The defenders braced themselves as the Austorian forces surged forward, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm the second trench line. Fire Bullets and arrows rained down from the battlemages and archers, their impacts igniting patches of earth and scattering debris in chaotic bursts. The relentless advance of the Heavy Infantry tore apart the remaining razor wire with brutal efficiency, their enchanted shields flashing green as they absorbed the defenders’ desperate gunfire.

  Beastkin soldiers fought back furiously, their rifles cracking sporadically as dwindling magazines ran dry. A machine gunner shouted in frustration as his weapon clicked empty, abandoning the overheated gun and drawing his combat knife. The trenches erupted into brutal hand-to-hand combat as swordsmen poured through the breach, their gleaming blades catching the light of the inferno engulfing the battlefield.

  “Stay steady! Stay steady!” SFC Draken bellowed, swinging his rifle like a club as he struck down an advancing swordsman with a resounding crack. Blood splattered the trench wall as he turned to rally his troops. “Hold them back! Protect the wounded and civilians—1st and 2nd squads take up overwatch positions!”

  Around him, soldiers scrambled to obey, ducking behind debris and barricades to provide covering fire. A sharpshooter squeezed off a precise shot, dropping an advancing battlemage just as he raised his staff. Another defender lunged forward, meeting a spearman in a clash of blades, his bayonet glinting in the firelight as he fought for every inch of ground.

  But even as Draken barked commands, he could see the despair creeping into his soldiers’ faces. Their line was collapsing under the sheer weight of the enemy’s assault. Fire Bullets detonated dangerously close to their positions, showering dirt and embers across the defenders as medics frantically tended to the wounded behind the line. Screams from the ruins of the barn added with the cries of the dying as the roar of battle continued.

  Draken’s heart sank as he saw two Austorian Heavy Infantry reach the perimeter of the medics’ position, their shields deflecting everything thrown at them. He grabbed the nearest soldier—a young recruit shaking with fear—and shoved him toward the breach. “Don’t think—fight! We can’t let them break through!” he shouted, gripping his rifle tightly and charging toward the line himself.

  One of the heavy snipers on overwatch swung his M107a1 .50 caliber sniper rifle toward the advancing shields, unleashing a volley of precise fire into the advancing line. The green runes shimmered ominously, absorbing the rounds, but it was enough to hammer the enemy backwards and give Draken and his men precious seconds to regroup and pull the wounded and medics out of the main fight.

  Desperation clung to every motion, yet no Beastkin faltered. A soldier pinned down by an archer’s rain of arrows grabbed a broken plank from a barricade, shielding himself long enough to dive into cover. Another used the last of his grenade stockpile, hurling it into a cluster of advancing swordsmen with a primal shout. The explosion ripped through the Austorian ranks, buying a brief reprieve that the defenders seized with renewed fury.

  But for every enemy felled, another seemed to take their place. SFC Draken moved from position to position, shouting encouragement and orders even as exhaustion clawed at the edges of his mind. His voice, hoarse and raw, still cut through the chaos like a beacon. “Fight like hell! No retreat! We hold this line for them—for everyone behind us!”

  The ground shook violently as thunderous explosions erupted across the battlefield in front of the Beastkin line, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. For a fleeting moment, even the relentless Austorian assault faltered, their chant-like battle cries drowned out by the deafening roar. Astorian foot soldiers, battlemages, and archers alike, froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the eruptions.

  Then they came—the unmistakable growl of heavy engines, tearing across the battlefield like a predator racing from the shadows. Through the billowing smoke, ten AMX-10 RC T40M wheeled tanks burst onto the battlefield, arrows and fire bullets glancing off their sleek hulls.

  Their 40mm chain guns roared to life, rapid-fire bursts illuminating the carnage. Tracers streaked through the smoke like lethal threads, punching through the enchanted shields of the Austorian Heavy Infantry. The shields that had once deflected bullets and shrapnel with ease now cracked and crumbled under the relentless onslaught of high-explosive rounds and faltering magic.

  The tanks advanced in perfect formation, their movements quick and lethal. They carved through the Austorian lines with devastating efficiency, their engines growling like mechanical beasts as their treads crushed the remnants of shattered aggressors underfoot. In unison, they unleashed a barrage of HEAT rounds into the clustered ranks of Heavy Infantry, each explosion tearing through the air with earth-shaking force. Bodies and armor were flung skyward, the once-imposing shields and armor of the Heavy Infantry reduced to smoldering fragments or crumpled metal.

  Panic spread like wildfire through the Austorian ranks. The cohesion and will for wanton destruction that had propelled their relentless advance now shattered as soldiers scrambled to regroup or to retreat. Battlemages dropped their staffs in horror as the tanks ripped through their lines, their spells snuffed out in an instant. Archers, once brimming with confidence, abandoned their bows and fled, their formations breaking apart in disarray.

  From the trenches, the exhausted Beastkin defenders looked on in stunned relief as the tide of battle turned before their eyes. “The armor’s here!” a soldier shouted, his voice cracking with both disbelief and elation. A ragged cheer erupted from the trenches, cutting through the chaos as the tanks surged forward.

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  SFC Draken, still clutching his rifle, stood atop a barricade, his face streaked with blood and grime. “You get them!” he shouted, his voice carrying over the battlefield. “Nail those bastards for us! Now! Lets clear those trenches!!!”

  The defenders, galvanized by the sight of reinforcements, rallied with renewed vigor. Those with ammunition fired into the retreating Austorian soldiers, while others leaped back into the trenches with bayonets and knives, cutting down the enemies who faltered in their panicked retreat.

  The once-unbreakable Heavy Infantry were turned into little more than twisted metal and broken bodies, their advance reduced to rubble. The Austorian reserves, seeing the carnage wrought by the armored beasts, broke entirely. Their retreat turned into a rout as soldiers abandoned their weapons and fled toward the horizon.

  Moments later, Boxer wheeled APCs rolled behind the trenchline, their rear ramps slamming open as fresh troops flowed into the battlefield. The newly arrived Beastkin soldiers charged forward to reinforce the failing line. The Medical Boxer arrived, and the Medics rushed to tend to the wounded and to relieve the exhausted.

  The defenders, once on the brink of collapse, erupted into cheers as the reinforcements stormed into action. Draken, wiping blood and dirt from his face, took a moment to process the sight before barking into his headset. “All units, fall back behind the tanks! Use them as cover and regroup! We’re not done yet!”

  The AMX-10s pushed forward, their chain guns and coaxial machineguns cutting down swordsmen and spearmen in sweeping arcs. The remaining Austorian soldiers, now caught infront the advancing tanks and the resupplied defenders, began to panic. Their once-coordinated charge dissolved into chaos as the Beastkin pressed their advantage.

  From the rear of the Beastkin position, the FO, half-conscious but clinging to his comms, heard what he had been waiting for.

  “Gauntlet, this is Redleg, Ammunition trucks arrived. Paint High priority targets and upload into JCVAILs, you have FIRES priority.”

  “Game on!” he rasped, and began directing artillery strikes with renewed determination. Within moments, the skies lit up as HIMARS rockets and Brutus howitzer shells rained down on the Austorian reserves, devastating their rear lines and severing any hope of regrouping.

  Earlier, as the defenders’ line faltered and the Beastkin seemed on the verge of collapse, Lords General Indus Palper stood atop the walls of Sacra Hill, surveying the carnage below with cold satisfaction. His armor gleamed in the firelight, and his bloodshot eyes drank in the macabre slaughter unfolding before him. The trench lines had crumbled, the defenders reduced to a desperate, scrabbling resistance that Palper found almost... amusing.

  “They’re finished,” he said, his voice low but filled with smug certainty. “These flea-bitten fools thought they could stand against me. This will be their grave.”

  Beside him, Royal Guards Commander Sanra Desgan inclined her head in acknowledgment, her sharp features illuminated by the glow of distant flames. “The defenses won’t hold much longer, my lord,” she observed, her tone measured but firm. “Shall I prepare a final push to secure the field?” a small sadistic smile emerging on her face.

  Palper didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the stone wall, savoring the sight of Beastkin soldiers falling under the relentless advance of his Heavy Infantry and reserves. The battlefield was a cacophony of death—screams, clashing steel, and the roar of spellfire. To Palper, it was a symphony.

  But then, the harmony was broken. A deafening explosion echoed across the field, and the ground shook with the weight of something far more dangerous. Palper turned, his brow furrowing as a new, alien sound reached his ears. It was low and guttural, almost like a growl, and it was getting louder.

  The first tank emerged from the haze like a phantom. Then another. And another. A total of ten armored beasts rolled forward, their chain guns roaring to life and cutting through his advancing troops like a scythe through dry grass. Palper’s eyes widened in disbelief as the Austorian lines faltered. The Heavy Infantry, invincible up until now, were shredded by high-explosive rounds that tore through their enchanted shields as though they were parchment.

  “What... what are those?” Palper hissed, gripping the stone wall until his knuckles turned white. His amusement turned to confusion, then horror, as the tanks unleashed hell upon his forces. Each explosion tore apart not just his soldiers but his carefully constructed vision of victory.

  Desgan stepped closer, her composed demeanor cracking ever so slightly under the weight of what was unfolding. “My lord, the line is breaking. We must retreat while we still can.”

  “Silence!” Palper snapped, cutting her off. “I will not flee like some coward!”

  But his defiance was short-lived. An errant round struck the wall just feet from where he stood, showering him with shards of stone and throwing him off balance. The roar of the tanks’ cannons seemed to echo in his skull, and for a moment, his vision blurred. A single, terrifying thought gripped him: They’re aiming at me.

  Panic overtook him. Palper stumbled backward, his grand facade crumbling as quickly as his army. “We’re leaving!” he barked, his voice high with hysteria. “They’ll kill us all if we stay!”

  Desgan, though surprised by his lord’s sudden shift, quickly rallied the command staff. Her authoritative voice cut through the chaos as she barked orders to their aides and guards. “Secure the general! Prepare the horses—we’re moving out now!” Her sharp gaze shifted to Palper briefly, ensuring he complied as she adjusted her swordbelt.

  Palper’s trembling fingers gripped his horse’s reins as he mounted, his eyes darting toward the advancing tanks and the erupting artillery shells. Desgan rode beside him, her calm demeanor masking the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Stay low, my lord. We’ll cover your escape,” she said, her voice steady even as her horse surged forward. She had another idea if she could make it to the capital before him.

  As they galloped through the city, the HIMARS strikes began. Explosions tore through buildings, sending plumes of fire and debris into the air. Palper hunched low over his horse, urging it forward with frantic kicks. His guards rode in tight formation around him, their expressions grim as they navigated the chaos.

  Desgan spared a glance at Palper as they rode, noting the fury burning behind his eyes. The general’s lips moved silently, likely cursing their enemies with every breath. Desgan tightened her grip on the reins, her own resolve hardening as they cleared the gates and fled into the hills. A sinister smile crept over her face.

  Behind them, the city burned. The rout was complete, the once-mighty Austorian 2nd Army reduced to smoldering ruins and scattered survivors. But Desgan’s mind remained focused on the path ahead, knowing that this retreat was only the beginning. She would be back to finish the job, and reveled in what she would do to them.