Inside the temporary command center, the glow of the holographic tactical map reflected across Joker's calm face.
A player responsible for logistical coordination walked over quickly and reported to Joker, "Commander-in-Chief, according to front-line feedback and drone reconnaissance, civilian evacuation is 95% complete. The surviving Planetary Defense Forces have also basically withdrawn from the core engagement zone."
"Right now, in that area, aside from our people and the Lamenters, only those Dark Eldar are left."
At this moment, the war room was filled entirely with player officers from the Helldiver Legion. The Lamenters' leadership hierarchy, who were originally supposed to be stationed here—including Chapter Master Malakim Phoros himself—had all charged to the front lines due to the intense combat and their deep concern over mortal casualties.
This happened to give the players the perfect opportunity to execute "Plan B."
Looking at the empty command seats, Joker nodded with satisfaction. The noble virtues of the Lamenters had become the players' greatest tactical cover.
"Then notify Ghostface," Joker's voice echoed in the vacant room. "Get ready to execute."
On the other side of the battlefield, inside a newly cleared abandoned hall.
Ghostface received the transmission, a soft chuckle escaping from beneath his skull-painted gas mask. He raised his hand, waving to the group of eager psyker players and occult enthusiasts behind him.
"Standard procedure. Let's begin."
There were no holy incantations, nor any complex ritual circles. A few players routinely piled together shards collected from the battlefield that were tainted with Dark Eldar agony, then casually drew a few crooked symbols around them.
Their careless attitude made it look as ordinary as ordering fried rice from a roadside stall.
With the injection of psychic energy, the crude ritual quickly spun up. However, after barely a dozen seconds, the initially stable psychic field violently fluctuated. Purple arcs of electricity crackled wildly, and the structure of space began to groan under immense strain.
"Oh, it's out of control," one of the players running the ritual said in a flat tone, showing no surprise whatsoever, even letting out a yawn.
The surrounding guards from the Helldivers didn't even raise their weapons. Obviously, this situation was entirely within their expectations—or rather, this was exactly the "effect" they wanted.
Space warped and tore open a narrow rift, as tight as a hairline crack in a wall.
Immediately following, a pale purple, barbed giant hand thrust out from the rift, gripping the edges and forcing them open.
"Ugh—ah—damn it—"
A wave of alluring yet irritated complaints drifted from the other side of the Warp rift.
The entity seemed to be struggling hard to squeeze its massive body out of a "dog flap" that was entirely too small for a Greater Daemon. Accompanied by the ear-grating sound of tearing space and a slick, friction-laden slide, a towering figure finally burst through the rift with a sharp pop after exerting immense effort.
It was a Keeper of Secrets, the Greater Daemon of Slaanesh: Blue.
Taking a long breath, it adjusted the eye-straining, magnificent ornaments on its body. It extended its four arms, looking at the crude surroundings with absolute disgust.
"Oh, what a chore—" Blue complained, its voice shifting back and forth between male and female tones, carrying a mesmerizing echo. "Can't you lots provide more sacrifices? Even a few more agonizing souls would have opened the gate wider."
"We are the good guys," Ghostface said with a straight face, as if stating an objective fact.
"Heh."
Blue chuckled, a laugh filled with disdain and mockery. It didn't strike immediately. Instead, it used its flashing, eerie eyes to carefully scan the alert yet completely unafraid group of players before it.
"I couldn't see clearly back in the Warp, but looking closely now, you people truly are bizarre—" Blue's slender fingers brushed gently through the air, as if tasting the flavor of the players.
These individuals clearly displayed explicit emotions in the material universe, yet from a Warp perspective, it couldn't perceive a single trace of them. It couldn't even feel the weight of their souls.
"Oh?" Ghostface grew interested. Crossing his arms, he deliberately tossed out a ridiculous statement. "What's bizarre? We are pure-blooded humans, loyal children of the Emperor. Watch your tongue."
Hearing this, Blue narrowed all four of its eyes simultaneously, its face twisting into an incredibly unsettling smile. "Guess it yourself."
With that, the Greater Daemon actually threw an intensely alluring wink at Ghostface.
"Blegh—"
A few nearby players with weaker resolve instantly felt their stomachs churn—a dual psychological and physiological revulsion that almost made them throw up last night's dinner inside their helmets.
A few players were even sicker, trying to hide the fact they were saluting the flag.
Blue ignored the mortals' reactions. It snapped its head toward the direction of the battlefield, its nostrils flaring slightly as a look of extreme greed and hunger washed over its face.
"I can already smell that aroma—the ultimate agony and terror, like aged fine wine—"
To a daemon of Slaanesh, the souls of the Dark Eldar were an supreme delicacy, ten thousand times more enticing than these dry, textureless players.
"I need to get over there. If I'm late, you'll kill them all," Blue's form blurred, turning into a purple afterimage as it bolted for the exit. Passing by Ghostface, it tossed out a casual line: "I won't fight you. You people are utterly boring."
On the battlefield, a purple aurora instantly ripped through the stalemated front lines.
It was no energy weapon, but the residual afterimage left by Blue's high-speed movement. The Keeper of Secrets stepped into the center of the battlefield like an elegant and lethal dancer. The swift movements of the Dark Eldar, which were a living nightmare to ordinary mortals, seemed like slow-motion replays before its eyes.
"Ah—what a rich, terrifying flavor!"
Blue let out a groan of intense pleasure, its four arms whipping around like windmills. A Dark Eldar warrior trying to escape on a Reaver Jetbike was plucked right out of mid-air as easily as a ripe grape.
"No! No! It's a minion of She Who Thirsts! Help—"
The Dark Eldar's scream cut off abruptly. Blue didn't immediately crush his physical form. Instead, it took a deep breath, tearing the soul—drenched in absolute terror and agony—straight out of its shell, swallowing it down like jelly.
Dropping the shriveled, empty husk aside, its burning gaze locked onto the next group of victims.
A bizarre scene unfolded.
In its frantic charge, this terrifying Greater Daemon actually plunged directly through a gap between a squad of Lamenters and a few players. Its massive hoof even brushed against a Lamenter's pauldron, but it didn't give the Space Marines so much as a glance, treating them as nothing more than rocks on the side of the road.
"By the Emperor—"
The surviving Lamenter veteran froze, his bolter raised halfway, his finger unable to pull the trigger. He watched blankly as the Greater Daemon crashed into the Dark Eldar lines, unleashing a completely one-sided slaughter.
"Command! This is Frontline Tactical Squad Three! Extremely high-risk target sighted! Repeat, extremely high-risk target sighted! It's a Keeper of Secrets!"
The vox channel filled with shock and urgency. To the Lamenters, the appearance of a Greater Daemon usually signaled a catastrophic conclusion, meaning they were about to face yet another hopeless battle to the death.