Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 944 (08.943): 'His Power'

With the arrival of Sintira's main force on the battlefield and the subsequent counterattack, the battle between the Energy Center and the Monastery had long since crossed the line of orderly confrontation, evolving into a chaotic vortex that devoured everything.

A separate assault regiment, primarily composed of armored forces, spun out from the 3rd Guards Cavalry Corps. Like steel spears, they bypassed the core area of ​​the energy hub and sped towards the Saint-Minnie Monastery, which was outside the range of the holographic projection.

The remaining forces—Rana's grenadier regiment, the 5th Cuirassier Regiment, and the Carbines—were like three tightening nooses, attacking the energy center from different directions, attempting to completely annihilate the Greenskin tribe entrenched there.

“Phew, I divided the Greenskins into different sectors, and then gathered my own people on one sector. Horatio, I did a good job, didn’t I? Praise me!” Thee’s voice was clear and crisp, with a hint of undisguised pride. Her fingertips danced lightly on the glowing data panel.

Then she turned around, expecting an approving response, only to find that Horatio was no longer behind her.

The security explosion-proof door was slowly closing, leaving her alone in the entire control tower with only the massive array of Thinkers as her companions. Only a tall, upright figure disappeared from her sight.

"Hmph, really, he left without even saying goodbye." Tei pouted slightly in dissatisfaction and turned her gaze back to the CRT screen in front of her.

thump.

The blast-proof door closed tightly, and the heavy metallic clanging echoed inside the tower, completely isolating the strategic center that controlled the earth from the bloody hell outside.

Now, even if the Greenskins use their most powerful and explosive battering rams, they won't be able to set foot here again anytime soon.
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The connecting corridor resembled a narrow canyon made of perforated metal and armored conduits, filled with the rusty smell of blood, the ozone smell from weapons discharge, and the nauseating stench of fungi emanating from the green-skinned creatures.

The metal grilles underfoot had been stained dark red, and the viscous liquid made them slippery.

Horatio gripped the hilt of the Holy Blood Chainsaw tightly; the blade's engine had not yet started, and it lay silent like a beast waiting to devour its prey.

Before him, the figure of Brother Albion resembled a blood-soaked statue.

His signature skull mask and full-body power armor were covered with bits of green flesh and congealed blood, silently telling the story of the horrific massacre he had just committed.

Beneath his feet lay a bloody path paved with severed limbs, every inch soaked with the life of the alien.

The monks' movements had slowed down compared to before.

The continuous high-intensity battle was constantly draining his strength, and the number of greenskins he had personally killed was probably already over five hundred.

However, even with some delay, each of his swings and blocks was still faster and more powerful than most greenskins.

Suddenly, Brother Albion felt a chilling killing intent approaching from behind at an alarming speed.

He instinctively dodged to the side.

With a sharp tearing sound, a figure enveloped in blue energy radiance streaked past the spot where he had just stood, like a comet.

Behind Horatio's power armor, thrusters emitted brief, dazzling arcs of light, granting him unparalleled burst speed.

With a roar of the engine, the engine of the Holy Blood Chainsaw Sword in his hand was activated.

The dull rumble was amplified into a deafening thunderclap in the narrow corridor, and the saw teeth, forged from fine gold, began to spin wildly.

Horatio's iron hand spewed steam as he wielded the roaring weapon fiercely and violently.

The chainsaw sword greedily drank in the flesh and blood of the green-skinned creature, each swing sending up a shower of blood.

The serrated blades clashed against the crude steel armor, producing a piercing shriek, followed by the dull thud of bones shattering and flesh being torn apart.

Any green-skinned figure in his path that stood in his way was either sliced ​​into pieces by his precise and ruthless blade, or slammed off the corridor by the immense force of his power armor, falling into the darkness below and ultimately turning into an unrecognizable mass of mangled flesh. Brother Albion silently watched this "mortal" before him.

He watched as the blue light, like an indestructible warhammer, crashed brutally into the green beast tide, spreading chaos and death to every corner.

In this mortal man, he saw a rage that transcended the mundane and was almost divine.

This reminded him of an old friend who looked similar, stirring up memories he had been trying to forget.

A memory filled with helplessness and stigma.

The ground battlefield was a completely different hellish scene. Colonel Yadwiga commanded her remaining dragoon remnants in a doomed resistance.

She stood atop a mountain of corpses made up of green-skinned soldiers, fallen soldiers, and warhorses, holding aloft a tattered regimental flag.

The eagle emblem on that silk banner, representing the New Land Dragon Cavalry Regiment, was torn apart by shrapnel and blackened by artillery fire, yet it still fluttered in the thick smoke, like a symbol of unyielding resilience.

This wall of corpses was their last line of defense and their only shelter.

The surviving dragoons were all wounded, their uniforms soaked in blood and mud, their faces etched with exhaustion and despair.

But as long as their colonel stands, they will continue to fight.

"For Polaberia! For the Emperor!" Yadviga, the dutiful Imperial soldier, rallied her troops with a hoarse but still impassioned voice.

Her words came in fits and starts amidst the deafening clatter of machine gun fire, as scorching bullets grazed her body and pierced new holes in the corpses beside her.

The female colonel was fearless.

When the red light came on and the energy magazine of her laser rifle ran out, she dropped it without hesitation, picked up another weapon from the hands of a fallen soldier at her feet, and continued to unleash beams of light at the surging green tide.

The greens roared as they charged toward the mountain of corpses, their murky eyes gleaming with greed and savagery, their target the long pole in her hand that symbolized honor and command.

She threw away the empty pistol in her hand and drew the long, curved power saber from her waist.

As the energy field was activated, the blade emitted a low hum.

She brandished her saber and fought desperately against every greenskin who tried to kill her and take away her honor.

The silver blade spun deftly in her hand, drawing deadly arcs across the dim battlefield. Each flash was accompanied by the flying off of a hideous green-skinned head or a spurt of filthy blood.

Battalion Commander Poniatovsky was unable to provide her with support.

His first and second battalions had long been separated into different areas by the Greenskins' frenzy, and they themselves were also fighting a bitter battle.

The colonel had brought a small number of troops with him, and under the relentless pursuit of the Greenskins, they were forced to hastily organize a defense in this open area lacking effective terrain, in order to deal with the siege from all sides.

Her dragon riders' prized horses were either killed by stray bullets during charges or chopped into pieces by green-skinned cleavers.

Today, the bodies of these loyal comrades have become their last barrier against enemy fire.

(End of this chapter)