The "Helldivers"spontaneously gathered, surrounding the special stretcher team, and retreated together toward the rear.
Along the way, hundreds of Helldivers joined the escort, their expressions solemn.
Silently following the stretchers on both sides in their fully-enclosed carapaces, they formed a moving human wall.
In the eyes of the Space Marines, this was undoubtedly the highest tribute mortal warriors could pay to their heroes.
These ordinary humans, having just survived a bloody battle, disregarded their own exhaustion and injuries to voluntarily escort their commanders.
This heartfelt passion and nobility deeply moved the Astartes, who felt a profound sense of gratitude for these mortals.
However, in the eyes of the Helldivers, it was an entirely different scene. "Is this the legendary Ultramarines Stretcher Team? Seeing such a famous scene with my own eyes makes this trip totally worth it!"
"Move aside, everyone! Move aside! I need a photo! Taking a photo with the stretcher team carrying both Huron and Sicarius simultaneously—if this game had an achievement system, that would be at least Epic-rated!"
"Three, two, one, cheese!"
Of course, besides the collectors and onlookers, there were Helldivers who genuinely cared about the safety of the two, and EGO was one of them.
As the supreme commander of this battle, he was genuinely shocked to learn of the severe injuries to Sicarius and Huron, and he rushed over immediately.
"They'll be alright, won't they?" EGO looked at the two masses of nearly-unrecognizable flesh on the stretchers and asked Agemman, who was also accompanying them, with deep concern.
Second Company Captain Agemman, who had been thrown back by the shockwave but was virtually unscathed because he hadn't managed to squeeze next to the Norn Emissary, assured him confidently.
"Rest assured. After several checks by the Apothecary brother, this time the injuries look horrific, but they don't actually pose a threat to their lives. Although many damaged organs had to be removed, and their vitals are currently maintained by external means, they will recover completely once new organs are regrown in the Astartes-pattern Cradle"
Agemman's tone held a touch of wonder: "It truly is a miracle—I heard many ogryns were killed instantly by that psychic blast, yet Brothers Huron and Sicarius, who were the closest, survived."
"Perhaps the Emperor's protection," EGO reasoned, naturally attributing it to the Emperor. "You are right," Agemman agreed, profoundly convinced.
In the Warhammer universe, for humans, attributing strange good fortune to the Emperor and strange bad luck to Tzeentch is a normal and often correct assumption.
However, after speaking, Agemman's mood visibly darkened, and his voice dropped several octaves.
"Although their condition is stable, the lives of at least a thousand ogryns who charged with us are gone forever. Without their sacrifice, we would never have achieved this victory."
Agemman's tone was filled with sadness and self-reproach: "Honestly, this deeply troubles me—one thousand Space Marines and three thousand ogryns charged together. The ogryns suffered heavy casualties, while the Space Marines were almost untouched! What kind of situation is this? Did the glorious Astartes basely treat their comrades-in-arms as cannon fodder?"
EGO felt awkward for a moment. This matter—it truly was his fault.
He had specifically posted on the forums before the battle, emphasizing the need to protect the Space Marines as much as possible, since players could resurrect, but these precious NPCs would be gone for good if they died.
He never expected his good intentions to backfire, turning this kind of 'protection' into a source of shame in the minds of these proud Astartes. Fortunately, the awkwardness didn't last long, broken by new intelligence delivered by a rushing staff officer.
EGO took the data-slate, glanced at it, and his brow instantly furrowed: "What new trick are the tyranids playing now?"
The frontline.
After the death of the Norn Emissary, the Tyranid Swarm's tidal assault abruptly halted. The entire planet of Plantidium fell into an eerie silence, which the naturally restless Helldivers found deeply unsettling.
Consequently, one company of Helldivers, unable to hold back, voluntarily advanced beyond the frontline to conduct an armed reconnaissance. Of course, they had no intention of returning alive from this mission.
Currently, the company captain of this reconnaissance unit was lying on a small hill, observing the tyranid movements nearby through binoculars, muttering in confusion.
"What the heck are the tyranids up to?" The company vice-captain curiously leaned closer.
"What's the situation, Captain?" The captain handed the binoculars straight over.
"See for yourself."
The vice-captain took the binoculars, looked, and immediately let out a curse: "Holy sh*t?"
What he saw was the Tyranid Swarm completely abandoning its usual chaotic, aggressive, charge-only terrifying style. Large numbers of Hormagaunts and Termagants were digging numerous pits on the spot and connecting them with bio-tunnels, forming a complex network of trenches and tunnels.
Some larger bio-forms were orderly transporting flat chitin plates to reinforce the excavated trenches. The entire scene was meticulously organized, looking just like a bustling human construction site.
"What do you think?" the captain asked. "This—I've truly never seen this before," the vice-captain said incredulously. "How about—we try hitting them?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking," the captain grinned. In any other army, launching an attack rashly when the enemy's situation is unclear would be an extremely foolish act. But for the Helldivers, organizing an immediate attack upon discovering the enemy was the most correct tactical choice.
Whatever plots or tricks the enemy had would be exposed during the assault. At worst, they would be wiped out without preparation this time, and they could just return after respawning. Thus, this company of Helldivers decisively launched an attack against the tyranids, whose intentions were unclear.
However, the ensuing development was completely unexpected. Not only did the tyranids fail to organize a counter-charge and engage them as usual, but they immediately all jumped into the half-dug trenches.
Though these unfinished fortifications were crude, they were far better than the Helldivers being exposed on open ground.
Halfway through their charge, masses of bone-spikes and spore mines rained down. Judging by the density of the barrage, it was clear that a large number of tyranid artillery units were on standby behind this position, providing immediate fire support the moment the Helldiver company showed their heads.
The Termagants on the position now also began peering out from behind the fortifications, frantically spitting bone-spikes and acid at them. The Helldivers also returned fire.
Although at a disadvantage, some seasoned players managed to successfully kill a few Tyranids, and then they noticed an even stranger sight: whenever a Tyranid unit was killed by their fire, specialized 'Engineer-Gaunts' would immediately rush out from the position, swiftly drag the corpse or collect its shattered fragments, and quickly transfer them to the rear through the complex tunnel system.
It seemed the Hive Mind intended to abandon its previous wasteful style and begin instant recycling of every single tyranid organism.
Finally, this Helldiver company was collectively sent back to the respawn point by a round of precise spore mine volleys from the tyranid artillery in the rear.
The resurrected company captain looked at the battalion commander with an expression as if he had seen a ghost, and shouted.
"I'm seriously losing it!"
After reading the incredible report from the frontline company, EGO and Agemman exchanged glances, and the command center fell silent.
Finally, Agemman was the first to speak, his voice full of confusion.
"The Tyranids, are they not planning to attack anymore? They're digging trenches?"
"I don't know," EGO was equally baffled.
"I've never heard of anything like this." EGO paced a few steps in front of the command console, his mind racing. After a moment, he stopped and made a decision: "If the Tyranids want to dig trenches like this, then we'll let them dig!"
Agemman felt uneasy about such a passive strategy: "Isn't this too rigid? What if the enemy intends to hold their ground and wait for reinforcements?"
"But our mission is to defend, isn't it?" EGO countered. "If the Tyranids genuinely plan to maintain a long-term standoff with us, then why not? They have aid coming, but so do we!"
Agemman froze at the words, then suddenly realized. That's right! Perhaps these filthy xenos might have reinforcements, but this is Ultramar! This is the home of the Ultramarines, the heart of the Five Hundred Worlds!
When Marneus Calgar, Lord of Macragge, arrives leading tens of thousands of Space Marines and a massive battlefleet, won't these bugs be made to kneel and sing of their conquest?
Thinking this, Agemman's tense nerves relaxed, and a confident smile appeared on his face: "Good. Let's see what these bugs are planning. We'll decide on the next step when the situation changes."
For the Helldivers on the frontline, the war had entered a surprisingly comfortable phase. Although the massive conflicts involving hundreds of thousands of combatants had ceased, small-scale skirmishes never stopped.
If they wanted a fight, it was simple: find any company preparing for an attack on the forum, click 'Join,' and charge with the main force. The tyranid "construction site" was always right there, it wasn't going anywhere.
However, for these small-scale "harassment" attacks, they couldn't count on artillery or air support; the heaviest firepower was usually just the squad's grenade launcher. But what did a lack of heavy firepower matter? At worst, they just died faster.
This was Ultramar, the wealthy Five Hundred Worlds; the Ultramarines specialized in logistics, and supplies were abundant. If a body was tossed into an acid pool or burned, and their gear was destroyed, they just went back and got a new set.
Given this situation, although EGO's strategic decision was a standoff, in reality, the Helldivers and tyranids were never out of contact.
After this bizarre standoff continued for a month, things finally changed. Or rather, the change was finally significant enough to catch the attention of the thick-skinned Helldivers.
"I'm telling you, what is wrong with these tyranids?" complained one Helldiver lying prone, looking at the still-bustling tyranid construction site in front of him.
"We've been fighting them for almost a month, yet every day we come here, they're still just digging trenches?" "Yeah," another Helldiver agreed. "What kind of trench takes a month of non-stop digging? Are they trying to dig through the entire planet?"
"Something feels wrong," their squad leader frowned.
"Does anyone have a map?" A Helldiver pulled a wrinkled paper map from his backpack and handed it over. The squad leader took it, spread it on the ground, then looked up at the distant tyranid position.
He pointed back and forth between the map and reality a couple of times, and his expression suddenly changed.
"Something's definitely wrong!" The squad leader realized the problem:
"The tyranids are getting closer to us!" "Huh?" The other players didn't immediately understand what that meant.
The squad leader pointed to the map and explained: "They aren't just digging in one spot; they're using the act of digging trenches to inch the entire position forward! The tyranids intend to dig their trenches all the way up to our faces!" Now everyone understood.
"But—isn't that too slow?" one player asked, confused. "They've only covered this much distance in a month; by the time they finish, the relief fleet from Macragge should be here, right?" For the position where this squad was located, that was indeed true.
The tyranids here were still a considerable distance from their defensive line. However, with Plantium as the battlefield, especially during a siege, the frontline between the Helldivers and the tyranids was vast, spanning tens of thousands of kilometers.
Along such a lengthy front, there were certain areas where the tyranid-controlled zone and the Human-controlled zone were already very close. In those places, a month was more than enough time for the tyranids to push their trenches to an extremely dangerous distance.
For example, Defense Fortress A17. The Captain of the Helldiver company stationed there was leisurely playing chess with his Vice-Captain in the command post.
Suddenly, a slight but persistent tremor ran through the ground.
"Hmm?" The Captain cautiously stood up, but before he could react, the fortress's solid concrete floor burst open.
A hideous, python-like Tyranid bioweapon, the Nidus Worm, as it was later called by the players, erupted from the earth, opened its massive maw, and swallowed both him and his vice-captain in one bite.
Simultaneously, the entire A17 Fortress position suffered a devastating strike. Large amounts of acid, bone-spikes, and living bombs rained down like a storm. The caught-off-guard Helldivers were instantly stunned by the explosions.
Some were able to quickly react and organize a counter-attack after respawning near their squad or platoon leaders. However, quite a few platoon and squad leaders were killed outright by the continuous bombardment. Due to the suddenness of the tyranid attack, these unlucky individuals were not few in number.
Following this, tough-skinned Tyranid Executioners endured the sporadic return fire, directly smashing through razor wire and stomping across the minefield with their bodies to forcibly clear a path.
Swarms of Tyranid Warriors, leading countless Hormagaunts, surged in immediately after, rapidly spreading out and pouring into the trenches. Moreover, a large number of long-range bio-weapons provided continuous fire support.
The several Nidus Worms emerging from behind the fortress further threw the entire position into utter chaos.
The entire process, from the moment this stationed company was attacked until all its members were sent back to the battalion-level respawn point in the rear, took barely more than a minute, with their lasguns hardly having a chance to fire.
The Captain's face turned green with anger, looking at many of his resurrected but still-stunned soldiers. He marched straight up to the Battalion Commander and volunteered.
"Damn it, those god damn tyranids ambushed me! Commander, I'll immediately lead my men back to fight! Help me coordinate artillery support!"
"Alright!" The Battalion Commander was happy to oblige; since the venerable 'Blue Flags' of Ultramar were footing the bill, they had all the shells they needed.
"Is just your company enough?"
"Yes! No need to let others snatch our glory!" the Captain said through gritted teeth. "One company of us is enough to drive them back!"
The reason the Helldiver Captain was so confident that his single company could retake the lost ground was not based on empty boasts. Aside from the Helldivers' infinite resurrection ability, abundant artillery support was a key source of his conviction.
In his view, the tactic was simple: as long as the artillery maintained continuous saturation bombardment, it would effectively suppress and hinder follow-up tyranid forces.
At that point, the constantly respawning Helldivers, like a rising tide, could slowly overwhelm the remaining, isolated enemies on the position.
As for the possibility of friendly fire? Well, that didn't matter; as stated, the Helldivers could resurrect. But what if a powerful tyranid unit appeared, one that even the artillery couldn't suppress and the Helldivers couldn't get close enough to self-destruct against?
In that case, what more was there to say? If the enemy had to use units of that caliber against a single company, they could have the position.
He would immediately call in Thunderhawk Gunships and astartes-ogryn assault teams, and they would see who was sending who a warm welcome.
The battle initially proceeded smoothly. Just as the Captain had planned, massive artillery shells rained down, turning the A17 Fortress position into an inferno, effectively suppressing the Tyranids on the position and interdicting their reinforcements.
But as the Helldivers crossed the shell craters, attempting to clear out the remaining enemies, they were stunned to find the situation had changed. Instead of immediately pushing forward after securing the position, the Tyranids had stayed put and initiated a large-scale biological modification of the former fortress.
The once sturdy concrete structures were now entirely covered in a layer of squirming, foul-smelling chitinous carapace. Stepping into the trenches, the feeling underfoot was no longer solid earth, but a sticky, elastic sensation, like treading on the flesh of some gigantic creature—extremely uncomfortable.
The original defensive structures had been largely dismantled, replaced by various twisted bi-keratin and bone plates. The Helldivers barely recognized the position they had held for so long.
Conversely, the remaining Tyranid swarm was intimately familiar with the site, cleverly maneuvering around them using the modified terrain.
Even worse, after stepping into the Tyranid-modified position, the Helldivers were shocked to find a DEBUFF had appeared in their status bar.
The high-density biological spores here formed a visible purple mist, even starting to displace other gases, including the poison gas the Helldivers had deployed earlier.
This forced the Captain to call the rear artillery unit to fire a dozen specialized poison gas shells, attempting to use a 'cure with poison' method to disperse the high-density spores.
Fortunately, these spores didn't act like some horrific nanomachines that would instantly cause widespread destruction upon entering the bloodstream; they only triggered a systemic toxic reaction due to their nature.
Perhaps creating that kind of higher-grade spore was too biologically demanding for the Hive Mind, making it not worth the biomass cost.
Even so, after expending hundreds of artillery shells and thousands of lives, the Helldiver company finally managed to eliminate the last Tyranid Warrior on the position under extremely unfavorable conditions.
The Captain was about to declare victory when he saw a despairing sight: the Tyranids had not only modified this position, but they had also connected it to the trenches they themselves had dug!
From an aerial view, one would realize that the Tyranid trench network had completely consumed and assimilated the A17 Fortress position like a vine, turning it into a complex and ugly organic whole.
The only reason the Tyranids hadn't immediately poured in reinforcements through the connecting tunnel was simply because the rear artillery bombardment hadn't stopped yet.
"Damn it!" the Captain cursed, immediately calling out to the other players, "Everyone quickly redeem some Promethium from the store and burn all this disgusting stuff!
Otherwise, this will forever be the Tyranids' position! I'll contact the rear and tell them to keep the bombardment going until the channel connecting us to the Tyranids is flattened! Or send reinforcements!"
However, the moment the Captain's words finished, the deafening sound of artillery abruptly ceased. The entire battlefield fell into a deathly silence.
The Captain's face instantly turned ashen, and a highly ominous premonition welled up in his heart.
As soon as the firing stopped, the purple spore mist quickly covered the Helldivers' vision again, and visibility dropped sharply. An unnerving rustling sound echoed from all around.
The hundred or so Helldivers in the trenches felt an innate sense of dread—the position they had recently defended seemed to have come alive, radiating a profound malice towards them, the "intruders."
Three minutes earlier, at the rear artillery position.
The Artillery Company Captain was standing comfortably next to a gun, enjoying the symphony created by the relentless barrage. He loved the feeling of the earth shaking and the thunderous noise.
Just then, a laser beam suddenly shot into the sky, interrupting the symphony he was immersed in. The Captain frowned at the player who fired, walked over, and yelled:
"What's going on! Why are you suddenly shooting at the sky!" Under the lingering echoes of the artillery, the player could only shout back: "
Captain! I saw a Gargoyle in the sky! I wanted to try and shoot it down!"
"A Gargoyle?!" the Captain roared back in surprise. "What nonsense are you talking about! When do Gargoyles ever appear individually? Aren't they always swarming like locusts?!"
"I don't know either!" the player cried out, somewhat wronged. "I really saw a single Gargoyle fly past in the sky just now!"
Years of battlefield experience, bought through countless deaths, set off intense alarm bells in the Artillery Company Captain's mind.
He sensed something was wrong and immediately yelled into his communicator: "Stop! Stop! All gun teams, stop immediately!" Although confused, the Helldivers carried out the order, and the artillery fire instantly cut off.
One person asked: "What's up, Captain? We were having a blast."
The Captain said grimly: "Transfer immediately, everything else can wait—" He didn't finish his sentence. An incredibly familiar, piercing whistle was already coming from the sky—the sound of an object rapidly rubbing against the air.
Tyranid spore mines, leaving long contrails, rained down from the heavens, accurately smashing into the artillery position!
The alert Captain was the first to react, diving into cover. When the blast wave passed and he rose again, he found that although he had survived, and the dead players were already resurrecting next to him, all the artillery pieces on the position had been blasted into burning scrap metal.
"Motherf**ker..." The Captain's face was as black as the bottom of a pot.
He was torn between waiting for the rear to dispatch new cannons or immediately spending his own Merit Points to buy new ones from the store.
However, no matter what he chose, it was destined to be too late. Even if he immediately bought new cannons with his Merit Points, setup and calibration would take time. This brief window of fire suppression was already enough for the tyranids.
Furthermore, he wouldn't be foolish enough to redeploy the artillery position in the exact same spot, which would just invite another tyranid strike. He had to lead his artillery company to a new, safe location first, and that would take even more time.
The company on the forward position was already engulfed in close-quarters combat with the tyranids, and it was foreseeable that they would soon be overwhelmed by the swarm.