Uslan and the Messenger

Standing atop the last ruins of the Drazak Dynasty, with the stench of rotting corpses burning in the flames madly flooding his nostrils, Kork Da Vinci stood there and thought for a long time.

The little satisfaction and joy he had felt had long since ebbed away like the tide.

He was not one of those Orks with nothing but war on their minds. He cared more about what lay behind war.

The Drazak Dynasty had actually gone mad long ago. Corrupted by the Flayer Virus, living itself had become their true torment.

When Vargul was strangled to death by Zak Bloodhowl, he showed little resentment or resistance. Before dying, he merely cursed Silent King Szarekh loudly.

Indeed, his hatred for Silent King Szarekh ran deeper than his hatred for the Greenskin Orks who had destroyed his dynasty.

The Greenskin Orks were merely the blade that killed them; Silent King Szarekh's tacit approval was what had truly led them to extinction.

Hatred and vengeance seemed like an unsolvable curse that plagued every race.

They took root within the souls of intelligent beings, tainting and corrupting all other beautiful emotions until nothing but hatred remained in one's heart.

And when even hatred faded, the soul became like a parched, withered wasteland where no flower of life could ever bloom again.

Da Vinci felt weary and disgusted by the galaxy as it was. Even if they killed every culprit behind the War in Heaven, so what?

The Old Ones were already extinct. The corruptive evil power of the Warp had polluted the entire universe. Who else could bring salvation?

"We Greenskin Orks were born as weapons of war. The great creators shaped us to fight the enemies of the world."

"But they never had time to teach us how to create a