Boreas remained as calm as ever. Two whole weeks had passed since the planet's forced landing.
Over those two weeks, Nethes had finally gotten a rough grasp of the situation on this renegade planet. Even he, an Evil Orc, thought the place was downright heretical.
Five factions were now scattered across Boreas. First were the Evil Orcs, digging trenches around the Plasteel-Cement.
Beside them, the Genestealer cultists were fighting the Evil Orcs from their defensive positions across the hive cities. The two sides had been trading blows, but neither could overcome the other. Of course, that was thanks to Nethes's cautious strategy. He wasn't some mindless Greenskin.
The other three factions were even stranger. The first was the Orks, the target of this campaign, who were blasting both sides' positions to smithereens. They were the real battlefield shit-stirrers.
Among them were the Nurgle Daemon Army, which had somehow come along with the Orks. They were the real deal—shit in both the Warp and the physical sense.
As for the last faction...
Deep in the trenches, Nethes raised his head and swung a fist at the shadow beside him, forcing out an Eldar Striking Scorpion that had somehow snuck in.
Before the bizarre creature could leap into the Webway, Nethes, who had thoroughly studied The Galaxy's Xenos Directory, Even Ogryns Can Read It, sneered and summoned the emissary of Waaaagh! energy that belonged to him alone—Ork Brother Dorn!
A black-and-white space formed in an instant, like a photographic negative, enveloping the despicable assassin sent by the Eldar. During those seven seconds of frozen time, Nethes strode forward and, alongside Ork Brother Dorn, repeatedly hammered the little shrimp with their fists.
Accompanied by the strange battle cries of "Ora, ora, ora," the Eldar assassin known as the Striking Scorpion died horribly seven