Forge Era, Year Eighteen. The void above Ashreach ignited—3,000 Steelborn ships, fresh from Redstone's forges, tore through warp rifts like predators unleashed. These weren't the patched relics of the Elephant Fleet; they were the empire's latest fangs—sleek, lethal, forged from Living Steel, an evolution of the hulks that crushed Pale Crest six years back. The Tau's fleet—3,000 strong, proud and angular—didn't stand a chance. Their ships, outclassed even by the old Pale Crest wrecks, looked like prey caught in a hunter's gaze. Jarek watched from Crestspire, optics blazing. "Fly, little birds," he rasped, voice a low growl of triumph. "Nowhere to hide."
The Tau had never tasted this. Their empire's rise was a parade of victories—tech trumping all, their "Supreme Path" a gospel they'd shoved down a thousand worlds' throats. "Darlings of the stars," they called themselves, smug as hell. Why else did their engines hum so fast, their borders swell so wide? They were destiny's chosen—or so they thought. The Elephant Fleet had cracked that delusion, but these Steelborn ships? They shattered it. "Damn this Steelborn filth!" a Tau captain roared over his bridge, voice tight with fury. "We'd rather burn than bow—kamikaze run! Smash 'em and break out!"
kamikaze run! Smash 'em and break out!"
Fueled by their Path's zeal, the Tau crews didn't flinch. Ships surged forward, engines screaming, aiming to ram Steelborn hulls in a blaze of glory. Fearless? Sure. Pointless? Absolutely. "Madness," a Steelborn captain muttered, voice icy as he tracked the charge on his holo-feed. The Tau never touched them. Steelborn ships danced—faster, nimbler—dodging with predatory grace. Void Shields flared, soaking up stray blasts, while Living Steel hulls shrugged off glancing hits, knitting shut like flesh. "They're throwing pebbles at a wall," the captain said, a dark laugh in his throat. "Lord Jarek's orders—rip 'em apart."
The command crackled down: no mercy. Steelborn guns roared—pulse cannons and phase beams tearing through Tau armor like paper. Ships burst, crews burned, and the void filled with wreckage. Below, Ashreach's surface shuddered as ten million Steelborn Ribs hit the dirt—elite, unstoppable. Their bodies gleamed with Living Steel, production ramped up from Namu's billions. A blown-off arm? It regrew. A shattered leg? It reformed. "Forward!" a Rib sergeant bellowed, voice a mechanical snarl, phase rifle humming. "Crush the invaders!" Tanks rolled beside them—hulking beasts spitting gauss rounds—aiming to erase the Tau foothold.
The Tau ground forces reeled. Fire Clan troops—armored in nano-crystal shells, pulse carbines spitting plasma—stared in horror. "These metal freaks—how do they stand back up?!" a Fire Clan grunt yelled, voice cracking as he pumped rounds into a Rib. The Steelborn soldier staggered, chest sparking, then straightened—Living Steel sealing the wound. Pulse rifles fizzled, photon grenades popped uselessly, EMPs buzzed and died. "They're still coming!" another Tau screamed, panic clawing his words. The Ribs advanced—an iron tide, relentless, unyielding.
"Hold the line!" a Tau commander roared, voice ragged with defiance. "Our glory's here—no retreat!" He jabbed a finger at his Vexar allies—wiry, clawed Xenos who'd carved orcs apart in past wars. "Vexar—stop those skeletons!" The Vexar snarled, leaping onto scaled mounts, claws glinting. "Rip 'em!" their leader howled, charging the Steelborn ranks. They'd eaten orc flesh, taken their strength—but these weren't flesh. Steelborn drones met them—swarms of tiny, buzzing horrors, gnashing metal teeth. Mounts shrieked, crumbling as drones devoured scales and bone. "Get 'em off!" a Vexar cried, slashing wildly, but the swarm engulfed him, relentless.
Above, the Tau fleet bled. "Talons of the void," a Steelborn pilot sneered, voice dripping with scorn as he vaporized another Tau frigate. Three fleets—3,000 ships—boxed the Tau vanguard, each wave a new nightmare. "They're cracking," a Rib captain reported, voice flat. "Orders?" Jarek's response was steel: "End them—all of them." The Tau's kamikaze runs faltered—ships too slow, too fragile. One slammed a Steelborn cruiser, exploding in a fireball; the cruiser's hull rippled, then smoothed, unscathed. "Pointless," Jarek growled from Crestspire, holo-maps flaring. "Their Path's a corpse."
On Ashreach, Tau morale frayed. "We're dying for nothing!" a Fire Clan trooper wailed, carbine overheating as Ribs closed in. Gauss rounds punched through armor, plasma fizzled against Living Steel. The Tau commander's voice broke over comms: "For the Supreme Path—hold!" But the Ribs didn't pause—tanks rolled, drones swarmed, soldiers marched. A Vexar lunged, claws raking a Rib's chest; the Steelborn grabbed its arm, snapped it, and fired point-blank. "No eating this," the Rib rasped, voice a cold echo.
The lattice flared—Absolute Loyalty alive with chatter. "Tau's folding!" a player crowed. "Steelborn's eating 'em alive!" Jarek's optics burned, a feral grin splitting his face. "Talons out," he muttered. "Prey bleeds." Namu's forges churned, phase tech sharpened his claws—the Tau's pride was their pyre. "Finish it," he ordered, voice a thunderclap. The Steelborn surged—sky and ground a slaughterhouse—leaving Tau dreams in ash.