This is the bonus chapter for reaching 400 Powerstones.
--
One absolute psycho, [Abaddon Your Head is Pointy], went entirely off the rails, sprinting out of cover while hugging an entire crate of frag grenades.
He sprinted twenty meters through the hail of bolter fire, then chucked the entire crate of frag grenades toward the Loyalist line.
The crate detonated mid-air. The resulting shockwave blew several Chaos players nearby right off their feet.
But it also managed to suppress the Loyalist fire for a few crucial seconds.
His ID grayed out, then instantly lit back up: "Worth it!"
"Got three of 'em!"
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing]:
"Yeah, you killed three."
"You killed three of our own guys, you absolute moron."
[Abaddon Your Head is Pointy]:
"..."
This was the Chaos faction playstyle.
No tactics, no shot-calling, just raw, unadulterated madness.
Die once? Respawn and charge again.
Die ten times?
Then die twenty times.
They had more Imperial Coins than they knew what to do with. A few hundred coins for a respawn was pocket change. At the end of the day...
As long as they were having fun, nothing else mattered.
On the Loyalist side, it was the exact opposite extreme.
Leon's commands continued to flow through the channel, precise and ice-cold:
"Heads up, five hostiles prepping a suicide charge."
"Seventh and Ninth Squads, focus fire on their advance route."
"Left flank fire is waning. Fourth Squad, sub in two melta cannons."
"Casualty report: thirty-seven KIA in three minutes. Respawns take time; rotate the reserves up to plug the gaps."
[Two-Faced Turtle] couldn't help but complain over the comms while laying down fire:
"Boss, these guys are literally psychotic!"
"They just keep respawning and rushing us. How do we even fight this?"
"We fight it normally."
Leon's response was simple and direct: "They charge once, we kill them once."
"They have a one-minute respawn timer; we don't."
"As long as we hold the line until their respawn cooldowns can't keep up with our kill rate, we win."
"But they outnumber us!"
"Numbers mean nothing."
Leon dropped a peeking Chaos player with a clean headshot, his voice still terrifyingly calm:
"There's a massive difference between five hundred pigs and five hundred trained soldiers."
That line rippled through the regional channel, drawing a roar of laughter from the Loyalist players.
He was right. Five hundred lunatics versus three hundred disciplined soldiers following orders. Who was stronger?
The answer was already staring them in the face.
At the entrance to the corridor, the bodies of Chaos players were piled thick.
Blood pooled and flowed like a river across the metal deck.
The Chaos players sprinting back from spawn found themselves instantly stepping into the Loyalists' pinpoint suppressive fire.
Some were headshot the millisecond they peeked. Others got tagged by melta cannons the moment they aimed a rocket launcher.
Some were dropped by stray rounds before they even had time to assess the battlefield.
The Wings of Freedom channel was an absolute clusterfuck of cursing and screaming:
"Fuck! Their shot-caller is playing so ratty!"
"I can't hit shit! They keep rotating positions way too fast!"
"Focus fire! Focus fire! Stop blindly spamming!"
"You do it then, tough guy!"
"I am doing it! I've already died three times!"
"Stop fucking teamkilling! I've been blown up by our own grenades twice now!"
Meanwhile, on the Light of the Emperor channel, there was only one voice.
Leon's commands.
Concise. Pinpoint accurate.
Like a cold, calculating machine completely devoid of emotion.
But if anyone had listened closely, they might have caught the faintest hint of... satisfaction.
Under his command, these young players were actually executing orders perfectly.
In his hands, the three hundred players had become three hundred precise gears, turning in flawless synchronization.
This was the battlefield he knew.
This was the rhythm he was familiar with.
The Chaos players were starting to panic.
Five hundred against three hundred. They had the positional advantage, better gear, and vastly superior firepower.
Yet ten minutes into the firefight, they had died over two hundred and fifty times, while the Loyalists had lost fewer than fifty.
Something was wrong.
Something was seriously, fundamentally wrong.
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing] finally snapped.
He leaned out from behind a pillar, screaming at the top of his lungs: "Stop fucking around! Listen to my calls!"
"We have five hundred guys! Split into five teams and cycle your charges! Just attrition them out!"
But it was already too late. The tide of battle turns in a heartbeat.
The Loyalist suppressive fire was simply too accurate. The Chaos players couldn't organize an effective push to save their lives.
Every time they tried to mass up, melta blasts and rockets instantly shattered their formation.
"Dammit!"
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing] slammed his fist into the pillar.
He glared at the silver-grey figure three hundred meters down the hall.
That guy, [Defending the Imperium is My Sacred Duty], was currently planted behind cover, his bolter still delivering perfectly timed, single-shot headshots.
There was zero expression on that face.
Through three hundred meters of gunsmoke, their eyes locked once more.
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing] suddenly realized something...
They might actually lose this fight.
Three hundred meters away, Leon saw the complicated emotions swirling in those eyes.
He didn't smile.
He simply raised the barrel of his bolter, aimed dead center, and gently squeezed the trigger.
The bolter round shrieked across the gap.
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing] ducked wildly. The round grazed his helmet, detonating violently against the wall right behind him.
Too damn close.
He gasped for air, screaming into the channel:
"Everyone!"
"Keep shooting! Don't stop!"
"They only have three hundred guys! We can bleed them out!"
But his voice had lost all of its initial arrogance.
Because the enemy commander was just too calm.
It was a coldness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
The battle raged on.
The thunder of bolters, the shriek of rockets, the blinding white glare of melta cannons.
They wove an impenetrable web of death inside the Habitation Sector C corridor.
The Loyalist players continued to execute Leon's orders flawlessly—rotating precisely, firing accurately, and harvesting every Chaos player stupid enough to show their face.
The Chaos players continued their psychotic cycle—charging wildly, shooting blindly, dying instantly, and respawning immediately.
Both sides were burning through everything.
Burning Imperial Coins. Burning high-tier gear. Burning respawns.
Burning with the absolute, unhinged fervor of the Fourth Scourge.
But the scales were slowly, inevitably tipping.
Because Leon had already ordered his players to start buying heavier ordnance straight from the cash shop.
"Third Squad, swap to Cyclone missile launchers. Blanket the area."
"Copy that!"
Three Cyclone missile launchers peeked over the barricades, twenty-four missiles shrieking out to turn the corridor entrance into a sea of fire.
"Fifth Squad, equip multi-meltas. Melt their main defensive line to slag."
"Copy!"
Five blinding white beams fired simultaneously. The wall hiding the bulk of the Chaos players was instantly melted into five massive craters, followed by a chorus of agonized screams.
On the Wings of Freedom channel, the trash talk had completely dissolved into frantic wailing:
"Holy shit! How do they have access to that kind of firepower?!"
"How the hell do they have that many Imperial Coins?!"
"Cyclone missiles! Those are Cyclone missiles!"
"Those cost three hundred grand a pop!"
"I thought we were the only ones who could afford to swipe like that!"
"This is insane! They're absolutely crazy!"
"Respawn! Hurry up and respawn! Keep the pressure up!"
On the Light of the Emperor channel, Leon's commands flowed on uninterrupted.
This was a man who had truly crawled out of blood and fire...
An elite modern veteran. Legendary veterans didn't just exist in the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium; every era forged its own legends.
The bloodbath in the corridor ground on.
Neither side showed a shred of fear.
Only a mounting, intoxicating madness.
And...
The purest, most unfiltered joy of being a gamer.
--
If you wanna read ahead right now?! Join Patreon.com/AHumanMadeMOFO to read 20+ chapters ahead for the price of a single happy meal and support me if you wish.