I forgor Bug was actually Pyro sorry
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Fortunately, this "cutthroat competition" soon saw a turning point.
Assimilation Complete, who was providing cover from the rear, happened to intercept a snippet of conversation from the nearby Krieg fighting positions.
A Krieg engineer ran up to a Commissar wearing a peaked cap and reported in a muffled voice: "Commissar, we are out of explosives. Even if we count every soldier's grenades and krak missiles, the yield won't be enough to bring down the structural supports of this xenos building."
The Commissar gripped his bolt pistol tight, seemingly preparing to issue a final, desperate order.
Assimilation Complete's eyes lit up. He jabbed Pyro hard with his elbow: "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Pyro was busy swapping power packs for his lasgun, looking puzzled. "They're out of explosives? We can't just give them ours; wouldn't that split the glory? I'm planting my own bombs!"
"You idiot!" Assimilation Complete slapped Pyro's helmet in frustration. "Read the mission description carefully! It says the merit goes to the [Bomb Carrier]!"
Pyro blinked, still not quite following.
Assimilation Complete explained rapidly: "If we give the bombs to them, who was it that painstakingly carried them all the way from the base to here? Us! That makes us the 'carriers'! Besides, these Kriegers aren't afraid to die. Let them hit the most dangerous core zones while we provide the ammo. It's 'resource optimization'! As long as the bombs come from us, the system will definitely give us a cut!"
"Holy crap!"
The realization hit Pyro instantly. This was a genius way to exploit a mission bug! It solved their manpower shortage while allowing them to leech the rewards for the highest-difficulty demolition!
Without another word, he charged toward the Krieg Commissar who was about to give his orders, shouting: "Commissar! Don't throw your lives away! We have explosives! We have as many as you need!"
As he yelled, Pyro began frantically pulling bundles of high explosives out of his system shop like a deranged Doraemon.
"Brothers! Empty your inventories! Load up our Krieg comrades! Let them blow things up to their hearts' content!"
"Everyone fall back! Stop bashing your heads against those metal skeletons! Come back and 'deliver the warmth'!" Pyro roared over the comms channel, his voice cracking as he tossed out blocks of C4.
The Helldiver players on the front line were initially bewildered, their melee swings stuttering. They wondered if their Captain had been concussed by an artillery shell. You were the one screaming for a charge a second ago, and now you're calling a retreat?
Fortunately, Assimilation Complete was a natural "Commissar-type" player. He immediately summarized the core logic on the public channel: "Give the explosives to the NPCs! The system counts us as 'carriers,' so we still get the merit! Plus, Kriegers aren't afraid of death—they can get the bombs deeper inside! This is zero-loss point farming! Get back here and dump your stash!"
These words were like a bucket of cold water poured into boiling oil. The entire Helldiver channel exploded.
"Holy shit, you can do that?!"
"Why didn't you say so earlier! I almost threw my melta bomb as a frag grenade!"
"Retreat, retreat! Let the professionals handle it!"
The Helldivers, who had been locked in a heated bayonet struggle with Necron Warriors, suddenly withdrew like a receding tide. The sudden shift left the nearby Krieg soldiers stunned.
In the Kriegers' minds, these allies from the Helldiver Legion were usually even more fanatical than they were. During the charge, these people had acted like they were on combat stimms, screaming as they slammed into the Necron fire-lanes, using their bodies to soak up half the incoming gauss beams. Why were they suddenly "chickening out"?
The confusion didn't last long.
The Krieg Commissar watched as the Helldivers—as if by magic—pulled all sorts of explosives from strange places: melta bombs, cluster grenades, and even crude satchel charges taped together. Not only that, they pulled them out with terrifying speed, forming a daunting mountain of ordnance on the ground in the blink of an eye.
The Commissar's eyes gleamed beneath his cap. He immediately realized his allies' intent:
They were pooling their final ammunition to hand it over to the engineers better suited for the demolition task!
"All squads, cover the Helldivers' withdrawal!" the Commissar ordered, raising his boltgun high. "Engineer squads! Forward! Move those explosives! Do not fail the trust of our allies!"
The scene became bizarrely frenetic.
On one side, the green death-light of the Necron army pressed closer; on the other, the Helldivers were frantically "restocking" like wholesalers, while Krieg engineers acted like industrious ants, hoisting satchel charges and sprinting toward the support pillars deep within the pyramid.
Just as Pyro was enjoying the sight of his estimated merit points skyrocketing, a sudden change occurred.
"Ugh—!"
Pyro let out a pained groan, clutching his chest. His body convulsed violently as he suddenly opened his mouth. Splurt!
A fountain of multicolored, glowing blood mixed with bits of broken organs erupted from him. When the blood hit the ground, it actually hissed and sizzled, releasing a plume of weirdly colored smoke.
This gruesome sight startled even the Krieg Commissar, who instinctively took a half-step back. How severe must his internal injuries be—or how terrifying a toxin has he swallowed—to vomit such... such a 'paint-palette' effect?
"It's over!" Assimilation Complete wailed in mock grief. "The Captain's meds have worn off! The backlash of the Demonic Body Disintegration Art is here!"
Though his voice sounded tragic, his hands didn't slow down; if anything, the urgency made him pull explosives out even faster.
Hearing this, the other Helldivers turned solemn. They said nothing, simply speeding up their work to clear their inventories before their Captain "passed away."
Deeply moved, the Krieg Commissar rushed forward to support the wobbling Pyro, shouting to a medic: "Medic! Give him a sedative! Quickly!"
A potent sedative was slammed into Pyro's neck, but it clearly couldn't stop the system's character death countdown.
Pyro's face was deathly pale (though hidden by his helmet), and his body shook like a leaf. Yet, he stubbornly and tremblingly reached his right hand behind his hip—
Under the Commissar's respectful gaze, Pyro laboriously pulled a heavy melta bomb from his tactical pouch and, with his final ounce of strength, pressed it into the Commissar's hands.
"Ex... Explode..." Pyro's voice was as faint as a silken thread, like a final dying wish.
The Krieg Commissar gripped the bomb, still warm from Pyro's grip, his eyes misting over. What noble spirit! Even at death's door, he does not forget the mission, contributing his final strength to destroy the xenos!
"Go in peace, brother!" the Commissar promised solemnly. "We will use this bomb to send those loathsome xenos to hell! Your sacrifice will not be in vain!"
Pyro's eyes were wide, staring fixedly at the bomb, his lips trembling: "I... I'm losing so much damn profit..."
"Say no more," the Commissar interrupted with a firm tone. "I know your suicidal courage in service to the Emperor. We shall remember your name forever!"
"I... I am unwilling..." A rattling sound came from Pyro's throat as he struggled to let go of his final breath. "I still have... two pounds of melta bombs... left to give..."
With those words, Pyro's head slumped, his breath ceased. His eyes remained wide open—he had died with his grievances unaddressed.
The shoulders of the surrounding Helldivers shook violently. They kept their heads low, terrified that their allies would see they were desperately holding back laughter.
But beneath the stifled laughs, their hand speed hit the limit. Their Captain had demonstrated with his own life what "losing out" looked like. They could not let such a tragic lesson be repeated!
Every single item had to be converted into merit! Even if they had to sell their own trousers, they were going to bring those grenades to the Kriegers!
The great demolition operation—for the sake of merit... uh, for the Emperor—reached its climax at that very moment.