Slowly but surely the no man’s land between the first and second wall was crossed by the unrelenting tide of rat-people. Although the Dwarves could out range the Rattan military, they lacked the amount of ammunition needed to deal with what was assaulting them. To make matters worse, most of the barbed wire, land mines and pitfall traps that occupied no man’s land had been rendered useless by the tide of bodies that had been sacrificed to open a path.

The Rattan siege weapons did not out range those of the Dwarves, but they did outdo them in terms of destructive potential. When a cask of corrosive fluid was lobbed towards the Dwarven lines it would explode on impact and send toxic fumes and dangerous liquids flying everywhere. Sustained fire from this type of ammunition created localized clouds of poisonous vapors that hung in the air and rendered anyone inside the area a dead man.

With each section of their trenches denied to them by the toxic cloud of corrosive gas and liquid, the Dwarves were forced to come together in tighter and tighter groups, giving the Rattan artillery a juicier target than before. Each cloud of vapor concentrated the Dwarves into more and more pockets as the industrial waste split them apart. Sure, they could have fallen back, but at this point they were effectively up against a wall (both figuratively and literally).

Those vermin-men who were sent forward took advantage of the gaps in the lines and ‘heroically braved the caustic hell they had created for the good of the Under-Empire’. Or, in a more realistic manner of speaking, they ‘threw themselves into a suicidal rush to outflank their foes knowing fully that they would die soon after’. The rat-men could waste lives using this tactic because they did have the numbers and the cruelty needed to expend thousands of lives to take a single meter of ground.

There were other entities besides the Rattan warriors that were braving the corroding fog that hung over parts of the battlefield. Grima’s Shredder Balls were more durable than the flesh and blood that made up the bulk of the Rattan military and, in their deranged state of mind, it made perfect sense for them to rush headlong into the caustic fog to get a chance to strike the Beard-Things from behind. Would this result in permanent damage to their metal prisons? Certainly. Would it be a good way to avoid being trapped in their torment for a while longer? Definitely. Was it an opportunity to indulge in their psychopathic urge to murder and butcher their ancient foe? Absolutely. Was it really a good idea in the long run? That would be arguable.

When the Shredder Balls and the surviving Rattan warriors emerged from the smog and began to wreak havoc in the Dwarven lines, a horn sounded and those not in active combat retreated back inside the second wall. This was where they would make one last effort to keep the rats from getting into their kingdom. If they fell here or were pushed out, then the whole of the Ironheart Kingdom would be at the mercy of the Under-Empire.

The chemical mist that hung in the subterranean air kept those who were supposed to fire from behind cover from seeing their foes, but it was painfully obvious that they only needed to shoot into the haze. They would hit something, and at this point accuracy did not matter. There were so many bodies rushing towards them, heedless of the cost and danger to themselves, that firing wildly and at will was the only sensible option that they could come up with. The artillery on the ramparts let loose cannonball after cannonball and mortar shell after mortar shell in a desperate bid to whittle down the number of vermin-people from overrunning them, but by now they were running low on ammunition. They only had about a dozen more shots total left for each cannon and about six shots total left for each mortar.

They did not stop firing until their last round was fired and they had nothing left to use. It was at this point that the caustic fog began to dissipate and the true scope of the damage they had wrought was revealed. Every single shell and every single cannonball had been wasted. Every single bullet fired had been useless. This was not because they missed the Rattan military. No, this was because the fog had obscured the fact that the forces of the Under-Empire had fallen back beyond the range of the Dwarven cannons and mortars. Thus, the sustained barrage that had depleted their munitions had hit nothing and no one because their targets were out of their range.

As if on cue, the assembled tide of rat-men surged forward, metal and flesh pushing together in the direction of the last major obstacle in their way. Now was when the Dwarves of the Ironheart Kingdom knew that here was little to no hope left for them. The horn of King Gilder sounded out and the Dwarves pulled back from the wall and prepared for their last desperate stand against the Under-Empire. It was time for urban warfare, or as the Wehrmacht had so eloquently put it, ‘Rat Warfare’.

…

The forces of the Vermin-Queen advanced through the gaping holes in the second wall of the Beard-Things. They had been told that the Beard-Things had captured the Vermin-King and they were now on a sacred mission to take him back. This was one of the reasons why they had shown far less cowardice than they usually did. Another one was the fact that the Vermin-queen herself was at their backs, along with the other members of the Five-Clawed Paw. If those reasons were not enough to keep them motivated and their morale high, nothing would.

Based on the reports available, given by the Rattan Assassins themselves, the kingdom of the Beard-Things should have been a sight to behold. Gleaming marble and granite were supposed to compliment gold and platinum as chandeliers hung overhead and rained an eternal daylight over the whole land. This could not have been farther than the sight that they could see.

Every building had been heavily damaged, and the wide streets and towering monuments had been reduced to a broken state. Rubble filled every path, and where once was an easily navigable city grid now stood only a maze of debris and danger. The Beard-Things had likely done this all themselves in a desperate bid to put the righteous Under-Empire on the back foot. There were now many places to hide and only the Beard-Things would know for sure how to navigate this ruined nation.

This was supposed to be a deathtrap that would help the Beard-Things whittle away at the numerically superior Rattan military. However, all that their effort did was make the Rattan who gazed on it laugh at the idiocy that the Beard-Things had shown. This ruined landscape was nothing to them for they had grown up in Nest-Cities that were even more chaotically organized than this place. For a Rattan, there was always a chance that every corner and dark space held someone trying to kill you, so they had long since become accustomed to being always on edge and they had senses sharp enough to pick up the scent of others and had ears that could tell if someone was breathing from behind a corner.

Rippa herself marched forward, followed by her personal retinue that she herself had drilled from birth. She shook her head at the feeble attempt made by the Beard-Things and barked out her orders to all that could hear.

“Find-find the Beard-Things in their hidey-holes and bring kill-die them with all the anger-fury you can muster! Make them bleed and bring them suffer-pain the likes of which they have never seen! Claim-Take their heads and bring a ruin-end to their nation! For the Under-Empire! For the Vermin-Queen! We will take-take back what is rightfully ours! Go, for the glory of our race and the safety of the Vermin-King! ADVANCE!”