One month later, in a magnificent ballroom within the Amarah Hive Spire, the atmosphere was thick with tension and unease. The room was filled with nobles dressed in opulent luxury, adorned with priceless jewels. Their faces, ranging from arrogant to shrewd, marked them as representatives of the most powerful families on Amarah.
"Kelly, do you know why the Helldivers suddenly summoned us here for a meeting?" one noble with a meticulously groomed beard whispered to the bloated, grim-faced man beside him.
The noble called Kelly shook his head, his flabby face squeezing out a flicker of displeasure. "I don't know. They didn't leak a single word beforehand. But I suspect they want to extort something from us. If we don't bleed a little today, I fear we won't be allowed to leave."
He was clearly dissatisfied with this summons, yet he dared not openly rebel.
"Sigh," the first noble sighed, his face clouded with worry. "I just don't know how big their appetite is. I knew nothing good would come of the military arriving."
He looked around; the same anxiety was written on the faces of every noble present.
Only after every family representative had arrived did the ballroom doors finally swing open. Ghostface appeared. He wore no formal attire, but was instead clad in his pitch-black carapace armor. His heavy boots thudded against the carpet with a dull, rhythmic sound.
As he entered, the expressions of those present soured. Wearing combat gear instead of formal dress was a blatant hint—this was no friendly social gathering.
When they saw the giant following closely behind him, their complexions turned even worse. It was the infamous Tyrant of the Badab, Lugft Huron.
His massive frame nearly filled the doorway. He scanned the nobles with a playful, predatory gaze, projecting an invisible aura of crushing pressure.
"Yo, everyone's here," Ghostface said, acting as if he hadn't noticed their grim expressions. He sauntered to the head of the table and sat down unceremoniously, crossing his legs with an irritably casual posture. "Sorry about that, everyone. Ran into Brother Huron on the way and chatted for a bit. Got held up."
"Don't mind me," Huron spoke with interest, standing beside Ghostface like a great, silent idol. "I'm just here to observe. No matter what happens, I won't interfere."
The nobles cursed inwardly. Observe? Like hell they believed that! This was clearly a show of force. With a butcher like Huron in the room, who would dare to make a move?
In reality, they were wrong. Huron and Ghostface had truly run into each other by chance. Upon learning that Ghostface was the commander of the Helldivers for the Damocles Crusade, Huron had grown curious and decided to follow along. Ghostface, naturally, didn't mind. Thus, the current situation was born.
Kelly spoke first, forcing a thin smile and keeping his tone as respectful as possible. "Lord Ghostface, on behalf of the Helldivers, what important matters have prompted this sudden gathering?"
"Oh, it's nothing. Just a get-together to build some rapport," Ghostface played dumb, grinning broadly. "After all, we are all loyal servants of the Emperor. It wouldn't look good if things got too tense and the Old Man saw it, right? Eh?"
He looked around, seemingly seeking consensus.
The nobles all joined in with forced, dry laughter. "Lord Ghostface is absolutely right. We are all the Emperor's loyal servants, dedicated to His service."
They echoed him fervently, trying to de-escalate the atmosphere.
"Yeah, yeah," Ghostface continued to laugh, though his laughter sounded chilling. "You're in your big houses stuffing your faces, while we're in the gutters digging trenches and squatting in holes. All for the Emperor's sake, hahahaha."
The temperature in the room dropped to freezing. None of the nobles expected Ghostface to flip so quickly. The naked sarcasm made their smiles stiffen until they could no longer laugh.
Finally, Kelly braced himself and wiped cold sweat from his forehead. "Our sincerest apologies, my Lord. It was indeed an oversight on our part. Please, give us a chance to make amends."
"Make amends? Why didn't you say so earlier!" Ghostface's tone shifted instantly back to his previous state. "It's simple, really. Just hand over some money."
The nobles breathed a collective sigh of relief. If it was just liquid assets, they could hand it all over without suffering structural damage to their families. They feared the loss of power, not gold.
Ghostface pulled a piece of paper from somewhere and waved it. "Of course, we Helldivers aren't unreasonable. I've done the math. This won't affect your quality of life. Whatever you ate before, you'll keep eating."
"So, we aren't asking for much," Ghostface slammed the paper onto the table with a sharp crack. "Of the taxes you collect, you hand 95% to us. You keep the remaining 5% for yourselves. How's that? Generous, right?"
"Oh, just 95%, you—" Kelly got halfway through before his brain caught up. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, his voice cracking. "How much?!"
The room erupted into an uproar. "You must have misspoken! 95%?!"
"This is nothing short of robbery!"
"Surely you meant it the other way around!"
"Robbery isn't nearly this profitable," Ghostface said, sitting steady as a rock, a mocking curve on his lips. "I didn't misspeak. Pay up. Don't overreact—you're acting like you're going to starve. That 5% is more than enough for you to keep living your lavish lives."
"But, my Lord," Kelly said urgently, trying to explain the high overhead of noble life. "One doesn't just eat. Banquets must be held, gifts must be sent, clothes must be replaced! At this rate, it's completely insufficient!"
"Sigh, fine then," Ghostface said with feigned impatience and undisguised contempt. "I'll give you a special permit. You're allowed to go to the Mid-Hive factories and screw bolts. I promise I won't take a single cent of the wages you earn there. How's that?"
"This is an absolute insult!" One noble, unable to endure the humiliation any longer, stood up in a rage. He pointed at Ghostface, his face flushed. "I should never have come to this barbaric meeting!"
With that, he turned and stepped away, making a show of leaving.
Kelly hurried forward to play the "good cop," trying to salvage the situation. "My Lord, as you can see, this is truly difficult to manage—"
BANG!
Mid-sentence, the gun barked.
None of the nobles had seen when Ghostface drew his autopistol. Even less did they expect him to pull the trigger and execute the noble attempting to leave in broad daylight, right before their eyes. The bullet passed cleanly through the noble's forehead; blood sprayed, and the body crashed to the floor.
They were stunned. The air was thick with the smell of blood and cordite. Kelly, their leader, was paralyzed. What was happening? Wasn't this supposed to be a performance? A negotiation of interests? Why was he actually killing people? Is he insane!?
Even Huron, who had been watching from the sidelines, showed a rare change in expression. He raised an eyebrow, a flash of surprise in his eyes, before quickly returning to his previous mask.
"Difficult to manage?" Ghostface blew the faint smoke from his barrel. "Then don't fucking manage it. You nobles think you're hot shit, but without our protection you're nothing. Worthless."
The nobles finally reacted with terrified screams, scrambling and crawling to escape the room, only to find the doors to the outside had long since been locked tight. Kelly pointed a trembling finger at Ghostface, his voice sobbing. "You... how dare you kill Fuller! His uncle is a high official in the Ecclesiarchy—"
BANG!
Before Kelly could finish, Ghostface raised his gun again. The bullet whistled through the air, and Kelly's head exploded in a blur of flesh and bone as he slumped to the ground.
Ghostface sneered, his eyes full of disdain. "Been there done that. I've even killed Inquisitors. The Ecclesiarchy is jack-shit to me."
Finding that no amount of force could open the doors, a noble finally snapped, screaming in despair: "I'm willing! I'm willing to hand over 95% of our family's wealth!"
"Too late!" Ghostface pointed the autopistol at them, his eyes devoid of mercy. "If I kill you now, the money is all ours! Time some good ol' purging!"
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
After a series of gunshots, the massive room fell silent. The mixture of blood and gunpowder stung the senses. Every noble lay in a pool of blood; not a single soul survived.
Ghostface leisurely pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket, lit one, took a deep drag, and flicked the ash. "Heh. And I thought they were hot shit. I sent out one invitation, and they all came obediently without weapons or armor. I fire one bullet, and they have the nerve to die on me. Even a Gretchin takes more than one shot sometimes."
Huron spoke up then. "Do you know how far-reaching the influence of these families is within the Imperium? Are you not afraid of retaliation?"
"Lord Huron," Ghostface said, clearly unafraid as he exhaled a smoke ring. "Don't you think it's funny to say that to someone like me, who lives for today with no guarantee of tomorrow?"
"True enough," Huron laughed heartily. He held out his palm, making a gesture of approval toward Ghostface. "Good work soldier!"
Ghostface reached out and slapped it hard. A crisp sound echoed through the room. "Just a simple 'Red Wedding Banquet'! Hahahaha!"
Of course, Ghostface's methods were not without consequences. The most immediate was that, from then on, few possessed the courage to attend a meeting involving the Perditia—unless the alternative to not coming was even worse than death.