At this moment, these siege masters abandoned all cover, no longer even caring about the scorch marks left by las-blasts on their power armor. Roaring that ancient war cry, they charged back like a surging tide of grey steel.
"Holy shit! We can't hold them! We can't hold them at all!" the players on the front line screamed in the comms channel. "Are these guys hacking?! How did they suddenly become so absurdly strong!"
In just the first clash, the suicidal players' already fragile defensive line was pierced like wet paper. Chainswords roared and power gauntlets swung; dozens of players in the front row were torn to shreds by the feral Iron Warriors before they could even let out a scream.
Seeing this steel deluge about to punch straight through the corridor all the way to the command center, luck would have it that the vehicle wrecks the players had detonated earlier to slow the enemy down proved to be an absolute lifesaver.
The twisted, burnt-out hulls of Leman Russ main battle tanks and Chimera armored personnel carriers blocking the middle of the corridor turned into exceptionally sturdy physical barricades.
Immense though the Iron Warriors' strength was, even they had to slow their pace when confronted with dozens of tons of scrap metal—either clambering over them or brutally breaking them down with power weapons. This brief delay gave the players the window they needed to reorganize their defense.
"Don't panic! Use the wrecks for cover and fight! Circle around them!" the squad commander shouted at the top of his lungs. "Don't engage them head-on with bayonets, that's suicide!"
The battlefield instantly turned into a chaotic, messy meat grinder. Taking advantage of their smaller stature, the players wriggled through the gaps between the tank wrecks, harassing the enraged giants like bothersome flies.
In a corner, a player with the ID "Slacker" was having a terrible stroke of luck. He had just emptied his lasgun's energy magazine when he looked up to see a towering Iron Warrior stepping over half a Chimera chassis. Crimson lenses locked onto him, and a bolter was already raised.
The distance between them was less than ten meters; running away was completely out of the question.
In this life-or-death moment, the player suddenly made a mind-boggling move.
"Wait wait wait! Big bro, don't kill me!"
He slammed his lasgun down and threw both hands high into the air. Instead of running in a straight line, he began sprinting wildly in circles around a thick load-bearing pillar like a headless, terrified fly, screaming for mercy at the top of his voice: "Big bro! Chief! I surrender! Don't shoot, I'm one of you! Can we reconcile? Can we negotiate?!"
The Iron Warrior visibly froze for a moment. In previous engagements, though these mortal soldiers were ordinary humans, they had behaved like war machines devoid of fear. A spineless coward so terrified of death was completely unheard of.
"Filthy vermin—you aren't even worthy of wasting my bolt rounds!" The Iron Warrior let out a cold snort of disgust. However, he didn't pull the trigger immediately. Instead, he strode forward with huge bounds, intending to crush the skull of this coward who tarnished a warrior's honor with his own hands.
Now!
The moment the Iron Warrior rushed into melee range and reached out to grab him, the semi-transparent system store interface in front of the scurrying player's eyes finally reached the intended page.
[Confirm Purchase: Spend 500 Contribution Points to exchange for a Meltabomb?]
"Confirm! Confirm!"
In the next second, the corners of the player's mouth curled up uncontrollably, his expression changing faster than turning a page.
"Surprise, MOTHERFUCKER! Didn't see that coming, did ya, dumbass?!"
The Iron Warrior felt his vision blur for a fraction of a second. The mortal who had just been begging for mercy suddenly had a dangerous cylindrical object in his hands. Then, like a rabid dog, he reversed his momentum and threw himself right into the Marine's chest!
"Who's your daddy now bitch?! SUCK ON DEEZ NUTS!"
Sizzle—BOOM!!!
The meltabomb detonated at point-blank range.
This terrifying weapon, specifically designed to deal with heavily armored vehicles, instantly released temperatures comparable to a miniature sun.
The Iron Warrior's impenetrable Terminator armor breastplate melted like butter before the melta jet, vaporizing both of his hearts inside. The two of them were completely consumed in a blinding fireball.
The distinctive hiss of the meltabomb acted like a bucket of cold water poured over Grendel's overheated head, forcing a shred of sanity back into his pure fury.
"Fools! Pull yourselves together!" Grendel slammed his fist into the bulkhead beside him, roaring over the squad-wide channel.
"Don't be reckless! These mortals don't give a damn about their lives—almost every single one of them is a walking bomb! Don't get into close-quarters entanglements with them!"
Panting heavily, his glowing red lenses scanned the chaotic battlefield: "Remember our objective! Don't waste your lives here on these expendable pawns. We'll be clashing with those damned yellow dogs soon enough! Save your bolter rounds and your energy for Dorn's pups!"
With the Warpsmith's stern order, the Iron Warriors—who had fallen into a berserk state—finally reined in their offensive a bit. They began using their power armor's targeting systems to suppress the enemy at medium range, no longer giving the players easy opportunities to close in and detonate themselves.
Just then, a prompt laced with psionic static sounded inside Grendel's helmet comms channel.
It was the Thousand Sons Sorcerer, Izkara.
"Grendel," Izkara's voice sounded somewhat grim. "The situation on the front line has changed. A Chapter of Space Marines suddenly pulled back from the front."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Grendel replied perfunctorily, using his bolter to blast apart another suicidal player trying to draw near.
"No, the problem is that the sons of Jaghatai Khan have taken over their sector. The pressure on the Imperium hasn't decreased, and Huron still hasn't shown himself," Izkara's tone carried a hint of anxiety. "The other warbands are sitting on the fence.
Aside from those mindless Khorne worshippers fighting like maniacs, the Emperor's Children and the Death Guard are just slacking off. Can you apply a bit more pressure? We must force Huron out."
Had it been a few minutes ago, hearing these words would have sent Grendel into a towering rage. He would have furiously blasted these so-called "Chaos allies" as a disorganized rabble, cursed that all of them put together couldn't muster half a Chapter's combat effectiveness, and even threatened that if they didn't pull their weight, the Iron Warriors would turn their guns around and shell them first.
But now, as Grendel listened to these grand schemes regarding tactical maneuvers, backstabbing allies, and baiting Huron, his heart remained completely unfazed. In fact, he found it somewhat annoying.
Front-line situation? Survival of Chaos? Warband politics? What the hell did any of that have to do with him?
The only things echoing in his mind right now were that Son of Dorn's incredibly punchable face in the holographic recording and that infuriating line: "Grandpa Dorn."
That bone-deep hatred completely overwhelmed any tactical calculations.
"Fine. Got it."
Grendel offered only this curt, irritated, and cold reply before rudely severing the comms, leaving no opportunity for the noble Sorcerer to say another word.
He no longer had the slightest desire to play mind games with these so-called allies.
"I don't care if I die right here..." Grendel muttered in a low voice, his gaze fixed dead on the far end of the corridor. "As long as I can smash that damned yellow dog's head to pieces... that will be more than enough."
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Terrabyte is the only fic I'll be able to update today, it's THE BOYZ NIGHT BABY!