Xenos
Evil Sunz
The Cult of Speed · Da Red Wuns Go Fasta
XENOS · ORKS · KLAN
Da Red Wuns Go Fasta
Of all the greenskin klanz, none worships velocity like the Evil Sunz, who daub every machine they own in crimson because, as every Ork knows in his marrow, da red wuns go fasta. The maddening thing, to Imperial savants who have studied them, is that it is true: a trukk painted Evil Sunz red genuinely outruns its drab cousins, the collective conviction of a hundred bawling Boyz bending probability around the throttle. Their klan-glyph is a leering red sun wreathed in flame, daubed on cowlings and gun-shields alike. To an Evil Sun, standing still is a kind of death; the only honest direction is forward, faster, with the engine screaming and the wind tearing the laughter from his tusks.
The Kult of Speed
The Evil Sunz are the beating heart of the Kult of Speed, that ecstatic Ork creed which holds that going fast enough is its own reward, kills be damned. A Speed Freek does not merely ride to battle, he is consumed by the ride: the engine-roar, the reek of burning promethium, the slipstream that makes the eyes water. Mekboyz of the klan bolt ever-larger engines to ever-flimsier frames, indifferent to whether the rivets hold, and entire encampments will down tools to watch two warbikers settle an argument by hurtling at one another. To slow down is to admit cowardice. Many Evil Sunz simply cannot conceive of war that does not involve a wall of red metal moving at suicidal pace.
How Da Speed Freeks Fight
Where other klanz advance as a grinding green tide, the Evil Sunz arrive as a red blur and a deafening blare of horns. Their armies field the densest concentration of warbikes, warbuggies, skorchas and battlewagons in all Orkdom, the Boyz packed onto open trukks that brake at the last instant to spill choppa-wielding warriors directly into the enemy line. Deffkoptas buzz ahead to scout and harry; outriders cut behind to ram artillery and run down fleeing infantry. The doctrine, such as it is, amounts to closing the distance before the foe can react, then doing it again somewhere else. Against slow gunlines the effect is devastating; the red wave is simply on top of them before the second volley can be loaded.
Wazdakka and the Bike of the Aporkalypse
No Evil Sun is more legendary than Wazdakka Gutsmek, who began as a humble klan Mek before the Kult of Speed seized him so completely that his own tribe cast him out as a Bad Ork Biker. He has ridden alone ever since astride the kustom monster he calls the Bike of the Aporkalypse, dismounting only to make repairs. During the Siege of Scalex VI he allegedly gunned that machine straight through a Warlord Titan, bringing the god-engine down, and keeps the still-smouldering skulls of its princeps and crew as handlebar trophies. His ambition is grander still: a Speedwaaagh! so vast it can tear open the webway itself and let every biker in the galaxy ride the stars.
How the Imperium Counters Them
Imperial commanders who have faced the Evil Sunz speak less of tactics than of triage. The standard doctrine of layered firepower assumes the enemy crosses open ground at a marching pace; the red klan does it at a flat-out charge, and a battery that fires once before being overrun has, by Munitorum reckoning, failed. The favoured counters are minefields, tank-traps and pre-ranged barrages laid across the obvious approach lanes, anything that punishes raw speed with sudden, immovable terrain. Yet the Evil Sunz adore an obstacle, for clearing it spectacularly is half the fun, and seasoned Guard officers have learned a grim truth: you do not outshoot the red wave, you merely choose where it crashes into you.
M41–M42 Status
As the 41st Millennium gave way to the Era Indomitus, the Kult of Speed only accelerated. The opening of the Great Rift scattered fresh promethium-rich worlds and abandoned battlefields across the Imperium Nihilus, and the Evil Sunz fell upon them like a crimson flood, stripping fuel and scrap to feed ever-faster machines. Wazdakka's Speedwaaagh! remains an open wound on the eastern fringe, and wherever a larger WAAAGH! musters, red bikes and buggies form its racing vanguard. The klan does not seek to hold ground, only to keep moving across it, and in a galaxy torn into ruin there has rarely been so much open road to burn.
See also
Sources
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