By the time the defenders of the Sacred Grove noticed the eerie green light soaring from the woodlands, it was already too late to prepare.
The green streak was like an arrow piercing the clouds, tearing through the canopy of the forest and ascending toward the sky.
It seemed aimed directly for the sun, or perhaps it intended to become a sun of its own.
To heal the wounded and repair the magical defenses, the Shamans had already exhausted themselves.
They could no longer join forces to counter this unknown offensive launched by the Greenskins.
At the critical moment, Mozer, a Son of Al and a scion of the Gor bloodline—sharing the same lineage as the second scion Kael'thas—was in command of the wall.
He issued an emergency order for all defenders to evacuate the battlements immediately.
This single command saved the living strength of the Sacred Grove.
The guards, though confused, scrambled away from their posts.
They abandoned the walls for which they had bled for days and nights to keep from falling into enemy hands.
The swift ones had already reached the ground obstacles behind the wall, but for those a few seconds too slow, it was the end.
The descending Skaven Doomrocket slammed into the enchanted walls of the Sacred Grove.
In an ear-splitting roar, the tribal defenders watched in horror as a massive, terrifying explosion erupted.
A grey mushroom cloud surged into the sky.
Where the wall once stood, nothing remained but a collapsed wasteland of smoldering ruins!
"Oh... Goddess..."
Someone muttered, their memory flashing from the current chaos back to that apocalyptic explosion that had annihilated the main force of the Invincible Armada.
The entire structural integrity of the fortress was shaken by this monstrous blast.
The shockwave and the resulting gale overturned and demolished watchtowers and barricades.
Vile, radioactive dust began to spread rapidly in all directions, though its insidious effects had yet to manifest.
"WAAAAAGH!!!"
The world-shaking battle cry erupted from outside the city.
In the past, such a wall of sound was dizzying and deafening, but now it paled in comparison to the shock of the destructive explosion.
However, the rise of that cry now meant only one thing.
"Enemy assault!"
Swift werewolf scouts, disregarding the danger, sprinted to the crest of the ruins within breaths.
They saw the endless, frantic green tide rolling toward the Sacred Grove and blew their horns.
"AWOOOO~~~!!!"
The horn blast awakened the defenders' battle instincts.
Whether human or Beastman, even if their hearts still trembled from the explosion and feared another strike from above, they chose to hold their positions in this life-or-death moment.
There was no time to reconstruct the line.
With such a short distance and no wall to block them, the only extra thing the defenders could do was drag the overturned barricades back to serve as a meager shield before them.
Mozer picked up his sword and shield from the dirt.
He had been positioned further back, near the wall, and had been thrown aside by the shockwave.
His ears were still ringing, making it hard to hear, but he could still smell the battle-lust beginning to permeate the air.
"Father..."
Mozer lowered his head, placing his sword-hand over his left chest in a silent prayer.
As a Son of Al, Mozer had participated in the military council.
He knew exactly what tactical arrangements his little father, the Everchosen, had personally devised.
Even now, he did not doubt for a second that victory would belong to his blood-father, the Chosen of the Four Mothers, despite the enemy's terrifying strike.
"WAAAAAGH!"
The first Greenskin commander to reach the top crested the ruins of the wall.
It raised its axes with both hands and leaped onto a wooden stump, howling its WAAAAAGH! to vent the frustration and fury of the army that had been stalled beneath the city for so long.
Several arrows hissed through the air from various directions, thudding into its eye sockets, chest, and arms.
the first commander fell, but that was far from the end.
Mozer gripped his sword and shield tight, crouching slightly forward.
Beside him were humans and Beastmen, now united as comrades, believers, and brothers-in-arms.
The green tide flooded in!
The city had been breached.
Lucius raised his longsword. With a heavy clang, he was sent reeling back several steps by a massive force.
The ferocious Big 'Un followed up immediately, swinging a heavy cleaver like a violent storm.
Lucius could only parry desperately while constantly retreating.
The outer perimeter had completely fallen.
The defenders of the Sacred Grove had consolidated their strength, hastily creating crude fortifications in the core area.
They relied on these obstacles to continue resisting the Greenskins.
But every commander knew in their heart that they couldn't hold out much longer.
There were simply too many Greenskins compared to them.
Nearly eighty percent of the Greenskins who had entered the Piña Forest were gathered here; the rest were still wandering the woods.
Lucius managed to block several strikes from the Big 'Un.
Had he been full of energy, he would have quickly found an opening for a counter-attack, perhaps even killing this Orc—who wasn't the strongest, but was still a "Big 'Un" to a human.
But he was too tired.
He was running on nothing but sheer will and a final breath, squeezing every drop of strength from his body just to barely dodge and parry the Greenskin onslaught.
He was at his limit.
Lucius knew his end was near.
He had held out on this battlefield for a long time, rising from deputy leader to Centurion, but of his hundred-man unit, perhaps fewer than ten could still move.
The lines were completely shattered; gaps were everywhere, and every position needed reinforcements.
Lucius no longer knew how much his troops had been scattered under the constant orders to retreat, reinforce, or escort.
But it no longer mattered to him.
The Big 'Un brought down another full-strength overhead swing.
Lucius's battered shield gave out before he did.
It was split apart, the massive force traveling through the handle into Lucius's arm.
His body was sent flying backward, slamming into the corpse of a Khorngor that had been dead for hours.
The Greenskin's blade was embedded in the shield and flew off with it.
Lucius's left hand, which had been holding the shield, was instantly a bloody mess. He felt his bones were broken.
Lucius held his sword in a reverse grip, propping it against the ground as he tried to stand before the Orc reached him.
The Big 'Un looked around and casually snatched an axe from the hand of another
dead Orc.
With a "WAAAAAGH!" roar, it made a move to charge Lucius.
The man leaned on his sword, powerlessly sliding down to one knee. He had no strength left to stand.
"It's over."
Lucius closed his eyes, not wanting the last thing he saw to be a loathsome green monster.
He tried to recall the images of his wife, his two children, and his brother Joel.
He remembered the days of the past, before the flames of war, their peaceful and abundant life as a family of six in Veling...
The anxious yet hopeful entry into the Piña Forest...
The scarcity of supplies, the tight living, the nauseating supply officer Harold...
And the Beastmen who descended from the heavens, led by that Beastlord who wore a mask and rode a Griffon, looking exactly like a human youth.
From then on, they had converted to the Four Mothers, and their lives had improved significantly...
The footsteps of the Greenskin, the tail-end of its battle cry, the wind, the sound of air being sliced—everything was so clear in Lucius's ears.
In an instant, his brain mapped out a counter-attack: roll to the right—rise—crouch low and dash forward, getting inside the enemy's reach toward its chest—thrust the longsword through the enemy's heart!
In recent battles, Lucius had practiced this counter until it was as smooth as flowing water.
Given the size difference between humans and Greenskins, it was a relatively effective move.
But Lucius no longer had the strength to execute it.
He felt a profound exhaustion. He felt he had done enough.
Even back when he served in the Kingdom's army, he had never been as tenacious as he was these past few days, nor had he ever achieved such results.
Perhaps it was time to go.
Would his soul return to the War-Heaven of Myrmidia, or did it belong to the Four-Fold Realm promised by the Four Mothers?
At the end of his life, Lucius suddenly began to ponder questions of religion and the afterlife.
Perhaps the Elysium of the Mother of Revelry would be nice, but I worship the Bloodmother more; maybe I'll go to the Black Iron Throne to enjoy eternal glory and strife...
The short distance seemed so long in Lucius's perspective. He thought and pondered many things.
In reality, it was only a fleeting second.
The Greenskin had already reached a position a few steps away.
At this distance, it was close enough for the Big 'Un to swing its war-axe and shear off the top of his skull.