Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 45 You're Too Slow

"We need to be faster!"

The sound roared through the communication channel as the high-speed aircraft tore through the air. Doom and Harlan, riding their anti-gravity motorcycles, sped through the canyon.

"Follow me! You just need to focus on me, you don't need to pay attention to the changes in terrain!"

Doom unscrewed the power valve, and the anti-gravity motorcycle roared to life, speeding to the front and leading the way while providing Harlan with attitude references.

With a reaction speed exceeding nanoseconds, the rapidly changing scenery around him appeared to him like a slow-motion video.

For Doom, riding his supersonic steed at full speed was like riding a snail.

When they set off, Doom suggested that he could carry Harlan to get there faster, but this was firmly rejected.

"Drip drip!"

The anti-gravity motorcycle's scanning equipment issued a warning: a squad of orcs was patrolling at the canyon exit ahead.

"Keep going! Keep moving!"

The roar of the anti-gravity motorcycle quickly attracted the attention of the orc squad. They roared excitedly and rubbed their hands together, ready to fight!
hum~~~
The two anti-gravity motorcycles did not slow down, and drove away with the distinctive roar of supersonic speed.

Before the orc squad could even mock the enemy's cowardice, an iron fist loomed large in its eyes.

By the time it realized what was happening, it could no longer feel its limbs, and it felt as if its head was being held up by a large human.
In the instant the two sides crossed paths, Doom jumped off his motorcycle and, with his bare hands, took down a patrol squad of ten orcs in 0.2 seconds.

One of them sprinted and accelerated, catching up with the motorcycle that was still moving at supersonic speed.

He easily crushed the skull, scooped out the fresh brain matter and swallowed it in one gulp. The orc's complete memories appeared in Doom's mind.

After a year of training, Doom mastered the skill of storing acquired memories in a separate area of ​​his brain without affecting his subjective judgment.

"Follow me!" Doom shouted. "Twelve degrees to the left! There are about three thousand orcs gathered in the valley ten kilometers away!"

Doom planned to wipe out a small group of orcs, as it wouldn't take long.

Ten kilometers away, the motorcycle maintained its speed without slowing down, speeding forward through the winding canyon.

"I'll take the first step!"

Harlan activated the motorcycle's protective field, then activated his own armor shield, lit up the Nur crystal under the motorcycle's front armor, and ejected a large, fin-like cutting blade.

"You green-skinned scum!"

Before he even arrived, the roar was faster than the roar of a motorcycle. After a long pause, the champion swordsman once again taunted his enemies: "Your grandpa's here!"

The green-skinned orcs had set up camp in the woods when they suddenly heard a furious roar. The piercing, provocative howl ignited their rage.

A fight's come knocking on our door? Let's get to it!
The orcs excitedly grabbed whatever was at hand—knives, spears, clubs, primitive firearms—and unleashed a torrent of fire!

In the narrow valley, the orcs' formation resembled a twisted green snake, playing right into Harlan's hands.

The cutting cannon directly in front of the motorcycle fired large cutting rays silently, maximizing its power in the narrow terrain.

The high-speed motorcycle was like a bullet, piercing into unprotected flesh. Dimensional blades and rays were reaping the damage, and a single impact left corpses strewn across the battlefield.

Nothing can stop the light blade that tears through dimensions.

Harlan's motorcycle, like a harvester, drove into the wheat field, with orcs split in two on both sides and in front of him.

Hot blood gushed out, and the severed upper limbs were still screaming and crawling on the ground, brandishing weapons.

A single, decisive strike! They immediately adjusted their altitude and disengaged, the motorcycle and rider, stained red with blood, disappearing into the distance like a blood arrow.

Ancient cavalry tactics, though old, are still effective.

The next moment, a man dressed like a gladiator leaped down from the height.

Doom's upper body was only secured with a leather strap to his shoulder armor, which was fastened to his belt. His chest was almost bare, and his lower body was covered by a skirt armor that simply covered the middle of his thighs. His combat boots protected his calves, while his knees and half of his thighs were exposed.

This wild style of dressing is not about showing savagery, but a simple compromise.

Doom is growing too fast, and the master forges don't have a definite measurement to create a custom power armor for him.

A compromise made out of necessity. This makeshift armor couldn't be fitted with a power source and relied entirely on Doom's brute strength to pull it.

With a gauntlet studded with fist nails on his left hand and a dimensional lightsaber in his right, the man leaped straight into the horde of orcs.
Without roars or shouts, Doom's silent slaughter began!

In that instant! His figure was beyond the reach of the orcs' retinas; the greenskins' physical functions could not detect his speed.

With a single, effortless punch, he pulverized the head of the orc in front of him; he kicked a rock, piercing through several orcs; and he swung his azure dimensional light blade into a ring.

The dimensional blade slashed across the orc's body without hesitation, leaving a smooth, mirror-like wound. Before the first drop of blood was spurted, before the orc could even feel his life slipping away, Doom had already reaped the life.

8!

As Doom killed his eighth enemy, his fluid movements continued, but his extremely keen senses detected that a strange gaze was watching him.

The new war lord continued to brandish his sword, venting his frustration.

His worries about his father and his speculations about the situation were all swept up in the gleam of the sword and released.

88!

He is invisible, his figure cannot be detected; yet he is visible, his blue light leaving only fragments of orc corpses in its wake.

Harlan parked his motorcycle on a high hill. He did not participate in the subsequent attack, but instead leaned against the motorcycle to relieve the fatigue of the journey.

He knew that Doom was anxious; the young man was eager to help his father as soon as possible.

Looking at the valley filled with slaughterhouses, I couldn't help but marvel at Doom's power. My already high expectations kept rising.

Blood flowed everywhere in the valley, and pieces of corpses flew in all directions. Harlan could not catch a glimpse of Doom, only the afterimages of the azure sword light lingering in the air and the river of blood that followed.

Harlan felt an abstract beauty; in the blooming sea of ​​crimson flowers, a blue butterfly fluttered its wings, and wherever it passed, the crimson blossoms became even more intense.

The readings inside the helmet were alarming; the normally sensitive capture device couldn't scan Doom, and the aiming assist system couldn't keep up with his movements.

"If I want to shoot him, how do I aim and predict his position?"

Almost subconsciously, yet seemingly unintentionally, this idea suddenly popped into Harlan's mind.

A chill ran down his spine, startling him so much that he quickly banished the absurd thought from his mind.

888!

Within a few breaths, thousands of orcs lay dead in pools of blood, not even understanding what had happened, their eyes frozen in confusion as they lost their luster.

Doom could feel the gazes in the void trembling with excitement at the prospect of slaughter.

Without paying too much attention to that gaze, Doom could roughly guess what it was; it was most likely the being who called himself the "God of Warriors."

"Watch if you want." Doom wasn't particularly resistant; he was helpless against it, and it just watched without causing any impact.

"What the hell..."

The orc's rapid howl abruptly ceased as his jaw and tongue were swept away by a sword, and his fine head slowly slid off.

"I know your damn second brother is up here!"

Doom's killing spree was unwavering; while remaining calm and composed, he jokingly remarked on the orcs' devotion to their beloved "Second Brother."

By consuming the orc's brain tissue, one would naturally learn about the two gods worshipped by the orcs.

Damn Mao! Mao is cunning and ruthless, and he's ruthless and cunning!

There are no gods in this world! Wait...

Suddenly, an idea flashed through Doom's mind, a familiar question that he hadn't thought about carefully.

On the battlefield where blood splattered, Doom's extraordinary brain began to think at high speed, retrieving information from his mind.

Isaac fell into the bloody mud, his image gradually becoming clearer, and the fragmented words he uttered gradually came together.

Doom's expression grew colder, and his killing spree accelerated.

A careful analysis of Isaac leads to the City of Truth, then to faith, and finally…

God! It seems to be an unavoidable point!

"I see!" Doom muttered to himself, kicking an orc to pieces, and came to a preliminary conclusion.

One minute passed. The blood of the first orc was still warm when the orc camp was emptied; all three thousand orcs had been annihilated.

Doom stood amidst the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood, his sword pointing to the ground, his breathing neither hurried nor labored. He was covered in blood, the filthy blood of the orcs flowing down his body along his muscle lines.

Harlan descended from the high place and shouted to the white figures that appeared outside the valley, "You're too slow!"

　My goodness, look at the guys in the group, they release ten or twenty chapters at a time, I'm speechless.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)