The remaining warriors of the Coalition looked through the clearing dust and saw the truth.
Sol was leaning heavily on his sword, his head hanging low as thick sweat ran down his neck plates, his body visibly shaking with intense exhaustion.
The terrifying nightmare that had single-handedly slaughtered their countless comrades and peeled the Zharuns apart was finally vulnerable.
The realization spread through the horde like wildfire: The black reaper is spent, but he is still a reaper. If we cannot match him, we will butcher his people instead.
A unified, deafening cheering roar erupted from thousands of enemy throats, a sound so loud it reached straight to the sky, shaking the very air of the wasteland.
The Marauders, Zharun and Zerith stalkers were injected with a sudden, vicious surge of raw morale.
The unified roar that erupted from the Coalition ranks was a desperate, guttural release of pure psychological trauma.
