The Verdant Scar roared with chaos as the Dominion army surged—a tide of tainted beasts, cloaked mage-lords, and siege engines grinding through the dawn mist. Yuto Akiyama stood on Braxium's northern palisade, his steel breastplate dented, crossbow trembling, his bomb—a clay pot packed with Mara's sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter—hanging heavy at his belt. The camp's soldiers, clad in crisp blue tunics and capital-supplied armor, formed ragged lines, crossbows raised, their faces pale as beasts' claws glinted and green bolts lanced from mage-lords' staves. The air reeked of ash, ozone, and the camp's rancid latrines, Yuto's rash burning under his tunic, his dented helm slipping. His inner thoughts churned, grief and grit clashing. This army's a server-crashing zerg rush, and I'm fresh off a witch trial. Karl's exposed, but his spy game cost us lives. Gotta clutch this or the Scar's done—and my squad with it.
His hygiene rage flared—soldiers coughed with sores, the stream a plague pit, no soap despite new gear. Capital sent crossbows but no bandages? We're one germ from a wipe. His gunpowder obsession burned, Mara's musket sketch vivid. Sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter—check. Forge a barrel, and I'm sniping these freaks. Gotta honor the fallen with it. Granite-Face's whip cracked, his scarred face grim. "Mud Boy, hold the line, or you're kindling!" Valthar's priests, their serpent cloaks glinting, watched Yuto, Karl's execution looming post-battle.
Yuto's World Warfare 4 instincts kicked in, his mind channeling Fabian's delaying tactics and Verdun's attrition. The Verdant Scar's terrain was his fortress: a gully west, vine-choked, could slow beasts; a crater field north, with green pools, could bog engines; a ridge east offered crossbow range. Choke, snipe, boom. "Torren, ridge, snipe mages! Gav, Redbeard, gully—block beasts! Lyssa, backline, no flubs! Crossbowmen, crater field—volley low!" Yuto roared, sprinting to the gully, crossbow loaded, breastplate clanking.
Torren scaled the ridge, his rune-etched armor glinting, crossbow twanging, bolts piercing mage-lords' cloaks, blood spraying. His mentorship cut through, voice steady. "Mud Boy, I held a line like this—Frostfang Peaks, beasts everywhere. Stay sharp, or you lose 'em all." His green eyes held a survivor's weight, a bond Yuto clung to. Redbeard's sword clashed with a beast's claws in the gully, sparks flying, his amulet pulsing, blood seeping from his gashed arm. Gav's crossbow fired, a bolt sinking into a beast's flank, his weasel face grim but steady. Lyssa, capelet flapping, raised her staff, her blonde hair wild. "I'll shield us!" Her crystal flared blue-white, a massive barrier snapping up, deflecting a mage-lord's bolt with a crack. She stumbled, tripping on a vine, but held firm, grinning. "Epic, right?"
Yuto's quip was sharp. "Glitter Queen, you're cracked! Don't drop that shield!" Lyssa's blush mixed with pride, her magic peaking despite the fumble. A siege engine—iron-plated, red runes pulsing—rolled into the crater field, crushing a crossbowman, his armor crumpling, blood pooling. Yuto's plan clicked—the gully slowed beasts, the ridge pinned mages, but the engine's ram was lethal. A green pool bubbled nearby, vines humming. Bog it. "Crossbowmen, aim wheels—drive it to the pool!" Bolts flew, sinking into the engine's axles, ichor-like oil spraying. It veered, wheels snaring in vines, grinding to a halt.
Mages rallied, their staves pulsing, green waves shattering Lyssa's barrier. She fell, chanting, her crystal flaring. A dispel pulse shot forth, dimming a rift, mages staggering. Yuto eyed the engine's rune-core, a glowing weak point. Hit that, stop it. He lit the bomb's fuse, sparks spitting, and sprinted, dodging a mage-lord's bolt that scorched his breastplate, heat blistering his chest. His hygiene rage spiked—no medkits, no clean water, just filth and death. A beast's claw grazed his arm, blood welling. He hurled the bomb, the pot arcing through smoke, lodging in the core. The explosion cracked, yellow flames bursting, the engine shuddering, runes fading, collapsing in the pool.
But the cost was brutal. Torren, on the ridge, fired a final bolt, dropping a mage-lord, before a beast leaped, claws tearing through his armor, blood spraying as he fell, his green eyes dimming. "Mud Boy… keep fighting," he gasped, gone. Yuto's heart sank, guilt stabbing. My mentor, my carry—gone. Redbeard, in the gully, charged a beast, his sword cleaving its skull, but a mage-lord's bolt pierced his chest, his amulet shattering as he collapsed, whispering Valthar's name. Yuto's vision blurred, grief fueling resolve. No more losses. I'll end this meta.
The camp surged, spears thrusting, crossbows twanging. Gav's dagger slashed, Lyssa's barrier flickered back, blocking a bolt. The Dominion faltered, beasts retreating, mages fleeing, rifts dimming. Granite-Face roared, "Hold!" The Verdant Scar swallowed the dead, Braxium's line intact. Yuto staggered, sulfur choking him, arm bleeding, rash burning. We won, but Torren, Redbeard… I failed them.
Midday, Karl's execution drew the camp to the central fire. The traitor, bound in chains, stood on a platform, his hulking frame defiant, Valthar's priests chanting. Granite-Face read the charge: "Karl, spy of Dominion, your treachery cost lives—Fort Kren, our squads." Karl sneered, his final words venomous. "Braxium's weak—more spies among you. Dominion'll crush you!" His neck snapped under the noose, the crowd silent, his words sowing doubt. Yuto's inner thoughts raced. More spies? This lobby's hacked, and I'm still suspect.
Scouts rushed in, breathless. "Dominion's army—north, thousands! Mages, beasts, new engines, massing for Valthar's Seat!" Granite-Face unrolled a map, the Verdant Scar Braxium's eastern bulwark, Fort Kren's fall a scar. The war's scale—Braxium's human monarchy, Dominion's sorcerous empire, Thalra's priests, Karth's neutral vultures, scattered tribes—crushed Yuto. This is endgame, and we're bleeding. His musket dream burned, Mara's iron scraps ready. "Smelt these, lad," she'd said, her voice raw. "I burned Dominion for Karath, lost everything. Your gun'll break their sorcery." Her rebel past—hunted alchemist—mirrored Yuto's fight.
Lyssa, eyes red from Torren's loss, bandaged Gav, her magic's weight hardening her. "I'll fight for them, Mud Boy," she said, tripping but standing tall. Gav, grim, nodded. "Redbeard, Torren—they'd want us to gut Dominion." The camp's filth lingered—latrines reeked, sores spread, no soap. Yuto's rage flared. No medkits, no hygiene—I'm one cut from death. A new rift flared east, red-glow eyes gleaming, mage-lords chanting. Granite-Face's whip cracked. "Mud Boy, ready your boom, or we're meat!" Yuto's brain froze, grief heavy. Another rift, and my squad's broken. This is do-or-die.