Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 929, 08.928: "Rush to the Rescue"

"This is Delta-06. We have cleared the Ducari aliens from this area."

Repeat: The Dukali threat has been eliminated, and Energy Hub 3 is safe. However… the Orks are beginning their assault! Prepare for battle!

A hoarse, urgent roar came through the communication channel, mixed with the explosions of laser guns firing and some kind of beastly howl.

Before the Hell Eldar guarding Energy Hub Tower 1, rows of Dark Eldar alien corpses, their chests emitting charred white smoke, were dragged along.

Some of the Hell Soldiers were bandaging wounds, while others were zipping up body bags for their fallen comrades.

Beneath their feet, the towering Gothic spires, once a tangible symbol of imperial majesty and faith, are now ravaged by war.

The sturdy flying buttresses are covered with ugly wounds left by bomb explosions. The magnificent stained glass windows that once depicted the emperors of the empire are now just jagged holes, like the shattered jaws of a giant beast in the dim light.

The air was filled with a nauseating mixture of smells: the pungent smell of gunpowder, the acrid smell of ozone, the sour smell of rotting corpses, and a faint, sweet, bloody stench belonging to aliens.

Not only does this place reek of the savage stench of the green-skinned orcs, but it also contains the Dukali aliens that were recently wiped out—their slender, twisted corpses and weapon fragments gleaming with an ominous light still lie scattered among the rubble, silently recounting the cruelty of the last bloody battle.

"Alpha-05 weapons team, coordinate fire." A Hellscream missile operator calmly confirmed in a low voice. Before him was the alien vehicle emitting a ghostly green light, a symbol of death, in the target lock.

Whoosh!Whoosh!
With a series of muffled "bangs," several missiles roared out from the firing ports on the upper floors of the building, leaving trails of gray-white smoke, like spears of revenge, precisely piercing the green-skinned armored group surging below like a tide.

As Commander Horatio arrived at the energy hub, the outer perimeter of the Gothic tower, one of the missiles flew right over his head, its whistling sound causing the air to hum.

The projectiles suddenly separated in mid-air, and the three submunitions, with a sharp whistling sound as they tore through the air, transformed into three spinning steel needles that, with unstoppable force, precisely pierced the cab of an armed truck that had just rolled over a sand dune and was charging arrogantly towards them.

The reckless war machine suddenly stalled, its immense inertia causing it to slide forward for another dozen meters before finally coming to a stop by crashing into the broken wall.

A few seconds later, the turret on the roof was still firing wildly and erratically, until the other green-skinned orcs roughly tore open the twisted cab and dragged out several mangled corpses that had been completely pierced and were no longer human.

The defensive battle inside the tower has reached a fever pitch.

One large truck was destroyed, but more armored vehicles, captured from the Imperial garrison and painted with crude graffiti, charged forward like sharks smelling blood.

It is ultimately wishful thinking to think that relying solely on individual missile launchers can counter large-scale armored forces.

Spiked wheels and tracks, painted in all sorts of fancy and exaggerated colors, rolled and tumbled across the sand dunes.

On the other side, dark all-terrain tires tumbled and rolled across the sand, accompanied by the galloping hooves of horses.

The tires and iron hooves on both sides rolled at high speed at the same time, creating a rhythm of speed and death.

Now, it's a matter of who's faster.

The green-skinned wave finally broke through the crumbling defenses.

They howled, brandishing all sorts of crude yet deadly weapons, like a green flood bursting its banks, pouring into the building's ground floor hall.

"Hehehehe! Die, you shrimp!"

A war boss, whose jaws had been modified into hydraulically driven steel pincers, took the lead. It swung its massive power claws, and its thick black breastplate blocked a Hellfire ray, tearing a Hell Elite soldier who couldn't dodge in time, along with the cover in front of him, to shreds.

Following closely behind was an "arsonist" carrying a huge fuel canister, who poured deadly solidified flames into every corner of the hall, making the ancient stone carvings and sacred murals crackle and pop.

Countless screaming fart demons ran rampant in the chaos, stabbing wounded soldiers with knives while scrambling for anything that glittered.

"Vehicle spotted at 10 o'clock! Prepare to fire!" A Hellslinger missile operator locked onto the target again amidst the thick smoke. He released the safety of the laser beam-riding guided missile, his thumb already on the fire button.

"Wait!" The observer's voice suddenly rose in the communications channel, filled with the urgent relief of someone who had just escaped death. "Those are friendly forces! Don't fire!"

laugh--!
With a screeching sound of tires, a sleek "Pegasus" assault vehicle, standing out from the surrounding scrap metal, crashed through a broken wall like a black blade and sped into the yard.

Its large tires left a charred rut on the ancient stone pavement, stopping precisely at the gap in the defensive line.

The laser cannon on the turret fired, hitting the turret even before the Chimera truck could fire. Soon the entire truck burst into flames, and the green-skinned creature, engulfed in flames, jumped out and was torn apart by the vehicle-mounted bolter.

The Hell Soldiers, caught in the midst of fierce fighting, paused, a flicker of surprise and renewed hope crossing their exhausted faces.

Valina had just bitten through the bandage with her teeth and hastily bandaged the gunshot wound on her shoulder.

She held a bloodstained Katachon sword, one foot resting on the enormous green-skinned head she had personally severed with the sword, staring in astonishment at this reinforcement force that was not part of the battle plan. "Commander, we've arrived at our destination!" The driver of the Pegasus tank turned around and said in a deep voice to the not-so-spacious cabin behind him.

thump.

With a heavy thud, a pair of magnetic combat boots, shimmering with a faint light, landed steadily on the ground.

puff!
Horatio stepped off the vehicle. Almost simultaneously, from the power backpack on his back, several feather-like wings made of ion beams unfolded with a low hum.

Those were not the wings of angels from mythology, but rather Frost Thrusters that shone with the cold light of technology.

The wings of light propelled his body into the air with swift and powerful movements, taking him away from the chaotic and bloody slaughter on the ground and up to a high place where he could overlook the entire scene.

He landed steadily on a broken platform, and a slender tactical microwave avionics radar array extended from his powered backpack, beginning to silently scan the surroundings.

Horatio's vision flickered for a moment, and the chaotic scene before him was covered by a layer of calm blue tactical data stream.

Below, every naval soldier still fighting was marked as a clear "soldier tag" in his bird's-eye view of darkness, with the soldier's vital signs, ammunition reserves, and combat effectiveness assessment scrolling in real time next to him.

Meanwhile, enemy heat flares bloom on the map like angry red flowers, clearly indicating their location, number, and threat level.

The entire battlefield transformed from a bloody chaos into a clear and readable tactical map.

Horatio processed all the information in less than a second, and the order to turn the tide of the battle quietly took shape in his mind.

"Delta-03, Delta-04, the green-skinned soldiers are advancing towards your location in the stairwell. Immediately use your gravitational parachutes to evacuate through the west window. Dragoon Squadron, set up defenses at the 'holographic miniature' I marked and establish a crossfire position."

To the soldiers in the command sequence, translucent psionic phantoms, identical in size and equipment to themselves, appeared out of thin air at their designated tactical positions, their facial features clearly visible.

The soldiers, who were taken aback at first sight, quickly reacted due to their excellent military skills. They dismounted, took emergency sandbags and defensive equipment from the sides of their saddlebags, and immediately began to rebuild the defenses within the massive energy hub, following Horatio's precise, individual-level instructions.

Just before the green-skinned soldiers could kick open the iron gate and cut them all down, the Hell's Vanguard team broke through the window and jumped out, using the propulsion of their gravity parachutes to slowly drift towards the battle stronghold built by the reinforcements.

Horatio frowned. He searched rapidly through the complex architectural structure, trying to find any trace of Inquisitor They.

However, since the judge was not in his direct command, his "golden finger" could not locate her beacon or see her current situation and condition.

Suddenly, an almost instinctive sense of crisis surged through Horatio's spine like an electric current. His body reacted even faster than his thoughts, and he abruptly took a step back to dodge.

The moment he left his spot, a green-skinned corpse screamed as it plummeted from the sky.

Snapped!
The heavy corpse crashed to the spot where he had just been standing, with a huge and horrifying penetrating wound in its chest, as if it had been pierced by some immense force.

Horatio suddenly looked up.

On the upper corridor, dozens of meters high, stood a figure. It was a monk clad in jet-black power armor, wearing a skull helmet with eyes that shone with a scarlet light, and holding a chainsaw halberd that was quite rare even in the arsenal of Astartes in the 41st millennium.

[Brother Albion?]
The name flashed through Horatio's mind.

But did he use a chainsaw? Horatio realized that he really didn't have any accurate recollection of what weapon this mysterious monk used.

The two men looked at each other across a height difference of tens of meters. The cold, emotionless gaze sent a chill down Horatio's spine.

brush!
Almost instantly, the figure of the Albion monk vanished from his spot, and when he reappeared, his chainsaw halberd had already pierced the abdomen of a green-skinned creature that was yelling and charging at him.

The chainsaw's sharp teeth spun at high speed, instantly turning the alien's internal organs into a mass of minced meat.

His arm muscles bulged, and with a powerful swing, he flung the still convulsing green-skinned corpse from the sky.

Another heavy corpse crashed onto the previous one with a dull thud.

The next second, the chainsaw halberd swept nimbly across Albion's hand, and several green heads that were trying to gang up on him were instantly sent flying into the air, their faces frozen in shock and rage.

As he attacked, streams of dark green blood gushed out, etching scenes of death onto the pristine white limestone walls behind him.

He was like a silent and efficient killing statue; every movement, every swing, was solely for the purest form of destruction.

Now Horatio knows where They might be.

(End of this chapter)