The High City was burning.
Terra's magnificent capital, the pride of the false Emperor, was being consumed inch by inch by the flames of war.
The Imperial fleet's orbital bombardment had already torn seventeen massive breaches through the city's outer walls.
Through every breach, white-armored Luna Wolves were pouring into the city.
Armored columns of the Solar Auxilia followed close behind. The tracks of Leman Russ battle tanks crushed the corpses of gold-armored soldiers beneath them, while their main cannons blasted fresh explosions through the surrounding buildings.
Pilgrims who had once knelt before statues of the Emperor now ran desperately through burning streets, clutching their children.
Red-robed priests who had once served within the golden palace were being riddled with bolt rounds.
Ordinary humans who had once proudly called themselves citizens of Terra were now screaming, struggling, and dying beneath the Imperium's relentless advance.
This was war.
There were no innocents. Only opposing sides.
There was no right or wrong. Only victory and defeat.
The moment the banners of the 63rd Expeditionary Fleet were raised over the High City's walls, the city's fate was sealed.
It would be completely purged by the wrath of the Luna Wolves.
--
Three hundred meters east of the false Emperor's palace, inside a ruined building, [Your Salt, My Vinegar] crouched behind a half-collapsed wall, studying his target through a rifle scope.
One hundred Chaos faction players lay concealed throughout the surrounding ruins.
Every face carried the same fanatical expression.
Every hand gripped a weapon ready to fire at a moment's notice.
They had been hiding here for two whole hours.
During that time, they had watched wave after wave of the false Emperor's soldiers rush out of the palace to reinforce the outer defenses.
They had also watched those same soldiers get torn apart by Luna Wolves firepower, never to return.
The palace's defenses were growing visibly weaker.
"Bro, isn't it about time?"
[Poor Men Buy Cars, Rich Men Buy Watches, Billionaires Play Boonie Bears Run] leaned closer and whispered.
He wore a suit of lightweight master-crafted power armor that had cost him 230,000 Imperial Coins, and he carried a modified heavy bolter.
With all that equipment, he looked like a miniature walking tank.
[Your Salt, My Vinegar] didn't answer.
Instead, he raised a hand and beckoned toward the shadows behind him.
Two figures stepped forward.
Both wore ordinary Imperial Army uniforms, but the usernames floating above their heads told a different story.
[The First Signs of Chaos Corruption]
[The Warp Is Calling Me]
These were two of the few Chaos faction players who had awakened psychic abilities.
Although they were only Official-tier psykers, they were already strategic assets for a group like this.
"Take a look."
[Your Salt, My Vinegar] spoke quietly.
"Find out which part of the palace has the weakest defenses."
Both psykers closed their eyes.
Invisible waves of psychic energy spread outward from their bodies, passing through the ruins, penetrating the palace walls, and extending beyond the chaos of the ongoing battle.
Ten seconds later, [The First Signs of Chaos Corruption] opened his eyes.
His face had gone slightly pale, and fine beads of sweat covered his forehead.
"The eastern side halls."
His voice sounded exhausted.
"There's a small entrance with only about a dozen guards."
"Every other direction has at least a hundred soldiers."
"Looks like the false Emperor's officers have transferred most of their forces to the main gate."
A slow smile spread across [Your Salt, My Vinegar]'s face.
"Good."
He rose from behind the low wall and waved toward the hundred figures waiting behind him.
"Brothers, let's move."
A hundred players emerged from the ruins and crept toward the eastern side entrance like a pack of ghosts.
The eastern side gate was an unremarkable little doorway wedged between two enormous palace walls.
Unless someone looked closely, they might have mistaken it for nothing more than a shadow in the stonework.
Thirteen gold-armored soldiers stood guard outside.
Their backs were straight, and the halberds in their hands had been polished until they gleamed.
But their eyes...
Their eyes were filled with exhaustion and fear.
The sounds of explosions in the distance were growing closer.
Those white-armored daemons were approaching, one step at a time.
Their comrades were dying by the thousands beyond the city walls.
And all these soldiers could do was stand guard at this little doorway, waiting for a fate they knew would eventually come.
"Hey..."
A young soldier finally broke the silence, lowering his voice.
"What exactly are those things in white armor?"
"How come we've got so many soldiers, but we can't even beat a few dozen of them?"
The veteran standing beside him shot him a sharp look.
But he didn't reprimand the younger man.
Because deep down, he'd been wondering the same thing.
Were those white-armored figures even human anymore?
Their speed. Their strength. That...
That terrifying madness that made them treat death like it meant nothing.
A chill ran down the veteran's spine.
He didn't dare continue thinking about it.
Just then, he suddenly felt something cold brush across his neck.
A thin red line appeared on his throat.
He tried to shout.
Tried to scream.
Tried to warn the comrades standing beside him.
But his throat could no longer produce a sound.
Thud.
The veteran collapsed to the ground.
At almost the exact same moment, identical crimson lines appeared across the throats of the other twelve soldiers.
Thirteen bodies fell nearly simultaneously.
Not one of them saw who had killed them.
[Your Salt, My Vinegar] emerged from the shadows, blood still dripping from the tactical knife in his hand.
A hundred figures filed out behind him.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody celebrated.
They simply stepped over the thirteen corpses and slipped through the side entrance.
Their movements were so quiet that they might as well have been real ghosts.
Inside the eastern palace complex, distant bolter fire echoed through the halls.
[Your Salt, My Vinegar] led his hundred players through the shadows, moving quickly between the palace buildings.
The psykers in his group maintained their psychic scans, reporting nearby movements as they advanced.
"Fifty meters ahead on the left. Twenty soldiers moving west."
"Right-hand corridor. A dozen wounded soldiers resting. They haven't noticed us."
"Three hundred meters straight ahead. Heavy fighting... At least a hundred soldiers are surrounding something."
[Your Salt, My Vinegar]'s eyes lit up.
"Keep scanning."
He lowered his voice even further.
"Who's being surrounded?"
The psyker closed his eyes again, pushing his weak psychic abilities to their limits.
A few seconds later, his eyes snapped open.
He could barely contain his excitement.
"Twelve people!"
"Eleven wearing white power armor! And one wearing... an Imperial Army uniform!"
"It's them!"
A wave of barely suppressed cheers erupted across the channel.
[Your Salt, My Vinegar] raised his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet.
"Calm down."
His eyes swept across the hundred excited faces behind him.
His voice turned ice-cold.
"Sejanus is right ahead."
"But those Luna Wolves are with him."
"We're not going to charge in and fight them head-on."
"What we're going to do is wait until those false Emperor soldiers have them pinned down..."
He paused, slowly clenching his right hand into a fist.
"Then blow them all to hell. Soldiers included."
He patted the rocket launcher strapped to his back.
It was a [Whirlwind Portable Single-Tube Rocket Launcher (Simplified Military Version)], purchased from the game store for 170,000 Imperial Coins.
Its blast radius covered fifty meters.
And every single player present was carrying the exact same weapon.
One hundred rockets.
More than enough to reduce the entire hall to rubble.
"Everyone ready?"
[Your Salt, My Vinegar] asked over the channel.
One hundred voices answered simultaneously.
"READY!"
He drew a deep breath and tightened his grip on the launcher.
"Let's go."
--
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