With the loss of the Great Unclean One's unified command, the battle in the Aru Industrial Zone rapidly devolved into a one-sided slaughter.
The tactical system of the Crimson Dawn player army now demonstrated terrifying efficiency.
The anti-psychic field of the Brothers of Silence Company acted as an insurmountable barrier, the three hundred men forming a fan-shaped phalanx to maintain continuous output.
Any Nurgle daemon pouring from the rift—whether they were Nurglings, slimes, plague wyrms, rot hounds, or Plaguebearers wielding rusted blades—was gripped by the throat by an invisible hand the instant they stepped into the field's range.
Sizzle-sizzle-sizzle...
Psychic corruption was suppressed, corruptive auras were dispelled, and even the pus flowing across the daemons' bodies began to coagulate and dry up.
The chirping laughter of the Nurglings turned into confused gurgling before they were torn apart by a hail of bolter rounds.
Rot Hounds dragged their rotting bodies in an attempt to charge. But within the anti-psychic field, their internal supply of Warp energy was cut off, their muscle vitality plummeted, and their charge speed slowed to a crawl, as if trudging through thick mud. Then, their heads were blown off by precise single shots from the Astartes warriors.
The Plaguebearers were slightly more troublesome. These mid-tier daemons still retained basic tactical awareness and would attempt to form ranks for a charge or hurl plague flasks from a distance.
But the Tech-Priest heavy ordnance cluster gave them no chance.
"Coordinates locked, cluster target, quantity twelve, distance one hundred and seventy meters." A heavy support Tech-Priest's mechanical augmetic eye flashed as the multi-melta on his shoulder began to charge. "Volley."
Six blinding white beams pierced across the battlefield.
That squad of twelve Plaguebearers, along with over a hundred Nurglings surrounding them, were instantly vaporized.
A bizarre scene began to unfold on the battlefield:
Daemons poured endlessly from the rift like an inexhaustible stream of green pus. And the Crimson Dawn army acted like an icy shredder, thoroughly grinding up and purifying this stream of pus within a fifty-meter radius of the rift.
"Left flank, three Beasts of Nurgle massing!" a warning came through the regional channel.
Three Beasts of Nurgle, each comparable in size to a Leman Russ tank hull, had just crawled out of the rift. Pustules bulged on their obese bodies, and the carrion tentacles on their abdomens writhed in excitement.
"Grey Knights Squads Three and Four, psychic chain binding. Dreadnought Squads Seven through Nine, concentrate fire with armor-piercing rounds. Astartes Iron Warriors Company, cover the flank, prevent them from charging the Tech-Priest positions."
The orders were relayed down the chain of command.
Twenty Grey Knights turned their Nemesis force halberds, and azure psychic chains shot out like pythons, entangling the limbs of the three Beasts of Nurgle. The daemons roared in agony as the chains hissed and scorched their carrion carapaces upon contact.
Immediately after, the main cannons of nine Contemptor Dreadnoughts fired in unison.
Armor-piercing rounds from twin-linked assault cannons rained down, every shot blowing a basin-sized hole into the Beasts of Nurgle. Rotting flesh flew, and yellowish-green pus-blood spewed like a waterfall.
The three Beasts of Nurgle struggled, but the psychic chains bound them fast.
Ten seconds later, the head of the first Beast of Nurgle was struck simultaneously by three armor-piercing rounds, exploding like a ripe pumpkin.
The abdomen of the second was pierced by a melta beam, spewing out viscera and undigested corpse chunks.
The third attempted to self-destruct, all the pustules on its body swelling simultaneously. But before it could detonate, the power claw of a Dreadnought violently plunged into its chest cavity, ripping its plague core right out.
The battle had transitioned from an intense clash into a simple clean-up operation.
Simultaneously, under the cover of the Brothers of Silence and the Astartes, the Tech-Priest detachment successfully transported a heavy piece of equipment to the edge of the rift.
It was the [Temporary Warp Rift Stabilizing and Sealing Device] redeemed from the System Store. The name sounded incredibly high-tech and imposing, but it actually just looked like a giant composite searchlight.
The device stood ten meters tall, its base a heavy alloy frame, and its top a two-meter-diameter ring-shaped emitter. Inside, complex psychic conductive crystals and reality-anchoring runes were visible.
"Initiating self-diagnostic sequence." The lead Tech-Priest player, ID [The Welding Emperor of Mankind], was currently operating the device remotely via a dataslate. "Crystal charge normal. Reality runes verified intact. Emitter calibrated."
He looked up, his mechanical augmetic eye locking onto the green rift ahead that was still spewing daemons.
"Target: Warp rift. Diameter: One hundred meters. Corruption Type: Nurgle. Psychic Reading: MU-class, decaying. Initiating sealing sequence."
The device hummed to life simultaneously.
Inside the ring-shaped emitter, the psychic crystals began to spin at high speeds, and the reality runes lit up one by one.
Then, a warm, resolute beam of milky-white light shot out from the emitter, striking the exact center of the rift.
Sizzle-sizzle-sizzle...
The instant the light beam touched the rift, a miraculous reaction occurred.
Under the illumination of the milky-white light, the green, pus-like Warp energy began to melt away like snow under the sun.
The twisted, profane geometric patterns at the edge of the rift were slowly smoothed out and erased by the restorative power of the fabric of reality.
The expansion of the rift ceased, and it even began to... shrink.
"Diameter one hundred meters... ninety-nine meters... ninety meters..."
[The Welding Emperor of Mankind] stared at the real-time readings on the dataslate, his mechanical fingers typing rapidly across the virtual keyboard, fine-tuning the emission angle and energy output.
The number of daemons pouring from the rift visibly decreased.
Those Nurgle daemons still trying to squeeze their way out would instantly ignite with invisible flames upon touching the edge of the milky-white light beam, their putrid psychic energy rapidly purified.
One Plaguebearer had half its body poking out of the rift when the milky-white beam swept across its back.
"Argh—Grandfather—No—"
It let out a harrowing scream, the carrion carapace on its back melting away like wax to reveal the carbonized bones beneath. Three seconds later, the entire daemon was thoroughly purified, not even leaving behind ash.
The rift was steadily shrinking at a rate of roughly fifteen meters per hour.
Meanwhile, the Crimson Dawn army formed a defensive line of steel in front of the rift.
The Astartes warriors arrayed themselves in a semi-circle, their bolters, meltaguns, and plasma cannons weaving an interlocking net of crossfire. Any daemon lucky enough to squeeze out of the shrinking rift had an average survival time of less than a second.
The Grey Knights in the rear continually chanted Mantras of Purification, the psychic ripples expanding outward to further weaken the daemons' strength.
The Brothers of Silence Company maintained their anti-psychic fields, shrouding the entire rift area in the shadow of psychic suppression.
The Tech-Priests operated the sealing device, keeping the milky-white beam continuously illuminated.
Time slowly flowed by. Two hours passed.
The rift's diameter had shrunk to seventy meters, and the daemons pouring out had dwindled to less than half of their initial torrential flood. Occasionally, seven or eight relatively stubborn Plaguebearers or Beasts of Nurgle would squeeze through. But they were instantly shredded by the waiting net of firepower.
The daemon corpses on the battlefield had already piled up like mountains.
Yellowish-green pus-blood soaked the ground, and the cloying, putrid scent remained faintly discernible even after purification.
Paul stood atop a slightly elevated pile of rubble, his golden Custodian armor remaining resplendent under the dim sky of the Aru Industrial Zone.
He swept his gaze across the battlefield. The rift was still slowly shrinking, and the device operated by the Tech-Priests was running stably. The Crimson Dawn's Astartes warriors maintained their vigilance, though their taut nerves had relaxed somewhat. The Grey Knights were taking shifts on guard duty.
The Brothers of Silence Company had begun to rest in shifts. Maintaining the anti-psychic field was an immense burden even for Blanks, and over forty of the three hundred men were already showing mild symptoms of backlash.
He opened the regional channel.
Paul: "G Bro, come here a sec."
A few seconds later, a suit of power armor painted Ultramarines blue, with the emblem of the Macragge's Honour etched onto its pauldron, walked over to the bottom of the rubble.
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] looked up, his voice beneath his faceplate carrying a smile, "Paul, what are your orders?"
Paul hopped down from the rubble. His 3.55-meter height forced Guilliman to look up at him.
"In a bit, I'm going to take the majority of the main force and head to the City of the Holy Anthem for reinforcement," Paul's voice echoed calmly through his Custodian faceplate. "You stay here."
He paused, adding details, "Take three hundred Space Marines and form a mixed-composition company. All Tech-Priests will also remain to continue operating the sealing device until the rift is fully closed. Also..."
Paul's gaze swept over the mountains of daemon corpses piled on the battlefield. "...retrieve all the daemon corpses."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] was stunned for a moment before reacting, "Paul, you mean... recycle them in the Store?"
"Correct."
Paul nodded. "Nurglings go for two hundred each, Rot Hounds for three hundred, Plaguebearers for fifteen hundred, and Beasts of Nurgle start at three thousand... How many did we just kill? Easily several hundreds of thousands, maybe over a million. In that battle just now, the Tech-Priests' melta volleys, the Grey Knights' psychic expenditure, the Brothers of Silence's stabilization treatments, and the energy output of that sealing device... All told, we burned through at least a billion."
Paul looked at G Bro. "Every little bit we can recoup helps."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] nodded heavily. "Understood, Paul."
"Also," Paul's tone grew more serious. "Once the retrieval is complete and the rift is sealed, do not engage in excessive contact with the Blood Angels forces. And don't contact the PDF either. Although they are our people, right now our identity is the Imperial Custodes Covert Inquisition; we must maintain our distance."
He paused. "Take all equipment and anything related to us that might have been left behind—shell casings, energy battery remnants, everything. Board the transports, return to the Terra's Glory, and wait for us. Once the corruption in the City of the Holy Anthem is resolved, we will return immediately, and then..."
Paul made a gesture for evacuation. "...immediately initiate Warp translation and leave this system."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] remained silent for two seconds before replying, "I understand, Paul." His voice was very serious. "Leave no traces, do not expose our identity, do not arouse suspicion. Retreat immediately upon completion of the mission."
Paul patted his pauldron. "You are steady and meticulous." Paul's voice carried approval. "You live up to your ID."
He paused, speaking half-jokingly, half-seriously, "If the Crimson Dawn truly has a future, if one day we truly establish our own faction in the Warhammer universe... perhaps you really will become the Regent of our world."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] laughed. The laughter filtering through his power armor faceplate carried the unique vitality of youth. "Paul, don't curse me like that."
He complained, "Look at the life the Ultramarines Primarch, Imperial Regent Guilliman, leads in the Warhammer universe after becoming Regent. Working from dawn till dusk every day, dealing with the mountain of administrative affairs on Terra, coordinating relations between various Chapters, countering Chaos invasions, guarding against the petty schemes of the High Lords, trying to fix the utter mess that is the Imperium..."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] shook his head repeatedly. "I heard he even has to squeeze in sleep by putting himself in a stasis field for ten thousand years, only to wake up and continue slaving away for the rotting Imperium. I don't want any part of that 'blessing'."
He looked at Paul, his tone light. "I'd rather take it easy. Follow you, Paul, beat up some daemons, hack up some xenos, and do some base building when there's nothing else going on. As for managing an empire?"
G Bro smiled. "Leave that to people with managerial talent. I'm perfectly fine just being a warrior."
Paul laughed as well.
The two stood beneath the rubble, surrounded by the residual smoke and putrid scent of the battlefield. In the distance was the slowly shrinking Warp rift and the bustling army. At this moment, they didn't seem like superhuman warriors who had just survived a grueling battle in the grimdark universe of Warhammer, but rather two ordinary guys chatting.
But the time for idle chat quickly ended.
"Alright," Paul turned around. "I'm taking the men to reinforce Sanguinius."
He opened the regional channel and began issuing transfer orders.
[All units, attention.]
[Crimson Dawn Astartes Chapters: With the exception of the three hundred men selected by G Bro to remain, all forces board the transports.]
[Grey Knights Company: All forces board the transports.]
[Brothers of Silence Company: All forces board the transports.]
[Dreadnought Formation: With the exception of fifty units remaining to assist with defense, all forces board the transports.]
[Terminator Escort Squad: All forces board the transports.]
[Assassin Infiltration Team... remain on standby in the transports... no need to deploy... we don't need you right now.]
The players augmented as Assassins: "..."
[Destination: City of the Holy Anthem Hive.]
[Mission: Reinforce the Ninth Primarch Sanguinius, purge the Tzeentch corruption.]
[Boarding Time: Within fifteen minutes.]
[Repeat: Complete boarding within fifteen minutes.]
The Crimson Dawn army began an orderly withdrawal from the defensive line, congregating at the temporarily cleared landing zones in the rear. The engines of the Thunderhawk gunships and transports began to pre-heat.
But just as Paul was about to board the flagship Thunderhawk...
A figure blocked his path.
Seranaphy Nori.
The left side of the Blood Angels Champion's face had completely rotted away, pus and blood mixed with yellowish-green corrupt matter seeping from the wound, staining half of his power armor. His eyes were as crimson as blood, the Red Thirst eroding his sanity, yet he still forced himself to stand straight.
"Praetor," Seranaphy slammed his right fist against his left chest, executing a flawless Blood Angels salute. His voice was slurred due to his festering cheek, but he enunciated every word clearly. "Your strength... commands my utmost respect."
He paused before continuing, "A message has arrived from Commander Azkaellon on the flagship Red Tear. The Commander inquires... if you would be willing to proceed to the City of the Holy Anthem hive and reinforce our Primarch Father, Sanguinius."
Seranaphy looked up, earnest expectation in his eyes. "After this is over, the Blood Angels Legion... will surely reward you heavily."
Paul stopped in his tracks.
The golden faceplate slowly turned toward the heavily injured Champion. The majesty of the Custodes naturally exuded; even without deliberately releasing psychic pressure, Seranaphy felt his breath catch.
"Regarding reinforcement..." Paul's voice echoed through the faceplate, icy and devoid of emotion. "As an elite of the Imperium... I will naturally see to it."
He paused. "As for the Blood Angels Legion..."
Paul's gaze swept over Seranaphy's festering face, over the wounded Blood Angels receiving treatment from the Tech-Priests in the distance, and over the entire Aru battlefield.
"A planet under your garrison suffers a Warp heretic invasion of this magnitude, corruption levels reaching MU-class, alongside the simultaneous appearance of three terrifyingly powerful Warp entities..." His voice grew even colder. "I will report this matter to the Emperor, exactly as it is."
Seranaphy's face paled. Although it was covered in rot and pus-blood, the stiffness was still apparent.
He wanted to open his mouth to offer an explanation... But the words died on his tongue.
Because before the Imperial Custodes, excuses were meaningless.
The Imperial Custodes were loyal only to the Emperor; they only looked at results. And the result was glaringly obvious: after the Blood Angels took over defense, this planet slid toward the Warp.
"Understood... Praetor," Seranaphy lowered his head, his voice dry. "The Blood Angels Legion... will bear all responsibility."
Paul did not respond.
He looked at [I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] standing to the side and ordered with unquestionable authority, "Have the Tech-Priests assist with the purification and treatment of these Blood Angels. Use the best medical supplies."
[I am not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] nodded.
"Understood, Praetor."
Paul took one last look at Seranaphy, turned around, and boarded the Thunderhawk gunship.
The ramp slowly closed.
Through the observation viewport, Seranaphy watched the golden giant take his seat inside the cabin, the Watcher's Axe leaning beside him and the storm shield resting on his lap.
Then, the ramp sealed completely.
The engines roared.
The Thunderhawk gunship slowly ascended, adjusted its angle, and abruptly accelerated, tearing toward the direction of the City of the Holy Anthem.
--
Come on guys, only 100 more powerstones before we reach Rank 10.