I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 18 Chaos Against Chaos

The cultists roared with fanatical battle cries as they surged into the players' first line of defense. Victory seemed within their grasp. These greenhorns, their command chaotic and their formation loose, were easily crushed with a single charge.

However, they soon realized that they had been too optimistic.

When the first group of cultists stepped into the trenches, ready to reap the spoils of the routed Astral Army, they were met not with screams of terror, but with gleaming bayonets and whistling lasers.

It was as if they had stepped into a quagmire.

"For the Emperor!" a player shouted as he jumped out from behind a "corpse," his laser gun shooting a hole in the chest of a cultist at close range.

On the other side, a player who had been stabbed through the abdomen with a bayonet clung tightly to an enemy before falling, detonating a grenade at his waist. In a deafening explosion, the two, along with several cultists nearby, were reduced to minced meat. A few seconds later, the player respawned unharmed on the spot, picked up a new laser gun, and rejoined the battle.

The battle situation became incredibly unpredictable.

The Astronauts, who should have disorganized and scattered after their commander's incompetence, were launching attack after attack with a fanatical and relentless ferocity. The cult army that should have swept away the position like a tidal wave was instead held back and torn to shreds by countless tenacious smaller forces.

The logic of the battlefield has been completely reversed.

Sometimes, a group of cultists would pay a heavy price and finally reach the second trench, just as they were about to catch their breath, only to be horrified to find that a dozen or so people had suddenly jumped out from the first trench, which should have been cleared, wielding weapons to cut off their retreat and surround them.

Sometimes, five or six players would huddle together to form a fire team, but due to positioning mistakes and blocking each other's lines of sight, they would be scattered by a small group of cultists. However, once these players were scattered and became individuals acting alone, their combat power would increase exponentially.

Eagle, the squad leader of the seventh squad, was now like a runaway killing machine. Being scattered only fueled his ferocity; his massive body rampaged through the cultists, each swing of his makeshift club tearing apart a trail of bloody limbs. He single-handedly held off the onslaught from one direction, killing dozens of cultists before being brought down by concentrated fire. But soon after, he would roar as he rose from the dead to continue his slaughter.

Such bizarre scenes were unfolding throughout the battlefield.

This group of "Astral Army" seemed to have no idea what coordinated combat or positional tactics were. For them, individual combat was what they were most proficient in and best at, while group combat was something they were extremely unfamiliar with.

Standing on high ground, the smile of the Chaos Wizard Elias Holmes had long since vanished, replaced by an increasingly gloomy expression.

He can not understand.

He couldn't understand this unit's tactics at all. They had no discipline, no coordination, and not even a basic sense of fear. They were like a bunch of madmen, fighting in a completely irrational way. Casualties seemed meaningless to them, and they didn't care if the lines were breached; they always seemed to appear from the most unexpected places, turning the battle lines back into chaos in the most savage way.

This small contingent of Astronautical soldiers was like a copper bean thrown into a gearbox—unbreakable, indestructible, and impossible to swallow, yet capable of making the entire war machine creak and grind, making it increasingly difficult to operate.

"Useless! A bunch of useless trash!" Elias was furious as he watched his troops being constantly worn down without making any decisive progress. He gathered his psionic energy again, and a missile whistled towards the most densely packed area of ​​the crowd, blowing away a few players, but more players immediately filled the gaps as if nothing had happened.

“My lord… Lord Elias…” A cult warlord with a scarred face mustered his courage and approached him. “Our warriors have suffered heavy losses. Their formation… is strange. Our brothers are divided. Charging forward like this will only increase casualties! We should regroup and attack from the flanks…”

"Shut up!" Elias whirled around, his eyes bloodshot with rage, purple arcs of psionic energy crackling at his fingertips. "You're telling me what to do? You mean I, the great Elias Holmes, can't even beat a bunch of recruits?" The warlord trembled, immediately kneeling before him: "No, I wouldn't dare! It's just..."

“No, not just!” Elias kicked him to the ground. “I don’t want tactics! I don’t want schemes! I just want victory! I just want to crush the heads of these insects in front of me one by one! My face, the glory of my lord, must not be tarnished by this scum!”

He was completely out of control.

For a nouveau riche like Elias, who suddenly gained power through the gifts of the warp, face was more important than anything else. Admitting his tactical failure was more painful than death.

He pointed to the chaotic battlefield below and roared at his subordinates with no room for argument: "Pass on my orders! Everyone, charge! Charge at all costs! Those who retreat, die! Those who hesitate, die! Use your flesh and blood to fill that damned trench! Crush them to dust!"

The order was relayed, and the sound of whips and curses from the overseers echoed from the rear of the cult. Those believers who were already somewhat timid, under the threat of death, could only let out desperate roars once more, surging towards the players' positions with even greater frenzy and chaos.

The previous charges at least had basic formations and waves, but now they had completely degenerated into a chaotic and reckless "spare the rod and spoil the worm" tactic. The front and rear ranks were crammed together, people pushing and trampling each other, just to escape the executioner's blade from the rear, blindly rushing towards the flesh-grinding mill called the "Starbound Army position".

And this is clearly in accordance with the players' wishes.

"Brothers, they're completely in disarray! Their formation is gone!" a player shouted excitedly. "Don't be a coward, just go for it! Our chance to rack up merit points has arrived!"

"Haha, this BOSS's gotten carried away, he's starting to feed kills!"

Ruan Wenbo was still racking his brains over his poor command, but seeing the scene before him, he suddenly had a flash of inspiration and understood something. Instead of trying to control the players' actions, he shouted, "Attention all squad leaders! Abandon the fixed defensive line! Everyone, attack freely! Make them even more chaotic!"

This command completely unleashed the players' true nature.

The entire battlefield transformed into a massive, chaotic playground. Players no longer held their ground in trenches; instead, they scattered in twos and threes, utilizing ruins, corners, and any available terrain to launch deadly harassments against the unruly onslaught.

A player peeked out from behind cover and accurately shot a cultist before immediately retreating; before the cultist's companion could react, a grenade flew from another building on the flank, blasting them into a frenzy.

For a melee maniac like Big Eagle Policeman, this was like a fish in water. He no longer stayed in one place, but roamed the battlefield, rushing to wherever the cultists were most concentrated, like a tiger breaking into a flock of sheep, each appearance bringing a storm of blood and carnage.

The cult members were completely bewildered. They were no longer facing a defensive line, but an enemy that was everywhere. They didn't know which direction the attack would come from, nor did they know that a grenade might suddenly fall from their safe zone at any moment.

Chaos meets chaos, but the players' chaos is an efficient killing frenzy supported by immortality and individual heroism. The cultists' chaos, on the other hand, is a self-destructive chaos born of collapsed morale and incompetent command.

Standing on the high platform, Elias watched helplessly as his troops were devoured and crushed bit by bit, like pieces of meat thrown into a meat grinder. His urging shouts grew increasingly hysterical, and his face turned from flushed red to ashen.

(End of this chapter)