Warhammer: Empire Reboot

“Neither,” said the Weaver of Fate. “It was a mortal.”

Skaragg's laughter stopped.

"A mortal wearing ancient power armor."

The Weaver of Fate continued, "He's currently sitting in the governor's mansion on Planet Obolos III. Oh, and by the way, he's also completely obliterated Vespera. My senior agent. One hundred and sixty years of investment, and not even a trace of his soul remains."

Skragh slammed his three left fists into the ground at the same time, causing the entire Scorched Bone Wasteland to cave in three meters.

"A mortal?"

It clearly didn't believe it: "A damned mortal wiped out Khorne's demon? Are you kidding me?"

"Why would I lie to you?" the Weaver of Fate retorted. "Vespera is my pawn. What good would her death do me? Before she died, she sent back information through a soul contract. That mortal possessed a certain ability to intercept the target's soul at the moment of death and then completely purify it. Demons or believers alike, they all met the same fate when they encountered him: permanent annihilation."

Skaragg stopped laughing.

Its red eyes turned dark red.

"What is your purpose in telling me all this?"

Skragh's voice held a newfound caution: "You filthy snake, you want me to kill him? So you can scramble for the kill?"

The Weaver of Fate laughed loudly.

Laughter distorted into countless blue specks of light in the subspace, like a miniature meteor shower.

“Scaragh, you can actually use your brain sometimes, which really impresses me.”

"Shut your stinking mouth, you filthy bird."

Chapter 117 Lawson's Ship-Seizing Plan

"Okay, I'll just say it directly."

The Weaver of Fate's flames dimmed: "My entire scheme on Planet Three has been shattered by that mortal. Vespera is dead, and my network of followers has been uprooted. From a game theory perspective, I'm out of the game in the Obrol system."

“So you really want me to clean up your mess.” Skaragh revealed a mouthful of rusty fangs.

"I'm here to remind you."

The Weaver of Fate said, "You lost a great many demons on the wrecked spaceship. According to your rules of Khorne, how should this blood debt be settled?"

Skragh slowly spun his greatsword in his hand, and the dark red flames on the blade shot up three inches.

"Our enemy is on Planet Three."

The Weaver of Fate said, “He has an army and a living saint.”

“A living saint?” Skragag’s bull-headed skull leaned forward slightly.

"The Emperor's pet. A little nun who can release golden light to purify corruption."

The Weaver of Fate said, “But that’s not important. What’s important is that mortal himself. He’s a variable. A variable powerful enough to change the underlying rules of the warp. If you don’t deal with him soon, and he continues to grow stronger…”

"enough."

Skrag interrupted it: "You think I can't smell the shit in your words? You tell me where your enemy is, and I'll go first, while you study his abilities from the shadows. I'm your spear, and you're your shield. Do you think I'm some kind of pet?"

“You’re right,” the Fate Weaver admitted. “I do want to study him. His soul-trapping ability is a completely new physical phenomenon in the warp, and if this could be deciphered…”

"That's something you treacherous bastards care about."

Skrag swung his giant axe, slicing open a large space in front of him: "I only care about one thing. Among those demons that were annihilated was my lieutenant, Kurughe, eight hundred years ago. I spent eight hundred years raising him from a sea of ​​blood. He was my sharpest claw, and he was blown up on a wrecked ship!"

The red flames in their eyes shone to their limit.

“That mortal not only killed Kurughe, but also chewed up and swallowed his soul.”

"You don't need to remind me of this."

“That makes things easier,” the Fate Weaver said. “Your tools are right here. You’re the pet governor on Planet One, Krauser. He has a fleet, an army, and…”

“Get out of my sight,” Skaragh said suddenly.

The Weaver of Fate's flame flickered.

“I don’t need you to teach me how to kill.” Skrager turned around, his massive, bronze-colored back facing the Weaver of Fates.

A sea of ​​blood surged at its feet, and countless distorted faces emitted silent screams.

“I will twist that mortal’s head off his neck with my own hands. Not because you told me where he is.”

It turned its head, and two scorching beams of red fire shot out from the empty eye sockets of the bull's skull.

"It's because those swallowed souls left voids in my sea of ​​blood. Every void, every day, reminds me that someone stole what belonged to Khorne."

Skaragh stepped into the sea of ​​blood.

The dark red liquid reached up to its waist, and the churning faces scrambled to press against its body, howling with ecstasy.

“The skull returns to its cranial base.”

It sank into a sea of ​​blood.

Only the blue flames of the Fate Weaver remain suspended on the scorched wasteland.

“Fool,” it said.

It turned and vanished, leaving not even a trace of blue afterimage on the scorched wasteland.

The real universe, Obulus-I primary star.

Governor Hart von Krause sat in the highest stand of the arena, watching two slaves fight each other with rusty iron pipes.

The arena was built on the central square of the first hive city.

The oval-shaped stadium has a diameter of 300 meters and the stands can accommodate 50,000 people.

The ground was a mixture of compacted soil and congealed old blood, which made a sticky sound when stepped on.

Every ten meters along the edge of the arena stood an iron pillar, with an iron cage hanging on top of each pillar. Inside the cages were the losers from the previous round of gladiatorial combat, or rather, the survivors of the previous round.

This is a daily routine.

Krause was fifty-four years old, with a strong physique, a shaved head, and a jawline so sharp it looked as if it had been carved with a knife.

He wore a dark red military overcoat, lined with tanned human skin, which he had personally peeled off his opponent when he won his first gladiatorial match at the age of thirteen.

He wore a brass ring on the index finger of his right hand, with a symbol engraved on the inside of the ring—the mark of Khorne.

This ring is his communicator.

At this moment, the symbol on the inside of the ring is getting hot.

Krauser's expression remained unchanged.

He continued watching the gladiatorial combat in the arena, where a tall, thin man smashed his opponent's kneecap with an iron pipe, then straddled the fallen man and repeatedly struck his face with it.

The audience in the stands erupted in deafening shouts.

Krauser only stood up after the tall, thin man had smashed his opponent's skull open.

"Wonderful."

He said to the servant beside him, “Give the victor double the food rations and send two women to his room. The superior genes should be preserved.”

The attendant acknowledged the order and withdrew.

Krauser stepped down from the stands, passed through an underground passage guarded by heavily armored soldiers, and arrived at a secret chamber beneath the arena.

Hundreds of dried human heads hung on the walls of the sealed room, each coated with preservative resin, giving it a waxy yellow sheen.

These are all gladiator champions from previous years, and Krause collects them in the same way that others collect trophies.

He closed the door and sat down in the only iron chair.

Then he placed the ring on his right index finger close to his temple.

The oracle entered his brain.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.

“Planet Three,” he said softly.

He stepped out of the secret chamber, and the servants waiting in the passage immediately came to greet him.

"Give the order," Krauser said, "to recall the entire fleet. I don't care where they are, turn them around within three days."

The attendant's expression changed slightly: "Sir, according to the last communication records, the fleet is currently carrying out its operational plan in the Klein system. The plasma reactor fuel is running low, and the macro cannon ammunition consumption exceeds..."

“I know,” Krauser interrupted him. “That’s why I said to recall them. They need to return to port for supplies. Get the logistics department ready: ammunition, fuel, food. And slaves, at least 20 boarding slaves, to be captured from the bottom nest.”

The attendant quickly left.

Krauser stood alone in the passageway.

It will take time for the fleet to return from the Klein system.

Warp travel in the Dark Side of the Imperium has always been a gamble, with the Geller Field's reliability in this sector being less than 70%, and the navigators' accuracy even worse.

Optimistically, it will take three months.

Three months later, when the Tyrant-class cruiser and four Sword-class escort ships appeared in orbit above Planet Three, what would Astartes, who supposedly killed a large number of Khorne demons, see?

A standard Imperial Tyrant-class cruiser, 5.5 kilometers long.

The ship's weaponry includes six broadside gun emplacements, four torpedo tubes, and two bow-mounted laser cannons, with a standard crew complement of 90,000.

The four Sword-class corvettes are each 1.6 kilometers long and are equipped with four macro guns and two weapon-group laser cannons.

This fleet fought for two years in the Klein system. They ran out of ammunition and all their slaves died, but the hulls and engines were still intact.

Once replenished, it would take less than half a day to crush a hive world lacking orbital defenses.

Klaus had absolute confidence in this.

Two years ago, if the Great Demon hadn't stopped him, he would have already taken action against Planet Three.

Apart from a few armed patrol ships from the Ministry of Justice, there were no decent orbital weapons on that planet.

However, one additional piece of information in the Great Demon's oracle caught Krauser's attention.

That target can kill demons, kill them to the point that they cannot be resurrected.

This made Krauser's smile deepen by a millimeter.