In the great hall of the auditorium stood the Eighth Regiment of Cadia.
The oldest regiment in the Cadian Shock Troops, an elite formation granted the title 'Chosen of the Lord Castellan.'
Though hardened by a brutal siege, the troopers of the Eighth still carried themselves with admirable spirit.
The moment Lord Kreed's trademark greatcoat appeared, every man of the Eighth lifted his gaze as one.
'Lord Kreed!' someone shouted first.
Like a chain reaction, hundreds of voices merged into a roar: 'Lord Castellan!'
No speeches were needed, no rousing words.
Kreed had only to stand there; his mere presence was the mightiest war-drum, rekindling the undying fire of battle in every warrior.
Kreed swept his gaze across his soldiers and simply nodded.
At that small gesture every spine straightened a fraction more.
'Brothers of the Eighth,' Kreed began.
'Word just in: a relief force has broken through the traitor cordon, reached the outer Bastion and engaged the enemy outside.'
'Now,' Kreed's voice rose, 'is our time to strike back.'
'Yes, Lord Castellan.'
Before the order finished leaving his lips, the troopers were already moving of their own accord.
At the hall's entrance, the fat man narrowed his eyes and took it all in.
'His power grows by the day,' he muttered, barely loud enough for himself to hear.
On the main front the enemy was collapsing like an avalanche, survivors left with nowhere to run.
The Voskani traitors' morale had shattered; under the Cadians' onslaught they fell back step by step.
David spotted Sergeant Victor deep in the rear, talking with a figure who had to be Kreed himself.
As Supreme Lord Castellan, Kreed assumed all command the moment he arrived, overriding Sergeant Victor.
His aide, Kell, stood at his side, power sword in hand, watching for any threat.
'With respect, General Kreed, you should not be on the front line—this is too dangerous.'
Kreed said nothing, only raised a megaphone.
'People of Cadia, I am Kreed. Spread out, use the alleys, hit these traitors, hold the line—no reckless charges.'
The Cadians knew the Tyrok Bastion far better than the outsiders; they split the rebels and outflanked them.
Under Kreed's efficient direction the Cadians began methodically tightening the noose.
Step by step they compressed the remnants of the enemy.
Cornered beasts fight hardest, let alone traitors with their backs to the wall.
Kreed ordered his units to keep their distance, maintain steady long-range fire, and prevent a desperate counter-stroke.
Kreed knew the traitors still held an ace they had not yet played.
David used blocks to climb a nearby high roof and advanced rooftop by rooftop, following the main force.
In the distance buildings crumbled; at the far end of Pylon complex a colossus crushed everything in its path.
The Leviathan super-heavy assault transport, also called the leviathan command vehicle.
Ninety metres tall, a moving fortress of steel.
Metres-thick composite armour bristled with turrets of every size—360-degree coverage.
In its prow, a giant Doomsday cannon: one full-power shot could cripple a Titan.
'Here it comes,' Kreed had expected it.
The leviathan command vehicle, formerly used for parades and speeches, had fallen to the traitors when the revolt began.
At the sight of the metal behemoth many Cadians instinctively levelled their weapons.
Layer after layer of translucent shielding blossomed, cocooning the Leviathan.
Every incoming round—laser or solid—struck the shields and vanished in spreading ripples.
'Void shields!' veteran troopers lowered their guns.
David lay prone on the roof, studying it through a monocular.
Void shields: defensive fields that absorb most ranged attacks and bleed the energy into the Warp.
Break them either with overwhelming fire in a single overload—or by the oldest method: boarding.
Kreed's voice rang out again: 'Cease fire.'
'Prepare to board. Use the buildings for cover, get on the hull, find an access port or weak point, kill the core.'
The order was cold, clear, emotionless—exactly what soldiers need in battle.
Slugging their long-arms, the Cadians charged through Pylon's narrow lanes from every direction.
The traitors aboard the Leviathan answered with every weapon they had.
The void shields were one-way: they could shoot out, no one could shoot in.
Boarding actions are paid for in blood.
David pocketed the monocular, prised a pebble from the roof and lobbed it at the void shield.
The stone arced, kissed the barrier with a barely visible ripple, and passed straight through.
So there is a velocity threshold, David noted with relief.
Void shields let slow objects pass; only projectiles above a certain speed triggered interception.
David's gaze fixed on the Leviathan's mid-section.
A hatch there, heavily guarded, likely led to critical systems.
Same logic as BedWars—take out the bed, he muttered, and drew an ender pearl from his pack.
Judging the distance, he cocked his arm and hurled the pearl with all his strength.
The Cadians drew most of the rebels' attention.
Prone on the roof, David counted down: Five—the pearl slipped through the outer void shield. Four—a Cadian New Recruit who had just crossed the shield was locked by a side turret; shells shredded him and the flagstones beneath, leaving only a blood-soaked cap. Three—the pearl sailed on, slipping through the second and third layers. Two—David slid several stacks of iron blocks to within easy reach. One—pink particles blossomed round him, his form blurring.
Mid-hull of the Leviathan the air shimmered; David appeared, first man aboard.
Thick ozone from the void shield filled his nostrils.
All around, traitors poured fire downward.
The constant roar left the gunners' ears ringing; none noticed the newcomer behind them.
Only when a traitor reloading a heavy stubber glanced back for an ammo crate did he see the stranger.
A face with no regimental markings regarded him calmly.
'Who are—'
Before he could finish David drove a blade through his chest and into his heart.