Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Zabril's helmet speaker was broken, and his roar was accompanied by static.

"I order you to evacuate!"

Marie pulled the trigger of the Melt-Cut Gun, the beam grazing the shoulder of the Broken Horned Beastman and forcing the monster back half a step.

"Order received, sir."

She gasped for breath and lowered the red-hot muzzle of the gun.

"We refuse to comply!"

An old miner threw a fragmentation mine into a group of cultists; the explosion knocked him down as well.

He got up and wiped the blood from his face.

"You taught me, sir, that we must not abandon our companions!"

Zabrel paused for a moment.

Then he laughed.

These people have learned to make choices.

They were no longer just sacrificial offerings to be driven away.

Zabril used his still-functioning right hand to support himself against the rubble and slowly stood up halfway.

The mournful guard on the high ground watched the civilians return to their aid and finally let out a low laugh.

More enemies surged in from below the mountain path.

Zabrel picked up the automatic gun from the ground.

It was as short as a toy, and the grip wasn't suitable for the power armor fingers, but now he couldn't choose anymore.

Marie and the civilians were still firing.

Their firepower was thin, barely qualifying as a front.

"Don't waste bullets."

The horned orc had already charged close.

Zabril opened fire.

More enemies pressed up the mountain path.

The cultists fired from behind the orcs, bullets hitting the cave entrance rock walls and shards of rock splashing into the faces of civilians.

A young miner was shot in the neck and collapsed, clutching his wound.

The person next to him tried to help him up, but Zabrel shouted at him to stop.

"Shoot! He's dead!"

Zabril dragged his broken right leg forward.

A cultist lunged at him from the side, his chain knife aimed at the tear in his waist armor.

Zabril blocked with the body of his automatic gun, the barrel of which was bitten off by the chain teeth. He then used the broken gun to smash the cultist's mask, grabbed the cultist's wrist, and took the chain knife.

The two collided.

Zabril inserted the broken handle of the chain knife into the soft ring around the other man's neck and twisted it with his last bit of strength.

The enemy's knee struck him in the chest, sending him flying.

Zabril rolled down the slope, smashed a rock, and came to a stop in front of the civilian front.

I tried to get up, but my body wouldn't obey.

A horned orc stood before him, looked down at the fallen Astartes, and raised its axe.

The axe blade was about to fall.

Gunshots suddenly rang out from both sides of the hillside.

The heads of the first few horned orcs exploded one after another, their chests pierced with precise bullets.

On the other side of the hillside, continuous pulses lit up, and the cultists who were pressing in front of the civilians were forced back. Several cultists who tried to throw grenades had their arms broken before they could even raise them.

Zabril turned his head to look.

On the hillside, three mechs, each over two meters tall, came into view.

Their outlines resemble the Titanium XV25 stealth combat suit, with the surface stealth field gradually closing and the gray-black paint peeling off from the rocks and shadows.

The mech's head sensor scanned the battlefield, the shoulder-mounted marking beam locked onto enemy heavy firepower, and the arm weapons continued to fire in bursts, hitting the most critical spots with each round.

Zabrel was stunned.

How did the Tau tribe mechs end up in Kamas?

One of the XV25 variants walked to the edge of the rocky ridge, reached out and lifted the outer armor of its helmet, revealing a human face inside.

"The 101st Reconnaissance Company of the Cornerstone Legion, under the command of the Dark Side Master of the Empire."

"We hereby declare this planet included in the Empire's recapture quota."

The cultists experienced a brief period of confusion.

They didn't understand where this strange squad came from, nor did they understand what "The Marker" meant.

The Mourning Guard understood the significance of Imperial military intervention, and the Chaos Astartes high above immediately gave the order.

"Kill all mortals, prioritize destroying the mechs."

The horned orc charged again.

The cultists also pressed forward under the officers' pressure.

The three XV25s simultaneously retreated half a step, and Zabril saw three light curtains unfold.

Thirty combatants burst out from the light curtain.

Within minutes, most of the cultists and mutated orcs on the mountain path were cleared out.

Overwhelmingly powerful and unstoppable!

The strongest mutated orc was cleaved to death with a single sword strike, and the Chaos Astartes was smashed to pieces by the power hammer!

The civilian resistance fighters stood frozen in place, unable to believe that the reinforcements they had just been waiting for were indeed coming.

Moreover, those powerful chaotic enemies were crushed like tofu dregs in front of this group.

Marie knelt beside Zabril, wanting to check his injuries.

"Don't touch the abdomen."

"The knife is still inside," Zabril said in a low voice, exhaling slowly.

Marie's hand stopped, but tears fell from her eyes.

Zabril remained vigilant; this group was ridiculously powerful, seemingly even stronger than the Imperial Guard.

The Dark Side Manipulator of the Empire?

He had heard rumors about this title, but it was hard to tell if they were true or false.

In the forty-second millennium, the empire was filled with people who called themselves saviors, saints, regents, judges, and chosen ones.

Zabril has been deceived by this era too many times; he will not immediately surrender his trust just because the other party kills Chaos.

Behind the battlefield, the shadows suddenly moved.

The shadow, like the night deep in the forest, stretched naturally from between the cliff and the rocks, before being parted by a hand.

A tall, white-haired old man emerged from the shadows.

He was wearing a dark cloak over ancient and heavy armor.

That face bore the marks of time, white hair hanging down the sides of his forehead, and eyes like the sharp edge of a sword that had not yet been extinguished after a long war.

He held a giant sword in his hand, the blade still bearing the faint glow of light from when he passed through the shadows.

Zabril's breath hitched.

Before reason could even process it, the body had already reacted.

Caliban's fire...

Broken rock strata...

Luther's orders...

The final battle ten thousand years ago was like an old knife, cleaving out from the deepest part of memory.

Zabril instinctively grabbed a fallen laser gun from the side and pulled the trigger, aiming it at the white-haired old man.

Marie cried out, "My lady!"

A laser beam is emitted.

The white-haired old man moved before the gunshot rang out.

His speed was nothing like that of an old man.

His cloak billowed back, his footsteps shattered the rocks, and he covered a distance of more than ten meters in an instant.

The laser beam struck the spot where he had been standing, burning a shallow mark.

The next moment, he was already in front of Zabril.

Zabril tried to fire again, but his wrist was restrained.

The laser gun was crushed.

The white-haired old man bent down, pressing one hand on Zabril's breastplate and the other on the soft ring around his throat, pinning the wounded first Astartes to the gravel ground.

The force pressed down like a fortress.

Zabril struggled, the broken power armor making a screeching sound, and blood gushed from the wound in his abdomen again.

"Let him go!"

Marie grabbed the melting and cutting torch and was about to rush forward.

Several civilians also pointed their guns at the white-haired old man.