Catalin's visor glowed faintly in the smoke-filled ruins as he crouched behind the fractured wall. Daniel was beside him, heavy bolter ready, eyes scanning every shadow. Below, the tank rumbled and clanked along the broken street, treads spitting sparks and scattering debris. The grenadier orks stomped through the rubble, tossing crude explosives, while thirty ork boys streamed toward the broken wall, shrieking and brandishing weapons.
Catalin's jaw tightened. "We pick them off, one by one. Quiet. Fast. Make the tank think there's more of us than there is."
Daniel nodded. "I'll cover your flank and suppress the horde. You take the closest ones."
Catalin slithered along the rubble, chainsword humming, power fist crackling softly. From above, he could see the ork boys moving blindly, unaware of the predator above them.
The first boy was careless, crouched to loot a fallen crate. Catalin dropped down silently, chainsword spinning, and drove it through the ork's chest. The scream was muffled by rubble. The body slumped sideways, unnoticed by the others.
The tank rumbled again, treads grinding against debris. Catalin leapt onto a nearby wall, slashing two more boys who had clustered together. The tank's cannon spun toward the noise, firing a burst that tore a wall behind him — sparks and chunks of concrete rained around his boots, but he stayed low, moving to the next target.
Daniel unleashed controlled bursts from the heavy bolter, pinning several orks behind a ruined scaffold. Their screams and the impact of metal and blood distracted the tank's gunners. Catalin seized the moment.
Another boy ran into an alley; Catalin swung his chainsword, cleaving cleanly through the fleeing ork. A grenadier hurled a bomb, but Catalin dove aside, letting the blast tear through a ruined building. Dust and shrapnel blinded the orks below, giving him cover to advance.
Step by step, strike by strike, Catalin and Daniel worked as a silent storm. Every ork that fell confused the tank's sensors and gunners — its main cannon spun, tracking phantom threats, while smaller treads skidded over debris, missing their real targets.
Catalin crouched atop a collapsed doorway, eyes on a grenadier trying to adjust a bomb launcher. With a burst of speed, he surged forward, power fist smashing through ribs while chainsword tore into the ork's side. Sparks flew from the weapon as the grenadier slumped, the bomb rig falling harmlessly to the ground.
The remaining ork boys scrambled, confused and leaderless. The tank shifted erratically, firing wild blasts into ruined walls, giving Catalin and Daniel precious seconds to pick their next targets.