Eradication Mode

The players stopped holding back. They dragged anyone who'd gone limp, kicked aside anyone blocking the way, and knocked out anyone trying to run back with a rifle butt before stuffing them into the pipe.

Order was barely maintained through brute force.

But casualties had already begun.

Another stray shot hit the metal support above the pipe entrance. Flying shrapnel sheared off two workers' arms.

Blood sprayed. Their screams were ghastly.

Farther away, a tank shell, its trajectory warped by Tzeentch's field, had been aimed at the rebel fortifications. Instead, it traced a bizarre arc through the air and crashed into the makeshift barricade the players had erected.

"Boom!"

Three players who'd been hauling metal crates to reinforce the defenses were blasted into the air along with the crates.

[Player "Handicapped Party Please Spare Me" has died. Cause of death: blast impact. Resurrection cost: 5 Imperial Coins]

[Player "Ox-Horse Just Wants to Sleep In" has died. Cause of death: shrapnel damage. Resurrection cost: 5 Imperial Coins]

[Player "Nurgle Praised My Good Body" has died. Cause of death: high-temperature burns. Resurrection cost: 5 Imperial Coins]

The system's cold notifications flashed across the regional channel.

"Shit!"

Soul of Cadia poked his red-eyed head out from behind cover and sprayed a burst toward where the shells had come from, even though his shots couldn't possibly reach that far.

"This is so damn frustrating! So damn frustrating!"

"Are we just going to sit here and be target practice?!"

"What else can we do?"

Xue Brother yanked him back just as another stray shot skimmed over his head. "You want to charge out there and trade fire with tanks?"

"But we can't just—"

"We can!"

Wang Zhong's voice came through the channel, frighteningly calm:

"What we're doing is exactly what we should be doing."

"Save as many as we can. The ones we can't save... that's fate."

He paused, then added:

"But first, we have to survive long enough to get our equipment money back."

"Oil-Guy, report progress!"

[Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run]: "Workers through: 2,742."

"Estimated time for the rest to pass through: 12 minutes."

"Alru forces' vanguard is 800 meters from this area. Estimated time to contact: 8 minutes."

"Tzeentch field stability continues to decline. Interference efficiency is now down to 43%."

"Khorne units and Alru Infantry are engaged. The fighting is at a stalemate."

"Our casualties: 87."

Eight minutes.

Wang Zhong looked at the nearly one thousand workers still lined up, then at the workers from other factories farther away, trembling under the shellfire with no time to organize an evacuation.

He knew they were running out of time.

"Pick up the pace."

He gritted his teeth. "Use every means necessary. Move faster."

"Kick, push, throw, drag!"

"I don't care how you do it. Get everyone left inside within six minutes!"

"After six minutes, we retreat, no matter how many are still outside!"

"Understood!"

The players abandoned all pretense of gentleness and started forcing the workers through by the roughest means.

They worked in pairs, one dragging and the other kicking, stuffing workers into the pipe like sausages.

Some workers clung to the edge of the pipe in terror. The players simply smashed their hands with rifle butts, then kicked them inside once they let go.

Their efficiency shot up.

But the price was that the panic spiraled completely out of control.

Some workers began to fight back, while others tried to flee. Chaos erupted once more.

And the Alru forces' artillery was getting closer.

At the center of the battlefield, the real meat grinder had begun to turn.

With the Psyker squad disrupting and weakening the Tzeentch field, the Bloodletter finally found an opening to charge.

Its four-meter-tall body surged forward at terrifying speed. Each step shattered the ground, and the great axe of flesh in its hand dragged behind it, carving a deep furrow.

Its target was the nearest Leman Russ Tank.

The tank's turret was turning, trying to intercept it with the coaxial Heavy Bolter.

But it was too slow.

The Bloodletter leaped at the last thirty meters, raising its great axe high overhead. Tangible crimson psychic energy gathered along the blade!

"For the Blood God!!!"

With a roar, the great axe came crashing down!

"Clang!!!"

The shrill scream of twisting metal nearly burst their eardrums.

The blade sank deep into the tank's frontal armour, cleaving a crack nearly half a meter long!

It hadn't pierced all the way through, but the armour's structure was damaged, and the turret's turning mechanism gave an ominous creak.

The crew inside had clearly panicked. The tank began reversing, trying to put some distance between itself and the daemon.

But the Bloodletter wouldn't give it the chance.

It pulled out its great axe and raised it again.

"Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!!"

A sudden burst of gunfire rang out from the flank.

Three Sentinel Mechs charged out from behind the ruins, all six Heavy Bolters opening fire at once. A searing storm of bullets engulfed the Bloodletter!

"Grrr!"

The Bloodletter was forced to abandon its attack. It held its great axe in front of itself, using the flat of the blade to block the bullets.

But Heavy Bolter rounds were powerful enough to tear through light vehicle armour. Even a daemon's body couldn't ignore them completely.

The bullets burst across its body in clusters of bloody blossoms, and dark red blood gushed out like a fountain.

It roared in pain, abandoned the tank, and lunged at the Sentinel Mechs.

Behind it, more than two hundred Khorne Berserkers had already collided with the Alru Infantry formation.

It was the most primitive, most bloody kind of slaughter.

Most of the Khorne Berserkers had undergone partial daemonification. Their skin had turned red, their muscles bulged, and some had grown horns while others' arms had mutated into claws.

They swung great axes, cleavers, and Chainswords, and even tore out their enemies' throats with their bare hands.

The Alru Infantry relied on discipline and teamwork.

They fought in groups of three, back to back. Lasguns fired precise shots, grenades flew into the densest crowds, and Flamer Troopers engulfed charging Berserkers in flames.

Someone fell every second.

The Berserkers' axe blades cleaved through Flak Armour, spraying blood.

The infantry's laser beams burned through daemon skin, filling the air with the stench of charred flesh.

Farther away, the Siclaman Rebels used the building ruins as cover and kept bombarding the Alru forces' flank with Heavy Bolter cannons and Lascannons.

They fought cleverly. Rather than attacking the Khorne line head-on, they focused on the advancing tank groups and the weak points in the infantry formations.

A Heavy Bolter round hit a Sentinel Mech's leg joint. The mech staggered and fell. Before its pilot could climb out of the cockpit, a charging Berserker cleaved through the pilot and the hatch in one blow.

Another Lascannon struck the side armour of a Leman Russ Tank. Its high heat burned through the relatively thin section, and an explosion sounded inside the tank. The hatch was blasted off, and flames spewed through every gap.

Caspar's mechanical eye flashed frantically.

Battle damage reports refreshed like a waterfall:

[Unit losses: Leman Russ Tank ×2]

[Unit losses: Sentinel Mech ×4]

Infantry casualties: estimated to exceed 800

[Psyker squad losses: 7 (psychic overload, brains burned out)]

"The cost... is a bit high."

He murmured, his mechanical fingers tapping faster.

But he soon made his decision.

"Order: all units, contract the defensive line and hold your current positions."

"Activate eradication mode."

"Notify the Sweeper Unit in the rear to move in."

"Target: the entire industrial district."

"Plan: carpet coverage."

"I want this place..."

He looked toward the chaotic battlefield, the rebels still resisting, the rampaging heretics, and the strange people in the distance organizing the workers' evacuation.

The red glow of his mechanical eye was as cold as a blade.

"Wiped clean."

His adjutant immediately said:

"But... Lord Capas, Councilor Climan's order was to retake every factory in the industrial district. If we activate eradication mode..."

Capas turned at once, fixing him with blood-red electronic eyes as he roared:

"To hell with retaking the industrial district! Can't you see those Warp heretics?"

"Carry out the order."