Mid-hive, Sector C nexus.
This place had once been a transfer station connecting the massive cargo pipelines between the upper and lower levels.
Now it had become a meat grinder of flesh and steel.
Broken conveyor belts twisted and coiled like the corpses of giant serpents, collapsed shipping containers piled into chaotic makeshift cover, the air thick with the heavy scent of rust, ozone, and something more primal: the rank, viscous stench of xenos corruption.
User 114514's Assault Priest crouched behind the wreckage of an overturned engineering vehicle, the barrel of his radium rifle slightly hot from continuous firing, venting steam that condensed into white mist in the cold air.
Beside him, only five of the original twelve fire support servitors remained operational, three of them covered in deep claw marks on their external armor, hydraulic fluid seeping out like black blood.
Of the three Skitarii soldiers, one had fallen. The remaining two stood back to back, vigilantly scanning the shadow-filled surroundings.
The score counter pulsed coldly in the corner of his vision: 9875.
That number represented what he and his squad had fought for, inch by bloody inch, through this steel wasteland.
Breaking through from the upper levels, they'd encountered over a dozen ambushes and assaults of varying sizes.
The Genestealers' tactics had no discernible logic, yet their pure instinct made them exceptionally troublesome.
They didn't maintain formations or pursue suppressive fire.
They simply relied on shocking speed, uncanny climbing ability, and perfect adaptation to darkness, launching suicidal charges from every conceivable angle.
From above the pipes, inside ventilation ducts, behind mountains of garbage... they were everywhere.
Just moments ago, a wave of over thirty hybrids mixed with two more massive purestrain Genestealers had surged like a burst dam of filthy floodwater from three different passages simultaneously, instantly overwhelming the squad's forward position.
User 114514's commands couldn't have been more precise. He'd ordered concentrated fire on the highest-threat purestrain units first, and the servitors' barrage had successfully torn one apart.
But the numerical gap was too vast. The Genestealers' charge was fearless; when the front ones fell, those behind immediately trampled over their comrades' corpses to press forward.
The Skitarii soldiers' laser guns overheated, servitor ammunition chains were severed, and the defensive line collapsed under the brutal assault.
The last thing User 114514 saw was a purestrain Genestealer tearing through the armor of his final servitor, its slime-covered talons stabbing straight toward his faceplate.
The screen turned dark red. The death notification appeared, cold and impassive.
Respawn countdown: fifteen seconds.
User 114514 didn't curse or despair like ordinary players. He didn't even immediately check the kill replay.
His brow furrowed deeply, not from a single death, but from the overall battle situation.
Something wasn't right.
He pulled up the real-time tactical map.
The blue arrows representing the Adeptus Mechanicus attackers on the complex mid-hive structure diagram moved like snails mired in mud, their progress painfully slow. In some areas, they'd even retreated.
Meanwhile, the red shadow zones marking Genestealer activity spread like living creep, not only resisting stubbornly but faintly showing signs of counterattacking, threatening to cut off and surround the blue arrows.
At the map's edge, the countdown representing total mission duration ticked mercilessly toward the two-hour mark.
Less than forty minutes remained until the "Hive Fleet Arrival" phase.
"Infantry advance is too slow."
During the brief respawn wait, User 114514's mind raced.
The Genestealers relied on the mid-hive's absurdly complex three-dimensional structure for guerrilla warfare, while his forces had to split up to clear every possible hiding spot.
The enemy could sustain massive casualty ratios because their reproduction and reinforcement methods were unknown and possibly extremely efficient.
Meanwhile, every Skitarii soldier, every servitor on their side was a precious resource requiring production time or orbital deployment.
If this war of attrition continued, the Adeptus Mechanicus forces would be completely exhausted in this steel labyrinth before the hive fleet even arrived.
They had to break the deadlock.
They needed something beyond infantry-level engagement, a decisive force to tear through this viscous resistance, disrupt the Genestealers' rhythm, and open a path for follow-up assaults.
His gaze fell on the strategic support interface. Previously, to summon armored units and obtain powerful personal equipment, he'd spent considerable points. But now, his nearly ten-thousand-point reserve gave him new options.
The interface scrolled past "Artillery Coverage," "Heavy Airdrop," "Titan Emergency Protocol (grayed out, conditions not met)," and other options, finally settling on the top entry: a simple icon radiating destructive intent.
[Ultimate Battlefield Support: Orbital Bombardment]
[Required Points: 10000]
[Note: Upload target coordinates. The Adeptus Mechanicus fleet in synchronous orbit will mobilize capital ship batteries to conduct one round of indiscriminate, devastating orbital bombardment on the designated surface area. Wide strike range with terrain-reshaping power, completely eliminating all organic and inorganic matter within the zone. Choose target carefully. This support can only be called once.]
Indiscriminate. Devastating. Terrain-reshaping.
These three terms combined radiated cold, absolute power.
User 114514's frown didn't ease, it deepened. This wasn't an easy choice. 10000 points was nearly his entire fortune, meaning he'd forfeit the possibility of summoning other support later. Indiscriminate bombardment meant any unmarked friendly units in the strike zone would be vaporized too. Terrain-reshaping could certainly eliminate enemies, but might also destroy critical paths or structures leading to the lower-level STC fragments, increasing the difficulty of subsequent objectives.
The respawn light flared. He reappeared at a relatively safe backup rally point in the mid-hive. The surrounding servitors and Skitarii soldiers waited silently for his orders, their sensor lights blinking red in the dim illumination like breathing.
Fragmented communications from other squad commanders crackled over the channel:
"Sector D requesting support! We're pinned down!"
"Sector B passage collapsed, suspected large creature activity!"
"Advance too slow! Running out of time!"
Anxiety spread like contagion.
User 114514 opened the tactical map, his gaze sharp as a blade, sweeping across every node in the mid-hive zone. Finally, his eyes locked on a vast area east of the Sector C nexus. There, several major pipelines and ventilation systems converged. The structure was abnormally complex. Reconnaissance showed extremely high energy readings and concentrated bio-signals; likely a major Genestealer hatching nest or command node in the mid-hive. More importantly, that area was relatively isolated, at some distance from their current main axis of advance. The risk of friendly fire was low. Leveling it would not only eliminate substantial enemy forces but could potentially paralyze a significant portion of the Genestealers' mid-hive coordination capability.
That's the one.
Without hesitation, User 114514 pulled up the coordinate input interface and precisely entered the four corner coordinates of that area. A system prompt appeared:
[Please confirm orbital bombardment request. Target area marked. Estimated friendly casualty probability: 7.3%. Continue?]
7.3%. That probability was acceptable in combat.
He took a deep breath and pressed confirm.
[-10000 Points]
[Orbital bombardment request sent... receiving... fleet batteries calibrating...]
The brief wait felt stretched, time elongating. All sounds on the battlefield seemed to recede.
Then, every player in the mid-hive, even some in the upper and lower levels, felt a slight but bone-deep tremor beneath their feet. Not an explosion, but rather the subtle gravitational disturbance caused by massive energy concentrating in planetary orbit, building toward release.
Then, through the shattered dome, through the cracks in ventilation shafts, people saw it: several impossibly massive, searing-white pillars of light too bright to look at directly, like the spears of divine punishment, tearing through the perpetual artificial gloom above the hive, carrying world-ending momentum as they lanced down from heaven to earth!
Light arrived before sound.
Then came the sound: not ordinary explosions, but a roar like shattering stars, like continental plates being torn apart! The entire mid-hive shook violently. The strike's epicenter was instantly consumed by indescribable heat and energy, transforming into an absolute inferno of light and heat!
The shockwave spread like a solid wall through passages and pipes, twisting metal, pulverizing concrete. Genestealers caught in its path didn't even manage screams before vaporizing outright.
Even far from the blast center, User 114514 could feel the suffocating pressure and the terrifying tremors beneath his feet. On the tactical map, the target zone and the vast expanse of red dots surrounding it vanished like they'd been erased, blinking out instantly.
The orbital bombardment had arrived.