Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 839, 08.838: 'Lightning Strike'

"My divine emperor, sailors! Quickly drive these aliens away!"

Second Captain Patron hid behind the cold chassis of a now-defunct Thinker array, his laser pistol emitting weak, hissing fire.

He fired indiscriminately at the command throne area on the upper level of the bridge, which was occupied by aliens.

A red laser beam streaked through the dim air, striking the alien's smooth black armor and only sending up a series of harmless energy sparks; it couldn't even penetrate the alien's shield.

Suddenly, a chilling, sinister laugh, like the scraping of a snake's tongue, rang out from the shadows above the bridge.

Immediately afterwards, a dense barrage of poison darts rained down from above, accurately striking the sailors around Patron who were still fighting the aliens behind cover.

"Pfft! Gaaaaa... Ugh!"

The wounded who had been shot and fell to the ground let out heart-wrenching, inhuman screams.

Their blood begins to turn black and congeal the moment it comes into contact with air.

A terrifying black pattern, like a spider web, spread rapidly across their skin, centered on the wound.

Ultimately, their faces were covered with these horrifying markings, white foam gushed from their mouths, and they died screaming in extreme pain, their bodies stiffening into twisted, bloody statues in irrational spasms.

Captain Patron cowered behind his bunker, his collar soaked with cold sweat.

He looked around and found that there was no one else alive besides himself.

Just then, a series of rapid footsteps, the sound of metal boots striking the deck, came from the entrance of Corridor 4.

A glimmer of hope flashed in the captain's eyes as he looked at the passageway from which the sound was coming, knowing that it was a group of armed sailors coming to provide support from the lower compartments.

"Quick! Over here! We need backup!!" he shouted hoarsely with all his might.

boom! boom!
The sailors had just run out of the corridor exit and hadn't even had a chance to see what was inside the bridge when a small, dark shadow, of unknown origin, fell from the sky.

The ensuing, violent explosion obliterated them, along with their armor and weapons, reducing them to ashes.

"Cough! Cough! Cough!"

A thick plume of smoke, emanating the distinctive scorched smell of proteins burned by high temperatures, swept across the entire bridge.

Captain Patron coughed violently, frantically pulling a respirator from his belt and putting it on his face. When he finally regained some vision, what he saw was a scene that filled him with despair: the armed sailors who had come to his aid had been reduced to indistinguishable pieces of flesh.

The dark red flesh and entrails covered the cold, gray deck, turning the once solemn and magnificent bridge, which resembled a monastery, into a slaughterhouse filled with desecration and bloodshed.

The Ducari aliens, clad in armor covered in spikes and barbs, walked with elegant and arrogant steps on the bridge of the Holy Navy of the God Emperor.

The handcuffs and shackles made of human bone and metal that hung on their bodies rattled as they moved, emitting a terrifying warning.

These androgynous, beautiful yet malevolent aliens brazenly desecrated every piece of equipment on the bridge. They smashed the Imperial Eagle emblem, a symbol of faith in the Lord of Mankind, with their spoils—the head of a naval officer.

With scalpel-like blades, they executed the survivors who lay on the ground, groaning but not quite dead, enjoying the last twitch of their prey in despair.

The communications department of the "Sword of Akali" was located in a rather secluded corner of the command bridge.

Captain Patron could see the aliens brutally executing the survivors of the communications department. Meanwhile, a creature that seemed to be their leader was issuing commands in Ada's language in a sharp, melodious, almost song-like tone: "Set up booby traps here. When those stupid 'monkey' reinforcements land, we'll blow those incompetent monkeys and their ugly, rickety wrecked ships to smithereens."

Captain Patron couldn't understand the aliens' blasphemous words, but he vaguely sensed some kind of malicious intent from their gestures and witnessed them ascend the command throne, manipulating the ship's 'brain'.

He suppressed the fear that was about to devour him, and something called "responsibility," which came from the deepest part of the Imperial Naval Academy, restored the qualities that a well-trained professional soldier should have.

He quietly reached for the undamaged communications display console in front of him and pressed the emergency button connected to the wired audio array.

“Code name: ‘Jtland Point’.” He spoke into the microphone with all his might, lowering his voice to utter this secret code that represented despair and resolve.

The commander of the reinforcement operation, Lord Captain Archie, understood the coded message filled with static noise in the signal almost instantly.

In the battle code passed down for thousands of years in the Imperial Navy, "Cape Jutland" represents the highest level of crisis—the ship has fallen into enemy hands and is at constant risk of being detonated or completely destroyed by the enemy, requesting friendly forces to sink the ship along with it if necessary.

The origin of the story is debated, but the most widely accepted explanation is that a large-scale naval battle known as "Jutland" took place in ancient books that were lost and recorded the history of the ancient Terran mythology era.

In that naval battle, several capital warships of the then-leading naval power of Ancient Terra suffered a shocking secondary explosion due to a design flaw in their ammunition magazines.

From then on, "Cape Jutland" became a secret code in the Imperial Navy that made all commanders frown, representing the ultimate fate of mutual destruction.

"Hellslinger, prepare to execute 'Lightning Strike'!" Archie frowned. He knew that at the shark assault boat's normal speed, it might not be able to arrive before the aliens completed their unknown plan.

"We must disrupt the aliens' operations to buy time for the bomb disposal team!"

The only solution is to deploy the most elite troops to the most critical positions in the shortest possible time using high-risk "lightning strike" tactics.

On the bridge of the "Sword of Akali," members of the conspiracy were laying poison dart mines at various entrances and key locations of the bridge, following their leader's orders.

This is a single-sided directional mine that can be manually controlled or automatically scanned for thermal signals.

When Imperial Navy reinforcements are exposed to its infrared sensors, the mines detonate, blasting countless tiny, poison-coated darts into a fan-shaped area in front of them.

These poison darts are powerful enough to penetrate even the weakest joint gaps in the calcite power armor, not to mention the shell armor and bulletproof vest, which are far inferior to the calcite power armor.

Captain Patron was drenched in cold sweat.

The energy block magazine of the laser pistol in his hand was flashing a red light, indicating that the energy was insufficient.

The despairing red color made him feel suffocated.

The members of the conspiracy task force responsible for searching for survivors were getting closer and closer to him. He could clearly hear the swaying sound, like a death countdown, emanating from the ornament made of shackles and bones hanging from the alien's waist, as if it were right above his head.

He wanted to do something to save the warship's fate and his own life. But he knew he was powerless except to wait for the slim chance of rescue. A mortal's physical abilities and reflexes were no match for the naturally agile Aidalings, let alone the Ducali Xenomorphs who had undergone inhuman modifications by the Bloodlings.

"May the God-King protect us... May my soul return to the Golden Throne," he prayed in an almost inaudible voice.

His voice trembled as his finger rested on the trigger of the laser pistol, preparing for one last futile but honorable counterattack the moment he was discovered.

Suddenly, a strange, high-priority friendly signal lit up on the communications console where he was hiding.

It was an extremely strong identification signal that disregarded all communication protocols and forcibly entered the tactical command network like a divine intervention, defying all communication regulations he had known during his service career; it was simply impossible.

(End of this chapter)