This was the killing blow Raynor had orchestrated long ago.
A lictor had been lurking near the Greenskin camp for days, waiting for the perfect moment to contaminate the massive vats of "stew" the Orks consumed before a major Waaagh! The Peyton Virus was a masterwork of biological engineering, specifically designed to target the fungal-based circulatory system of the Greenskin anatomy.
In a short period, the virus induced violent abdominal spasms, neural misfires, and a total loss of motor control. While not immediately lethal, its effect on the battlefield was devastating.
Guga swayed where he stood. As a Warboss, his constitution was immense, and the virus struggled to overcome his redundant organs. However, having consumed the largest portion of the stew that morning, his viral load was staggering. Even his mountain-like physique couldn't suppress the intense pain and the unnatural weakness that began to crawl through his limbs, causing his massive muscles to twitch involuntarily.
As the Boyz around him faltered, the Waaagh! field—which relied on the collective psychic momentum of the horde—began to flicker and dim. The green aura that had made Guga nearly invincible was dying.
Guga looked down at his trembling Power Klaw in disbelief, a guttural growl escaping his throat. "Wot... wot did ya do? Ya sneaky, zoggin' shrimp!"
Raynor straightened his posture, his power sword thrumming with lethal energy as he leveled it at Guga's chest. He let out a cold, triumphant laugh. "It's a virus, Guga! I poisoned your victory before the first shot was even fired!"
On the ramparts, General Hammond saw the Greenskin momentum shatter. He seized the vox-mic instantly. "Full power! All batteries, fire! Assault teams, advance!"
The human defenders, who had been holding their breath in the face of the horde, unleashed a torrent of righteous fury. Crimson las-beams poured down like a monsoon of fire. The roar of heavy bolters was deafening as shells detonated within the cramped "pocket," turning the confused Orks into a slurry of green flesh and scrap metal.
Simultaneously, the assault companies behind the wall charged through the breaches. Armed with chainswords and power spears, they fell upon the incapacitated Greenskins, turning the desperate defense into a systematic purge.
Realizing the depth of the trap, Guga's rage finally overrode his failing body. He channeled his agony into one final, suicidal desire for destruction. Ignoring the internal rot of the virus, he lunged at Raynor and Leo with his Power Klaw glowing with a solid, emerald light.
"I'LL TEAR DA SOULS OUTTA YA!!!"
Faced with the terminal charge of a Warboss, Raynor remained unnervingly calm. "Sarah, one more time!"
The Ripper embedded in his bionic interface unleashed its full potential. Psionic energy flooded Raynor's nervous system through his symbiotic armor. His purple eyes flared with incandescent light as he thrust his palm toward Guga, unleashing a focused kinetic shockwave of pure psychic force.
The impact struck Guga squarely in the chest. The Warboss's massive frame stiffened as the last of his protective Waaagh! field shattered like glass. Though the paralysis lasted only a second, for Raynor, it was an eternity.
Maximizing the decomposition field of his power sword, Raynor engaged his armor's thrusters. He became a blur of silver and blue, aiming his blade at the thick, folded neck of the brute.
SHING!
A clean arc of blue light sliced through the air. The power sword passed through Guga's neck like a hot wire through wax. Green blood erupted in a high-pressure fountain.
Mountain Fat Guga's head flew into the air, spinning several times before thudding into the blood-soaked snow. His eyes remained wide and feral, frozen in a state of eternal disbelief. His headless corpse remained standing for a heartbeat before collapsing with a sound like a falling building, kicking up a cloud of soot and frost.
The moment the Warboss fell, the Waaagh! field deflated like a punctured lung. Without the psychic resonance or the leadership of their Boss, the Orks collapsed into a state of total anarchic terror. The instinct to fight was replaced by the frantic realization that "da Boss is dead."
They scurried about like headless insects, some clawing at their own throats in pain, others simply turning to flee into the meat grinder of the human lines. Their morale was non-existent.
Raynor didn't pause to celebrate. He snatched up Guga's dripping head by the hair and strode toward the Cold Front, a super-heavy Baneblade tank idling nearby. He climbed atop the armored hull and hoisted the trophy high, letting the green ichor run down his arm and stain the tank's plating.
"THE ENEMY GENERAL IS SLAIN!" Raynor's voice, amplified to a thunderous volume by the tank's external vox-casters, rolled across the plains. "ALL TROOPS—PURGE THE XENOS! CHARGE!"
The morale of the Imperial forces reached a fever pitch. Armored columns surged from the inner wall passageways, tracks grinding Ork corpses into the mud. Infantry followed close behind, bayonets fixed, pursuing the broken Greenskins with relentless hate. The battle had officially shifted from a desperate counter-attack into a one-sided slaughter.
Raynor stood atop the Baneblade, holding the severed head like a dark priest, his purple eyes scanning the field of victory. To the Orks of Brevis, the sight of the "Purple-Eyed One" would become a legend of terror that would haunt their spores for generations.
On the periphery of the battlefield, two figures observed the carnage from the shadows of an ice hill.
Snowclaw Rain, the Great Matriarch of the Snowclaw Clan, stood with her elite guards. Clad in white beast-hide armor, she watched the "shrimp" Governor with a mix of awe and shock. Her voice was a low whisper against the wind. "He slays their champions in single combat... he turns a certain defeat into a glorious hunt. The Frost Dragon follows him. He possesses the power and the soul of the legends. Could he truly be...?"
Nearby, behind a separate ridge, Icefang Kuai of the Icefang Clan watched with his own warriors. He was a stocky man in rugged power armor, his voice deep and raspy. "The rumors were true. Brevis needs a ruler like this. The Ice Plains need a savior who can kill like a god."
He was convinced. Raynor was the "Ice Master" prophesied to unite the fractured clans of the frozen wastes.
The two clan chiefs, having witnessed the same miracle, began to lead their teams toward Raynor's position. They sought an audience with the man they believed was their destiny. As they moved through the snow, their paths inevitably converged.
Rain and Kuai walked side-by-side in a tense, cold silence. Memories flickered between them—of a time years ago when they were young, fighting side-by-side against the stampeding Brevis cattle. They had loved each other once, trusted each other. But the blood feuds of their people and the burdens of their titles had torn them apart, leaving only a chasm of regret.
Now, that old connection was being rekindled by the emergence of a new power. A choice that could change the fate of their world was unfolding. Without a word, they quickened their pace, heading toward the roar of the tanks and the man with the purple eyes.