Somehow, despite the menacing tone and and gutteral growl in the threat, the huge, camoflaged Ork was still remarkably quiet. "Shut it, Bork, ya filthy yoof, 'fore I smash ya in ta one of them trees like a git."

It wasn't a good day for Warboss Sneaky McGitsmasha-- after all, he just lost half of his warband to Tyranids. Obviously the filthy 'nids were cheating, and he was gonna make them pay for that the way any proper Ork would. By beating the ever loving crap out of them, and then making a new knife from the biggest one's claws. Of course, with half his warband gone, it wasn't going to be easy. Especially with Lork-- or is that Bork?-- mucking about, drawing attention "Lork, git yer stupid runt legs movin' on tha dubble. When I start shootin', I wants ya to sneak around back an' cut 'is 'ead off. ... ... ... ... ... Oi, Bork, what's gone gotten' in ta Lork's 'ead?"

Turning around, Gitsmasha could see exactly waht was in Lork's head. Or maybe that was Bork. With a shout from his powerful lungs, he called upon his warband to strike from where they were hidden-- this Lictor offended him, no one was sneakier than Sneaky McGitsmasha! "Ambush! Make 'em pay fer dis tactical blunda of deres! WAAAAAGH!" Only about half as many Orks shouted back as he expected, but it was enough to fill his blackened heart with the joy of battle, and he rushed forward to fight the near-invisible creature. As the Lictor's followers begin their fight in earnest. It wasn't right fair, fighting an invisible enemy-- filthy, cheating 'nids, couldn't fight like propa Orks.

'Course, that's why they'd lose-- Gitsmasha was a fine, experienced, and powerful Kommando, see? He thought to himself, as he moved with surprising speed for someone his size. He was actually faster than most Orks, his nimbleness coming from centuries of sneaking around and fighting with little more than knives and squigskin leather trousers and boots. His body moved on instinct, swiping his vicious, poisoned knife to crack one of the Lictor's claws open in a vicious parry, while another claw cut deeply in to his arm. A flesh wound, nothing more. It would be five more minutes of constant fighting before either one would land another blow.

Not that Gitsmasha minded. Long, drawn-out duels like this were exhilarating! As he fights, he recalls another battle, this one with a human commissar. Now THAT was a 'umie worth respecting-- led from the front lines, killed his gits when they ran like cowards, and fought Gitsmasha one on one in a duel in the middle of a glorious battlefield. In fact, now that he thinks of it, the Ork finds himself less and less challenged by the lictor than he was by the commissar. The little 'umie was weaker, a little bit slower, and...

Of course, there was a perfectly logical reason for that-- It's not that the Lictor was untalented, it's more that since that fight, Gitsmasha has become that much stronger. No longer a mere Kommando, he was his own warboss, fighting wherever the hell he thought he could get another good duel like that. Course, he never thought he'd challenge 'nids like this. The bugs DO put up a good fight, but as the boyz fought on, watching him out of the corner of their eyes, they were utterly inspired. They're good boyz, maybe someday they'll even become propa kommandoz, Gitsmasha thoguht to himself-- just as one of the claws pierced his gut.

Naturally, this did little but make Gitsmasha even madder. What the hell kind of rude duelist is this, snapping him out of his reverie and memories like that? Grabbing the Lictor's claw before it could pull out, Gitsmasha jumped forward to avoid the scything talons, and used brute force to smash his knife through the beast's neck. Rather than slicing through-- the knife was sharp, but not THAT sharp-- it was more of a punch which happened to have a knife leading it. Within moments, Gitsmasha unceremoniously ripped off each of the thing's claws so it couldn't fight back in its death throes, and then kicked its corpse away as he ripped the final claw out of his gut. "Well, ya filthy gits? Wut're ya waitin' for, Orkmas? Git back ta work! Bork, Git over 'ere."

"It's Lork, boss!" "Bah, you ain't Lork, Lorks' dead. Come wiff me, I fink I see anuvva big'un."

Above it all, Imperial Guard scouts sat watching, amazed at how much of a fight the Orks were putting up. They thought the greenskins would be little more than fodder... and just as they realized that the Orks would continue their fight after the Tyranids were killed, one of them soiled his fatigues as he noticed something else.

The warboss was gone.