A few minutes later, a makeshift fortress steeped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland style had sprung up on one side of the warship corridor.
Two Leman Russ Main Battle Tanks pinned down the key chokepoints of the passage, one on the left and one on the right. Sandbags and scrapped metal plates were stacked high in front of their heavy hulls. Autocannons and heavy bolters formed a crossfire network, their pitch-black muzzles radiating a freezing murderous intent.
However, the Helldivers faced an embarrassing predicament: they couldn't open fire.
The melee ahead was far too intense. The Executioners and the Iron Warriors were smashed together like two different colors of playdough, completely impossible to separate. If they fired a high-explosive shell right now, odds were they would blow the Space Marines of both sides sky-high together.
"This is infuriating!" A gunner clutching a heavy bolter lay prone behind the sandbags, his finger repeatedly rubbing against the trigger guard. "Such a great field of fire, so many mob spawns, and we just can't shoot! This is absolute torture!"
"On the battlefield, a moment of distraction can cost a life—even for Space Marines," a player suddenly had a brainwave and spoke up in the comms channel.
"Since physical attacks cause friendly fire easily, why don't we try a magical attack? Or rather... a psychological attack?"
"What do you mean?" Everyone turned to look at him.
"Taunting! Pulling aggro!" The player gestured excitedly. "Don't these Iron Warriors hate the Imperial Fists the most? We just talk trash from the sidelines to divide their attention! The moment they get distracted, the Executioner big bros can seize the opening and chop them to death.
Or, if we can piss off a few Iron Warriors so badly that they disengage and charge us, won't our turret grid finally get to go to work?"
"Makes sense!" The regiment's executive commissioner slapped his thigh. "But these tin cans have lived for ten thousand years. What bad word haven't they heard? Standard insults like 'dumbass' or 'coward' probably won't break their armor."
"Then let's go with something high-level, something that kills the heart!"
The players immediately began an intense brainstorming session. Since the Iron Warriors took the most pride in "iron" and hated the Dornian "rock" the most, they would start from there.
Very soon, a "scientific insult script" combining junior high school chemistry and geology was hot off the press.
The Helldivers quickly selected a player who usually spoke with clear articulation and a booming voice—rumored to be a broadcasting major—to serve as the temporary announcer. A few tech-savvy players nimbly daisy-chained several high-power loudspeakers together, aiming them straight at the center of the battlefield.
"Ahem—"
The announcer player cleared his throat and tested the mic. The static rustle echoed through the corridor, instantly drawing the attention of quite a few people. Then, in an extremely standard, emotionless documentary narrator tone, he began reading aloud:
"Hello listeners, welcome to the Helldiver Science Hour. According to incomplete statistics and relevant scientific verification, under the standard natural environment of Holy Terra—that is, an atmosphere containing oxygen, water vapor, carbon dioxide, and other components—steel, which is primarily composed of iron (Fe) and carbon (C), exhibits chemically unstable properties."
The sounds of slaughter at the center of the battlefield remained deafening, but this abrupt broadcast was simply too jarring. Even Akash and Grendel, who were engaged in a deathmatch, experienced an extremely subtle pause in their movements.
The announcer continued reading in that cool, infuriating tone:
"Within a few hours to a few days, rust spots can be seen forming on the steel's surface. For unprotected thin steel plates in humid or rainy temperate regions, they may rust through completely within a few years to a few decades, losing all structural strength.
Even if a large steel component is placed in a dry desert or a stable indoor environment, the process of completely converting into loose iron oxide—which is to say, a pile of dirt—takes only a few centuries."
By now, even the densest person could tell something was off.
"However—" The announcer shifted his tone and raised his voice. "Those natural, hard rocks that primarily make up the Earth's crust, such as granite, possess extremely stable chemical properties. To form visible pits, fractures, or obvious morphological changes, it usually takes hundreds to thousands of years.
"To completely decompose a massive hard rock into soil or debris, the process takes tens of thousands to millions of years, or even longer. It can be said that within the timescale of human civilization, most hard rocks will not decay completely—"
Finally, the player delivered an immensely mocking closing statement:
"In summary, analyzing from the objective perspective of materials science, the substance known as 'steel' is far inferior to 'rock' in terms of durability and toughness. Therefore, blind faith in steel has no scientific basis whatsoever; it is merely a disposable commodity destined to rot into dross sooner or later."
The broadcast ended, and the entire corridor fell into a dead silence for about 0.5 seconds.
Though the speech contained not a single profanity nor named any names, every single word acted like a sharp blade, viciously stabbing into the sensitive and fragile self-esteem of the Iron Warriors.
"Pfft—"
An Executioner veteran currently grappling with an Iron Warrior couldn't hold it in even at a life-or-death moment; a blatantly obvious burst of laughter transmitted through his helmet vox-grille.
Even Akash, who was locked in a duel with Grendel, felt elated after hearing this "scientific argument," his whole body surging with extra strength. Parrying a furious blow from Grendel, he remarked in the comms channel:
"By the Emperor... these mortals are absolute talents! Even if I were intentionally looking for trouble, I couldn't come up with something like that!"
Immediately following that, a low rumble resembling a roar from the depths of hell shattered the quiet. It was not the howl of engines, but the screech of dozens of Iron Warriors shouting simultaneously through their vox-grilles, packed with extreme malice and fury.
For these Traitor Astartes who believed in logic, calculation, and cold rationality, nothing was more humiliating than using "scientific data" to argue that their lifelong faith was inferior to that of their arch-rival Dorn.
"Shut up! Shut up!! FRAKING SHUT UP!!!"
An Iron Warrior completely lost his mind. He had been confronting an Executioner Terminator, but now he violently spun around, his glowing crimson lenses locking dead onto the distant Helldivers position.
"Pseudoscience! False data! You vermin who only know how to play word games! I will tear out that tongue that speaks nothing but lies! I will grind your bones to dust!!"
This rage was contagious. The Iron Warrior line, which had been maintaining a tight tactical formation, collapsed visibly in an instant.
What tactics? What cover? What crossfire? Everything was thrown to the wind.
In their eyes, those Executioners swinging power axes were hateful, but that mortal blabbering on the loudspeaker about how "steel is inferior to granite" was the single greatest sacrilege in the universe at this very moment!
"For the Lord of Iron! Slaughter that speaker for me!"
Grendel was even more furious; his strictly trained rational cognitive circuits seemed to short-circuit at this instant. Letting out a roar that even drowned out the sound of exploding bolter shells, he unexpectedly ignored the lethal axe swinging toward him from Akash.
Taking the blow forcefully on his pauldron, he spun his gun around to fire a plasma blast toward the Helldiver fortifications.
"Who allowed you to compare that inferior stone to steel! Die! All of you, DIE!!"
With their commander losing control, at least half of the Iron Warriors broke off from their current combat like rabid dogs. Roaring, swinging chainswords and power fists, and braving the Executioners' incoming fire, they launched a suicidal charge toward the temporary fortifications built by the players, entirely reckless of the cost.
"Holy shit! Aggro pulled! It worked!" Watching the horde of iron giants charging over like tanks, the announcer player—who was smug just a moment ago—instantly changed his tune from cool scientific narrator to terrified panic: "Bros! Don't just stand there watching! I pulled all the mobs! Fire! Open fire, quick!!"
"This effect is way too good!!" The regiment executive commissioner in charge of the defense line looked at the Iron Warriors who had completely abandoned reason and only wanted to tear them apart. Shaking with excitement, he bellowed: "Everyone! Free fire! Dump all your ammunition out there! Don't let them get close!"
~Dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka
The autocannons and heavy bolters, long primed and waiting, finally roared to life. A dense hail of bullets swept outward like a metallic storm, slamming hard into the Iron Warriors who had abandoned tactical movement in their sheer fury.
At the same time, the Executioners naturally weren't going to miss this golden opportunity.
"Hahaha! Looks like these traitors' brains really have rusted!" Akash laughed maniacally. Seeing the massive opening left by Grendel, who had just been acting like a tough nut to crack but was now distracted, the Executioner war axe howled through the air and struck ruthlessly down at the traitor's backplate.
The other Executioner veterans followed suit immediately, initiating a merciless slaughter against the Iron Warriors who had exposed their backs to them.