| Description | The match began in silence, save for the low mechanical hum of the spawn room. Five operatives stood ready, frost gathering at the edges of their visors, resolve weighing heavier than their weapons. The Antarctic wind whispered promises of pain, and the battlefield was unforgiving.
RSK, Mauga — the bruiser, the frontline, the chaos bringer — stepped onto the icy arena. He wasn’t here to impress. He was here to hold the line.
28 eliminations. 14 assists. 22 deaths. The numbers didn’t tell the story of a hero. They told the story of a wall—cracked, bruised, but unbroken.
Behind him, his team followed:
BORDELAISE, the sharp-eyed Reaper, quiet but deadly, threading shadows through the fray.
KILLSWITCHNZ, Moira with hands of plague and grace, weaving through the madness with 7.2k damage and 3.7k healing.
CATNIP, the unshakable Lifeweaver, pumping out over 10k healing with roots deep enough to keep Mauga standing through storms of bullets.
And SPOOKYGHOST, Lucio turned spectral surgeon, dancing along the walls with 5.6k healing, shielding the fallen and the frantic alike.
The enemy was relentless.
XIJINPINGDSB, holding the frontline with brutal force — 8.4k damage and over 21k mitigated — a shield as wide as the horizon.
CHIPPYMAK, the Sojourn with the god-aim — 33 eliminations, zero deaths. An executioner in a sniper’s shell.
JARM1N, a DPS demon with 18k damage, haunting every corner of the map.
KIRITOES and WANGZUXIAN, flankers and finishers, unpredictable and precise.
The odds? Unfair.
The kill feed painted a massacre. The enemy out-fragged them at every turn. Ults rained down like meteor storms. Push after push, the red team dominated the field.
But OW2 isn’t about the feed. It’s about the point.
And Mauga? He knew the art of trading.
He dove in, soaked up volts, railgun blasts, and Biotic Orbs, dragging enemies into chaos. Even when he died, he dragged another with him. Every elimination cost the enemy time, ground, and position. They could kill him—but they couldn’t stop him.
Behind him, CATNIP stitched the team back together, second by second. Lucio speed-amped into every collapse. Moira slipped through shadows, draining life and giving it back. The DPS did just enough, picked just enough heads, to swing one single fight in their favor.
And that fight? It was overtime.
With the timer burning, RSK dropped into the point one last time. One kill. One death. One chance. A 1:1 trade was enough. Just enough. The others swarmed in behind. The point ticked. The red team collapsed.
Victory.
The scoreboard? Not kind. But the story? Glorious. |
Watchpoint: Gibraltar
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