In the most central and luxurious domed hall of the Governor's mansion, Yarvis was completely immersed in his music.
He leaned back on the Governor's golden throne, his exaggerated noise guitar resting across his lap. His fingers danced wildly and elegantly across the strings, turning the entire Governor's mansion into his resonating chamber.
In contrast, Gerard, curled up in the shadows of a corner of the hall, seemed more sober. The unhealed wounds on his body sent waves of sharp pain through him, but this pain prevented him from completely losing himself in the revelry of Chaos, unlike Yarvis.
Gerard was filled with unease.
Starting an hour ago, Yarvis' music had changed key four times. The current music was vastly different from when it began, something even those completely unversed in music could discern. And Gerard, of course, understood the implication: four space marines had died at the hands of those mortals.
This filled him with an incomprehensible sense of bewilderment and fear. In his opinion, gathering all the space marines of the warband was the most correct choice. Those mortals, no matter how many schemes and tricks they employed, could never withstand a simultaneous assault from a dozen astartes.
But Yarvis did not do that.
Instead, he allowed the warband members to scatter throughout the various rooms of the Governor's mansion, preventing them from supporting each other, as if deliberately letting the mortals pick them off one by one.
While there wasn't much camaraderie to speak of among Chaos space marine warbands, Gerard certainly didn't want everyone else to die—because then it would be his turn! His wounds hadn't healed yet, and his power armor was damaged in multiple places. In a real fight, he was completely a lamb to the slaughter.
"That… Lord Yarvis."
Although he knew that interrupting Yarvis' performance would likely lead to his death, allowing the situation to continue as it was would also result in his demise. After a long internal struggle, Gerard decided to speak up, risking his life.
His voice was hoarse with tension: "You… why don't you gather the guys of the warband?"
Yarvis' performance did not stop; it remained fluid and magnificent. He merely tilted his head slightly, looking at Gerard in the shadows. For some reason, Gerard saw a hint of… confusion… in his eyes, which reflected madness.
"Excuse me, who are you…?" Yarvis' voice came through a pause in the music, with a polite yet unfamiliar tone, "I have never seen you in my company. Are you a new recruit?"
In that instant, Gerard felt his blood run cold, a chilling sensation shooting up his spine to the crown of his head.
It was over.
All members of this fallen space marine warband suffered from more or less mental issues, which would flare up from time to time. Among these, their warband leader—Yarvis' psychotic episodes—were the most fatal and dangerous for the warband members.
Because at such times… Yarvis would fantasize that he was still the glorious swordsman of the Third Legion during the Great Crusade, still loyal to the Emperor, loyal to humanity, and loyal to their perfect Phoenix Primarch.
And that glorious Legion swordsman had a very high probability of drawing his power sword and cleaving all the "traitors to the Legion, the Emperor, and humanity" before him.
Once, most of the warband members united, attempting to resist, or rather… kill Yarvis during one of his psychotic episodes. Some were fed up with the constant threat of death, while others were ambitious individuals looking to seize power.
And the fact that the warband now consisted of only a dozen or so members, with Yarvis still intact and playing music, already explained the ultimate outcome of that rebellion… Inside the gallery, the acrid smell of dust and paint mingled.
A magnificent adamantium-carved pillar lay across the center of the ruins, and beneath it, an space marine clad in purple power armor was pinned down, his spine already broken. But he was still not dead, only using his last strength to utter venomous and furious curses: "You… you lowly rats from the sewers…"
"Bang!"
A dull gunshot. Smoke curled from the muzzle of AlphaBravo's bolter pistol. The space marine's head exploded in response, and the gallery finally fell completely silent.
AlphaBravo walked over to the wreckage of a leman russ Vanquisher not far away. This tank, which had rendered great service, was hit by a precise plasma cannon shot, the high temperature melting through its armor, and the subsequent ammunition depot detonation directly collapsed the entire gallery.
This explosion virtually wiped out all the Helldivers who had breached this area. Only AlphaBravo, with his superhuman reflexes, managed to take an SCP-500 just before being engulfed by the shockwave, thus surviving the fatal severe injuries.
He took a pill from a medicine bottle on his waist and walked to the tank commander, who was lying in a pool of blood, intending to feed it to him.
The tank commander shook his head with difficulty, refusing AlphaBravo's kindness. He asked in a faint voice, "Is it… resolved?"
"It's resolved," AlphaBravo carefully put the pill back, "This is the fifth space marine we've taken down—at the cost of one leman russ Vanquisher, four leman russ punishers, twenty-two chimeras, and five thousand lives."
"Are there enough melta bombs…?" the tank commander asked again.
"Enough," AlphaBravo nodded, "We still have plenty of spares. According to the calculations of that tech-priest, the bombs already placed will collapse enough load-bearing pillars. At that time, this palace will collapse under its own weight, and the ruins will become an open area with no cover."
"That's good…" The tank commander's eyes gradually dimmed, "You should evacuate quickly… In the open, it will be easier with the Valkyrie's laser cannons… White Eye and SCP-500 must not be harmed… I still… want to team up with the clairvoyance group later, it's so much fun…"
With those words, the tank commander breathed his last.
AlphaBravo silently got up and walked around the messy ruins. He found some players who were still clinging to life. Thanks to the pre-battle injections, their vitality was extraordinarily tenacious; even with fatal injuries, they were still barely alive.
AlphaBravo expressionlessly gave these twitching teammates a few more shots each, sending them to report for resurrection early.
Having done all this, he looked around, confirming there were no more survivors.
"Next is to evacuate quickly," AlphaBravo muttered to himself, checking his equipment as he walked towards the designated evacuation route.
"Speaking of which… it seems one of the two in the hall died? Did they have an internal conflict?"