Across the dunes, the human and ork battle lines had completely disappeared, replaced by an enormous, constantly writhing meat grinder.
The boyz, with their superior size and strength, held an overwhelming advantage in one-on-one combat. Every swing of their crude-looking choppas could cleave a player—and the carapace armor protecting them—in two.
Without the momentum of a charge, a particularly strong ork could still drag three or four players to hell with him, even after being skewered by multiple bayonets.
From the very beginning, the exchange ratio heavily favored the orks.
But the players possessed one overwhelming advantage that the orks could never match.
Joker.
The supreme command node remained safely stationed in the rear command post. As long as he survived, every fallen player could resurrect there within seconds, seize a fresh weapon, and charge back into battle.
For them, death was nothing more than a moment of darkness.
Then their eyes opened again.
They grabbed a rifle.
And they ran back into the slaughter.
One player fell.
Two more stepped over his corpse to fill the gap.
During the first hour of the melee, the defenders' last remaining heavy weapons finally fell silent. The ammunition boxes for the heavy bolters and autocannons lay empty. After firing their final rounds, the gunners exchanged weary glances before silently reaching beneath their seats for entrenching tools and sidearms.
"Damn... guess it's our turn."
"For glorious melee! Charge!"
Now, everyone—except Joker, who served as the resurrection anchor—was forced into the carnage.
Tactics.
Strategy.
Fire coordination.
All of it had been ground to dust beneath the tide of players and orks.
Only one truth remained.
Draw your blade.
Hack the enemy.
Repeat.
The madness began at dusk.
By midnight, the battle had devolved entirely into cold steel and raw muscle.
Then it simply... continued.
Hack.
Kill.
Die.
Return.
Hack again.
Time lost all meaning.
Only slaughter endured.
When Perditia's pale sun finally struggled above the horizon, its weak light fell upon dunes soaked in blood.
The battle cries had never ceased.
Corpses lay piled into grotesque hills. Green blood mingled with red, soaking into the yellow sand until it became a dark, muddy brown.
Within this ocean of madness, where nearly everyone had fought until their eyes burned crimson, only a handful still retained any trace of reason.
Redeye, the ork warboss, was one of them.
Perched atop a massive Squigg, he surveyed the battlefield.
His boyz were cutting down enemy after enemy.
Yet the humies never seemed to run out.
They kept pouring from the trenches in endless waves.
There was no strategy anymore.
Only attrition.
Redeye didn't care how many boyz died.
What bothered him was something else.
This wasn't exciting.
"WAAAAAGH!!"
His earth-shaking roar echoed across the battlefield.
It wasn't a call to charge.
It was an order to retreat.
Under the curses, punches, and boots of their Nobz, the boyz reluctantly disengaged, grumbling all the while as they fell back.
Only the Madboyz, who had long since lost themselves to profound questions like Why is my choppa red?, continued swinging wildly at anything within reach.
The players hacked down the last of them before instinctively surging forward in pursuit.
After fighting all night, their bloodlust had reached its peak.
Then Joker's voice sounded across the command channel.
Despite obvious exhaustion, it remained calm and unwavering.
"All units, cease pursuit. Return to your assigned sectors immediately. Clear the trenches and reorganize the defensive line."
Most players stopped, breathing hard.
A few ignored the order entirely.
Roaring like berserkers, they charged alone after the retreating ork horde.
What greeted them was no longer a wall of choppas.
It was gunfire.
The instant the orks broke contact, they gleefully grabbed their beloved shootas and unleashed a storm of bullets.
The reckless pursuers were cut down almost instantly.
Seconds later, they respawned beside Joker.
The experience of dying again had cooled their enthusiasm considerably.
Without another word, they picked up fresh weapons and trudged back toward the trenches.
Behind the ork lines, the retreating boyz remained exhilarated.
They waved blood-soaked choppas overhead, boasting loudly about their latest kills and roaring at one another between fits of laughter.
A particularly massive boy shoved his way beside Redeye.
"Boss! Why'd we stop? I was havin' the time of me life! Me choppa ain't even gone dull yet!"
The surrounding boyz eagerly chimed in.
"Yeah, Boss! Dem humies split open real easy!"
"Give me anuvver hour an' I'll pull all dere guts out!"
"WAAAGH! We ain't done krumpin' yet!"
Redeye snorted.
The explosive sound instantly silenced the crowd.
"You gitz only got room fer two fings in yer heads."
He jabbed a thick finger toward them.
"WAAAGH...
"...an' stabbin'."
The boy who had spoken first scratched his head and grinned, exposing a mouth full of tusks.
"Dat's right! Yer da Boss! You fink about da important stuff. We just follows ya an' keeps krumpin'."
"Heh."
Redeye's mood visibly improved.
Twin streams of hot breath billowed from his nostrils.
He raised one massive arm and pointed toward the distant rear of the human defenses.
In the dim morning light, an impossibly enormous silhouette loomed against the horizon.
"See dat?"
The boyz squinted.
At first they thought it was another mountain.
Then the rising sunlight caught its metallic hull.
Collective realization spread through the crowd.
"Oi! Dat's a ship!"
"Look at all dat scrap!"
"Boss! 'Ow'd ya even spot somethin' dat big?"
Redeye ignored the particularly poor attempt at flattery.
"My WAAAGH dis time ain't about dese humies."
He jabbed a finger toward the colossal vessel.
"It's about nickin' dat ship!"
"We'll rip off all da scrap..."
"...all da bitz..."
"...an' build da biggest..."
"...loudest..."
"...smokiest..."
"...shootiest..."
"...stompiest effigy ever!"
The surrounding orks erupted.
Their breathing quickened.
Their eyes gleamed.
Weapons pounded against armor and the ground.
"EFFIGY!"
"Boss said lotsa 'supers'!"
"WAAAAAGH!!"
Satisfied, Redeye raised a hand for silence.
"So dat's why we pulled back."
"If we kept hackin' like dat..."
"...we'd still be stuck here a month from now."
"All da boyz'd be dead."
"An' who's gonna build da effigy den?"
Another ork scratched his head.
"Boss... den why didn't you go fight?"
"Dem humies couldn't stop yer axe."
Redeye fell silent.
After a long pause, he answered slowly.
"'Cause..."
"I got a feelin'."
"Maybe Gork an' Mork told me."
"If I charged in..."
"...somethin' real bad would've happened."
The moment the names of Gork and Mork left his mouth, every ork—including the Nobz—froze.
"It's a message from Gork an' Mork!"
"Da Boss got a proper vision!"
Their expressions transformed into absolute reverence.
"Boss! Den don't go!"
"If Gork an' Mork says no..."
"...den it's definitely no!"
"We'll do da krumpin' fer ya!"
"For da effigy!"
"FOR WAAAAAGH!!"