In the virtual space, the sandtable model of the Tival battlefield had taken shape.
The Empire's Guard forces, marked in dusty yellow, clashed against the rebels' dark gray defensive fortifications in a jagged, interlocking pattern.
Virtual artillery fire erupted across the miniature landscape, blooming into tiny plumes of flame and smoke.
Medici gazed down like a cold and distant god, surveying this hell of his own creation.
The basic framework was complete, but to make this "awakening" truly profound, he needed to install more intricate gears of reward and punishment, mechanisms that would drive players to pour everything they had into this brutal stage.
"Cortana, log the point system and battlefield support mechanics," Medici's voice echoed through the space, brooking no argument.
"Command confirmed. Creating points and support system module now."
"Core principle: every meaningful action a player takes on the battlefield earns them points.
Killing enemy players or high-value AI, successfully capturing objectives, repairing vehicles, healing teammates, marking critical enemy targets... all of these contributions must receive immediate, quantifiable feedback."
As he spoke, a complex point chart rapidly populated the virtual interface.
Each action was followed by a specific number: kill +100, assist +50, objective capture +200, teammate revival +150, vehicle repair +100, marking enemy vehicles/special units +75...
"Points aren't just numbers," Medici explained.
"They're the lifeline for survival and victory on the battlefield. Players can spend points anywhere on the field, using the tactical tablet they carry, to call in powerful one-time support or acquire advanced equipment."
He began sketching out the "trump cards" capable of turning the tide of battle:
"Artillery Support: 1000 points. Calls in a battery of Imperial self-propelled guns, or rebel equivalent, for 30 seconds of devastating saturation fire on a designated area. Nothing survives in the target zone."
"Smoke Screen: 500 points. Deploys a thick curtain of smoke grenades over the target area, providing cover for assault or retreat."
"Equipment Drop: 800 points. Grants a single-use grenade launcher. Important note: this is the most terrifying firepower any individual soldier can wield, but ammo is limited, and if the player dies, the weapon vanishes."
Medici emphasized this point deliberately.
He wanted players to experience the euphoria of holding raw power, and the bitter sting of losing it.
That emotional whiplash, that dramatic arc, was something AI-generated smooth entertainment could never deliver.
"Armor Call: 1500 points. Summons a main battle tank for your faction. It will roll in from a rear staging point, becoming a mobile steel fortress on the battlefield."
These mechanics made battlefield choices far more layered. Players were no longer just charging infantry.
They had to weigh their options: save up points for a decisive artillery barrage, or grab that grenade launcher first and experience the thrill of mowing down enemies in droves?
But the "surprises" Medici had prepared went far beyond that.
"Finally, there are two ultimate abilities."
A trace of madness and grandeur from the Warhammer universe crept into Medici's voice, though he himself didn't notice it.
"Orbital Strike: 20,000 points. Attackers only. Requires unanimous approval from all squad members, and must be called in by the squad leader at a designated communications node. Effect: a macro-cannon or lance array from an orbital warship delivers a cleansing saturation bombardment on the target zone. Range... one kilometer diameter. Everything within the strike zone, including the terrain itself, will be reshaped."
Cortana's system seemed to pause for a microsecond. "Warning: this ability will have a catastrophic impact on battlefield balance and may induce intense feelings of helplessness among players. Confirm?"
"Confirmed."
Medici's tone was decisive. "I want them to understand that in the face of real war, individual courage can be as insignificant as dust. This isn't just a weapon. It's a ritual, a bloody offering to the Emperor."
"Final Offensive: When the attacking force is down to its last regiment (i.e., all player squads combined) and total accumulated points reach a specific threshold, this option auto-activates.
Consumes all remaining points to summon the ultimate war machine: a specially blessed and modified Leman Russ tank with enhanced armor and firepower, serving as the final spearhead to pierce the enemy's heart."
This tank was no longer just a vehicle.
It was a symbol, an indomitable will to fight surging forth from desperation. It would carry the attackers' last hope as they drove toward the rebels' final stronghold.
Either it would be reduced to scrap under concentrated enemy fire, or it would crush every obstacle in its path and deliver victory to the Empire.
"All support calls require time and produce massive visual and audio effects, drawing attention from across the battlefield."
Medici added the most critical restriction. "If you want the advantage, you have to accept the risk."
Cortana silently integrated these rules, and the virtual sandtable began simulating the support effects.
The marker for an orbital strike descended, and a huge section of the sandtable was instantly leveled, transformed into a molten glass crater.
The icon representing the Leman Russ tank moved like a steel beast, slowly grinding through rebel defenses.
Watching this scene of violent aesthetics, Medici nodded in satisfaction. This system didn't just enrich gameplay; it instilled his philosophy at a deeper level:
The value of teamwork. The preciousness of resources. The meaning of sacrifice. And... reverence in the face of absolute power.
This was no longer simple killing and combat. It was a condensed, dark parable about the nature of war itself.
"Basic rule configuration complete," Cortana reported.
"Running logic closure tests and emotional impact simulations... Simulation results: expected to trigger high-intensity emotional fluctuations, including but not limited to excitement, rage, tension, fear, profound achievement, and crushing defeat.
Aligns with the 'Dawn Initiative's' core requirement for emotional stimulation."
Medici smiled. Aligns with requirements? This was practically an emotional roller coaster custom-built for the Dawn Initiative.
"Good," he said softly, his gaze returning to that virtual battlefield. "Now there's just one last step: giving these future players a little 'Warhammer-style' welcome."
"Cortana, before the game begins, when all players first enter the loading screen, display the following text in the heaviest, most grandiose Gothic font, accompanied by deep chants and distant artillery fire:"
He paused, then recited in a solemn and reverent tone the opening words that, in another world, had made countless fans' blood boil while chilling their spines:
"In this moment, amid eternal strife, a mighty empire rises across the universe. It is the legacy of a fallen god, forged in blood and battle, seeking hope in darkness. This is a cruel and dark era, an age where only war is eternal..."
"...FOR THE EMPEROR!"
He practically roared the final battle cry. The virtual space itself seemed to tremble.
After a moment of silence, Cortana's voice returned: "Text and atmospheric rendering added to startup sequence. Emotional tone: tragic, fanatical, oppressive. Initial player cognition expected to receive severe impact."
Medici gazed at his now-complete creation, his heart filled with the complex emotions of a creator. Anticipation. Unease. And a faint, lingering trace of guilt.
He knew what he was about to unleash was not just a game, but a psychological bomb capable of tearing away society's comforting veneer.
"Preparations complete," he said to himself. "Now all that's left is to wait for the first wave of victims... no, players, to enter the arena."