Seeing that the genestealer was completely broken, Mua'dib raised his hand, signaling the player with the whip to stop. He walked over, looking at the dying xeno.
"Well, are you going to confess now?"
"I confess, I confess," the genestealer said, using his last ounce of strength, his voice filled with the submission of being utterly defeated, "I am a Fallen Angel, I repent..."
The expression on Mua'dib's face instantly froze. He paused for a mont: "No, who told you to say you're a Fallen Angel? I'm asking you, where are your pureblood kin now!"
"What pureblood kin?" A hint of human-like confusion appeared in the genestealers' compound eyes. "I don't know... Am I not a Fallen Angel?"
"..." Mua'dib was silent for a mont, then turned to the player next to him and said, "This thing... don't use it next ti."
"Then now?" the other party asked tentatively.
"Keep whipping! Whip him to death!" Mua'dib said irritably.
"Alright!" The player's spirits lifted, and he raised the whip again.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! I really repent! I really am a Fallen Angel! Stop whipping! Stop whipping..."
Mua'dib didn't bother to watch anymore. He turned and waved to the warriors of his company: "Alright, alright, all squads operate independently. Report only if sothing big happens."
As soon as he finished speaking, so players on the field scattered; others remained Surround around, still interested, enjoying the inhumane tragedy.
Mua'dib walked to the side, picked up the walkie-talkie, and tuned to an encrypted channel: "Mua'dib calling Bobby, Mua'dib calling Bobby, can you hear ?"
"Yes," Robert's voice quickly ca from the other end, "How is it, did your interrogation plan succeed?"
"It failed," Mua'dib sighed, his tone full of helplessness, "I estimate this thing doesn't actually make people tell the truth. It directly and forcibly distorts the target's cognition. It's just that the dark Angels only need the target to admit they are a Fallen Angel, so they don't care what the whip's true effect is."
"Although there are many things to complain about with this effect, I don't find it very surprising," Robert complained on the channel, "Anyway, I have a new mission for you."
"Rember Commissar Walter? Our operation here was successful, so we can't just leave him. Since you took out a genestealer, you don't have anything urgent for now, so I'm giving this mission to you."
"Okay, mission accomplished." Mua'dib readily agreed, then put down the walkie-talkie.
He turned to look at the players around him who were still watching the excitent or had already started playing cards in twos and threes, and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Where's the deputy company commander? Where did the deputy company commander go! I need to reassemble my troops!"
...A torrent of steel rumbled through the rusted tal passages. A leman russ punisher tank served as the vanguard, its massive dozer blade easily crushing the crude defenses built by cultists from scrap tal and trash.
Imdiately after, the six-barreled Gatling cannon on the turret began to rotate, emitting an air-tearing roar. A dense rain of bullets ford an irresistible storm of tal, tearing to shreds any creature daring to show its head behind the obstacles, along with their cover.
Five Chira Armored Personnel Carriers followed closely, their roof-mounted heavy stubbers firing intermittently, turning so enemies attempting to ambush from elevated flanks into pulp.
Players sat in the bumpy compartnts, or simply followed alongside the armored vehicles, using their lasguns to clear out the stragglers who had been terrified by the tank's firepower.
The armored force advanced at an extrely fast pace, often becoming detached from the infantry behind, creating deadly gaps in the narrow passages. However, the cultists clearly lacked the ability to exploit this weakness and destroy the company.
They either trembled in fear under the might of the Punisher tank, or as soon as they organized a suicide squad, they would be picked off by precise fire from the players on the chira.
And above them, in the "sky" composed of countless pipes, bridges, and tal platforms, a Valkyrie Assault Carrier circled close to the do. Its firepower was negligible compared to the ground forces, but it, along with a few paratroopers equipped with professional reconnaissance equipnt in the cabin, ford the eyes of the company.
Once signs of large-scale cultist gatherings were detected, the coordinates would imdiately be transmitted to the rear. Subsequently, three Wyvern self-propelled artillery pieces would emit a low roar, and rounds of high-explosive shell rain would descend from the sky, precisely covering the target area, blasting the rebellious forces that had just mustered their courage, along with their positions, back into components.
This rebellious force, primarily composed of bullies who preyed on the weak, brainwashed cultists, and fierce gangs, quickly vanished like snowflakes in the sun under such abundant firepower and purposeful tactical breakthroughs.
Ultimately, these guys were only able to rampage in the Lower Hive because Perditia's Astra Militarum and PDF main forces had already collapsed under the multiple attacks of orks, Chaos, genestealers, and dark eldar. They relied on a nurical advantage of tens of tis to barely suppress the loyal remnants.
Even so, they had been unable to overco these remnants for a long ti, and had even been seized by the Helldivers to capture the Chemical Refinery and counterattack into the Mid-Hive.
Now, when the Helldivers returned with a leman russ punisher, three Wyverns, five chiras, and even a Valkyrie and paratroopers in the sky, it would be strange if they could hold out.
After all, how can bandits stand against an army?
...At the other end of the Lower Hive, in a temporarily fortified repair station, Commissar Walter leaned against a rusty tal wall, wiping his symbol of status, a bolt pistol. The soldiers around him, mostly young n who had just co of age, had faces full of fatigue and gri, but their eyes still maintained the vigilance befitting a soldier.
Suddenly, a dull, rhythmic vibration ca from afar.
At first, no one paid much attention; the industrial area of the Lower Hive was never short of noise. But soon, the sound beca clear. It wasn't the chaotic roar of industry, but a completely different steel symphony, full of violent aesthetics.
A young guard nervously gripped his lasgun: "Commissar, what is that sound? Another wave of attack?"
Walter did not answer imdiately. He straightened up, tilted his head slightly, and closed his eyes, as if an connoisseur listening to a symphony. His ears were more familiar with the roar of the Imperial war machine than any detector.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes, his gaze filled with incredible shock.
He murmured, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible: "Valkyrie... leman russ... chira... and... self-propelled artillery...By the Emperor... Could it be... they actually succeeded?!"
An officer beside him also caught on to so clues. He excitedly grabbed Walter's arm, his voice trembling with euphoria: "Commissar, is this rescue?!"
This question was like a stone thrown into still water, instantly creating huge ripples in the hearts of all the soldiers. They all looked up at their Commissar, and on those young, tired faces, for the first ti, emotions other than despair appeared.
Walter looked around at these young faces who had followed him to this point, who had not given up in desperation. He saw the flas igniting in their eyes. He took a deep breath and showed his first genuine smile in days.
"Yes..." He nodded solemnly, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching everyone's ears, "Hope, it truly exists."
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