Scorchwind had truly gone on a killing spree.
He controlled his Ultramarine, tearing through the abandoned industrial zone's maze of pipes, factory buildings, and collapsed passages.
The roar of the bolter and the shriek of the chainsword became the soundtrack of this sector.
The traitor auxiliaries went from frenzied resistance at first, to desperate sporadic fire, to finally running at the mere sight of him.
Facing this bulletproof, immensely strong, and terrifyingly efficient blue angel of death, any mortal's courage would evaporate fast.
Scorchwind even started hunting for areas with dense enemy clusters, or slowing down on purpose to draw out hidden snipers, then shredding the ambushers and their cover in even more savage counterattacks.
He was loving every second of this absolute power trip.
His kill count easily pushed past one hundred, one hundred fifty... steadily climbing toward two hundred.
Health bar? The thing was basically a joke. The occasional shield flicker from grazing heavy fire meant nothing compared to the power armor's excellent self-repair systems and its own ridiculous capacity.
"Guys, you seeing this? This is what you call a god of war! THIS is a god of war!"
After cleaving three traitors huddled together along with their cover in one swing of his chainsword, Scorchwind yelled into the mic.
"I feel like I could solo a Leman Russ right now! Hell, maybe two!"
The chat was full of hype and slightly jealous commentary:
"Scorchwind's gone completely feral!"
"Battlefield Warriors: Ultramarine Chronicles"
"Traitors: Report! Someone's hacking!"
"At this power level, Chaos doesn't stand a chance without greater daemons."
"Another squad already destroyed the Life Altar? Only Scorchwind's side is still out here farming kills..."
That last comment snapped Scorchwind back to reality.
He glanced at the mission progress bar in the upper left of the tactical map.
Sure enough, among the four altar icons, the one representing the Life Altar had gone dark, showing [Purified]. Progress: 1/4.
Meanwhile, the Skull Altar he was heading toward, along with the other two (the Forbidden Altar and the Art Altar) still pulsed with ominous psychic light.
"Other squad's efficient, nice."
Scorchwind gave them a quick shoutout, but didn't dwell on it.
His own advance was fast too, and besides... farming points was just too damn satisfying.
He figured as long as he kept pushing forward and killing everything in sight, destroying the arena altar ahead would be easy.
The other two altars? His teammates would handle them for sure.
The two AI Ultramarines beside him were operating on a completely different wavelength.
They maintained extreme tactical discipline, moving fast and efficiently, never wasting time on pointless corpse mutilation or hunting for more targets.
Their objective was crystal clear: find the altar, destroy it.
Resistance along the way was just obstacles to clear, and once cleared, they immediately moved to the next search point.
Their kill counts might not have been as flashy as Scorchwind's, but their approach was direct and brutally efficient.
Just as Scorchwind took another detour to clear out a traitor sniper team hiding in the upper-level pipes, cheerfully preparing to swing back toward the main arena entrance...
A serious, urgent voice cut into the communication channel of all Astartes players, including Scorchwind's. It even carried traces of psychic interference static.
It was a direct psychic transmission from their company's Chief Librarian:
[Attention all battle-brothers!]
[Massive Warp fluctuations detected surging at the other three coordinate points! The veil of reality is being torn open with sustained force!]
[Repeat, this is not psychic aftershock! This is an active, sustained blasphemous ritual forcibly anchoring Warp entities to realspace!]
[Chaos... they're coming! Destroy the remaining altars immediately and interrupt the ritual! Otherwise we'll be facing a full daemonic incursion!]
The transmission cut off abruptly, but that sense of urgency drove into each player's consciousness like ice-cold steel.
The smile on Scorchwind's face froze instantly.
He snapped his gaze upward.
An indescribable wrongness that disturbed the soul at its deepest level was spreading rapidly.
The sulfur and blood scent already thick in the air seemed to intensify and thicken, now mixed with... acrid burning metal and sickly sweet decay?
His ears picked up faint, malicious whispers and sharp cackling that even the power armor's advanced sound insulation couldn't completely filter out.
From deep within the arena, the sounds were no longer just battle cries and weapon clashes. Now they were mixing with inhuman roars from the depths of some molten hellscape, and the horrifying crunch of bones being pulverized by tremendous force!
"Oh shit..."
Scorchwind instinctively tightened his grip on the bolter.
The easy high of mowing down enemies vanished completely, replaced by instinctive alarm at the unknown threat bearing down on them.
He quickly scanned the tactical map.
Markers representing Chaos reinforcements were spawning rapidly and clustering around the three intact altars!
No longer the light red dots of mortal traitors, but darker, more prominent crimson skull icons marked with twisted symbols!
The chat's tone shifted instantly:
"Here they come! Chaos daemons!"
"Scorchwind stop farming! Get to the altar!"
"One hour's up! Chaos is entering the field!"
"Taking out the Life Altar early was clutch! Otherwise we'd be dealing with four daemon types right now!"
"Move! Before the daemons fully manifest!"
Scorchwind didn't hesitate.
He signaled to the two AI teammates, and the three formed a tight triangle, charging at full speed toward the arena's entrance that gaped like a beast's maw, covered in rust and dried bloodstains.
The easy "fun run" was over.
Now it was time for the Astartes to cross blades with true Warp daemons on this cursed ground.
Chaos had arrived in reality.