From Titan Corporation to the Empire of Man

Chapter 645 Wings of Sorrow and the Unyielding Holy Flame

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At this point, the female repairman finally realized what was happening and asked the other person in a trembling voice:

"You...you are the demonic monsters that the Terran Empire speaks of?"

"hehe."

Upon hearing this, the giant's laughter, resonating with a metallic quality, echoed throughout the cabin from behind his mask.

He unbuckled the female mechanic's seatbelt and said:

"demon?"

Although the giant's helmet masked his original voice, a hint of mockery could still be heard: "To the tyrants of the Terran Empire, we are indeed demons—the demons who will end their tyranny."

As he spoke, he adjusted the angle of the bolt carrier in his hand, "But for you..."

Thud!
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly raised his hand, and the bolter spewed out a burst of white flame. A bullet pierced through the hydralisk that had just crawled into the hatch more than 20 meters away and accurately hit its nerve node.

puff--!
The alien insect's body exploded in the weightless environment, and its purple blood congealed into shimmering beads.

"We are the battle angels of the human empire, the offspring of Saint Gilles." The giant sheathed his bolter, the serrated teeth of his chainsword ceasing to turn, "and we are the weeping warriors who fight to protect you."

The female repairman stared wide-eyed at the remains of the alien insects floating all around her.

The monsters that had once filled her with despair were now as vulnerable as toys in front of this giant. What shocked her even more were the wounds on the giant's power armor, some of which were cut by bone spurs and were a centimeter or two deep.

In fact, this battle was not even a warm-up for the Titans, or rather, for the Lamenters.

If he hadn't proactively shut down the energy shield of the Titanium Tank Armor and reduced the explosive yield of the bolts, these Zerg wouldn't have been able to get close at all.

However, the price to pay for doing so is that armor must be used to withstand the damage, since a few standard-powered explosive projectiles are enough to accidentally injure or kill all the survivors in the observation cabin.

Of course, the female repairman was unaware of these details; she was too stunned to speak by the stark contrast in the other person's appearance.

These killing machines, capable of wiping out an entire pod of Zerg in seconds, were now patiently explaining themselves. Moreover, she vaguely sensed that they would rather be injured than let civilians be caught in the crossfire.

Such meticulous attention to protection stands in stark contrast to the rumors spread by the Terran Empire that "the Astartes are all bloodthirsty madmen."

Boom--boom--!
With a few heavy footsteps, two more mourners stepped into the observation cabin.

Their power armor was stained with Zerg blood, and one of them even had traces of acid corrosion on his shoulder armor. The two Lamenters stood in tacit agreement on either side, their bolters always pointed at the passage where the Zerg might pour in.

"This area is safe. Proceed with the escort."

The person who had been wailing earlier gave the order, which was broadcast through an external speaker: "Prioritize those with respiratory problems."

The female repairman felt herself being gently lifted up. When the power armor of the wailing creature was outstretched, its palms were as wide as her back, but the force of the contact was as precise as that of a surgical machine.

The other survivors were also carefully escorted to ensure that everyone could continue moving forward in the weightless environment, while the seriously wounded were lifted and carried by a wailing person to speed up the journey.

From the female repairman's perspective, the entire evacuation process was like a delicate surgical operation.

At each corner, the wailing guards would clear the area in advance, and when encountering damaged pipelines, they would use their bodies to shield civilians. When passing through pressure transition zones, they would deliberately slow down to avoid secondary injuries.

The female repairman couldn't even imagine these facts.

After all, if a Terran Marine possessed the strength and speed of a Weeping One and could wreak havoc among Zerg swarms, he would have long since stopped caring about civilians.

Yet the way these giants cared for them was so meticulous that it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it was incredibly attentive.

When the blast door of the central compartment came into view, the female maintenance engineer noticed that a temporary protective force field generator was installed there, which was obviously set up by the Weeping Ones to prevent the Zerg from pursuing them.

As the hydraulic system of the explosion-proof door made a sound, the door slowly slid open in the weightless environment.

The female maintenance technician also drifted into the central compartment, and the cold white light cast by the emergency lighting system caused her pupils to contract slightly.

This cylindrical space, with a diameter of over 100 meters, is twice the size of the test chamber and is now crammed with more than 500 survivors, like sardines in a can.

The suspended human bodies form a strange "floating cluster" in the microgravity environment, with occasional small disturbances caused by people bumping into the cabin walls.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of chemicals, the sweet, fishy smell of hemostatic gel, and the burnt metallic odor of plasma burning, creating an atmosphere that was very characteristic of the battlefield.

But all of this was overshadowed by the enormous structure inside the cabin—

A Thunder raiding boat, spanning at least three decks, is parked in the center of the area.

The muzzle of the thermoplastic cannon, which serves as the drill bit, still retains a dark red glow, while twelve drones are spraying rapidly solidifying foam at the edge of the gap. These smart materials can still crystallize quickly in a weightless environment, forming a dense honeycomb-like sealing layer.

In addition, five mourners here have constructed a strict system of order amidst the chaos.

On the left side, a soldier has a medical probe attached to his right arm, which extends six scanning beams to create a holographic projection on a penetrating wound in an engineer's abdomen. Different colored light bands mark the location of damaged organs and blood vessels, allowing for precise treatment.

Two mourners, using magnetic boots to walk, moved nimbly through the crowd, scanning and checking the condition of each survivor.

The guards on either side of the raiding boat's hatch adopted a classic angled defensive stance, with the barrels of their bolters slightly raised. This angle prevented stray bullets from injuring civilians while allowing for instantaneous aiming and firing.

The female mechanic also noticed more details, such as the fresh battle wounds on each soldier's scarlet armor and the scratches caused by bone spurs on the blood-dripping wing insignia on the shoulder armor.

But what she didn't know was that all the mourners had adjusted the explosive charge of their respective projectiles to a safe threshold.

Furthermore, as one of the mourners turned to check the airlock's seal, the soldier precisely avoided all the floating wounded, and the humming sound from the servo system remained in the low-frequency range.

This control, which perfectly blends the identity of a war machine with that of a guardian, is far more awe-inspiring than the savage carnage of battlefield legends.

On the engine room of that Thunder Raid Boat, there were dozens of tiny counting marks, each seemingly representing a successful boarding maneuver.

The edge of the newest engraving still retained the burrs of uncooled metal, gleaming matte under the emergency lighting. Moreover, these marks, like ancient battle patterns, recorded the destruction and redemption sown by these members of the Lamenters in different universes.

Meanwhile, in the corridor of Sector D of the space station, six mourners were advancing in a wedge formation.

Their magnetic boots struck deadly drumbeats on the metal floor, the hum of the servo system and the hiss of the alien insects creating an eerie symphony.

The leader of the warriors had the title "Pioneer of Grief" engraved on his shoulder armor. His chainsword was humming and ready to fire, with fragments of armor from the previous encounter still clinging to the gaps in the hilt. "Purification Protocol activated."

A metallic announcement rang out from their communication channel.

Clang—Clang—!
The next second, the entire corridor was suddenly filled with the roar of exploding arrows.

The lead warrior's chainsaw sword was the first to "bite" into the chest cavity of a hydra, the high-speed rotating saw teeth churning the exoskeleton, muscle tissue, and internal organs into a viscous slurry.

Purple and yellowish-green blood splattered radially onto the bulkhead, where it was evaporated into pungent steam by the power armor's energy shield.

The warrior on the right wielded a power sword; the finely crafted blade and extremely high-energy plasma field easily sliced ​​through the bodies of the three leaping insects.

While the severed limbs were still twitching due to nerve reflexes, the warrior swung his other hand and cleaved the head of the fourth jumping insect along with half of its chest cavity.

In a weightless environment, the insect blood forms strange spherical clumps of liquid, which explode into fine blood droplets when hit by subsequent explosive projectiles.

The heavy weapons operator at the rear of the team was adjusting the optimal firing angle for the heavy bolters. When the Zerg swarm broke through the isolation door and charged in, the roaring barrage of 1.0cal bolters shattered the Zerg swarm into pieces, with chunks of flesh hitting the wall with dull thuds.

These angels of death fight with a cruel aesthetic, as elegant and flawless as their genetic father, Saint Gilles.

Each turn was accompanied by the roar of chainsaws, and each charge left behind mutilated insect corpses. They used bolt guns to precisely kill distant threats and melee weapons to dismember nearby enemies, as if performing some kind of bloody ritual "dance".

But whenever they passed human corpses, they would pause briefly to scan the faces of the dead with the recorders on their helmet screens, seemingly preparing to take this data back to the mothership and add it to the list of the dead.

Meanwhile, in near-Earth orbit around New Canaan, the Weeping Ones fleet is engaged in a fierce battle with the Zerg fleet.

The main gun array of the Emperor-class battleship HMS Wing of Sorrow had just completed a salvo, with twelve electromagnetic "light spears" piercing through the three Leviathan behemoths.

The shells of these space behemoths carbonized and burst under extremely high temperatures, while the biological acid stored inside them condensed into huge emerald-colored crystals in a vacuum.

However, the sheer number of insects is still a formidable advantage.

Millions, even tens of millions, of flying insects formed a suicide charge, relentlessly crashing into the cruiser's energy shield.

The death of each flying insect explodes into a cloud of corrosive acid mist, gradually depleting the shield's energy.

The left side armor of a frigate was covered with the slime secreted by the Queen Worm, and this biomass was rapidly corroding the hull structure, while the ship's drones and hunters were quickly cleaning up and disinfecting these foreign objects.

"Prioritize evacuation routes."

"Transport convoys carrying civilians must not be harassed."

Meanwhile, on the channel for those who wail, the conversations still revolve around ordinary people.

At this moment, the close-in weapon system of a frigate was rapidly clearing out the swarm units around the space station, unleashing a barrage of spiked bullets at a rate of tens of thousands per minute, creating a metal storm in the vacuum.

The shattered Zerg debris continued to fly due to inertia, crashing against the ship's armor and the space station's bulkheads with a series of muffled thuds.
Of course, only the personnel inside the ships and space stations could hear these muffled sounds.

Battle data shows that although the Weeping Ones have an absolute advantage on most levels, the number of Zerg swarms is still growing exponentially.

Images transmitted by reconnaissance units show that there are still a large number of spore towers on the surface of New Canaan constantly hatching new space units. Based on the current battlefield attrition rate and this trend, if the source of Zerg production nearby, namely New Canaan, is not destroyed, the Weeping Ones can only maintain their firepower advantage for a maximum of twelve hours.

On the bridge of the USS The Wings of Sorrow, tactical holograms continuously updated the evacuation progress. The first transport flotilla had completed docking and was transferring survivors on the ground to a safe area.

Lamenter Company Commander Malakin Forros stared at the numbers flashing on the holographic screen, knowing that every second of delay meant the arrival of more Zerg reinforcements.

He also glanced at the live feed transmitted from the space station.

The sight of civilians embracing and weeping, the guards saluting their mourning brothers, reaffirmed the order of this battle-hardened veteran: "Continue to cover the evacuation until the last human being leaves that doomed planet below."

Furthermore, the holographic projection on the bridge faithfully depicts the devastation on the surface of New Canaan.

The once prosperous colonial city is now like a festering wound, with purplish-black fungal carpets having devoured large swathes of land.

The high-rise buildings in the main urban area resemble tombstones corroded by acid rain, and the exterior walls of the few remaining buildings are covered with pulsating biomass conduits.

The situation on the ground is more complex than anticipated.

Unlike Agriea, which is about to fall, New Canaan is still in the "early" stage of the Zerg invasion. Footage transmitted by reconnaissance drones shows that the northern industrial area is still organizing resistance, and the firepower of the automated turrets is tearing the tide of Zerglings to pieces.

But even more heartbreaking are the distress signals scattered throughout the wilderness—

The beacons at the seventeen agricultural settlements are still shining brightly, each signal representing hundreds, even thousands, of lives.

Many raiding boats and gunboats immediately changed course and swooped down toward the most critical distress coordinates.

One of the Thunderhawk gunships charged straight toward Settlement 7, which was surrounded by a swarm of insects, and released a combat squad of veterans 300 meters above the ground.

These warriors crashed directly into the center of the swarm, turning the Zerg near the landing point into a bloody pulp. Their bolters and plasma cannons blasted out purification circles on the creep, clearing a path to life for the civilians trapped in the barn.

Just then, the battle on orbit suddenly took a turn for the better—

The jump vortex crack, emitting a ghostly blue light, bloomed on the flank of the main battlefield in near-Earth orbit.

The third fleet of the Flame Lizards descended like gods, and the plasma spears of its flagship, the Unyielding Flame, instantly vaporized the Zerg bio-ships that were besieging the Lamenter logistics squadron.

The newly arrived ships immediately deployed into a standard purification formation, with the flagship and cruisers deploying numerous tactical squads equipped with flamethrowers.

As soon as these Astartes, clad in dark green armor, landed, they built a wall of fire along the edge of the creep.

The coordination between the two companies was perfect.

The Lamenters focus on rescue and evacuation, with their assault squads venturing into the most dangerous areas, while the Flame Lizards are responsible for establishing defensive lines, with flamethrowers forming a fire net to keep the swarm at a safe distance.

More than six hours later, the last confirmed distress signal finally went out, and the hatch of the last transport ship stranded on the surface slowly closed, carrying survivors to evacuate to near-Earth orbit.

Furthermore, the two fleets began to assemble at the designated coordinates, and the main weapon systems of all warships completed their final calibration.

On the bridge of the Wings of Sorrow and the Unyielding Flame, the two captains almost simultaneously initiated an agreement, officially signing the extermination order for New Canaan.
(End of this chapter)