Warhammer: Empire Reboot

The silence within the suicide squad was chilling. Only the rhythmic thud of footsteps could be heard.

The wounded assassin didn't even flinch; the Storm Shield in his hand remained as steady as a mountain.

The clips on the edge of the shield were tightly engaged.

The platoon leader-level assassins in the back row also unleashed terrifying physical abilities comparable to ordinary Astartes. They held heavy bomb guns and plasma incinerators in one hand, firing back with absolute stability and zero recoil at the gaps in the shields.

"Hold!"

The compound eyes beneath Voltis's mask suddenly contracted.

He was utterly shocked as he looked at the unarmored infantrymen who stood firm against the storm of metal, not retreating an inch.

"Damn it! The kinetic energy feedback is wrong! The bone density and muscle strength of these scumbags... are they Astartes?! Even stronger! Warp above, where did these genetic monsters come from?!"

As a veteran of the Steel Warriors, Voltis knew all too well the difference between mortals and Space Marines.

The group of guys in front of me, dressed only in special operations uniforms, were holding shields weighing hundreds of kilograms and withstanding the kinetic energy of an assault gun, which defied all logic.

"Activate the fragmentation bombs! Blow up their lower body!" Voltis changed tactics.

The Iron Warrior's heavy bomb gun switched ammunition types, and fragmentation rounds exploded in front of the shield wall, sending countless sharp metal shrapnels skimming along the ground toward the unprotected calves of the assassins.

The lower legs of several suicide soldiers in the front row were severed by shrapnel.

As they fell, they used the remaining kinetic energy of their bodies to plant the Storm Shield diagonally into the ground, desperately holding up the defensive line.

The assassins behind them stepped on their bloodied backs, raised new shields, and built an even higher layer of defense.

Those crippled assassins lay on the ground, drew their molten pistols from their waists, and aimed at the steel warriors' ankles to fire.

Klaus stood behind the Iron Warriors' defensive line, his pupils trembling violently as he watched the steel shield wall relentlessly pressing forward, forcing the six Chaos Veterans to retreat.

His prized Bloodsteel Guard was annihilated like paper, and now even an iron wall of millennia-old veterans cannot stop these fearless genetic monsters.

"A bunch of useless trash!"

Klaus cursed, completely abandoning the idea of ​​personally engaging in hand-to-hand combat.

He is a ruthless pragmatist to the core, and he would never fight a battle he has no chance of winning.

He quickly retreated to the command throne at the far end of the hall and slapped the brass skull mechanism on the armrest, shattering it.

Boom!

The obsidian wall behind the throne slid open rapidly to both sides, revealing a bottomless passageway that reeked of blood and emitted fluctuations of warp energy.

This is an escape route that leads directly to the blood sacrifice altar at the core of the bottom nest.

Klaus leaped into the secret passage. A three-meter-thick steel blast door slammed shut, completely isolating him from the doomed battlefield.

"Damn coward!" Walters cursed as he caught sight of the fleeing governor.

The employer ran away, and the contract became worthless.

"Break through!" Voltis decisively turned the muzzle of his rotary assault gun and pulled the trigger at the blast-proof floor-to-ceiling window behind him.

The powerful firepower shattered the bulletproof glass instantly. A howling wind swept into the hall.

Voltis prepares to activate his jetpack.

But the instructions from the swarm intelligence arrived first.

"Lock on, focus fire."

Hundreds of plasma incinerators and heavy bomb guns fired simultaneously.

The entire hall was illuminated by a blinding blue light. A dense network of fire completely blocked the view of the blast-proof windows.

Two steel warriors, who were preparing to jump, were hit directly by the molten ray in mid-air.

Voltiz was caught in a barrage of gunfire. His massive body staggered backward.

He looked up at the impenetrable, ever-approaching shield wall surrounding him.

These monsters, possessing the physical abilities of Proto-Forged Space Marines, used their flesh and blood and iron shields to force the remaining Iron Warrior veterans into a corner.

"What a bunch of...unreasonable monsters."

Walter spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, raised the chainsaw axe in his only remaining right hand, and the engine emitted a desperate groan.

The battle has entered its final stage.

At the same moment. In the orbit of primary star number one.

The massive brass-colored starport and the five warships anchored there were, on the surface, still busily resupplying.

Inside the Abyss cargo hold of the Tyrant-class cruiser.

The non-combatant who had just pretended his tools were jammed was now pushing the last trailer loaded with macro cannon shells with his comrades.

Several kilometers away in the power core area, dozens of suicide soldiers stood quietly beside the pipes they had just welded.

On the bridge of the Sword-class frigate, a suicide soldier disguised as a cleaner was wiping the floor with his head down, his eyes fixed on the frigate commander in front of him.

At the top of the hive tower on planet number three.

Lawson's eyes snapped open.

Time is up.

The miniature destroyers attached to the power circuits of the Tyrant-class cruisers, and the high explosives on the energy nodes of the four Sword-class frigates, were detonated within the same millisecond.

A series of silent tremors erupted on the track.

The lights inside the Tyrant-class cruiser went out instantly.

The piercing alarm sound got stuck in the transmitter, and the internal communication network turned into static.

The massive warship was instantly plunged into darkness and deathly silence.

In the instant darkness descended.

All teleportation anchor points are now fully activated.

Blinding blue light illuminated dozens of areas inside the warship simultaneously.

Fully armed White Tiger Power Armor Suicide Soldiers and company commander-level assault teams crossed the sea of ​​stars and landed in the macro artillery array area and ammunition depot.

"Seize the ship."

Like a deadly virus unleashed, Lawson's assassins began to spread, devour, and kill within the five steel behemoths.

The communication networks and lighting systems inside the four Sword-class frigates were instantly paralyzed.

A blinding blue beam of light exploded simultaneously on the lower decks, ammunition depots, and bridge passageways of the four frigates.

On each frigate, a full two thousand platoon-level suicide soldiers and six hundred company-level suicide soldiers traversed space and descended precisely.

This was a one-sided physical crushing victory.

The standard crew of a Sword-class frigate is around a thousand people. The mutated army and bottom-nest slaves from Planet One serve as the crew here. Facing two thousand six hundred undead soldiers with Astartes abilities, their numerical and qualitative disadvantages are devastating.

The attack horn doesn't even need to be sounded.

The moment the teleportation light went out, the massacre began.

The company commander-level suicide soldier, wielding a 1.8-meter-tall terracotta storm shield, stood at the forefront. The platoon leader-level suicide soldier mounted a heavy explosive rifle on the shield's firing port.

Advance, fire.

The narrow metal corridor has been transformed into a highly efficient meat grinder.

The explosive bomb tore through the mutated crew's armor, blasting them and the metal bulkhead behind them into pieces. Limbs and fragments of internal organs flew everywhere in the zero-gravity or gravity-distorted compartments.

Blood quickly accumulated on the lower deck, flowing along the grates into the wastewater treatment and circulation system, turning the entire circulation pipeline a glaring scarlet.

Each frigate is stationed with three World Eater veterans.

They are the absolute core of the ship's military force.

Sensing the scent of blood, the Butcher's Nails in the brains of the twelve World Eaters trembled violently. They roared as they kicked open the hatch, brandishing their chainsaw axes, and charged towards the flashing fire of the explosive bombs in the darkness.

Throughout their millennia of combat, mortal armies have collapsed with a single charge.

Today, they have run into an unshakeable iron wall.

Each veteran of the Devourer was met head-on by thirty company commander-level assassins.

A World Eater veteran with brass rivets on his cheek cleaved a Storm Shield in two with an axe, cutting the assassin behind it in half, shield and all.

But before he could draw his axe, eight assassins around him grabbed him with their shields and pinned him in the middle.

Dozens of suicide soldiers on the perimeter raised heavy explosive rifles and pressed the muzzles directly against the veteran's helmet and breastplate.

Fire.

Zero-distance salvo.

Large-caliber armor-piercing shells repeatedly struck the same point. The calomel armor cracked and shattered. The shells penetrated the chest cavity, causing secondary explosions.

The roar of the World Devourer veteran abruptly ceased.

Its massive body was smashed into a pile of mud.

The same siege tactic was being used simultaneously in every corner of the four frigates. Shields pressed down, explosives rained down, and chainsaws slashed at joints.

Three World Eater veterans, facing a hundred precisely operating humanoid war machines, were completely crushed before they could even make a ripple.

Control the bridge. A bomb gun is pressed against the Dark Mechanicus priest's forehead, severing the engine self-destruct protocol. The swarm mind takes over the warship via a physical interface, resetting the fire lock-on system.

The assassins, who had mastered the experience of operating Imperial veteran warships, took over the terminal control console amidst a field of corpses.

From the moment the first group of suicide bombers boarded the ship to the moment the fire control radars of the four frigates came back online, it took fourteen minutes and forty-five seconds.

The bows of the four Sword-class frigates turned around, and the array of macro cannons and light spears locked onto the location of the governor's mansion on Planet 1.

The surrounding area has been cleared.

The real battle was fought inside that 5.5-kilometer-long steel behemoth.

Tyrant-class heavy cruiser, with 90,000 mutated crew members. 110 veteran World Devourers.

The internal structure of the warship is incredibly complex. Countless compartments, shafts, maintenance passages, and ammunition conveyor belts intertwine to form a massive steel labyrinth.

If a company commander-level suicide squad were sent to encircle and suppress them, in the complex maze terrain, it might take eighteen or even twenty suicide squads to sacrifice their lives to take down a single World Devourer veteran.

If it's the Chaos Champion among the Devourers, then it's even more troublesome.