After the Wyvern's earth-shattering and friendly-fire-inducing barrage, the subsequent advance became exceptionally smooth. The cultists' resistance was sporadic, often crumbling before the players even launched a charge. This 'touch-and-go' performance perfectly matched the players' inherent impression of these disorganized mobs.
However, despite the smooth progress, no optimism emerged among the player community; instead, they became increasingly vigilant.
Because every player firmly believed that this game would absolutely not let them off without some form of torment. The first half of the journey being so easy and carefree meant that the latter half would likely become extremely difficult.
Sure enough, after they cleared out the last of the ground enemies, the only path to the Mid-Hive elevator appeared before them—a sealed tunnel entrance.
The tunnel entrance was pitch black, deep and lightless as far as the eye could see, like the gaping maw of a giant beast. Looking at its width, the Wyvern could barely drive in, but there was no way it could fire in such a narrow space. The quad-barreled mortar, with even a slight elevation, would 100% hit the ceiling and blast their own people into a crisp.
Their firepower advantage against the heretics ended here.
However, the Helldivers did not feel much frustration about this. After all, they rarely fought enemies with an absolute firepower advantage, and were long accustomed to taking hits with their flesh and blood.
Moreover, the Wyvern's aim was terrible and it often hit its own side. In the eyes of many players, the fact that this thing finally couldn't fire was actually a great blessing. If not for the fact that this vehicle was used in rotation by squad, and they would eventually get a turn to fire a few shots, they probably would have protested long ago.
The players once again entered the dark tunnel in squad units.
In the dim, confined environment, the beams of their tactical flashlights could only illuminate a few meters ahead. The air was filled with toxic gases unique to the Lower Hive, mixed with a putrid stench, constantly interfering with their sight and smell. Yet, in this desperate situation, the players' hearts grew calmer.
This kind of place was clearly an unreasonable meat grinder, where a path could only be paved with lives. And coincidentally, the Helldivers Company had no shortage of lives.
The team advanced in silence, footsteps echoing in the tunnel. Suddenly, a frantic roar erupted from the shadows of the drainage channels on both sides, and a dozen or so cultists, armed with daggers and rusty machetes, charged out fearlessly!
The narrow terrain instantly disrupted the players' formation. Flashlight beams swayed violently, and laser beams drew chaotic red streaks on the walls. The cultists' objective was exceptionally clear; they ignored other soldiers wearing ordinary ballistic armor and directly targeted a player in heavy carapace armor. In their eyes, this well-equipped individual, clearly a head taller than the others, must be an enemy officer!
"For the dark Gods!"
The cultists fanatically rushed towards the "officer." Faced with this sudden ambush, the player reacted extremely quickly. He roared, smashing one person down with the butt of his lasgun, then thrust his bayonet, accurately piercing the throat of the second person who charged him. But two fists couldn't defeat four hands. More cultists had already pounced on him, their sharp daggers and heavy machetes avoiding his sturdy chest plate and helmet, wildly stabbing and slashing at the gaps in his armor's joints and his exposed thighs.
With a series of dull cutting sounds, the player only managed a muffled groan before dying tragically under the siege of several cultists.
"We got a leader!" The cultists cheered in triumph, feeling that trading a few cheap lives for an Imperial officer was an excellent deal. However, their cheers abruptly ceased.
The other players, having reacted, had stabilized their footing. Several laser beams swept across with precision, and the remaining cultists were instantly riddled with holes.
The battle ended, and the tunnel returned to silence. Just then, the "officer's corpse" that the cultists had "traded" suddenly moved, then slowly sat up on its own.
His first reaction after resurrecting was not to check his wounds, but to nervously reach out and feel his carapace armor, meticulously checking it from chest to back. After not feeling any obvious gaps or cracks, he let out a long sigh of relief.
"Good, good. These bastards actually have some brains; they know that daggers and machetes probably can't cut through my carapace armor, so they didn't aim for my torso."
A nearby player, who was changing an energy magazine, couldn't help but laugh and curse, "How many times have I told you, buying armor in this game is a pure loss! It's ridiculously expensive, doesn't provide full-body protection, and is easily damaged.
Even a scratch from a grunt will make your heart ache. Just buy basic ballistic armor to prevent getting unlucky and killed by a stray bullet; that's enough."
The recently resurrected player sighed and got up from the ground: "Ah, that's true in principle, but being handsome is a lifelong endeavor... Let's see if that new Tech-Priest NPC can make carapace armor when this mission is done. If he can make it himself, wouldn't the cost come down?"
As the players conversed, around a corner ahead, a twin-linked heavy lascannon lay silently concealed in the darkness. The cultist operating it held his breath, his heart pounding.
He stared intently at the corner, thinking that as soon as these lackeys of the Corpse Emperor showed their heads, he would blast them into a string of charred roasted meat with scorching laser beams, perhaps taking out a dozen people at once!
The footsteps grew closer, clearer... The cultist's finger was already on the trigger. But at this critical moment, the footsteps suddenly stopped.
The entire tunnel fell into a deadly silence, with only the sound of dripping water from distant pipes.
What's going on? Were they discovered? Impossible! Just as the cultist was filled with doubt, a subtle but deadly crimson laser beam, like the gaze of death, pierced through the darkness and accurately struck him in the face.
He couldn't figure out how these Astra Militarum soldiers had discovered him before he died. He had been completely hidden in the darkness, surrounded by various heat-emitting gases from native Lower Hive plants. Logically, as long as he didn't make any noise, even thermal imaging and night vision wouldn't necessarily be able to pinpoint him!
On the other side of the corner, a player holding a laser sniper rifle heard the crisp kill notification in his ear, and at the same time, the white outline border representing the enemy in his field of vision disappeared. He lowered his gun, gestured to his teammates behind him, indicating that the threat had been cleared and they could continue to advance.
The players immediately followed with confidence, soon arriving at the cultist's corpse.
"Yo, twin-linked lascannon? That's the good stuff, but it takes too much time to carry," one player said, kicking the heavy weapon.
"Yeah, everything's good about this game except it doesn't have an inventory," another chimed in. "You can't just stuff things into an invisible backpack; if you want to carry something, you have to physically carry it or wear it."
"Given this game's nature," a player analyzed, "to have something like an inventory, you probably need to get space-type skills or space-type equipment."
"Forget about space-type skills for now, space equipment probably only the necrons or those top-tier Tech-Priests can make, right?"
"The eldar' should have some in stock too."
"Yeah, so basically, we don't need to think about it at this stage."
Clearly, the elements that would typically make a regular army extremely nervous, even to the point of collapse—street fighting, darkness, fog, numerous corners—did not put much pressure on the players; in fact, they even enjoyed it.