Standard Terran Year 976.M30, Day 319, 00:47.
Aurelian IV, eastern edge of the Crimson Dawn Wastelands, on the road toward the Aru Industrial Zone.
Hundreds of Chimera armored transports, painted in the standard crimson livery of the PDF, jolted and bounced along the shattered rockcrete highway.
In the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] was staring intently at the tactical map on his data-slate.
His mechanical eye glowed with a faint blue light in the dim cabin, streams of battlefield telemetry cascading across his retinal projection.
"One hundred and forty-seven kilometers until we reach the outer perimeter of the Aru Industrial Zone."
The driver was a young local named Leo. Just a month ago, he was working sixteen-hour shifts in a waste processing plant in the Kent Underhive.
Now, he was an honored soldier of the Crimson Dawn PDF ground forces.
"ETA?"
"At current speed, two hours and twenty minutes," Leo glanced at the dashboard. "But if the road ahead is blocked by debris, we might need the engineering detachments to clear a path."
[Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] nodded.
He opened the regional player channel, a mental inventory of the forces under his command flashing through his mind.
Hundreds of Chimera transports. Ten Leman Russ battle tanks. Ten heavy self-propelled artillery pieces. Ten multiple-rocket launcher vehicles.
Together, they formed a composite brigade with a total troop strength of thirty-seven thousand.
By Imperial standards, this was the equivalent firepower of a fully equipped armored brigade.
In the regional channel, seven players were currently strategizing.
[You Are Good Enough]: "Ammunition baseline calculation complete, Major. Two thousand rounds per heavy bolter emplacement. Eight hundred high-explosive shells per self-propelled artillery unit. The rocket launcher vehicles are forty-tube variants; we have enough munitions for three full volleys each."
[Queen Victoria's Gestapo]: "Fuel and supply convoys are positioned at the rear of the column, deployed in the dispersed rule-of-three formation Cogboy taught us. Even if we get ambushed, they won't be able to wipe out our entire logistics train in one go."
[Hearts of Iron Mustache's Ambition]: "Recon drones deployed. Visual feeds confirm a massive cloud of green psychic contamination hanging over the Aru Industrial Zone. Concentration levels are still rising."
Listening to their reports, [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] swiped rapidly across his data-slate with a cybernetic finger.
On the tactical map, the sector representing the Aru Industrial Zone was highlighted in deep red. Next to it was a continuously updating tracker of the rift's diameter, fed by telemetry from the undercover scout players.
Diameter: 71 meters -> 72 meters -> 73 meters...
"One meter per hour," [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] muttered. "Just like Schrödinger Bro said."
He looked up at the other players in the back of the cabin, all of whom had also undergone basic cybernetic augmentation.
These were the technical backbone of the Crimson Machina Chapter. In reality, they were programmers, engineers, or at the very least, veteran model-kit builders.
After months of studying the System store's tutorials in-game, they could now at least read standard STC schematics and operate most standard Imperial wargear.
But more importantly... they had all played the Paradox Interactive grand strategy games.
"Alright, let's run a tactical simulation."
"Here is our current intel: The Blood Angels Fifth Company, roughly eight hundred strong, is holding the edge of the rift. They've been engaged in heavy combat for twenty-eight hours and have suffered over fifty percent casualties."
"The enemy consists of Nurgle-aligned Warp entities. Thus far, we're primarily seeing Nurglings, Plague Zombies, and Beasts of Nurgle, with the occasional Plaguebearer."
"However, extreme-level psychic signatures have been detected deep within the rift. A Great Unclean One-class entity is likely attempting to squeeze through."
"Our mission: Reinforce the Blood Angels' perimeter, halt the expansion of the rift, and buy time for the rear echelon."
He paused, his mechanical eye sweeping over everyone.
"Munitions are not a problem. Before we set out, Cogboy authorized a logistics budget of five hundred million Imperial Coins. Ammo from the System store is functionally infinite."
"We have ten Leman Russ battle tanks in the column. The Warhammer equivalent of the King of the Battlefield. The main armament is either a twin-linked lascannon or a battle cannon. Drop one of these into WWII, and it could solo an entire armored battalion."
"Ten heavy self-propelled artillery pieces. 155mm howitzers. One high-explosive shell can flatten half a football field."
"Ten multiple-rocket launcher vehicles. Forty tubes per vehicle. A single synchronized volley is four hundred high-explosive rockets. Pure saturation fire."
He traced several overlapping fan-shaped zones on the tactical map.
"This level of firepower, combined with the Blood Angels' ability to hold the frontline in melee, is more than enough for us to establish a three-tiered defense in depth around the rift."
"But here is the problem."
[Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] pulled up another data file—Schrödinger Bro's analysis of Nurgle daemons extracted from Warhammer lore databases.
"The core characteristics of Nurgle Warp entities are extreme vitality, terrifying damage resistance, and the innate ability to spread corrosion and plagues. It might take three to five standard mass-reactive bolts just to permanently put down a single Plague Zombie. Furthermore, they do not care about casualties, and their numbers are functionally infinite. As long as the rift remains open, they will keep pouring out endlessly. Therefore, a traditional trench warfare doctrine will drag us into a war of attrition we cannot win."
The cabin fell silent for a few seconds.
Then, [Hearts of Iron Mustache's Ambition] spoke up.
"Then we don't fight a static trench war. We employ mobile defense, elastic defense in depth, and concentrated fire superiority."
He pulled up a tactical simulation he had just drafted.
"My proposal is to use the existing Blood Angels fortifications as the core strongpoint, while we establish three mobile fire-support groups on the exterior perimeter."
"Each fire-support group will consist of three Leman Russ tanks, three self-propelled artillery pieces, three rocket launcher vehicles, and one regiment of PDF infantry. They will be deployed in a triangular formation, spaced two kilometers apart, creating interlocking fields of overlapping fire."
"When the Nurgle daemons surge out, the rocket launcher vehicles will deliver the first wave of saturation bombardment to break their charge formation."
"Then, the self-propelled artillery will execute a second wave of precision strikes, prioritizing large targets and dense clusters."
"Finally, the Leman Russ tanks and PDF infantry will push up to mop up the stragglers, while the engineering detachments in the rear rapidly deploy minefields and anti-armor obstacles."
"If any sector comes under overwhelming pressure, the other two fire-support groups can immediately maneuver to reinforce, or... they can execute a fighting retreat, drawing the enemy in deep, and then obliterate them with pre-sighted artillery coordinates."
He paused.
"This is called Elastic Defense. It's exactly how von Manstein fought at the Third Battle of Kharkov in WWII. The only difference is, he used tanks as mobile fire-support nodes, whereas we'll be using Leman Russ tanks as... uh, heavy static pillboxes."
[Queen Victoria's Gestapo] chimed in. "We also have to account for plague transmission. Every single PDF soldier must be issued full-hazmat MOPP gear. Post-battle, all equipment must undergo high-temperature thermal sterilization. We need to establish quarantine zones and decontamination stations directly behind the frontline. Casualties must be medevaced immediately. The rot of Nurgle is potent enough to taint even the gene-seed of an Astartes."
[Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] listened, his mechanical eye whirring rapidly.
Three seconds later, he nodded.
"We go with this doctrine. But I'm adding one thing."
He pulled up a specific page from the System store.
"Before we deployed, I requisitioned thirty automated Tarantula sentry turrets from the store. Standard Imperial Guard wargear. Each is armed with a twin-linked heavy bolter and comes equipped with built-in augurs and basic logic engines capable of IFF recognition. We'll deploy them in the gaps and weak points of the perimeter to supplement our static firepower. I've also requisitioned five Vulture gunships to provide continuous aerial reconnaissance on the rift's expansion and enemy troop movements."
He looked at the group.
"This battle isn't just about reinforcing the Blood Angels. It is the first massive, live-fire combat trial for our Crimson Dawn PDF forces."
"It's true that in the Warhammer universe, powerful entities dictate the ultimate outcome of a war. Primarchs, Astartes, Daemon Princes... these beings truly can act as one-man armies."
"But never forget." Major Carlson's voice dropped to a low, serious register. "Throughout Warhammer history, there are countless records of mere mortals slaying Astartes. The snipers of the Tallarn Desert, the Ice Warriors of Valhalla, the defenders of Cadia... As long as the tactics are sound and the will is unbreakable, mortals can absolutely forge miracles."
"And the army we are forging today might one day have to face... enemies far more terrifying than the daemons of Nurgle."
He didn't state it explicitly, but every player present knew exactly what he was referring to.
The Horus Heresy.
The Emperor caged to the Golden Throne.
The ten-thousand-year dark night of the Imperium of Man.
"Therefore," Major Carlson concluded, "we are going to fight this battle beautifully. We are going to show the Blood Angels that we, a local PDF force, are not here to drag them down."
"Understood!" The seven players responded in unison.
The convoy rolled onward.
–
Standard Terran Year 976.M30, Day 320, 02:11.
Aru Industrial Zone, defensive wall at the edge of the crater.
With a single strike of his power sword, Seranaphy Nori cleaved a Warp entity, scaling the wall cleanly in two.
The disruption field of his blade instantly carbonized the wound, preventing the disgusting, purulent blood from splattering.
However, the residual neural reflexes of the thing caused its severed torso to twitch, its bone-exposed fingers still attempting to claw at his greave.
"Get off."
Seranaphy kicked it off the wall. The corpse plummeted into the mountainous pile of remains below with a dull, squelching thud.
Panting heavily, he leaned back against the firing slit.
"Champion!"
Veteran Hassan sprinted over, his face pale.
"The eastern wall section is fractured! Three Warp entities detonated themselves simultaneously! The engineering detachments are rushing to repair it, but they need time!"
Seranaphy looked toward the east.
Eighty meters away, a five-meter-wide breach had been blown into the defensive wall, exposing twisted rebar and shattered rockcrete.
Five Blood Angels were holding the line at the breach. The muzzle flashes of their bolters strobed in the darkness, but there were simply too many Warp entities surging into the gap.
"Deploy the western reserves over there," Seranaphy ordered, his voice raspy. "Also, notify the fleet. Request orbital fire support. I'll transmit the coordinates to you immediately."
"Are we... still requesting macro-cannons?" Hassan hesitated for a moment.
Over the past twenty-four hours, the fleet had conducted six orbital bombardments. Each strike cleared a massive sector, but in the aftermath, the number of daemons pouring out of the rift would surge exponentially.
It was almost as if... they were being enraged.
"Do it," Seranaphy gritted his teeth. "If we don't, we can't hold that breach. Tell Commander Azkaellon that this is our final request. After this... we'll have to prepare for close-quarters melee."
Hassan nodded heavily and turned, sprinting toward the vox-station.
Seranaphy looked back down over the wall.
Deep within the crater, the green Warp rift had expanded to over seventy meters in diameter. Viscous pus cascaded out like a waterfall, pooling into a bubbling swamp at the bottom.
And right now, even more things were taking shape within that swamp.
They possessed far more massive silhouettes.
Seranaphy's pupils contracted slightly.
He saw the embryonic form of... a new monstrosity.
The thing was still writhing in the pus, not yet fully formed.
But its bloated bulk already exceeded that of a Land Raider, its surface covered in a thick carapace of rotting flesh.
Over a dozen tentacles sprouted from various parts of its torso, the tip of every single tentacle bearing a drooling maw.
"Damn it..."
Seranaphy tightened his grip on his power sword.
He knew that the moment that thing fully formed and crawled out, this defensive wall wouldn't even survive a single charge.
But just at that moment.
Hassan's voice crackled over the vox-channel, trembling with disbelief. "Champion... the fleet has responded. But it's not the strike cruisers this time. It's the Red Tear. The Gloriana-class battleship. Two of its secondary macro-cannon batteries are currently charging."
Seranaphy froze.
A Gloriana-class.
The most powerful class of battleship in the Imperium of Man, personally commissioned by the Emperor. There were no more than thirty of them in the entire galaxy.
As the flagship of the Blood Angels Legion, every single macro-cannon shell the Red Tear fired packed enough yield to sink a light frigate.
And they were using them to bombard a planetary surface target?
"Commander Azkaellon says..." Hassan's voice continued, "...since we can't kill all these rotting things, we'll let them know the true meaning of the Emperor's wrath. Bombardment countdown: Ten. Nine. Eight..."
Seranaphy snapped back to reality and roared at every warrior who could still move. "All units! Take cover! Maximum protection! I repeat! This is not a standard orbital strike! It's secondary-battery fire from a Gloriana-class! If you don't want your internal organs pulverized by the shockwave, get your heads down!"
The warriors moved instantly.
The critically wounded were dragged into the reinforced bunkers at the innermost edge of the defensive wall, while the combat-capable fighters scrambled behind pillboxes and tank wrecks.
Seranaphy threw himself into a semi-subterranean bunker originally meant for ammunition storage, slamming the heavy alloy door shut just in time.
The countdown reached zero.
--
High orbit, bridge of the Red Tear.
Azkaellon stood before the tactical hololith.
His eyes were glued to the bombardment coordinates on the screen.
Aru Industrial Zone, Seventh Administrative Sector crater. The seventy-one-meter-diameter Warp rift and a surrounding radius of three hundred meters.
"Charging complete," the Master of Ordnance reported.
"Fire," Azkaellon said calmly.
The next second!
Along both flanks of the Red Tear, two massive, three-hundred-meter-long cannon barrels simultaneously flared with blinding light.
It was the plasma arcing from the magnetic acceleration rails, charged to their absolute limits right before the macro-cannons fired.
Then, the muzzles erupted with blindingly white fireballs exceeding twenty meters in diameter.
The two macro-cannon batteries fired furiously. Twelve shells, accelerated by the magnetic rails, cleared the barrels and plummeted toward the planetary surface at 0.08 times the speed of light.
The plasma trails generated by the shells' friction against the atmosphere drew twelve spears of light that pierced the heavens from the void.
From orbit to the surface, the journey took mere seconds.
Then, they struck with devastating fury.