Warhammer: Empire Reboot

The blade of the giant axe cut directly into the ground half a meter deep, and spiderweb-like cracks spread wildly in all directions.

The Blood Tyrant's personal weapon.

The eight optical eyes of the Xerox ...

His massive body lunged at the giant axe, several mechanical tentacles stroking the dark red axe surface.

"O O Om Messiah..."

Krus's synthesized voice trembled as if it were electrified: "Hell brass... This is the purest hell-forged brass! Its density surpasses adamantite! It has an extreme psionic insulating field! This... This still retains the primal rage of the Great Demon Khorne! How many planets would it take to slaughter to forge such a massive weapon with souls and blood?"

Top-tier materials, unparalleled divine weapon.

To be able to snatch something like this by force means that the new owner is ruthless!

"Could your foundry melt down all these tens of tons of hell brass and re-forge them using new molds?"

Lawson kicked the heavy axe handle.

"I want you to use these materials to forge a batch of standard power axes for my men."

The tentacles of the Xerox were frantically pounding the ground.

“Absolutely no problem, my lord! Hellbrass possesses the property of maintaining sharpness through bloodlust; once it comes into contact with blood, it remains forever sharp. Combined with a kinetic field, it becomes the ultimate armor-piercing weapon! Leave it to me; the furnaces of the Ironforging Guild can reach temperatures of tens of millions of degrees, enough to reshape this divine metal!”

Lawson withdrew his gaze with satisfaction.

After explaining all the industrial deployments, Lawson turned and stepped into the stasis field, leaving Nest City Five.

Obolos III, the main satellite, is a large military industrial workshop.

301 power armor suits are displayed here.

Among them are 180 Crimson Armored suits of the World Eater Chapter, 120 Dark Iron Armored suits of the Iron Warriors, and one Iron Warrior Commander Armored suit.

Thousands of skilled technicians are engaged in the final touches and assembly.

The eight auxiliary mechanical arms on the back of the T-series assassins danced like phantoms, recalibrating the output power of the power backpack.

Lawson stood on the observation deck on the second floor of the workshop, overlooking the spectacular assembly line operation.

Clumps of liquid metal, emitting a faint silver glow, surged out of the void as if they were living things.

"Precisely dispense two liters of living metal into each powered armor."

The mechanical assassin guided the liquid metal, pouring it into the nerve slots in the power armor's neck.

The silvery liquid quickly seeped into the interior of the armor.

Two liters of living metal perfectly serve as a zero-delay medium between the human nervous system and the mechanical armor.

These 301 powered armor suits no longer use living metal to cover their surfaces.

Lawson was extremely stingy and strictly controlled the dosage.

Each suit of armor is allocated only two liters, solely for internal neural connections and minor repairs to the core skeleton.

As for the damage to the external ceramic steel armor, it can be repaired by welding with ordinary refined gold.

This is because living metals are currently a non-renewable resource.

Use a little, less of it.

But this stinginess was surprisingly generous when it came to Er Gou and San Gou.

These two Terminator armors exuded a suffocating sense of oppression, their surfaces covered with a thin layer of metallic plating that shimmered with a dark silver luster.

For each Terminator power armor unit, Lawson directly dumped thirty liters of living metal!

Thirty liters of liquid metal not only constructed the most perfect neural bridge network inside, but also overflowed directly from the armor, forming a self-healing active armor layer on the thick ceramic steel shell.

They will become Lawson's absolute shield in battle.

He brought up the system panel and glanced at the supplies stored deep inside the [Armory].

A massive reserve of over seven thousand liters sounds like an astonishing amount.

However, for a massive army that is rapidly expanding and in dire need of advanced weaponry, this stockpile is insufficient to withstand the frenzied consumption of resources that only go out and never come in.

A sense of impending doom spread through Lawson's mind.

"We must find a way to locate the ancient tomb world of the space undead."

If Lawson could find even a small necromantic tomb, he could replenish his stockpile with a massive amount of living metal.

Recalling the battle at the bottom of Planet One's nest, Lawson became even more determined to obtain the materials.

If Lawson hadn't poured out over seven thousand liters of living metal, which transformed into chains that firmly pinned the Great Demon's wings and legs, forcibly trapping it in place, the devastating macro cannon shell on the track would never have been able to hit the Great Demon's side so precisely.

The Great Demon could have flown out of the blast's epicenter a second before the shells hit.

The absolute toughness and self-repairing ability of living metal became the ultimate trump card that won that battle.

But Lawson also knew that the quantity was still not enough.

"If I had 20,000 liters of living metal at that time..."

Lawson turned around and looked at the end of the deep underground passage.

Skrag didn't die; it was just half-blasted apart by the macro cannon and banished back to the warp in a state of intense humiliation and rage.

The devil's desire for revenge is extremely twisted.

What's more, his arm was severed and his personal weapon was taken away by a mere mortal warlord.

This utter disgrace, in the eyes of Khorne's chosen gods, could only be washed away with the blood of the entire planet.

Lawson sneered, guessing that the Great Demon was probably thinking of ways to take revenge.

Just as he expected.

Subspace, the boundary of the scorched wasteland.

This place is forever filled with the stench of sulfur and the wails of souls.

The once turbulent dark red sea of ​​blood now resembled a boiling, broken iron pot, frantically spewing out pale white steam.

The Weaver of Fate's blue flames descend once more.

This eerie flame, representing Tzeentch's will, boldly crossed the 200-kilometer safety line this time, drifting directly above the sea of ​​blood. Within the flames, the constantly splitting and reforming face twisted into an undisguised, mocking smile.

In the middle of a sea of ​​blood.

Skaragh knelt on one knee amidst the boiling blood.

Its 30-meter-tall brass and flesh-and-blood body had its right half almost completely evaporated. On its proud bull skull, the right horn along with half of the skull showed a disgusting, glassy, ​​molten state, with the edges of the wound charred and bone spurs broken.

The energy of the warp was surging wildly, attempting to heal the wound of this high-ranking god. But whenever the essence of the sea of ​​blood coalesced into demonic flesh and tried to reshape its right arm, a faint, strange light would suddenly flash deep within the wound.

That beam of light carried an absolute resistance from the physical universe.

"Bah."

The newly formed demonic flesh instantly turned to ashes, and the wound reopened, oozing black, foul blood.

With a physical severance combined with psionic anchoring, Lawson's move completely severed the energy cycle between the giant axe and the Great Demon. Skaragg lost not only an arm, but also a part of his primordial existence, forever left in the real universe.

"Get out..."

Skrag let out a whistling roar, slamming his remaining left fist into the water. The immense recoil forced him to barely keep his battered body afloat, and the brass collar creaked under the strain.

"Tsk tsk tsk..."

The Fateweaver circled around Skrag's mangled head, the blue flames illuminating the shame on the Great Demon's face.

"Look who this is? The mastermind behind the Triad of Obrol? The second-tier chosen one under the Throne of Khorne?"

The Weaver of Fate let out a series of shrill laughs, the sound like countless rusty files scraping against bones.

"Why are you lying here coughing up blood, like a wild dog that's been half-crushed by a poisoned dagger tank?"

The blue flames drew near Skragh's single eye.

"How did the solid shot from the Hongpao feel? I warned you long ago that the power in the hands of that mortal could even obliterate the very essence of a demon. Not only did you ignore me, but you were also foolish enough to try and take the orbital fire head-on with your true form. The consequence of having your brain filled with muscles is that you'll become a pile of scrap metal."

"Shut up, you scruffy bird!"

Skragh roared, swinging his remaining left arm out to try and grab the ball of blue fire.

The speed is pitifully slow.

The Weaver deftly rose, avoiding the gale-force winds whipped up by the giant claws.

“Your anger is now weak and powerless, Skarag.”

The Weaver of Fate hovered in mid-air.

"Your right half, which was erased, will never grow back. In your current crippled state, even if you lie in this sea of ​​blood for a thousand years, you will never be able to descend into the material universe again. You have become a joke in the realm of Khorne."

A mad, dark red flame ignited in Skragh's single eye, and it could not refute it.

"And that mortal..."

The Weaver of Fate drew out his voice, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue near Skragh's ear.

"He shattered half of your existence and stole your Hellfire Axe. He's now sitting on your lands, mocking your incompetence. If this gets to the ears of the other great demons of Khorne... oh, your mortal enemy, Karthus the Bloodclaw, would probably be happy to lead his army to take over your ravaged territory, wouldn't he?"

"He can forget about it!!"

Skragh let out a shrill roar, and the boiling sea of ​​blood around him suddenly exploded, creating a blood wave a hundred meters high.

"Then do something, you incompetent tyrant."

The weaver of fate, having finally revealed the true purpose of his mocking visit, revealed his true intentions.

"You can't even muster the strength to manifest yourself now, but your name still carries some weight in the material world. Issue a bounty, and let the Chaos Legions that roam the edge of Agrippina tear that mortal apart for you. Use the brass weapons from your treasury, and your promise to recommend them for ascension."

Skrag stared intently at the Weaver of Fate.

Its mind, filled with Khorne's rage, could not swallow this insult even if it clearly knew that this was a cunning scheme by the Great Demon Tzeentch.

The humiliation of having one's weapon stolen and half one's body blown off by a mortal can only be washed away by the soul of that mortal.

"I will make sure he dies a gruesome death... I will extract his soul and burn it in my brazier for ten thousand years!"

Skrag raised his shattered head and let out a roar that shattered space.

The Great Demon plunged his remaining left hand into his ravaged chest, the claws piercing through the brass armor and tearing through the demon's muscles.