For this Scrap World, the next seven days were a frenzied industrial revolution.
From far away, the other Ork tribes scattered across the planet watched in terror as a vast energy shield enveloped the Broken Tooth Tribe's territory.
Inside that shield, blinding welding sparks and the roar of heavy stamping presses continued day and night.
The awakened Mekboys displayed terrifying creativity. They disdainfully abandoned the ramshackle structures cobbled together from wood and scrap iron. With standardized industrial assembly lines at their disposal, a magnificent, gigantic arsenal steeped in cyberpunk heavy-industrial style rose from the ground in just a few days.
Massive antigravity smelting furnaces hovered in midair, efficiently breaking down heaps of scrap into the purest monomolecular materials. Under precise programmed control, fully automated mechanical arms assembled deadly weapons at a dizzying pace.
Meanwhile, on the level alloy plaza outside the arsenal.
The newly born Krork warriors performed monotonous yet lethal tactical drills. They no longer brawled over a good-looking helmet. Perfectly coordinated by the WAAAGH! network, formations hundreds of thousands strong advanced, retreated, and provided covering fire with the precision of a single individual.
On the morning of the seventh day.
As the dim star above this Scrap World began to rise, the vast energy shield that had enveloped the arsenal for a week slowly lowered with a deep hum.
Ghazghkull stood atop the towering command tower, looking down upon the perfect army below.
The first Krork army had taken shape.
They stood silently in the plaza, without making so much as a sound. Every warrior stood over three meters tall, clad in close-fitting, perfectly streamlined, jet-black monomolecular power armour.
Their hands no longer held worthless junk that might explode at any moment. Instead, they carried the Mekboys' proudest new creation: the Super Plasma Rifle. These weapons were not