In the void of space, a massive, mountain-like yellow-gray warship surged forward like a mad bull. The plasma flames spewing from its engines dragged a kilometers-long trail of light as it rushed toward the Helldiver's tottering cruiser at near-collision speeds.
The vox channel connected instantly, omitting the Imperial Navy's usual lengthy identification codes and polite greetings.
"This is Helldiver Command. Transmitting coordinate data now—"
"Got it!" Akash's rough voice directly cut off the Chapter Master. The background was filled with the roar of servitors and the crisp metallic clatter of weapons loading. "The situation is dire, to hell with formalities! Tell your men to get their heads down!"
The Chapter Master didn't even return to his command throne. He was already standing on the torpedo deck, holding a giant two-handed power axe, eyes wide with lethal fury.
"Brothers of the First Company! Grab your axes and board the breach torpedoes with me! Let's go harvest the heads of traitors!!"
"For Dorn! For the Emperor!!"
Dozens of siege breach torpedoes—black-hulled and bearing the twin-axe symbol—whistled out from the flanks of the Battle Barge like arrows off a string. They didn't need to slow down at all, because Akash's set target was to smash straight into the internal structure of that ship!
Inside the warship, the struggling players felt the deck beneath their feet shudder violently, as if a giant hand had slapped the entire vessel. Immediately after, the agonizing screech of tearing metal echoed from the rear-flank of the Iron Warriors' formation.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Heavy bulkheads were torn open like paper as several steaming, massive metal drills forced their way into the corridor, plunging right between the Iron Warriors and the Helldivers.
With the loud detonation of explosive bolts, the boarding torpedo hatches slammed down.
Before the gunsmoke could clear, a group of tall figures clad in yellow-gray power armor and bearing the Executioner symbol leapt out. Leading them was Akash himself, helmetless, his face painted with raw hunger for his prey.
At that moment, time seemed to freeze.
Grendel's power hammer had just crushed a player when he whipped his head around, glaring at these uninvited guests. The black twin-axe emblem on their pauldrons was piercingly bright, even in the dim light.
No verbal confirmation was needed, nor any tactical analysis.
This was hatred etched into their very genes, a rival enemy line stretching back ten thousand years since the Siege of Terra.
"Dorn's bastards!"
Grendel let out an earth-shattering roar, shoving aside the Helldivers blocking his path. Raising his power sword high, he pointed it straight at Akash.
"Let them know! Iron Within, Iron Without!"
Every Iron Warrior pivoted their guns and blades in an instant. The players they had been tangled with a second ago were completely forgotten; only those yellow-gray figures remained in their eyes.
"Perturabo's cowards!"
Akash roared back in equal fury, activating the disruption field of his power axe as blue arcs of electricity danced wildly across the blade. "Trench-digging rats! Your outer shells are as fragile and brittle as your hearts! Die!!"
"KILL!!!"
The two sides crashed together in the narrow warship corridor like opposing tidal waves.
Bolters fired into bolters, power axes clashed against power swords, and chainswords carved bright sparks across ceramite armor. This was no longer the asymmetric slaughter from moments ago, but the most primal, bloody melee between two elite Astartes forces.
Terminator collided with Terminator, the clash of pure strength making the entire deck groan.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the battlefield, the players—who had been under immense pressure just moments ago and were clutching melta bombs ready to blow themselves up—suddenly found themselves in a bizarre and awkward position.
One player stood holding a newly redeemed melta bomb, ready to sacrifice himself heroically, only to watch the Iron Warrior who was about to kill him turn around without a single glance, charging off to chop up an Executioner veteran behind him.
"Uh... bro? I already bought the bomb?"
The players looked at each other, holding various weapons, realizing they were completely ignored.
In the center of the battlefield, two groups of eight-foot-tall superhumans were fighting fiercely, blood and flesh flying, treating the Helldivers on the floor as if they were invisible.
"Guys, this won't do. We won't get any merit points just watching!"
Hiding behind a ruined bulkhead, a few players watched the intense fight ahead, their hearts itching with restlessness.
The Iron Warriors and Executioners were tearing each other apart in an epic raid battle. If the final tally listed them as mere "spectators," they would lose out big time!
"So what do we do? Charge in?" Another player raised his laser gun to take aim, then shrank back. "How do we even aim? They're tangled together like a pretzel. If I fire, what if I hit the yellow-gray guy? Besides, with our weak stats, going in there is instant death."
Indeed, the battlefield ahead was too wild. The combat speed between Astartes was terrifyingly fast; even in Terminator armor, mortal eyes could barely catch their afterimages. Joining in blindly meant a high chance of messing things up for their allies.
Just as everyone was at a loss, a player suggested, "Stop standing around like idiots! If we can't join the fight, let me build a fortification!"
He pointed to an area behind the corridor and shouted, "We can't just do nothing. While these bosses are busy fighting each other, clean up the battlefield! Set up all our remaining heavy bolters and autocannons! And bring those two workable Leman Russ tanks from the back! Don't charge, just park them across the intersection as fixed turrets and cover!"
"That's a solid idea!" The commander's eyes lit up. "Build the fortification right in their faces! That way, whoever pokes their head out gets shot, or we focus fire the moment they separate! Good for both offense and defense!"
"Let's do it! Move it, guys!"
Some players began dragging away corpses and metal debris left behind from earlier combat to reinforce a makeshift chest wall. Others worked in groups, hauling heavy bolter tripods and autocannon parts while searching for the best firing angles to assemble them. A few drivers jumped into the surviving Leman Russ tanks, carefully reversing them into place between two piles of rubble with engine roars, exposing only their front armor.
For a moment, the wide warship corridor presented an extremely weird and distinct sight.
On the left side was a bloody, hellish slaughterhouse.
The Executioners and Iron Warriors fought to the death. The thunderous clashes of power weapons were deafening, ceramite fragments and blood splattered everywhere, and lethal strikes were exchanged every second. Both sides saw only each other, eager to tear the opponent apart alive.
On the right side, a bustling construction site was underway.
The Helldivers chanted working rhythms, shovels flying, carrying ammo crates, calibrating weapon muzzles, and even directing traffic: "Move that Leman Russ a bit to the left! Don't block the autocannon's line of fire! Yeah, right there, pull the handbrake!"
The visual styles of the two sides were so disconnected it felt as if they existed in entirely different dimensions, yet they merged miraculously on the very same battlefield.
The Iron Warriors and Executioners were blind with rage, having no time to care about the group of mortals frantically putting up illegal structures right next to them, while the players were happy to enjoy the peace, racing against time to build a temporary fortress right under the giants' noses.