Warhammer: Empire Reboot

He pulled out the scythe of plague.

The White Tiger team ran into the Tortoise Formation.

The psionic field shattered under the simultaneous impact of more than a hundred storm shields; the psionic reserves of the twelve plague wizards were simply unable to withstand such a magnitude of physical shock.

They were thrown into the air, trampled, and slammed into the frozen ground by the shield.

Seven Terminator-level Death Guards emerged from the tortoise-shell formation and met the charging White Tiger team.

Er Gou's Terminator armor collided head-on with the first Death Guard Terminator.

The two humanoid iron towers, each weighing over three tons in total, generated a visible shockwave at the point of impact, causing the frozen ground beneath their feet to crack into a spiderweb pattern within a five-meter radius.

Er Gou's Hellbrass Axe cleaved towards the opponent's left shoulder, but Death Guard blocked it with Corrosive Barrier, and the gelatinous layer on the shield immediately stuck the axe blade.

"It's fucking sticky and disgusting."

Er Gou cursed and slammed his left fist into the other person's helmet.

Three Dogs opted for a more underhanded tactic.

He charged toward the seam between the two Death Guards, using the deflecting force field on his shoulder to forcefully break open the gap between the two shields, and then squeezed in sideways.

In the zero-distance space between the two Terminators, his Hellbrass Axe cleaved almost against their armor.

The brass blade struck the seam of the Death Guard's waist armor, its anti-magic properties instantly burning away the organic corruption layer left by the Blessing of the Nurgle, the axe blade penetrating nearly ten centimeters.

The Death Guardian's physical body no longer has a regenerative advantage against Hellbringer.

The edges of the wound cut by the brass were charred black, and the decayed tissue could not regenerate.

San Gou twisted the axe handle and pried out the opponent's waist armor along with half of his spine.

The White Tigers surged into Pyctus's core position from both flanks like a flood bypassing a reef, overwhelming the remaining Plague Space Marines.

At this distance, Death Guard's advantage is completely negated.

All that's left is close-quarters combat.

The Death Guards are indeed strong in melee combat, but they are facing the White Tiger Death Squad.

Each Death Guard must simultaneously face a combined attack from three to four White Tiger Death Warriors.

A shield wall blocked his heavy blows from the front, while two power swords on the left and right attacked the weak points of his joints. A fourth person fired a plasma pistol at the gaps in his armor from behind or below.

One by one, the Death Guards fell.

Some were pierced through the breastplate, abdominal plate, and back plate simultaneously by three power swords, pinning them to the spot like specimens.

Some were struck by the shield more than ten times in succession, their knees shattered, and they fell to their knees before being finished off with a final blow.

Some had their helmets burned through by the plasma beam, with brain matter and decaying tissue gushing out from the ruptures.

The whole process was incredibly fast.

From the moment the White Tiger Squad engaged the enemy to the fall of the last ordinary Death Guard, it took less than two minutes in total.

Fectus was still standing.

There were no longer any surviving comrades by his side.

Of the seven Terminators, three were killed by Er Gou.

The three were killed by the three dogs.

Fectus faces Lawson.

He finally saw up close this variable that made the two high-ranking demons grit their teeth.

He's just a damned mortal.

He was wearing a modified power armor and wielding a regular master-level power sword.

Pectus wielded the Plague Scythe.

The scythe trailed a dark green arc, carrying a corrosive toxin capable of instantly rusting and collapsing even the Space Marine's terracotta armor, as it hurtled straight toward Lawson's neck.

Lawson turned to the side.

The scythe grazed the shoulder armor of the Tiger King Armor. The living metal automatically reorganized its molecular structure the moment it came into contact with the corrosive toxins, repelling the toxins.

Lawson thrust out his power sword.

The sword tip precisely located the nail seam of Pectus's left elbow joint. The swarm intelligence had already calculated the trajectory of his entire left arm and the exposed joint window the moment Pectus swung his sickle.

The kinetic field was activated. The blade cut into the nail seam, penetrated the soft sealing layer inside the joint, and severed the hydraulic lines and two tendons in the left forearm.

Pyctus' left hand lost its strength, and the corrosive barrier slipped from his grasp.

He swung his sickle horizontally with his right hand in a backhand motion, moving with incredible speed. The experience of a veteran soldier allowed him to switch between offense and defense the instant he was injured.

Lawson took a step back to avoid the scythe, while simultaneously releasing three shadow wheels with his left hand.

The three shadow wheels, rotating at supersonic speed, cut into Pfctus's right knee joint, right ankle joint, and waist armor gap at a distance of 0.5 meters.

At this distance, the soft sealing layer of the power armor joint offers no resistance.

Fectus' right leg broke at the knee.

He propped himself up on the ground with the stump of his broken leg, still wielding the scythe of plague.

The sickle slashed horizontally towards Lawson's calf.

Lawson jumped up.

He cleaved the power sword down from the air.

Golden flames danced on the blade.

The blade fell, slicing through Pyctus's neck and severing his head.

Pheidus's body lay on the frozen ground.

The system intercepted the soul.

Memories of the Deathguard war, intelligence on the organization and deployment of the Nurgle Legion, and the coordinates of all Plague Legion strongholds in the Klein system flooded into the swarm's mind like a torrent.

Lawson processed this information.

The battlefield has entered a phase of one-sided slaughter.

The Plague Walker tide collapsed without the command of the Death Guard.

Thirty thousand suicide soldiers were like a giant meat grinder.

Fourteen extreme warriors coordinated an attack from the flank.

But what truly shocked Quintus were the unarmored assassins.

He witnessed a soldier wielding a chainsaw sword cleave a Plague Space Marine's helmet in mid-air during a melee.

The chainsaw sword struck the visor of the MK III power armor and should have been deflected.

But the soldier's arm strength was so great that after the chainsaw teeth bit into the armor, they dragged it down more than ten centimeters, plowing a deep trench in the faceplate.

A second soldier beside him added a blow, his power sword piercing through the deep trench and penetrating the skull behind the visor.

Could an ordinary person's arm strength really pry open the MK III's faceplate?

Quintus felt his common sense was crumbling.

The battle lasted less than an hour.

After the last group of Plague Walkers were pulverized by the crossfire of the Death Squad, not a single Nurgle banner could be seen on the northern plains of Klein-IX.

The bodies covered the 12-kilometer stretch of tundra between the ridgeline position and Fectus's command post.

Grayish-green putrid blood seeped into the frozen soil, and the air was filled with the smells of gunpowder, rotting flesh, and the acrid stench of burning plasma.

The 30,000 suicide soldiers halted their advance.

They began inspecting weapons, counting ammunition, and treating minor injuries. Like a machine that had finished its operation and entered standby mode.

Quintus stood beside the remains of a Death Guard Terminator, using his chain sword as a crutch.

He had never fought such a thrilling positional battle before.

there has never been.

To be precise, he was just joining in the fun on the edge of the battlefield.

The real deciding factor was the gray legion whose origins he still couldn't figure out.

And that Lawson.

Quintus slowly exhaled.

"Is this really the Emperor's trump card...?" he murmured to himself.

After a battle, the busiest people are always those cleaning up the battlefield.

Two thousand suicide soldiers were scattered throughout the twelve-kilometer-long area of ​​corpses, doing an extremely tedious job: digging out power armor from piles of minced meat.

The bodies of the plague walkers were pushed aside and piled up into long, gray-green mounds.

These items have no recycling value whatsoever.

The real valuable items are the Space Marines' power armor wreckage.

The suicide squad divided the extracted power armor into three piles according to the degree of damage: repairable, barely repairable, and scrap metal.

Lawson squatted in front of the pile of scrap metal, his face grim.

He picked up a fragment of a Plague Space Marine's breastplate, examined it from all angles, and then scratched the deck surface with his fingernail.

A layer of grayish-green powdery mycelium was scraped out from under the fingernail.

The metallic molecular structure of this deck has been rewritten from the inside out by the blessing of Nurgle.

The mycelium grew into the gaps in the gold crystal lattice and became one with the metal.

This level of mutation, after being thrown into the armory space for purification, will burn away the mycelium, leaving behind a dense array of micropores on the deck, just like a sieve.

Scrap!

Lawson threw the armor plate back into the scrap metal pile, stood up, and walked to the front of the second pile.

This pile belongs to the Death Guard.