Forge Era, Year Eighteen. The Tau Empire churned—100,000 ships in the making, a war machine fueled by rage and the Supreme Path. Their size dwarfed most foes; sheer numbers could win this interstellar brawl. No need for boots on dirt—railguns from orbit would glass planets, crack defenses, and choke resistance. Jealousy twisted their unity—every clan, every world poured steel and souls into the fight. "For our children!" a Fire Clan mother wailed on the lattice, voice breaking, clutching a tattered doll. "For the Path!" a factory boss roared, optics blazing as forges spat ships. They didn't know what beast they'd poked.
In Crestfall, Steelborn didn't flinch. The Tau's first jab—10,000 ships lost—lit a fire under Jarek's empire. "They invaded us," he growled from Crestspire, holo-maps flaring with Tau wrecks. "No mercy now." Production lines screamed—Namu's 10 billion churned out Living Steel ships daily, Ribs forged in vats, Scourgers warped into nightmares. Jarek paced, optics glinting, marveling at his own machine. "How deep does this go?" he muttered, voice a low rumble. Ten thousand new ships gleamed in orbit—sleek, lethal, phase-tech humming. "Debt's due," he rasped, a feral grin splitting his steel face. "Time to collect."
The Tau rallied, oblivious—Jarek struck. Ten thousand Steelborn ships blinked through warp, slamming into a Tau fringe system—Kaelthas Verge, a dusty cluster of colonies. "Attack!" Jarek barked, voice a thunderclap over comms. Gauss cannons roared, green death shredding Tau defenses—orbital grids buckling like tin foil. Pale Crest's old systems, relics of a human empire, outshone this Tau junk six years back. Now? Child's play. "They wanted war," Jarek growled, watching a Tau station erupt. "Here's war."
Steelborn tech had evolved—ships bristled with upgrades: heavier guns, thicker shields, and Moonshrike fighters—arc-shaped killers hitting Mach 50 in atmo, dodging missiles like ghosts, gutting ground targets with plasma lances. Tau fled—screaming, scrambling—colonies falling in weeks. Two months, one galaxy down—60 more on Jarek's list. "Interest's steep," he rasped, optics cold. Steelborn didn't crave conquest—but debts demanded blood.
Tau command reeled. "They attacked us?" Lao-kun Tau roared, claws smashing his war room's holo-table, optics blazing red. "A speck dares invade us?" He'd planned the offensive—100,000 ships to crush Steelborn. Now, Jarek's 10,000 hit first, raiding his backyard. "How dare they?!" he bellowed, voice shaking the chamber. "This Empire of Steelborn—vile, treacherous! They defile our soil!" His growl turned to a rallying snarl. "For the Path—for our kin—unite and erase them!" The Tau lattice flared—billions roared back, hate boiling over. Peace was dead; only war remained.
On Vortex Verge, Elephants cheered. "They're hitting back!" a sergeant shouted, voice raw, rifle raised as Steelborn ships streaked overhead. "Tau's tasting it now!" The sky stayed clear—no Tau landings since the 7,000-ship rout. "Jarek's got 'em running," a grunt laughed, dirt-streaked face splitting with a grin. Ribs stood nearby—silent, steady—gauss rifles humming. "He's collecting," one rasped, optics blank. The Elephants nodded—Tau's lies, their dead brothers—Jarek's wrath was theirs too.
Kaelthas Verge burned—Steelborn rolled on. The second system fell fast—Tau garrisons crumbling, pulse turrets melting under Moonshrike strafes. The third, Rydeka Verge, fought back—10,000 Tau ships, rallied with orbital forts, stalled Jarek's crusade. "We held 'em!" a Tau captain crowed, voice crackling over comms, watching Steelborn ships reel from railgun barrages. Lao-kun smirked, claws tapping. "See? Small fry—nothing against us." His plan clicked—hold for a month, exhaust them, then slam with the main fleet. "Twenty thousand coming," he growled, optics glinting. "They'll break—then they're ours."
Ten days later, cracks showed. "Fifteen thousand now," a Tau aide reported, voice tight, "but we're losing ground." Steelborn adapted—Moonshrikes swarmed, Scourgers boarded stations, gauss fire carving through. "Hold!" Lao-kun barked, slamming his fist. "Reinforcements soon—20,000 ships!" The Tau empire sprawled—ships scattered across 60 galaxies took time to mass. "Just wait," he muttered, claws flexing. "We'll drown 'em." Then the blow landed. "Another fleet—Northspire!" a scout screamed, voice shredding. "Ten thousand more!" Jarek's second wave hit—fresh, relentless—gauss beams slashing Tau lines.
Panic gripped Lao-kun. "Two fleets? Twenty thousand total?" he rasped, optics flickering, power armor whirring as he steadied himself. Steelborn weren't a „small country"—they were a storm. "All ships—now!" he roared, voice a desperate edge. Fifty thousand rallied—more coming—Tau's full might clawing to life. "No mistakes," he growled, holo-maps flaring with red. "Crush them—all or nothing."
Jarek watched from Crestspire, holo-feeds alive with Tau chaos—Kaelthas, Rydeka, Northspire burning. "Invade us?" he snarled, laugh cold, optics blazing. "How dare they breathe?" Namu's forges roared—20,000 ships now, more brewing—Living Steel a tide no Tau could stem. "Whole country?" he rasped, claws tapping. "Bring it—I'll take it all." Absolute Loyalty buzzed—players wild. "Tau's folding!" one howled. "Jarek's unstoppable!" His grin widened. "Debt's growing," he growled. "Time to collect the rest."