Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Lawson glanced at him.

"They've all stuck their heads in, don't you think?"

Xiong Er immediately grinned.

"That means fighting."

Lawson stood up: "Agrippina's Meat Grinder, Round One."

"Open the floodgates."

P.S.: Guys, 2.2 words today, please vote!

Chapter 165 Seize the ship first, then encircle and annihilate it.

Bridge of the flagship Blooddrinker.

Karon, the lord of the Eighth War Gang of the Devourers, was not unaware of Agrippina's defensive line.

On the contrary, he saw it very clearly.

The Dark Mechanic Sage projected all the surface data onto the oracles.

The main star Agrippina resembles an iron heart with its outer shell peeled away, its surface densely covered with bright red dots.

Anti-aircraft missile silos.

Void Shield Generator Array.

An electromagnetic railgun buried deep in the earth's crust.

Surface light spear array.

Fully charged.

This metallic warstar, even larger than Terra, had all its spikes standing on end.

When a normal fleet commander sees this kind of position, there is only one answer in his tactics manual:

Get away.

Maintain a high trajectory.

Use heavy artillery and light spears to bombard the area for several weeks, weaken the outer firepower, destroy the air defense nodes, and then deploy the landing force.

The Dark Sage's multi-view vision sensors rotated simultaneously, squeezing out emotionless judgment from the metal sound grating:

"Lord, the surface fire density exceeds the normal threshold by 400%. It is recommended that the fleet remain in high orbit and carry out macro-cannon bombardment. Forcibly entering low orbit will result in saturation fire coverage."

Caron stared at the holographic projection.

The electric current from the Butcher's Nail drilled from the back of his head into his spine, scraping his cerebral cortex like rusty knives.

Track cleaning?

Standing in a vacuum, pressing a button, and watching the Earth's surface turn into glass?

What does that count for?

There was no sound of bones breaking.

No warm blood was spilled on the ceramic armor.

It lacks the addictive, lingering sensation of a chainsaw axe biting into flesh.

The God of Blood doesn't care where the blood flows.

But the butcher's nail is important.

Caron only glanced at the data.

The next second, he raised his iron fist, encased in brass armor, and smashed the tactical projection table to pieces.

The holographic generator exploded with electrical sparks, and several transistors bounced into the Dark Sage's chest cavity interface.

The Dark Sage glanced down but didn't dare to pull it out.

Kalon turned to look at the World Eater veterans on the bridge, their eyes bloodshot and their breathing labored.

Their fingers were spasming.

It's not fear.

It is the butcher's nail that urges them to chop people down.

"I'm not here to throw stones at him through a vacuum."

As soon as Kalon drew his chainsaw axe, before the axe teeth even started moving, a whole bunch of blood slaves on the bridge knelt down.

"I want to cut open that mortal's chest with my own hands."

He grinned.

"Pull his skull out."

The Dark Sage's sound barrier paused for half a second.

It probably also wanted to remind users that "low orbit risks are extremely high".

But on the bridge, a World Eater veteran had already begun tapping his helmet with the back of his axe, as if beating a drum to urge on the battle.

The Dark Sage wisely turned off the suggestions module.

The three Killer-class cruisers completely ignored the warnings from surface air defenses.

Engines at full throttle.

The bow was lowered.

It directly cuts into the Agrippina low orbit.

The heavy armored gates on the hull of the warship suddenly opened with a roar.

Countless black drop pods were ejected, like a rain of iron falling backwards towards the planet, plunging into Agrippina's atmosphere.

They don't care about casualties.

It doesn't matter about depth.

They don't care whether there's logistics support at the landing point.

They just wanted to hack the chainsaw axe into the enemy's flesh as quickly as possible.

The outer shell of the airdrop capsule was glowing red from atmospheric friction.

The first wave of landing forces came out in full force.

The twelve thousand Chaos Mortal Slaves and Blood Slaves, who had been forcibly injected with berserk drugs, were mostly shirtless and wielding crude machetes, explosive pistols, and pieces of iron taken from corpses.

Two thousand fanatical believers with extremely mutated bodies, bone spurs piercing their skin, arms replaced by rusty chainsaws, some with mouths split to their ears, biting their companions as they ran.

The eight hundred pure-blooded World Devourer Chaos Space Marines are the true core of the War Gang.

Power armor in shades of scarlet and brass.

Double chainsaw axe.

Heavy explosive gun.

And then there's the Butcher's Nail that never stops.

The seventy veterans, clad in Terminator armor, resembled a group of red iron coffins crawling out of the ruins of the Great Expedition.

Twelve hellbeast and Khorne demon engines, a heavily wounded veteran imprisoned in a sarcophagus frantically ramming against the inner walls, and multi-barreled thermal cannons and plasma cannons preheating inside the chamber.

Finally, there were the sixty "Skull Guards" personally led by Caron.

They didn't wait for the airdrop capsule to stabilize.

With only two seconds left on the ejection countdown, someone had already kicked the hatch out of shape.

Coordinates locked.

About 300 kilometers from the Temple of Foundry, in an industrial ruins area.

boom--

boom--

boom--

Thousands of parachutes crashed through the rusty crust of Agrippina.

The shock-absorbing explosives detonated, and the hatches were blown open in all directions.

The first blood slave had just rushed out when he was knocked down by another blood slave behind him, and then his throat was crushed by the third one.

Nobody even glanced at him.

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God!"

"Skull Offering, Skull Seat!"

The roar drowned out the engine's rumble.

Twelve thousand slave soldiers charged out first, like a raging red tide driven by the butcher's nails and the potion.

Next up are the Space Marines.

They advanced directly toward the Temple of Forging, three hundred kilometers away.

What stood in their way was the first line of defense deployed by Lawson.

Tens of thousands of machine servants were arranged in a dense square formation.

Most of them have their frontal lobes removed, their lower bodies modified into tracks or mechanical limbs, and their hands welded with heavy logging guns, laser rifles, or simply a row of fixed bayonets.

They have no fear.

I also lack the courage.

Only instructions.

Blood surged into range.

The machine gun phalanx opened fire.