Pyro looked up at the sky.
It was a morbid sky, beyond description. A bizarre dome of lead-gray, sulfur-yellow, and bruised-purple. The sun was long gone, replaced by a pallid spot of light, like the pupil of a dying man, weakly gazing down at the scarred earth through thick, radioactive dust clouds.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the smell of scorched earth; every breath felt like swallowing fine grit.
He surveyed the battlefield around him.
This place had truly become a deathly wasteland. The earth had been repeatedly churned by war and nuclear blasts, everywhere scorched black soil and massive craters. Twisted wreckage of war machines and the bodies of soldiers from both sides were intertwined, piled into small hills.
The severed limbs of orks and the shattered uniforms of the human Astra Militarum were mixed together, forming an apocalyptic tableau amidst the incessant 'click-clack' of Geiger counters.
"It certainly has the feel of an apocalyptic battlefield..." Pyro muttered under his breath.
Just then, a clear and urgent voice came through his sealed helmet's communication system: "ork warboss' location confirmed! Coordinates shared! Everyone, hurry over!"
This communication was clearly broadcast to all Helldivers Legion players on the battlefield. Instantly, as if a dormant ant colony had been disturbed, players scattered across the battlefield rose from behind cover and out of piles of corpses, rushing towards the same coordinates like streams merging into a river. Pyro was naturally one of them.
When he arrived at the destination, he found it already surrounded by players, three deep. On a high ground formed by piled tank wreckage stood a player. Although his Carapace Armor looked no different from others, his communication could cover thousands of people, clearly indicating he was one of the commanders of this operation.
"Everyone, line up in an orderly fashion!" he stood on the high ground, his voice steady and powerful, "One by one! Each person gets one shot or one slash! Don't worry about not getting exp, even if you die because the anti-radiation medicine wears off, I'm the highest-ranking person here, and I guarantee your exp won't be less!"
The order on site was surprisingly well-maintained. This kind of "lining up to shoot the Sir" had happened many times in the Legion, and everyone was very experienced with it. A long line quickly formed, and Pyro silently joined it. Gunshots rang out rhythmically, unhurried, like the drumbeats of some cold symphony.
By the time it was finally Pyro's turn, the once-unrivaled ork warboss lay in a huge crater. Its massive body was a mess of flesh, riddled with countless bullet holes and blade marks, green blood pooling on the ground. But Pyro didn't care; since the leading commander hadn't called a stop, and those who had left earlier hadn't expressed joy at receiving exp notifications, it was clear the monster wasn't completely dead.
Without hesitation, he decisively raised his laser rifle and pulled the trigger, aiming at what was barely discernible as the warboss' head. A red beam flashed, adding another charred hole to the pulpy mass.
Having earned his exp, Pyro immediately turned and left, yielding his spot to the person behind him. After all, there were many more people in line; it was best to be as quick and decisive as possible.
After leaving the crowd, Pyro began to peer through the throng. During the previous charge, he and his friend RNGesus, as well as their squad, had gotten separated. He wanted to see if he could find them again, though he knew the chances were slim in this chaotic scene of thousands.
Just then, a hand clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, buddy, what are you looking for?"
Pyro turned and saw someone else wearing full Carapace Armor. Unable to see the other person's face, he subconsciously looked at the game ID floating above their head: Ghostface.
Pyro didn't recognize this ID, which was normal. More and more people were playing this game now, and it was unrealistic to know the Name of every active player.
"I'm looking for my friends and our squad," Pyro replied truthfully, "I got separated from them during the last charge, and I wanted to see if we could regroup... but it looks like the hope is slim now."
"Heh heh," Ghostface chuckled ambiguously, and said, "In that case, why don't you join my squad?"
Pyro hesitated for a moment. Being alone on such a large battlefield was indeed dangerous; a temporary squad was better than none.
"Alright," he chose to agree.
Soon, Ghostface led Pyro to a more secluded edge of the battlefield. When Pyro saw the IDs above the heads of the other members of Ghostface's squad, he instantly felt a chill.
Freddy, Jason, Michael, Leatherface... he felt as if he had joined a rather ominous squad.
"Freddy, I found a new guy," Ghostface called out to the person with the ID Freddy, "We have enough people now, let's go."
"Alright," the player named Freddy responded lazily.
Subsequently, this squad, totaling eight people including Pyro, began to advance silently in one direction.
"Where are we going?" Seeing that the team was clearly moving away from the main force, Pyro couldn't help but ask cautiously. He began to seriously suspect that these guys were going to lead him to some remote area, then swarm him, chop him into mincemeat, and stage a horror movie within the game.
"You'll know when we get there," Ghostface said mysteriously. He seemed to sense Pyro's tension and proactively started a conversation, "Speaking of which, newbie, do you have any favorite horror movies?"
"Hmm..." Pyro thought for a moment, and to match the group's vibe, he tentatively said, "Does Resident Evil count?"
"No! Of course not!" Ghostface immediately yelled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, "A psychic superhuman protagonist slaughtering a bunch of mindless corpses! Where's the horror and fear in that? I absolutely won't acknowledge that as a horror movie; at most, it's a gore-fest!"
Pyro was about to say, 'Aren't you being a bit extreme?', but then he reconsidered. Arguing about movie genres with these people would be pointless, so he obediently said, "Then I don't have any."
"Well, that's a shame," Ghostface seemed to have a lot to say. As soon as that topic ended, he immediately found another, "Did you know, the hive city is holding a 'Blade Feast' recently?"
"Blade Feast?" Pyro repeated, "You mean astartes fighting in an arena? But doesn't our Legion only have two astartes? How can they hold a Blade Feast?"
"You don't know? It's all over the forums," Ghostface said excitedly, "The Space Wolves are here! A bunch of tough guys from Fenris, they're having a heated brawl with our Caleb and Andrew!"
"Then why aren't they on the front lines, fighting in the hive city instead...?" Pyro was a bit puzzled.
"They have their own reasons, I guess," Ghostface shrugged, his tone suddenly becoming somewhat excited, "And I actually think it's a good thing they're not here, this way... I can kill more people!"
Pyro subconsciously said, "You mean earn more exp?"
"No, no, I don't care about exp," Ghostface's helmet turned towards Pyro. Although his expression couldn't be seen, Pyro could feel the fanaticism beneath the faceplate, "I mean literally killing people.
Do you understand? That feeling of plunging a cold knife into the body of an intelligent, thinking being, feeling his warm blood spray onto you through the wound, listening to his tearful wails of extreme pain and fear of death..."
Pyro felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He subtly distanced himself from Ghostface: "Uh... have you had a mental health check-up recently? If not, I highly recommend you get one immediately."
"Heh heh," Ghostface let out that ambiguous laugh again, "Don't worry, I'm taking my medicine."