Chapter 40: Whose Tide Turns?

Forge Era, Year Eighteen. Graviton Verge groaned under five Gs, a scarred battlefield where hope flickered dimly in Tau trenches. "Reinforcements soon!" a Fire Clan grunt bellowed, voice hoarse, pulse rifle trembling as he scanned the ash-choked sky. "Fifty thousand ships—those iron skeletons are finished!" Cheers erupted along the line—ragged, desperate—50,000 ships, the Tau Empire's last steel torrent, their salvation against Steelborn's relentless grind. "The Supreme Path will crush them!" a sergeant roared, optics blazing, nano-armor dented from gauss shrapnel, rallying his squad. For half a year, they'd held this meat grinder—blood, wrecks, and hate their only constants. Now, deliverance loomed.

But the void had other plans. No Tau hulls pierced the clouds—Steelborn struck first. The Fourth Fleet from Steelheart, Fifth from Crestfall, Sixth from Namu Verge—50,000 ships total—warped in above Rydeka Verge, Living Steel hulls glinting like a predator's fangs, gauss cannons humming with green death. "Support the First," Jarek rasped from Crestspire, holo-maps flaring with green dots swarming the system. The First Fleet—down to 6,000 ships—had danced a brutal stalemate with Tau's orbital grids for six months, elite tactics clashing with sheer numbers. Now, 50,000 reinforcements surged to its flank—Moonshrikes primed, phase-tech shields shimmering.

Tau optics strained upward—hope curdled fast. "Ships detected!" a lookout barked, voice spiking with urgency, claws clutching his scope. "Ours?" a grunt asked, pulse carbine shaking, optics wide with fragile faith. "No response—scanning for signatures!" a tech snapped, claws flying over controls, sweat beading on his flat face. High-definition feeds flickered online—sleek, angular hulls, not the smooth curves of Tau design. "Two days early—whose are these?!" a captain stammered, voice trembling, optics bulging as realization dawned. "Attack!" the comms screamed—Steelborn ships opened fire, green gauss beams raining like judgment, shredding orbital turrets in seconds. "Enemy!" the grunt wailed, voice swallowed by the roar as pulse fire flared uselessly against Living Steel.

Fifty thousand Steelborn ships slammed into Rydeka Verge—a system Tau had fortified with sprawling defense grids, railgun platforms, and millions of troops. Jarek's First Fleet, battered but cunning, had vexed them for months—hit-and-run strikes, Moonshrike swarms, Scourger boarding raids. The Tau's numbers held—barely—until now. "Charge!" Jarek growled, voice a thunderclap echoing over fleet comms, optics blazing as he watched from Crestspire. His ships roared full-thrust—gauss cannons carving through Tau lines, Moonshrikes weaving at Mach 50, ripping frigates apart. "We can't hold!" a Tau-kun screamed, voice cracking, nano-armor buckling as his command station shuddered under a barrage. "They're everywhere—too many!" Despair clawed his chest—Steelborn's endless sea drowned his pride. "A small empire?" he rasped, optics dimming, voice a ghost. "This is no small empire."

On Graviton Verge, the ground shook—Steelborn reinforcements hit hard. "Where are ours?!" a Fire Clan grunt howled, voice breaking as a Scourger loomed from the dust—tripod legs pounding, claws slashing through his trench, Living Steel gleaming under pulse fire. Blood sprayed—his squad gone in seconds, gauss rounds punching clean through nano-steel. The First Fleet, bolstered to 56,000, surged—orbital dominance seized, Tau grids collapsing like paper in a storm. "Their doom," Jarek snarled, a cold laugh rumbling, holo-feeds flaring with Tau wrecks—frigates bursting, stations crumbling. Elephants fought beside Ribs, rifles spitting fury. "Jarek's got 'em running!" a sergeant bellowed, voice shaking the dirt, optics wild with grim joy as he reclaimed a ridge.

Far off, the Tau's 50,000 sailed through warp—clueless, late, their fate sealed in ignorance. Gorath Tetsu, commander of this final armada, strode his flagship's bridge, flat face split with a triumphant grin, claws tracing holo-maps of Rydeka Verge. "Fifty thousand—all mine," he crowed, voice thick with pride, optics glinting with visions of glory. "We'll crush those skeletons—drive 'em back to their pit, then burn it to slag!" History would etch his name in Tau legend—few wielded such might. "Faster!" he barked, claws slashing the air, restless energy crackling. "End this warp crawl—glory's waiting!" Sleepless nights fueled him—dreams of Steelborn's ruin, the Path's triumph blazing in his mind.

"Warp exit ahead!" a navigator shouted, voice sharp, warp coils humming as the fleet aligned. "Full speed—battlefield now!" Gorath roared, claws flexing, power armor whirring with his stride. "The Path's great cause—ours to claim!" The fleet burst from warp—50,000 strong, railguns primed, pulse cannons glowing blue, a steel tide ready to flood Rydeka Verge. "Fire on sight!" he bellowed, imagining Jarek's First Fleet pinned above Graviton Verge—ripe for annihilation. "Three days to contact," he muttered, studying tactical charts—then chaos erupted.

"Attack!" a scout screamed, voice shredding over comms as green gauss beams lanced their vanguard—ships bursting mid-emergence, hulls splitting like overripe fruit. "Who dares?!" Gorath roared, optics flaring, power armor steadying him as the bridge rocked. "Scale?" he barked, claws clenching. "Hundred ships—small fry!" a tech snapped, claws trembling over controls, optics darting to feeds. "Hit 'em!" Gorath grinned—supply raiders, he figured, a quick kill to whet his fleet's appetite. "Wipe 'em—show Steelborn our teeth!"

The void laughed in his face. A hundred Moonshrikes—Steelborn's arc-shaped killers—danced through the Tau formation, Mach 50 streaks slashing hulls, plasma lances gutting shields. "Ambush!" a captain wailed, voice lost as his frigate split—crew vaporized in a heartbeat, debris spinning into the dark. "More!" a lookout stammered—holo-feeds flared—thousands of Steelborn ships phasing in, 10,000, 20,000, then 56,000—Jarek's full might snapping shut like a trap. "Not raiders," Gorath rasped, grin fading, optics dimming as his flagship shuddered. "Full fleet—whose reinforcements?" Fifty thousand Tau faced 56,000 Steelborn—numbers flipped, doom descending.

Panic clawed the bridge. "Evade!" Gorath barked, voice fraying, claws slashing orders—too late. Gauss beams carved through—five ships gone, ten, twenty—Moonshrikes weaving, untouchable. "How?!" a navigator screamed, voice breaking as his console sparked—another frigate burst, railguns silent. Steelborn ships surged—Living Steel hulls shrugging pulse fire, tactics ruthless—flanking, cutting, crushing. "Our 50,000—where?!" a lieutenant wailed, optics wild, claws fumbling. "Too late," Gorath rasped, voice a hollow echo, watching holo-icons blink out—dozens, hundreds.

Jarek watched from Crestspire, optics blazing—holo-maps alive with Tau ruin, Rydeka Verge a graveyard. "Their 50,000?" he snarled, laugh cold as steel, claws tapping rhythmically. "Ours now." Namu Verge churned—more ships brewing, wormholes humming on Graviton Verge, Ribs flooding trenches. "Whose war?" he rasped, voice a low growl, optics flaring red. "Mine." Absolute Loyalty erupted—players rabid, voices crackling over the feed. "Tau's screwed!" one howled, fists pounding. "Jarek's a titan!" another roared, optics wide. His grin widened—50,000 turned to dust, Tau's last gasp snuffed in a single, brutal stroke.

On Graviton Verge, Tau lines collapsed—Steelborn stormed trenches, Scourgers leading, claws rending, gauss fire relentless. "No end!" a Tau grunt sobbed, voice breaking, pulse carbine slipping as a Rib loomed—optics blank, Living Steel reforming mid-fight. Elephants surged beside them, rifles blazing. "For Jarek—for home!" a corporal roared, voice raw, reclaiming a bunker, blood and dirt streaking his face. Above, Steelborn ships dominated—56,000 strong, Tau wrecks drifting, a testament to misjudged might.

Gorath's flagship buckled—gauss beams punching through, bridge sparking. "Fight!" he roared, voice desperate, claws slashing air as his crew scrambled. A Moonshrike streaked past—plasma lance searing—half the deck gone, screams swallowed by vacuum. "Path save us," he rasped, optics flickering, power armor sparking—then silence, ship split, his dream ash. Fifty thousand Tau ships burned—Steelborn's tide unyielding, Jarek's will iron.