"I see," Raynor said, looking at the group of burly men. He already had a plan in mind.
He needed his own "legitimate" armed force—one that wouldn't immediately expose the existence of the Tyranids. After all, he didn't believe his current strength was yet a match for a planetary-scale Ork Warlord, or the local Brevis factions that rivaled such Greenskins. He had to put on a front, and these loyal, tough, and formidable Ogryns were undoubtedly the best choice for his personal guard.
"Who manages these Ogryns?" Raynor asked.
Although Raynor directed his questions toward Kerry, Isod was always quick to answer; she was desperate to prove herself a "useful" person. Having anticipated Raynor's inquiry, she spoke up immediately.
"Your Excellency, we have not appointed a specific human overseer. Ogryns typically only obey the 'Bonehead' recognized within their own group."
"A Bonehead? Tell me more," Raynor said.
"Well, their 'cleverest' leader is a bit special."
"Special? How so?"
"Their brightest mind is still a child—and a young Ogryn at that."
"A child?" Raynor asked, genuinely surprised.
Usually, an Ogryn "Bonehead" refers to an individual with naturally higher intelligence who emerges as a leader, or one who has undergone B.O.N.E. (Biochemical Augmentation Neural Graft) surgery performed by the Adeptus Mechanicus. The fact that this one was a child almost completely ruled out the second option. A purely natural "smart-head" was a rare find indeed.
"Yes, an eight-year-old Ogryn child," Isod confirmed. She then called out to the huddling mass of muscle, "Dobby! Come out here for a second!"
There was a commotion among the Ogryns, and then a massive head popped out.
"Who's callin' Dobby?" a simple, honest voice rumbled.
"You're the child?" Raynor asked, looking at Dobby.
Dobby nodded. Compared to the other wild-looking Ogryns, Dobby looked remarkably young, and his features were somewhat more symmetrical and pleasing to the eye.
"How old are you?"
"Eight years old!"
"Step forward."
"Yes, sir!"
To ensure the Ogryns remembered him as an authority figure, Raynor had donned Kerry's captain's uniform over his lean frame. When Dobby finally emerged from the crowd and stood before him, Raynor felt the light in the room dim. The corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily.
This "eight-year-old child" was a full 2.6 meters tall. His body was a mountain of bulging muscle; his arms were thicker than Raynor's waist, and his skin was the typical stony gray of his kind. His massive shadow completely swallowed Raynor. Standing at 1.8 meters, Raynor barely reached the "child's" chest.
"This is eight years old?!" Raynor pointed at Dobby and turned to Isod, his voice filled with disbelief.
Isod nodded calmly. "Yes, eight years old. The boy is growing a bit faster than usual." She added with a subtle sense of pride, "Dobby is very smart. For most Ogryns, being able to count to five makes them a 'genius.' But Dobby is different; he can count from one to nine in a single go! Sometimes, when he's in peak form, he can even reach eleven!"
Raynor: "..."
He paused for a few seconds, then slowly raised his hand and gave Dobby a thumbs up. "Impressive."
Although Dobby didn't fully grasp the word, he knew Raynor was praising him and scratched his head shyly.
"So, you'll be following me from now on, understood?" Raynor said with a faint smile.
Dobby scratched his belly, blinked his large eyes, and asked, "Will I get enough to eat if I follow ya?"
The other Ogryns stopped chewing and stared at Raynor. Their eyes gleamed with a primal, direct craving for food.
Raynor laughed. "Follow me, and I guarantee you'll have nine meals in three days!"
"As long as dere's grub, we're with ya!" Dobby shouted, patting his chest. The other Ogryns chimed in with a roar of agreement.
"Deal." Raynor extended his fist and "shook" hands with Dobby's massive palm. The Ogryns let out a cheer that sounded more like the roar of beasts. To their simple minds, a good leader was simply one who could provide a full belly.
Over the next few days, the Ogryns began to learn basic combat drills under the guidance of several "instructors" from the Sarah Swarm (disguised or acting through proxies). They were to serve as Raynor's personal guard on Brevis and needed to master basic discipline.
It wasn't so much academic learning as it was repeated muscle memory training: forming simple ranks and understanding commands to advance or retreat. They were also equipped with weapons that ordinary humans would consider heavy artillery.
Ogryns might have simple brains, but their physical memory was exceptional—especially when plenty of food was the reward for a successful drill. Dobby, as the Bonehead, was the focus of the training. Once he learned a maneuver, the rest followed his lead. Of course, his counting ability remained his "specialty." Raynor once witnessed Dobby successfully counting to eleven while distributing rations, a feat that left the other Ogryns in absolute awe.
...
With the assets inventoried, only the Song of Dedication itself remained to be assessed. Raynor breathed a sigh of relief when the detailed damage report arrived.
The situation was better than expected. Despite the multi-party skirmish, the main structure of the ship remained sound. The Drukhari attacks had focused on the shield generators and the engine blocks—critical areas, certainly, but the damage was localized. The Sarah Swarm's landing pods had only corroded small sections of the hull.
The most troublesome issue was the residue left by the Chaos cultists. The Warp energy released during their rituals and the "taint" left by daemonic activity lingered like an invisible virus. Eerie lights, distorted pockets of space, and whispers in the shadows could not be removed by physical repairs.
Ordinarily, the ship's priests or Battle Sisters would have performed purification rites, but they had all perished. Without such rites, the corruption would spread like a cancer, eventually turning the ship into a realm where the Warp and reality intersected.
However, Raynor had Sarah.
"Sarah, can you handle this?" Raynor asked softly, standing in the center of the bridge.
Sarah gave a low, resonant growl in affirmation. Immediately afterward, a massive psionic wave erupted from her, engulfing the entire Song of Dedication like an invisible tide.
This was not "purification" in the religious sense, but a direct, domineering psychic "displacement." Sarah's Warp presence was a cold, ravenous, and pure collective will—the ultimate manifestation of the material universe's biological drive. As her psychic power swept through the corrupted areas, the two distinct energies collided and annihilated one another violently. It was a crude, forceful method of cleaning that put spiritual pressure on the ship's systems, but the effect was undeniable.
It took Sarah an entire day to "scrub" every corner of the Song of Dedication. When the last trace of Chaos was cleared, the ship seemed to sigh with relief; even the gravity generators hummed with a more stable frequency.