Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 861 Online Travel, Your Easy Travel Choice (?)
Ironblood Command Deck

After entering the Eye of Dromlah's web portal
-

The crystal-clear armored glass portholes gleamed with a soft mother-of-pearl luster under the force field, and the Ironblood's bridge felt no vibration from rushing into the net thanks to the internal gyroscopes, shock absorbers, and artificial gravity.

As the ship plunged into the shimmering diamond moon of the real universe and crashed into the net, all the surviving bridge crew members held their breath—the scene before them was no ordinary starry sky, but a never-ending rhapsody of light and shadow.

The boundaries on either side of the channel resembled a shattered kaleidoscope, its countless facets refracting a frenzied array of colors: ivory-white spirit bone arches stretched wildly through the void, their surfaces etched with runes flowing with molten gold and mercury; within violet energy vortices, the wreckage of broken ancient Eldar warships floated, occasionally punctuated by silver-blue "dust" that swept across the hulls—pure psionic energy escaping from the depths of the network, transforming into fleeting, multifaceted frost flowers upon impact with the force field. Further on, the channel branched into countless shimmering paths of light, some leading to the remnants of burning stars, others potentially to a lost land never before visited.

But now no one cares about these magnificent sights that are rarely seen by humans, because a commander on the command deck with an overly arrogant tail accidentally let it slip.

"Ironblood?"

Anyone on the command deck who still had sweat glands broke out in a cold sweat.

Because this word came from the mouth of the Malakin Warband Commander, who was muttering to himself in confusion.

"I've never heard of any Glory Queen-class ship belonging to the Imperial Astartes Order being named Ironblood."

Warren Characa, also frowning, said, "Have you heard of him? Forros?"

“Neither did I,” Malakin Forros said, as he tried to stand up from the navigation throne, but after a series of clicking sounds, he found his neck, waist, and limbs strapped to the seat.

Warren was no exception; the man who tore at the flesh struggled in frustration, but to no avail.

"What do you mean by this, Elder Cadormo?"

But Malakin remained calm and asked questions.

The Divine Defiant Bold did not speak; he turned halfway toward them.

His silver-white shell appeared enormous and pitch black in the light streaming in through the porthole.

Malakin suddenly realized that they had been making an empirical error all along.

This Fearless is not "painted silver," but rather the silver is the natural color of the ceramic steel without any paint or plating; it has simply been polished to a shine.

The unpainted, natural color was used as the coating color...

The mysterious Glory Queen-class battleship...

I've never heard of a ship name before, but it has the word "iron" in it...

Veterans who have lived for thousands, or even tens of thousands of years...

as well as……

A question that has been lurking in the shadow of the miracle that “Saint Gilles may be manifesting here” is: why would they, as fellow loyalist chapters, go after the Blood Angels?

He blinked, feeling his heart pounding like a drum, and a rush of blood to his head made his throat taste sweet: Had he made a huge mistake?!
Together with Warren, he believed he had stumbled upon true salvation and hope for the Chapter and the Children of Blood, but in reality, he was ultimately deceived by a terrifying illusion of chaos, bringing the members of the Mother Blood Angels a great enemy intent on destroying them!
Indeed, how could someone who grieves so bitterly have such good fortune? It's just a pity that his gullibility may have implicated another comrade.

He closed his eyes.

"Sorry, Charaka."

The man tearing meat in the next seat stopped struggling in confusion. "What's wrong? Malakin? Why are you apologizing all of a sudden?"

"Iron Warrior".

After abruptly throwing the word at Warren, who was initially puzzled and then turned pale, Malakin felt his head sink into a throbbing daze once again.

The once pristine and tranquil bridge landscape has transformed into a void deck filled with flames, demons, and corpses. The traitor raises his warhammer, for his destined death is today…

Heartache turned into anger, which poured into his hands; despair turned into resentment, driving him to fight one last time.

The pervasive black flames tormented Malakin Foros's already precarious soul since the Battle of Badab.

But a sliver of reason held him back to his last shred of clarity: the Imperial Guard! The Imperial Guard who had led them to the bridge, members of the Emperor's Holy Guard!

"grown ups……"

Malakin's bloodshot blue eyes turned to the Imperial Guards who stood silently to one side like gleaming golden statues.

"May I ask... your name?"

At first the guards remained silent, until Malakin, increasingly desperate that he would shed his golden shell on the spot and let any twisted form spill out, spoke.

“Diocletian,” Diocletian said, “my middle name is too long, you can call me Diocletian Kroos.”

"Do you serve the holy Emperor?"

"I serve my master."

The Imperial Guard answered in a low voice.

"Is your master the one who sits on the golden throne?" Malakin persisted in asking.

The Imperial Guards were silent for a terrifying second.

He then spoke.

"It used to be."

Before the hallucinations of his distant father's betrayal and murder completely overwhelmed him, Malakin cried out one last time, "For... the blood of Saint Gilles... kill... the traitor...!"

And the line, "Damn it! Hold him down!"

The Elven clown, watching this scene from the corner, suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter.

------

"I never expected that Malakin would collapse first."

Foghrim Pallas said in a communications channel that he and Ruth were in another room.

Upon hearing this, Hunsso, who had been summoned to the bridge and immediately subdued by the traditional method of injecting sedatives into Malagin, shook his head.

"Malagin's wounds, both physical and spiritual, have never been truly healed. New wounds upon old ones, I've repaired his body but cannot mend his soul; his outburst is only a matter of time. But this guy..."

He glanced at Warren, who was baring his teeth and grinning menacingly at him. "This guy is pretty good at controlling himself as a Flesh Tearer, probably because he stays on his home planet more often."

“We don’t have a Death Company,” Peturabo BC said. “nor do we have Blood Priests.”

“I would be happy to serve you, sir,” Hunsso immediately volunteered. “I think I have a new subject that I can try on Malakin.”

"What are you working on now?" "What do you think of the paper 'A Study and Comparative Analysis of the Critical Point of Brain Resection in Controllable Autonomous Combat Creatures and Machine Servants'?"

“Not so great. If you want a remotely controlled device, I suggest you try to win over my father,” Peturabo BC casually remarked, “and have him let you play with Dirk for a few days… and study it.”

"May I ask why? My dearest, kindest father, the world's greatest architect, the wisest scholar in the universe, the most feared tyrant."

Upon hearing this, both Forgrim and Ruth wore expressions that seemed to say, "It's a bit too obsequious for a Chaos Space Marine like you to say this in such a high-pitched voice."

"Who taught you this?" Despite his tone clearly saying, "Enough with the flattery, you bootlicker," Peturabo BC unexpectedly answered this question that he shouldn't have.

"Diocletian had a bunch of heart-locking beetles in his head, you know what those are, right? Heart-locking beetles?"

The Imperial Guards, known for remaining calm even in the face of a collapsing Mount Tai, couldn't help but raise their hands to touch their heads.

"How could this be? Why don't I feel anything unusual? Wait, I even remember how that alien appeared... but why do I think it's insignificant?"

"Because that's the function of the heart-locking beetle."

"Fortunately, however, the heart-locking beetle does follow some physical rules most of the time—I mean, even though it's far away, it still has an effective range and can be stopped and removed," said Peturabo BC.

“For example, now is a good time to perform surgery,” the black-and-white plush demon said, crossing his mechanical arms. “We’re in an undamaged section of the network,” he pointed to the incredible, ever-changing spectacle ahead. “The control protocol of the Heartlock Beetles is largely blocked by the network walls, how about that?”

“Ah ha.” The apothecary smiled. “Perhaps I might have the honor of speaking with His Majesty again…?”

Diocletian was clearly torn between his thoughts and his inner turmoil, but Magna Dorn's message relieved the Guards' siege: "Bring him here, Diocletian, we are in the lounge below the command deck."

"His Majesty?"

Warren's incredibly trembling voice came from the side.

"Did this bastard just mention His Majesty?!" The flesh-tearer's canine teeth protruded from his lips, and the clown looked at him as if he were sizing up a wild beast.

"You traitors! Heretics! Liars! Supporters of the false emperor! May the wrath of Saint Gilles burn you to ashes!" The Flesh-Tearer roared, shaking its body. The metal components remained motionless. Despite the tearing of muscles and bones and the splattering of blood, it still struggled to break free from its restraints and tried to pounce and bite the other's throat.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Perturabo BC said. “If it weren’t for dealing with Ramizan, I would rather cut out this guy’s lobe and stuff it with a few heart-locking beetles. Guilliman has hidden his forgotten empire so thoroughly that it really annoys me. Everyone should see it.”

"I have no objection to the latter point, and I personally am also very interested in observing what will happen if we do that."

Tiny golden particles began to emerge from the air, until they gathered and coalesced into a giant clad in armor adorned with golden eagles, resembling a god. His resolute and heroic bearing, along with his extraordinary presence, instantly illuminated the entire bridge.

"Magna".

Before Warren’s incredulous eyes, who had unknowingly stopped struggling, the giant who looked exactly like the “Terra Guard” described in the Primarch’s portrait bowed to the ancient, fearless machine that Malakin had accused of being an Iron Warrior—as if paying homage to a master.

The clown, Siriak, whose mouth had been grinning throughout, froze. He held his head in disbelief.

"Hello! Hello! This star field ruins is actually your test for your courtier? Why do divine avatars surge like foam in the warp? Why are they trapped in chaos yet remain as stable as eternity? Why! Why! Even the void trembles at this paradoxical sight! The embers of the past still burn my eyes, yet these fragments of divinity insist on blooming in this filthy land—is this the mission you have etched into my very bones?!"

"...What's gotten into this bean sprout now?" Peturabo BC frowned. "Could it be that the internet has some side effect that's driving him crazy?"

“Perhaps this is their way of life,” Magna Dorn said. “Our flight was very smooth, the network was well maintained, and I didn’t even detect any subspace interference outside the force field. Siriak’s troupe’s work is vicious but effective. And he may be questioning his fate.”

“It’s always fate,” Peturabo BC said. “For these pointy-eared people, believing in fate is their real curse. You’ve recorded that?”

“The characteristics of this net gate have been recorded.” Magna nodded almost as if he were alive. “Such a stable passage, of course. The clown’s navigation is effective. We are now as smooth and safe as if we were boating on an autumn hunt on an ordinary river.”

"The difference is that, generally speaking, in this day and age, the chances of us encountering a boat coming from the opposite direction on a 'river' are probably very low. To be honest, driving in places with very well-maintained roads is indeed a great driving experience, but there are also fewer surprises..."

Magna's eyes suddenly flashed rapidly.

“Other aircraft have been detected,” he said. “Judging from the waveform of the reflected signal, the Imperial aircraft is the most likely candidate.”

“Use the concealed force field, the merchant ship code, call out to the other party, and see how they respond. — Oh, and take this flesh-tearer to Honso and have him give him an injection so he doesn't break down when Ramizan returns.”

------

The angel is smiling.

The dice were rolled.

Da la la.

Da la la.

The dice, a mixture of blood and crystal, spun.

The eighteen dice eventually stopped spinning.

------

Magna seemed to pause for a moment before making the call again, while activating additional detection and protection systems.

Peturabo BC keenly sensed the problem.

"What's going on? Magna, report!"

His powerful hand grabbed Hiriak, who was staring blankly at the ground, clutching his head and desperately trying to understand the situation.

"Does the network track that your troupe maintains have extensive connections with other network tracks? Is it a main track?"

“No…” Siriak answered subconsciously, “The Eye of Dromlach can only be moved and hidden elsewhere by us, but it is just a branch of the net, and it was peaceful inside until Mephisto and the others passed through.”

"Special report."

After comparing multiple times, the Ironblood's machine spirit reported in a serious voice, "A sudden fork in the road has been detected. Imperial ships have appeared, and the code they are using indicates that they are from the Exorcist Legion."

"Say hello to them and then leave."

"The other party wants to travel with us."

“Then let them follow, or we can pretend to follow them and shake them off when we leave. Or… I wouldn’t mind letting my warriors hone their war skills while Ramizan is away.”

Magna's voice showed no fluctuation in its implication of the Black and White Flower Demon Lord, "but according to our ship's detection, this is a Grey Knight cruiser disguised as an Exorcist Legion vessel."

"Then their peers are also fine, even if they aren't... they can still manage."

Magna turned toward Peturabo BC, its blue electronic eyes flashing.

"Transmission energy fluctuations detected from the enemy ship."

Peturabo BC frowned.

(End of this chapter)