"Loyalty! For the Emperor! Brave soldiers of the Imperium! Annihilate these damned xenos!"
A man clad in a green military coat, wearing black carapace armor, and donning a peaked cap shouted loudly. In one hand, he gripped a chainsword, while the other held a pistol.
Beside him, a group of frenzied Astra Militarum guardsmen were firing their lasguns furiously at the swarming tide of enemies.
Before them stretched an endless horde of Tyranid bioforms, resembling a tidal wave of chitin and fangs, surging forward in a relentless charge.
"Sacrifice is the foundation of the Imperium! Blood is the fertile soil of the Emperor's realm! Fight bravely!"
Young Sisters of Battle, clad in power armor and wielding chainswords, were also fiercely cutting down the Tyranid swarms.
"For the Imperium! Praise the glorious God-Emperor! Sisters, may our souls return to the Golden Throne after death!"
Other Sisters of Battle held boltguns, continuously firing into the oncoming xenos.
Besides the Sisters of Battle and Astra Militarum guardsmen, there were also towering figures clad in power armor of varying colors. These giants stood around 2.3 to 2.4 meters tall, their arms thicker than an average man's thigh.
These were the Adeptus Astartes—Imperial Space Marines, also known as the Emperor's Angels of Death.
Each of them wielded massive chainswords and single-handedly held boltguns so large that an ordinary person would need both hands just to carry one. They unleashed their wrath upon the Tyranid swarm with relentless fury.
Rhodes hid behind a massive boulder, letting out a bitter smile.
The sheer size of these superhuman warriors, their enormous power armor, the Aquila emblem on their chests, and the massive chainswords and boltguns in their hands—along with the fanatical Battle Sisters and the classic Astra Militarum guardsmen—all confirmed one thing: this was the grimdark universe of Warhammer 40k.
"All I did was stay up all night playing on my phone—did I really have to get sent to the Warhammer universe, one of the most dangerous, dark, and hopeless places to exist?!"
"If I had to transmigrate, fine! But why couldn't I end up in a hive world or a forge world? At least I could deal with that."
"But to be thrown onto a war-torn battlefield, in the middle of an all-out war, what the hell is this supposed to mean?!"
"And my enemy is the Tyranids?! Did you just set my difficulty to the absolute max?!"
Against the Tyranids, there are only two choices: fight or die—there is no third option.
These creatures are nothing but merciless killing machines, devouring all organic matter in the universe.
Rhodes was extremely anxious. He even considered whether it would be better to just end it all quickly, but his instinctual will to survive held him back. After all, as the saying goes, better a miserable life than a glorious death.
There were still Space Marines fighting on this planet, which meant it hadn't been completely abandoned yet—there might still be hope.
Maybe they could repel the Tyranids, or perhaps there was some organized civilian evacuation effort.
Rhodes debated whether he should try to communicate with the warriors fighting nearby and ask where the nearest evacuation point for civilians was.
However, as he looked at the endless Tyranid swarm and the mere handful of Space Marines—barely a dozen—along with a few thousand Astra Militarum guardsmen, it seemed like they were only delaying the inevitable.
To make matters worse, there were no visible spacecraft nearby. Even if there were, would he, an unknown nobody without any official identification, even be allowed to board?
The biggest problem was that Rhodes couldn't understand High Gothic, the official language of the Imperium. He had no idea what these people were saying. He could only infer that this was the Warhammer universe based on their power armor and the fact that they were fighting Tyranids.
If he rushed over recklessly, the most likely outcome was that these battle-hardened warriors, caught in the heat of combat, would shoot him on sight.
If there's even one member of the Salamanders or its sub-groups among this crowd, there might still be a glimmer of hope for him.
But the language barrier is a real problem! Could English be used to communicate? At least he knew some English.
Rhodes sighed. As a transmigrator, didn't he deserve some kind of cheat-like ability to help him out?
Just then, a familiar voice rang out, and a virtual screen suddenly appeared in front of Rhodes.
The familiar interface, along with the equally familiar recharge button, made Rhodes feel a strong sense of déjà vu.
Wait, what the heck?! Isn't this the trashy mobile game he downloaded out of boredom last night?
It was one of those cheap reskinned mobile games with very simple gameplay: draw cards in the shop, challenge arenas, clear dungeons, climb the rankings, earn rewards, exchange for various monsters, and level up those monsters.
The monsters in the game were all based on a childhood TV series—none other than the famous Ultraman series.
However, the game only featured villain monsters and alien invaders—no Ultraman warriors or any heroic characters at all. It was purely a villain monster nurturing game.
But when he played it last night, it was on his phone. Why had it turned into a virtual screen after he transmigrated?
And where the heck was his phone?! Could it be that his phone had turned into his cheat-like ability after transmigrating?
Was he supposed to play a mobile game in this Warhammer world?
Wait a second. Could it possibly be more than just playing a game?
Now that it had turned into a virtual screen, could the monsters inside actually be summoned in real life?
If he could summon the giant monsters from the Ultraman universe, Rhodes felt he could proudly tell the Chaos Gods, "Can you beat Goku, though?"
Sure, the Warhammer world was insanely powerful, but the Ultraman universe wasn't weak either—if anything, it might be even more terrifying.
After all, Ultraman had already transcended the multiverse, while Warhammer was still messing around in just the galaxy.
If summoning didn't work, then forget it. He'd just let a bolter gun blast him to pieces and die without suffering too much.
Rhodes tapped on the virtual screen in front of him.
"Just give me a monster. Whatever. Let me get through this crisis first."
Most of the icons on the screen were grayed out and unavailable.
[Arena mode]? Unavailable. [Dungeon mode]? Unavailable. [Elite battles]? Unavailable. [Ranked matches]? Unavailable. [Story mode]? Unavailable.
The only three icons that were active were:
[Personal Attributes], where he could view his inventory, check his monsters, and upgrade or enhance them.
[Top-up Button], the standard mobile game feature for spending money.
[Shop], presumably for acquiring monsters or items.
The Top-up button was self-explanatory. After all, in mobile games, "If you don't spend money, how do you get stronger, young man?"
What the hell?! He had transmigrated, and he could still top-up? Seriously?
This place didn't even have internet. How was he supposed to top-up?
Forget it. He'd figure out the top-up thing later. If there was a top-up button, it probably meant this world had some kind of resource he could use to top up the system.
Meanwhile, the battlefield situation was becoming increasingly dire. Rhodes realized he needed to summon a monster as quickly as possible, or he'd be heading off to reincarnation soon.