Chapter 5: The Warp

Following the voice, Smarty squeezed his way through the legs of two hulking Orks. He was just about to leap onto Darrius's shoulder when a massive green hand snatched him out of the air.

"You've got some nerve comin' back, runt!" Darrius roared.

"Sneaky Boss, mercy! I found da way to da Powa Room!" Smarty shrieked, feeling the overwhelming pressure of the hand tightening around him.

That cry saved his life. Darrius's grip loosened slightly. "If you're lyin' to me, I'll squish ya into a paste and feed ya to da Squigs."

"Weirdboyz! I found Weirdboyz! Dey use da magic, da magic'll lead uz roight to da engines!"

Darrius followed Smarty's pointing finger and spotted a peculiar Ork. The creature wore a bizarre, primitive mask, looking every bit like a tribal witch doctor performing a ritual.

Darrius knew enough about Weirdboyz. The other Orks usually called them "Madboyz," treating them with a mix of fear and prejudice. In reality, they were the Orks' Psykers, and they were terrifyingly powerful.

In the Warhammer 40,000 universe, psychic power is a widespread and devastating force capable of turning the impossible into reality. Almost every sentient race possesses individuals who can tap into it. Except, of course, for a certain blue-skinned race.

But power always demands a price. All psychic manifestations are drawn from the greatest civilizational threat in the galaxy: The Warp.

The Warp is a dimension parallel to realspace, a chaotic, phantasmagoric realm where time is meaningless and dimensions are infinite. It is nearly impossible for conventional life to comprehend its true nature. No one can say for certain its origin or its logic. What is known is that since the War in Heaven, the Warp has been poisoned by the turbulent emotions of sentient beings.

Rage, hatred, sorrow, slaughter, excess, and vengeance have turned the Warp into a death trap. The existence of the four Chaos Gods has made it a playground for daemons. Anyone entering the Warp faces 99% malice and 100% danger.

Almost every soul has a reflection in the Warp; the stronger the soul, the more potent the reflection and the greater the psychic potential. The Aeldari, for instance, are almost all naturally psychic, but their souls have long been the favorite delicacy of Slaanesh.

Humanity fares no better. Their Psykers are constantly lured by daemons or possessed, serving as living conduits for daemonic incursions into reality. Modern humans are playing a game just as dangerous as the ancient Aeldari; their long-standing faith in the God-Emperor has transformed the being on the Golden Throne into something else: a blazing psychic sun in the Warp. To other races, he is effectively a Fifth Chaos God. One wonders if humanity will eventually follow the Aeldari's path, forging the ascension of a new god from the ruins of their own future.

BUT! These problems simply do not exist for the Orks. Orkish psychic energy doesn't come directly from the Warp; it comes from the Orks' own Waaagh! field.

An Ork's Waaagh! isn't just a simple battle cry. It is a tangible, psychic field unique to their race. Gifted Orks perceive this field and channel it. The greatest feature of this power is its scalability: the more greenskins there are, and the more excited they get, the stronger the WAAAGH! field becomes. A Weirdboy can tap into immense power with almost none of the usual side effects of the Warp.

Furthermore, presiding over the Orkish soul are two mighty deities: Gork and Mork. To every Ork, they are the ultimate "Big Bosses," as kunnin' as they are brutal, and as brutal as they are kunnin'.

"Smarty says ya can find da Humie engines. You'ze betta be right. I ain't got much patience," Darrius growled, resting a hand on his customized plasma gun. He was doing his best to channel a traditional Ork Warboss, threatening the Weirdboy just as Smartnog had threatened him.

"I can do it. Gork an' Mork are pointin' da way," the Weirdboy replied, breaking into a sudden, erratic dance. Behind his mask, he looked more like a charlatan than a sorcerer.

Darrius frowned. It was hard to have faith in... this.

He had no doubt a Weirdboy could use the Waaagh! field to crush enemies with a Foot of Gork or a Fist of Mork. But could they actually use that raw energy for something as delicate as navigation?

As Darrius doubted, Smarty climbed back onto his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Dey're all like dis, Boss. Most Weirdboyz are total nutters. Dunt ya worry, let 'im try furst. I also got a pack of Squighounds, dere noses are roight sharp. If da magic fails, we'ze just track da Humies down wun by wun 'til we find da Room."

Darrius shot a glance at Smarty. This Grot was disturbingly "kunnin'." He always had a backup plan. Even among a race of backstabbing runts, Smarty was clearly top-tier "bad news."

A talent like this, no, a green talent like this, would be a waste to krump. I'll keep him around for now.

The Weirdboy introduced himself as Kukka, claiming to be a Prophet. He immediately began proselytizing the gospel of Gork and Mork, spouting "divine" omens that sounded suspiciously made up.

If Darrius didn't know how rare and valuable Orkish Psykers were, he would have clouted him already. He reached out and shoved Kukka, stopping the dancing. "Shut it and get to work. Find da Power Room."

Realizing he shouldn't push the Boss too far, Kukka began his "working." He started chanting in a guttural, gibbering language that no Ork present could understand. Between the chanting and the awkward shuffling, the entire mob of Orks stood there, completely baffled.

Darrius began to wonder if he was the one going crazy for believing a Grot and a madman.

Finally, just as Darrius's patience reached its limit, Kukka stopped. He pointed toward a junction where three different corridors diverged.

"Gork an' Mork gave me da sign! Tell da Boyz ta Waaagh! throo dere, an' we'll get wot we want!"

Darrius stared at the three tunnels and went silent. Which one? Is he pulling my leg?

The Ork Boyz, however, didn't care about the details. The moment they saw Kukka point, they erupted. They had been gearing up for hours, and all they wanted was a proper scrap.

Some disobedient lad in the back screamed, "WAAAGH!!!"

Instantly, the entire mob took up the cry. A thousand voices roared as one, and the Green Tide surged forward, pouring into all three corridors at once.

Darrius's jaw nearly hit the deck. You lot are way too happy! Are you serious?! We're actually doing this? Just 'WAAAGH!' and see what happens?