Warhammer Hot Pot

He drew a deep breath. His voice was barely above a whisper, yet all the more chilling.

"That intelligence officer and his subordinates, whether they're dead or have defected..."

"Find his family—his parents, spouse, children. Send them all to Alru Group's Biology Division, and tell them these willing test subjects can be used for any high-risk project."

"Yes, yes..."

The operator recorded the order, his face deathly pale.

"As for now..."

The Bald Director looked at the increasingly dire battle on the screen and enunciated each word.

"Order Alru Group's Defense Division to deploy the First through Tenth Security Battalions immediately, all in heavy gear."

"I want to see at least fifteen Leman Russ Tanks, five Hellhound Flame Tanks, twenty Sentinel Mechs, and every armored personnel carrier that can still move."

"Also, notify the Merchant Guild's Psyker squad. Have thirty Battle Psykers accompany them."

He paused, then added:

"Tell Commander Capas I don't care about casualties or ammunition expenditure."

"Within five standard hours, I want to see every factory in the Crimson Bright Wasteland back under control, and the head of every rebel impaled on a spear and arranged in the shape of the Imperial Aquila."

"If he can't..."

The Bald Director smiled. The temperature in the entire command center seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Then he can have himself stuffed and put up there with them."

The orders were relayed within thirty seconds.

Six military bases around Arlu City sounded their shrill alarms at the same time.

Garage doors thundered open, and heavy tracks crushed across the concrete.

Leman Russ Tanks painted in Alru Group's dark blue and silver-gray colors turned their turrets slowly, their main guns gleaming coldly in the morning light.

The larger Hellhound Flame Tanks rumbled to life, their engines making the ground tremble.

Nearby, the two-legged Sentinel Mechs, armed with Heavy Bolters or lascannons, underwent their pilots' final system checks.

Farther away, eight thousand fully armed soldiers stood in neat ranks on the assembly grounds. The Flak Armour they wore was nothing like the shoddy gear the overseers had. These were standard-issue troops' uniforms, reinforced with ceramic plates and emblazoned with Alru's eagle insignia on the pauldrons.

At one side of the formation stood thirty figures in dark-purple robes, their faces hidden beneath hoods.

The air around them shimmered faintly, bending the light into unnatural colors—the energy fields unconsciously emitted by Psykers.

"For the Merchant Guild! For the order of Aurelian!"

Standing atop a command vehicle, the commander roared through a loudspeaker.

"Crush the rebels! Leave no one alive!"

"Move out!"

The steel tide began rolling toward the Crimson Bright Wasteland.

Inside Refinery No. 3

The players had gone wild tearing the place apart.

The central Cooling Tower was now a ruin, Refining Furnace No. 2 had been blown half to pieces, and the piles of ore and semifinished goods in the supply depot had been swept clean.

[Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run] stared at the final figure that had appeared on his terminal. For a moment, he stopped breathing.

[Total Recovered Value: 1,587,600 Imperial Coins]

"Brothers..."

In the area channel, his voice bore a rare tremor. "We... we just looted one million five hundred eighty-seven thousand."

There was no cheering in the channel.

Everyone was panting hard, staring at the skyrocketing figures in their accounts.

Wang Zhong and the others distributed the Imperial Coins according to each player's contribution, leaving each of them with an average of 319 Imperial Coins.

Some got more, like the demolition and technical teams. Others got less, like those assigned to guard duty.

But even the smallest share was over 280 Coins.

It was a fortune.

Enough to turn five thousand miners into elite light infantry in an instant.

"That's enough..."

Wang Zhong looked at the four hundred or so extra Coins in his own account and grinned. "We've made it worth our while."

Just then, an ear-splitting explosion came from the factory entrance, followed by a flood of shouts and an even denser storm of gunfire.

"The rebels are breaking in!"

[Did White Scars speed today] poked his head over a pile of rubble, took one look, and ducked back down at once. "There are loads of them! Must be several thousand!"

One group charged toward the overseers and guards still putting up a desperate fight. They wore a hodgepodge of armor and carried all kinds of modified firearms. Though fanatical, they still looked more or less normal.

But the other group around them...

"By the Emperor..."

Schrodinger's Loyalist lay behind cover, watching through the sight of his Lasgun. His voice was dry. "Those people... something's wrong with them."

On the east side of the factory, some six or seven hundred rebels had undergone horrific changes.

Their muscles had swollen abnormally, stretching their armor until it warped and cracked. Their skin had turned dark red, and their eyes burned with pure bloodlust.

They no longer used firearms. Instead, they swung enormous axes and cleavers, or simply ripped heavy machine guns off their mounts and wielded them as clubs. With unbelievable speed and strength, they smashed into the overseers' ranks.

Limbs flew and blood sprayed wherever they went.

The corpses of those they killed soon began twitching under the influence of some bizarre force, then crawled back to their feet and joined the horde. Their movements were stiff, but they were still deadly.

"Khorne..."

Wang Zhong murmured. "That other group is Khorne Cultists."

"So Ren's side has Tzeentch, and this side has Khorne..."

Tax Brother scratched his helmet. "Shouldn't they be fighting each other?"

"The Chaos Gods are sworn enemies, but sometimes they'll cooperate against a common foe, like the forces of Order."

Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run explained quickly. "That kind of cooperation usually involves stabbing each other in the back and plotting against one another, but at least on the surface, they'll deal with the non-Chaos forces first."

As if to prove his point, the spatial rift by the warehouse where Ren was stationed had widened enough for something to pass through.

The first to crawl out were a swarm of chattering little daemons with wings and beaks, their bodies covered in blue scales: Tzeentch Horrors.

They swarmed toward the battlefield like locusts, not relying on brute force but tearing armor with their claws, disrupting minds with shrieks, or simply spitting out little spells that twisted reality.

Then a massive, feathered claw covered in eyes reached through the rift.

An indescribable, colossal figure was slowly squeezing its way through.

It had three heads: one frantically calculating, one shrieking with laughter, and one asleep.

Its nine arms clutched books of law, a staff, daggers, an hourglass, a quill, and a mirror that reflected countless possibilities. Below its waist writhed twisted tentacles and dripped pus that flowed with knowledge.

It might not measure up to a true Greater Daemon, but it was undoubtedly one of the most troublesome kinds of Tzeentch Daemon: the Lord of Change and Mystery.

"Holy crap..."

Soul of Cadia gaped. "A boss really showed up..."

"Not just one."

Wang Zhong pointed toward the Khorne Cultists.

Sure enough, among the Khorne Berserkers who had slaughtered enough lives, the ground suddenly split open and boiled with blood.

A four-meter-tall monster climbed out. Its muscles bulged, huge horns crowned its head, and it clutched a massive axe of flesh and bone: a Bloodletter, a lesser Daemon of Khorne.

On this battlefield, though, it was already a killing machine.

Tzeentch Daemons, Khorne Daemons, rebels, Khorne Berserkers, and overseers and guards still resisting...

The whole of Refinery No. 3 had become a meat grinder of Chaos infighting, mortal slaughter, and rampaging Daemons.

"A classic Warhammer hot pot."

"Brother Loyalty, we..."

Did White Scars speed today swallowed hard. "What do we do now? Pull out?"

Every player turned to Wang Zhong.

They had money in their pockets now—more than three hundred Coins each, enough to die over sixty times if they logged out and revived.

Wang Zhong looked at the battlefield in all its chaos, then glanced at the Imperial Coins in his account.

"Leave? Where would we go?"

"Alru Group's army will probably be here soon. Do you think these two legs can outrun tank treads?"