Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 867, page 08.866: 'A Clash Between Flesh-and-Blood Berserkers'

"..."

Faced with the Blood Man's meticulous and thorough examination of his soul, the technical priest Latti remained silent.

This was not the gaze of an ordinary person, but a greedy savoring, a sensory intrusion seeking the subtle flavors of fear and anger within her mental fluctuations. A cold torrent of logic surged within the core of her mind:
"Extraterrestrial psionic intrusion detected. Analyzing... Threat level: Extremely high. Component: Sadistic curiosity."

Her ruler walked on eight legs on the altar, the eight limbs of this war machine, forged from adamantite and brass, firmly gripping the cold deck, like a steel spider poised to strike.

Beneath her scarlet monk's robes were countless humming enhancement components, winding electromechanical prosthetics, and gleaming power cables that seamlessly integrated her with her vehicle.

Her only remaining organic eye remained expressionless, while her other eye was a prosthetic eye that gleamed with an ominous red light.

The mechanical axe she gripped tightly emitted a low, energetic hum, as if yearning for the impending carnage.

Before her, the Blood Performer—a more fitting name might be "Flesh and Blood Craftsman"—dwelt on a living, suspended throne made of skinned human bones and pulsating flesh tubes, in the posture of a discerning artist examining a work of art.

Its paper-thin skin stretched taut over its modified skeleton, and the ends of its several appendages were gleaming scalpels, syringes, and fleshy handguards.

Responding to that silent provocation, Lati's will transformed into a command.

The ruler's eight-legged piston hissed as it charged toward the hideous alien in front of it with an eerie yet incredibly swift motion.

Charging alongside Lati were the towering Casterlan mech and a group of whip-wielding servants who had just broken through the walls of the surrounding nutrient solution tanks.

These newly created combat units are the product of Lati's cold-blooded calculations.

Just before the Swift Skyhawk launched its attack, Captain Horatio asked her if she could hold the power engine.

In Latti's mind, this problem was quickly analyzed as a tactical dilemma.

Query: Defend the Energy Hub. Available Assets: Tech-Priest x5, Casterlan Fighter x1, XV8 (Om Messiahized) x2, Guardian Vanguard Squad x4, Guardian Ranger... Threat Assessment: Main force of the Thorns' Sons Conspiracy. Success Rate: 37.4%. Unacceptable.

Her cognitive filter quickly scanned the ship's personnel list and discovered an untapped resource.

Asset Pool Identification: Ship Crew x47. Status: Sick, Non-combatant. Current Utility: Negligible. Potential Utility: High.

The next second, she faced Horatio with the standard confident smile of the social module, verbally promising to defend the place, while issuing new orders to her friars.

They entered the medical bay like ghosts and, without the medical staff noticing, "requisitioned" dozens of bedridden crew members.

For Latti, this was not a kidnapping or murder, but a “resanctification of biomass” and “component performance optimization”.

The cold surgical prosthesis was being efficiently modified, combat drugs and pain triggers were being injected into the spinal cord, and electric whips were being roughly sewn together with nerve endings.

Those once loyal crew members have now become mindless, whip-wielding servants born only for battle, adding another combat asset to her ranks.

As a technical priest, she had long since abandoned the moral constraints of ordinary human society.

She believed in only one truth: how to make life (or non-life) as effective as possible.

If this energy hub cannot be saved, tens of thousands of lives on board will perish, far more than these "non-combat casualties".

In her view, she was simply turning useless losses back into combat power.

This is an impeccable logic: sacrificing 47 secondary units to save more than 10,000 superior units is a pure gain in terms of efficiency.

The god of all machines will surely approve of such an efficient decision.

As for Captain Horatio, his understanding of the matter was a secondary and non-essential variable.

The data records of the relevant operations will be permanently sealed and will never be known to the captain.

"It seems you're not going to answer my question." The Blood Spirit's voice was as smooth as silk, yet carried a chilling edge, echoing through the cabin via a miniature megaphone. "But I will use the most extreme hormone solution to make you succumb to your instinct for pleasure, making you weep and shed everything you know. As for your insignificant genetic research results, you will offer them to me then as well!"

It waved its hand dismissively, and the abusers beside it—the fanatical followers of the Flesh Cult—roared toward Lati's forces.

These alien warriors are lean and muscular, their movements elegant yet brutal, like dancers born for suffering.

This scene is strikingly similar to those whippersnappers driven by stimulants and nutrient solutions to charge at their opponents.

Latti's analysis even highlighted the technological commonality between the two in "aggressiveness driven by combat hormones," but in her view, this was nothing more than a barbaric act of the Xenomorphs converging in pursuit of efficiency, devoid of any sophistication.

The two sides clashed violently.

The crackling of electricity, the sharp sound of blades, and the tearing of flesh intertwined into a chaotic battle hymn.

The first thing to touch the enemy was the electric whip in the hands of the whip machine servant.

As the saying goes, "An inch longer, an inch stronger."

At this moment, this ancient adage was proven true by Latti's tactical logic.

"Range advantage: electric whip. First strike confirmed."

High-voltage current exploded into clusters of blue-white sparks on the torturers' gelatinous flesh, producing crackling sounds. The air instantly filled with the acrid smell of denatured proteins, mingling with the heavy stench of blood, turning into billowing white smoke that swirled around the ceiling of the cabin illuminated by incandescent lights.

However, for these abusers injected with special combat drugs, pain was not a weakening effect, but rather an unparalleled and wonderful stimulation.

Despite the electric whips lashing them, ignoring the scorched and cracked flesh on their bodies, their eyes gleaming with wild joy, they charged straight at their tormenting opponents.

The broadsword sliced ​​through the air with a dull whistling sound.

With a flash of cold light, a head still wearing a brain control device shot into the sky, its full face even frozen in a blank expression.

Even without its head, the headless servant's corpse, still following its primal commands under its last nerve reflexes, wildly lashed out with its electric whip, indiscriminately destroying everything around it.

Lati, wielding the Machine God's Axe, looked down and slashed at the onrushing abusers.

Her Dominator Octopus gives her excellent vision and attack angles, making every swing precise and deadly.

She was like an unstoppable slaughtering machine, shredding and smashing those who stood in her way.

The energy field on the axe blade, under the continuous and powerful chopping, formed leaping chains of lightning that spread and raged among the abusers.

Behind her, Castellan soldiers stood guard.

These ancient war machines, almost twice the height of Space Marines, are sacred creations left over from the Dark Ages of technology. They are rare and therefore extremely precious.

It marched with heavy, firm steps, ignoring the sporadic attacks that struck their ceramic armor.

They are surrounded by an invisible repulsive field that emits a low hum, deflecting most of the attack energy.

When surrounded, the mech's chest suddenly opened, and scorching incinerated fuel gushed out, engulfing a group of abusers in a sea of ​​fire.

Its massive arms, in accordance with the [Conqueror's Protocol], abandoned ranged firepower and used its enormous power gauntlets to smash enemies into a bloody pulp.

Lati's own prosthetic limbs and drill-like dendrites act like vigilant vipers, protecting her left and right flanks. Any enemy attempting to approach will be instantly pierced or torn apart.

Her fighting style was pure efficiency; every move had been optimized through thousands of combat simulations, a stark contrast to the chaotic and hedonistic killing methods of the abusers.

brush!
She cleaved the head of an abuser with an axe, and the iron and bone shattered with a crash.

However, at that moment, a huge dark shadow blocked out the light in front of her. Its size was even greater than when she stood on the eight-legged base of the Overlord, and it almost touched the top of the cabin.

Her crimson prosthetic eye reacted instantly, automatically activating low-light-assisted target acquisition mode.

Ping!
A brutal yet incredibly swift force slammed down.

With her data-driven reaction ability far exceeding that of ordinary people, her attack actions switch to blocking in nanoseconds.

The mechanical axe, held horizontally in front of him, barely managed to block this terrifying blow.

Puff! —

The force of the impact pushed her entire walking altar back several meters, and her eight limbs scraped deep, grating marks on the deck.

In order to block this attack that even Astartes Space Marines might not be able to withstand head-on, the motors in her arms suddenly unleashed overload power.

High-temperature steam violently spewed out from the automatically opening vents on her steel-like arms.

"Structural integrity compromised. Boom actuator: overload. Hydraulic system: emergency depressurization." The alarm shrieked in her mind.

Lati raised his head, his murderous gaze—half cold flesh and blood, half mechanical ruthlessness—fixed on the behemoth before him, finally making out a corner of its face.

It was a colossal creature pieced together from twisted flesh, a deformed mountain of flesh wearing a huge metal triangular head.

It was given three heads and six arms, each arm incredibly thick and ugly reinforced with black metal.

Some arms ended in massive bone blades, while others were replaced with liquefied cannons that constantly dripped corrosive liquid.

From the hideous and grotesque patchwork marks on its body, Lati's genetic database instantly made a judgment: at least six Dark Elf flesh and blood were needed to construct this behemoth.

This is the masterpiece of the Blood Actors, a living, breathing work of art made of flesh and blood for sadism, a pure tool of killing and a war machine.

The Mechanicus geneticists have a unified and abhorrent name for these "assembled monsters" of genetic creations—

Threat Identification: Alien Creature, Level: Omega. Discipline Nomenclature: Abomination of Suffering. Common Name: Twisted Abomination.

(A twisted abomination chasing after Titanium)

The Blood Man's morbid, tearing laughter echoed in the cabin, filled with pride and admiration for his masterpiece.

The duel between machines and flesh and blood has only just begun.

(End of this chapter)