Chapter 116: Good News: Reinforcements Have Arrived. Bad News: They

The next day.

A thread of sunlight pierced the darkness.

After a night’s rest, the cultists surged again through the narrow lower nest passages into the middle nest, and the silent heavy artillery roared once more!

Smoke filled the air, cannons thundered endlessly!

Countless lives were spilled in brutal combat, their blood staining the shattered ruins, as both sides slipped back into a grinding stalemate, then gradually devolved into street fighting.

Then, under the fading glow of sunset, the frenzied cultists carried away as much flesh, heads, and corpses as they could, retreating like a receding tide back to the lower nest.

It was as if… yesterday had repeated itself!

And then it repeated again. And again.

This meaningless battle had dragged on for ten full days; no one knew what the cultists were thinking—they seemed merely… to die for the sake of dying!

Each time, they withdrew just before they broke.

As if precisely calculating the Planetary Defense Force’s limits—not to breach the hive, but to drain their strength!

Alvin, after days of bloody combat, was caked in blood, mud, and dust kicked up by artillery—so filthy even close friends might not recognize him.

He sat cross-legged on the ground, staring at those around him.

Today’s battle was even more brutal than yesterday’s, for the conscripted civilians had suffered catastrophic losses, forcing the Defense Force, the Fawu Force, and the Riot Squads to fill the front-line gaps.

It was clear that even well-trained Defense Force troops suffered devastating casualties against the cultists’ suicidal, fanatical human waves.

Of the entire 120-man company, fewer than half remained after today’s battle—even with Alvin’s “X-ray map hack,” granting him full awareness of troop positions on the local battlefield.

Many other companies had dwindled to single digits!

The quartermaster brought today’s rations: fifty-odd men in the company, and only ten cans of corpse-starch.

Alvin’s lips curled in bitterness—logistics were running so low, even corpse-starch rations were nearly gone.

Worse still.

He noticed the heavy artillery’s firing frequency had dropped drastically; artillery support was now granted only when the line was completely overrun.

Clearly… they were running out of shells!

All signs pointed to one truth: the Defense Force was nearing its limit. At most five days—even if the cultists failed to break through, they would collapse from ammunition shortages and starvation.

“Captain… aren’t you eating?”

The buzz-cut kid beside him had half his face slashed by a cultist’s blade, leaving a grotesque scar, yet he grinned, eyes fixed greedily on Alvin’s ration.

Fifty-odd men, sharing ten cans of corpse-starch after a full day of battle—no one could even be full; at best, everyone got a taste.

Looking at the familiar faces gathered around him, Alvin’s heart ached.

In ten days of bloodshed, he knew every man’s name, their likes and dislikes, and… every soldier who had died for the Empire!

“You eat it, Diz.”

Alvin tossed the corpse-starch can over, then turned to find Commissar Gray—this couldn’t go on.

“Got it, thanks, Captain!”

Diz happily divided the can among his brothers, each taking a tiny bite.

Flipping open the tent, before Gray could snap, Alvin blurted: “Commissar, has there been any word from the upper nest?”

“I know what you’re asking,” Gray said, his hair nearly white with stress, dark circles under his eyes from days without sleep: “But right now, no news… is the best news.”

Alvin understood that—but the army was out of food, out of ammo, out of men. If reinforcements didn’t come soon, they were finished.

“I know what you’re worried about.”

Commissar Gray sat slumped in his chair, pressing his throbbing temples, face etched with despair: “I can guess why the cultists withdraw daily—they’re draining us, pushing us to utter hopelessness.”

“But… I can’t do anything.”

This was the first time Alvin had ever seen this hardened commissar look so utterly broken—as if his very soul had been hollowed out.

Honestly, this PDF had held together this long, its morale miraculously intact, solely because of Gray. Without him, Alvin couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened.

“Ha… the only hope left is to pray—to the Emperor.” Gray sighed, his gaze heavy with sorrow: “I pray the Department of War… no, that somewhere nearby, a Star Guard regiment and an Adeptus Astartes Chapter still exist.”

The hive’s situation had long since passed the point where the Planetary Defense Force could handle it alone.

Had the upper nest remained open, the PDF could have drawn endless supplies and heavier weapons from above—perhaps even crushed the cultists.

But now, cut off from all retreat, the PDF was trapped in the middle, waiting to be caught like fish in a barrel!

He had pushed tactics to their absolute limit, yet the cultists’ sheer numbers kept tipping the scales of victory toward them, drowning them in human flesh.

“Commissar… I might be able to secure some emergency food.” After long hesitation, Alvin decided to reveal something—after all, if the Defense Force was wiped out, where would he hide?

“You? Forget it…”

Gray shook his head, not taking him seriously at all.

One man—how much food could he possibly bring?

How could that possibly meet the needs of the entire Planetary Defense Force?

“At least better than nothing?”

Seeing Alvin’s earnest expression, Gray sighed and gave a half-hearted nod—desperate enough to try anything: “Fine. Go ahead. Just feed your own company.”

At that moment, both men felt a sudden jolt.

Without warning, a surge of malevolence from the highest heavens poured forth from the Warp like a tidal wave, making their bodies tremble, every pore trembling with dread!

They locked eyes—each saw terror deep in the other’s soul.

BOOM!

A colossal roar shattered the hive’s night sky!

Then, a piercing alarm shrieked through the darkness—the entire sky and ground seemed to shake violently!

“No!”

Alvin and Gray burst from the tent, racing toward the source of the tremors and alarm.

There, the sealed gates of the upper nest were slowly rising—and from within the heavy iron doors poured countless grotesque, monstrous Warp demons!

They screamed with unearthly horror, a crimson cloud of malice surging toward them like a tidal wave!

The upper nest… had opened!

But not by choice—it had been breached!

“Stand ready! Stand ready! Stand ready!!!”

Commissar Gray, eyes blazing, raised his bolter and roared with all his strength: “Everyone, prepare for battle—for the Emperor!!!”

In this moment… the end had come!

And the cunning cultists, contrary to all precedent, surged out from the lower nest in the chaos of the upper nest’s fall and the demons’ escape!

The Planetary Defense Force, the hive… were utterly trapped!

Good news: reinforcements have arrived!

Bad news: they’re Chaos reinforcements!

Worse news: they’re caught between Chaos and the cultists—ground meat between two millstones!