The scorched battlefield of Heralius Hive City seemed to eternally devour life and hope.
I Am Not God rose once again from the cold resurrection monument engraved with the Emperor's maxims. The warm flow from the Living Saint's blessing at his severed arm remained, yet it couldn't dispel the deep exhaustion and sense of helplessness born from repeated attrition weighing on his heart.
The just-concluded combat cycle had been brutal and typical. He had led newly purchased, poorly equipped Krieg line infantry in a resolute counterattack, attempting to push back the Chaos daemons' beachhead position.
Those silent gray soldiers faithfully executed his orders. They used crude lasguns and bayonets, even their own bodies, to block Bloodletters' greatswords, Tzeentch Horrors' psychic flames, and Nurgling plague-bearers' toxic fumes.
They fell in droves, corpses piling like mountains. They exchanged extremely high sacrifice efficiency for brief advances and the slaughter of numerous low-tier daemons.
However, when their numerical advantage was exhausted by the daemons' superhuman quality and endless reinforcements, when the gray figures around him grew fewer and fewer, when the defensive line became thin once more, I Am Not God had no choice but to face the tide of enemies alone.
Relying on the Living Saint's blessing, that 100% armor penetration effect against Chaos, that chainsword that seemed to grow more responsive with each use, and combat instincts continuously honed in desperate straits, he transformed into a stubborn nail, firmly embedded in the collapsing defensive line.
Each slash could tear through daemon carapace or flesh. Low-tier daemons killed by him were completely banished, unable to resurrect.
Amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood, he maneuvered and fought against daemons numbering dozens of times his own with a mortal body, perhaps.
Twenty minutes.
He had slain over thirty daemons of various types.
Finally, at the limit of his stamina, ammunition depleted, and surrounded by coordinated attacks from several Khorne daemons and Tzeentch Horrors, he was overwhelmed.
His consciousness returned to the resurrection point.
I Am Not God leaned against the monument, breathing heavily, not from physical fatigue, but from tremendous mental exhaustion.
He opened his attributes panel. That glorious [Thirteen-Fold Holy Annihilation] mission icon still shone, but the progress remained glaringly stuck at [2/13].
The first was the Helbrute. The second... he recalled that crimson Berserker he'd slain, the Chaos chosen. The numerous low-tier daemons killed afterward seemingly didn't count as Chaos elite units.
"This is so frustrating!" He couldn't help but complain in a low voice, punching the cold metal wall beside him with a dull thud. "Too many daemons! I can't kill them all, simply can't kill them all!"
What frustrated him even more was that after that round of attrition, though his points had increased somewhat, they had only recovered to just over four thousand.
These points, on the brand new [Astartes Chapter Support] page, couldn't even summon the most basic tactical squad.
As for purchasing more Krieg soldiers, their fearless spirit deserved respect, but in this grinding war requiring quality breakthroughs rather than quantity accumulation, their combat effectiveness was indeed too weak. They were more like background extras using their lives to buy him time and create kill opportunities.
He needed a new kind of force, one that could compensate for the Krieg soldiers' quality deficiency without requiring the astronomical point threshold of Astartes.
Something tough enough, brutal enough, capable of directly shaking daemon battle lines.
With this almost desperate gambling mentality, he once again opened the Imperial Guard support panel and began rapidly scrolling down, browsing through more obscure or expensive support options.
Orbital bombardment, Storm Eagle gunships, tank companies, all required substantial points.
His gaze swept past hastily until an option he'd never noticed before, or perhaps one that had never activated due to point or battlefield condition requirements, suddenly caught his eye:
[Ogryn Squad Support]
[Required Points: 1000]
[Required Battle Intensity: ≥30%]
[Requirement: Current war zone must possess a relatively stable Imperial Guard command node or assembly area.]
[Effect: Summons a squad of 20 fully-armed Ogryns to arrive at your assembly area, following your basic tactical commands.]
[Unit Description: Ogryns are abhuman variants originating from several super-high-gravity planets.
Average IQ equivalent to 7-8 year old human children, capable of understanding and executing only the simplest, most direct tactical commands, but their physiological structure, shaped by their homeworld's gravity, is extremely robust, with astounding bone density and exceptional muscular strength.
Adult Ogryns single-handedly lifting main battle tanks and dismantling light fortifications with bare hands are routine operations. The Adeptus Administratum typically organizes them into Ogryn Regiments, issuing specialized heavy weapons and deploying them as assault forces for breaching or anti-vehicle operations. They are loyal, fearless, and possess excellent appetites.]
"Ogryns..." I Am Not God's eyes suddenly lit up!
Low IQ? No problem! He needed precisely this kind of simple-minded, thick-skinned, durable, hard-hitting unit!
1000 points for 20. The cost-effectiveness looked extremely high!
Moreover, the descriptions fully-armed and heavy weapons made his heart race.
Without hesitation, he immediately selected [Ogryn Squad Support], confirmed the summons, and set the rally point at his current location, the relatively safe reinforced hall in the hive's lower levels.
Points deducted.
No screaming drop pods, no teleportation flashes.
After about a minute or two, a series of heavy, chaotic footfalls, like multiple small earthquakes occurring simultaneously, mixed with metal scraping and indistinct grunting sounds, came from the corridor leading to the rear.
I Am Not God and the sparse Imperial Guard soldiers nearby who were resting and replenishing ammunition all looked alertly in that direction.
Then they saw those giants.
A full twenty figures filled the wide corridor. Their heights generally ranged from two and a half to three meters, with disproportionately massive builds, thick limbs, heavy torsos, and relatively small heads.
Most wore honest or blank expressions, with rough skin of various colors. They wore specially made, thickened, oversized uniforms and simple armor that looked like sacks fitted over battering rams.
But most striking were the weapons in their hands.
Heavy weapons that ordinary Imperial Guard would need mounts, multiple operators, or vehicle platforms to use were held by these Ogryns as lightly as regular people holding automatic rifles.
Some Ogryns casually gripped heavy bolters normally requiring two people to carry, the weapon barrels almost as thick as their forearms.
Some cradled multi-barreled rotary cannons like toys, ammo belts clanking to the ground.
Some shouldered massive lascannons or melta gun launchers.
Still others carried absurdly oversized axes or sabers. Their ammunition belts and power cell packs bulged all over their bodies.
They entered the hall, looking around curiously, casting frank gazes at the surrounding Imperial Guard soldiers and I Am Not God, making indistinct sounds like "Oh?" and "Ah?"
I Am Not God took a deep breath and walked before them. He needed to test how much these big fellows could actually understand.
He pointed at the corridor exit leading toward the battlefield and spoke in the simplest, clearest terms: "Enemy. Over there. Many. Fight."
The Ogryns looked where he pointed, then at each other.
Then the leading Ogryn, carrying a multi-barreled rotary cannon with a vicious scar across his head, opened his wide mouth, revealing uneven teeth, and nodded vigorously, bellowing in a deep voice: "Fight! Bad things! Smash!"
"Smash!" "Bang bang bang!" "Hungry..."
The other Ogryns also clamored, waving their heavy weapons eagerly.
Excellent! They understand basic commands!
I Am Not God felt assured. He said no more, waved his hand, and pointed toward the corridor exit. "Go!"
"RAAHHH!"
The Ogryns let out mixed, uncoordinated but powerful roars, taking heavy steps like twenty activated heavy construction machines, rumbling toward the battlefield.
Their footsteps made the ground tremble slightly, and their heavy weapons already emitted charging or chambering sounds as they moved.
I Am Not God immediately followed close behind, issuing coordination orders to nearby Krieg and Imperial Guard units through his comm.
Looking at those towering backs ahead, a new hope rose in his heart.