Chapter Content
On the main battlefield, the rhythm of the slaughter shifted.
The Fertilizer Syndicate's enforcers were holding firm. Clad in industrial scrap-armor and wielding heavy iron shields, they moved in disciplined phalanxes, absorbing the initial wave of "Chem-Wraiths."
The Matriarch, seeing her frontline of junkies being ground into paste, gestured with a leather-clad hand. "My sweet children, release the hounds. Let them taste the rot!"
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