This is the bonus chapter for reaching 500 Powerstones.
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A massive explosion violently detonated from the direction of the Governor's Estate's main gates!
It wasn't the sound of artillery fire, but the terrifying, deafening crash of something incredibly heavy violently smashing against the reinforced alloy doors!
Immediately following the blast, the frantic, concentrated crackle of lasgun fire, the agonizing screech of tearing metal, and the shouts of players all violently mixed together, completely shattering the morning silence!
"Enemy attack!!" Tax Bro's expression instantly changed. He violently whipped his thick arm back, the modified combat shotgun slung over his shoulder instantly falling right into his grip.
Schrödinger Bro's reaction was equally instantaneous. His right hand immediately snapped down to the laspistol holstered at his waist while his left hand rapidly flicked open the regional chat channel. "All units! Focus on the main gates of the Governor's Estate! What the hell is the situation?!"
The [Regional Channel] instantly exploded:
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "Holy shit! Three massive iron bastards! They just charged straight out from the street corner!"
[Execute War Criminal Yellow Weasel]: "They're combat servitors! Mechanicus war-machines! They're heavily equipped with twin-linked lascannons and power fists!"
[Did White Scars Speed Today?]: "We're currently engaging them! Our lasguns can't even scratch their heavy armor!"
[God-Tier Mechanic]: "Target profiles visually confirmed! Designation: Standard Combat Servitor. Height: 3.2 meters. Weight: 4.8 tons. Outer carapace composed of heavy ceramite-steel composite plating. Lasguns will require sustained, concentrated crossfire on a single specific point to achieve armor penetration!"
Tax Bro and Schrödinger Bro were already sprinting frantically toward the main gates. Their speed was absolutely terrifying. The sheer explosive muscle power granted by their Tier III genetic enhancements allowed them to clear over a hundred meters in mere seconds.
The chaotic scene violently unfolding outside the gates instantly crashed into their field of vision.
Three massive, silver-gray combat servitors were aggressively advancing in a tight, triangular spearhead formation. They looked like grossly enlarged, humanoid mechs, but their movements were rigid, highly mechanical, and clearly dictated by pre-programmed combat cogitators rather than human pilots.
Every single servitor possessed a massive hydraulic power fist for a right arm—when those thick metal fingers clenched shut, they could effortlessly crush solid rockcrete into dust. Their left arms had been entirely replaced by twin-linked lascannons, the heavy barrels currently violently discharging lethal, crimson energy beams!
Boom, boom, boom, boom!!
The thick laser beams viciously swept across the ground, violently plowing deep, scorched-black trenches directly into the stone pavement.
Over twenty players were heavily utilizing the surrounding rubble as cover, desperately returning fire. The concentrated volleys of las-fire slammed violently against the servitors' heavy ceramite plating, sparking brightly but leaving behind nothing more than faint, superficial white scorch marks.
"Fuck me!" Tax Bro cursed, executing a flawless combat roll directly behind a low rockcrete wall before aggressively shoving the barrel of his shotgun over the barricade. "Everyone! Stop trying to brute-force them with lasguns! Pull out your rocket launchers! Blow these iron bastards to hell!"
His booming roar instantly echoed across the regional vox-channel, reaching every single player in the vicinity.
In an absolute instant, at least ten players simultaneously pulled heavy missile launchers directly from their inventory slots. These were the heavy-duty anti-armor variants they had previously purchased from the Sanctuary store—the absolute perfect countermeasure against heavy mechanized targets.
"Loaded!"
"Target lock achieved!"
"Open fire!!"
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!!
Ten armor-piercing rockets violently erupted from their tubes, leaving thick trails of white exhaust smoke as they screamed toward the three combat servitors from multiple intersecting angles!
The servitors' tactical auspex sensors instantly registered the incoming projectiles. Their combat subroutines reacted flawlessly—two of the heavy war-machines rapidly elevated their left arms, violently pivoting their lascannons to intercept the threat.
Bang, bang, bang!
Three highly concentrated laser beams perfectly intercepted three of the incoming rockets, detonating them violently in mid-air!
But the remaining seven rockets slammed squarely into the servitors' heavy armored chassis!
BOOOM!!!!
A series of absolutely deafening explosions rapidly chained together into a single, terrifying roar!
A violently expanding cloud of hellish fire, thick black smoke, and jagged shrapnel instantly swallowed the entire street corner where the three servitors stood! The massive concussive shockwave instantly shattered every single armaglass window within a fifty-meter radius, sending a torrential downpour of pulverized rockcrete and choking dust raining down upon the battlefield.
The players threw themselves flat against the ground, waiting for the violently churning aftershocks to completely subside.
A few seconds later, the thick smoke and dust gradually began to clear.
The three heavy combat servitors had been violently reduced to completely unrecognizable piles of twisted, burning slag.
The servitor originally positioned in the absolute center had taken three direct hits. Its entire upper torso had been completely blown away, leaving only a pair of massive mechanical legs standing uselessly in the street, sputtering angry blue electrical arcs and thick black smoke from the jagged, molten stump.
The servitor on the left had completely lost an arm and exactly half of its central chassis. Its complex internal cabling was violently exposed, wildly discharging crackling electricity into the damp air.
The servitor on the right was in slightly better condition, but its heavy chest plating had been violently blown open, revealing a completely melted, slagged power core inside.
"Target neutralized!" [Have You Been Loyal Today?] shouted, vaulting excitedly from behind his cover and aggressively pumping his fist in the air.
But Tax Bro didn't relax his vigilance for a single second. Keeping his combat shotgun raised firmly against his shoulder, he slowly advanced toward the burning wreckage, his eyes sweeping the surrounding streets with extreme caution.
Schrödinger Bro followed closely behind him. The muzzle of his laspistol was slightly lowered, but his index finger remained perfectly hovered over the trigger guard.
"Something is seriously wrong," Tax Bro said, crouching down next to the smoldering remains of one of the servitors and using the hot barrel of his shotgun to poke at the twisted metal. "These three things... this doesn't feel like a premeditated, active offensive assault."
Schrödinger Bro frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Just look at their movement vectors," Tax Bro said, pointing directly at the violently crushed tread marks left behind by the servitors' massive feet. "They emerged straight out from that street corner and charged in a perfectly straight line directly toward the Governor's Estate main gates. The absolute second they encountered resistance, they opened fire. But they didn't employ a single tactical maneuver. They didn't seek cover, they didn't attempt to flank, and they didn't even prioritize high-value targets." He stood up, casually dusting off his hands. "These are just a bunch of heavily armed, mindless brutes executing a hyper-basic 'advance-and-fire' macro. This absolutely wasn't a coordinated, conscious assault."
Schrödinger Bro's gaze instantly hardened. "Are you saying... this was?"
"This was most likely a dead-man's switch left behind by one of the Mechanicus Tech-Priests we just arrested!" a calm, perfectly even voice suddenly echoed from behind them.
Tax Bro and Schrödinger Bro simultaneously spun around.
Paul and Cogboy were already standing just inside the massive main gates of the Governor's Estate. Paul was still fully clad in his imposing dark gray power armor. His visor was retracted, and his dark golden pupils were currently sweeping over the heavily cratered battlefield.
Cogboy was already crouching beside one of the ruined servitors. A highly specialized data-spike had seamlessly extended from his cybernetic right arm and was securely jacked directly into the machine's primary diagnostic port.
"What is the verdict?" Paul asked.
"It's an incredibly crude, rudimentary pre-programmed subroutine," Cogboy replied. The blue light of his cybernetic eye violently flickered as massive streams of encrypted data rapidly scrolled across his visual interface. "Activation parameters: Detect the opening of the Governor's Estate main gates without an accompanying, heavily encrypted Mechanicus identification signal. Operational directive: Advance directly to the main gates and violently terminate all non-Mechanicus armed units. It possesses absolutely zero withdrawal protocols, zero tactical logic, and zero friend-or-foe identification systems outside of its Cult parameters. If a friendly Skitarii patrol had walked past them right now, it would have opened fire on them too."
Paul stepped forward and crouched down, using his heavily armored fingers to casually tap the violently twisted ceramite plating. The impact let out a series of deep, muffled thuds.
He looked up at Cogboy, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth. "These wrecks will serve as perfect teaching materials for your Crimson Machina."
The blue light of Cogboy's cybernetic eye flashed rapidly, massive streams of data scrolling wildly across his visual interface. He crouched beside another servitor, the highly specialized data-spike extended from his right arm already buried deep within its internal mechanical structure.
"Indeed... it's a standard Cult Mechanicus combat servitor architecture, but the programming logic is so profoundly rudimentary it looks like the work of a mere initiate. The control system is an Anvil-III pattern from three hundred years ago that hasn't received a single update. The power core output is only running at seventy-two percent of standard optimal values, clearly indicating a severe, long-term lack of holy maintenance." He pulled out the data-spike, its tip dripping with coolant fluid and melted insulation.
Paul stood up, his towering three-meter frame casting a long, imposing shadow in the morning light. "And what does that tell us?"
"It tells us that the Order of the Omnissian Mind's control over the Kent Hive... is far looser than we originally anticipated," Cogboy replied.
Schrödinger Bro walked over, holding a cracked data-slate he had scavenged from the wreckage of one of the servitors. "Or rather, they don't take this Hive City seriously at all. The Tech-Priests stationed here possess highly limited expertise, and the resources they can freely mobilize are equally scarce. Look here, the activation protocols for these three servitors were pre-programmed exactly three hours ago. That perfectly coincides with the exact time we dispatched our invitation squads. The operator's encrypted designation almost certainly points directly to Magos Arkhan Land." He tapped the slate, projecting the last few system logs into the air.
"Which means..." Tax Bro leaned in, casually resting his heavy combat shotgun over his shoulder, the barrel still actively radiating heat from the recent firefight. "...that old bastard was ready to violently flip the table the absolute second we handed him our invitation?"
Paul nodded, turning to look at Blood Angels' Second Emperor. "Blood Angel, take a squad and transport these mechanical remains back to the Sanctuary. And while you're at it... we are going to need some heavy reinforcements from the base. Relying solely on our current one thousand men to fully control a Hive City of nearly a hundred million people is stretching our logistical capabilities far too thin."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor instantly grasped his intent. "Understood. Exactly how many personnel do you need me to bring back?"
"As many as possible. Ideally, I want you to bring a massive wave of the native populace who have already completely absorbed your ideological education and become true citizens of Crimson Dawn," Paul said, slightly lowering his voice as his dark golden gaze swept the perimeter. "Tell the players back at the Sanctuary that the Kent Hive desperately needs manpower. Not just combat personnel, but highly skilled administrative talents, technicians, educators, medicae personnel... Anyone possessing a specialized skill should be strictly prioritized for deployment. Additionally, bring Helovia along. Her psychic aptitude... might prove exponentially more useful in a densely populated environment like this Hive."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor gave a heavy, determined nod and immediately turned to coordinate the logistics.
"Hold on a second," Cogboy called out, stopping him in his tracks as he pulled a compact data-wafer from his robes. "Take this directly to the players in the Sanctuary's engineering department. It contains a highly compressed summary of the technical archives forcefully extracted from the Kent Hive's Cult Mechanicus branch. While the vast majority of it is laughably obsolete, some of the fundamental STC blueprints and maintenance litanies will be incredibly helpful in rapidly rebuilding the Hive's ruined industrial infrastructure."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor took the data-wafer, carefully securing it in an inner pocket. "Understood. I am moving out immediately."
Watching Blood Angels' Second Emperor lead a group of players to heavily load the ruined servitors onto a transport crawler, Paul turned back to the remaining core members.
"Merely seizing control of the upper-spire elites is far from enough. Within the next three days, we must perfectly execute two primary objectives. First, the absolute, unyielding purge of every single core member affiliated with the Hysman Merchant Guild. Out of the millions living in the upper spires, the core operatives of the Hysman syndicate currently control every single critical node of this Hive City—whether it be administration, education, the economy, or public propaganda. Every single one of them must be purged. Their roots trace too deeply back to Aru City, or even the Hysman Guild itself; it is fundamentally impossible for them to ever truly serve our cause. Second, simultaneously with this massive purge, we will rapidly insert our people from the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary to take their places. Administrative bureaus, the syndicate's private mining operations, manufactorums, logistical warehouses, heavy transport convoys... every single critical node will be completely replaced by our own people."
Tax Bro flashed a fierce, toothy grin. "Understood! Paul, this kind of wetwork is exactly what I do best!"
Schrödinger Bro, however, frowned slightly. "Paul, the Hysman Merchant Guild has firmly entrenched itself in this Hive for years. Their core membership in the upper spires alone numbers in the thousands. Launching a total purge and mass replacement operation within a strict three-day window... isn't that moving a bit too aggressively?"
"That is exactly the point. It has to be aggressive," Paul's voice was absolute iron. "With Adela securely in our custody, the Hysman Merchant Guild in this hive is currently leaderless and paralyzed by total chaos. If we strike right now, they won't have the time to organize any form of effective resistance. Once the public execution concludes in three days, the entire Hive City will undeniably realize that the Hysman Guild has been utterly annihilated. All those opportunistic fence-sitters will naturally flock to our banner. Furthermore... we simply do not have the luxury of time. Primarch handed this Hive City over to us strictly to see raw output and ruthless efficiency. If we can't even clean out a single parasitic merchant guild, why the hell would he ever trust us to successfully manage ninety-eight million Imperial citizens?"
The group remained silent for a few seconds before unanimously nodding in absolute agreement.
Cogboy's cybernetic limbs let out a faint hiss of pressurized hydraulics. "I concur. However... a purge of this magnitude demands absolute speed and terrifying precision. The Hysman guild's assets are deeply embedded across every single stratum of this Hive, with some reaching deep into the Underhive. We will require a highly detailed manifest of names and their exact operational coordinates."
"Already fully prepared." Schrödinger Bro seamlessly pulled up a massive holographic hit-list. It was densely packed with thousands of names, each meticulously annotated with their specific title, primary operational location, and highly probable defensive capabilities. "I wasn't just sitting around twiddling my thumbs earlier. When Paul unleashed his Wisdom trait to forcefully rip through Adela's memories, he actively transmitted a raw data-dump directly to me. I have already memorized the entire organizational structure."
Tax Bro leaned in, squinting at the endless scrolling text, and let out a low whistle. "Schrödinger, you are an absolute fucking psycho... That amount of pure data processing would have driven me insane."
"I merely executed what was required of me," Schrödinger Bro replied coolly.
Paul patted Schrödinger Bro on the shoulder before turning his intense gaze back to the group. "Then the tactical directives are firmly set. Tax Bro, you will personally lead the players of the Crimson Fists to execute the purges throughout the upper spires. As for the mid-hive and Underhive sectors, we will completely lock them down until the absolute second Blood Angel returns with the heavy reinforcements. Remember this explicitly: if you encounter any armed resistance, you have total authorization to shoot to kill. These parasites who gleefully gorge themselves on the blood of innocent Imperial citizens are infinitely more detestable than the ruinous powers of Chaos."
"Understood!"
"Schrödinger Bro, you will deploy your Crimson Spirit psyker detachment to provide comprehensive intelligence oversight and localized psychic suppression."
"Copy that."
"Cogboy, you will remain entrenched within the Governor's Estate to coordinate the macro-logistics of the entire operation. Furthermore... establishing immediate vox-contact with Captain Karon Santos is entirely in your hands."
"Rest assured."
Paul took a deep, steadying breath, his dark golden pupils sweeping fiercely over every single face. "The revolution has officially begun. Starting today, the massive gears of this Hive City will forcefully rotate to the exact rhythm of our vision."
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Next Goal = 750 Powerstones.
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