Planet Cadia, Elysion Fields.
Burning wreckage of vehicles littered the landscape. Thick plumes of black smoke rose into the sky.
The sounds of explosions—one after another—beat like a drum that never ceased.
An evacuation column—a mix of civilians and routed soldiers—moved along broken roads toward the extraction point.
The Chaos Fleet had seized orbital control over most regions. Only the Elysion Fields remained under the protective guns of the Phalanx, commanded by the Imperial Fists.
Only by reaching the extraction point could anyone board a transport, get to orbit, and escape this hellish battlefield.
Abaddon had hurled the wreckage of a Blackstone Fortress at Cadia, detonating the pylon matrix that suppressed the Eye of Terror.
The Eye of Terror tore open. Warp storms ripped through Cadia—and the entire galaxy with it.
The Forces of Chaos now held absolute battlefield superiority, relentlessly pursuing the Imperial forces trying to escape the Cadian warzone.
Above, Imperial fighters and Heldrakes battled for air supremacy, trying to cover the evacuation below.
Energy weapons flashed, weaving constellations that lasted only seconds.
The flames of exploding missiles were like fleeting, burning stars.
BOOM!!
A Heldrake, forged from unholy iron, took a missile hit. It exploded in midair and crashed to the ruined ground.
Sometimes, a human fighter suffered a magazine detonation, its flaming wreckage falling to earth.
"For the Emperor! Cadia Stands!"
Castellan Creed shouted himself hoarse, rallying the shattered Cadian forces to fire on the pursuing rebels, trying to buy time and lives.
But in this dark hour, courage and loyalty could no longer change the tide.
The rebels far outnumbered the Imperials and had vehicles—Leman Russes, Chimeras, and a vast arsenal of heavy weapons.
The routed soldiers had only their lasguns and flak armor; the disparity was overwhelming.
"Foolish believers of the False Emperor! Your False Emperor is about to die, and so are you. The Gods will have the entire galaxy! The Warmaster is eternal!"
The leader of the pursuing rebels sat atop a captured Leman Russ, grinning cruelly.
"Look! This is the fate of those loyal to the False Emperor. They will die like dogs."
"The False Emperor cannot protect them. That corpse can't save anyone. The galaxy belongs to the Gods, and fighting for them is our greatest glory!"
"For the Gods! Slay the False Emperor!"
The rebels roared, charging into the broken Imperial lines, killing all in their path.
Those not killed outright were taken prisoner, only to be tortured—a fate worse than death.
"Retreat to the second defensive line! Reorganize!"
Creed ordered the soldiers back, trying to keep the retreat from turning into a massacre.
An Imperial soldier with an injured leg lagged behind, overtaken by Traitors.
They knocked him down. On the spot, his eyes were gouged out. They tied him behind a vehicle and dragged him.
"As long as you curse the False Emperor, we'll let you go!" a Traitor taunted.
"In your dreams, shameful Traitors!"
The eyeless soldier spat blood and curses.
"Speed up! Let those fools see what loyalty gets them!"
The rebel leader laughed as the vehicle dragged the man.
His uniform and armor were torn to rags; blood soaked the ground.
"For the Emperor... for the... Emperor..."
The soldier shouted, enduring the agony.
Only faith let him ignore the pain and refuse mercy.
But the Traitors only hated him more. They sped up.
"May you find peace," Creed muttered, raising his gun and granting the Emperor's Peace with a single shot.
But this was just a minor atrocity.
Many captured Imperials were impaled on steel spikes, bound to racks, or dragged behind vehicles through the ruins.
The Traitors did it to intimidate Creed and vent their twisted desires.
"Emperor, at least let their souls return to Your embrace," Creed prayed. There was nothing else he could do.
These were the Empire's most loyal soldiers—those who had repelled Abaddon time and again.
Now, they were playthings for the Traitors, denied even a quick death.
In this dark age, human life was as worthless as a discarded penny.
…
Within the evacuation column, a Space Marine in unpainted power armor—suddenly appeared.
"So realistic."
Datch looked around. Sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing—all five senses were present.
He gave a mental thumbs-up to the game's creators.
It was 2077, and VR games dominated the market. But none were as realistic as this Warhammer universe one.
Awesome. Once I clear this game, I'm recommending it to everyone.
Datch summoned the game interface—skills, equipment, inventory, quests, shop.
His identity: Space Marine, Loyalist.
Gear: base-stat power armor, Chainsword.
"Starter gear's fine. Wonder how hard it is to get items?"
He spotted a figure in the distance—a golden question mark over his head. Main storyline NPC.
As he approached, soldiers and civilians stared, then saluted.
"They made this so realistic. Today's AI is amazing."
Datch could feel their fear, their unease. It was the best AI he'd ever seen.
"An Emperor's Angel?"
Castellan Creed was surprised. All the Space Marines had their own zones, and comms were down.
How could an unknown Chapter warrior appear here?
But there was no time for questions. He needed help.
"Lord Emperor's Angel, we're being pursued by rebels. Can you take out their heavy firepower?"
Datch clicked the question mark over Creed's head.
…
[Ursarkar E. Creed, Lord Castellan and Supreme Military Commander of Cadia]
[Quest: Assist Creed in destroying 0/10 enemy heavy fire units. Protect troops and civilians for safe evacuation.]
*[Rewards: 500 EXP, Reputation +10, 500 Credits, Doom Slayer's Super Shotgun 1]
…
"A super shotgun? Perfect for killing demons."
This VR game was known for its multi-IP crossovers.
The shop had everything: Stellaris' Nicoll-Dyson Beam, Armor Hero belts, Pokémon Poké Balls, Minecraft tools...
Players could do anything. Save the Empire. Fight with a Primarch. Kill the Emperor and Chaos Gods. Fall to Chaos. Build wonders.
No wonder it's so popular. Who wouldn't want to be a lawless calamity?
Datch didn't know much about Warhammer—just the Emperor, the big guys, the Four Chaos God.
He played for the hype, not the lore.
For him, it was all about the gameplay: kill, be loyal, and let the galaxy burn.
"Blood for the Emperor! Skulls for the Throne!"
Datch accepted the quest. His Chainsword roared as he charged the enemy.
He was only at base level, but still a Space Marine.
Mortals were no match.
Datch rushed the Chaos Traitors. Their lasguns left only scorch marks on his armor.
A rebel in front saw only a blur—then pain. He was cut in two, blood spilling everywhere.
The Chainsword kept swinging.
Nearby rebels fell, one after another.
"Holy crap—this impact! This camera shake! This sound! It's exhilarating!"
Datch was loving it.
"Concentrate fire! Kill him!"
The rebel leader, panicked, ordered all guns on Datch.
Beams of energy filled the air, but Datch powered through.
The battle was one-sided.
Space Marine strength and the roaring Chainsword tore through flesh and armor.
"Skulls for the Throne! Blood for the Emperor!"
By the end, the ground was a muddy mess of corpses and blood.
…
[Enemy heavy firepower destroyed: 1/10]
…
The surviving rebels turned pale and fled.
"Who else? I'm asking—who else is there?!"
Datch roared, face alight with excitement. He looked every bit the Champion of Khorne.
…