Pyro was racking his brain to come up with an excuse to get out of this. After all, dealing with those religiously fanatical Sisters of Battle was oppressive enough even through a screen, let alone face-to-face. If he said the wrong thing and got burned at the stake as a heretic, who could he even complain to?
Just then, Freeman, who had remained quiet all this time, suddenly chimed in, "I think Pyro is actually a great candidate.
"Setting everything else aside, he definitely won't do anything completely unhinged when talking to the Sisters of Battle. Every time he chats with me, he's always blabbering about his 'wife'."
Hearing this, Pyro, who was just about to struggle a bit more, froze instantly.
Having been backstabbed by his own brother, Pyro was overwhelmed with grief and fury. Others might not know the truth, but how could Freeman not know?! He was just flexing!
The "wife" he talked about wasn't even a real person; he was just spazzing out over 2D virtual anime characters online. While he didn't swap them out every single day, changing wives once a month as new anime and games dropped was standard procedure. Last month it was a white-haired, red-eyed vampire princess, and this month it might be a pink-haired witch.
The surrounding players, however, were entirely in the dark and nodded in agreement.
"I see, so he's actually a devoted, romantic guy."
"Then he really is suitable. The Sisters should appreciate that kind of loyal and unswerving persona."
Seeing Pyro's face turning pale and green with an obvious reluctance, someone suggested, "If you really don't want to go, Pyro, should we hold a military rep vote?"
Pyro's mouth twitched, and he shook his head helplessly. "Forget it, I'll go. I reckon even if we hold a vote, I'll still get the most votes anyway..."
After all, the moment Freeman dropped that line, in the eyes of a crowd that loved watching chaos unfold, Pyro was indeed the best choice. Who would refuse to vote for a "hardy, devoted man fighting on the battlefield for his beloved wife back home"?
Pyro sighed, thinking to himself to just drop it. He didn't want to tell them outright that his wife was 2D either; it was too embarrassing.
Since Freeman had framed it that way, he might as well go along with it. It would give him something to flex about now and then to build up a devoted persona. Once they hung out longer, or when he swapped to a new wife next month, they'd realize it on their own anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, Pyro checked his gear and arrived alone at the Sisters of Battle's temporary camp.
The atmosphere here was completely different from the loose, jovial vibe of the players. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and a few servo-skulls hovered back and forth, playing holy hymns. Battle Sisters clad in power armor were meticulously maintaining their weapons with firm, cold gazes. One could tell that even if ordered to die for the Emperor in the next second, they wouldn't hesitate for a moment.
Pyro met the commander of this squad in front of a newly pitched command tent.
She was a Canoness, draped in elaborate robes, her power armor adorned with Purity Seals and scriptures. She wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing a scarred yet resolute face, her silver-white short hair combed neatly.
Pyro discreetly appraised the leading Canoness, his eyes sweeping over the power sword and bolt pistol at her waist, then at her finely crafted power armor servo-harness.
He roughly estimated her combat power in his mind: without heavy weaponry and in a purely melee 1v1, he'd probably have to inject himself with combat stimulants just to have a solid chance of winning against her.
"Are you the representative of the Helldivers?" The Canoness turned around, her gaze piercing like a torch as she stared at Pyro.
"That's right. I am Pyro, sent to coordinate combat operations," Pyro straightened his spine, trying his best to look like a proper military officer.
The Canoness nodded and skipped the small talk, getting straight to the point: "For the Emperor, we shall undertake the most arduous task in the upcoming battle."
Hearing this, Pyro nearly cursed out loud on the spot.
Among player groups like the Helldivers, this sentence essentially translated to: "In the coming fight, the quest with the highest rewards belongs to our unit. You scrubs can go drink soup on the side."
This was practically picking a fight!
If any player dared say that to him, Pyro would have shoved a gun barrel into their mouth already. But considering the other party was an allied NPC who didn't quite understand player dynamics, Pyro forced himself to swallow it.
Still, letting them snatch away the highest-reward quest was completely out of the question. Those elite mobs and bosses were the players' source of joy; how could they just hand them over?
It was one thing to complain about mobs being tough on a regular basis, but if someone actively stepped up to steal their mobs, that was a whole other story.
Pyro had been fighting wars and serving as an officer for quite a while now, so his brain worked quickly. He swiftly came up with a line of persuasion.
He took a deep breath, putting on a serious and profound expression.
"Honored Sister, your desire to fight in the toughest conditions and your spirit of sacrifice are worthy of admiration. But if you'll forgive my bluntness, battle is not merely an act to satisfy oneself,"
Pyro paused, adopting a tone as if discussing tactical philosophy. "Any force, from the lowliest Planetary Defense Force to the holy Titan Legions, should fight where they are best suited to maximize their effectiveness, rather than blindly pursuing suffering."
The Canoness paused, her brow furrowing slightly as if chewing on the meaning of his words.
"A very philosophical statement..." She went silent for a moment, the fanaticism in her eyes receding slightly, replaced by reflection. "You are correct. Battle should be for victory and the glory of the Emperor, not for personal desires of martyrdom. If we only pursue the hardest battles, it would be no different from chasing a form of selfish glory."
She looked up, a hint of approval entering her eyes as she looked at Pyro. "I didn't expect my thoughts to slide toward a dangerous path unawares, nearly committing the sin of pride. Thank you for the reminder, soldier."
Seeing that he had so easily tricked her, even elevating the act of "stealing mobs" to the height of a "sin of pride," Pyro let out a deep sigh of relief in his heart, cold sweat almost dripping down his back.
Striking while the iron was hot, Pyro immediately threw out his next question to completely seize control of the battlefield initiative.
"Since it's for the Emperor's victory and requires tactical rationality, then, honored Sister," Pyro pointed to the battlefield outside, "may I ask what kind of combat scenario you feel suits your unit best? Or rather, what tactical style is your squad best at? Only by knowing this can I assign you to the most critical position."
The Canoness raised her head, her gaze sweeping over her sisters behind her who were wiping down their power armor and weapons, her tone laced with a chilling killing intent: "We are the Dominod Squad. Though we also wield holy bolters, we excel at unleashing the Emperor's wrath at the closest distance. We are the vanguard that tears through the darkness, infantry specialized in close-quarters combat and mid-to-short-range assaults. Wherever heretics attempt to approach, that is our battlefield."
She paused, the power sword in her hand emitting a faint hum: "We long to watch the light fade from the eyes of heretics, longing to cleanse their sins at point-blank range."
Hearing the words "close-quarters infantry," Pyro was ecstatic inside.
This was literally a pillow sent right when he felt sleepy!
What annoyed players the most right now? Wasn't it those ridiculously tanky Plague Marines from the Death Guard? If they could get in their faces, players had their own ways to deal with them, but the Death Guard had learned their lesson and weren't foolish enough to leave obvious openings for players to close in anymore.
If a group of Battle Sisters wearing power armor and wielding top-tier weapons was willing to tank at the front as vanguards, wouldn't players be able to comfortably output insane ranged damage from behind, and then follow up to seize opportunities for self-detonations?
"That's fantastic! This is simply the Emperor's arrangement!" Pyro slapped his thigh, pointing at a contour line on the tactical map. "Look, we are currently holding this high ground. It offers a wide field of view, perfect for firepower output."
He quickly built a perfect plan in his head that could both save his life and steal kills.
"My plan is this: once the fight starts, our men will rely on the trenches and high-ground fortifications, using heavy weapons to chip down and suppress the enemy from afar. This is our strength, and we have plenty of ammunition."
Pyro looked at the Canoness with a sincere gaze: "And when those filthy heretics push through our artillery fire, battered and bruised as they reach the front of our position thinking they can drag us into a mire—that will be your moment to shine."
He made a slashing motion, his tone rising with passion: "Once the enemy gets close and loses their footing, you charge out with us in a counter-offensive! Use your specialty in close combat to completely sweep those trash trying to climb the high ground right back down!"
The Canoness pondered it over in her head and agreed it was indeed a logical tactic.
"A fine proposal." The Canoness nodded, a flash of approval in her eyes. "Delivering despair and destruction right when the heretics think they are about to succeed aligns well with the Emperor's judgment. We'll do as you say. We will act as the reserve force and launch the counter-charge the moment the enemy pushes onto the position."
"Pleasure working with you," Pyro said, barely holding back his smile as he extended his hand.
Awesome. Not only did they secure the early-game ranged output rewards, but they also dumped the most dangerous closing-in process onto powerful NPCs. This was the tactical expertise of an OG veteran!
One day later.
When the stench of rot mixed with the smell of gunpowder hung heavy over the entire position, the Sisters of Battle welcomed their highlight moment.
Beasts of Nurgle and Plague Marines surged forward like a tide, braving the Helldivers' fierce laser and heavy stubber fire as they staggered up to the edge of the trench. Just as these bloated monstrosities thought they were about to submerge the defensive line, a loud, clear warcry resounded through the heavens.
"For the Emperor! Purge the unclean!"
Accompanied by the roar of power armor servo-motors running at full capacity, over a dozen Dominod Sisters clad in silver-white power armor burst forth from flank cover like artillery shells. Every swing of the power swords in their hands brought forth a shower of rotten flesh and black blood, while their bolters spat lethal firepower at point-blank range, instanting a bloated Beast of Nurgle into fragments.
Hiding behind the trenches, the players gasped at the sight.
"Holy shit, these muscle mamas are fucking hardcore!" A player shrank his neck and marveled, "Look at the power behind those sword swings. If this were in real life, one punch would probably drive my head straight down into my chest cavity."
"No shit, they're wearing power armor and are elites who've been training since childhood," the companion beside him excitedly licked his lips while reloading his lasgun's power pack. "Though we aren't too shabby either! Don't forget, our default physical stats in this game are superhuman tier too!"
Indeed, although the players might be frail otaku in reality, in this world, the average physical stats of the Imperial Guard—combined with this mass-produced carapace armor—had long surpassed the limits of mortal men.
"Nothing to be afraid of, boys!" Pyro roared into the comms channel. "The Sister ladies have gone in! Are we gonna wimp out? Activate combat stims! Keep up with their rhythm! Charge!"
A unified hiss of injections echoed through the trenches. The parallel combat stim injectors built into the carapace armor instantly pumped high-concentration stimulants, painkillers, and muscle enhancers into the players' bloodstreams.
In an instant, excess emotions faded, their vision turned red, and their hearts began beating wildly like high-powered engines.
"For Perditia!!!"
Hundreds of players vaulted out of the trenches like rabid beasts, lowering their bayonets as they followed right behind the Sisters of Battle, launching a counter-charge toward the Nurgle army.
This scene made even the Canoness, who was slashing away on the front line, turn her head in surprise.
Cleaving a Beast of Nurgle in two with one strike, she caught sight out of the corner of her eye of a Helldiver soldier using his gunstock to smash a plague zombie's head to pieces. His movements were swift and forceful, lacking even a hint of the hesitation ordinary mortals showed when facing the horrors of the Warp.
A deep sense of bewilderment arose in the Sister's heart.
On their journey from Perditia's Hive Primus all the way to the front line, although they hadn't interacted with the Helldivers for long, they had observed this unit. To be frank, the daily routine of these soldiers thoroughly baffled her.
Aside from praying, they—the Sisters of Battle—spent every day undergoing high-intensity physical and combat training, not daring to slack off for a single moment, all to keep their bodies in peak condition to serve the Emperor.
But what about these Helldivers?
Whenever they weren't fighting, they were in camp gathering to play games, zoning out, singing, or simply lying on the ground fast asleep (offline). Helldivers who consistently did proper physical training were truly few and far between!
'How is this possible?' The Canoness was secretly astonished. 'I've long heard that the Helldivers have a wild fighting style and rely heavily on combat stims. But stims are a double-edged sword. Without a strong enough baseline physical condition to bear the drug's effects, an overdose would cause the heart to instantly burst or muscles to dissolve.'
How could these guys, who never trained, withstand lethal doses of stim injections and still burst forth with combat power comparable to Stormtroopers? Were all Perditian locals natural-born warriors?
Of course, the Canoness didn't know the truth behind it.
Theoretically, without long-term training, any creature's physical stats would regress, muscles would atrophy, and reaction times would slow. This was an iron law in both the real world and the Warhammer universe.
However, for players, this was a completely false proposition.
Because in this "game," once a war started, a player's average lifespan was measured in "days" or even "hours."
No player could ever stay alive on a single life long enough to reach the day where "their physical stats degraded due to lack of long-term training"!
Once they died in battle and respawned, their newly spawned body would once again be an Imperial Guard elite soldier with maxed-out factory settings at peak condition.
In the Sister's eyes, this was practically a miracle army that never grew fatigued or weakened, possessing a terrifying capacity for attrition warfare and non-stop offensives.
To this, what else could the Canoness say?
The power sword in her hand drew a golden arc, severing an ambushing plague zombie in two. The expression beneath her visor gradually shifted from initial confusion to a religious sort of awe.
'As expected of an army that birthed a Living Saint...' she marveled inwardly. 'Common sense cannot measure their actions. Perhaps this is the Emperor's unique way of bestowing His blessing upon this unit. Though it appears unconventional, that fanaticism of viewing death as returning home cannot be faked.'
Since even a Living Saint came from among their ranks, it was entirely understandable for these soldiers to possess a few "unorthodox" physiques and tactical styles, right?
Having rationalized this, the Canoness no longer dwelled on the Helldivers' terrible daily training. With a loud shout, she swung her weapon even harder, channeling her full devotion into a rage to purge heretics, carving a blood-soaked path through the sea of rotting corpses alongside the players beside her.
However, the tide of battle changed in an instant.
The ground suddenly shook with a sickening, slimy tremor, accompanied by squelching sounds like thick liquid being churned. Dozens of massive, slug-like monsters emerged from the plague mist. Dripping with deadly mucus, their tentacled faces bore perpetual, cheerful yet bone-chilling foolish grins—Beasts of Nurgle.
These creatures, which looked like they wanted to "hug" everyone they met, were actually the most disgusting meat shields and disruptors on the battlefield.
"Holy shit! It's Beasts of Nurgle! And so many of them!"
The company commander leading the players' counter-charge had his eyelids twitching wildly. Having fought Nurgle's forces on Perditia for nearly ten months, while he wasn't an expert on Nurgle, he was crystal clear on basic tactics and intimately familiar with this setup.
"Listen up, everyone! The Death Guard are coming!" the commander shouted into the comms channel. "Those plague tin cans love sending a wave of high-HP Beasts of Nurgle first to slam into our positions, soak up fire, and create chaos. If the line gets breached by these slugs, those green tin cans will follow right behind to expand their gains!"
Looking at those happily squirming Beasts of Nurgle charging over, the commander made a prompt decision, turning to shout at the Canoness beside him: "Your Ladyship, take your people and fall back immediately! Fall back to the defensive line!"
The Canoness, having just cleaved an enemy down, tightly furrowed her brow upon hearing this, the power field on her sword humming softly. "Retreat? The Sisters of Battle never fear such unclean things! We should purge them right here!"
"This isn't fear, it's tactics!" The commander was so anxious he almost pushed against her power armor shoulder pad. "The upcoming fight isn't suited for you! These Beasts of Nurgle are covered in highly corrosive slime and superviruses, making them tough to deal with in melee. Once you get bogged down in melee, your power armor will be corroded, and you'll block our line of sight!"
The commander pointed at those thick-skinned monsters. "To deal with these things, we can only rely on saturated firepower! Leave this place to us!"
The Canoness looked at the dozens of Beasts of Nurgle surging forward like a tide, then at the surrounding Helldiver soldiers who were already raring to go.
"...Understood."
The Canoness hesitated for a moment, originally wanting to say they had their own ways of dealing with Beasts of Nurgle. But remembering what Pyro had said earlier about fighting under the most suitable conditions, she ultimately chose to follow this mortal commander's advice.
After all, seeing how eager and confident they looked, they probably had complete control over the situation.
"May the Emperor protect your souls. Sisters, fall back and regroup the formation!"
As the Sisters quickly and orderly pulled back from the forward positions, the company commander turned around, looked at the approaching Beasts of Nurgle, and grinned viciously as he pulled out a melta bomb, yelling to the surrounding players: "Alright, boys! The annoying NPCs are gone! No need to worry about friendly fire anymore! Pull out all your explosives and give these disgusting freaks who want to 'hug' us a warm welcome!"
The Canoness had just led her sisters back to the second defensive line, and before they even had a chance to gain their footing, the scene before her made her pupils shrink violently.
"Fire! Dump all our stock! Don't worry about friendly fire!"
Along with the frantic, hoarse shrieks over the comms channel, the Helldivers' heavy firepower positions in the rear erupted with near-insane roars. Mortar shells, rockets, and even crudely modified explosive packs poured down between the first line of defense and the Beast of Nurgle swarm like a torrential downpour.
Yet that wasn't even the most shocking part. Immediately after, countless incendiary bombs and flamethrowers turned the entire forward position into a sea of fire. This was a true indiscriminate blanket bombardment; beyond the thunderous blasts of high explosives tearing flesh apart, massive amounts of ignited industrial fuel were flowing everywhere at will.
Amidst the towering flames, the Canoness witnessed a scene that shook her soul.
Those Helldiver soldiers who were still alive in the center of the explosion didn't try to flee the blaze. On the contrary, engulfed in roaring flames like burning torches, they rushed resolutely toward those Beasts of Nurgle that were also set ablaze and rolling about in agony.
They pulled the pins on every grenade on their bodies, using arms reduced to bare bone and charred skin to tightly embrace the monsters' slimy torsos, even driving bayonets into the creatures' eyeballs, until massive explosions blew both man and monster into a sky full of shredded flesh.
"These bastards—"
Watching this scene, the Canoness's fingers gripping her bolter turned white from excessive pressure, an indescribable surge of furious emotion exploding within her chest.
She wasn't stupid; she naturally understood the intention of that mortal commander. In his eyes, the Sisters of Battle were precious "elite heavy infantry," high-tier assets of the Emperor, and shouldn't be wasted in a mud-slinging exchange with low-level meat shields like Beasts of Nurgle. Meanwhile, the Helldivers, just as their name implied, were cheap consumables.
Yet that was precisely the reason for her fury!
This feeling of being "protected" brought her an unprecedented sense of humiliation!
"Who do they think we are? Flowers that need to be cherished in a greenhouse?! Or little girls who need an older brother standing in front of them?!" The Canoness gritted her teeth, her eyes beneath her visor practically spewing fire.
"We are the Sisters of Battle! We are the sword of the Emperor! Letting friendly troops die in such a tragic manner while we cower in the rear just to survive—this is a disgrace! A complete and utter disgrace!"
Even if reason told her that this was simply the Helldivers' usual fighting style, and that they would fight like this even without Sisters present, she could not use such an excuse to convince herself. Watching those mortals turn to ash just to cover them caused her sense of honor to scorch and her faith to scream.
"Watch out! Left flank! One slipped through!"
An exceptionally massive Beast of Nurgle had actually braved the dense firepower and self-detonation attacks, dragging a charred and constantly regenerating lower torso as it charged onto the second line of defense like a cannonball of flesh. Its nauseating tentacles flailed wildly, instantly sending several players who couldn't dodge in time flying, corrosive slime splashing everywhere.
"For the Emperor! Die, monster!"
Having held in a chest full of rage, the Canoness let out a fierce roar as her power sword erupted with brilliant golden light, and she led the charge forward.
At the same time, the surrounding surviving players reacted as well, swarming forward with lasguns and chainswords.
"Focus fire! Shoot its mouth!"
Under the Sister's precise slashes and the players' desperate siege, this stubborn Beast of Nurgle finally let out a strange cry like a deflating balloon. Its massive body collapsed with a crash, dissolving into a puddle of pus.
However, this brief chaos didn't come without a price. The position was left in a total mess, dozens of players were killed, two Sisters were wounded, and that wasn't even the worst of it.
A player suddenly pointed at a nearby command bunker that had been corroded beyond recognition by slime, his face changing drastically: "Fuck! We're done for! The battalion commander is dead!"
The moment those words were uttered, the faces of several "veteran players" nearby instantly turned pale.
The Canoness might not understand what this meant, but the players knew all too well. In this game's "battlefield mechanics," the battalion commander was the highest respawn point on this high ground.
"Running from the regimental HQ back to our spot takes at least half an hour!" a player said. "Can we hold out for half an hour relying on just us company, platoon, and squad leaders as respawn points?"
Pyro kicked away a severed Beast of Nurgle limb by his feet and looked at the towering figures looming in the distant mist, his expression sour to the absolute extreme.
"We're in deep trouble—" Pyro said through gritted teeth. "The Death Guard definitely saw that Beast of Nurgle breach the line. They know our defenses have loosened and will follow up shortly."
He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his eyes filled with unreasonable frustration: "Damn it, I just don't get it! This crappy spot of ours isn't even a strategic point, just a barren high ground. How the hell did we match against Chaos Space Marines here? Is the matchmaking system broken?!"
Right at this critical juncture, the Canoness shook off the corrosive slime clinging to her power sword and strode up to Pyro, who was staring at the distant mist in dismay.
"We cannot give up. We must hold this position!" Her voice was ringing and forceful, carrying an unquestionable firmness. "Though the commander has fallen, as long as we still stand here, this remains the domain of the Emperor. However, facing the impending Death Guard, it will be difficult to hold out for long relying solely on our current manpower and ammunition."
She looked around at the battered players nearby and said in a heavy tone, "We must immediately dispatch someone to the rear for reinforcements. If we get reinforcements, even if it's just heavy weapon support, there is still hope to hold this position."
Hearing this, Pyro was just about to wave his hand and say, "No need to send anyone specifically." As far as he was concerned, since the battalion commander was dead, he would definitely rally people at the regimental HQ and lead a huge force back to wipe them out anyway, so why bother sending a living person to run errands? What a waste of DPS output.
However, before he could open his mouth, the Canoness suddenly stared into his eyes, her expression becoming slightly subtle and her tone softening somewhat: "I heard the soldiers mention during idle chat... you have a wife?"
"Huh?"
Pyro practically blew a fuse, his eyeballs nearly popping out.
How the hell did this reach an NPC's ears?!
It must have been those loose-lipped players chatting shit with nothing better to do, only to be overheard by a passing Sister! Great, now he had social death spreading all the way to the Warhammer 40K universe!
Looking at the Sister's clear and inquisitive eyes, Pyro couldn't very well explain that his wife was a 2D anime character. He could only bite the bullet and cough awkwardly twice: "Yeah... yes, but there's no need to talk about that kind of thing on the battlefield, right? It has nothing to do with the current situation—"
"It has everything to do with it," the Canoness interrupted him, her tone becoming exceptionally solemn, even carrying an undeniable command. "You are rich in combat experience, a veteran among this Helldiver squad, and the temporary command core here. You are most familiar with the route and know best what we need; you are the person most likely to make it through the blockade alive to fetch reinforcements."
She paused, adding with meaningful emphasis: "Besides, a person with loved ones waiting for them often bursts forth with a stronger desire to survive in desperate situations. You shall go."
The surrounding players were initially holding back their laughter, but hearing this, they finally couldn't contain themselves any longer. Loving nothing more than watching a spectacle unfold, they started egging him on in a chorus.
"Yeah, exactly! Pyro, bro, you should go! Sister-in-law is still waiting for you at home!"
"Leave this place to us, go with a clear mind! Don't make sister-in-law a widow!"
"Don't let down the Sister's good intentions! This is so you can survive!"
Even Freeman pretended to wipe away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye: "Hurry up and go! You have to see your wife alive!"
Pyro opened his mouth, looking at the playful expressions on these guys' faces, then at the Canoness who looked full of righteous spirit as if making a sacred arrangement. He only felt a lump of old blood stuck in his chest.
Things having come to this, words like "my wife is actually a 2D paper character" were impossible to say out loud anymore.
"—Fine, I'll go. I'll go, alright?!"
Pyro roared in grief and fury, snatched up a lasgun, and carrying the hopes of the entire village, ran toward the rear without looking back once.
Watching the retreating back of that warrior named Pyro, the Canoness actually felt a long-absent sense of satisfaction in her heart.
Her action just now held both selfish and unselfish motives.
The selfish part was that earlier, these Helldivers had forced her to retreat, leaving her with a lingering sense of humiliation at being "protected like a weakling." Now, she used the exact same rationale—"to protect someone with a family"—to kick this guy out of a doomed battlefield. Consider it letting him experience the same frustration she had felt when she had no choice but to fall back.
The unselfish part was that she genuinely wished for a spark of this bizarre yet incomparably heroic unit to survive.
Facing an assault from the Death Guard, those left behind were almost certainly facing death. If everyone died here, the unit's designation might be erased entirely. Allowing this veteran with a family and ties to live on was perhaps the final act of mercy she, as a servant of the Emperor, could offer.
"May the Emperor protect you—and your wife," the Canoness made the Aquila sign over her chest, then turned back around to face the front lines shrouded in toxic plague mist, her eyes turning cold as iron once more.
The suffocating stench arrived at the position ahead of the enemy.
The original murky sky felt as if shrouded by a rotting hand, as a yellowish-green toxic fog spread up from the bottom of the slope as if alive. Wherever it passed, withered vegetation instantly turned into black liquid, and even the surface of hard rocks sprouted mold-like spots.
Accompanied by heavy, wet footsteps, bloated and massive silhouettes emerged in the mist. Those were the Death Guard, favored of Nurgle. Wearing rusted, pustule-covered power armor with foul bodily fluids dripping from the armor's seals, they held bolters spitting deadly plague or rusted power scythes. Behind them was an endless tide of plague zombies uttering incoherent gibberish.
Normally, such extremely low-visibility toxic fog would be enough to cause panic and confusion among mortal troops, but under the buffs protecting Perditia, both players and Sisters possessed the ability to acquire targets within this mist.
"They're coming! Straight ahead, two hundred meters! Those big tin cans are in the middle!" A player reported the ping loudly, the lasgun in his hands already charging.
Just as this suffocating moment threatened to freeze the air itself, a brilliant golden light suddenly cut across the firmament above.
That light was so pure, so sacred, like a sharp sword tearing through the gloom and toxic fog blanketing the sky.
"That is... the Living Saint!"
The Canoness raised her head sharply, her eyes beneath her visor instantly brimming with tears. She saw that figure, burning all over with golden psychic flames, flash across the sky above the battlefield. Though it was only for a split second, that holy radiance showered down, covering the entire high-ground position like sweet dew.
[System Notification: Illuminated by the Living Saint's "Emperor's Light".
All attributes increased by 50%, recovers 3% max HP per second, attacks gain "Sacred Purification" effect.]
A row of golden BUFF icons instantly popped up on the players' retinas. Bodies that were originally exhausted from consecutive fierce battles were instantly filled with power, and even unhealed wounds quickly scabbed over and fell away in the golden light.
"Holy shit! This BUFF is way too overpowered!"
"Full health! I feel like I could punch a bull to death right now!"
"Praise the Emperor! Praise the Lisan Al Ghaib! These special effects are top-tier!"
The players instantly boiled over. Their morale, which had been somewhat low due to the battalion commander's death, rocketed off the charts at this moment.
For the Sisters of Battle, this wasn't just a physical enhancement, but a fanatic spiritual elevation. Witnessing the descent of the Living Saint with their own eyes made the fire of faith within them burn violently, and rational tactical thinking was instantly replaced by fanatic religious passion.
"Sisters! Do you see?! The Saint is watching us! The Emperor is watching us!" The Canoness held her power sword high, the golden light on its blade several times stronger than before, emitting a hum akin to a holy hymn. "Facing such a miracle, how can we cower in trenches waiting for the judgment of heretics?! This is sacrilege!"
She turned around and looked at the Helldivers behind her, who were also enveloped in golden light and raring to go, her voice rising to a fever pitch: "This is a revelation! We must take the initiative and give these fallen traitors the most painful lesson with our sharp blades and rage! For the Emperor! Charge!"
If this were an ordinary mortal army, the commander might hesitate or consider cover advantages. But who were these players? Blessed with the Living Saint's powerful BUFF, combined with the Sister's extremely provocative roar, all the players instantly went berserk.
"Charge, charge, charge! Wasting this BUFF without charging is a sin!"
"Fix bayonets! We're scrapping with these plague tin cans!"
"For Perditia! Waaaaagh—no wait, For the Emperor!!!"
Without any hesitation, and without any tactical evasion.
With over a dozen Battle Sisters in power armor forming the sharp spearhead, hundreds of Helldivers with fixed bayonets followed closely behind. Like a golden torrent, they roared out of the relatively safe trenches and slammed straight into the toxic fog blanketing the sky.
This was a head-on collision between steel and rotten flesh, faith and plague.
"Die, heretic!"
The Canoness took the lead, leaping high into the air with the aid of her power armor's jump pack. The power sword in her hands drew a perfect golden arc in the air, carrying flames of sacred purification as it slammed down heavily toward a Death Guard walking at the very front.
The power sword, empowered by the Living Saint, was peerlessly sharp. Though the Death Guard was a veteran of ten thousand wars, he still had to tread carefully when responding, blocking the frantic attacks of the Sisters of Battle, creating a stalemate between the two sides.
Immediately after, the wave of players arrived.
They might not be able to 1v1 Space Marines like the Sisters, but they possessed a madness that ignored death.
Countless laser beams blasted the plague zombies' faces at point-blank range, bayonets drove deep into the Nurgle monsters' abdomens, and some players even took advantage of the moment the Sisters drew the Death Guard's attention to spring forward with wild screams, strapping bundles of explosives onto the damaged power armor.
Within this toxic fog illuminated by golden light, shouting, explosions, and the roar of chainswords intertwined into a tragic and wild movement.
Just as the fighting in this meat grinder reached a fever pitch, the ground beneath their feet suddenly vibrated a hundred times more violently than the artillery bombardment earlier.
This tremor didn't come from the battlefield before them, but from deeper underground further away, from hidden nodes beneath the planet's surface.
Immediately after, a scene occurred that forced everyone—whether the fanatical believers swinging chainswords or those Death Guard who had long lost their sense of pain—to look up involuntarily.
At the edge of the horizon and across several directions as far as the eye could see, the earth seemed to gape wide open. Countless brilliant beams of light shot up into the sky accompanied by shrieks that tore through the atmosphere.
That wasn't destruction descending from the sky, but the earth roaring at the heavens.
Tens of thousands of missiles trailing long plumes of fire, mixed with blinding energy beams fired from giant ground-based lance arrays, soared like an inverted meteor shower, or a forest of light growing against the tide, piercing through the gloom and toxic fog hovering above the planet with unstoppable momentum.
These "reverse meteors" didn't hesitate for a second, their target clear and singular—pointing directly at those bloated, rotting Nurgle plague fleets in low orbit.
The Chaos warships that had been hovering in orbit like malignant tumors, recklessly broadcasting viruses and spores down to the surface, finally met their long-premeditated thunderous counterattack.
Even through the thick atmosphere and layers of toxic mist, everyone on the ground could still see brilliant bursts of fire exploding across the sky.
Giant fireballs bloomed in the heavens, like igniting countless new suns in the sky, lighting up the originally dim and murky battlefield as bright as day.
Rewinding slightly back in time, just hours before the Death Guard launched their all-out assault on the front lines.
Inside the briefing room of the temporary command headquarters, the atmosphere was thick enough to wring out water. On the holographic tactical map, dense clusters of red dots gathered from every direction toward the high ground held by the players.
"According to intelligence sent back by Joker, the enemy has launched a full-scale offensive."
Robert leaned over the table with both hands, his gaze sweeping across the heavyweight NPCs present: Inquisitor Lord Herbert, Sicarius, Captain of the Ultramarines 2nd Company, and Battle Sister Cassandra, who had just arrived with reinforcements.
"Typhus, that slag monster, has deployed the vast majority of his Plague Astartes to the surface—he even pushed forward his Terminator reserves," Robert said, his voice steady. "What does this mean? It means he feels completely secure."
"He assumes we are nothing more than a bunch of scrubs wallowing in the mud who lack any capacity to strike back at his orbital fleet. That's why he dares to anchor his fleet in low orbit, recklessly raining down poison gas and bombardments right onto our heads."
Robert took a deep breath and straightened up sharply. "Although our current strategic objective is defense, that doesn't mean we will just passively sit here taking hits. Sometimes, a localized, unexpected counterattack works far better for the overall defense."
He looked around at everyone, enunciating every word clearly. "Since he believes we can't reach his fleet, we are going to strike back and prove him wrong! We will deliver a devastating blow to that plague fleet!"
The moment this proposal was put forward, the briefing room fell dead silent for a few seconds.
Inquisitor Lord Herbert and Sicarius exchanged glances; neither immediately refuted it. If a standard Imperial Guard commander had uttered such words, they would have long since had the lunatic dragged out for a mental evaluation. But these Helldivers were different—they were an incomprehensible presence to begin with, constantly pulling off stunts that defied all common sense.
Because of this, the two high-ranking figures, privy to the inner details, chose to remain silent for the time being, waiting to see what new stunt these guys were cooking up.
However, Battle Sister Cassandra, who had just arrived and was not yet familiar with this force, could not hide her skepticism.
"Commander," Cassandra said, her eyebrows furrowing with clear doubt in her tone. "Courage is commendable, but war is no child's play. As far as I know, your air forces struggle to secure air superiority even within the atmosphere. What do you intend to use to attack a plague fleet anchored in orbit? Prayer?"
Far from getting angry at her words, Robert was delighted that someone had taken the bait—a perfect opportunity to show off—ahem, demonstrate his tactics.
"Great question, Sister," Robert snapped his fingers. "Old Li, show our guests the 'secret weapon.'"
Archer, who had been standing beside them acting as a background element, immediately stepped forward. He pulled a massive blueprint from inside his coat and unrolled it onto the table with a loud snap.
As the NPCs leaned in to look, their expressions turned extraordinarily vivid.
Drawn on the blueprint was a flying device that could only be described as utterly abstract and thoroughly absurd.
Its design was outrageously minimalist. At the absolute front was a massive muzzle-loading melta charge, the kind typically mounted on battering rams or heavy demolition equipment. In the middle sat an extremely cramped, bare-bones cockpit barely large enough to fit a single person.
At the rear sat a colossal propulsion system—one that was even larger than the cockpit itself.
Other than that, there was nothing.
No landing gear, no life-support system, no complex fire-control radar, and not even proper wings—just a few stabilizing fins that looked as if they had been hastily welded on as an afterthought.
"This is your counterattack weapon?" Inquisitor Herbert finally spoke up, pointing at the thruster on the blueprint. "The design of this thing completely defies aerodynamics and fails every standard set by the Adeptus Mechanicus. Given the power of this thruster combined with such a fragile structure, it will disintegrate from the sheer vibration and g-force within a few thousand meters of flight. Its effective range is probably worse than a decent lasgun!"
"From a purely physical and material standpoint, you are entirely correct, Lord Inquisitor Herbert," Robert replied without batting an eye, his face beaming with a charlatan-like confidence. "This thing is indeed a single-use iron coffin. But in the hands of us Helldivers, it is far more than just a pile of metal."
Robert tapped his own head, then pointed to the blueprint. "The Machine Spirit will embrace our sacrifice. When thousands of brave Helldivers sit inside this cockpit, their will fuses into one with the Machine Spirit. These devices won't disintegrate; instead, they will fly like sharp swords for tens of thousands of meters until they reach orbit and plunge straight into the heart of the plague fleet!"
If anyone else had uttered these words, it would have been denounced as heresy. But coming from the mouths of soldiers infamous for their reckless self-sacrifice, it carried an eerie sense of persuasiveness.
"Thousands?" Sicarius picked up on the key term instantly. Staring at the blueprint, his brows knit tightly. "You plan to use these manned suicide vehicles to ram warships? You must realize that even though the plague fleet's main focus is supporting their ground troops, their defensive fire grid remains fully operational. Lance batteries, macro-cannons, dense point-defense arrays—once these crude devices take off, the vast majority will be intercepted and destroyed in mid-air."
As an Astartes, Sicarius was no stranger to sacrifice, yet a tactic that was practically a guaranteed death sentence still struck him with shock.
"Even if these devices miraculously manage to charge up there, can the remaining numbers cause any meaningful damage to that massive fleet?" Sicarius asked.
Robert looked at the red dots representing the enemy on the holographic map, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Captain, we are the Helldivers. To us, human life is the cheapest commodity, and victory is the most precious."
He looked up, his eyes fixed firmly on the three figures. "We don't need all of them to make it up there. Even if we launch ten thousand of these devices, as long as ten percent—no, even just five percent—can break through the fire grid, slam into those rotting hulls, detonate the melta charges at the tip, and send the Helldivers piloting these torpedoes into the ship's interior, it will be enough to make that arrogant bastard Typhus pay a horrific price."
"As for those that get destroyed..." Robert paused for a moment. "Hard labor and necessary sacrifices are always required to pave the path to victory."
"Even under those circumstances, the remaining Helldivers will complete the mission! Because we exist precisely for this moment."
A dead silence fell over the briefing room.
Cassandra looked at the mortal commander standing before her, a complex emotion rising within her heart. Such pure, unyielding resolve was exceptionally rare even across her long career.
"Very well, I agree," Inquisitor Herbert finally broke the silence, his voice deep. "If you can truly pull this off... it will be nothing short of a miracle."
Robert offered a crisp, textbook military salute. "For Humanity, for Perditia, the miracle shall come to pass."
Returning to the present.
Accompanied by the roaring thunder of the earth, countless "manned torpedoes" trailing plumes of flame surged upward like a reverse river of stars, charging recklessly toward the sky filled with death and decay.