Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 205 The War of the Internet (14) Bloodstained Gamor (Part 1)

The location of Eternal Bastion One had become a strategic anchor point for the entire battlefield. Its macro cannons and arrays of light spears fired alternately, each salvo tearing a gap in the Dark Eldar fleet's lines. Dark spear beams exploded on the surface of the pale gold armor, thirty kilometers away, while the outer layer of the sacred bone remained unmoved under the infusion of psionic energy. The cracks in the boundary membrane healed completely after a few seconds of flashing.

Three Eternal Bastion-class fortress ships advanced in alternating shifts. Over three days, they weighed anchor, settled, and weighed anchor again, crushing dozens of ships that tried to block their path with each forward movement. The Dark Eldar's lines shrank inch by inch, their tactical space squeezed to nothing by the three steel continents.

The greater the pressure exerted by the Dark Eldar fleet commanders, the more firmly the three pale gold structures sank. Each impact, each barrage of artillery fire, was like a hammer tamping the foundation—every inch of space they vacated was immediately filled by the three giant structures, becoming anchor points for the battle line to extend forward.

Marcus's voice cut off the Starfire's communications link from the Black Pearl's bridge, dry and cold: "The enemy fleet is tightening its formation. They are buying time for regrouping at the rear."

Cohen sat in the central command seat of the Starfire's forging hall. On the communications panel, an encrypted psionic pulse was being decoded.

Eleanor's voice, tinged with the hoarseness characteristic of psionic transmission, said: "Received internal notification from the Garros fleet: the enemy carrier group is releasing ravens, with the estimated number several times higher than previously assessed. Each ship is adjusting its interception priority independently and has not requested unified command."

As the ravens clashed with Imperial interceptors above the wreckage, assault craft from the lower launch ports of the same motherships surged forth from the shadow field, skimming the wreckage's lower edge and rapidly approaching the armored surface of the Eternal Bulwark. But they crashed into a passageway already filled with Starfortress mechs.

The inner passageways of the Eternal Bastion were already filled with Starfortress mechs at every intersection. Optical lenses simultaneously lit up at the first intersection where the Dark Eldar entered, crimson spots of light forming an indestructible wall of light in the darkness. A volley of bombardment guns exploded in the narrow passageways, instantly shattering the first wave of the Machinations' assault into debris. The third, fourth, and fifth waves followed in quick succession. After the seventh wave was crushed, no new assault craft were launched. The mothership's thrusters lit up again: a sliver of an assault craft, accelerated and stuck on its armored surface, was abandoned in place.

Eleanor's voice came through again: "Report from the Calicus fleet: Enemy ships on the left flank are maneuvering, with approximately three formations infiltrating through the flank passage. The Calicus fleet has moved forward to intercept them. Confirmed—the Calicus fleet has suffered over 30% losses, and the White Scar formation is close to 20%. Eternal Bulwark II: All seven waves of boarding were crushed at the first intersection, with no penetration."

In the middle of the port flank, a detachment of the Calithis fleet had engaged the retreating enemy ships. Three light cruisers maintained precise spacing, their massive cannons exploding against the shadow force field of the Dark Eldar ships. The first wave struck the weakest point of the lead ship's force field, the second piercing its side armor. The ship disintegrated from stern to stern, debris scattering along the tunnel walls. The remaining ships began to retreat, disappearing into the darkness that had come from them.

Outside Gamor, the wreckage stretched in all directions in the vacuum. Broken keels and molten armor plates tumbled slowly in the cold light of psionic energy, repeatedly shattering under the gunfire.

Joachim von Strasser stood on the bridge of the HMS Unyielding Fist, peering through the porthole at the area on the side armor where the welding torch had flashed. The damage control team was still trying to cut away the wreckage of the enemy ship that had wedged itself in, but they stopped after a few attempts; they could only leave that layer of wreckage as extra armor. He shifted his gaze to the dark markings that were receding on the tactical projection. The markings were retreating in a regular pattern, the spacing not widening, the formation not breaking apart. This was an organized decoy. He pressed the communication button: "Notify all ships to maintain distance and not to pursue into the pre-set encirclement."

The main Eldar fleet is retreating in an orderly fashion. They are painted with the insignia of different mafia groups—black, dark purple, and...

Scorch marks flickered in and out of focus within the shifting shadow field. The side armor plates of several Torture-class cruisers and Burning Scale-class light cruisers were sliding outwards, revealing the dark launch bay openings beneath. A Sunset-class battleship deployed on the port flank of the formation, followed closely by a Moonfall-class cruiser, its array of dark spears gleaming with a sinister purple glow.

In the middle of the formation, the bow of a Torture-class cruiser was etched with four ancient Elven characters—"Cradle of Pain." Its side launch bays were fully open, Ravens were lined up along the tracks, Razorwing bombers' wings trembled slightly in the hangar, and Slave Summoner assault boats pointed towards their launch slots, each carrying an entire squadron of Conspiracy warriors, awaiting sortie.

The first wave of catapults unfolded simultaneously at the edge of the field of vision. Thousands of ravens poured from the launch hatches, their shadow fields flashing the instant they took off before merging into the darkness. Twin Darkspears opened fire as they approached the forefront of the Imperial fleet, exploding into clusters of dark purple energy halos on the surface of the ship's armor. Immediately following, the Razorwing bombers cut into the wreckage at an even lower altitude, heavy Darkspear bombs hanging from their belly pylons, streaking towards the midsection of the Imperial fleet.

The combined fleet's interceptor formation completed its turn simultaneously. The wings of the Raiden fighters flipped in the shadows of the wreckage, the blue-white beams of their laser cannons flashing alternately among the dark purple Raven formation. One Raiden was simultaneously caught by two Ravens; the pilot yanked the stick, the fighter flipping and cutting into the shadow of a cruiser wreckage—two Raidens cutting in from the other side of the wreckage opened fire simultaneously, and the Raven disintegrated before even hitting the wreckage. The tail of another Raiden was sliced ​​off by a Dark Spear; the pilot ejected and was recovered by a service boat that arrived at high speed. The service boat navigated through the debris field, avoiding the still-exploding ship wreckage, and towed the life pod into the cargo hold.

The second wave of the raven swarm's attack continued, and in the shadows below the wreckage, White Scar's escort fleet was completing a tactical infiltration. They advanced at high speed through the gaps in the rubble, using the debris as cover to approach the enemy ship's flank. A salvo of plasma torpedoes was released at the edge of the wreckage, dozens of blue streaks of light cutting through the darkness and crashing into the shadow force field of the outermost Sunset-class battleship.

The shadow force field twisted violently. Nearly half of the torpedoes penetrated the blind spot of the force field and hit the hull. Cracks exploded on the armor plating, and the following torpedoes penetrated the interior. A crack was blasted open on the side of the battleship, and the Raven, which was being catapulted, was thrown into the vacuum along with the catapult track, tumbling and crashing into the side of the adjacent Moonfall-class cruiser.

But more Torture-class cruisers were still unleashing new squadrons, and the Ravens' reinforcements continued unabated. They regrouped above the wreckage belt and swooped down on the flanks of the Combined Fleet. Their sheer numbers were causing cracks to appear in the Thunderfighters' interception network.

Marcus's voice trailed off in the fleet command channel: "Flanking fire channels are cleared, boarding windows open."

Inside the White Scar's strike cruiser hangar, the Terminators stood silently in formation. The Hades-type Terminator armor gleamed a somber silver-gray, the prairie crescent insignia gleaming on the shoulder armor. The chainsaw fists and lightning claws operated at low power in standby mode. The teleportation array's positioning lock had already locked onto the "Cradle of Pain" in the middle of the formation.

Kublai Khan's command was given briefly: "Send it."

The Terminator briefly glowed in the cold light of psionic energy, its blue-white teleportation beam exploding in the hangar before dissipating.

A raven emerged from a gap in the wreckage, its twin spears striking the bridge of a Calithis light cruiser at close range, piercing the bridge armor. Communication channels were lost, and a backup bridge was immediately put into service. Service boats sped through the aftershocks of the explosion, towing life pods one by one away from the wreckage and disappearing into the shadows.

Eternal Bulwark One continued to unleash massive artillery fire from its base. It locked onto the Cradle of Pain, shells striking its shadow field at regular intervals. During the fifth salvo, the field collapsed, the shells penetrating the side armor and exploding deep within the hangar.

Teleportation beams simultaneously illuminated the edge of the launch bay on the side of the Cradle of Pain. The psionic cold light was briefly torn apart before coalescing again. Terminators emerged from the beams, their chainsaw fists activating the instant they stepped onto the armor plates. The Dark Eldar ground crew inside the launch bays began to retreat. The chainsaw fists grooved into the armor plates, and the lightning claws slashed into the first body, cutting it horizontally. More Terminators were traversing space, spreading out in skirmish lines throughout the compartments and passageways. The launch bay rails had been shattered by the explosion of the macro cannon, the Ravens were unable to take off, and the hangar descended into chaotic melee combat.

The Dark Eldar ravens briefly lost control after losing part of their mothership's command link. Some dove blindly, some attempted to drift sideways away from the battlefield, and many more coalesced into loose formations above the wreckage, turning in a new direction. The sensor array detected that direction—deep within the network, a wider tunnel stretched out in the darkness.

Eleanor's voice carried the husky, lingering quality characteristic of psionic transmission: "An encrypted psionic signal has been detected—signal characteristics match those of the Dark Eldar fleet's communications, but the waveform is unstable, suggesting that the source is experiencing communication disruptions."

She paused for half a second: "The decoding is incomplete—only two words were extracted: 'spire' and 'flame,' pointing in the direction of Gamor."

Cohen did not speak.

About ten seconds later, Eleanor connected again: "Another fragment, from the direction of the Dark Eldar battleship formation—same encoding. Only two words, intermittently: Return to defense—immediately—" The signal source pointed towards Gamor.

She added, "The signal is weakening rapidly; the source is shutting down the channel."

Cohen's fingertips paused for a moment on the armrest. The Emperor's psionic report had already echoed in Cohen's mind days ago: Chagatai was on standby, ready to attack Gamor from the rear when the time was right. The fragment signal matched the report. He pressed the communication button: "Forward from the Black Pearl. Inform the entire fleet: The Emperor's fifth son, Primarch Chagatai, is attacking Gamor."

Marcus's voice came over the fleet command channel: "Full fleet, advance. Do not let any enemy ship escape."

Eternal Bulwark II and III weighed anchor simultaneously. The pale gold surface of the sacred bone left new interlocking marks on the net wall.

The combined fleet advanced behind them.

Cracks began to appear in the Dark Eldar's lines. One squadron broke formation and turned toward Gamor, then a second, then a third. The ships were disengaging and retreating toward Gamor.

Inside the city of Gamo, another war had already begun before these orders were issued.

As the ramming bow of the "Spirit of the Storm" pierced the base of a skeletal spire on the edge of Gamor City, the ancient skeletal remains shattered under the adamantite ramming bow. The spire broke off at the base, its upper half tilting and sliding down, crashing into the adjacent complex of buildings. Dozens of white ships followed closely behind, filing in along the crack torn open by the ramming bow. Cannon fire spread among the buildings, and the crumbling walls of the skeletal structure collapsed piece by piece under the salvo of the cannons.

The spirit bones of Gamor originated from the Webpath Nexus during the Eldar's golden age, a legacy forged by the Bonecallers in an era before psionic power was feared. While the Dark Eldar have abandoned psionic power, they have never abandoned these foundations. They plunder the spirit bones of the Arkworld to repair its collapsed spires, and capture Bonecallers to shape new structures; every brick and tile of this city is an accumulation of millennia of plunder and distortion.

Chagatai's gaze was fixed on the approaching outer spires of Gamor—those towering towers gleamed with a dark luster in the cold psionic light, each a defensive stronghold cultivated by the Machinations for millennia. Beams of dark spears surged from the spires on either side, exploding on the armored surfaces of the white ships; Gamor's defensive firepower was far denser than Chagatai had anticipated. His fleet had torn a gap, but the Dark Eldar defenses on both flanks continued their frantic resistance.

The Terminator of the Golden Knights completed its final weapons check. The teleportation coordinates locked onto the base of the tallest spire in the middle of the outer spires. The assault boat catapulted from the hangar of the Storm Spirit, its hull teleportation array activating mid-flight, a blue-white light briefly illuminating the shadows of the Eldar architecture before fading away.

The Terminator of the Golden Knights passed through the rapidly closing psionic rift and landed on the platform inside the spire's base. Its energy claws extended the moment it hit the ground, cutting into the surging Dark Eldar guards.

Hundreds of Terminators unleashed simultaneously between the spires. Jetmobiles surged forth from teleportation beams, their energy claws springing out at high speed, slicing through the skeletal walls and cutting into the structures' interiors. Within the outer cluster of spires of Gamor, they no longer awaited orders, no longer maintained formation. The jetmobiles' exhaust trails left thin blue streaks between the spires, their energy claws leaving new cuts with each passing moment. The Dark Eldar guards fought their way through the narrow passages, layer by layer; with each layer cleared, the next level's firing positions were already redeployed.

Behind the assault boats' exhaust flames, in the fading glow of the teleportation beams, tens of millions of mortal auxiliary soldiers emerged in formation from the cargo holds of the Storm Spirit and dozens of other ships—they were humans and their descendants, whom Chagatai had collected and liberated along the millennia-long voyage through the Web of Life, who had lived for generations in the ship's cargo holds. They wore a motley collection of armor; some ancient relics from the Great Crusade, their edges etched with long-forgotten legion insignia; others were looted from recently plundered Imperial worlds, the Imperial double-headed eagle relief roughly scraped off, leaving blurred indentations. Their weapons were also of varying types. But their training and their hatred for the Dark Eldar were unified. Upon landing, they dispersed in a manner ingrained in their instincts, automatically branching out along the pathways marked by the Terminators, surging into every crevice of the city. Chagatai was their father; at his command, they poured from the depths of the ships into the city.

They traversed the passage repeatedly contested by the Terminators, passing by Eldar structures crumbling under the fire of naval gunfire. In the communications channels, shouts of "Reinforcements needed for the right passage!" Others reported coordinates, chanted the name of Chogris, and beat the war drums of the Tenth Legion. Those names from the Great Crusade, passed down through generations through the isolation of the network, now echoed once more from throats ten thousand years in the future.

Each spire required repeated battles. The Dark Eldar left deadly traps at every intersection—poisonous fog, living metal nets, and acid that could dissolve terracotta in seconds. Every passage was pre-positioned with firepower.

Deep within Gamor, in the depths untouched by the imprisoned sun, the infants of the Dark Eldar weep in pools of blood. The city's oldest cycle continues. In the maintenance tunnels and slave quarters beneath the war zone, more armed men are maneuvering—they don't assemble; every Dark Eldar knows where to go and who to kill.

The Dark Eldar's defenses are unfolding layer by layer. Although the outer spires have been breached, the remaining strongholds continue to fire their spears, pushing Chagatai's advance to its limit. Each emptied spire triggers a self-destruct protocol before retreat, collapsing the passageway and entrance together. The city's defensive logic is: trade space for time, gradually weakening the invaders' forces while awaiting the Eternal King's main fleet to return.

On the bridge of another Sunset-class battleship, Consul Saraco's fingertip rested on the edge of the tactical projection. The defensive line behind Gamor City had been breached—"We are the Dark Eldar, how could we be defeated by monkeys?" He recognized the marker advancing into the city: a crescent moon over the plains, something that should have died out ten thousand years ago.

"What are our Ark cousins ​​still hesitating about?" His voice was choked with urgency. "The monkeys have mastered the Web, they won't survive either."

He didn't wait for an answer. The Eldar of the Ark had long since given up any hope of Gamor. He turned to the communications officer: "Notify all conspiracies to close the regional portals. Trample that white hound in the outer spires and let him die in the ruins."

The portals in the passage began to close one by one, and Chagatai's advance route was being compressed.

Sarako turned to a messenger on his flank: "Tell those weak relatives—once Gamor is destroyed, Eldar are utterly finished. Do they think they can escape? The monkeys have taken the Web, and they have nowhere to go."

Behind the main fleet of the Eternal King, the main fleet was disengaging from the battle line. The Sunset-class battleships adjusted their course in turn, the Torture-class cruisers maintained a protective formation on the flanks, and the Burningscale-class light cruisers maintained vigilance on the outer perimeter—all in an organized turn, returning to defend Gamor.

On the battlefield outside Gamor, the Combined Fleet continued its fierce battle against the Dark Eldar's rearguard. The weapon arrays of the Eternal Bastion-class battleships relentlessly unleashed a barrage of fire, extending the impact points along the retreat route of the Dark Eldar battleship formation. Three pale gold behemoths left three parallel propulsion lines in the debris field. The Combined Fleet continued its advance, its propulsion lines never ceasing.

Marcus stood on the bridge of the Black Pearl, staring at the slowly receding dark marker on the sensor screen. Chagatai's white marker was flashing within the city of Gamor—it was still moving, but at a slower pace. The Dark Eldar were trading space for time, using their network of spires and tunnels to blunt Chagatai's edge.

Chagatai's mission from the beginning was to create an opening and disrupt the deployment, not to conquer Gamo alone. What truly needed to be attacked head-on was the combined fleet.

Marcus pressed the fleet command channel: "Maintain the pace of advance, do not disperse and pursue. Chagatai Khan has already torn open a breach; what we need to do is smash our entire fist in before it closes the gap."

In the Galos orbital port, light-years away, the cold white lights of the shipyard berths cast a uniform halo over the adamantine skeleton. The silhouette of the Gate-class netship lay still in its berth, flat and low, its four mechanical arms retracted to either side of the hull's spine, the skeleton components gleaming palely through the gaps in the armor plates. A new serial number was etched on the side: GCN—

006.

Vera stood on the observation platform, her dorsal transceiver array in standby mode, the data antenna retracted into its base. She watched the ship completely slide out of its berth before turning to the high-ranking technical priest: "The schedule for the next ship?"

"It's already on the slipway, Your Excellency Speaker. Construction is underway on four ships simultaneously, with launch expected in four months."

Vera nodded slightly and turned back to the porthole. Behind her, Phyllis, Ellis, Maggie, and Cole lined up along the railing of the observation platform, the optical lenses of dozens of high-ranking technical priests forming a continuous line in the twilight. The propulsion systems of the Gate-class Netway ships maintained low power output in standby mode, their exhaust trails leaving a dark blue halo in the darkness.

The high-ranking technical priest stepped forward and performed a full gear salute: "The Gate-class Netway Ship, GCN-006, has passed all system tests. The propulsion system, navigation array, skeletal robotic arm deployment mechanism, and psionic focusing base are all confirmed to be ready. The ship's psionic team has completed activation waveform calibration. The navigation ship has moved forward and is awaiting formation commands."

Vera nodded slightly: "Let's go. Destination: Solar Starfield, to forge World Voss."

The berth area's guide lights switched from blue to green. The propellers' power ramped up to full capacity within seconds. The hull slid out of the berth, and the four robotic arms extended sequentially as the ship departed, completing a deployment test before retracting and returning to its sailing position.

The Netway ship's exhaust trailed a thin blue streak in the vacuum, passing through the outer edge of the orbital dock and sliding into the channel.

The ship is heading towards Mandeville Point 1. It will travel through subspace to Voss and deploy the Webgate in the target system. Two escort ships will form a loose formation on either side of the ship and accompany it.

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