Warhammer: Empire Reboot

No Astronautical Marshal would lay out a Forging World as a target and then hurl insults at the entire galaxy:

If you're not afraid of death, come over here.

In the tactical manuals of the Imperial regular army, this is not called defense.

That's called a madman who doesn't want to die fast enough.

The deductive reasoning in the courtroom didn't even reach a complete conclusion; only three lines of red text appeared on the screen:

Uncontrollable.

Not reproducible.

It is recommended to remove it immediately.

But those who truly stand at the top, after being initially stunned, quickly understand.

Lawson wasn't throwing his life away.

He's acquiring land.

He smashed Agrippina, this forging world armed to the core of the earth, into a black hole.

Those Chaos Warbands that would have swarmed like locusts across thousands of fragile star systems in the Empire's dark side, and those Alien Raiders that would have blown up agricultural worlds, emptied hive cities, and turned civilians into sacrifices, were all pulled into his gravitational pull by a single sentence.

Agrippina became a galactic-level meat grinder.

Lawson laid out the field, sharpened the blades, and then shouted to the entire universe:

The meat rolled into the plate by itself.

……

At the edge of the Eye of Fear, the Crimson Path.

A "Killing-class" Chaos Cruiser is sailing along the edge of reality and the warp.

The ship's hull was studded with brass skulls, some of which were not yet completely dry, and blood dripped down from the gaps in the runes, being licked into the void by the warp storm.

This is the flagship of the Eighth Battle Gang of the Devourers.

Warband Lord Charon sat on a command post made of Space Marine skulls. Half of his skull had been replaced with metal, and the nerve cords of the Butcher's Nails burrowed into the back of his head like a swarm of living iron worms, embedding themselves in the cerebral cortex.

Suddenly, the demonic communication array in the center of the bridge burst out with a series of piercing noises.

The blood slaves thought the array was about to eat people again, and instinctively shrank back.

The next moment, Lawson's voice rolled out from every brass pipe.

"Khorne's great demon was beaten to a pulp by me."

"Anyone who's not afraid of dying, get the hell over here!"

"I'll fuck all of you!"

The chainsaw axe stopped spinning.

Two mutated Space Marines, who were wiping their axe blades, looked up at the command post.

Caron did not immediately fly into a rage.

This only made the slaves on the bridge even more afraid.

The enormous body, which had been convulsing from the constant torment of the butcher's nails, suddenly fell silent.

Not just him.

All the World Eater veterans on the bridge with Butcher's Nails implanted felt their excruciating pain, which was tearing flesh apart, pause for a moment.

Only one shot.

enough.

Caron stood up.

Several skulls that weren't quite dead yet were crushed underfoot, making a wet sound.

He walked to the observation window.

Outside the window wasn't a starry sky, but a churning subspace. The originally chaotic tides were turning red, as if someone had pressed an entire nebula into a pool of blood.

The sound of brass bells came from the other side of the dimension.

again and again.

Caron grinned.

“He saw it.”

A World Devourer nearby licked the rusty blood from the axe blade: "Who?"

Caron turned his head.

The soldier realized he had asked a pointless question and immediately lowered his head. But it was too late.

Kalon casually swung his chainsaw axe, the back of the axe smashing into the man's breastplate, sending him flying and breaking two supporting pillars.

"Blood God".

No one asked a second time.

In Khorne's dogma, cowards deserve to die, sorcerers deserve to die, schemers deserve to die. Those who hide behind the lines, using witchcraft and scheming to steal lives, should all be skinned alive and hung on the throne.

But that mortal was different.

He gave the coordinates.

He stands atop the bones, ready to manipulate the chaos of the entire galaxy.

He charged with shields, battle axes, and infantry, dismantling the Iron Warriors' siege formation head-on and capturing their flagship.

This is not the Imperial defense line.

This is the arena.

Moreover, it's an arena built from an entire forging world.

Kalon's breathing grew heavier and heavier. The Butcher's Nail began to bite into his brain again, but this time, the pain was like a drumbeat.

He heard the unspoken command from the Blood God.

Go to Agrippina.

Cut off the head of the one who holds the imperial seal.

Water the throne with his blood.

Caron pulled out the two-meter-long heavy chainsaw axe and slammed it hard onto the bridge floor.

Sparks flew, and several slaves were so frightened that they knelt down.

"Navigator!"

His roar shook the entire bridge.

"Change course!"

The blood slave navigator looked up from the divination pool, half a human skin still clinging to his face: "Where...where to, lord?"

Caron looked at him.

The navigator immediately shut his mouth.

Caron kicked over the skull next to him.

"Agrippina".

"Subspace engines overloaded. All ships, anchor."

The World Eater on the bridge finally reacted, its chainsaw axes roaring.

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God!"

"Skull Offering, Skull Seat!"

……

Unlike the fervent, burning passion of Khorne, the Nurgle Gardens, deep within the warp, were as quiet as a sealed coffin.

On the giant tree, which grew from rotting flesh and bones, pus-filled fruits hung low.

The Plague River usually flows slowly, its surface covered with bloated corpses. The Nurgles would roll in the mud, pushing each other into the water, then laughing as they climbed out.

There was no laughter today.

A Nurgle had just poked its head out of the mud when it buried itself back in, leaving only its two round eyes darting around in terror.

The plague flies in mid-air seemed to be swept away by an invisible hand, falling one by one. After landing, they did not rot or breed new insects, but only turned into ash.

The river that carried seven hundred deadly viruses has stopped flowing.

A layer of grayish-white hard crust formed on the river surface.

In the heart of the garden, deep within the vast estate built of broken planks and rusted steel, a sigh echoed.

All the Nurgles simultaneously shrank their heads into the rotting flesh.

The loving father became angry.

In the doctrine of Nurgle, death is never the end.

The corpse fell, and maggots were born.

The lung lobes are rotting, and spores are proliferating.

Disease, plague, pus, and decay are just different ways in which life continues to embrace the world.

The demon prince is dead, so it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter if Klein's altars are destroyed.

Those mortals who ascend to demonhood are nothing more than weeds that grow a little taller in the garden; once cut down, new shoots will inevitably sprout from them.

But those who are greatly impure are different.

That was Nurgle's most beloved child.

It is also a part of Himself.