And so, the chaotic melee began!
One hundred Orks, clad in one hundred sets of CMC Power Armor, their steel bodies standing a full three and a half meters tall—nearly a meter taller than the Ultramarines—began a chaotic street battle amid the city ruins against two to three hundred Astra Militarum troops led by barely thirty Ultramarines.
Though they were the elite of the Twentieth War Guild, supposedly the strongest among all Ork players in both tactics and combat power, once the fighting started, the Orks quickly descended into chaos anyway. Even if some commander shouted himself hoarse, it was useless!
After all, they were players—the Fourth Calamity—a bunch who feared neither heaven nor earth, and most importantly, did not fear death. As long as they did not openly defy orders, they would naturally decide whether or not to obey the commands of some "dog company commander" on the front lines depending on their mood.
And now that a melee had broken out, the players naturally fought however they pleased and did whatever felt best. As for the furious shouts from that "dog company commander," who spent all day barking orders, echoing through the channel, they instinctively blocked them all out and ignored them.
"WAAAGH!!!"
"WAAAGH!!! WAAAGH!!!!!"
"WAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
See?
They had no tactics, no formation, no covering fire—only war cries that rang throughout the city ruins, those repeated cries of "WAAAGH!" Then, one hundred steel giants, red with a touch of green—their heads—poured out from behind cover and charged the hastily assembled defensive line of "Smurf" Ultramarines and Astra Militarum troops like floodwaters bursting through a dam.
Rat! Rat!
Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat!
Rat! Rat!
Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat!
The Ork players roared as they charged, while the storm of bullets from their C-14 Spike Rifles poured