Chapter 16: The Ruinous Tide
Chapter 16: The Ruinous Tide
POV: 3rd Person
The artificial streets of the Underhive ran slick with gore as the Flesh Cutters and the Gun Rats clashed in brutal slaughter.
The air was thick with the scent of blood, gunpowder, and viscera. Screams of agony and unhinged laughter intertwined with the cacophony of battle—the crunch of shattered bone, the wet squelch of rending flesh, and the ceaseless roar of gunfire.
Men and women alike lay broken upon the battlefield, their corpses piled high atop the ruined walls of the Gun Rats. The engagement had turned into a grim meat grinder, with neither side willing to relent.
Now, the Flesh Cutters had dwindled to 400 strong, their numbers thinned but their fervor undiminished. Among them, only seven of their hulking **Meat Shields** remained. Towering brutes clad in jagged slabs of rusted metal, these behemoths moved forward with slow, methodical steps, each wielding massive machetes designed to hack through flesh and bone alike. Though riddled with bullet wounds, their crude armor turned aside much of the incoming fire, making them nearly impervious walls of meat and steel.
Flanking them were the remnants of the **Wolves**, their most mobile warband. 70 of these shadowy figures remained, their lithe forms draped in ragged leathers, their bodies bristling with throwing knives strapped across their arms, legs, and even their featureless masks. Only the eerie crimson glow of their eyes could be seen beneath their faceless coverings. They weaved through the battlefield with unnatural speed, hurling a storm of blades at any Gun Rat who dared peek from cover.
A final charge had brought the Flesh Cutters to the base of the Gun Rats' fortress, where the last explosives had been set. Darot, his face twisted with manic fury, roared from behind a Meat Shield.
"BRING IT DOWN!"
And then—
**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!**
The walls of the Gun Rats' bastion collapsed in a tide of fire and stone, a yawning breach torn into their defenses. A victorious howl erupted from the Flesh Cutters as they surged forward, their bloodlust reaching its zenith.
Darot seized the moment, his bloodstained lips curling into a snarl.
"CHARGE! RIP THEM TO PIECES! WEAR THEIR SKIN AND DRINK THEIR BLOOD!"
The Flesh Cutters stormed through the breach like a tidal wave of madness. Blades clashed against rusted armor, and the fortress descended into sheer anarchy.
---
On the other side, panic gripped the Gun Rats as their walls crumbled. Many of the scrawnier gangers paled, some scrambling to reload, others too stunned to react. Amongst the rubble, a bloodied arm wrenched itself free.
A deep, guttural laugh followed.
From beneath the ruined wall, **Pete the Cannon** emerged, his thick frame riddled with wounds, yet his grin unwavering. Blood dripped from his many injuries, but the berserk glint in his eyes burned bright. His massive cannon rested upon his shoulder, his ammunition basket still intact.
His voice boomed over the chaos. "HAHAHAHA! WHAT ARE YOU SCUM STARING AT!? PICK UP YOUR GUNS! FIGHT, OR I'LL FEED YOUR GUTS TO THE VERMIN MYSELF!"
Fear was a powerful motivator. The Gun Rats snapped to action, their trembling hands grasping their battered autoguns and stubbers. Pete sneered at their hesitation.
"GET THE SLAVES! THROW THEM INTO THE MEAT GRINDER! DON'T LET THESE FREAKS GET AN INCH CLOSER!"
With callous efficiency, the Gun Rats herded the ragged remnants of their slave stock forward, thrusting weapons into their feeble hands and shoving them toward the breach.
And then, Pete's gaze locked onto Darot, who led the charge at the vanguard.
A cruel smile split Pete's bloodied lips. "I'll deal with you myself, you rotting bastard."
---
Without another word, Pete **charged**, his massive frame moving impossibly fast for his size. The air around him warped, a sickly green haze clinging to his flesh, crackling with filth-ridden energy. A power, ancient and foul, seeped from his very being—an aura of decay and ruin.
Before Darot could react, an ironclad fist buried itself into his gut. **A cannon blow turned flesh.**
Darot was sent hurtling backward, blood erupting from his mouth as he crashed through a pile of corpses, landing in a heap of broken bodies.
Pete did not let up.
With a deafening **BOOM**, his cannon discharged, the massive shell obliterating the Flesh Cutters that had stood beside their leader. Gore painted the battlefield as bodies were torn asunder, limbs and entrails strewn across the rubble.
Pete roared in laughter, his sadistic glee echoing over the carnage. "HAHAHAHA! BLEED! SCREAM! DIE LIKE THE RATS YOU ARE!"
---
Yet even as their leader was struck down, the Flesh Cutters did not falter. If anything, Pete's slaughter only stoked the fire in their deranged hearts. **They lived for carnage. They existed for slaughter.**
The **Meat Shields** trudged forward, raising their machetes in defiance, their armored forms shrugging off the desperate hail of bullets that ripped through their ranks. Behind them, the **Wolves** weaved through the chaos, their knives slicing into exposed throats, their movements too erratic for the Gun Rats to track.
The battlefield dissolved into total **bedlam.**
Gunfire rang out in every direction. The Gun Rats fired indiscriminately, their autoguns glowing red-hot from the ceaseless volleys. Slaves shrieked as they were gunned down by both friend and foe. Flesh Cutters howled in ecstasy as they tore through the bodies of the fallen, smearing themselves in blood as they gorged on raw flesh.
A Gun Rat screeched as a Wolf pounced on him, her knives plunging into his chest over a dozen times before she wrenched his throat out with her teeth.
A Meat Shield, his armor dented and broken, **tore a Gun Rat's arms from his sockets** before using the severed limbs to bludgeon another ganger to death.
But the Gun Rats would not go quietly. Even as they were pushed back, they fought with desperate savagery. They fired until their magazines were empty, then used their guns as clubs. They tore off armor plates from the dead to shield themselves, clawing and biting like the vermin they were named after.
The distance between the forces dwindled—
And then, the final melee **began.**
Screams. Steel. Gunfire. Blood. Flesh. The battlefield became a writhing mass of bodies, a place where only the strong or the utterly mad would survive.
And Darot, somewhere in the gore-soaked mire, rose once more...