The manufactorum doors had barely given way before Grey Hound emerged into the open air, her void shields shimmering in the dim light. Ork barricades and cannon emplacements braced themselves, firing wildly—but the shells fizzled harmlessly against the shimmering barriers. The titan's immense sensors swept the battlefield, her bio-life scanners marking hundreds of green targets below.
Cătălin shouted through his helmet mic, "Drones, sweep the flanks! Keep anyone off the legs!" Daniel aimed at gaps in the shoulder plating, targeting Orks trying to climb. Sparks flew with every shot, green blood spatters across the polished ceramite plating.
Then Grey Hound unleashed her fury.
Shoulder-mounted Apocalyptor Quake Cannons fired first, seismic shells slamming into the Ork barricades. Entire fortifications crumbled, walls of scrap and concrete folding like paper under the sheer concussive force. Ork huts, towers, and even some Roks were obliterated in a rain of fire and debris. The ground shook violently, throwing Orks off balance before they could react.
The Hellstorm Fortress Cannon roared, spewing molten promethium in wide arcs. Ork infantry charged forward, only to be engulfed in a torrent of fire. Flames licked across the battlefield, consuming crude barricades and horde alike. Cătălin tracked life-signs in his HUD—every reading vanished in seconds.
From above, the Volcanis Magna Beam Lance swept the horizon, a sustained arc of molten white heat slicing through Ork cannons and armored vehicles. One beam cut through a Rokk mid-air, sending it spiraling into the ground in a ball of fire.
Tri-Las Destructor Arrays on the flanks spun into action, laying down precise, sweeping fire. The guns tore through low-altitude flyers and Ork transport wagons, the triple-linked beams shredding engines and hulls. The inferno storm batteries mounted along Grey Hound's knees sprayed promethium in wide arcs, turning pockets of infantry into ash before they could regroup.
Cătălin shouted, gripping the handhold as the titan shifted her shoulders to give him a clear line of sight. "Daniel! Left ridge! They're trying to climb!"
Daniel's plasma rifle tore through the Orks, sparks flying as Green-skinned bodies bounced off the armored shoulder. The machine spirit responded with subtle movements—leaning into fire, pivoting, crushing barricades under each footfall.
A salvo of Krakstorm Missiles arced overhead, exploding among artillery emplacements and mid-air Ork Roks. Smoke, flame, and metal rained down, leaving nothing standing in the rear lines.
From the Orks' perspective, the battlefield was chaos incarnate. Cannons exploded on contact with invisible barriers, massive beams of molten light cut the world in two, and fire rained from the sky. Their friends screamed, the ground shook, and bodies disappeared in clouds of flame and ash. The green tide that had once surged toward the manufactorum now scattered in terror—some fleeing, some crushed, some vaporized before they could even react.
Cătălin and Daniel moved from ridge to ridge, picking off the few survivors clinging to the titan's plating. Drones swarmed below, zapping Orks that dared to approach her legs. The titan's void shields flared under stray impacts, shimmering and impenetrable, while Grey Hound's sheer volume of weapons obliterated everything in her path.
With each step, the manufactorum's surrounding area became a wasteland. Orks no longer charged—they fled. The titan, alive in every sense, was an unstoppable juggernaut of fire, steel, and fury, and Cătălin and Daniel rode her shoulders like generals guiding an army.