This is the bonus chatper for reaching 900 Powerstones.
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Creaaaak...
The grinding of metal echoed through the cavernous hall. Seconds after the countdown hit zero, the heavy lid of the first stasis pod slowly slid to the left. Frigid white vapor spilled from the breach.
An arm, entirely encased in intricate mechanical plating, thrust out through the mist. Five fingers forged from adamantium gripped the edge of the pod.
Whirrr...
With a faint hydraulic hiss, Cogboy's heavily augmented, mechanical chassis sat up. His augmetic eye swept the hall, instantly locking onto the two figures standing by the entrance.
A 3.88 meter golden colossus. Faint energy circuits pulsed across the surface of the Aquilon Terminator armor. Though the helmet was still on, Cogboy recognized that sheer physical presence in an instant. It was their old friend, Paul.
And standing right beside him was a tall, statuesque woman clad in silver power armor. The armor's design was completely unprecedented—sleek and elegant, yet radiating a vicious, battle-ready lethality. The psychic runes etched into its surface cast a faint, ethereal glow into the dim hall. Silver hair cascaded down to her waist, framing deep, crystal-clear emerald eyes.
It took Cogboy exactly 0.3 seconds to identify that face.
"Helovia?" he asked, a rare trace of surprise bleeding into his synthesized voice.
The next second, Cogboy vaulted out of the stasis pod. Thanks to his heavily modified mechanical legs, his explosive power far exceeded that of a normal human. He landed with a heavy, metallic clang and took long strides toward the door.
Paul removed his helmet. His face was still distinctly Eastern, but the features had deepened, weathered by time and experience. Deep within his dark golden irises, five minuscule stars slowly rotated. A genuine, heartfelt smile crept onto his lips. It was a complex expression—a mix of immense relief, deep nostalgia, and a trace of world-weariness that Cogboy couldn't quite decipher.
"Cogboy," Paul said, his voice a low rumble. He extended his right hand—a massive gauntlet of golden power armor roughly the size of two normal human heads.
Cogboy extended his own mechanical arm, palm facing up.
Understanding the gesture, Paul brought his massive hand down. Metal clashed against metal in a resounding, powerful grip, gold interlocking with silver-gray.
Cogboy's augmetic eye locked onto Paul's face. "You look like you've... changed quite a bit."
As his words faded, the lids of the other stasis pods throughout the hall began to pop open one by one.
Hiss... Hiss... Hiss...
The sound of venting cryo-gas merged into a continuous hiss.
In the second row, Schrödinger Bro sat up. He shook his head, a layer of white frost clinging to his short black hair. When he opened his eyes, there was a brief moment of disorientation before clarity snapped back into focus. He looked toward the door, spotting Paul and Cogboy, and then saw Helovia standing behind Paul. His pupils constricted slightly. He didn't say a word, simply climbing out of his pod slowly, his movements far more sluggish than Cogboy's, as if he were reacquainting himself with a body that had been dormant for twenty-three years.
Blood Angel woke up. He slowly raised his hands, staring at his palms... the skin was a little pale, but it unmistakably had the texture of real human flesh. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the hall, then over to the door. When his gaze landed on Helovia's face, his expression froze for a solid second.
Tax Bro launched himself out of his pod with such explosive force he nearly tore the lid clean off its hinges. "Holy fuck! I thought I was gonna suffocate in there!" His roar echoed off the walls. He shook out his arms, kicked his legs a few times, and finally took a look around. When he saw the towering golden figure at the door, he froze.
"Paul?" he asked tentatively. "How the hell did you... get even taller?"
Paul smiled, a hint of helplessness in his expression. "It's a long story."
White Scars vaulted out of his pod silently. He dropped to one knee, pressing a hand against the floor as if feeling for something. A few seconds later, he looked up, the eyes beneath his short white hair as sharp as a hawk's. "The timeline is wrong." His tone was clipped and precise. "The air humidity, the ambient temperature, the oxidation levels on the walls... We've been asleep for a lot longer than a month."
As they spoke, more and more players began to wake up.
[Have You Been Loyal Today?], [I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman], [Execute Old Man the War Criminal], [I Want to be a Steel Behemoth]...
[Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work] popped out of his pod, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Waaagh! I'm done resting! Time for a good scrap!" His booming voice drew quite a few side-eyes from the surrounding players.
Meanwhile, the region chat began scrolling furiously.
[I Want to be a Steel Behemoth]: "Holy shit! I'm finally back in! I missed you so much, my sweet baby Dreadnought!"
[Execute Old Man the War Criminal]: "Oh please, your Dreadnought is ugly as sin. You call that a baby? Now, my Raven Guard physique... that's the good stuff. Wait, Paul, who is that silver-haired girl behind you?"
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "+1, same question."
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor]: "Everyone, calm down. Let's figure out our situation first. Paul, Helovia, exactly how much time has passed?"
[Paradox Player Not a War Criminal]: "Judging by the wear and tear in this hall, I'd say at least ten years."
[The Last God of Gamblers of the Imperium of Man]: "So... the in-game time was accelerated? We were offline for a month, and years passed in the game?"
The players gradually gathered by the entrance.
Three thousand four hundred Astartes from various Legions... Imperial Fists, White Scars, Iron Warriors, Salamanders, Ultramarines, Sons of Horus, Space Wolves, Raven Guard... Their gene-seed origins were wildly diverse, and their armor sported a chaotic mix of colors. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, they formed a bizarre spectacle that absolutely no one would ever see anywhere in the Imperium.
Three hundred Brothers of Silence... these male Blanks stood in silent formation, clad in plain gray robes. They projected an invisible anti-psychic aura that made the nearby psyker players feel mildly nauseous.
Two hundred Grey Knights, their silver-gray power armor gleaming coldly in the dim light.
Two hundred Terminator Guards, as heavily armored as walking fortresses.
Three hundred Tech-Priests, their mechanical augmetics whirring and blinking.
Two hundred Vindicare Assassins and one hundred Eversor Assassins, standing like phantoms in the shadows.
And then there were hundreds of players who hadn't undergone extensive superhuman augmentations, opting instead to serve as administrators and logisticians. They wore relatively simple, practical uniforms.
Every single pair of eyes was fixed on Paul and Helovia.
Schrödinger Bro, Blood Angel, Tax Bro, and a few others walked up to Paul. Schrödinger Bro let his gaze linger on Helovia for a moment before turning back to Paul. "It's been a very long time, hasn't it?"
Paul nodded.
"I figured as much," Schrödinger Bro said softly, a knowing look in his eyes. "Time acceleration."
"So, exactly how many years has it been?" Blood Angel pressed.
"From the moment you all entered stasis in Dawn's Slumbering Palace, it has been twenty-three years." Helovia finally spoke, her voice as clear and bright as ever. "Uncles, brothers, and sisters of the Crimson Dawn, welcome back to your eternal home, Aurelian IV."
Tax Bro and White Scars exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
"Helovia?" Tax Bro asked, pointing a finger at her. "The little bean sprout?"
"You're... you're this tall now?"
Helovia offered a faint smile, one that radiated the elegance of a mature woman yet still held the distinct shadow of the little girl she once was. "Yes, Uncle Tax. And I'm thirty-four now. Not exactly a little bean sprout anymore."
Blood Angel took a deep breath. "So the current timeline is... 000.M31?"
Tax Bro looked at Paul, and Paul nodded again to confirm.
White Scars scratched his head. "So we spent a month offline in the real world, but in-game... twenty-three years have passed? That time dilation ratio is absolutely insane."
"It's not time dilation," Schrödinger Bro analyzed calmly. "It's a logical time skip. Our player characters were likely in stasis or managed by the system as NPCs during that period."
He looked at Paul, who smiled and said, "Let's head up to the Governor's Palace first. This isn't the place for a long talk. Way too much has happened in these past twenty-three years to explain in a few sentences. Let's get out of here first. I want to show you... exactly what Aurelian IV has become over the last two decades."
He turned on his heel, his golden Aquilon Terminator armor thudding heavily with each step. Helovia walked lightly and gracefully beside him in her silver power armor.
The players exchanged glances, then quickly fell in line.
When they walked out of the main hall of Dawn's Slumbering Palace, navigated the long corridors, and finally reached the exit, the sight that greeted them left everyone stunned.
The palace exit connected to a massive platform, the edge of which was lined with a row of magnetic levitation elevator shafts. Each shaft was over forty meters in diameter. Their walls were forged from polished alloy, with faint blue energy circuits pulsing continuously.
But that wasn't what left them speechless.
Looking out from the platform, what they saw was... a sea of glowing green light.
Vertical farms.
Deep within the subterranean expanse of the Underhive, dozens of vertical farms—each towering a hundred meters tall—were built directly into the cavern walls. Every single level was equipped with specialized light panels designed to simulate natural sunlight.
The farms were bursting with all kinds of crops: lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, root vegetables... they even spotted dwarf fruit trees. A labyrinth of irrigation pipes snaked through the farm structures like silver veins, automatically misting the crops with nutrient-rich water. Automated mechanical arms zipped between the rows, meticulously pruning and harvesting the produce.
"Holy... shit?" [Have You Been Loyal Today?] dropped his jaw. "This is the Underhive? I mean, sure, we cleared it out back in the day, but we barely even scratched the surface of developing it..."
As the mag-lev elevators engaged, they shot upwards, crossing the boundary between the Underhive and the Lower Hive.
The scene before them delivered a second massive shock. Gigantic factory complexes were arranged in immaculate grids. Mechanical arms operated with pinpoint precision on fully enclosed assembly lines. Spacious transit corridors ran between the workshops, with Automated Guided Vehicles shuttling raw materials and finished products back and forth.
The air they breathed was crisp and fresh, perfectly scrubbed by advanced filtration systems. Workers in crisp, uniform jumpsuits monitored the production processes from their control consoles, their faces pictures of intense focus. Clean walkways, clear signage, ample lighting.
There were no slums. No shanty towns. Not even a single residential block. This was a realm dedicated purely to production.
Helovia turned to face the players. "Aside from administrators and shift workers living in the Upper Hive, almost all Imperial citizens on Aurelian IV... have been relocated to the surface cities. For us, the Hive is now strictly a massive industrial complex."
She pointed downwards. "The Underhive connects directly to the deep-core mines, handling all raw material extraction. The Lower Hive houses the ore smelters, primary processing plants, and promethium refineries. The Mid Hive is dedicated to precision component manufacturing and equipment assembly lines."
She then pointed up toward the ceiling. "The levels of the Upper Hive that receive natural sunlight have been completely retrofitted into residential zones and living amenities for the factory workers." She explained, "The environment in the Lower Hive is inherently unsuitable for long-term habitation, even after our extensive upgrades to the ventilation and lighting systems. Therefore, we relocated the entire population to the surface, reserving this space entirely for production. We run a strict rotational shift system. Eight hours a day."
"Eight hours?" Tax Bro raised an eyebrow.
"In Aurelian, we enforce a strict eight-hour workday," Helovia said, her tone level. "It is a fundamental right guaranteed to all workers under the Dawn Charter." She then pointed toward the streaks of light zipping through the massive open spaces in the distance. "And those..."
Those were mag-lev monorail trains. Dozens of tracks crisscrossed the air, forming a complex, three-dimensional transit network. Some trains were packed with workers in jumpsuits, others hauled cargo containers, and a few were loaded with fresh produce straight from the vertical farms. Every single train ran with clockwork precision.
"Some of those trains are daily commuter lines for the workers. The rest are cargo freighters, responsible for transporting finished goods to other Hive industrial zones or directly to the surface cities."
Helovia's explanation plunged the players into a stunned silence. They needed a moment to process the sheer scale of this information.
Suddenly, a player—ID [Chief Architect of the Dyson Sphere]—spoke up. "So... that Hive functional retrofitting plan we drew up back then... you actually pulled it off?"
Paul nodded. "We didn't just pull it off. We exceeded the quota."
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