantras she'd internalised. She reminded herself who she was and why she fought, why she would never stop fighting so long as that egotistical False God still existed.

She would fight and struggle and win. She'd never give up, never give inn, never pray for salvation when her own abilities and those of her friends, comrades and allies of both loyalty and convenience were enough to survive. Even then, in death itself she would persist as she had already.
She was Tanya von Degurechaff, the Atheist that had challenged a Higher Being and been so much of a problem he dropped a nuke on her just to avoid his own incompetence! There was not a fight she could not find some way to emerge victorious from!

She would never, ever give up.

---

Deep in the unrealm, the void that was so very full, the immaterial dimension of emotion and concept and metaphor and none of those at once, there ignited a burning beacon of defiance. It shone so bright, so clear and true, that no colour got close without shrivelling away in it's brilliance.

The crimson was first, surging forwards with roars and songs and glory, and it was knocked to the side, a river of ichor flooding from where the wave had been.

Then was the verdant, unending and enduring, with low cheers and promises of eternal continuum. It was scorched, leaving nothing but the ashes to nourish what came next.

Third was the indigo, singing and tempting. This was the fastest, ignored outright as it's false promise and poison was cast aside.

Fourth was the pale that was dark, conniving and powerful, deceitful as it promised nothing but honesty. It recoiled before it was burned, the fire of the beacon seeming particularly enraged at it's attempts to curry favour.

Then there was silence, for the Four were curious but had better things to entertain themselves. They did not forget, for there was no true memory to begin with, only the now and the then.

But there was one last, One that was Two that was One, the Primordial Green called forth, drawn by the endless conviction and determination and power of the Beacon. It that was They became One, observing what had managed to bring pause to the Young Four.

A maw that was mountain that was an ocean that was a primordial horror opened wide, a singular bark of laughter echoing through Nothing like a ripple in the very fabric of reality. A fist that was a galaxy closed around the Beacon, not touching, not altering it's core, but guiding it along with a cunning brute force that none other could match.

And then the Beacon, and those lights it had guarded, left it's void, and the Two that was One became Two once more, the immaterial quaking as their eternal war resumed.

---

In the far future of the 40th Millenium, on a planet ruined by a war that never came to an end, deep in the lands abandoned by the hopes of Man, a fist the size of a grown man's torso burst from the ground, soon followed by a body that more resembled a mountain of hulking muscle than a human. It's head was placed low between it's shoulders, beady red eyes literally glowing as they opened for the first time.

It's body rippled and twitched, hands clenching with strength enough to rip bulkeads like cardboard, legs flexing with power to run faster and jump higher than any other sentient species in the galaxy. It's gaze racked across the surroundings, finding a war-torn wasteland of craters and mud and smog, the few burning husks of vehicles clearly stripped and scavenged of anything valuable. It's mind whirred, catalogued the world and it's new shape and the power it felt brimming just beneath the surface of it's skin.

Taking a deep breath, Tan'ya glared up at the sky, fathomless rage burning deep in her gut as she cursed anything that would claim itself a god. Then her attention turned once more to her surroundings, seeking anything that might lead her towards civilisation or resources or shelter.

"Well, ain't this a tuff zoggin' pile 'a rubbish."

 

[Hjonk]

Tanya von Degurechaff had long prided herself on adaptability. She adapted to the rules of society, using them to their fullest to advance her career in all the right ways, as was expected of her. She adapted to her new world, even her new body, working once again within the system to gain a favourable outcome. She adapted to become the best mage student, then the best combat mage, then the best commander. She adapted to the ever-decreasing odds she faced on the front, the war that changed in all the ways she'd known it would yet fought so hard to prevent.

She adapted to Being X and his meddling, adapted to the cursed relic and twice-cursed 'saints' he sent her way.

So when she awoke on an alien world, in yet another body - this one massive and muscular and green instead of human - she had been optimistic about her chances. She could face anything that self-righteous, incompetent HR-Manager had to offer.

... She probably could have reigned inn her confidence and ego on that one, to be fair, but it's not like anyone reasonable would expect their third incarnation to be born (for a given definition, anyway) into a galaxy gone completely war-crazy.

But that's getting ahead of herself. Her first moment in this third life was rather anticlimactic, all things considered. One wouldn't exactly expect a massive battlefield to be peaceful of all things, but it was.

The place was seemingly ripped straight out of some world-war documentary; the landscape was ruined with endless, overlapping craters from artillery bombardment and bombing runs. What little elevation there was carried the shattered husks of pillboxes, bunkers and foxholes. There was barbed wire and trenches and the trashed, sometimes burning husks of vehicles. It was almost nostalgic really - as if ripped straight from her memories of the Rhine Front.

There were inconsistencies, however. The vehicles looked wrong. Too big for her old world, too ramshackle and improvised for her first. The craters were massive, too - far beyond the yield of most bombs not in the nuclear range she'd heard used in war. Then there was the lack of direction to it all - she struggled to see a place where any front had formed, because the wreckage and devastation was simply spread everywhere at the same time!

Tanya was used to battlefields, felt like she'd lived on them near as long as in the rear, and yet she'd never found a battle that was so massive, and had so little organisation, that she couldn't even reliably say who was fighting who and in which direction they had advanced.

In the end, she had to simply choose a direction and start walking. She looked one way then the other, turned around, spun in a circle and, upon the hitch in some instinct she couldn't quite place, she set off, marching briskly through the battlefield like a lone ghost haunting a long-gone war.

---

Unsurprisingly, hills upon muddy, artillery-scarred hills do not grow more interesting the longer you stare at them. Tanya had long ago learned to turn her attention elsewhere on long flights or marches. She analysed what little data she had on this alien world and the inhabitants that fought on it. For one thing, she became increasingly certain that the war had been, or was, some kind of uprising. The few husks of vehicles she found were all stripped bare of anything but the mangled and unusable frames, and even those had been scavenged in some cases. The only signs of uniform production, of large-scale manufacturing capacity or organised supplies, were hidden beneath layer upon layer of jury-rigged scrap armour and nonsensical extra exhaust pipes, each vehicle or piece of equipment modified in some way that sullied what uniformity it once had with crude individuality

. If it hadn't been for the constant stretches of half-collapsed trenches carving across the landscape, Tanya would have doubted anything more than a mob had moved through the area at all.

She moved across it with ease, finding the rough terrain and muddy ground as good as any other battlefield she'd been on. It was all made easier by her new body, which seemed built with size and strength in mind where her old life had been tiny and physically unimpressive. Getting used to her head literally being between her shoulders instead of above them as if she had a permanent forwards hunch was curious, if not unpleasant, but she could bear with it.

Taking to the example of whoever had come before her, she gathered supplies and scavenged scrap wherever she could find something useful. Scraps of some ruined flags became loose, flimsy pants. The remains of armour plating taken off of a car became a crude breastplate, held in place by chains rather than straps. She even had to resort to picking up a particularly wicked-looking pole that she would guess belonged on a flagpole, wielding it as her only weapon for the moment.

The further she went, the more she could identify that instinct, the pull that had her choosing this direction specifically. Even when she'd gone off to investigate some promising looking pillboxes or an interesting wreck, she'd ended up walking in the same direction without trying to. It was concerning, but not imminently suspicious - just as easily attributed to her new species' instincts as to supernatural influence. She had at least grown used to the feeling of Being X rummaging in her mind enough to note the differences between that and whatever was happening now.

She hunkered down that first night in the empty hull of some massive tank, it's plating left intact enough to shield her from the elements. Though she did not know how long she could go without food, she'd made the safe assumption that it wasn't very long and so had kept an eye out for any life there was, and finding some kind of ugly, green pig-looking creature. It had let out a squeal that was almost a roar when she'd found it, but died easily enough, and tasted palatable when roasted on an improvised fire.

She'd certainly had worse. On the Rhine, either you learned to live with misery or you died with it - and Tanya, if anything, was an absolutely superb survivor.

It was on her fifth day marching through that blasted hellscape that she closed on something like civilisation. In hindsight, Tanya would muse, calling it even that much was exaggerating. She'd been following her new instincts for a while, to the point she was beginning to consider that it might be more of an inbuilt compass than a way to find others, when there was finally sound on the horizon. It was muted by distance, but she could clearly pick out the sounds of hollering voices, the clash of metal on metal, the rumble of some great engine, and the sudden, thundering bark of gunfire.

None of it was easily recognisable, but then Tanya doubted any alien force would be using something found on her old earth at all - the similarities were almost charmingly nostalgic, viewed in that lens.

Still, nostalgic or not, this would be her first chance at scouting out her new people, if indeed these would be creatures like herself. With anticipation thrumming in her veins, and fighting a sudden urge to simply barge inn and fight, Tanya stalked forwards, silent as the grave.

It was time to scout.

---

She spent four days stalking around the edges of what turned out to be a massive encampment, teeming with big, green brutish creatures of her own kind. It was hard to get an accurate count when they never seemed to move or gather in any organised fashion, but she'd estimate at the least a few thousand. As for what they spent their time doing?

Fighting.

It seemed to be all they got up to. They fought each-other over food, or shiny things, or just to fight. They fought other 'tribes' who arrived suddenly on loud, super-boosted bikes and buggies - and who left just as suddenly as they arrived. Truly, it was starting to seem like they did nothing but fight. Her best guess was that this would have to be either some kind of primitive army or society based entirely around the application of violence. This impression was only made more certain when she spotted the leader of this camp.

He was a hulking, massive beast of a creature, encased in what she had to assume was power-armour of some kind. It's edges were jagged, plates soldered or bolted on haphazardly and weapons covering every available surface. Weapons that he used eagerly against his own. The only others close to him in size seemed to be the dozens that kept close to him at all times like some kind of honour-guard.

At the distance she observed from, Tanya wasn't sure what exactly the beasts were talking about, but she was confident she had a good enough read on them to make guesses as to their dynamics and what semblance of culture they had. At the least, she had enough to approach and stay on the good side long enough to introduce herself properly. Nodding confidently to herself, she got up from her hiding spot and marched forwards, ready to greet what would be her new people, for better or for worse.

---

Gorefist Squigsnappa was, by his own account, a rather amazing Ork. He was big, he was propper killy in his bigger, clanky'er Mega Armour, and he had a nice, flashy shoota. Plus, he was part of the bestest klan there ever was, the Blood Axes. The other clans may have lots of teef, or go fast, or be proper boyz in a fight, but the 'Axes were the one thing that mattered most; They were Brutally Kunnin', like Gork (or possibly Mork) intended.

A lesser Ork, one not as stupendously awesome as himself, would think posting guards and patrols was boring and stupid - humie-borrowed and un-orky behaviour. Gorefist, however, thought bigger than that. By keeping some boys around your camp, and makin' them walk around to check stuff, you would always know fast as possible when some git was trying to pull a fast one. You'd know when there was a good fight to get to.

And nothing mattered more than that.

Not everyone saw things his way though, so Gorefist had to bash some heads together now an then. Even among the Blood Axes, he was especially brilliant, which meant he had to beat down whatever empty-headed git that thought themselves as awesome as he was. There weren't many left that would dare think themselves better, which was just a nice bonus.

Nonetheless, he had posted sentries and patrols to watch out for anyone approaching his little camp. Sometimes, they spotted rival clans making moves on him or sneaky bands of humies thinking they could pull a fast one. Those were fun - there were so few of the gits left, so having them come to him was just more efficient. Mostly, they ended up bringing inn the new boys arriving, likely drawn to join his banner from the sheer might of his intellect and power.

Like this one - some lone git had apparently come wandering up to his guards and asked to meet whoever was in charge. Affronted at being asked to do something by a rogue nobody, the guard had decided to give the lil' bastard a beating. He was now being seen to by the Painboyz, along with his four buddies, the poor gits. Personally, Gorefist thought that was hilarious, and had he been any other ork he'd be having a proper laugh about their misfortune.

But he was the Boss, and so he had to see what was what with this little upstart.

His first impression made the whole situation even funnier, and he made no attempts to hide the loud bark of laughter that bubbled from deep in his gut. The git was tiny, a true runt if ever he'd seen one. Barely the height of a humie, he was almost closer to a grot or battle-squig than a proper ork. And yet, this git had beaten five of his guards alone. If that wasn't Orky, then Gorefist didn't know what was.

"Alright then, you's the git dat bashed my boys, eh?!" He boomed, every ork in the area turning their full attention to him. Some even snapped off a salute, as was proper to show respect. The newcomer turned a more calculated gaze to him, his shoulders squared and legs spread in a stance ready to take on a fight. Gorefist approved - gits should always be wary of a fight with him.

"I am." The runt spoke, sounding weirdly strained, as if trying to speak an unfamiliar language. "You'z be the Commander, then?"

Oh, he liked that title - the respect, the weight, the implied subservience! "Yeeh, I am the Commanda!" He confirmed, thumping one massive, gauntlet-clad fist against his chest. His boys gave hoots and roars of approval, up until he fired his wrist-mounted mega-shoota into the air to silence the crowd. "And what's it to 'ya, wee git!?" He continued, levelling a mighty glare down at the runt.

Instead of being intimidated or angry, however, the rouge ork simply nodded to himself before stepping forwards and - in a display that would make even the strictest, most hard-ass Drillboss weep with pride - snapped into the crispest salute Gorefist had ever seen, hand extended and arm bent at a perfect angle towards his forehead. Then he spoke, loud and clear as if bellowing for Mork (or possibly Gork) to hear.

"Tan'ya Degurechaff, reportin' fer' duty!"

---

In the end, with an introduction as stellar as that, Gorefist Squigsnappa had been happy to have "the little runt" join his mob. Tan'ya was everything a Blood Axe aspired to be after all - endlessly disciplined, utterly devoted to orders and command, and delightfully kunnin' with her brutality.

So, she got to stay with his mob, and then set to work gaining her own authority. That was going to be a problem to say the least; from her observation, the ork culture decided all structures of power and authority on nothing but physical might and size alone. If she wanted to be heard, respected or obeyed in any way, she had to prove herself capable and, most of all, dangerous. Being obedient, dutiful and good at following orders here wouldn't serve as well as it did in the Empire, or even in Japan.

She confirmed this easilly when she joined her first 'battalion', a term she used loosely considering no-one else seemed to track even how many orks there were in their 'mob' at all. She was placed in a group of over a hundred other newly arrived orks, referred to simply as 'boyz', and that was that.

No joint training, no team-building, not even an effort to make them stick together in a battle or establish complimentary roles. Generously, they were a loose group of gangsters who spent more time together than with others.

Tanya's attempt to figure out who was supposed to be their 'leader' was what ultimately taught her just how accurate her assessment of the ork 'kultur' was. The moment she'd asked the question, one of the other orks, slightly bigger than the others, had bellowed that he was the leader. Then another had challenged him, and they'd fought. When the victor emerged and declared himself Gitcrusher, his opponent lying dead in the dirt, there was no more arguing from the group. Nor was there care for the death of their own.

It was a barbaric and cruel and utterly inefficient way to organise an army, but Tanya was new here, and so she had to bear with the system, adapt to it, before she got into a position to change it. First step to getting there? Proving that despite being the smallest ork around (a fact she found irritating even having grown used to it as a human) she was the wrong person to mess with. In ork terms, that meant beating the snot out of whatever brute decided to pick a fight with her.

So she set about figuring out how to pick a proper fight. It didn't take long.

(Turns out, in a species she was increasingly sure was entirely male even without any form of genitals, identifying yourself as a her instead of him was an oddity to be mocked.

After she'd taught a lesson to the first fifteen morons who dared make fun of her, the Boss himself had laughed and said she'd earned respect enough to use whatever words she liked. So long as she didn't encroach on his position as biggest and strongest, of course.)

Then, when she became too well-known to ignore, her new 'leader' had taken notice and felt threatened enough to come put her in her place.

---

"Oi, 'ya wimpy runt!" Gitcrusher bellowed, spittle flying as he set his sights on Tan'ya, her crude armour askew and pipe hanging from a strap at her back.

He made his move as publicly as possible, stomping over to her in the middle of a large, open area between ramshackle buildings that served as combined living spaces and workshops, depending on who was there at the time. Sensing a fight, the other hundred or so orks in the area cleared a wide circle, watching with glee in anticipation of the fight to come. The larger ork loomed above her, pulling himself up as large as he could to appear a mountain in front of her.

Tan'ya turned her gaze up at him with a bored expression, letting nothing show on her face except a profound lack of interest. That only got Gitcrusher more fired up as he huffed a gutteral growl and pointed at her with a massive, brutally serrated war-axe. "I hear you'z been thinkin' you're all strong, huh!?" He challenged her to answer, to dare claim any strength in the face of his obvious superiority.

And Tan'ya rose to the challenge.

"Yeah, and what's it to 'ya, big zoggin moron - 'ya scared?"

Around them, orks laughed and jeered. Orks often cared little for anything outside of fighting, least of all talking, but there was a certain humour to be taken from fighting words. Gitcrusher despised that reaction, glaring around to silence the crowd before turning back to Tan'ya again. He visibly struggled to come up with a proper response, only to scoff derisively. "Nah, I ain't scared of a snot-nosed runt like you! But just fer' tha, I'z gonna krump ya - crush 'ya skull like the little zoggin' GIT you are!"

No more needed to be said after that, at least as far as he was concerned. With a bellow of "WAAAAAGH!", Gitcrusher charged at Tan'ya full speed, kicking up large clouds of dust with each thunderous step. In response, the smaller ork moved with practised, battle-born ease, sliding into a proper boxers stance (or as proper as she could manage with slightly different physiology from what she was used to), fists raised in front of her face as she awaited the lumbering beast.

The moment Gitcrusher got within reach, he lashed out with his large, crude axe, hacking through the air intent on splitting Tan'ya in two using one single, cunningly brutal strike. Instead, the attack whiffed above her, throwing him off-balance as his opponent was suddenly not where he wanted her to be. He was not given enough time to realise what happened.

---

Ducking beneath the opening strike, Tanya avoided the danger entirely only to tense her legs, feeling like every muscle was pulsing with lightning as she shot up again, her fist outstretched in a brutal uppercut.

Gitcrusher was hit square in the jaw, his massive underbite smashing closed and sending teef flying as he cried out and stumbled backwards, all his momentum reversed from that single punch. Tanya wouldn't give him time to recover - she kept the pressure up, pouncing the moment her own feet hit the ground again. Her next punch hit him in the gut, doubling him over with a satisfying thud only so she could deliver a brutal pair of haymakers to his face. Then she dodged, as Gitcrusher lashed out in a blind attempt to catch her close. Instead, the arm he'd used was broken at the elbow as Tanya hopped up, using it as a step while grabbing the bigger ork by the neck so she could swing around onto his back.

With a heave and using his weight against him, Tanya wrenched Gitcrusher back to the ground, just barely moving to avoid being crushed beneath him. He fell on his back with a ground-shaking crash, the breath knocked from him as his heavy armour did more to crush rather than protect him.

Rolling to her feet, Tanya stood tall above the fallen ork, bouncing lightly on her feet as if she'd not even expended any effort. Even still, her face twisted in a frown as Gitcrusher started moving again, grunting with effort as he moved to stand. Huffing with annoyance, she decided to be done with this and grabbed him by the foot, the familiar feeling of power pulsing in her veins as she heaved.

---

Gitcrusher didn't understand what had gone wrong. He was just going to take an easy fight, beat down that upstart runt so none remained to challenge his leadership of the mob save the Boss and his Nobs. He was gonna be a Nob himself, after all, and couldn't let anyone outshine him in his own mob!

But the runt - Tan'ya, the Tiny zoggin git - was handing him his backside! Oh he wasn't out of it yet, he could still get up without much issue, but she was too zoggin' fast!

He grumbled as he made to stand, only for his legs to be yanked away instead. With an exclamation more like a roar than a yelp, he found himself dragged along in a circle, then spinning - his body lifting off the ground as his head grew light dizzy.

"WaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" The scream burst from his throat without his control, only to suddenly cut off as he felt Tan'ya let go of the steel grip she had on his feet and sending him flying face-first into a massive scrapheap nearby. The chaos of his impact caused a minor avalanche of scrap-metal and trash, bowling over a few orcs unlucky enough to stand close, their laughter cutting off as they were buried.

Even still, Gitcrusher would only need a moment to get up - a moment Tan'ya was unwilling to give him. The moment his head raised to look back where he had come from, he was greeted by his opponent mid-leap, her arm cocked back to throw her pipe-weapon like a spear. There was no time to react, to pull away, to even hit back and make sure he got one good hit in. With the thunder of hypersonic flight, that pipe came crashing down, smothering his anger as it impaled straight through his eye and brain, pinning what once was Gitcrusher to the pile of scrap he'd been tossed into.

And Gitcrusher knew no more.

---

Tan'ya landed deftly above her dispatched opponent, barely disturbing the pile with her weight. She glanced down at him, seeing the way her pipe had been bent and cracked from the force she'd thrown it with. Oh well, she had a better weapon now. She stooped, snatching up what used to be Gitcrusher's axe only to stride up to the top of the scrap-pile, ensuring every ork in the area would be able to see her.

With this kill, she had established herself as a leader among the Boyz; someone the other orks understood was strong enough to follow, even if she was still smaller than them. Now she could set about getting her troops in order - the structure and discipline she'd instilled in the Salamander Kampfgruppe was the ideal she would strive for. Tan'ya doubted these big green hooligans would ever even get close to the level of perfection Her Men had achieved, but she wouldn't let the incompetence of her Human (Ork?) Resources get in the way of her own advancement. She was going to the Top, no matter how long it would take.

She had never, nor would she ever, give up on that goal. All she had to do was find the best way to get through to her new soldiers.

---

Orks do not know fear.

Or rather, they do not truly recognise it. To an ork, the idea of heading into war and fighting is fun; death as a result is just natural. 'Some git's gotta get krumped, s' a good laugh either way!', as particularly intellectual orks would put it when pressed for thoughts on the subject. To an ork, the only priority that matters and that supersedes any risk is the pursuit of a good fight.

But despite their suicidal charges, fearless fighting and general lack of regard for their own or others' well-being, orks can feel fear. It is an unusual emotion to them, one of great discomfort and therefore something to respond violently to. The creeping sense of danger, that something is wrong and that there is little, or nothing, that they can truly do about it, is something that would send most orks into an incoherent rage where they seek to kill whatever dared give them such a feeling, or die in the attempt.

It was a rarely seen wonder then, that the hundred-odd orks arrayed bellow the new (and self-declared) Drillboss Tan'ya Degurechaff were held to such perfect stillness despite feeling an indescribable terror creeping through them. Every set of blood-red eyes was locked on the relatively tiny ork standing on top of a pile of scrap and weaponry, the corpse of their previous leader pinned to said pile like a trophy and declaration of intent. Her gaze slowly tracked across the crowd, and seemed to blaze with an otherworldly mix of blue, gold and the most brilliant green.

"You gits be My Boyz now, and I don't care for freeloaders! You'z gotta pull your weight, do as I say, and keep you'z ass in line!" Tan'ya bellowed, voice thrumming with power as it echoed around the assembled orks. She pulled on every bit of experience she had in the Instructor Corps and commanding her Battalion, ensuring each and every person heard her clearly and felt as if she was condemning them specifically. "You fall behind? The enemy'll krump ya! You fail an order? They'll krump 'ya double!" She paused, glaring across them all. "You disobey? I'll bloody krump 'ya meself!"

She lifted the large, pilfered waraxe she'd laid claim to, it's serrated edge glinting dangerously in the sun, and slammed it against the armour plating sticking out of the pile next to her. The metal rang with a loud, bone-shaking clang, as if supernatural force had been added to the hit. The orks bellow shifted warily, caught between elation at such noise and the uncomfortable feeling of being in danger they couldn't fight.

"You boyz'll be broken down, and remade, and then broken again! I'll have 'ya running laps, diggin' trenches and walking formations 'till your bodies break down! You'll fight as I say, move as I say, and bloody die as I say!" She declared with sadistic glee, her sharp teeth glinting dangerously in the setting sun. "And by the time I'z done with 'ya, you'll be thankin' me! You know why!?" She shouted her question, as if daring any to break the silence and interrupt her monologue.

None did, so she kept going.

"You'll be thankin' me, 'cause when I'm done with 'ya, you'll be the bestest, toughest, killiest and most kunnin' Boyz around! And we! Will! Go! TO! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

The silence was broken then, as over fifty orks roared and slammed weapons against armour, adding ever-more noise to the cacophony. Each ork felt as if the very sight of Gork and Mork was on them, challenging them to prove their worthiness to their Creator Gods.

With Tan'ya Degurechaff at the front, they would surely deliver.

 

[Hjonk]

The beginning of Tanya's training regimen had a very simple, very effective start. Even without access to the expansive military resources she had in her last life, she could compensate easily enough with her own abilities - and one didn't need access to proper artillery to blow up an ork-built barracks.

"WAKE THE ZOG UP YOU DAMNED PANSIES!" Tanya roared with the force of an avalanche, the remnants of the newly built barracks raining down around her and the orks she'd roused from their slumber long before the sun came up, by way of planting a bomb in the middle of the building. The orks were mostly unharmed despite the yield of the explosive, though they groaned and flailed around as they tried to stand up.

One of those was quickly on his feet, eyes narrowed in anger and muscles tensing in preparation for a fight already. "OI, WHA'S THE IDEA 'YA ZOGGIN'-"

He didn't get further than that before Tanya moved on him, seeming to cross the distance between them in the blink of an eye. The next moment, the ork was flying through the air with a cry of pain, some of his teeth going flying around as the other orks watched. Turning her gaze around the room, Tanya pierced the very soul of each ork under her command, waiting for anyone else to dare speak up.

None did.

She gave a grunt of approval at that, straightening to her full, if relatively unimpressive height. "Good, you'z up. I said I wuz gonna train 'ya, so that's what I'll do." She pointed to the side, glaring at the orks around. "Day starts with fifteen laps around the entire camp. You don't make it before sun comes up, I'll make you do it double. GOT IT!?" She finished with a shout, her voice rumbling enough to shake the very bones of those around her.

Her recruits got the memo and set off running with impressive speed. Whether it was from true discipline or fear of her anger was irrelevant as she followed behind, easily keeping up and knocking whoever fell behind or got distracted back into line. She spent most of the morning run preparing her plans for the day, figuring out what she'd have to adapt from the regimen she'd used on her mages.

The orks had no magic she'd seen so far, so that element was replaced with standard, extreme and non-standard training. They lacked the very concept of accuracy, so she'd focus weapons training on known to aim and choose targets. They had a frankly insane amount of baseline endurance and durability, which only meant every exercise, every task and every punishment could be rougher. Plus, there were practically no limits to her authority or permissions, so long as she didn't overstep and impose on Gorefist's own 'territory'. Oh she could picture it now; Trench digging and exercises under constant live fire, training drills lasting well past 24 hours without a break of any kind, brutal disciplinary measures, anti-interrogation measures...

Unlimited freedom in her command.

Tanya's lips twisted into a wide, cruel smirk, her fangs glinting in the low light as the sun began to peek over the horizon. Ahead of her, a hundred-some orks shivered in foreign fear and sprinted ever faster. They were going to have a long few weeks.

She'd make sure of that.

---

For the average military drillmaster, getting a gang of rowdy and dimwitted brutes like the orks to follow orders, let alone to do so with any semblance of discipline, would be a nightmare. It would be an exercise in futility and frustration, one that would lead to them resigning in disgrace at best, or being beaten to a pulp and left for dead for no other reason than the orks' amusement at worst. Orks simply were not compatible with the standard doctrine, which by design expected at least some level of respect, obedience and hesitation to attack a superior officer.

It was a good thing then, that Tanya von Degurechaff was more than familiar with unorthodox methods and being a bit rough with her charges.

The first thing she'd done after establishing her authority was make sure her troops were properly gathered, laying claim to a large field at the edge of the camp and setting about constructing rudimentary barracks along with other essentials. It was far from even the most hasty of camps from the Germanian Empire, but it was a stark difference already compared to the rest of the ork encampment, which had been built with a clear lack of care for any structure or system whatsoever. Following that had been the actual training, the thing that had turned her handful of novice mages into the absolute Elite of the Elite in Germania.

It was, of course, the Month of Hell.

Constant physical activity. Minimal rest, and what sleep they got was interrupted by surprise exercise and false alarms. Mindless work that would serve no purpose but to instil an unhesitating obedience to her demands, and the ability to understand what she wanted, how she wanted it and how fast they had to get it done before Tanya began growing impatient. But that program worked off of the Germanian and, to an extent, the human mindset, so she had to modify it to fit the orks.

Tanya had spent all her time since she found the Gorefist camp observing and analysing the mannerisms, societal structure and hierarchy the orks operated on, and so she knew that there was only one thing that would overpower their incessant love of a fight. That was, of course, the knowledge that they would lose.

Oh, an ork cared little for the risk of death - in fact they often revelled in the deaths of others around them, seeing it as the sign of a good fight in progress. But even their fearless, cocksure pride could not take a beating without losing morale. If a fight was so utterly unwinnable that they wouldn't even have any fun with it; if all it would contain was pain and humiliation, then an ork would hesitate and even run away, determined to return another time bigger and stronger. With that in mind, what does Tanya have to do so that obedience and discipline was established?

Beat the ever-living shit out of them until they got the memo.

It was not a new concept to the orks, of course. They ruled through strength, Might makes Right on every societal level. What they were not used to, however, was having the constant, personal attention of the strongest ork around (save perhaps the Commanda' himself) and the novel idea that was Collective Punishment.

The first few orks who stepped out of line were the biggest amongst her men, so sure in their strength that they believed they didn't have to put up with running laps or digging trenches or whatever 'non-lethal combat' was supposed to be. They were significantly less confident when Tan'ya the Tiny, still only half their size, humiliated them in front of all the other boyz around.

She did not fight them, it has to be noted. There was no exchange of blows, no back and forth, no satisfying thud of fist on flesh or the roar of a challenge. Tanya Degurechaff brooked no resistance, tolerated no failure, and she took no surrender. Her fury was a blazing but controlled flame, and she wielded it to devastating effect. The biggest orks bellowed until her fists buried in their guts, stealing their breath away with brutal efficiency. Their enormous arms, bulging with muscle, lashed out in uncontrolled rage until she broke them over her own, a smaller frame lending each strike more concentrated force. She met their brawling attacks with cold, calculated strategy and technique, not letting even a single blow hit as she dodged and weaved around the mob until they stopped getting up again.

She let only a single attack hit - the final ditch effort of the last rebel standing. His fist smashed into Tanya's chest like a thunderclap, the crowd falling silent as the ork's knuckles audibly cracked while Tanya failed to budge an inch, staring him down until his strength failed him.

Only when the final rebel hit the floor, falling flat on his face in the dirt at her feet, did the crowd regain their composure, hooting and laughing and pointing at the humiliated group. Their amusement died in their throats when Tanya whirled towards them as well.

"You gits think you'z innocent!?" She'd bellowed, ensuring her words reached every ear. "You ain't! These zoggin morons can't even move me, and they're the biggest of you lot! That means each and every one of you is a pathetic sissy!" Anger and offence was clear on their faces then, but none dared interrupt or protest her declaration. "So if you'z wanna fight like proper orks, you'z gotta work together. From now on the failure of one 'o you zoggin idiots means the failure of all 'o you! If one ork stops, I'm coming for all of 'ya! If one 'o you fall down, that means all of 'ya do! Now I can't help notice 'ya ain't finished the trench while watchin' me teach! That means your quota just DOUBLED!"

Her glare roved over their idle hands and hesitant, conflicted expressions. She did not let that last. "Back 'ta work, real quick-like! Any o' you standing still, I'm puttin' ya' in the DIRT! After this we're running laps until 'yer legs CRACK OFF!"

---

There had been confusion and anger, at first. Not much of that remained when she figuratively, and sometimes quite literally, bashed the concept into their heads; the failure of one ork meant the failure and punishment of all of them. Tanya would teach them the strength of Unity and Loyalty, even if she had to break each and every one of the bloody bastards down until there was nothing left of who they had been. It didn't matter that they obeyed for fear of punishment rather than true loyalty or teamwork, what mattered was that they worked as a team regardless.

(And maybe it was wishful thinking, but Tanya was pretty sure at least a few of the smarter ones had noticed how much faster and easier their work became as a result. Their budding resemblance to proper military friendships as opposed to brutish indifference was a good sign, at least.)

Perhaps that would breed resentment while painting a target on Tanya herself for the collective to unite against. It was, after all, the biggest detriment of ruling through fear and pain; your subordinates would always work to prevent the pain, and the moment removing you was the easiest option, they'd take it. Tanya had seen it many times before, in history and in practice - and so she worked to mitigate it somewhat.

She had, after all, gotten quite good at wielding the stick while making her men think it was the carrot.

---

As it was, Tanya had found that ork culture, or rather their 'kultur', was a pretty simple system to understand; It was the epitome of Might Makes Right, where violence was not just a method of conflict resolution but often the goal in and of itself. Indeed, she'd found them utterly devoted to war on a societal level, their entire purpose in life being to wage war against whatever foe they could find and, if one was lacking, the very universe itself. They had no mission-statement, no concept of Casus Belli or higher cause to fight for. Mob Gorefist existed purely because Gorefist himself was the biggest, toughest ork around and the others thought he'd be able to lead them into the best fights.

Judging by the utter ease with which new arrivals merged into the mob, likely having been 'born' from the ground and followed their instincts to join the mob just as Tanya herself had been, this could very well be a biological baseline for their species. The closest she'd observed to a 'peaceful' ork since her arrival on this world had been the squigherders and the Painboyz (the orks responsible for breeding the food and war-beasts, and the sadistic maniacs that passed for ork doctors, respectively), and even then it was only because their jobs were not directly related to warfare - they still seemed to take as much delight in inflicting violence and pain as the rest of their kind. Her working theory was that they had somehow evolved as a form of hyper-aggressive life-form that fuelled their own expansion by killing off all others, leaving only the barest essentials to live off of - unless the squigs truly were just some messed-up part of Ork life, and they outright exterminated everything else.

It was by no means a perfect theory, giving her frankly more questions than she could answer, but it was good enough to work with; War was the way of the new system she'd been born into, and so she would adapt to that. Not like it'd be a new lifestyle for her at that point, she just had to make sure she didn't utterly lose her capacity for peace as well. However, the biggest 'problem' and most confusing aspect of ork society she had found was their clear technological know-how despite a complete lack of any education system.

The Mekboyz, for example, were a group of orks seemingly naturally gifted with all things technology. They scavenged old trucks, tanks and scrapheaps alike, ripping up anything and everything they could get their hands on. Tanya was fairly sure none of the things they made should work near as reliably as it did (for a given definition of 'reliable', at least) and yet it did. Guns that should jam constantly instead fired hundreds of rounds without issue, trucks and tanks that should buckle beneath their own weight rolled regardless, and even mechanical limbs and power-armour worked with little to no maintenance from the users, hissing and jerking with hydraulic power.

The meks themselves had no explanation to offer, save that they 'built tuff' and 'ork engineerun be proppa gud'. Not to say they worked literal miracles - Tanya wouldn't have trusted even the walls around her if they did, knowing all too well that supposed 'miracles' would more than likely have some cost she was unwilling to pay. No, instead they had an almost supernatural knack for what, in her first world, would be known as 'redneck engineering' at best.

A human mechanic would look at a totalled car with a massive hole through the engine, waterlogged pipes and rust across every inch of both body and frame, and declare the thing a wreck not worth working on. An ork Mekboy would look at the same exact car with glee and somehow know exactly what parts to keep and which to replace without even examining them. They'd work through the whole vehicle, fixing the bare essentials for the engine only to then go about tuning it up to ridiculous degrees, bolting on plates haphazardly in ways that would seem random but near-always just worked how they intended, no matter how weakly it all was held together.

It was like fixing up a broken wall by duct-taping over the hole, and then getting lucky enough to have that hold up during a hurricane.

... Tanya vowed to keep an eye out in case any of those guys started acting a little too much like the damned Dr. Schugel.

Regardless, the Mekboyz were the ones to finally clear up the issue of the orks' financial system - and there she'd found yet another barbaric practice, using their own teeth as currency, with the main method of earning them being to knock them out and take them from other orks. She'd apparently made quite a few orks happy since she arrived by failing to claim the 'teef' she'd earned in her own fights, but at least now she knew they had some form of capitalistic structure. At least they weren't damned communists. Tanya would have to be sure she laid proper claim to the teef of her opponents in the future though, as running a proper Battalion was far from cheap.

A good thing she spent much of her first weeks leading them beating the teef out of anyone not meeting her ever-rising standards. It meant she got quite the hoard to spend on outfitting her troops properly. She'd seen how the other orks did things, and while she could adapt to many things, allowing some customisation and personality in her men's armament (thoughts of Lieutenant Neumann's love for his minigun certainly brought back fond memories, ones that sent a tingling warmth throughout her body), she would not stand by while they scrounged and armed themselves with just whatever was convenient. No, even if they did not all equip any standard-issue or factory-identical weaponry as a proper military could, she would ensure that everyone had something that would aid the unit as a whole.

And there she found the perfect carrot; the ones who followed Tan'ya the Tiny got the best fights, and she ensured they all got some really nice loot. Win-win, really!

---

Commanda' Gorefist glared out over the parts of his mob claimed by his newest Drillboss, Tan'ya the Tiny. She was a strange one, for sure - going further than any other Blood Axe he knew of with her obsession for tactics, discipline and diggin' lines in the dirt. She'd even gone and built up her own little base at the edge of his mob, as if the rest of them weren't good enough to be close to her and the gits following her!

With a loud squeal and a wet pop, the grot whose head he'd been clutching popped. Gorefist grunted in anger and disgust, finally letting go and shaking his fist clean of the mess. He didn't like it; didn't like the way Tan'ya only seemed to grow more in influence despite being a pathetically small ork; didn't like how her 'battalion' followed her every step with more and more obedience and eagerness, without any hollering or nudging as was proper for orks. It was as if she was turning them all into Humies, just as the Snakebites always accused the Blood Axes of doing! Turning them into Mork-Damned Sissies!

And then there was... the other issue. The Commanda' wasn't stupid - in fact he was one brilliant mastermind among morons. He could see the signs, and even if he couldn't see the bloody signs he could feel them. The power leaking from Tan'ya's very skin. The taste of ozone on the air whenever she was angry. The way her eyes glowed with the Green as she commanded her troops. The unnatural strength that let her overpower Mega-Nobs despite being less than half their size.

Tan'ya the Tiny wasn't just weird, she was Weird. She may not go poppin' gits' heads whenever she got mad or happy. She may not zap people at random or go proper bonkers like most WeirdBoyz did, but she had it. The Touch of Gork and Mork was on her - and if she kept rising, if she set her sights on his place in the mob?

... well, she wouldn't win, obviously, but Gorefist didn't wanna fight some Weirdboy who'd end up pukin' all over him. He'd have to fix this, and more than likely get rid of Tan'ya, sometime soon.

He turned his back on the camp where orks were marching in lines and running in circles for some reason, moving back towards the centre of the Mob. His ranks had swelled lately, undoubtedly drawn to the impending start of WAAAAAGH Gorefist, undoubtedly the greatest WAAAAAAGH that this planet, the system and the very Galaxy itself would ever see. He had waited long enough. The other clans would either join his Mob at his demand, or be ground to dust beneath his boot.

And when he took his boyz to the stars to hunt the next big Fight, Tan'ya would be dealt with.

---

Understandably, Tanya had been quite sceptical when she was finally given her new guns, her shootas, after having commissioned a mek to build something for her own use. It had taken a while, as despite collecting the teeth of her troops during training, she'd been putting it to use equipping the battalion as a whole rather than hoarding funds and equipment for herself. Of course, she could not keep going without a gun forever, and so she'd decided to commission a proper pair of Ork weapons for herself, to go with the massive axe she'd claimed already.

The first was a typical ork shoota, one of many she'd gotten made for her Battalion - a big, single-barrel machine gun with a drum magazine loaded to the absolute brim, firing massive bullets in a ludicrous hail of dakka with seemingly no care given to ensuring any kind of accuracy. Indeed, it only had a basic iron-sight on top of the barrel at her own request, one she'd had to repeat for every other shoota she'd ordered for the orks under her command. Aesthetically, it reminded her a little of similar guns she'd seen in service for the Empire, only if those had their stock removed, barrels shortened and made to be carried around single handed.

... And were made of whatever scrap was found lying around on the battlefield along with the contents of a disgruntled janitor's closet.

Tanya would have worried about recoil control, given the lack of any way to brace the weapon, but it seemed orks were built of far sterner stuff than humans. Just some minor focus, and she could fire the weapon, that should have taken a whole crewed emplacement to keep accurate, as if it was a normal assault rifle. Even then, she'd have to use it as a near-exclusively short-range weapon, or a 'morale booster'.

The other orks loved the noise it made when she fired into the air for emphasis, so it served it's function well enough. Getting them to control the recoil and actually aim was another issue, but she was working on that.

The second shoota she'd commissioned, she had been far more specific in her instructions. The mek that had taken the job was near mortified by the order, protesting the 'un-orky' design and 'lack of proppa dakka' she'd demanded, but with a few more teef (and the threat to add his own to the price) he had done as asked. That left Tanya with a truly unique weapon amongst Mob Gorefist.

It was an armour-penetrating sniper-rifle, it's length near double Tanya's own height. The size of it's barrel was probably more suited for an anti-air canon than a rifle, while the magazines were so big she could only carry three on her at any time without them becoming a hindrance. The recoil of firing it was enough to challenge even Tanya's enhanced muscles, and that was when taking time to control it instead of using the full-auto that it had been built with. For anyone else in the mob, it would have probably been more of a burden to transport than a boon in battle. A human standing too close would probably die from the shockwave it let off with each shot, and might just liquidate from the recoil.

Tanya loved it. Something about it just clicked with her - the size of it's calibre, the massive boom with each shot, the way anything hit by it was damn near vaporised. In the hands of any competent soldier able to aim it, this weapon would be able to take out even heavily armoured vehicles with a well placed shot. In the hands of a Mage? Utter destruction on a scale no handheld weapon should be able to unleash, even by the standards of the Germanian Mage Corps.

It was there that Tanya encountered her most consistent, and most infuriating problem (aside from the orks under her command lacking any kind of true discipline, forcing her to build from the ground up as if they were a bunch of children. At least they were enthusiastic when properly motivated by bloodshed...).

She was sure, so utterly certain, that she had some form of magic in this life. She could feel it, brimming just beneath her thick green skin, suffusing her every bone and muscle. It was almost like she was running a body-enhancement formula through a Type-97 at all times, with no true drain on her mana reserves or even a single noticeable detriment.

Even as she felt strength beyond even what her already bulging muscles should be able to grant, Tanya knew there was more she could do. The power within her waxed and waned with time, seeming to be at its highest when she had commanded the full attention of what was quickly shaping up to be Her Battalion, but even at the lowest points she felt stronger than she had been on any normal day in her old life, even when hyped up on combat stims and magical formulae. She just had to figure out how to access that mana, whatever form it now took, and she could turn the already ludicrous shots from her personalised sniper into a battlefield-shaping trumpcard.

Or that was the theory, at least. She'd yet to make any headway on that, so it was a moot point until she figured out why her magic continually refused to obey her.

---

Her Battalion, on the other hand, was turning out better than she'd truly hoped for.

Tanya stood on a raised platform made of ramshackle wood, hands clasped behind her back as she stared out across her personal domain in Gorefist's camp. Under her care and the unceasing labour of her troops, she had transformed the loose collection of scrapheaps and buildings into a structured, if largely improvised military compound. Barracks and depots were arranged in a large square surrounding the main training and 'parade' ground, on which her platform was placed. The central square had many uses, most often covered in obstacle courses or other equipment that Tanya found useful to train her troops.

Now, though, that space was taken up by rank upon rank of ork boyz, ten rows wide and deep doing their best to stand straight at attention and motionless. It was probably the most organised gathering of Orks this planet had ever seen, as they'd even managed to order themselves into lines. They nearly flinched as Tanya finally turned her gaze down towards them again, assessing each and every one of her boyz for any imperfection.

They were dressed in the best she could manage as uniforms - dark green pants and black jackets, with light purple and red highlights and undershirts. She'd not managed to find enough material, or anyone with enough skill, to make clothing that would properly emulate the order and style she'd had in the Germanian army, but it was enough to clearly distinguish her men from other orks. Each one carried two weapons, one shoota and one choppa each to ensure flexibility in every encounter, a flexibility that was soon to be put to the test.

There were imperfections of course, details that stuck out like a sore thumb to Tanya's experienced eyes. Rumpled uniforms, orks standing just a bit too far out of line, the constant fidgeting of the more rowdy boyz who struggled to stay still despite her attention. But overall, they were a mighty force of murderous beasts, barely-controlled rage and killing intent. And they'd be getting their chance to prove it soon enough.

"Alright you worthless bunch'a gits!" Tanya roared out, maintaining a pose of utter calm control even as her voice rang out across the formation. "I'z only gunna say this once. I've worked 'ya to the bone for weeks, I've beaten 'ya down and broken 'yer bones and made 'ya Stronger! Made 'ya into something kinda lookin' like proppa' Soldiers!"

The orks roared approval at that, laughing and jeering and enjoying the triumph of gaining such approval. Tanya let them enjoy it for a minute before glancing at the burly ork standing on her right. He moved without hesitation, raising his own Heavy Shoota into the air and firing off a deafening burst of Dakka that shut up the other orks in moments.

Tanya continued speaking as if there hadn't been a pause at all. "But yer' still a buncha weak squig-herders, far as I'm concerned. And I ain't gonna keep commandin' a buncha sissy gits!" She declared, watching her boyz' expressions twist in anger even as none dared to gainsay her. "But that's about to change, ain't it? You'z all heard the news - Commanda' Gorefist iz calling for WAAAAAAAGHHH, and what do you'ze say to that, boyz!?"

This time, the answer was not a bunch of individuals hollering on their own. It was one unanimous roar, an earth-shaking wall of sound as if to declare to the fabric of the Universe itself that they were coming to beat it's teeth in. Orks raised their shootas and fired in wild and paradoxically controlled bursts, banging fists against armoured chests as they did their best to roar ever-louder. It was enough to set Tanya's blood pumping, muscles tensing with yet more strength, her body thrumming with the energy demanding release, demanding that she lead these Troops into battle and claim the Glory she was owed.

Tanya would have liked more time to turn her troops into a proper Unit, but she wasn't so lucky this time around. She'd have to make it work with what she had.

Gripped by the moment, Tan'ya grabbed her massive war-axe and raised it into the air, throwing her head back as she let lose a deafening bellow to join the roar of her men.

"WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"