At the exact moment this Drukhari fell into a brief daze due to that completely pleasureless kill, a cylindrical object rolled right to his feet with the crisp clinking sound of metal hitting the ground.
Before his acute brain could finish processing what this object was, the flashbang grenade—upon which the previous player had pinned high hopes—detonated with a roar.
Buzz—!!!
At this moment, for a Drukhari whose sensory acuity was several times that of a human—capable of hearing heartbeats and seeing microscopic dust drift—this flashbang designed for humans was practically a sensory nuclear explosion.
Intense light poured into his retina like searing molten iron, and a massive wave of sound slammed directly into his eardrums like a sledgehammer.
"Sss-ah—!!"
For the first time, this elegant killer let out a shrill, undignified shriek. He clutched his mask in agony, his body involuntarily staggering backward.
"Now's the time! Go!"
Without needing another word, the player Peppino, who had been coiled like a spring, charged forward without a hint of hesitation like a cannonball leaving the chamber.
Despite being blinded and in excruciating pain, the battle instincts of this heavily disciplined Drukhari remained terrifying. Sensing the disturbance in the airflow right in front of him, he thrust his blade almost subconsciously. The monomolecular longsword, coated in deadly poison, struck like a viper's tongue, instantly piercing through Peppino's chest and protruding from his back.
However, the expected scene of the enemy freezing up from a mortal wound did not happen.
Peppino acted as if he couldn't feel pain at all. He even used the momentum of his body being impaled to close the distance even further.
His face beneath the mask contorted with exertion. He thrust his hands out like a pair of hydraulic iron clamps, dead-locking the Drukhari's weapon-wielding wrist.
"Gotcha, you little punk!"
Caught in this grip, the Drukhari instantly realized things had gone south.
While they vastly outmatched these clumsy "mon-keigh" in speed, reactions, and technique, the slender Eldar physique held absolutely no advantage against a chemically augmented casualty-unit in a pure contest of brute force.
In fact, in terms of raw muscle and sheer vitality, these casualty-units at this stage could directly go toe-to-toe in a wrist-wrestling match with an ork!
The Drukhari clearly realized that having his mobility restricted meant his doom. For a fragile assassin like him, stopping meant death.
Disregarding the dizziness before his eyes, he immediately exerted force to pull his sword out, wanting to retreat and break the distance.
It wouldn't budge an inch.
The sword felt as if it had been cast directly into the other man's ribs and muscles, while the wrist caught in those massive hands throbbed with the agonizing pain of imminent bone fractures.
A wave of shock and fury instantly surged in the Drukhari's heart.
He felt as though the creature in front of him wasn't human at all!
The poison coated on his blade was a concoction meticulously prepared in Commoragh. This toxin not only corroded flesh instantly but also acted directly upon the soul, bringing pain a hundred times more intense than physical trauma. Even an Astartes hit by this poison would freeze for a split second due to severe nervous system overload.
But this mon-keigh—was he smiling?
There was no fear, no pain, only a spine-chilling fanaticism and—excitement?
What kind of monster is this?!
However, his confusion and rage quickly dissolved into nothingness, because he would never have the chance to think again.
The very second Peppino locked him down, two other casualty-unit players closed in like rockets.
Pfft! Pfft!
Two heavy tactical knives stabbed through his heart and lungs simultaneously from the left and right. That wasn't the end of it; the two players twisted the handles with extreme expertise, instantly turning the organs inside his thoracic cavity into a mushy pulp.
At the same time, two other searing laser beams accurately hit the Drukhari's head.
The high-energy lasers instantly vaporized the exquisite helmet, along with the astonished head inside, dissolving it directly into a puddle of smoldering charcoal.
This Drukhari, who had yearned for an elegant slaughter, ultimately turned into a headless corpse in the most inelegant and brutal way possible, slumping limply into Peppino's embrace.
Only then did the two players who had been hovering in mid-air to provide cover fire control their jetpacks to land slowly.
Though the clash of those brief seconds looked simple, it had been incredibly perilous. A single slip-up, and everyone would have ended up back at the spawn fountain counting down their respawn timers.
One of the players walked up to Peppino, who was still maintaining his grappling posture. Looking at the purplish-black veins spreading frantically around his wound, the player couldn't help but ask, "How is it, Peppino? You alright? Want a stim?"
Peppino let go of the headless corpse, his body swaying stiffly.
"I don't feel... so... goooood..."
His voice came through the comms channel completely warped, sounding like a stretched and distorted cassette tape with a comical warble.
The moment he finished speaking, a horrifying scene unfolded.
Like butter placed on a scorching hot iron plate, or a wax statue splashed with strong acid, Peppino's entire body began to break down and melt at a speed visible to the naked eye. The Drukhari's deadly poison didn't just destroy his cellular structure; it didn't even spare the equipment on his body.
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle—
Accompanied by an ear-grating corrosive sound, the hard plasteel carapace armor, the tactical vest, and even the boltgun in his hands began to smoke within that rapidly expanding puddle of red and black solution, quickly turning into a pile of scrap metal dregs.
In a mere two seconds, a living person had turned into a bubbling puddle of "spaghetti sauce."
"LOL!"
"Hahahaha—"
Watching this overly graphic and somewhat absurd way of dying, the remaining four players couldn't hold it in anymore. They burst out laughing right there on the blood-scented street.
"This death is way too abstract!"
"The dark space-elves' poison has some serious kick to it. It even wiped out the gear. That's a huge loss."
After laughing, the four gathered around the puddle of their "teammate" and the headless alien corpse next to it, beginning to discuss their next move.
"What now?" A player kicked a piece of rubble by his foot. "The captain just kamikazed, and Peppino turned into sauce. Our squad's casualties are almost at fifty percent."
The player who had landed first swapped his magazine and shrugged. "The captain is dead, there's no point in us clinging to life. Why not go out with a blast?"
"You mean—"
The four exchanged glances, instantly reaching a mutual understanding.
"Let's go find that Drukhari squad from earlier and blow ourselves up with them!"
"Agreed! We're dead anyway, might as well drag a few dark space-elves down with us. The isolated one just now wasn't satisfying enough. This time, let's tie all our remaining grenades and explosives together and give them a little surprise from the Emperor."
"Let's go, let's go! While they probably haven't reacted yet, let's go deliver some express packages!"
"HALLELUJAH!"