The battlefield situation was changing rapidly. After realizing that the Goblin Doom Diver catapults were ineffective, Skarsnik immediately ordered a halt to their use. Goblin engineers had repurposed limited amounts of explosives scavenged from Dwarves or Skaven, and using them frivolously wasn't an option.
As the greenskin horde advanced, led by countless goblins and orc boyz, they left a trail of bodies behind them. By the time they approached the expeditionary army's battle lines, their formations were already in disarray. Orc boyz charged ahead, while the slower goblins lagged behind, chanting the names of their gods, Gork and Mork, while bullets and arrows rained down on them.
No matter how many volleys were fired or cannons blasted, the greenskins kept closing the distance. Dwarven cannons and organ guns hit their marks with devastating precision, each shot wiping out dozens of greenskins. Yet those who fell were quickly trampled by their own kind as more greenskins surged forward, heedless of their losses.
"Flaming Skull!" Veronica's mage corps unleashed their magic in unison. A massive, flaming skull tore through the greenskin ranks, burning them into ash wherever it passed, leaving behind only the smell of charred flesh.
"For Valaya's love!" Dwarven runesmith master Slude the Honest led the Dwarven rune craftsmen into battle. He hammered the Anvil of Doom with such force that each strike sent shockwaves, shattering the bodies of several greenskins at a time.
Meanwhile, the Wood Elf spellcasters were also chanting incantations. The spears and shields of the Eternal Guard were now covered with leaves and vines, a sign of their magical protection.
"Kill! Kill! Kill! My brethren, reclaiming Eight Peaks starts today!" Belegar, standing proudly on his oathstone, led the charge. The King of Eight Peaks swung his sacred hammer, smashing any enemy that dared come near.
On the right flank, the peasant infantry engaged the greenskins. These veteran soldiers, hardened by numerous battles, fought with surprising ferocity. Even the lowest-ranking serfs had become brave and resilient after fighting alongside the expedition for so long. They cursed the greenskins, spearing goblins through their bodies or slicing them open with their swords. Even the orc boyz couldn't gain much ground against them. The end of their long expedition—the Titan's Gate—was in sight.
"Kill these green monsters! Forward!"
"Kill!"
"For King Ryan-Marcado!"
Initially, the greenskins were suffering losses at a rate of a thousand to one. Cannon fire, magic, and arrow volleys annihilated waves of greenskins, and those few who managed to reach the human lines were impaled by spears.
But the greenskins seemed endless. After the initial clash, more and more orcs and goblins flooded the battlefield. Armed with daggers, spears, shields, and swords, they plunged into the human ranks, eager for slaughter.
Goblins and orc archers returned fire at the peasants, their arrows mostly bouncing off shields or armor, but many serfs still fell. One breach after another opened in the peasant lines as the greenskins forced their way through, howling for blood. The greenskins didn't fear death—in fact, the heavy losses only inspired them further, driven by the blessings of Gork and Mork.
The knights soon joined the battle. Many were equipped with newly forged Dwarven rune armor, even if it only covered part of their bodies. That was enough to make them formidable on the battlefield. Clouds of white-fletched arrows shot from the Elven lines, piercing greenskin flesh.
The second volley followed, then the third, and death blossomed across the field. The knights charged after the arrow storms, led by Grail Knights at the front of each unit, tearing open massive gaps in the greenskin horde with their unstoppable momentum.
The Old Guard, led by Bertrand, entered the battle slowly. The legendary veterans wore newly forged Dwarven gromril rune armor and wielded weapons recently reforged in Valaya's Grand Temple. Like a sharp blade, they carved through the greenskin ranks, leaving nothing but black blood in their wake. Goblins, orcs, and even isolated greenskin warlords were cut down mercilessly by their halberds and greatswords.
"For the God of Justice!" Holy warriors and monks, led by Alfred, joined the fray. Alfred wielded a sword blessed by a Cardinal of the church, roaring as he cleaved through an orc big'un, slicing it in half from the waist.
Not far away, Calard's sacred sword, Durandal, split a goblin warboss's skull. It was the third greenskin warboss he'd killed that day.
Orc shamans attempted to cast powerful Waaagh! spells, but they were quickly overwhelmed by the chaotic magical energy surrounding them, causing them to explode on the spot.
"Psychic Storm!"
"Flame Storm!"
"Banishment Light!"
One spell after another detonated in the greenskin ranks, shaking the battlefield. The human army refused to retreat; it would be a long and bloody day.
Meanwhile, the Dwarves held their lines as firmly as stone. Under Belegar's command, the Angrond Clan pressed forward, while Alaloth led the Wood Elves into combat. He wielded a scimitar and a spear, cutting through the enemy while his stag trampled them beneath its hooves. The Eternal Guard planted their massive shields into the ground, spearing any foe that dared approach. Sword dancers moved among the enemy with terrifying grace, decapitating orcs and goblins before they even realized what had happened.
As the battle raged on, Skarsnik stood at the Titan's Gate, frowning as he surveyed the battlefield. The armies of the Crooked Moon tribe were taking heavy losses. Normally, that wasn't a concern, but his forces weren't gaining any ground in the melee, which was highly unusual.
Skarsnik ground his teeth in frustration. The losses suffered at Valaya's Gate had cost him many of his strongest orc boyz and big 'uns, leaving his army now mostly made up of goblins, which, aside from the Night Goblins, were little more than cannon fodder.
In short, after being forced to retreat from Valaya's Gate, both the numbers and quality of Skarsnik's army had diminished.
"Send in the giants!" Skarsnik ordered. "Go deal with those tin-can shrimps!"
"Toot! Toot-toot!" The Night Goblins of the "Eight Peaks Mad Lads" blew their horns, signaling the appearance of a dozen giants. Armed with massive clubs and tree trunks, they charged across the battlefield, trampling goblins and orcs alike underfoot. The lead giant approached a group of knights, swinging its club and sending them flying, horses and all, into the greenskin mob, where they were quickly beaten to death.
Two more giants targeted a group of Kingdom Knights. Swinging their spiked clubs wildly, they forced the knights to retreat. One giant dropped its club altogether, grabbing a knight and his horse in its massive hands before slamming them into the ground like a ragdoll.
Several more groups of knights were crushed or scattered by the rampaging giants.
"Veronica!" Ryan spotted the chaos, summoning a psychic spear and hurling it from the sky atop his griffon. The spear pierced a giant's heart, causing it to collapse with a scream. "Veronica, take out the giants!"
"Understood!" Standing atop her light magic chariot, Veronica radiated fire and light as her magical energy surged. The mirrors atop her chariot glowed as she unleashed a beam of light, piercing through another giant's chest.
The giant fell with a howl.
"Fireball!" The Garland witches were also in full action. Riding a warhorse behind Calard, Catherine raised her staff, unleashing a fireball that struck a giant in the face, blowing its head apart. Another giant roared in anger as it approached. "Waaaagh!"
"Die!" Calard gave it no chance, charging forward with his sacred sword. Durandal sliced through the giant's knee, and before it could retaliate, Calard drove his blade through its heart. "Catherine, follow me!"
"Yes!" The witch spurred her horse to keep pace with Calard.
"Target the giants! Gunners and artillery, aim for the giants!" Belegar ordered, pointing his Angrond sacred hammer toward the charging giants. "Aim for their heads and chests!"
Dwarven thunderers and cannons fired in unison, cutting down one giant after another. But Skarsnik's goal had been achieved. The giants had driven the knights off the battlefield, and their assault had loosened the once-tight formation of the expedition forces.
"Send in the Big Gut tribe! Attack now!" Skarsnik gave his second order.
A rumble shook the battlefield as over a hundred towering figures emerged from the horizon.
These were the ogres of the legendary Big Gut tribe, mercenaries hired by Skarsnik. Each ogre stood over eight feet tall, wielding spears, axes, or clubs. Their massive frames were barely armored, save for helmets and shoulder plates. Most were bald, though some sported long braids down their backs.
At their head was the tyrant Gus Big-Gut, a monstrous figure standing over ten feet tall, his belly even larger than that of most ogres. Wielding both a massive axe and a polearm, he rode a huge Thunderhorn beast, a creature resembling a giant tiger or leopard, with massive tusks. Goblins and squigs
constantly fed food and roasted snotlings into his mouth. After consuming several tons of food, Gus banged his weapons together and let out a roar of satisfaction: "For the Great Maw! For EAT-EAT-EAT!"
"For the Great Maw! For EAT-EAT!" the ogres roared in unison, stepping forward with massive strides, singing songs of gluttony as they entered the battle.
"March and eat, march toward the Maw, we're always hungry, eating from bowl and pot!" The ogres sang the hymn of the Great Maw as they marched, wielding cannons looted from the Empire, Dwarves, or Chaos Dwarves. Singing as they marched, they stuffed iron scraps, gunpowder, and nails into their cannons. Ignoring the gunfire and arrows, they aimed at the human and Dwarven lines and fired.
The blast tore through an entire line of peasant infantry, killing or maiming everyone in its path. Those who survived the initial blast were riddled with wounds, collapsing to the ground.
"Take them out! Kill those ogres with the cannons!" Federmond led the Sea God Knights in a countercharge, spearing an ogre through the belly with his trident. But when the knights tried to break through the ogre cannon crews with a group charge, the ogres swung their cannons like clubs, smashing the knights or sending them flying. Then the ogres tore open the knights' armor with their bare hands and devoured them whole, swallowing blood, armor, and flesh in a single gulp. "It's dinner time! Today's menu is... canned knight with original flavor!"
The ogre tyrant Gus led his warriors into the fray, riding his massive Thunderhorn beast. With a single sweep of his polearm, he decapitated six peasants. His personal Iron Guts bodyguard surrounded him, all singing their war chants.
"Fight it or eat it?"
"Let the Iron Guts hit it!"
"Crush its skull,"
"And feast on its flesh!"
The arrival of the ogres quickly turned the tide. After two hours of brutal fighting, the expedition's formations began to break apart under the ogre assault. The human troops showed signs of retreating, the Dwarves were fighting desperately, and the Wood Elves, though holding their ground, were too far away for the ogres to bother with just yet.
Skarsnik knew the ogre assault was only a temporary advantage. Soon, the hungry fools would stop fighting to eat. And the ogres' numbers were limited—two or three dozen had already fallen in the battle.
The Warlord of Eight Peaks grinned wickedly and gave a signal: "They can't fight on two fronts. Send the signal now!"
A Night Goblin immediately obeyed, pulling out a rocket-like device and firing it into the sky. A green, grinning Evil Moon appeared high above Eight Peaks.
"Now, let our new 'allies' enter the fray!" Skarsnik sneered. "Today, neither the tin-can shrimps nor our beardy enemies will escape!"
Just as the expedition forces were struggling against the combined greenskin and ogre forces, a new army emerged from underground, south of Alaloth's Wood Elf army.
Fifteen Rat Ogres, pushing five Skaven plague catapults, joined the battlefield, followed by an endless horde of Skaven.
The Skaven army split into two groups: one attacking Alaloth and the Wood Elves from the flank, while the other, led by the Rat Ogres, charged toward Streamwatch Outpost!
Scarlet-furred Stormvermin, known as the Red Hunters, emerged from the depths of the earth. These vicious rats surrounded the Warlord of Eight Peaks, Headtaker Queek. The infamous Skaven warlord looked out over the burning plain, pointing his "Dwarf-Slayer" sword toward the expedition's camp.
"Forward, Clan Mors! Kill-kill the beards and pointy-ears! Kill them all! Kill them all!"
"Allies, yes-yes, it's our turn now-now!"
"Belegar beardy fool, Ryan tin-can fool, die! Die!"
With Headtaker Queek's command, the Skaven army rolled forward, attacking the expeditionary force and Streamwatch Outpost from the flanks.
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