Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Author: Covered in Flower Shadows

Summary:

The 42nd Millennium of the Empire

The Galactic Rift tore the Empire in two.

In the dark side of the empire, thousands of star systems are fighting their own battles, warlords are vying for power, pirates roam freely, and alien races are invading.

The people of the empire have become prey on the plates of various races.

Until Lawson arrived with his army of assassins

Then he swept everything away.

Orcs? Drain Waaagh's energy, break the compression mold, and mass-produce high-protein military rations.

Zerg? Raw materials for bioengineering

Demon? Psionic charging station

Space Marines can directly exchange resources, and their army production speed far surpasses that of the Empire.

Swarm management increases management efficiency by tens of thousands of times compared to empires.

For the first time in Warhammer history, humans lived like human beings.

Instead, the various ethnic groups became the targets of plunder.

Titanium Clan: The interest we owe Lawson has ballooned to zero; even the highest virtuous practices aren't working.

Ark Eldar: Quickly bring the Ark into Lawson's territory. We'll do anything as long as he takes it in.

As the lonely King of Silence looked at the negative population data of his race, a message suddenly floated by: "Population +1".

Is the Necromancer Queen pregnant?

Weasel, Father, Wicked, and Khorne all turned to look at Slaanesh.

Slaanesh got angry: Are you bragging?

The Silent King has gone mad: It's Lawson! Quickly apply for an alliance with the Human Empire!

From then on, he kept asking Lawson every day: Grandpa! Grandpa! When was my dad born?

Lawson: Queen Tyrell is trying to escape, I'll go and catch her first.

Emperor: Brother Luo, do you have any way to get the Primarch to give me a grandson? Thirteenth brother, why are you running away?

Main text

Chapter 1: The Reboot of the Destroyed Spaceship

On the bridge of HMS Imperial Unyielding.

Captain Cornelius Davenport looked at the wrecked spaceship floating in the void.

According to the imperial calendar, today is a certain day of a certain month of a certain year in M42.

He couldn't remember the exact date.

In the dark side of the empire, the calendar has become increasingly meaningless.

After the Great Rift, the flow of time on this side is no longer synchronized with the Imperial Holy Face; the difference varies depending on location. No one can tell him what day it is.

"Armed Commander Barak."

"Yes, Captain."

"Assess the feasibility of torpedoing the core of the wrecked ship."

Barack brought up several data panels and glanced at them.

"Captain, we currently have three torpedoes in reserve. Additionally, we need to proceed to Saltinos and Cristo-Urban for assistance missions. If we run out of torpedoes here..."

"I understand."

He understood perfectly well; he just wanted to hear it out loud.

Just then, the navigator Alvar Meberaklärle emerged from the rear of the bridge.

He boarded the ship three months ago. The previous navigator died at the entry point of the last blind jump. His eye had been open in the warp for too long and could no longer be closed.

Meberlacler replaced him.

"Captain, I have observed that crack for thirty-six standard hours."

"The mass anchor point of the wrecked ship is still on the subspace side. In my conservative estimate, it will be sucked back into the depths of subspace within eighty to ninety standard days."

After listening, Davenport gave the instructions.

"Cancel torpedo launch request."

"Turn the entire ship around and propel it at maximum power to leave this area."

“Captain.” A young voice sounded behind him: “There might still be survivors from the 88th Assault Squadron, on that wrecked ship, on…”

“Lieutenant Julian.” Davenport looked directly at the young officer: “The 88th Assault Unit lost communication fourteen hours after boarding.”

"They're gone. Follow orders."

"May the Emperor protect them."

After the Great Rift tore the Milky Way apart, the light from the starlight could not penetrate, and they navigated in darkness, using worn charts and the navigator's half-blind eyes.

Davenport was unsure whether the Emperor's gaze could still reach the dark side of the Empire.

He hoped the answer was yes.

But he wasn't sure.

The Emperor Unyielding Will tore a brief warp rift in the void and plunged into the deeper, unknown darkness.

Only the wrecked ship remained quietly in place, hovering at the edge of the star sector.

In the wreckage area of ​​Deck 77, two bastards are fiercely fighting over the spoils on the corpse of a human soldier.

"Old Naro got it first!"

"You damn Squig shit, can't you even see what's on the ground! I found it first!"

"I'm right here on the ground, you maggot-infested idiot!"

They are the shortest members of the green-skinned family, barely reaching the waist of a normal adult human male. Their yellowish-green skin is covered with various stains of unknown origin, and their large ears stick out to the sides.

Their eyes were all focused on the body of the Imperial soldier, specifically on the sword at his waist.

Katachon's Fang.

The blade is over fifty centimeters long, with a wide, single-edged blade and serrated back. The handle is wrapped with rough cloth.

The blade reflects a cold, metallic sheen.

In the aesthetic system of the "fart-lover," brilliance is the ultimate standard for all value assessment.

The body was pulled and moved a few times, then moved a few more times.

The two scoundrels were completely unaware.

Lawson's consciousness floated in the darkness for a long time.

Without a sense of time or boundaries, they piece themselves back together, one piece at a time.

The memories have returned, two sets of memories.

A set belonging to Cole Iron Serpent Lawson, a veteran of the 317th Jungle Combat Regiment of Katachon.

The other set belongs to a soul that shouldn't be here.

The moment the two sets of memories merged, Lawson uttered an extremely uncivilized curse deep within his consciousness.

He knew where he was.

Warhammer 40: The Dark Side of the Empire After the Great Rift.

If you had to pick the worst point in time from all the timelines in this universe, his current position would definitely be in the top three by a large margin.

The Empire was cleaved in two, the barriers of the warp were riddled with holes, and chaotic tides eroded every planet that was not protected by the Astartes.

And he, an ordinary Katachon jungle warrior, was now lying on the seventy-seventh deck of a wrecked spaceship, his right leg bleeding, listening to two idiots arguing.

"System? Swarm intelligence? Is it even breathing?" Lawson called upon his power in his mind.

No response.

Lawson didn't panic.

He allowed his consciousness to gradually seep back into his body, assessing the damage, calibrating his perception, identifying threats, and determining his condition.

He suffered a head injury near the right temporal lobe, resulting in significant blood loss, but his cognitive function remains largely intact, classifying it as a minor injury.

The pistol is gone.

The rifle is gone.

The GPS navigator is gone.

The communicator was damaged.

But the teeth of the Cataclysm remain.

This gave him some comfort.

Guns can jam and run out of ammunition, but a knife made in Qatar can outlive its owner and be passed down through generations.

He lay there quietly for a few seconds.

Then, his right hand quickly grabbed the neck of the man on the right side.

A single twist, a standard jungle execution.

The right-hand buttock went limp, feeling no different from breaking off a sentient enoki mushroom.