Chapter 1: Becoming a Boy

A head detonated like a ripe watermelon right in front of Darrius, spraying a cocktail of "juices" across his face.

What happened? What's going on? Completely blindsided, Darrius's brain simply stalled.

Wasn't I just sitting at my PC playing Dawn of War? Where am I? Have I finally lost it after a marathon session?

But the bloody cacophony of slaughter ringing in his ears was far too real. The gore beneath his feet felt heavy and viscous, and the carnage surrounding him looked like a scene ripped straight out of the high-octane violence of Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine.

Pak.

A heavy palm collided with Darrius's bald head with a sharp, echoing crack.

"Ya gone zoggin' soft? Stop starin' at nuffin' an' go krump dem Humies!" Following the slap came a guttural roar. A massive green monster was glaring at him, its beady red eyes full of bloodlust.

The sight of that ferocious face and its cavernous, tusk-filled maw nearly made Darrius lose control of his bladder, though he strangely felt as if he lacked the plumbing to do so.

Taking in the brute's massive hydraulic power-claw, the generator and assortment of bizarre electronic tools strapped to its back, and the crude bionic eye flickering in its socket, Darrius stammered, "An... Ork Big Mek?"

Mekboy Smartnog had been ready to fetch the "daft Boy" another clout, but hearing the lad call him a Big Mek instantly brightened his mood.

Bit uv a slow wun, but 'e'z got an eye for quality, Smartnog thought pridefully. I'z gunna be da biggest Mek of 'em all.

"Heh, yer're smarta dan ya look, lad. Quick as a sneaky Grot, ya are. Get behind me, we'ze goin' to krump sum Humies," Smartnog barked, his spirits lifted.

A pack of eager Gretchin scurried forward. Ignoring Darrius's confusion, they shoved a Choppa and a Slugga into his hands, pushing him along in Smartnog's wake.

"Boss says you'ze sneaky. Sneaky iz gud, real gud! We'ze gunna get dem Humies! We'ze gunna WAAAGH!" shouted one particularly hyperactive Grot. His head was nearly half the size of his body as he perched on Darrius's shoulder, pointing frantically ahead.

The word "WAAAGH!" seemed to carry a physical, sorcerous weight. The confusion that had gripped Darrius was instantly replaced by an infectious surge of emotion, something he couldn't name, a feeling he had never experienced in his decades as a human.

It was a primitive joy. It was the thrill of the scrap, a feverish euphoria, the satisfaction of a desire fulfilled. It was the absolute freedom to do exactly what he wanted.

Swept up in the psychic tide, a primal roar erupted from Darrius's tusked maw: "WAAAGH!!!"

With that shout, he plunged into the madness of the melee.

Though he had never been trained to cleave a man in two with an axe, the knowledge of how to swing the weapon came to him as naturally as breathing. Before him, a small human clad in green flak armor and clutching a long lasgun became the first victim of his blade.

Beneath a helmet that lacked even a basic visor, Darrius saw only the deep, hollowed-out despair and terror of a mortal man.

He then tested the pistol in his hand. The Slugga was massive, featuring a thick, heavy barrel and a frame decorated with enough spikes to serve as a mace.

He squeezed off several shots. The sheer caliber of the weapon was absurd, boasting a recoil that would have shattered a human's wrist, but it pulverized the "Humies" before him into a fine red mist.

The Grot on his shoulder shrieked with delight at the carnage. "Shoota! Shoota! You'ze a proppa deadeye wiv dat Shoota!"

Shoota? Does he mean this pistol? Darrius wondered vaguely.

As the thought crossed his mind, a searing pain scorched his shoulder. The impact knocked him sideways, the shock of the wound jolting him out of his battle-trance and back into a state of semi-lucidity.

Further down the corridor, a flood of Imperial soldiers poured from a side passage. A storm of red las-bolts filled the air, stitching lines of fire across the metal walls. Several Orks were cut down.

The brawny Orks could keep fighting unless hit in a vital organ, but for the Grots, a single shot usually meant death or dismemberment.

"Big wun! Get down, get down! Jump uva dere!" the Grot on his shoulder shrieked, directing him.

While being bossed around by a runt annoyed him, Darrius couldn't deny the creature's survival instincts. He lunged forward, rolling behind the cover of a thick metal bulkhead.

The black metal wall was reinforced and sturdy; the red las-fire pattered against it like harmless rain, though the sheer volume of fire was enough to pin the Orks down.

The battlefield is too narrow... is this a corridor? Darrius puzzled over his surroundings. Are we in a factory, or a ship?

As he tried to get his bearings, he saw several Grots crawling up from the rear. The Grot on his shoulder began screaming orders, his voice cutting through the roar of explosions and gunfire.

Under his direction, the Grots from the back were dragging a heavy machine gun toward Darrius!

"Use da Dakka! Use da Dakka! Grind dem Humies ta scrap!" the Grot howled.

The human fire was devastating. Half the Grots were slain before they could deliver the heavy weapon to his position.

The Grot gestured for Darrius to shoulder the machine gun and lean out to trade fire with the humans. He hesitated. He still didn't know if this was a hallucination, a dream, or if he had truly been "isakai'd," and if you die in the dream, do you die for real?

Frantic, the Grot grabbed Darrius's arm and shook it, trying to pull him up. The surrounding Grots watched him with expectant, wide-eyed stares.

"What's your name?" Darrius asked the Grot on his shoulder, trying to stall.

"I'ze Smarty! I'ze da smartest Grot dere iz, dat's why Boss Smartnog calls me dat!" Smarty replied with a puff of his chest.

"Alright, Smarty. Listen to me, we dunt have to risk it. Da Big Mek is powerful. As long as he'z 'ere, he'll wipe out dose Humies in no time." Darrius tried to convince them to wait for Smartnog's support, though he was still struggling with the Orky accent.

However, Smarty completely misread the room. His voice jumped an octave as he shrieked to the others: "Da Sneaky Big Wun iz braggin'! 'E wants ta be a Big Mek! Sneaky Big Wun finks 'e's a Mek! Ta be a Mek, ya need Big Booms an' Big Dakka! Ya ain't got no Big Booms!"

His shouting alerted every Grot and Ork Boy in the vicinity. They began tossing aside their Choppas, calling for even more Grots and Snotlings to bring up the "Big Guns" and "splody bits."

It happened fast, startlingly fast. A pack of Squigs strapped with high explosives charged into the las-fire toward the human lines. A series of thunderous booms rocked the corridor, and the Imperial formation was torn apart.

The suppression of the red las-bolts faltered. The smoke from the blasts obscured the humans' line of sight. Suddenly, that mysterious green energy, the power of the WAAAGH!, began to pulse through Darrius and every greenskin around him.

Once again, logic was drowned out by a tide of exhilaration. He stood up, hefted the heavy machine gun, and unleashed a torrent of lead into the human ranks. Before his rationality vanished entirely, the only thing he heard was a colossal WAAAGH! that shook the very foundations of the deck.