Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Instructions are issued one by one through the swarm network.

Lawson stared at the star map for a while, his fingers tracing lines unconsciously across the table: "Have the Eldar on the Ark gone silent?"

T-001 replied: "We signaled that negotiations were possible. But since the assassination attempt failed, the Saim-Han Ark has remained absolutely silent."

"You came to my house to assassinate me, and then pretended to be dead after failing?"

Lawson picked up the last two key fragments on the table.

"Order them some takeout."

Lawson retrieved the coordinates of an abandoned network branch on the star map.

This was pieced together from the memories of the Dark Eldar and the Assassins, closely following the regular route of the Saim-Han Ark, but not within the core network of the Spirit Bone.

"Throw it outside this coordinate system," Lawson ordered.

T-001 immediately assessed: "Expected objective? To lure the Chaos Fleet into attacking the Eldar, or to force the Eldar to negotiate?"

"Don't they consider themselves prophets?"

Lawson said coldly, "Then give them a time bomb that will attract Abaddon, the Necromancers, and Vashtor, and let them figure it out themselves."

"What if the Eldar prophet detected and eliminated it beforehand?"

"Therefore, we added three layers of low-power physical shielding."

Lawson drew a circle on the coordinates with his finger. "Block the Eldar's mysterious psychic intuition, but leave the entire frequency band of Vashtor's long-range radar open."

T-001's mechanical eye flashed: "Make the Eldar blind, and turn Chaos into a hungry wolf."

"Correct."

Lawson tossed the shards back onto the table. "Don't just sit there. The Milky Way is so big, let's all get to work."

……

There is never a solid block inside chaos.

Abaddon was not able to get the Black Legion, the Red Pirates, the remnants of the Death Guard, the Thousand Sons, the Dark Mechanicus, and countless pirate warbands to temporarily act in the same direction, based on loyalty.

It relies on fear, profit, the title of War General, and a goal that everyone can see.

Vastor promised mechanical miracles.

Abaddon promised the Empire a rift.

Not all Chaos believers want to see this plan succeed.

Especially those forces that are neither loyal to Abaddon nor willing to recognize the status of Vashtor.

Once Vashtor pushes open that door and becomes the new warp authority, the old chains of sacrifice, demonic pacts, and the distribution of divine grace will all be recast.

For many demons, warbands, and cults, that is not ascension.

That's because someone wants to turn their god into a part of a new machine.

Those who harbored such thoughts were especially furious.

These sons of Loka firmly believed that they were the missionaries of the truth of chaos, the interpreters of the will of the gods, and the first prophets to spread the original truth to the galaxy since the Great Rebellion.

In their eyes, Vashtor's binding of wrecked spaceships, nailing demons into the Felsteel nerve plexus, and forcing warp entities into mechanical commands and industrial structures is utter blasphemy.

Other Chaos Legions might find this idea laughable.

Those who cherish words never find themselves ridiculous.

They believed they possessed the truth.

For the sake of truth, they were willing to betray the emperor.

For the sake of truth, they were willing to betray Abaddon.

The Ominous Ark, the Starbinder, became the first unlucky victim.

The ark is traversing an old channel torn apart by warp storms, its destination a fringe world marked by Vashtor divination slaves.

A Black Legion detachment and several affiliated war gangs were stationed on the ship.

As planned, it will arrive at the target star system in three days to confirm whether there is an echo of the key fragment.

On the second day of their voyage, the Word Bearers' war gang, "Throat of Creation," launched an attack.

As early as when the Ark was formed, this war gang placed hundreds of cult priests and a group of elite veterans into the Starbinder under the guise of shipboard missionaries and witnesses to demonic contracts.

The seventh seal layer of the Starbinder imprisons a large number of demonic entities that have not been fully tamed.

The demons were pinned to the compartments by Vashtor's magic steel spikes, awaiting the subsequent implantation of war engines, turret cores, and propulsion nodes.

The Dark Mechanics refer to it as the power source for the unassembled subspace.

The Word Bearers called him the imprisoned holy messenger.

At the start of the attack, Algarros, the high priest of the Throat of Creation, stood within the sealed layer.

He wore dark red power armor, his chest was covered with scriptures made of human skin, and he held a scripture sewn from the skin of a psionicist in his hands.

Dozens of veterans who had expressed their grievances lined up behind him.

The Dark Mechanic's guardian priest noticed the anomaly and raised the mechanical arm.

“Ceremony without Lord Vashtor’s authorization is not permitted in this area.”

Algarros raised his eyes.

"My authorization comes from the true God."

"The Vashtor Seal Agreement has higher authority than the shipboard combat crew."

“Vashtor is a blacksmith.”

Algarros closed the book, his voice suddenly rising, “A blacksmith can forge chains, but he cannot crown the gods.”

The priest's skull rotated, and the weapon arm unfolded.

"You are sabotaging expedition assets."

“I am unleashing the divine wrath that you have nailed into your gears.”

Those who harbored ill intentions opened fire simultaneously.

The bomb tore apart the priest's mechanical chest cavity, spraying cables, black oil, and artificial internal organs all over the edge of the sealing array.

A roar immediately came from deep within the cabin.

The seventh seal layer defensive turret was activated, but the Word Bearer had already corrupted the turret's identification skull before the ceremony.

Several turrets twitched at first, then turned their fire on the arriving machine gunners.

Algarros stepped onto the sealing ring.

Listen!

He opened his arms.

"The divine messengers are wailing! They can descend, they can possess, they can tear mortal souls apart, they can drag entire planets into the arms of the gods!"

"But a brass blacksmith tied it to the engine and used it as a battery!"

The veterans, who cherished the words, recited them in unison.

"Tear the chains of the false god apart!"

"Let divine wrath consume this blasphemous workshop!"

The magic steel nerve plexus that Vashtor used to fix the demonic entity began to twist.

Dark purple arcs of electricity crackled across the ground.

One by one, the sealing stakes crumbled.

The demons that were originally nailed to the binding array poured out like a herd of beasts whose cages had been opened.

Finally, a high-ranking demon draped in shattered chains crashed into the main sealing chamber.

This is the powerful demonic entity that Vashtor is preparing to implant into the secondary cannon core of the Ominous Ark.

The binding ritual is not yet complete.

Now, it is free.

When the Black Legion's defense forces arrived, the Word Bearer had already opened the four seals.

The situation immediately spiraled out of control.

The defenders fired at the Word Bearers while fighting off the demonic tide.

The unleashed demons surged into the inner passages of the Starbinder like a tsunami, devouring everything in their path.

Black Legion veterans were torn to pieces.

The Dark Mechanic was dismantled into parts.

The Word Bearers' own cultists were also dragged into the blood mist, their screams becoming part of their prayers.

Several Ark fire control towers were paralyzed due to demonic intrusion into the control links.

Two unused demonic engines went berserk in the opposite direction, crashing onto the slave deck and slaughtering tens of thousands of slaves responsible for maintaining the propulsion system.

When Vashtor received the battle report, the three Dark Mechanicus divination engines in the anchorage simultaneously overloaded.

Abaddon also received the same report.

Dark anchorage, tactical hall.

Vashtor's projection practically tore through the air and crashed in.

The gears around it were spinning so fast they seemed to burn through reality, and black flames lashed at the edges of the projection, burning out rings of distorted noise on the star map on the tactical platform.

"The Word Bearer has destroyed my seal."

"Khorne's mad dogs tore down my outer turret."

Abaddon stood in front of the tactical table without looking up.

"It sounds like things are going well on your ark."

Vashtor's projection suddenly drew closer.