The towering aroma of liquor was soon dispersed by the even more choking smell of burning.
Evan hadn't blown up all the liquor this time.
He had kept a few bottles-the ones that disgusted him most-and tucked them inside his breastplate.
This stuff must be full of blessings from a Dark God.
He certainly didn't dare drink it.
Besides...
He was still flying through the sky.
He had to admit, this explosion had launched him really high.
Evan flexed his arms a few times. Orks always liked making strange things.
Some were cobbled together by the Orks themselves, and their quality was truly dubious. Others had been ripped off something else, and those were impressively well made.
Evan swung his arm and tore the trophy rack straight off the looted Ork armor he was wearing. The trophies were useless, but the iron chain used to hang them was very useful indeed.
A gear was tied to the end of the chain, making it just like a meteor hammer.
He aimed at the nearest open-topped Ork fighter. Having witnessed Evan's Waaagh exploits, its pilot was standing excitedly in his seat, waving a Gretchin around like a pennant.
Evan whipped out the chain and hooked it precisely onto the edge of the wing.
He admitted that this did considerable damage to the plane's wing, but he figured the Orks would surely figure the plane could still fly.
The culprit who had enraged everyone below flipped over and leaped onto the plane. The rumbling, flying slab of a machine wobbled for a while, then plunged into a dive.
The Big Boss serving as this plane's "captain" caught a whiff of pungent liquor. Evan held a bottle of "superb booze" aloft in each hand, waving them as though showing off trophies.
"Come on!"
Evan