I wanted to post this scene because it's an interesting look at how a member of another faction, in this case, the mad dok Grotsnik, views gene-seed. This is because gene-seed is something that's incredibly important to Space Marines, but other than their traitor counterparts, you don't often see other factions focusing particularly on that aspect of them. It's also a look into the insane, splintered worldview of the mad dok himself on Space Marines, Orks, and Ghazghkull. The context of this passage is that the Black Templars Castellan Morblid has just come face to face with Ghazghkull himself and has been decisively krumped. Unfortunately, the pain has just begun for this son of Dorn.
>A face swam into view. At first, he thought the Beast had returned, but his foe was a shade smaller, its scars pronounced and crudely stitched, thread woven through the skin. It too had a machine half-face, though its eye glinted a vile green.
He struggled, but the monster’s weight pinned him whilst a second ork secured his arm with an iron claw. He strained to raise his weapon, glancing across only to realise he held but a broken haft. Something had happened to his axe. He couldn’t remember. Gaps. Moments bleeding from him.
The ork grinned at him, producing a well-worn bone saw with a jagged edge.
It was reaching for his throat when a shrill ping resonated from its metal skull. It snarled, its putrid saliva spraying Morblid’s face and burning as it struck. Even its breath was toxic.
The creature raised its head, howling and slumping its shoulders.
Then it met his gaze.
‘Hang on, will ya?’
The voice was coarse, though the words were clear. It spoke no further, instead smashing a fist into its metal cranium.
Then it waited, seemingly listening. He couldn’t hear much beyond a whisper of garbled snarls.
The other ork still held him. He struggled against it but could not free himself from its iron grip. The monstrosity was closer to a machine than a being of flesh, its arms akin to industrial claws and strong enough to crush a battle tank. Even uninjured, he could not have matched its raw power. He could see no weak spots, only–
A sudden stab in his neck. Something piercing his armour’s neck joints. He stiffened, his strength fleeing, vision swimming.
‘Just be a minute longer,’ the first ork voice muttered, before launching into further snarls and roars, seemingly addressing the beeping in its head. Morblid could not tell how long it lasted, time and space drifting through him.
Another stab to the throat. Burning pain. He screamed in fury, only to find his voice severed by the flick of a blade.
‘There we are.’ The ork grinned. ‘I do like a scream or two, but your lot just shout and curse. Gets annoying. But I can’t take the ’urt away. No point if it don’t ’urt.’
Morblid thrashed as the blade tore into his throat and beyond, separating sinew from bone. ‘They’re in here somewhere,’ the ork murmured. ‘Interesting specimens, your lot. Made killy by bein’ patched together from bits and bobs. A jumble, like an old trukk. Not like us. We is made right. Whole. Still, there is something unique in you. Between the squiggles in the blood. Little sparkles. Fascinating.’
It smiled with half a lip.
‘Saw you face the pup. Glad he krumped you. He needed this. Trouble with being warlord of a million ships is it’s hard to get in the thick of it. Too many boyz between you and a good scrap. Need to get away sometimes. Have fun. Otherwise, he starts thinkin’ too much. Causes problems.’
A sharp pain. A wrenching, and a horrible sense of loss. Morblid felt the ork’s fingers slide into his flesh, tearing something precious clear.
‘Now this is more like it. Don’t look like much, just another fleshy sac. But in here is the thing that makes you interesting. Only bit of you that’s complete, that contains everything you need to make another one of you ladz. Real interestin’. Lots I can do with that.’
The creature stared at it a moment, oblivious to Morblid and to the cacophony of war. It was only roused when a sharp ping once more resonated from its skull.
‘Oh zog off, Slitta!’ it snarled, followed by a series of guttural cries. Then it slammed its fist against its head again.
‘Sorry about that,’ it said, almost jovial. ‘That runt of a warlord. Told him I did. Let him know that Ghazghkull has found a bunch of your wannabe ’ard boyz, and is slaughterin’ ’em. He ain’t minded to do much else. Not unless there is somethin’ better on offer, somethin’ worth a real nice krump. Somethin’ tougher than you, anyway.’
Its smile faded, its metal skull whirring. When it spoke again its voice was smoother. Colder.
‘Thinks he’s special, that one. All of them do, the so-called Council of Waaagh!. They think they’re the only warlords I’ve gathered like that? Nah, I do it whenever the pup needs to krump something. And he will. First the humies, then you lot. And then? That’s when it gets interesting. That’s when we see if any of this lot is worth a zog. Had my doubts at first, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on Slitta. Interestin’ ork that one. Potential. Maybe.’
It frowned, before seeming to shake off the doubt, a grin spreading across its mangled face. ‘Still, that ain’t for you to fret about. You is the patient! Though you seems very angry. Wonder why that might be? What’s goin’ on in that head of yours? Where do you keep all that anger? What else have you got in there? Let’s find out together.’
It retrieved the bone saw, eyeing the top of Morblid’s skull.