The scene unfolded too quickly, far too fast for the Drukhari to comprehend. How dare these lowly mon-keigh? How could they?
Watching a perfect assassination opportunity slip through her fingers, only to be replaced by the humiliation of being pinned down by a wretched mortal, the Drukhari Succubus flew into a total frenzy.
"Get off me! Lowly creature!"
She shrieked, her partially free hand violently reversing her longsword. The venom-coated, razor-sharp blade plunged frantically into the self-sacrificing mortal's back, ribs, and thighs.
Shlick! Shlick! Shlick!
The sound of the sharp blade tearing through flesh was sickening. Blood sprayed out, splattering across the Succubus's mask.
The player convulsed from the pain, his health bar plummeting toward zero at a terrifying speed. Yet, he uttered not a single groan. Instead, he grinned savagely, tightening his grip and slamming his forehead violently against her mask.
"Want to run? Not a chance! This kill assist is mine!"
By then, the Lamenters veteran finally finished reloading and whipped around.
What met his eyes made his blood run cold: three mortals lay nearby, their mangled bodies torn apart by friendly fire after saving him. The sole survivor was using his ruined, battered body to lock down the xenos that had tried to murder him, refusing to let go even as the blade pierced him over and over again.
In that instant, the Space Marine's modified, rock-solid heart seized violently.
Those were mortals.
They were weak mortals whom he was supposed to protect.
Yet now, to shield him—a demigod—this mortal was enduring such a brutal slaughter.
"No!!!"
An indescribable surge of grief and fury instantly flooded the veteran's chest. His eyes turned blood-red as the Blood of Sanguinius boiled within him.
"Wretched xenos! You all deserve to die!!!"
It was not for glory, nor was it for tactics. It was purely to repay a sacrifice so heavy it suffocated him.
The Lamenter let out a beastly roar. Without even raising his bolter, he drew the combat blade from his waist.
The servo-muscles of his power armor roared at maximum output as he surged forward in a single, thunderous stride, arriving right in front of the pair.
The Drukhari Succubus looked up in terror, seeing only a golden angel of death consumed by pure rage.
Puff!
Fueled by absolute hatred, the massive Astartes combat knife drove straight through the Drukhari's chest, pinning her brutally to the ground.
The Lamenter did not stop there. He dropped the knife, gripped the xenos's head with both hands, and ripped it off with a violent, blood-spraying tear over her piercing shrieks.
Slowly releasing the ruined head, the veteran turned around. His movements were remarkably gentle, a stark contrast to his massive frame. Dropping to one knee, he carefully cradled the mortal player lying in the pool of blood.
The player's chest was a shredded mess of flak armor fragments and torn flesh; he clearly wasn't going to make it. However, thanks to the game's pain-reduction mechanic, he managed to hang onto a final shred of consciousness.
The veteran leaned close, his weathered face filled with profound sorrow. His deep, gravelly voice carried immense weight: "Mortal, what is your name? Do you have any unfulfilled wishes? Tell me. I swear by the Blood of Sanguinius, the Lamenters will fulfill it for you."
Hearing this, the player, who had been about to click the "Early Respawn" button, felt his heart skip a beat in pure ecstasy.
An optional hidden quest! A promise from a high-tier NPC is worth its weight in gold!
He knew his chance had come. Without a moment's hesitation, he opened the system store. Looking at his merit points, which had just skyrocketed from the "assisted kill on a high-value target," he scrolled straight to the very top of the weapon exchange list.
Exchange! Astartes Master-Crafted Chainsword!
A strange shimmer rippled through the air. A heavy, massive, gleaming chainsword materialized directly into the player's hands. The weapon was far too heavy for a mortal, weighing over a dozen kilograms, and its weight caused his fractured ribs to crack audibly.
Yet, the player gritted his teeth, channeling every ounce of his remaining strength to tremulously proffer the hilt to the giant before him.
"Kill... kill the enemy..."
His eyes widened as he forced those last words out. Then, his head slumped to the side, and his life expired completely.
The Lamenters veteran froze.
With solemn reverence, he extended both hands and accepted the heavy chainsword. The hilt still held the lingering warmth of the mortal's final moments.
"I have received your words. I shall keep my promise mortal... "
The veteran rose slowly, gripping the mortal's gift tightly. He gently toggled the activation switch, and the chainsword roared to life, revving with a bloodthirsty howl.
Around him, other Lamenters Space Marines gathered. They looked at the corpse on the ground, then at the sword in the veteran's hands. They stood at attention, lowering their heads in a silent tribute. In a warzone choking on smoke and death, this moment of silence felt incredibly sacred.
Meanwhile, behind a nearby trench, the other players witnessed the entire sequence.
While they maintained their combat stances on the outside, their expressions beneath their gas masks had completely collapsed into sheer amusement.
"Holy crap... you can do that?" someone muttered quietly over the squad channel.
"The art style is completely broken, isn't it? Pulling a two-meter chainsword out of thin air—shouldn't the physics engine be throwing an error?"
"Shh! Shut up! Can't you see the NPC is moved to tears? Read the room man!"
Watching the solemn Space Marines, the players had a painfully hard time suppressing their laughter.
The sheer cognitive dissonance felt like an abrupt online game microtransaction ad shoved right into the middle of an epic, tragic movie.
Seeing the atmosphere grow heavier and fearing it would delay the assault, the player captain of this suicide company took a deep breath, adjusted his expression, and marched out from behind the cover.
Approaching the Lamenter veteran, he saluted with a textbook Imperial Aquila, his tone sorrowful yet firm: "Sir, please do not grieve. He died destroying the xenos; there is no better end for him. To be honest... we even envy them."
The captain paused briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching beneath his gas mask.
How could they not be envious?! He just handed a signature weapon directly to a high-tier NPC!
According to the system mechanics, for every enemy this sword kills from now on, that dead bastard gets a massive cut of assist merit points! It's literally passive income! I want to die and hand a gun to a boss too!
Forcing down the bitter jealousy and the urge to complain, the captain continued in a righteous tone: "But the battle is not yet over, and more Drukhari are still rampaging. Sir, carrying his legacy forward, we should move swiftly to reinforce our allies elsewhere."
The Lamenters veteran looked up, a fierce, unprecedented battle lust burning in his red eyes. He glanced at the chainsword in his grip, then at the fearless mortals before him.
"You speak the truth, mortal."
The veteran magnetized his original combat blade to his thigh armor and raised the player-gifted chainsword high with both hands. His voice boomed like thunder: "Lamenters, advance at full speed! With this blade, we make the xenos pay in blood!"
Watching the yellow giants charge back into the depths of the battlefield like a whirlwind, the captain yelled into the comms channel: "Let's move! Don't just stand there! That guy just made bank, we can't fall behind! For the almighty exp—uh, I mean, For the Emperor! Charge!"