I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Interlude of Chapter 87

In the very heart of the Governor's Palace, in the most luxurious domed hall, Alvis was completely immersed in his musical performance.

He leaned back on the governor's golden throne, his extravagantly designed noise guitar lying across his lap. His fingers danced wildly and elegantly across the strings, turning the entire governor's mansion into his resonating chamber.

In contrast, Gerald, huddled in the shadows of a corner of the hall, appeared more lucid. His unhealed wounds throbbed with pain, but this pain prevented him from indulging in the chaotic revelry like Alvis.

Gerrard was filled with unease.

Since an hour ago, the music in Alvis has changed four times, and the current sound is completely different from the beginning; even someone who knows nothing about music can tell the difference. Gerald, of course, understands the meaning behind this—four Space Marines have died at the hands of those mortals.

This filled him with a profound sense of bewilderment and fear. In his view, gathering all the Space Marines of the Warband was the best course of action. Those mortals, no matter how many schemes and tricks they might have, could never withstand a simultaneous assault of a dozen Astartes.

But Iarvis did not do that.

Instead, he allowed the members of the War Gang to be scattered throughout the various rooms of the Governor's Mansion, preventing them from looking after each other, as if he were deliberately letting mortals defeat them one by one.

Although there wasn't much camaraderie among the Chaos Space Marines' warbands, Gerald didn't want everyone else to die—otherwise, he'd be the last one! His injuries hadn't healed, and his power armor was damaged in several places, making him a lamb to the slaughter in a real battle.

“Um… Lord Alvis.”

Although he knew that interrupting Alvis's performance would likely result in his death, he knew that if things continued this way, he would also face certain death. After much internal struggle, Gerald decided to risk his life and speak up.

His voice was hoarse with nervousness: "Why...why don't you gather the brothers of the War Gang together?"

Alvis's performance continued, flowing smoothly and brilliantly. He merely turned his head slightly to look at Gerald in the shadows. For some reason, Gerald saw a hint of...doubt in Alvis's eyes, which reflected madness.

"Excuse me, may I ask who you are..." Alvis's voice came through the gap in the music, with a polite but unfamiliar tone, "I've never seen you in my company before. Are you a recruit?"

In that instant, Gerald felt his blood run cold, and a bone-chilling cold shot up his spine to the top of his head.

It’s over.

In this corrupt Sons of the Emperor warband, all members suffer from varying degrees of mental illness, which manifests from time to time. Among them, the most deadly and dangerous for the warband members are their leader, Alvis, when he experiences a mental breakdown.

Because at times like these... Alvis would fantasize that he was still that glorious Third Legion swordsman from the Great Crusade, still loyal to the Emperor, loyal to humanity, and loyal to their perfect Phoenix Primal.

And that glorious Legion swordsman has a very high probability of raising his power sword and hacking all those who have betrayed the Legion, the Emperor, and humanity to pieces.

On one occasion, most of the members of the War Gang united in an attempt to rebel, or rather... kill Alvis during his psychotic episode. Some of them were fed up with the constant threat of death, while others were ambitious individuals looking to seize power.

And now, with only a dozen or so members remaining in the warband, and Alvis still intact and playing music, it's clear what the final outcome of that rebellion was. ...

Inside the gallery, the smell of dust and burnt paint mingled together.

A magnificent, intricately carved, gilded pillar lay across the center of the ruins. Beneath it, a prince clad in purple power armor was crushed, his spine broken. Yet he did not die; with his last breath, he uttered a venomous and furious curse: "You... lowly rats from the sewers..."

"boom!"

A muffled gunshot rang out, and smoke billowed from the muzzle of the explosive pistol in Moth's hand. The Space Marine's head exploded, and the gallery finally fell completely silent.

The moth walked to the wreckage of the victorious Leman Russ not far away. This tank, which had played a crucial role, was hit by a precise plasma cannon shot; the intense heat melted through its armor, and the subsequent explosion of the ammunition magazine directly collapsed the entire gallery.

The explosion nearly wiped out all those who had rushed into the area to their deaths. Only Moth, with her superhuman reflexes, managed to knock off a piece of SCP-500 just before being engulfed by the shockwave, thus surviving her fatal injuries.

He took a pill from a medicine bottle at his waist, walked over to the train conductor lying in a pool of blood, and tried to feed it to him.

The train commander shook his head with difficulty, refusing Moth's offer. He asked in a barely audible voice, "Is it... resolved?"

“It’s done.” Moth carefully put the pills away. “This is the fifth Space Marine we’ve taken down—at the cost of one Lemanrus Victor, four Lemanrus Punishers, twenty-two Chimeras, and two thousand five hundred lives.”

"Thermometallurgical bombs... are we enough?" the commander asked again.

“That’s enough.” Moth nodded. “We’ve left plenty of spare capacity. According to that oil guy’s calculations, the bombs that have already been planted will collapse enough load-bearing pillars. At that point, the palace will collapse under its own weight, and the ruins will become an open area with no cover.”

“That’s good…” The commander’s eyes gradually dimmed. “You should get out of there quickly… In open areas, Valkyrie’s laser cannons will make things much easier… White Eye and SCP-500 can’t be harmed… I want to team up with X-ray vision again in the future, it’s so awesome…”

After saying this, the train conductor breathed his last.

Moth silently rose and wandered around the devastated ruins. He found some players still barely clinging to life. Thanks to the pre-battle injections, their vitality was exceptionally strong; even with fatal injuries, they were still hanging on by a thread.

Moth, expressionless, fired a few more shots at each of her still convulsing teammates, sending them to their early respawn.

After doing all this, he looked around to make sure there were no more survivors.

"Next, we need to get out of here as soon as possible," Moth muttered to herself, checking her equipment as she headed toward the planned evacuation route.

"Speaking of which... one of those two in the hall seems to have died? Did they have some internal strife?"

(End of this chapter)