6. Dark Energy
“Artillery teams, lock in coordinates”, she ordered, her voice cutting through the bustle. “We fire on my command.”
One Day Earlier…
The Grunt camp sprawled across the dusty plains, a chaotic collection of crude shelters and makeshift barricades. The structures were fashioned from scavenged starship hulls, bones of fallen beasts, and jagged scraps of metal, all cobbled together with an anarchic mix of ingenuity and recklessness. Fires burned in pits scattered throughout the camp, their acrid smoke rising into the darkening sky. Shadows danced across the uneven terrain as massive, green-skinned warriors moved about, sharpening crude weapons or brawling for dominance.
At the centre of the chaos stood Gorvak the Unyielding, his hulking figure unmistakable even in the flickering firelight. His massive fists rested on the haft of his war axe, the weapon’s jagged edges glinting as though eager for battle. The air around him was charged, the rest of the camp instinctively keeping their distance. Gorvak wasn’t just the strongest among them—he was the smartest, and every Grunt knew that strength alone wasn’t enough to command their loyalty.
His black eyes scanned the camp, taking in the activity with a predator’s focus. Despite the brawling and the posturing, Gorvak saw order in the chaos. The Grunts’ way of life was built on one principle: the strong lead, and the weak follow—or die. Gorvak had earned his position by crushing every rival who dared to challenge him, and his dominance was absolute.
Skarn, his second-in-command, approached with heavy footfalls, the ground seeming to quake beneath his bulk. Larger even than most Grunts, Skarn’s armour was adorned with trophies of past victories—skulls, dented helmets, and broken weapons. He stopped a respectful distance from Gorvak, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.
“The warriors are restless, Chief. They’re hungry for blood.”
Gorvak grunted, his breath misting in the cool night air. “Good”, he growled. “They’ll get their fill soon enough.”
Nearby, a Grunt Bone Doc worked furiously on Gorvak’s damaged shoulder, his crude surgical tools clinking as he reset bone and stitched torn flesh with barbed wire thread. The Doc muttered to himself in guttural tones, occasionally pausing to smear a thick, pungent salve over the wound. Gorvak barely flinched, his expression unchanged.
“Almost done, Chief”, the Bone Doc grunted, tying off the last knot with a sharp tug. “Should hold—at least until you break it again.”
Gorvak grinned. “Good. Make sure I’m ready to swing by morning.”
The camp was a symphony of brutality. Grunts roared and snarled as they tested their strength against one another, their duels brutal and often lethal. Blood spattered the dusty ground as two warriors grappled near a fire pit, their fists pounding against flesh and bone. Around them, others jeered and cheered, placing bets on who would emerge victorious.
A group of smaller Grunts—barely adults—watched from the edges of the camp, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. Gorvak’s gaze lingered on them for a moment. They were weak, untested, and most would die in their first skirmish. But the survivors? They would become stronger, forged in the crucible of combat.
“Skarn”, Gorvak said, his voice cutting through the din. “The humans think their shiny armour and big guns make them untouchable. But they’re soft—hiding behind their walls and waiting for us to come to them.”
Skarn chuckled, his jagged teeth glinting in the firelight. “We’ll smash those walls like we always do. They’ll remember who owns this land.”
Despite his confidence, Gorvak wasn’t just a brute. He understood that brute force alone wasn’t enough to conquer the humans. The Star Marines were disciplined, methodical, and relentless. They didn’t make mistakes easily, and their advanced technology gave them an edge that even Gorvak respected. But Gorvak had fought them before, and he had learned.
“They rely on order”, Gorvak said, his tone low but firm. “On patterns, routines. We’ll shatter their order. Make them doubt. When the cracks show, we strike.”
Skarn nodded, his grin widening. “What’s the plan?”
Gorvak gestured toward the eastern horizon, where the distant glow of the Star Marine outpost was just visible. “Tonight, we hit them where it hurts. But not like before. We’ll let them think they’re ready, that they have the upper hand. Then, when they least expect it…”
He raised his axe high, and a guttural roar erupted from the camp as the Grunts rallied around their leader. The firelight reflected off their scarred faces and jagged weapons, their bloodlust palpable. Gorvak turned back to Skarn, his voice dropping to a growl.
“Get the Grunt psychic ready. If the humans think their psychics are tough, let’s show them what real power looks like.”
In a crude tent near the edge of the camp, the Grunt psychic sat cross-legged, his staff of twisted metal and bone glowing faintly with unnatural energy. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his lips muttering incoherent phrases as the psychic energy coursed through him.
The Grunt psychics were rare among the Grunts, their powers volatile and often as dangerous to their own kind as they were to the enemy. But Gorvak had seen what they could do on the battlefield, and he knew their potential.
The Grunt psychic looked up as Gorvak entered the tent, his gaze jittery and unfocused. “Chief”, he rasped, his voice like gravel. “The sky’s buzzing tonight. Power’s building. It’s… angry.”
“Good”, Gorvak said, looming over the smaller Grunt. “You’ll use that anger. Channel it. When we hit the humans, I want them to feel it.”
The Grunt psychic grinned, his jagged teeth stained from years of chewing strange roots and substances. “Oh, they’ll feel it, Chief. They’ll feel it in their bones.”
Gorvak grunted in approval, stepping back out into the night. He scanned the camp one last time, his mind racing. He knew the humans were expecting an attack, but Gorvak wasn’t interested in giving them what they expected. He wanted chaos, confusion, and fear. He wanted to break them.
“The stars will belong to us”, Gorvak muttered to himself, his voice low but filled with conviction. “And I’ll make them bleed for it.”