(3rd Person POV)
"What? Why would you give me this chance then?" Alex asked the ROB, who was reincarnating him.
"If you don't want to, then just tell me. I am giving you minor wishes and nothing that instantly makes you OP. That doesn't mean that I am mean or anything. It just means you have to be smart," the ROB says to Alex. Alex was a bit angry because he finally got his Reincarnation experience. Still, instead of getting the awesome wishes he wanted, he was told that he would only get 'minor' wishes. Something that fits into the setting of Warhammer 40k.
"Can I at least travel to other Universes as well?" Alex asked him.
"Depends on your wishes, I suppose."
"OK then. Well, I think I know. You said it must fit into the Warhammer 40k world, right?"
"Exactly."
"Very well then. I wish for the Meta Essence of the Virus. By drinking this, I become a melting pot for viruses! It would fit perfectly in the crazy world of Warhammer, no?"
"For real? Nurgle will love you. Hmm... but youare right, that would work quite well. I can see you becoming quite a menace with that. You might even become a new race. All right, granted. I said nothing, OP, but I also said it had to fit into the Warhammer 40k universe. I guess this doesn't make you OP instantly, but it's still quite quick. Use it well," the ROB said.
"When will I get there?" Alex asked.
"You'll see. Anything else?"
"I would like to have the ability to travel through the Multiverse. I wish to see other worlds and explore as much as I can."
"Sure, but you will have to figure that one out yourself. I'm not helping with that. Well then, I wish you the best of luck and hope you will 'enjoy' yourself."
.
.
(Alex POV)
The battlefield stank.
That was Alex's first actual realisation. Not the thunder of guns, not the scream of shells tearing the world apart, but the smell. Burnt promethium and flesh. Hot metal. Blood cooked into the dirt. But more importantly, something fungal, thick and wet, like rot left too long in the sun, despite the air being very dry.
He pushed himself up from the crater he'd landed in. Around him, the world was at war.
Black smoke could be seen everywhere, low across a blasted plain of churned mud and broken ferrocrete and rising high into the air, blocking the sun. Ruined chunks of former fortifications leaned at improper angles, their upper parts torn away by artillery. Tracer fire painted glowing lines through the smoke and dust-filled air, red and green.
Somewhere far overhead, something roared as it fell, too large and expressive to be a shell, too fast to be a transport.
Alex stared at everything around him.
'So this is it. Welcome to Warhammer 40k.'
In the distance to his left, men in uniforms crouched behind quickly built sandbag lines. Their faces were pale, eyes wide, teeth clenched so hard he could see the strain in their jaws. One of them was shouting, prayers, maybe orders, maybe curses, who could tell. His voice was silent and desperate under the roar of battle.
"To your posts! The Emperor protects us! Hold the line, damn you--"
The line exploded.
A shell slammed into the barricade, turning sandbags and men into a red mist. Alex felt the shockwave hit him like a physical thing, lifting him off his feet and hurling him across the ground. He tumbled, rolled, and slammed hard into something solid.
'Just another day in paradise.'
Alex didn't feel any pain. That should have killed him, but surprisingly, it hadn't. He understood why with perfect clarity. His body, whatever it was now, catalogued the damage, the ruptured organs, the shattered bones, and dismissed them as irrelevant variables. Viruses swarmed through him, not as invaders, but as him, repair, adaptation, replication. Pain was just a signal—a reminder of what he once was or was supposed to be right now.
Something huge loomed into view.
Green skin. Iron-shod boots. A slab of muscle wrapped in black armour plates, crudely riveted together and painted with jagged white checks. The Ork's lower jaw jutted forward, tusks yellowed and cracked. Red eyes glittered with savage delight.
"Oi," it grunted, looming closer. "Wot's dis den?"
"Oh, fuck..."
More shapes gathered behind it. Orkz. The only faction that enjoyed what was happening right now. They were big ones, all clad in black, real black, not camo, not ceremonial. The colour of night, oil, and dried blood. Heavy plates, iron studs, brutal simplicity. No flashy glyphs, no flashy colours, but guns and muscles.
These were Goffs.
They didn't laugh much. They didn't joke much. They fought because fighting was right. You wouldn't understand unless you were one of them. One of them barked a laugh anyway.
"'E's still twitchin'!"
"Good," another growled. "Means' e ain't dead yet."
Alex tried to speak. Tried to move. A boot slammed into his ribs instead, cracking his ribs like they were made of paper. Blood rushed out of all orifices at once with a red splash.
"Humie," the first Ork spat. "Dey all squeal funny."
The Ork bent down, massive hand closing around Alex's waist. His fingers were like iron clamps, digging into his bloody body. Alex felt pressure, enough to break him like a twig. But before he could say anything, he saw the end.
Then teeth.
The Ork bit down hard, his teeth punching through his neck and the bone. There was a wet, tearing sound as his head was ripped free from his body.
...
Alex was plunged into darkness. Darkness but not unconsciousness, not death, but something else.
The Ork chewed.
"Bit stringy," it grunted, but swallowed anyway.
Then he raised his blaster and charged forward. The world didn't end, and this wasn't special or terrible. It was just normal. Alex, meanwhile, was busy getting to terms with his situation, again.
.
Essence of the Virus
By drinking this, you become a melting pot for viruses!
- You gain a blanket immunity to all diseases and/or viruses, no matter how hazardous they are. Ebola? Might as well not exist! Black Plague? Don't even notice it. T-Virus? You'll be eating its brains! You may, of course, turn this off for some viruses.
- This extends to more esoteric "viruses", like vampirism and lycanthropy. No longer do you have to worry about some asshole biting you and causing you to transform every full moon.
- You can create viruses! Anything from mundane ones like the flu to more mystical ones, such as those mentioned above. You may also modify already existing viruses.
- Create a virus that turns people into bimbos! Create a virus that turns everyone into immortal superhumans! Conjure a virus that makes infectees utterly loyal to you!
- By coming into contact with viruses you haven't made yourself, you gain an intimate understanding of how they work and how they may interact with other viruses. The T-Virus and a girlifying virus might create monstergirls, for example.
.
The Ork suddenly staggered.
"Huh?"
At first, no one noticed. Goffs were always getting shot, stabbed, and blown up. Pain was background noise. But this was different. The Ork slowed, one hand going to his gut.
"Oi… wot--"
His breath came out in a wet, weak gasp. His head felt thick and heavy. He coughed, and blackish fluid splattered onto the dirt, steaming like acid as it touched the ground. He didn't feel good, even for an Ork who never felt bad, ever.
Another Goff turned, scowling. "Quit muckin' about, Zogrot. Dey's still shoot--"
Zogrot suddenly roared. Not in rage, triumph or victory. But in confusion. Inside him, something spread.
Alex unfolded himself like a blanket. He had fully integrated his own power and used it to save his life just in time. He was a melting pot for viruses, for any viruses he chose and wanted. The irony he represented in this universe would not be lost to everyone. A fat, ugly green guy would kill to get his hands on Alex.
The Ork mind was crude, loud, and crowded, but its simplicity and almost emptiness made the following process very easy. It was full of instincts, of violence, of love for battle and death. Alex didn't fight the Ork. He simply spread himself and the virus he had created, letting it flow into the Ork's blood and into all his cells.
The Ork's thoughts blurred.
'Fight good.
Pain ... hm? What is that? Don't matter.
Black armour is best.
Hit 'em harder.'
Alex 'smiled' internally as he approached the Ork's brain. He had taken over all but the Ork's mind, the centrepiece. But the virus he had created at the last moment, which held his consciousness right now, allowed him to take over its mind and body.
Zogrot's knees buckled. He slammed a fist into the ground, snarling as purple veins bulged across his neck. His skin darkened slightly, taking on many black spots that no one quite noticed through the grime and soot.
A nearby Ork barked a laugh. "Wot, you goin' soft now?"
Zogrot... no Alex, stood up—straighter than was usual for him. A bit unorky.
Still an Ork, still massive in stature, still brutal, a Goff to the core... but something in his eyes had changed. The constant, feral fury was still there, but behind it was intelligence and the presence of Alex.
He looked up.
Across the battlefield, the Imperium was trying to regroup, unwilling to give any more ground than absolutely necessary. Officers shouted themselves hoarse. Commissars raised their bolt pistols, executing a man who showed 'too little fearlessness'. The soldiers obeyed out of terror, faith, habit and exhaustion.
They were afraid, terribly so. Those men were normal soldiers. Trained for years with experience, but not Astartes. So that was to be expected.
The Orkz weren't afraid. In a galaxy where everyone was fighting to win, the Orkz had already won. Goffs surged forward as a horde, but uncontrolled and seemingly random, roaring their joy at the universe. No fear, no hesitation. Just the joyful, absolute certainty that violence and dakka were the only truths in the galaxy.
Alex felt the collective Waagh energy wash over him. It wasn't a full Waagh, but the energy the Orkz released together was of that nature, and it pulled him in. He was in full control, but he was an Ork now. This was what they were, he realised. Sometimes very stupid, but always simple.
He opened his mouth and laughed, a deep, rumbling Ork laugh that made the Boyz around him grin and snort. He was a Boy as well, so his status wasn't great. But that didn't matter. He had what others hadn't, a ridiculous power that would take him far.
"Come on, then," he growled, his voice thick, but close enough. "Let's get stuck in."
And somewhere, deep in the warp, something bloated and amused stirred as if a ping had sounded and alerted something it shouldn't have.
.
The Goffs surged forward like a living wave of black iron and green muscle... and death. No formation, no discipline and no fear. Shootas barked in deafening, stuttering roars, shells spraying wildly into the smoke. Everyone was shooting and killing someone or something.
Alex fired his gun too.
A shoota was less a firearm and more a suggestion of one: thick barrel, crude iron sights, ammunition that looked like it had been punched out of scrap metal with a hammer. It spat mass-reactive slugs that tore through flesh by sheer faith and force of will. The Orkz believed they worked, so they did. And that was all that mattered.
A Guardsman's chest exploded as a round hit him. The impact blew ribs inwards and outwards like shrapnel, red vaporising into a mist that rained down on the men behind him. Alex pressed the trigger again and again. Another guardsman took a hit to the leg and simply lost a knee.
"AAAAHHHHH!!"
He screamed, fell, and was trampled by Alex's approaching figure. It was astounding how fast he settled for being an Ork and killing humans. Alex felt satisfaction in the art of delivering destruction and death. He enjoyed delivering the message of dakka and the effect it had.
Lasgun fire snapped back at him. Several thin, red beams cut through the smoke. One struck Alex in the shoulder, burning straight through armour and flesh. The smell of scorched meat filled the air, and it hurt. But he didn't care; it didn't matter.
The wound sealed as he ran, flesh knitting itself fast beneath blackened skin. But the speed of his healing was faster than it should have been, even for an Ork. A special virus he created just now accelerated his healing, adapting to heat, energy discharges, and his Ork physiology. It fit him perfectly, and he took only a thought to create it.
Around him, Goffs died loudly.
One Ork took a lasbolt to the face and kept running for three more steps before he collapsed. His brain boiled out through his eye sockets. Another lost an arm to an autocannon round and beat a Guardsman to death with the stump, laughing all the while.
"DAT ALL YOU GOT?!" one roared, charging straight into a heavy bolter nest.
The boltes fired.
Explosive rounds tore into him, each impact detonating inside green flesh. His torso burst apart in chunks, armour plates ripped away, slick with gore. What was left fell forward, still twitching, with the face of a guardsman in hand.
The heavy bolter crew didn't have time to celebrate, though.
A Deff Dread came crashing through the smoke.
The walker was a nightmare of pistons and scrap plating. One arm ended in a massive buzzsaw, teeth spinning fast enough to blur. The other mounted an oversized cannon that boomed every second. The walker mech stomped forward, crashing through defensive walls. He took heavy fire, giving the others time to attack.
The buzzsaw caught a Guardsman mid-run and pulled him screaming into its teeth. Blood sprayed all around, painting the ground and the men nearby red. Another was crushed under a metal foot, reduced to a wet smear and broken armoury. But a series of hits made the Deff Dread malfunction and explode, killing dozens of Orkz in the process.
Alex roared and leapt over the wreckage. He hit the trench.
A Guardsman raised his lasgun, eyes wide, finger trembling on the trigger. He was full of adrenaline, pulling the trigger, but the trigger refused to move. Alex didn't care for mercy. He brought his choppa down.
"WAAGH!"
The nicked and worn blade split the man from collarbone to hip. Bones cracked audibly, organs spilt... The body fell apart in two wet halves, sliding into the mud as meat dropped on a butcher's table.
Alex didn't stop running, turned and swung again.
Another head came off, more ripped than cut. The spine had snapped, blood pumping in thick, arterial bursts. A third man rushed forward, roaring in defiance, and tried to stab him with a bayonet. Alex smashed the bayonet to the side with his choppa, headbutted him hard enough to cave in his faceplate, then fired his shoota point-blank into the man's face. There was nothing left above the thorax.
A bolter hit him in the shoulder, exploding and ripping out a large chunk. Alex managed to stay on his feet and looked to the right, where the shot had come from. He refused to let go of his shoota in his right hand, but rushed forward. He brought his choppa down, but before it could make contact, the guardsman fired another bolter shot point-blank.
*BOOM*
Alex was hurled off his feet and hit the ground. Another Ork that was running behind him, smacked him to the side and aimed. But a primal fury spread in Alex's chest, and he would have none of it. He swung his choppa at the Ork's leg, making him miss his shot and making him bleed.
"BAAAH, WHAT YA DOIN' YA GIT?!"
The Ork aimed his shoota towards Alex, but he grabbed the latter's arm and pulled him closer. The Ork fell on Alex, but he punched him off again. The two devolved into a brawl mid-battle, not bothering about anything that was going on around them, just unwilling to let it slide, whatever it truly was.
Thanks to Alex being a literal virus melting pot, he created one that would speed up his natural Ork healing. That happened unconsciously, as he was slowly acquiring the instinct of an Ork. He watned to heal faster, so that he could punch harder and fight better, so a virus was created for that exact purpose and healed him.
"WAAAAGGHH!!!" Alex roared and bit into the other Ork's throat, ripping out a large chunk of it in one gulp.
Having won his little private battle, Alex stood up again, grabbed his choppa and the other Orkz blasta and then stormed off again.
.
The trench was chaos. Smoke, screams, the metallic smell of blood, oil, and toxic fumes were all present. Goffs were already climbing out the other side, chasing the Guardsmen who didn't run but fought to the last tooth and nail, because standing meant dying, but running only meant dying slightly later.
Around them, tanks rolled up, Leman Russ tanks and other larger ones, firing at the mechanical abominations that the Orkz had brought with them.
A Leman Russ rumbled into view, its battle cannon roaring with death. The shell tore through a mob of Orkz, exploding among them in a storm of fire and steel. Bodies flew everywhere, limbs smacked against other Orkz, torsos were ruptured, heads burst like waterballoons.
And yet, the Orkz cheered.
"BIG DAKKA!"
"DAT'S A PROPA TANK!"
"LET'S KRUMP IT!"
Rokkit fire streaked out, smoke trails weaving chaotically through the air. One struck the Russ's side, detonating uselessly against its thick armour. But just a moment later, another slammed into the turret ring.
The explosion peeled metal back like a tin can. The turret jammed. Flames belched from different hatches, and crewmen tried to climb out, continuing to shoot with hand-held blasters or shouting and running forward with nothing but knives.
They didn't make it. The Orkz swarmed the tank, clawing and hacking. One jammed a stikkbomb into the open hatch and laughed as he held it down with his boot. The explosion rattled the tank, and to top it all off, the Orkz lifted it off the ground and used it as a battering ram against another Leman Russ tank.
Alex watched. His chest was heaving, and blood dripped from his choppa. He had fully become an Ork now and was finally understanding the joy of being an Ork. He had no fear, no basic needs, but one. To fight and wage a never-ending war across the galaxy and the universe. It was an indescribable feeling.
He felt no hatred, no hesitation. Only the rhythm of the Waagh and the strange, distant awareness that every drop of blood, every spore in the air, every ruined body was a way for him to spread. He was a virus as well, after all.
He followed the mob forward, deeper into the slaughter.
And Alex, or rather, Alek, the Ork-Virus, kept killing.