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Boss of Bosses – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Boss of Bosses

Luke Scull

‘You done it all wrong, Gordrakk.’

Gordrakk’s lone eye snapped open and his huge fists balled in rage. If there’d been anyone around, chances were he’d have taken out his anger on whichever git caught his furious gaze. But he was alone, only the fading dream-memory of the Loonking’s prophet for company. Just about summed up his luck of late.

He’d already krumped Snazzgar Stinkmullet twice: once in the flesh, and once when the shaman’s spirit had taken possession of some puny grot to taunt him during the failed siege of the human city. He considered giving his head a good crack against the boulder he’d been resting against and seeing if that helped matters any. He reckoned not. His noggin was better used figuring out what this odd feeling was that had been pestering him of late. There was a word the humies used when they did something that might not’ve been so smart, looking back after the fact. What was it? Regret?

The Fist of Gork snorted in disgust. What he needed was a good fight. He narrowed his one remaining eye, glaring out over the vast sprawl of the camp spread over the Morruk Hills. To the north and east, now a red glow in the distance, the city of Excelsis still burned. The flames were finally dying down, though. Despite the iron and fire the Waaagh! had rained down on the city, Excelsis remained standing. Gordrakk would’ve krumped anyone that called it a retreat, but the fact was they’d been forced to leg it once the pointy-ears and the snake thing that led ’em had shown up. Gordrakk had little time for magic and even less for pointy-eared fops, but he had to admit both had proved a more than capable match for the Waaagh!

Above the city, the Bad Moon leered down at him as though amused by his failure. Beneath his booted feet, the hill rumbled. It seemed Ghur itself was laughing at him. Gordrakk spat on the ground and gave the Bad Moon an obscene gesture for good measure, then stomped down to where several of his Ironjawz were taunting a group of captives they’d scooped up on their hasty departure from Excelsis. The men and women were dressed like warriors, most of ’em, shirts of chain caked in filth. Lurking just behind the humies was a stunty, thick fingers worrying his braided beard. They were making a brave showing of it before his boyz, but they shrank back in terror at the Fist of Gork’s approach. Even the Ironjawz flinched.

‘Boss,’ one of them growled in acknowledgment, looking everywhere except directly at the legendary megaboss towering over him.

‘Where’s Bigteef?’ Gordrakk snarled. The maw-krusha had taken a heck of a beating recently – first by the giant mace and hooves of Kragnos, and then when Hammergord had exploded at the gates of Excelsis. Another mistake.

‘Dunno, boss,’ said the orruk, sticking a finger in his ear and giving it a wiggle. He examined his findings before flicking it away. ‘’E’s not been himself lately.’

‘Reckon ’e’s not da only one,’ the Ironjaw beside him muttered. ‘I heard Krazz Dredclaw say it’s time fer a change.’

There was something in his tone that Gordrakk didn’t like one bit. His mighty fist shot out, catching the git right in the face, breaking the orruk’s jaw and squashing his nose like a squig turd under a gargant’s heel.

‘Ya got somefin’ to say, ya say it direct ta my face. Just so dere’s no misunderstandin’. Got it?’ Gordrakk’s voice was deathly soft, the threat it carried heavier than a field full of gore-gruntas.

‘Yes, boss,’ slurred the downed orruk, blood dribbling from his ruined mouth. ‘Got ya.’

Gordrakk resisted the urge to slam his foot down and break the fool’s thick skull. There was a time no one would disrespect him like that. The Fist of Gork had torn down empires and killed more enemies than there were fingers to count ’em in the entire stinking camp. He turned to the other Ironjawz, who were now looking suitably humbled.

‘Get me outta dis zoggin’ armour an’ hand da captives some weapons. Whatevva dey want.’

The hulking suit of iron armour Gordrakk wore came off with a great deal of grunting and sweating, and the occasional headbutt from the boss-of-bosses. Grisly mementos of previous victories were stacked beside the iron plates, each of which had been beaten by Gordrakk’s own fists until they fit his absurdly muscular form like a glove. Pride of place among the pile of trophies was the gleaming golden helm of a storm-boy, one of the top lads of the Hammer God who’d given him a right scrap before Gordrakk had struck the killing blow. He smiled, remembering. Those had been the times. Good, honest fighting against a foe that didn’t try to sneak you, cheat you, magic you – at least, not much – and which came back for more after you’d walloped ’em.

Good times. The best.

Once he was naked from the waist up, Gordrakk grasped the handles of his twin axes, Smasha and Kunnin’. The god hadn’t spoken with him through the weapons much of late. He thought about it for a moment, then grunted and left them hanging at his belt. He didn’t reckon he’d be needing them for this.

‘Right, you lot,’ he said to the captives. They were all armed now. Most carried long stikkas, though a few held choppas that might’ve done some damage in a skilled hand. One or two even looked slightly hopeful, which he considered a promising sign. Maybe they’d give him a decent scrap after all. ‘Ya land a decent hit on me, I’ll let ya go free. Try ta run away an’ my boyz will gut ya like an axebill. Lads – form up.’

Moving quickly to obey, the Ironjawz formed a circle around the captives and Gordrakk. The Fist of Gork cracked the knuckles of his ham-sized fists. The faint hopes he’d seen on the faces of the toughest humies abruptly disappeared as they stared up at nine feet of massively scarred muscle.

Throwing his head back and unleashing a mighty roar, Gordrakk stormed towards the captives. One of the humies thrust with his stikka, missing by inches as Gordrakk shifted his body faster than something his size should have. A fist lashed out, snapping the weapon in two. The other exploded into the man’s midsection, shattering his ribs and spine and sending his broken, lifeless body twenty feet through the air.

Horrified by his speed, the other humies sought to surround him, jabbing at him and then quickly backing away. One of the women hurled her stikka at Gordrakk, who plucked it out of the air, then turned and impaled the man behind him in one smooth motion. Gordrakk pulled the dying man off the shaft with one hand and tossed him at the remaining humies, scattering them. Like a green whirlwind, he snapped the red-streaked shaft in half and thrust out with both jagged ends, stabbing two humies each through the neck, tearing open throats and mangling windpipes. They toppled to the ground at nearly the same moment, scrabbling at the dirt and choking out their final breaths in wet gurgles. The earth seemed to throb beneath Gordrakk, the realm itself drinking in the blood with relish.

That left the humie with the choppa standing. The puny weapon was shaking in his little pink hands. There was a warning cry from behind him, and the man dived to the side–

Boom.

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A Black Library Publication

This eBook edition published in 2022 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Represented by: Games Workshop Limited – Irish branch, Unit 3, Lower Liffey Street, Dublin 1, D01 K199, Ireland.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Quentin de Warren.

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ISBN: 978-1-80407-394-0

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