Warhammer: Empire Reboot

"what is that?"

"Abaddon..."

The Lord of Steel has been enraged for the first time in ten thousand years.

"You idiot, blinded by glory! Stop!"

He attempted to forcibly stabilize the gravitational field.

That's too late.

The mass and engine exhaust of dozens of assault ships crashed headlong into the not-yet-fully-formed fissure.

Their own mass disturbs the balance between the gravity anchors.

It was a system that calculated to seven decimal places, and it couldn't accommodate any unregistered variables.

The seventeen-minute window shortened rapidly in the model.

The edges of the crack began to flicker violently.

The violent spatial energy, like a razor, instantly sliced ​​the four landing craft at the forefront in half.

The Terminator Guard inside, along with their power armor, scattered into a burning mass in the vacuum.

The feinting fleet was not yet in position.

The Iron Warriors' engineering corps remained at the starting point, carrying anchor piles, watching helplessly as the warlord's guard launched a suicidal charge.

The entire Chaos Fleet's formation was thrown into chaos at this moment.

Inside the fortress, the Lion King watched all of this.

"Right now."

The Seventh Blackrock Fortress has awakened.

Tens of thousands of armor plates on the outer shell slid open simultaneously, revealing the gun muzzle and missile launch pods underneath.

In a matter of seconds, the fortress surface transformed from a featureless wall into a terrain covered in fangs.

Tens of thousands of combat troops poured out of the rift.

Thousands of Wolverines and Saber-toothed Tigers followed behind, their heavy armor landing on the fortress's outer shell, their magnetic feet leaving spiderweb-like white marks on the armor.

The five battle moons ceased their blockade of the airspace, turned their main guns around, and aimed at the area where the Chaos Fleet was most concentrated.

Light spears, macro cannons, antimatter torpedoes, and black stone death rays were fired at the enemy ship from all directions.

A black-clad Legion cruiser was pierced simultaneously by seven beams of light and severed in half.

The two sections of the ship's hull spewed plasma and rotated in opposite directions.

Before the Void Shield of a Steel Warrior battleship could even be raised, it was torn apart from bow to stern by the gravitational tides created by the Battle Moon, like a fish with its belly ripped open.

The chaotic communication channel was filled within ten seconds.

Desperate screams, angry curses, and meaningless battle damage reports were mixed together.

They were the hunters, but now they've become the prey.

At this critical moment, a purple streak of light pierced through the void, and Fogrim arrived!

Its splendor was completely out of place on this battlefield.

Ignoring the chaos outside, Fugrim charged straight toward the fissure anchored by the gravity anchor.

The moment he entered the Black Stone Suppression Zone, his body began to disintegrate.

Purple scales peeled off in pieces, the demon horns on his forehead shattered, and the extra arms vanished into thin air.

The massive, serpentine lower body began to disintegrate and degenerate from its tip.

All the warp blessings that did not belong to him were stripped away by this realm.

The last person to stand in the passageway was a person.

He was tall, with pale skin, silver hair, and the face that was considered the most perfect face in the empire during the Great Expedition.

He lost the size of his demonic body, his regenerative abilities and warp resistance, and also his immortality.

Fugrim looked down at his hands.

Then, he took a deep breath.

“Ten thousand years,” he said softly. “I can finally hear my own heartbeat again.”

In the narrow passage, a team of bear guards formed a shield wall.

The tower shields closed, forming a steel barrier strong enough to withstand direct fire from the macro cannon.

Fugrim took a step forward.

The sword flashed.

The tower shield of the bear was cut open at its weakest point in terms of mechanical structure, leaving a thin, almost invisible gap. Then, the shield split in two on its own.

His figure passed through the shield wall without any unnecessary movement.

A few seconds later, he stood behind the shield wall, and the steel behemoths fell one by one.

Fugrim stopped and turned his head slightly.

A familiar soul fluctuation emanated from the depths of the fortress.

It's Ryan!

Fogrem smiled.

task?

Breaching a fortress is but a crude victory, while defeating a loyal brother, stripped of all demonic disguise, is achieved with only the purest swordsmanship and a mortal body…

That's what you call perfect.

He turned and walked toward the Lion King.

"Forgrim! Return to the planned route!"

Abaddon's roar exploded in the communications channel: "You're only eleven kilometers from the master node!"

With a casual flick of his sword, Fugrim severed the leg joint of a Wolverine that was trying to intercept him, then gracefully sidestepped the falling machine.

“Abaddon, my dear nephew.”

He chuckled. "You didn't really think I crossed half of the Eye of Fear just to open the door for you, did you?"

"This is the command of the gods!"

"The gods command me to enjoy the ultimate in war."

Communication was cut off.

Peturabo spent a huge amount of money to open the inner passage, but it was abandoned there and no one took over.

On the Ironblood, Perturabo watched as the purple dot of light, like a comet that had gone off track, crashed into the coordinates representing the Lion King.

He remained expressionless, never expecting Fogrem to carry out orders from the start.

A combination of a perfectionist and a hedonist will inevitably abandon victory itself at the moment when success is closest, in order to achieve a more magnificent climax.

But his plans never rely on a single variable.

If Fugrim is a poisoned rapier that requires precise guidance and could backfire at any moment, then he has a more pure weapon in his hand.

A siege hammer that only knows how to smash everything in front of it.

"Release the traitors."

The signal traversed the void and reached the flagship of the World Devourer, the Blood Oath.

Inside the ship, the berserkers breathed heavily, like the roars of wild beasts.

After Angron died, Khorne's strongest physical warrior was Karn, the most skilled fighter in the entire galaxy!

The traitor Kahn sat quietly, his hands gripping the Blood God's Chainsaw Axe, which had roared for millennia.

He listened to the echoes of battle emanating from inside the fortress: the sounds of blast guns, the hiss of energy weapons, and the tearing of metal.

The signal arrived, and Kahn stood up.

The surrounding berserkers roared deafeningly.

As he stepped into the bleeding crevice, a heavy pressure immediately enveloped him.

He could feel himself slowing down.

Khorne reduced his speed by about 20%, and the toughness of the layer under his skin that could deflect explosives was also weakened.

Kahn didn't care, because at the same moment, something else happened.

For the first time, the butcher's nail, which had been driven into his skull and tormented him for ten thousand years, fell silent.

The world became quieter than ever before.

Kahn paused for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter.

"Ha! Hahahaha!"

"Finally, no more wizards farting in my ear!"

This magic-suppressing domain, which is like hell for psionicists, is a paradise built for pure martial artists for him.

Here, there is only steel, flesh and blood, and whose axe is more ruthless.

His task was to wait for Peturabo to completely stabilize the breach, and then lead eight hundred berserkers to clear a main passage.

In Kahn's dictionary, the word "wait" was synonymous with cowardice and boredom.

Gunshots rang out from deep within the tunnel.

That is the command.

"For the Blood God!"

"stop!"

A black legion Terminator company commander stepped in front of him, blocking the way.