Catalin led the trio into a narrow street, the sunless sky above filtered through twisted girders and broken skybridges. Rubble crunched underfoot, but the sound was deceptive.
A flash of green darted from the shadows — a squig with crude explosive strapped to its back. Silvius opened fire, bolter shells tearing chunks from walls around it, but the squig twisted mid-leap, evading the spray. Catalin reacted instantly, chainsword swinging in a blur. The blade bit through the creature just as it hit the ground, the bomb detonating harmlessly in the debris heap it toppled into.
"Keep your eyes open!" Catalin barked. "They've rigged the streets."
They advanced further. Half-collapsed buildings leaned precariously into the alley, wires sparking across shattered walls. Rusted signs swung in the wind, scraping concrete like knives. Catalin's power fist hummed with restrained energy — a constant warning that danger could come from anywhere.
A second squig exploded mid-step, tossed by a hidden ork's improvised launcher. The shockwave threw Catalin off balance, but he recovered instantly, spinning to strike another ork hiding in the rubble. Daniel's heavy bolter cut through the smoke, taking out a third squig before it reached the team.
Every step forward was a careful one. Orks had strewn rusted steel plates, jagged metal spikes, and debris across intersections, forcing the trio to jump, duck, or swing their weapons to clear the path. Each trap was deadly — misstep and a squig bomb could tear a man apart before he even reached his target.
From above, distant vox chatter hissed through a broken relay, repeating the desperate cries of the Manufactorum garrison:
> "Supply drops! Immediate! We cannot hold! Supply drops now! Repeat! Supply drops! Immediate!"
Catalin ducked under a fallen beam, chainsword slicing another squig that leapt at him from the shadows. The echo of the garrison's vox melded with distant ork cries and the hiss of overheating weapons, filling the ruins with a tense, almost living atmosphere.
The trio pressed on, advancing street by street. Each cleared trap revealed another, each small victory came with a price in sweat, blood, and the acrid smell of scorched metal. The PDF camp still lay somewhere ahead — hidden, battered, alive — and every moment in the ruins reminded them that Graias V's broken city was as much a predator as the orks themselves.