Even Grendel himself, when he uttered the words "treat every corpse as a bomb ready to go off at any second," never imagined that his offhand metaphor would quickly turn into a major problem he would actually have to face and solve.
As if a hornet's nest had been kicked, the Helldiver players, upon learning the Iron Warriors' location, began converging on these coordinates like mad.
What started as scattered skirmishes instantly transformed into a surging sea of charging bodies.
The enemies facing the Iron Warriors suddenly grew overwhelmingly dense. Within the narrow boarding corridor, corpses of the Helldivers were piled high, layered to the point of blocking the firing slits.
Yet even so, the annoying hum of lasguns and the roar of autoguns never ceased; fresh enemies stepped over their fallen comrades' bodies, continuing to pull their triggers like tireless zombies.
"Lord, we must push forward," an Iron Warrior Terminator managing fire suppression muttered into the vox-channel, the barrels of his storm bolter glowing red-hot. "If we keep exchanging fire like this, even if we burn through our entire bolter reserve, we will never finish killing these mortals."
Grendel looked at the rapidly dropping ammunition count on his tactical display, mentally tallying their inventory. As a Chaos warband scraping by to survive in that damned Eye of Terror, they lacked the luxury of the Imperium's lavish supply lines.
Every bolter shell was precious currency; wasting them to slaughter these mortals was sheer extravagance.
"—Advance," Grendel finally ordered. "Conserve ammunition. Finish them in close quarters."
The Iron Warriors ceased fire one after another, powering up their power weapons or revving their chainaxes. Their heavy Terminator armor afforded them unrivaled defense.
Grendel had assumed that even though Terminators were slow and unwieldy while these drugged-up mortals possessed surprising strength and speed, close combat would still be a one-sided slaughter in the face of such a absolute gap in gear quality.
In truth, that was indeed how it started.
Grendel watched the battlefield cold-eyed as a Dead Man player at the very front—facing a swinging power sword from an Iron Warrior—didn't bother to dodge. Instead, he raised his combat knife, which looked like a toy by comparison, attempting to parry.
Ridiculous, Grendel sneered inwardly. A power sword's disruption field could slice right through tank armor; that fool was destined to be severed neatly in two, man and knife alike.
However, the scene that unfolded the very next second caused the Warsmith's pupils to contract violently.
The power sword did indeed sever the combat knife without resistance, slicing effortlessly into the player's chest. But the moment the blade cut through flesh, the player's face showed no fear—only a sinister smile of a scheme brought to fruition.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!"
BOOM—!!!
A burst of dazzling fire accompanied by a violent shockwave engulfed the sword-wielding Iron Warrior directly. That was no mere body of flesh and blood; the player's tactical vest was crammed with primed high-explosive grenades and melta charges!
"Spread out!!" Grendel roared into the channel, caught completely off guard.
Fortunately, the other Iron Warriors reacted with lightning speed. The instant they saw their comrade blown up, they realized something was wrong, immediately using their armor's servo-assistance to step back or raise their shields.
Though the Helldivers rushing toward them detonated their explosives in quick succession, most of the shockwaves were absorbed by the Terminators' heavy armor.
Even so, casualties occurred.
An Iron Warrior on the flank was a second too slow due to the cramped terrain. Three Helldivers , eyes bloodshot with frenzy, tackled him like mad dogs, pinning down his legs and waist.
The Terminator armor's sacrificed agility—traded away for sheer protection—turned out to be a fatal weakness at this moment. Before the Iron Warrior could shake off these three "attachments," three near-simultaneous detonations exploded in the corridor.
When the smoke cleared, though the Iron Warrior was still standing, his abdominal armor had been completely blown apart, exposing charred wiring and scorched flesh within. He fell heavily to his knees, clearly stripped of all combat capability.
Watching this scene, Grendel felt his blood pressure spike straight through the roof.
He slammed a fist into the bulkhead beside him: "How are these mortals actually exploding?!"
Looking at the field littered with ruined corpses and his severely wounded subordinate on the ground, an uncontrollable thought began to form in Grendel's mind: This boarding action might have been a complete mistake from the very start.
These weren't mortal troops at all—they were a pack of rabid dogs wearing human skin, a swarm of suicidal biological weapons completely devoid of reason.
This wasn't a battlefield of honor; it was a bottomless quagmire of flesh and blood. If they stayed any longer, far from stretching their limbs, they might end up losing even more of their elite warriors here—or worse, lose everything trying to score a quick win, leaving their own lives behind on this damned, dilapidated Imperial ship.
If they were to retreat, now was the best time. Before the enemy fully encircled them, breaking a path back to the boarding craft using the Terminators' firepower and armor wouldn't be difficult.
Grendel's gaze swept over the two ruined suits of Terminator armor, a pang of intense pain clutching at his heart. Those were precious assets of the Legion—irreplaceable ancient relics. To flee like a beaten dog, achieving no results while losing two sets of Terminator armor for nothing?
The toxic fire of resentment burned in his chest.
"No—we can't just leave like this." Grendel gritted his teeth, making a disastrously wrong decision that he would regret for the rest of his life just minutes later. "Hold position! Form a firing grid! I don't believe these mortals are truly endless! Attrite their numbers and wipe them all out!"
The Iron Warriors faithfully executed the command. Utilizing the surrounding cover and corpses, they quickly threw up a crude defensive fortification. Their bolters roared once more, shredding any Dead Man brave enough to show his head.
On the other side, after a passionate exchange of fire with these "tin cans" who had suddenly stopped moving, the Helldivers also noticed something off.
"Huh? Why did these bosses stop moving? Suddenly standing in place like they're taking a penalty?"
One player peeked out to look and immediately ducked back as several bolter rounds exploded right where his head had been.
"Is this a hold-out phase?" another player guessed. "So what's the plan? Keep trading shots with them? These tin cans are way too tanky; lasguns are basically giving them a free armor polish."
"Trade shots my ass! Total waste of time!" the Guild Leader shouted decisively. "Since they aren't moving, don't blame us for playing dirty! Who wants to sign up for the Suicide Truck Squad? This is a rare chance to blow up a BOSS!"
"Me, me, me!"
"Count me in! The melta bombs I just bought haven't even been used yet!"
"For the Emperor! For the art of explosion!"
The players present enthusiastically signed up on the spot, the scene as wild as a Black Friday doorbuster sale.
Moments later, the dense hail of las-fire suddenly paused for a split second.
Grendel had just assumed they had finally wiped out this wave of enemies and was about to catch his breath when he suddenly felt a violent tremor pass through the deck beneath his feet.
"What is that sound?"
Before he could react, four crudely modified Chimera troop transports—their frontal armor draped in explosive satchels—roared to life, accelerating at top speed from behind the mountain of corpses! It looked like something out of a Mad Max movie!
The four iron beasts acted like four out-of-control bulls, their treads crushing every obstacle along the way as they charged straight toward the Iron Warriors' defensive line.
"Dammit! Are they frakking insane?!" Grendel sensed immediate disaster; inside such a narrow boarding corridor, the force of those explosives would be utterly destructive. "Focus fire on those Chimeras! Don't let them get close!"
All bolters and heavy weapons focused their fire instantly.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—!!!
Concentrated firepower tore through the Chimeras' thin side armor in an instant, detonating the vast store of explosives packed inside. Four massive fireballs erupted into the air several dozen meters away from the defensive line.
Though they successfully detonated all the Chimeras before they could close the gap, the terrifying blast yield was infinitely amplified within the enclosed corridor.
The violent shockwave struck the Iron Warriors like an invisible sledgehammer; even the Terminator armor shook so violently that servo-motors raised wild alarms, and several warriors at the front were flipped flat onto their backs.
Worse still, the thick smoke and flames from the explosion completely choked the corridor, rendering scanners totally useless in a sea of high-temperature red zones.
Right at that moment, before Grendel could even recover from the ringing in his ears, he heard that terrifying roar of engines once again.
Vroom, vroom—!
Several more Chimeras—and even a heavily armored Leman Russ tank—actually crushed their way over the wreckage of their predecessors, charging out of the billowing smoke with unstoppable momentum!
"Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT!" Grendel swore violently, his reason finally triumphing over greed and arrogance.
"All units, fall back! Retreat to the boarding craft! FAST!!"
"ÁNDALE, ÁNDALE! CATCH THE BOSS!"
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No chappie yesterday? It was the world cup final what u expect ~oWo~
ÁNDALE, ÁNDALE! Viva Espana lol!