Chapter 536
From the dissipating smoke, emerged Ogre Knights, their hulking forms encased in ancient, runic armor that hummed with a low, potent energy. Their presence was felt instantaneously, a seismic shift in the flow of battle. They tore through ranks of low-level demons in what seemed like the blink of an eye, their massive weapons cleaving through chitin and sinew with terrifying efficiency.
To observant eyes, those still reeling from the shock and the sudden surge of hope, it looked as if they were deliberately helping the ratmen, carving out pockets of safety, giving the exhausted fighters a crucial moment to breathe. It was at this precise moment, as if in direct response to this sudden, overwhelming intervention, that the Abyss itself responded. The chaotic swarms of lesser fiends recoiled, and a chilling, deliberate shift occurred: higher-tier demons began to take the front line.
A surge of unexpected pride swelled through the goblin onlookers. These were Ogres, their formidable, sometimes troublesome, siblings. Despite the occasional racial tensions and historical skirmishes that colored their shared past, seeing these massive figures, these powerful kin, descend from the heavens to battle the Abyss filled them with a raw, undeniable kinship. The shame they had felt just moments before, watching the despised ratmen fight alone, was utterly eclipsed by the awe-inspiring display of strength from their own kind.
Then, just as the collective emotion reached its peak, the screens flickered wildly, the vibrant, horrific spectacle dissolving into static and then back to the mundane, trivial images of everyday life. The goblins, still reeling, blinked, their minds struggling to process the sudden shift. It felt like an elaborate illusion, a collective nightmare from which they had just woken. But as they looked at the stunned, pale faces of their fellow goblins, the wide, unblinking eyes mirroring their own shock, the realization solidified: what they had just witnessed was undeniably real. The war, the demons, the fighting ratmen, the arriving Ogre Knights—it had all truly happened.
The whole spectacle lasted for "5 minutes".
A few minutes back before Rattan gave the go. Bolthrower, his silhouette now subtly streamlined by the mana-weave plating of his new armor, felt a hum of barely contained power thrumming beneath his paws. Around him, the other Ratmen, similarly adorned, fidgeted with anticipation. Their old steampunk contraptions, once symbols of their technological prowess, lay discarded like rusting husks. This new gear, shimmering with faint, internal light, felt alive.
"They’re falling back!" a younger Ratman squeaked, pointing a gauntleted paw towards the ragged edges of the Night Army’s retreat. A guttural roar, deep and primal, echoed across the plains, not from the Ratmen, but from the mass of demons that surged forward to fill the void left by the fleeing humanoids. Claws scraped, wings flapped, and eyes glowed with malevolent intent.
Bolthrower didn’t wait for orders. A wild grin, all sharp teeth and battle lust, split his muzzle. With a surge of exhilaration, he launched himself forward. The ground blurred beneath him, his new armor absorbing the shock of his immense speed with ease. He was a dark, furred missile, a blur against the chaos, leaving his bewildered comrades in his dust.
The first demon, a hulking brute with leathery wings and wickedly curved horns, barely registered his approach. Bolthrower’s new mana-infused gauntlet slammed into its chest with the force of a battering ram, the impact rippling outwards in a wave of blue energy. The demon roared, a sound cut short as its sternum caved inward with a sickening crunch. Bolthrower didn’t break stride, pivoting instantly.
His new weapon, a sleek, staff-like construct that resembled his old bolter, hummed with contained energy. It wasn’t kinetic anymore; it was pure, condensed mana. He swung it in a wide arc, a shimmering arc of azure energy erupting from its tip, cleaving through two smaller, scuttling imps that had tried to flank him. They tore in half, their desperate shrieks abruptly silenced.
"Bloody fangs, he’s off!" chittered Grimsnap, a veteran Ratman whose whiskers twitched with a mix of awe and competitive spirit. His own new mana-pistol, a sleek, compact weapon that felt far lighter than his old steam-powered repeater, glowed faintly in his grip. "Alright lads, let’s not let the big lug have all the fun!"