Ten minutes passed.
Fewer than ten guards remained by Leo's side. The entrance was piled high with corpses, and the ice walls were stained a dark, bruised red. Yet the rebels continued to pour in, using human lives to fill the corridor. For every step forward they took, they paid a price of a dozen lives. But they were advancing.
Most of the teeth on Leo's chainsword had snapped off, and his bolter had long since run dry. He scavenged rifles from fallen rebels to keep firing, swapping magazines the instant one went empty. His guards fell one by one. There were no screams or pleas for mercy; they simply died in silence, using their bodies to buy Leo a few more seconds of life. When the last guard fell, he looked back at Leo. There was no fear in his eyes, only regret—regret that he couldn't hold the line just a little longer.
Leo stood alone behind the mound of corpses, clutching his chipped chainsword and gasping for air. At the entrance, the rebels were regrouping. Seeing him alone, they slowed their pace, encircling him like a pack of wolves closing in on a solitary lion.
Leo smiled. It was a calm, accepting smile.
"Come on then," he said, raising the battered chainsword.
Just then, heavy gunfire erupted from the rebels' rear. Leo watched as the regrouping ranks fell into total disarray. Some turned to fire back, some scrambled for cover, and others simply dropped dead.
It was the Vanguard!
Over a thousand Vanguard soldiers charged from behind the rebel lines, led by several familiar faces. Leo recognized them—captains from the Vanguard's Second Legion whom he had fought alongside on the Forbidden Wall. They cut into the rebel ranks like a hot knife through butter. They had no heavy equipment or vehicles, only flesh, blood, and burning passion.
Leo wanted to shout something, but his throat felt constricted. He could only watch as they charged, and watch as they fell one by one. There were simply too many rebels. At least five thousand remained outside, with reinforcements and a Knight suit approaching from the direction of the wall. The thousand Vanguard soldiers lasted less than five minutes before being swallowed by the tide.
As the last Vanguard soldier fell, a wave of desolation washed over Leo. But he couldn't leave his cover; he had to honor their sacrifice. Two minutes. They had bought him two minutes.
Two minutes later, the rebels reorganized their assault. This time, they brought heavy weapons—portable mortars and rocket launchers. Explosions echoed through the valley, sending ice shards and stone debris flying. Leo ducked behind his cover, leaning out to fire during the gaps between blasts. His movements were fluid, and every shot found a mark. But every man he downed was immediately replaced by someone from the rear.
His rifle went empty again. He tossed it aside and grabbed another. Seeing that they still couldn't take Leo down, the rebels decided to finish it with a single, massive charge. Leo took a deep breath, bracing himself for death.
Suddenly, howls rang out from all around the valley. These weren't human cries; they were the howls of Froststriders—the fiercest predators of the ice plains and the battle companions of the wildmen. Thousands of Froststriders emerged from across the plains, ridden by wildman warriors of Brevis. They charged down the slopes and from behind ice ridges, striking the rebels from every unexpected direction.
Froststrider claws tore through thin standard-issue armor, and wildman bone spears pierced chests. The rebel formation collapsed momentarily. Without heavy armor, they were defenseless against such high-speed impact. They tried to form lines and fight back, but the Froststriders were too fast and the wildmen's horsemanship too exquisite. Every charge claimed dozens of lives.
Groups of wildman skirmishers split into small squads, weaving in and out of the rebel reinforcement lines. They didn't linger in combat; they struck and retreated, only to strike again, dragging the rebel reinforcements to a grinding halt. Leo recognized them—they were the elites of the Ice-Fang Clan.
How were they here?
A wildman rider galloped up to him, dismounted, and said in broken Gothic:
"The God-Messenger said... the friend of the Ice-Lord is in trouble."
"So, we came."
Leo understood. "Ice-Lord" was the title of respect the wildmen used for Raynor. But Raynor was in the Hive Spire; how had he managed to get the wildmen of the plains to cross hundreds of kilometers to save him?
The wildman charge bought even more time. Minutes later, the ground began to tremble. Outside the valley, the permafrost suddenly cracked open, and a dozen massive Ice-Lotuses burst through the soil. The petals unfurled, and a blue torrent erupted.
Frost-Warriors. Tens of thousands of them.
They flooded over the rebels like a tide. Those who had been stubbornly resisting just moments ago were instantly consumed by a blue ocean. The sound of gunfire, screams, and the excited hisses of the Tyranids intertwined into a single cacophony.
Leo stood inside the valley, listening to the sounds outside, his mind unreadable. He knew of the Frost-Warriors' existence and had seen their lethality; he knew exactly how terrifying they were. Raynor had told him they were "kin of the Frost Dragon" and warriors of the ice plains. He knew the scales of battle had tipped.
But the rebels weren't giving up yet. At the rear, Aiden's Knight suit was struggling to pass through the narrow valley entrance. Just as it wedged half its body inside, the ground shook violently. A massive monster burrowed out from beneath the earth.
It was a Mawloc.
Over twelve meters long and covered in thick chitinous plating, its forelimbs were a pair of massive bone blades specialized for digging. Usually, it disguised itself as an Ice-Lotus to tunnel paths for the Frost-Warriors, but now it had to intervene.
The Mawloc's movements were swift and agile, but it couldn't breach the Knight's ion shield. Aiden's Gatling cannons roared, pouring a hail of bullets into the Mawloc. Chitin shattered and green ichor sprayed, steaming as it hit the snow. Yet the Mawloc didn't falter, launching charge after charge to block Aiden's path.
Finally, Aiden found an opening. The missile pods on his shoulders launched a volley of Storm-Missiles, stunning the beast. Then, his Reaper Chainsword swung down, cleaving the Mawloc in half. The massive body crashed to the ground, twitching a few times before falling still.
But its mission was accomplished. Those few dozen seconds of delay had allowed more Frost-Warriors to emerge from the Ice-Lotuses, causing the rebel formation to collapse entirely.
Aiden's eyes turned bloodshot. Killing Leo was a direct order he had to fulfill, no matter what happened or what price he had to pay. He drove the Knight forward, crushing Frost-Warriors, wildmen, and anything else in his path, charging madly into the valley. Heavy fire raked the ice walls as the Knight forced a path through. The power core was red-lining, the ion shields flickered, and the Gatling barrels glowed white-hot.
He didn't care. He had to complete the mission.
The Knight finally smashed open a wide enough passage and burst into the valley. Aiden leveled his Gatling cannons, aiming them at the figure standing atop the pile of corpses.
Suddenly—BOOM!!!
A silver-blue silhouette descended from the sky. A massive shockwave shattered the ice on the ground, kicking up a white tidal wave of snow. The silver-blue Knight suit landed squarely between Leo and Aiden, its Storm-Power Fist already pre-heated and crackling with energy.
Quinn Saint Gallus had arrived!