Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Page 583

Next, the remaining parts of the insect nest were chopped up.

Each nest is underground, and a comprehensive screening of the foundation stone sequence has begun.

The Bi'an battle group took over the trial line.

Gene sniffing nodes are at the forefront.

They have no aesthetic sense, they don't listen to cries, they don't look at family crests, they only look at bloodline reactions.

Some people have perfect skin, clean resumes, and fluent prayers, yet they emit purple noise in the eyes of gene-detecting nodes.

The next second, the restraint locks fell.

Some people had just recovered from the disruption of the main mental network, and were vomiting while holding their heads and crying as they pointed out the hidden doors.

The Bi'an battle group recorded their statements and then transferred them to the pollution assessment queue.

Lawson's orders were clear.

Purebloods, Magus, Prems, genetic modifiers—kill them all.

High-generation mixed-race, mutant, armed cultist, kill.

Those whose physical abnormalities and mental pollution are confirmed to be irreversible are preserved in their bodies, have their frontal lobes removed, and are sent to the servant modification line.

Lower-generation infected individuals and those who are controlled by psychological suggestion but still retain self-awareness are isolated, investigated, and relocated to different areas.

Those who voluntarily reveal the location of the nest will be temporarily deprived of their rights.

The warning star is too big.

Reconstruction requires labor.

Those bodies, already corrupted to the point of being unable to reinvent themselves by commoner princes, were just the right fit to fill the gaps in the servants' ranks.

Agrippina lacked servants.

The warning star is also missing.

Rail elevators, water purification plants, corpse disposal lines, rubble demolition sites, contaminated area sealing walls, and underground pipeline repair projects all require tools that can work tirelessly, without complaint, and without betrayal.

The old empire stuffed innocent poor people into the servant conversion tanks.

Lawson doesn't do that kind of thing.

Now these alien believers, rebel militias, heavily polluted individuals, and aberrant bloodlines are paying the price they owe the Empire.

T-series quickly provided a rough estimate.

After the main nest and all its offspring nests of the commoner prince are cleared, the total chitin resources are expected to reach around 700 million.

It contains one high-density chitinous core and seventeen secondary cores.

As for convertible machine servant objects, the initial screening number is even larger.

The number of people contaminated on the warning planet is staggering.

The reproduction of the Venerable Father Worm Dragon over two hundred years has uncovered not just a cult, but an entire underground society hidden beneath the surface of the Nest City.

According to conservative estimates, the number of objects that can be captured, disposed of, and modified by swarm intelligence exceeds one billion.

Even if mildly contaminated and reversibly infected individuals are excluded, the final number entering the servant conversion tank could still reach hundreds of millions.

After reviewing the statistics, Lawson only said one sentence.

"We'll do it in batches first."

"Don't burst the modification line."

After the order was given, the cleanup operation entered its second phase.

The battle sequence proceeded by attacking nest after nest.

The T-series towed incineration equipment burned in the pool.

The cornerstone sequence removed archives, samples, and live prisoners.

The Bi'an War Group brought batches of corrupt families, defectors of labor unions, and leaders of cult churches to trial.

The head of the revered father, the dragon, was hung on the trial flagpole outside the Battle of Saint Harbor.

Next to it is the decayed skull of Harken, the Star Snatcher.

A messenger of chaos and revelation.

An alien underground saint.

Two heads swayed in the wind of the warning star.

........................

Just as the final work on Vigilant Planet was in full swing, the warp...

Subspace has no sky.

There are only psionic storms, malevolent whispers, floating metal debris, and the occasional enormous shadow cast by the four gods.

In a void torn apart by a storm, the remnants of the Black Legion's fleet lay lifelessly anchored amidst the crimson tides.

The ship's hull was cracked, the cannons were melted, and cracks left by the Imperial Light Spear and Void Claws still remained on the thick armor.

In the center of the fleet, a black altar, hastily constructed from the wreckage of a warship, floats in the turbulent currents.

Abaddon knelt on the altar.

He wasn't kneeling before anyone.

This Chaos War General was simply held down there by four immense forces.

His two arms have grown back.

That was the result of the four chaotic gods forcibly bestowing blessings and crudely completing the task.

The newborn left arm was far thicker than before, its muscles like red-hot brass nailed to the skeleton. Beneath the pale skin, Khorne's red veins surged wildly, and black claws had mutated from the tips of the finger bones.

His right arm was a sickly, deathly white, with a murky green glow flowing from its veins. His hand would frequently crack open, oozing pus, only to quickly scab over and heal.

On his shoulder blades, Slaanesh's runes circled like living scars.

Pain, anger, and especially the shame of defeat were magnified infinitely, scraping at the soul like a dull knife.

Deep within the spine, Tzeentch's symbols appeared and disappeared intermittently.

It sharpened his senses, but it also made every thought of his seem to be scrutinized by thousands of eyes.

Abaddon slowly raised his head.

Her long black hair hung loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes, burning with rage, revealed an almost tangible hatred.

His body has indeed become stronger.

Power surged through my veins.

That was the price the four gods paid to mend their shared divine choice.

It was also a shackle placed around his neck by the four gods.

Many millennia ago, he made a vow to the heavens.

He will never become a second Horus.

He wants to wield the power of chaos, not become a puppet manipulated by chaos at will.

He will harness the divine power to trample the entire galaxy under his feet.

He will accomplish the great feat that the father of incompetent genes failed to achieve, but he will never repeat the same mistakes.

But now?

Abaddon looked down, staring intently at his new arms, which were now imbued with heretical power.

Then, he let out a twisted, grotesque laugh.

The murderous intent hidden in the laughter sent shivers down the spines of the several high-ranking wizards of the Black Legion kneeling around them.

"roll."

The wizards, as if granted a pardon, scrambled away.

Only one tall, black-clad Legion Terminator lord hesitated for a moment, then, relying on his past exploits, whispered:

"Commander, your health..."

Before he could finish speaking...

Abaddon's newly formed left arm shot out like lightning, grabbing the Terminator's helmet from several meters away.

Click.

The helmet emitted a teeth-grinding, distorting sound.

The Terminator was dragged through the air in front of Abaddon, like an insect being squeezed by an invisible giant hand.

Abaddon's bloodshot eyes were fixed on him.

What's wrong with my body?

The Terminator struggled to breathe inside the transforming helmet.