Ten minutes later, as AlphaBravo completed his withdrawal, an earth-shattering explosion tore through the Governor’s mansion.
Melta bombs, carefully planted on key load-bearing structures, detonated in perfect sequence. The vast estate—spanning several square kilometers—let out a dying groan as a series of deep, continuous roars echoed through its bones.
Foundations fractured. Domes collapsed inward. Priceless sculptures and frescoes disintegrated into dust. The entire structure folded in on itself like a giant whose skeleton had been ripped away.
A rising column of smoke and debris surged high enough to reach the three Valkyries circling above.
“If we can’t blow it up from the outside, we’ll blow it up from the inside.”
Muad’dib’s voice rang with triumphant satisfaction over the cabin comms as he watched the palace collapse through the porthole.
“Twelve defenders? I knew they were Helldivers. A dozen people holding a fortified position is just a shooting-range target with delusions of grandeur.”
“Can you please stop talking in metaphors?” Robert replied flatly, turning to AlphaBravo, who had just arrived, still coated in soot.
“Status report. How many Space Marines are still active?”
“Some were crushed outright, and the rest are pinned under the rubble. They won’t last much longer—”
AlphaBravo stopped mid-sentence. His gaze snapped toward the ruins.
“Valkyries—ascend! Now!”
Before the words even finished, a blinding sword light erupted from the smoke below.
It cut upward with impossible speed.
One Valkyrie was struck cleanly in midair—shearing apart in a perfect diagonal line. A heartbeat later, it exploded into fire and wreckage.
“Holy crap!” Archer shouted as alarms screamed inside the cockpit. “They’re using ki swords now?! Is this still Warhammer?! What kind of nonsense universe is this?!”
The remaining two Valkyries immediately throttled upward, engines howling as they climbed hard into the sky.
On the ground, the smoke suddenly shifted.
A violent gust swept through the ruins, dispersing the debris cloud in under a minute—far faster than natural wind should allow.
The battlefield was revealed.
At the center of the shattered palace stood Yarvis.
His long hair whipped in the wind. His purple-gold power armor gleamed beneath the broken sunlight. He raised his power sword high, its tip pointed skyward.
“Space Marines—enemy of the Anathema.”
His voice was calm, solemn, and absolute.
“Oh, come on…” Robert muttered, staring down like a man witnessing a myth take shape.
“At this point… are we the villains?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“All units—fire at that posing bastard.”
Heavy stubbers roared.
Heavy bolters barked.
Autocannons thundered.
A storm of metal and energy stitched itself across the ruins, converging on the lone figure at the center.
Yarvis lowered his sword slowly.
A violet psychic barrier expanded outward, like a dome of glass blooming in midair.
The incoming fire struck it—and stopped.
Not deflected. Not destroyed.
Suspended.
Frozen in place as if time itself had stalled at the barrier’s surface.
Then Yarvis moved.
He swung his sword downward.
The frozen barrage reversed.
Not only returned—but amplified, infused with violent sword ki.
The battlefield detonated in a chain reaction. Every firing position that had attacked him was erased in its own reflected storm.
“Mamma mia!” Muad’dib shouted. “That’s Reflexive Kinetic Divergence!”
“He didn’t just block it—he ate the entire volley and spat it back stronger!” another voice yelled. “That’s not even fair!”
“This is bad…” Robert’s voice tightened. “A unit like this… we can’t beat him at this stage. He could wipe out a hive city alone.”
A roar cut through the chaos.
“Awooo!”
Cain activated his newly acquired Thunder Hammer, electricity crackling violently around him as he charged straight into the ruins.
“Don’t suicide charge him!” Robert shouted.
But Cain didn’t slow down.
Yarvis turned slightly.
For the first time, he did not use his overwhelming techniques.
He simply raised his sword horizontally.
CLANG!!
Hammer met blade.
The shockwave rippled outward, blasting dust from the ground.
Yarvis was forced back several steps.
“…Huh?” Robert blinked.
A flicker of realization sparked in his eyes.
“Melee…? Is this one of those bosses?”
“Everyone!” Robert barked into the command channel.
“No ranged attacks! Close combat only! Go in and cut him down!”
The hesitation vanished.
A thousand players surged forward like a rising tide.
Yarvis fought like a storm given form.
Each swing of his blade was precise, merciless. Players fell instantly—many not even realizing they had died before respawning in white light.
Yet none of them stopped.
No fear. No hesitation. Only forward motion.
Fallen weapons were picked up mid-charge. Broken lines were immediately replaced.
The pressure never eased.
“…Brave warriors,” Yarvis murmured under his breath as he fought.
“To possess such will… comparable to the Solar Auxilia of the Legion era…”
He paused for a fraction of a second.
Legion era?
That hesitation cost him.
A blade slipped through his guard and tore into his side.
His armor held—but not cleanly.
Blood began to seep.
The battlefield shifted.
Like a dam cracking under pressure, his defense began to fail piece by piece.
The players adapted instantly.
Then it happened.
A chainsword found its opening and carved a deep wound across his waist.
For the first time, Yarvis staggered.
“His health bar is showing!” someone shouted. “Keep going!”
The swarm intensified.
Yarvis laughed softly through blood.
“…Such determination. You are worthy opponents.”
He raised his sword again.
But his movements were slower now.
Minutes blurred.
Bodies piled.
Steel broke.
Blood soaked the ruins.
Eventually, a power blade pierced his chest.
He knelt.
The killing blow did not come.
Instead, the players stepped back.
Cautious. Suspicious.
“Why…” Yarvis rasped, blood spilling from his lips.“…do you not finish me?”
“We’re worried you’ll self-destruct or something,” one player shouted back. “We don’t want to lose loot.”
Yarvis gave a weak, broken laugh.
“…I possess no such power. Only Librarians wield such things.”
Silence.
Then skepticism.
A thousand suspicious stares.
Cain stepped forward again.
“Move. I’m taking the last hit.”
Thunder gathered once more around his hammer.
Yarvis looked up at the descending light.
His final thought surfaced, quiet and sincere:
To fall as a Legion warrior… is not a disgrace.