Planet Alacaster, Northwest Quadrant, Omsk Hive City.
The sky was buried beneath a sickly yellow-green haze. The deadly vapor was a toxic blend of chemical runoff, industrial exhaust, and Nurgle's plagues.
The hive itself was older and far more labyrinthine than Heralius. It looked like a colossal beehive built from corroded metal, rotting pipes, and swollen, cancerous flesh.
Right now, it was under relentless assault from Chaos Undivided. The combined forces of Nurgle and Tzeentch were especially aggressive.
Player User114514 was commanding a mixed force of Cadian assault troops, a handful of armored units, and large numbers of local Imperial Guard. They were holding the Purification Corridor in the mid-levels of the hive.
It was one of the last major routes leading to the core energy arrays. If it fell, Omsk Hive City's entire defensive system would unravel.
The fighting was savage.
Poxwalkers and Nurgle daemons poured forward in an endless green tide, fearless and unthinking. Their rotting bodies leaked poisonous fumes. When they dropped, their corpses either burst apart or spawned even more filth.
Tzeentch's Horrors and Pink Horrors hurled warped psychic attacks from a distance, twisting reality itself. Weapons jammed without warning. Minds cracked under invisible pressure.
Traitor heavy weapons teams, concealed behind clouds of plague smoke, kept up a steady barrage of lethal artillery fire.
User114514 crouched behind a barricade made from a wrecked Chimera and broken concrete. His meltagun still glowed red from vaporizing a Nurgle daemon that had tried to climb over the wreckage.
His armor was smeared with sticky pus and rust. The filters in his breathing mask hissed under strain.
The comm channel was chaos, filled with desperate calls and casualty reports.
"A3 sector needs anti-tank support! Chaos armor pushing through!"
"B7 corridor's gone! Repeat, B7 is gone! We're boxed in by plague smoke!"
"Medic! We need a medic over here! ... Damn it, the medic's down!"
He clenched his jaw and cycled through tactical maps, trying to move what little reserves remained to seal the breaches. But the defensive line was like a sinking ship. Plug one hole and another ripped open somewhere else.
At this scale, individual heroics felt meaningless.
What irritated him even more was the quick glance he'd taken at the Imperial faction's live leaderboard. An unfamiliar name, I Am Not God, sat at the top with a crushing lead. Nearly double his points.
He had been grinding on the front lines since the start, confident in his contribution. Yet this stranger had surged ahead out of nowhere.
"I Am Not God? Who is this guy? I don't remember seeing that name before the finals..."
He frowned and muttered under his breath. There was no time to dig deeper. Omsk's defenses were hanging by a thread.
His attention snapped back to the tactical interface. A key indicator, Battlefield Intensity, had finally clawed its way up to 50% after endless bloodshed.
The moment it crossed that threshold, the top section of the support panel, previously grayed out and labeled Strategic Protocols, erupted in blinding golden light.
Three new options appeared, each distinct, each radiating power:
[Astartes Support Protocol] | Activation Cost: 1 point | Status: Awaiting Activation
[Mechanicus Support Protocol] | Activation Cost: 1 point | Status: Awaiting Activation
[Summon Imperial Guard Legendary Commander] | Activation Cost: 10,000 points | Status: Locked (Requires specific conditions or higher intensity)
Below them was a concise but weighty note:
[Note: When Battlefield Intensity reaches 50%, one support protocol may be activated. Once activated, that sub-faction will fully intervene in this war zone. When Battlefield Intensity reaches 100%, another sub-faction's support protocol may be unlocked and activated.]
User114514's heart pounded.
Strategic protocols.
These were game-changers. Astartes superhumans. The Mechanicus and their tide of steel. A legendary commander capable of turning the tide through sheer leadership. Any one of them could reverse the situation.
He immediately tried to activate the Astartes Support Protocol. The Ultramarines' overwhelming combat power was exactly what this deadlock needed.
But when he confirmed, the system responded with a blunt notification:
[Insufficient Permissions. Strategic Protocol activation rights are granted only to the player currently ranked first in Imperial faction points.]
[Current Imperial Faction First Place: Player I Am Not God]
"Damn it!"
He swore under his breath. Only the top scorer gets permission? What kind of rule is that?
Then he understood. Medici's design. The most critical strategic decision went to the player with the highest contribution in the current campaign. It was both recognition and responsibility.
He immediately switched to the Imperial faction's global command channel, usually reserved for high-level coordination and urgent intel.
Messages were flying by at a dizzying speed, filled with distress calls and scattered battlefield reports.
There was no time for niceties. He typed quickly and tagged the player directly:
"@I Am Not God — Omsk's about to collapse. Intensity just hit 50%. Strategic Protocols are live, but only first place can trigger them. Open your support panel NOW. Pick Astartes or Mechanicus and activate it. We're seconds from losing the line."
The message drew a few reactions, though most of it was swallowed by the flood of chatter from other war zones.
---
Heralius Hive City, Scorched Front.
I Am Not God had just cleaved a roaring Bloodletter in half with his chainsword. Corrupted blood splashed across the burning ground, hissing as it hit.
With sharpened combat instincts and the clarity granted by the Living Saint blessing, he moved like a perfectly tuned killing machine, eliminating Chaos units with cold efficiency.
As he prepared to advance, the comm icon in the corner of his vision began flashing. A message tagged directly to him.
He spared it a glance. Urgent. From User114514.
"Strategic protocols? First place permissions?"
He paused, startled. Only then did he notice that he had somehow climbed to the top of the Imperial leaderboard.
Omsk Hive City was in crisis.
He didn't hesitate. Staying alert to his surroundings, he pulled up his tactical support panel.
At the top were the three radiant options: Astartes. Mechanicus. Legendary Commander.
There was no time to weigh every possibility.
User114514's message was clear. If Omsk fell, the consequences would be severe.
Astartes. The Emperor's Angels. The Space Marines. Their power was unquestioned. They were built for moments like this.
"This is the one."
He selected [Astartes Support Protocol] and pressed [Activate]. The cost was only one point, but the authority behind it was immense.
[Confirm Activation of Astartes Support Protocol? This will irreversibly summon Astartes Chapter forces to intervene in the current planetary campaign and affect subsequent strategic choices.]
"Confirm."
[Command received... Permission verification passed... Protocol activating...]
[Praying to the Golden Throne... Praying to the Emperor...]
[Connecting to Holy Terra... Connecting to Ultramar... Connecting to Baal... Connecting to multiple sacred fortress worlds...]
[Signal transmitted... Response confirmed...]
[Astartes Support Protocol—Activated!]
An unseen shockwave radiated outward from I Am Not God's position, spreading across the entire Imperial combat network on Planet Alacaster.
Every Imperial player's tactical interface, no matter which hive they occupied, flared gold at the same time. A faction-wide announcement blazed across their displays:
[The Emperor's Will Has Descended!]
[Astartes Chapters Answer the Call!]
[The Emperor's Angels Are About to Descend Upon the Battlefield!]
[New Shop Unlocked!]
[May Their Bolters Cleanse All Corruption. May Their Loyalty Light the Darkness!]
I Am Not God's support panel transformed instantly.
The original Krieg Direct and other conventional support options remained. But a new page, Astartes Chapter Support, unfolded in brilliant gold, centered around the Imperial Aquila and Space Marine helm icons.
Instead of simple point exchanges, the page displayed Chapter emblems and full company formations, heavy with history and authority.
Several entries were already active, marked Summonable or Deploying:
[First Wave Responding Chapters/Companies (Deployment Coordinates Confirmed):]
· [Blood Angels] 5th Company - Deploying to: Karn'dya Hive City
· [Ultramarines] 2nd Company - Deploying to: Omsk Hive City
· [Black Templars] Crusade Detachment - Deploying to: Heralius Hive City
· [Imperial Fists] 7th Company - Deploying to: Ptolemy Fortress
· [Space Wolves] Wolf Pack Contingent - Deploying to: Wilderness Plains
· (Additional Chapter Companies Status: Coordinating/In Transit/Standing By)
Each Chapter listing included a brief description and estimated arrival times, ranging from minutes to half an hour.
This was no ordinary reinforcement call. These were legendary armies, each with its own traditions, doctrines, and overwhelming combat power, entering the war in force.
At the same moment the announcement went out, the Imperial fleet in orbit around Planet Alacaster roared to life.
Massive warships opened along their flanks. Countless drop pods emerged, larger and sleeker than their Chaos counterparts, bearing sacred Imperial symbols and Chapter insignias.
Like a storm of golden meteors, they tore through the atmosphere, blazing toward the surface. Their descent paths were precise, targeting the major war zones and marked hive cities.
It looked like salvation falling from the sky.
Omsk Hive City.
User114514 stared up at the miasma-choked sky. Dozens of burning gold-red streaks pierced through the diseased clouds like divine blades, descending toward designated drop zones behind and along the flanks of the Purification Corridor.
Thunderous impacts followed, one after another. Drop pods slamming into the ground at tremendous speed.
"They're here! They're here!"
He shouted, hope flaring in his exhausted eyes.
In Heralius Hive City, I Am Not God saw them as well. Black cross insignias, aggressive designs. Black Templars drop pods crashing down behind the Chaos lines.
He tightened his grip on his chainsword. He felt a faint resonance between the Living Saint blessing and the Emperor's Angels now entering the field.
New forces had arrived. The scale and nature of the war were about to change dramatically.
He fixed his gaze on the Chaos-held positions ahead, expression unwavering.
The Astartes had come.
And the mortals would fight to the last breath as well.