07:00 AM. Dawn began to break on the eastern horizon.
In Northveil, smoke and dust still choked the battlefield. The four commanders of the Iron Empire were in their respective positions, their thousands of cyborgs pressing from every direction. Leofric's tanks were running dry on ammunition. Thorne and Elian's infantry held their lines with desperate tenacity.
In the eastern sector, Martin remained entrenched behind a barricade of ruins.
His steam armor hissed, and his massive hammer was slick with gore. Yet, he couldn't advance. Every time he tried to make a move, a sniper's bullet forced him back. Three of his field commanders were already dead, and his forces were spiraling into disarray.
Thorne, watching from a distance, sensed the stalemate. He couldn't see Martin through the sea of cyborgs, but he knew exactly where the giant was.
"Borch." Thorne keyed his radio. "Martin is behind the barricades. I can't get a visual, but I know you can."
