Warhammer: Empire Reboot

“Your PDF patrol team has walked past my feet 327 times. I’m standing in the sewer, listening to you arguing overhead.”

Moriarty's legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground.

Von Hess rolled his eyes twice, then said, "You've been lying in wait for three months, why didn't you just take action? You could have released the plague from the sewers and infected the whole city."

This question made Payne laugh.

Wickrian laughed too.

"A smart woman."

Wickrian crouched down, his rotting face close to von Hess.

“Yes, I could turn this city into a plague hell in a day. But that’s not what the benevolent father wants.”

It straightened up and paced slowly in the council chamber.

“A loving father’s plans are far greater than your little heads can comprehend.”

Wickrian said, "The Klein system has seventeen agricultural worlds. The Father doesn't want to infect just a few planets; he wants the entire system. To simultaneously bring all seventeen planets into the Father's garden."

It stopped in front of the star map and pointed to the seventeen points of light on the wall with its left hand, which was covered with suction cups.

“An altar will be built on each planet. Seventeen altars will be activated at the same time, and the subspace rituals will be carried out simultaneously, tearing open the barriers of the real space at seventeen points at the same time. At that time, the entire Klein system, along with every atom within the system, will sink into the embrace of the Father.”

It turned to look at von Hess.

"The ritual requires the souls of the living as fuel. The souls of the dead are swallowed by the warp, and the conversion efficiency is too low. Twenty-eight million living, breathing, and fearful souls are the most perfect sacrifice. I need them to live, to live until the moment the ritual begins."

“And… what about us?” von Hess asked.

"Those who cooperate with me in building the altar will receive the blessings of the merciful Father."

Wickrian said, "Immortality, painlessness, diseaselessness, and immortality. You will become lords in the Father's Garden, ruling over your own rotten paradise."

Payne walked up to von Hess and squatted down.

"To put it bluntly, Ms. von Hess, you can choose to become a sacrifice along with 28 million people in three months, or you can choose to stand on the altar and watch them become sacrifices. The difference lies only in your choice today."

von Hess closed his eyes.

What do you need me to do?

Moriarty also got up from the ground. His trousers were soaked. But he nodded, trembling.

Wickrian grinned with satisfaction.

“Very good. First step, your PDF should clear out the eastern district of the city. The altar needs a large enough space, and the old granary area in the eastern district is just right. Have all the civilians relocated to the southern and western districts. Make up any reason you want, such as saying that a source of plague infection has been discovered in the eastern district and that isolation and disinfection are necessary.”

“The second step,” Payne added, “is to mobilize all the manpower and equipment of the Transport Guild. The altar’s building materials are to be dug from the ground; they are a special kind of black stone. I’ve already marked the location; it’s in the rock strata three hundred meters directly below the city.”

"How long will it take?" von Hess asked.

“Forty days,” Wickrian said.

The three councilors looked at each other in bewilderment.

Just then, a dull thud came from the ceiling of the council chamber.

Dust fell softly from the cracks in the rocks.

Wickleyan looked up.

It sensed something.

From the direction of the city's northern wall, an extremely pure spiritual energy is spreading.

“The Emperor’s psychic powers?” Wickleyan’s rotten face scrunched up. “A living saint…?”

It walked to a stone wall in the council chamber and lightly scratched it with its bone sword.

The wall cracked open, revealing a secret passage leading to the ground.

Wickrian squeezed sideways into the secret passage, ascended the spiral staircase, and arrived at the observation deck on the top floor of the governor's mansion.

On the northern city wall, two figures are standing atop a watchtower.

A giant wearing black and gold power armor, and a young woman radiating golden light.

"Those useless Plague Legion bastards," it muttered under its breath. "Is the front line a sieve? How did they let the Astartes in again?"

Payne, following behind Wicklian, also saw the scene on the city walls. His expression changed.

"Lord Vikrian, perhaps..."

"Not urgent."

Vikrian interrupted him, its gaze fixed on the figure in black and gold power armor on the city wall, a strange excitement flickering in its yellow-green pupils: "An Astartes and a living saint. Just the two of them? Coming here to die?"

It turned and walked down the stairs, the stone steps shaking with each step it took.

"Let him come."

Wicklian moved the bone sword that was fused with his right arm: "Before I was elevated to demonhood by the Father, I personally killed thirty armored men like him."

“I will hang his head at the top of the altar; the loving father will like this gift.”

Standing on the watchtower, Lawson's psychic senses allowed him to see everything clearly beneath the governor's mansion.

The Demon Prince, and three traitorous councilors.

The Demon Prince's individual combat strength is roughly equivalent to that of a Chaos Lord equipped with top-tier gear, and he is an order of magnitude stronger than an ordinary Plague Space Marine.

But that's about it.

When Lawson landed at the main gate of the governor's mansion, fifty PDF soldiers were standing there.

Upon seeing Lawson approach, one of the captains raised his hand.

"Halt! The Governor's House is currently under control and has not been authorized by any Member of Parliament."

Two shadow wheels swept past the heads of fifty soldiers at subsonic speed, the razor-sharp airflow severing all their helmet straps, and all fifty helmets rolled to the ground at the same time.

Fifty soldiers stood frozen in place.

Lawson walked through them and pushed open the gates of the governor's mansion.

The governor's mansion was deserted. Only half of the wall lamps on both sides of the corridor were lit, making the light dim.

The Demon Prince is on the second underground level.

He didn't take the stairs.

Lawson stopped in the corridor, raised his right fist, and smashed it through the stone floor beneath his feet.

Gravel and dust flew everywhere.

Lawson jumped directly from the three-meter-high hole in the ceiling into the basement, his feet landing on the corridor floor.

Then he smashed through the floor of the first basement level and fell into the second basement level.

Gravel and wood chips flew into the council chamber.

The three councilors and the demon prince all looked toward the doorway.

Lawson stood amidst the ruins, his gaze passing over the three trembling councilors and landing on the demon prince, Vikrian.

Wickrian was watching him too.

Wickrian spoke first:

"You're the Astartes who was let in from the front lines?"

It tilted its head, examining Lawson's power armor: "Where's the chapter? Where's the insignia? It's completely naked, like a prostitute stripped down to her clothes?"

Lawson's expression remained unchanged; he didn't particularly enjoy engaging in verbal sparring with his enemies.

Waikrian, not receiving a reply from Lawson, continued talking to himself:

“My name is Vikrian. Two thousand three hundred years ago, I was the platoon leader of the seventh company of the Holy Blood Angels Legion.”

It moved the bone sword on its right arm, corrosive liquid dripping onto the ground and hissing: "Three hundred years in Astartes, I've slain Tyrannosaurus, Greenskins, Necromancers, and Iron Warriors. Two thousand years on the path to demonic ascension, I harvested fourteen planets for my benevolent father. I personally sent away thirty of the Empire's most elite warriors. Dark Angels, Ravens, Space Wolves. Do you know what Space Wolf meat tastes like? It's incredibly pungent."

It grinned, and a thin, long tongue emerged from between its black teeth.

"Now, I'm going to add you to the list, number thirty-one."

After waiting for him to finish showing off, Lawson finally spoke: "You've single-handedly killed thirty Astartes. Looks like you're very confident."

"What? Scared?"

"What about three hundred?" Lawson asked.

Wickrian's smile froze: "What do you mean?"

Lawson took a slight step back, activating the static force field.

One figure after another appeared from the void.

The White Tiger team members arrived, and the moment they landed, they automatically formed a formation of three, with a shield wall in front and firepower behind.

The stone chamber was too small to hold so many giants wearing Space Marine-class power armor.

They filled the council chamber, the corridors, and every room on this floor.

The gaps between the shields were just large enough to fit the muzzle of a bomb gun, and each muzzle was aimed at Vikrian.

Three hundred and one White Tiger warriors.

Wickleyan's yellow-green pupils suddenly contracted.

Three hundred power armor suits, three hundred storm shields, and three hundred heavy explosive guns.

In this underground stone chamber, which is only forty square meters in size, three hundred assassins, equivalent to Thunder Warriors, sealed off all escape routes.

"You said you killed thirty Astartes."

Lawson took another step back, making room for the White Tiger Warrior: "I want to see if you can withstand three hundred of them."

"Come on, show us!"

A flicker of unease crossed Wicklian's rotten face as he raised his bone sword, his warp energy beginning to surge.

He wasn't stupid; he wanted to escape, but there was no room to run. These damned Space Marines occupied every inch of this space.

"Shameless! In the name of a loving father..."

It didn't finish its sentence.