4: The logic of a meat grinder

In the center of the battlefield, the air was warped by high temperatures.

There was no glory here, only the most primal release of kinetic energy.

"Die—"

Arik Taranis's roar echoed inside his helmet, filtered through the crude audio grille of his Mk I power armor into a metallic hiss laden with electrical static.

The chainsword in his hand had long since overloaded, billowing thick black smoke. Bone-like serrations shattered as they carved through Ceramite armor, only to bite savagely into the enemy's flesh a second later, kicking up a mist of red.

His opponents were the Iron Cavalry Guard, notorious raiders of the Europa Wasteland.

These techno-barbarians were equipped with individual energy deflection shields left over from the Dark Age of Technology, and the power spears in their hands could release high-frequency force fields that disintegrated molecular bonds.

But before the Thunder Warriors, this so-called "high technology" was fragile and pathetic.

Puchi!

A barbarian captain seized an opening, his force field spear lunging out like a venomous snake, shattering the crude Ceramite on Arik's left shoulder before spiraling into the muscle and crushing his collarbone.

Arik did not stop.

Not even his charging stride showed a hint of faltering.

The Thunder Glands inside his body frantically pumped lethal doses of combat stimulants, severing pain nerves and instantly hardening the muscles around the wound to lock the broken bones in place.

He reached back and grabbed the spear embedded in his body. The servo-motors on his power gauntlet shrieked, and the hydraulic rods overloaded, spraying a scalding mist of oil.

"Got you."

Arik grinned savagely.

Kacha!

The alloy spear was snapped with one hand.

A second later, Arik lowered his head, and his forehead—carrying tons of kinetic energy from his power armor—slammed into the captain's faceplate like a launched battering ram.

Dong!

The sound was dull.

The captain's tactical helmet, along with his head, was instantly compressed into a flat piece of scrap metal. A viscous red-and-white mixture sprayed out from the gaps in the armor under high pressure, drenching Arik... [Perspective Shift: Frank Scavenger Legion · Valga]

Inside the hovering command vehicle, Valga stared fixedly at the holographic tactical board.

There, the green light points representing his elite Iron Cavalry Guard were being extinguished at a suffocating rate.

"This is impossible..."

Valga's voice was sharp and distorted with fear. "Those are two hundred elites equipped with exoskeletons and deflection fields! Even the automata of the old age couldn't break through this defensive line head-on!"

"My lord... they... they don't dodge at all!" the adjutant pointed out the window in terror.

On the battlefield, those gray giants in crude power armor were like a group of flesh-and-blood machines without a sense of pain. Faced with dense laser nets and bolt shell bombardments, they didn't seek cover or evade; they charged in a straight line, braving the firepower.

Valga saw with his own eyes a giant hit in the abdomen by a multi-melta. The high temperature instantly vaporized the Ceramite, burning half the torso to ash and spilling intestines all over the ground.

But he didn't die.

The monster with only half a body left was still crawling with its hands, trailing blood as it reached a barbarian soldier's feet, bit through the man's ankle, and then detonated the frag grenade in its hand.

Boom!

Flesh and blood flew everywhere.

"Madmen... they're all madmen!"

Valga felt an unprecedented fear. This wasn't just physical strength; it was an absolute crushing of logic. The opponent didn't care about casualties or the cost. In their cold logic, life was merely fuel, and victory was the only goal.

"Retreat! Retreat now!" Valga screamed the order.

The hovercar's engines roared as it tried to lift off.

But it was too late.

A large hand covered in crude Ceramite grabbed the command vehicle's front armor plate directly.

Zhiga—

That despair-inducing strength forcibly halted the hovercar's backward momentum. The heat dissipation grilles on the back of the power armor spewed two-meter-high exhaust, and the loud snap of servo-muscle bundles breaking sounded like firecrackers.

The reinforced glass was torn open by hand.

Arik Taranis's scar-covered face with deep-set eyes appeared before Valga. His breathing was heavy, each breath puffing out a cloud of bloody white mist.

"Heretic."

Arik whispered, his voice calm and cold.

"Judgment has arrived."

Pu!

A large hand crushed Valga's skull... [Epoch League · Livestream Room of Judging Group 103]

Inside the livestream room, there was a deathly silence.

This kind of primal violence, punch to the flesh without any flashy special effects, had an impact no less than a nuclear explosion for an audience accustomed to "magic beam clashes."

"This lethality rate... is there an error in the data?"

Tactical analyst Karen stared fixedly at the real-time data board on the screen, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

[Combat Duration: 12 minutes]

[Enemy Wiped Out]

[Allied Casualties: 42%]

"This is a suicidal attack!" Karen's voice trembled. "To eliminate a patrol, he sacrificed nearly half his forces! This is the only resource at the start! This playstyle is simply unsustainable!"

"And..."

Karen pointed at the physiological monitoring lines: "This is not a load a human body can bear at all. This is 'Gene Alchemy'? This is practically turning humans into Titans in human skin and then letting them burn themselves up!"

Isabelle said nothing.

She pointed to the edge of the battlefield. There were no enemies there, only a few "surviving" Thunder Warriors.

A warrior who had just finished fighting was about to pick up some loot when he suddenly knelt on the ground without warning.

He hadn't sustained a fatal injury. But he began to twitch violently.

Puchi! Puchi!

The muscles on his body began to proliferate uncontrollably, splitting his Ceramite armor. Bones made teeth-gritting snapping sounds, skin burst open, and blood mixed with dissolved internal organs erupted from every pore.

In just a few seconds, this warrior who had just been like a demon god turned into a twisted, bubbling heap of flesh.

[genetic collapse]

Isabelle took a deep breath: "This is the price."

"This contestant... Li Cang, in pursuit of ultimate power, has completely abandoned genetic stability. These warriors are 'disposable items' that have overdrawn all their life force and burned all their potential."

"They aren't fighting; they are burning. If the enemy doesn't kill them, their own bodies will."

...The battle was over.

Only burning wreckage and a pungent, scorched stench remained on the Europa Wasteland.

The surviving Thunder Warriors did not cheer or celebrate. They were like a group of silent worker ants, wordlessly walking through the piles of corpses. They dragged the enemies' bodies, as well as the remains of their comrades who had turned into lumps of meat due to genetic collapse.

Carrying Valga's deformed head, Arik strode to the center of the camp.

There, an Organic Matter Conversion Furnace that had been preheating finally let out a roar.

"For the Emperor."

Arik chanted in a low voice, then expressionlessly threw the head in his hand, along with the mountain of corpses and the remains of his comrades around him, into the pitch-black intake.

Zi— Zi—

The massive alloy cutters rotated, and the crisp sound of bones being crushed echoed across the wasteland. Black smoke rose, carrying a nauseating scorched smell.

A moment later, from the conveyor belt at the outlet, rectangular blocks fell out, emitting heat and showing an eerie green color.

[Corpse Starch - Military-Grade Prototype]

Arik picked up a piece of scalding Corpse Starch.

He did not hesitate, felt no disgust, and didn't even have a hint of psychological burden.

He removed his shattered faceplate, opened his mouth wide, and bit down hard.

Crunch.

Chewing. Swallowing.

It was the flesh of the enemy, and also the remains of his brothers-in-arms.

On this wasteland where resources were exhausted and civilization had collapsed, this was the only logic for survival.

"The cycle... has been established."

Arik swallowed the last bite of food, feeling the heat coming from his stomach as his physical strength, exhausted from the battle, rapidly recovered. The violent rejection reaction brought by the Thunder Elixir was alleviated at this moment.

He turned around and looked at his brothers behind him, who were also eating silently.

There was no sadness in their eyes, no confusion, and no radiance of humanity.

Only the desire to survive, and then to welcome the next war... [System Settlement Interface]

[First round of deduction ended.]

[Current Round: Foundation of Survival]

[Goal Achievement: Perfect (S)]

[Rewards Obtained:]

BP Points: 2000.

Physical Reward: [Ceramit Scrap Pack (Large)] x 10.

Unlock Card: [Thunder Warrior Squad (Veteran Grade)] x 1.

Inside the livestream room.

Looking at that red name shooting up the rankings like a rocket, everyone fell into silence.

They wanted to call him cruel, to accuse him of desecrating life.

But watching the final scene, the silhouette of that Thunder Warrior in the afterglow of the setting sun, expressionlessly chewing Corpse Starch, an unspeakable, heavy, and dark feeling firmly choked their throats.

Isabelle watched the screen for a long time before finally typing a line of words:

"This is not the evolution of civilization."

"This is... for the sake of survival, the abandonment of humanity."