Reddunz Hit 'Arder (40k)

"Iz youz able to put cuts in da barrel?" I asked the Mekboy Ork. The reasoning was clear, at least to me. The Ork gave a confused look at me, so I thought it was best to try to give some context. I quickly looked around for something to draw on but found nothing. My looking around seemed to trigger a response.

"Youz wantz us ta break da pipe?"

Quickly, I shook my head and gave an aggressive grunt. After a few moments, I figured out how to best present my idea. I bent down and rested on a single knee. Extending out a clawed finger, I began to draw a 3D spiral horizontally, showing what I wanted done inside the barrel of the shoota. This would act as a sort of makeshift rifling that would massively increase the accuracy of the weapon.

Happy with my slightly scuffed art, I looked back up to the Ork, who looked even more confused than before. It was clear he had no idea why I would ever do this to the barrel of my weapon. Shaking my head, I spoke up again.

"Itz ta make da dakka spin. Da cutz will makez it spin."

The Ork's face contorted in a comedic way. I could almost see the proverbial steam coming out of his ears as his brain began churning.

"Uhhh."

The Ork gave another confused grunt. I gave it a few more moments, hoping the Ork in front of me would figure out what I was trying to say.

"Spinnin' dakka hitz 'arder."

After a few more moments, the Ork's face brightened, a look of realization and excitement appearing across his face.

"Awright, I'll getz it sorted fer ya. Come back lata'."

With a grunt of approval, I turned and headed back towards the training ground.

There were still several things I needed to test in regards to actually increasing my stature. I had noticed so far there was a massively increased rate of growth if and when I fought; most of the growth seemed to occur after the fight. I had no idea why this was the case just yet, but I had a few ideas to try to increase my strength.

Thus far, I had distinctly noticed a sort of hierarchy—the largest Ork was in charge and was generally much stronger. Perhaps I could find a way to abuse this and use it to my advantage. Another thing I had noticed was that there weren't any Orks that were working out. There didn't seem to be any 'gym' culture to speak of. This would be my first port of call. Even if I was part plant, I was sure there would be a way for me to improve my already impressive muscle mass.

So I went on my way straight to the training ground. While there were no weights there, I reckoned some typical calisthenics could do the job. I was much larger width-wise than I was in my old body, even if I was similar in height. I was sure my additional mass would weigh a decent amount.

Within short order, I had finally reached the training ground. There were only a few Orks that actually bothered to come here, and most of it was simply them trying out their weapons and firing them off haphazardly towards the almost spotless training dummies. I assumed it was simply either newborn Orks trying out their weapons or other Orks trying out their weapons for the first time. Shaking my head, I did my best to ignore them as I dropped to the ground.

I went through the motions of a few typical calisthenic workouts that I was familiar with in my old life: the typical pushup, sit-ups, squats, and variations of each. I noticed quickly that they were insanely easy. It seemed as though my body was massively more impressive strength-wise and pound-for-pound than my old human form. In my old life I was by no means an athlete, but I was definitely active. One of the only ways to improve and maintain IQ was through physical exercise, and in a world with people naturally much smarter than me, I had to maintain every advantage I could.

As such, I was familiar with my body and its general functions. The level I was operating at now was beyond even the most impressive athletes. It almost disgusted me. It took me a considerable effort before I actually became fatigued, my muscles responding strangely to the overwork and exercise. It was almost impossible to actually break the muscle fibers down—they were incredibly robust.

It would take a few days to actually see if I had any results on this front, but it was important that I start now. Who knew how long this relative downtime would preside over the Ork camp?

With my general exercise done, I decided it was time to work on some of my muscle coordination. While I was able to cinch victory from the jaws of defeat in the arena, I was under no illusion that it was anything but an insane amount of luck. I'd have to at least practice some basic biomechanics with this body so I could get a much better feel for hand-to-hand combat.

With a choppa in hand, I practiced some very basic thrusts, slashes, and the like. I had never had a need to wield a sword or dagger before, so this was entirely new and novel to me. I decided that relying on my strengths would do well. As such, well—I relied on my strength. Large and overbearing thrusts and slashes, I put all my strength and power into each blow, practicing the movements over and over.

I eventually came to the conclusion that these strikes were going to be particularly obvious in their trajectory and would be easily blocked or parried. However, this would not necessarily be a bad thing. If I were to fight against those of much smaller size and strength, it would be easy to overpower their smaller frames.

Slowly, these strikes and swings became more and more tight with less wasted strength and motion. I tested out different footing to see how best to distribute my weight. It took a lot of trial and error to figure out how to come up with something usable. What was strange was my body instinctively offered a lot of corrections halfway through many of my actions.

It led to my actions being a lot more savage, attacks struck out with very little concern for my own body with plenty of overextensions– but they felt right. It was as if my body was leading me to attack in certain ways. It was obvious that these attacks would only really benefit me if I was stronger than my opponent. I just hoped that the majority of my foes would be smaller than me.

I did practice a few more concise strikes useful against slower but larger opponents than me, but they felt almost antithetical to my very nature. My biology rejected these tight movements outright. This was doubled down by my lack of dexterity due my muscles getting in the way. It was like watching a bodybuilder try to fence– it just looked wrong.

With a sigh, I looked down at my rough blade and shook my head. I had managed to figure out a few things today, which was a solid result. There would be a few more things that would only have results after consecutive testing, but I was driven to become much stronger. It was only a matter of time before I was forced into this brutish hierarchy. Gorblitz was not the strongest or largest, and if another bigger Ork wanted to bully me around, I'd have to be ready.

Finishing my exercise and practice, I felt a very slight but noticeable dull ache in my muscles. I had put them through the wringer, possibly more so than any other Ork had thus far in the entire camp. Several straight hours of pure stress and exercise. Stretching out, I headed back towards the Mek workshop, hoping to pick up my shoota.

This alone would massively increase my combat capability. I wasn't particularly confident in my ability to go out on raids without something distinctly my own. It only took a few minutes to reach the workshop, but when I did, the Mekboy I had given my shoota to was waiting there. As soon as he saw me, he stopped hammering a piece of scrap. Picking up what I presumed to be my shoota, he waved it at me with a giant grin on his face. With a nod, I eventually stopped right in front of the Ork.

"Itz ready."

Reaching out with a modicum of excitement, I plucked the shoota from his hands and took a good look at the weapon. It seemed the Ork had done nothing to damage it so far; the external of the weapon looked pretty much identical. Once I had confirmed everything else was in working order, I pointed the barrel away from me at an angle before peering inside. Just as I thought, there was a slight spiraling on the inside. It was shoddy work, but it would make the bullet spin just as I had hoped.

Pulling the rifle up into my arms proper once more, I placed the butt of the weapon into my shoulder and aimed over the top of it. Aiming at a random piece of scrap that lay across the ground, I pulled the trigger. The round pinged off the scrap, creating a CLANG. Near the center of the scrap, I saw a particularly large dent and nodded. This shoota was a magnitude more accurate than it was previously. The Mekboy had outdone himself this time.

"Nice work, ya git."

I gave out the biggest bit of praise I thought necessary to the Ork. With a grin in return, I held the rifle with a smile.

'Ahh, I almost forgot.' I thought to myself. "Can you put a sight on top?" I thought for a moment. It would make aiming the rifle much easier than simply guessing where it was supposed to go. "Justa' bit of scrap ta' see where I'm shootin'."