“Is it really… impossible to replicate?”
In the Adeptus Mechanicus workshop, the newly resurrected AlphaBravo held up his only remaining Byakugan and asked Reddito with visible reluctance. His right eye—the one that had played a crucial role in the battle—had been reduced to nothingness during his self-detonation.
“I will not replicate organs involving psykers,” Reddito replied in a voice as cold and mechanical as ever. “Find someone else.”
Although he said it flatly, AlphaBravo could tell it was more of a convenient refusal than an absolute impossibility. He sighed and turned away, slightly crestfallen.
Not enough favorability, huh? he thought as he walked. Well, that made sense. He had never actively tried to build rapport with the Tech-Priest; it would have been strange if they were close.
He soon found Robert in the command center, where personnel deployment was underway.
“I’m sorry, Sir Robert,” AlphaBravo said, somewhat dejected. “You may need to find someone else to act as the victor’s observer. Reddito won’t help me replicate my eye. The remaining one can only last about fifteen minutes under overload.”
“Hm. That’s about what I expected,” Robert replied, unsurprised. He patted AlphaBravo on the shoulder. “Still, it’s fine. While you were gone, another player offered to help.”
“Who?” AlphaBravo looked up in surprise.
“He asked me not to say. He believes that among brothers in arms, helping each other on the battlefield is only natural,” Robert said with a faint smile. “No need for formal thanks.”
“Anyway, take this.”
Robert tossed a small plastic vial to him. AlphaBravo caught it quickly.
“Whenever your eye starts failing, take one.”
“What is this?” AlphaBravo frowned, examining it. Then his eyes landed on the item name printed on the label.
“Holy crap…” he blurted. “Is it really okay to hand out something that could make the Emperor rise from the Golden Throne like it’s candy?”
“The player had the same reaction at first,” Robert explained. “But he quickly realized its value to us players isn’t as high as it seems—in fact, you could argue it’s almost zero.”
“…Oh.” AlphaBravo paused, then nodded slowly. “Right. For us, taking a pill or dying quickly aren’t that different. Either way we get full resurrection, and the latter is free.”
“Exactly,” Robert said. “So its real value is mostly collectible. After learning about your situation, he kept one for himself and gave the rest away.”
“Hm…” AlphaBravo weighed the vial thoughtfully. “For help like this, a simple ‘thank you’ would indeed feel insufficient.”
He carefully stored it in his pocket. “If I ever obtain something of similar value in the future, I’ll return the favor. Battalion Commander, I’ll need you to pass it on.”
Meanwhile, inside the Governor’s Mansion…
“Oh?”
Yarvis, still idly strumming his bone guitar, smiled faintly. Through vibrations resonating across the structure, he had already perceived fragments of their movements.
“A preemptive response… It seems this Astra Militarum force has both a capable commander and soldiers with commendable resolve.”
He was right.
Had Robert’s group chosen a static defense at the entrances, they would likely already be reduced to burning wreckage—obliterated by precise bolter fire and overloaded plasma shots from concealed angles before the engagement even properly began.
For all his depravity, the Space Marine’s tactical instincts remained intact… at least when he wasn’t indulging in excess.
But knowing the correct strategy and executing it under pressure were two very different things. Especially when facing a corrupted Astartes within his own lair, the decision to advance required genuine courage.
Yarvis’s fingers continued to pluck the strings.
The performance was not yet complete. This piece still needed its final movement.
Deep within the Governor’s mansion, the dark corridor stretched endlessly.
The Helldivers advanced in silence.
At the front moved two hundred infantry in full carapace armor. Behind and between them rolled three Chimera armored personnel carriers, their engines rumbling as their treads scraped across luxurious marble stained with dried blood, leaving twin blackened trails.
Fortunately, the mansion was vast enough—its halls and corridors unusually wide—allowing even a compact armored formation to operate indoors.
As the last soldier and final Chimera entered the next vast chamber, a delicate piano melody suddenly rose into the air, intertwining with the ever-present guitar.
It did not come from any single direction.
It came from everywhere at once—and nowhere at all.
A voice followed, elegant and amused.
“Welcome, everyone… to my art gallery.”
Before the final word faded, the attack began.
Bolter rounds erupted from the shadows.
A Chimera at the center of the formation detonated instantly.
BOOM—!
The explosion tore through the room, scattering molten armor and shrapnel. The blast wave ripped through nearby infantry, killing over a dozen instantly and igniting others in screaming flame.
Yet the Helldivers reacted without hesitation.
“Suppressing fire—now!”
Heavy stubbers on the Chimera rooftops roared to life, carving sweeping arcs of bullets through every suspected firing angle. Shadowed corners erupted in bursts of gore as hidden “artworks” were shredded apart.
Infantry squads dispersed instantly, forming fireteams as they advanced under cover fire, probing the darkness with disciplined precision.
The Space Marine watching from concealment clicked his tongue.
“So they’re using bodies to triangulate my position… Heh. Not nearly enough.”
He fired again.
Each bolter shot was deliberate, elegant—almost artistic. Every impact struck a fireteam at its center, detonating them into fragments of blood and armor. Two or three lives per shot, with mechanical consistency.
He moved like a sculptor refining a masterpiece.
Then, after a dozen measured shots, he paused.
The smile on his face faded slightly.
“…Strange. The numbers… haven’t changed.”