On a cleared patch of ground at the edge of the temporary camp near the drainage channel's starting point, the atmosphere was feverish and murderous, a bizarre contrast to the steam pump still roaring nearby and the poisonous water rushing down the channel.
At the center of the clearing stood a wooden cross lashed together from logs, so crude that even the branches and leaves hadn't been stripped away, but sturdy enough.
Hua'er Daji was bound securely to it.
His Death Corps coat had been stripped off, leaving him in only his thin underclothes. His signature gas mask with its thick glass eyepieces was gone, exposing a face filled with panic, indignation, and a trace of forced composure.
Sweat mingled with mud as it slid down his temples and dripped beneath the cross.
Below the cross, dry firewood had been piled into a small hill.
A dense crowd of outraged players surrounded the stage of his impending execution.
There were far more people than had taken part in the earlier battle. Clearly, word had spread.
Friends of the players accidentally burned to death by Hua'er Daji's flamethrower stood at the front, their eyes bloodshot and fists clenched.
More were players who had fought at the edge of the swamp. Mud and blood stained their bodies, while their faces bore a mixture of anger, lingering fear, and intense disgust for such indiscriminate killing.
The air reeked of sweat and mud, with a faint, elusive hint of... scorched flesh. That lingering mark of the earlier battle only inflamed everyone's nerves.
No one knew who started it, but a low, oppressive chant began to swell, finally merging into a unified, soul-shaking roar. Like a war drum, it hammered against Hua'er Daji's heart and shook the entire camp.
"Burn... burn... burn!!!"
The roar pressed