Forge Era, Year Eighteen. Ashreach's dirt churned into a nightmare—Steelborn bugs swarmed, a black, buzzing plague of metal teeth. The Tau threw their own machines at the fray—polished, sci-fi sleek: robo-dogs snapping, saucer-drones humming, towering humanoid bots stomping forward. They screamed design, pride in every curve—until the bugs hit. In a heartbeat, the Tau's toys vanished, chewed to sparking husks. "Efficient," a Steelborn engineer rasped over comms, voice a dry scrape, optics glinting with quiet glee as he guided the swarm. No flair, just ruin—Tau hopes devoured in seconds.
Gauss rifles cracked in the distance—Steelborn Ribs pinning Vexar with green bolts of death, claws useless against the barrage. The Tau's drones were scrap; they had no play left. "Mechs—now!" a Fire Clan commander roared, voice splitting with panic. XV suits lumbered forth—three-meter giants of nano-crystal steel, jet-packs flaring, pulse cannons glowing blue. Pilots jacked in, neural tubes twitching, eyes hard with desperate grit. "Warriors of the Path!" the commander bellowed, fist slamming his chest. "Prove your fire!" He pictured a war hymn swelling, a crescendo for their might. It died in silence.
Steelborn didn't flinch. From Ashreach's haze, a new terror surged—Scourgers, the empire's unhinged vanguard. No elegance, just raw, warped steel—Living Steel shells encasing tripod legs, grav-coils, and massive gauss cannons. They'd shed human forms, ascension twisted into war's pure shape—hulking, grotesque, unstoppable. "For the Steel Lord!" a Scourger thundered, voice a warped shriek, red optics blazing as it charged. Readers' pulses would race—this wasn't a fight; it was annihilation incarnate.
The XV suits barely raised their pulse cannons before Scourgers hit. A gauss cannon roared—green light slicing the air—and a Tau mech burst apart, molten slag spraying like blood. Another jet-packed up, pulse fire blazing—too late. A Scourger's claw lashed out, snagged its frame, and slammed it down, crushing it into the dirt with a bone-shaking thud. "What devils are these?!" a Fire Clan grunt screamed, voice shattering, pulse carbine trembling as he fired uselessly. Scourgers didn't stop—tripods pounded, grav-units whined, cannons spat death. One blast carved through two mechs, pilots' screams swallowed by the inferno.
Tau lines reeled. "Hold, curse you!" the commander howled, voice cracking raw. "Vexar—stop 'em!" The Vexar—battle-hardened, fearless—leapt onto scaled mounts, claws flashing. "Rip 'em apart!" their leader snarled, charging headlong. They'd torn orcs to shreds, feasted on their strength—but Steelborn weren't prey. Bugs swarmed first—metal jaws shredding mounts, burrowing into flesh. "They're eating us!" a Vexar gasped, voice choking as his beast dissolved beneath him. Scourgers closed in—gauss blasts vaporizing survivors, claws slashing through the rest. The Vexar broke, blood-soaked and fleeing.
Ribs lingered behind, gauss rifles idle, optics dim with frustration. "We'd have dropped those mechs," one growled, voice a low buzz. They'd been edged out, glory stolen by these freaks. Scourgers didn't care—war was their god, their bodies its altar. Legs swapped for tripods, arms for cannons—they'd forged themselves into death's tools. "For Jarek—for the empire!" a Scourger roared, voice a mad hymn, slamming into a Tau trench. Its gauss cannon fired—green death shredding dirt and steel—pulse turrets bursting into sparks. Tau grunts dove, shrieking, as their line caved.
"Who stops these lunatics?!" the Tau commander raged, voice a ragged snarl, fists pounding his console. Mechs were rubble, Vexar a broken mess—nothing stood. A Scourger loomed—tripod legs thundering, cannon aglow—and fired. The blast tore a Fire Clan squad to ash, nano-armor melting like wax. "Path save us!" a grunt sobbed, carbine slipping as he bolted—only to meet a Scourger's claw, impaled mid-run. "No salvation," the Scourger rasped, optics cold, flinging the body aside.
Jarek watched from Crestspire, holo-maps pulsing with slaughter. "Madman banishers," he growled, a wild grin splitting his steel face. "Perfect." Namu's billions birthed this—Living Steel, phase tech, Scourgers carved from fanatics who'd traded humanity for war. Absolute Loyalty erupted—players rabid. "Tau's finished!" one howled. "Those freaks are unstoppable!" Jarek's optics flared. "Madness wins," he rasped, voice a storm. "Crush 'em." Scourgers rampaged—cavalry of chaos—Tau's Path drowning in dust and screams.