The Greenskin Boss, possessed of a brain no larger than a walnut, underwent a brief sensory overload before his simple, brutal logic rebooted.
Who cared if they were oversized Humies? If it was alive, you choppa it! And if they were big, they were even more worth choppin'—their massive heads would make perfect ornaments for his warbike!
"Forget it! Foight first, talk later!" The Boss swung his massive axe, roaring as spit flew everywhere. "Ladz! Give 'em a propa WAAAAAGH!!!"
"WAAAAAGH!!!"
Behind him, the Greenskin Boyz had been startled by the group of giants, but spurred on by their Boss's warcry, the bloodlust etched into their genetic code instantly overrode their fear. Waving choppas, wrenches, and crudely made firearms, they surged forward like a green tide, howling as they charged toward the Ogryn phalanx at the end of the corridor.
Faced with this ferocious charge, an ordinary Ogryn might have lost its head and dropped its gun to rush into a melee. But standing before them was a group of "high-level players" with extensive combat experience.
"Tanks! Frontline tanks, shields up! Don't just rush in—choke them at the corridor!"
"DPS in the back, keep up the pressure! And watch out, don't you damn well shoot me in the ass!"
Amidst the noisy but coordinated commands, the front row of a dozen Ogryn players slammed their door-sized heavy slab shields onto the deck in unison. Crouching slightly and bracing their shoulders against the steel, they instantly constructed an iron wall across the hallway.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The Greenskins' choppas and axes rained down on the shields, sending sparks flying, but they couldn't budge these Ogryns who had dumped every possible point into their Strength attribute.
"Is that all you got? Forget to eat your breakfast, little man?" one of the front-line Ogryn players even found the time to taunt. He gave his shield a violent forward shove, staggering a Greenskin trying to climb over it, then swung his lead pipe with a whistling roar.
Thud!
With a dull crack, the Greenskin's head burst like a watermelon hit by a baseball bat.
But that was only the beginning.
"Open fire! Give 'em hell!"
The Ogryn players in the rear were already itching for action. Utilizing the height difference and the gaps between their teammates' shields, they propped up their heavy autocannons—speed limiters already removed.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!!
The narrow corridor instantly became a slaughterhouse. The large-caliber rounds, originally designed to punch through light vehicles, were unleashed in full-auto, weaving a dense, suffocating web of death.
The Greenskins leading the charge didn't even have time to scream before they were shredded by the metal storm. The massive slugs easily punched through their so-called "heavy armor," tearing their bodies apart and painting the corridor walls with green blood and viscera.
"Sweet! This is awesome! Look at that recoil!"
"Reloading! Hold the line, front row!"
As the first belt of ammo ran dry, the shield-bearing Ogryns moved forward two steps in an orderly fashion, using shield bashes and heavy kicks to force back the surviving Greenskins and buy space for the rear. Once the reload was complete, the front row tightened their defensive stance again to clear the line of fire.
This disciplined, surgical "infantry-tank" coordination completely broke the Greenskins' spirit.
The Greenskin Boss, hiding around a corner, watched his Boyz fall like wheat before a scythe. His eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He'd fought countless battles. He'd seen crazies who did nothing but scream and charge, and cowards who hid behind cover to take potshots—but he had never seen monsters like these. Monsters who were as hard as stone, as fierce as turrets, and actually knew how to cover each other!
"This—this ain't right!" The Boss's mind fractured as he watched an Ogryn grab a flanking Snotling and toss it back into the Greenie mob like a grenade for a laugh.
They were heavy tanks in human skin!
The gunfire in the corridor began to thin. Amidst the drifting smoke, the once-overwhelming green tide had collapsed. Mutilated green corpses littered the ground, and the air reeked of blood and cordite.
An Ogryn player observed for a moment and saw the Greenskins throwing down their gear to flee. He shouted excitedly: "Brothers! The Green Exp is running!"
"Then what are we waiting for? Kill-steal time!"
"Don't let 'em get away!"
The tight defensive formation dissolved instantly—not into a rout, but into a cage-opening for tigers. The Ogryns, who had been playing it steady with their shields, now strapped them to their backs or carried them like toys as they broke into a counter-charge with their massive legs.
"For the Emperor! For the Alliance! Ogryns, CHARGE—!"
This was the tactic players knew best: kicking them while they were down. Three thousand Ogryns acted like a bulldozer, grinding over the remains and roaring as they stormed back into the Greenskin boarding pods and docking tubes. They looked more like lunatics than the Orks did.
On the edge of the chaos, a single, scrawny Greenskin Boy had survived simply by being the fastest runner. He scrambled back into the boarding torpedo and sprinted through the damaged tunnels, losing a boot along the way but never looking back.
Stumbling and falling, he finally burst into the noisy, foul-smelling Greenskin bridge.
"Boss! Oh, Boss!"
The Boy collapsed in front of the Warboss, who was busy sharpening a power claw. He sobbed out his report through tears and snot: "It's over! All over! The Humies are too strong!"
He waved his arms, gesturing incoherently: "Every one of 'em is a head taller than us! Their arms are thicker than my legs! They're so strong they pop our heads like mushrooms! And their big shootas... they're loud, real loud, real killy! Just two 'tat-tats' and everyone was shredded! We got stomped, Boss!"
Sitting on his scrap-metal throne, the Warboss stared blankly, his bloodshot little eyes filled with confusion.
He stuck a thick finger in his ear and gave it a scratch, wondering if he'd misheard. "Ha? Humies? You and me talkin' 'bout the same thing?"
In his memory, "Humies" were those pink, squishy, easily-crushed little things that hid behind walls and cried for their mommies. Taller than an Ork? Stronger than an Ork? Had this lad been huffing too much engine grease?
"It's true, Boss! I ain't lyin'! They're like—"
BOOM!!!
A violent shudder, even more powerful than the initial impact, rocked the ship. The ramshackle vessel groaned in agony. Greenskin Boyz on the bridge were tossed about like dolls; a few unlucky ones tumbled right off the high platforms.
Only the Warboss, through sheer balance and brute force, managed to stay on his throne. He roared in fury, "Wots happenin'! Someone tell me wot happened! Is the ship fallin' apart?!"
The cowering deserter was now pale with terror. Sensing something horrific approaching, he clutched his head and shrieked, "It's the Humies! The big ones followed us! They're inside! They're inside!"
"Shut up! You screamin' grot!"
Irritated by the piercing wail, the Warboss let out a guttural growl. He lifted a massive foot clad in a heavy iron boot and stomped down without hesitation.
Squish!
Like stepping on a rotten tomato, the deserter's head became a red-and-green smear on the floor. The noise stopped instantly.
The Warboss casually wiped the mess off his sole against the corpse, his massive frame casting a long shadow. He snatched up his whirring power claw, a cruel and excited glint flashing in his eyes.
"Good. Since these Humies wanna die so bad, I'll go see for meself just how 'big' these runts really are!"