Forced to die just after becoming invincible in Warhammer?

In close combat, the power gauntlet smashed into the ratman with immense force, instantly shattering its organs, sending limbs and internal organs flying everywhere.

However, the ratmen were not to be outdone, and, leveraging their superior numbers, they launched a frenzied counterattack. In the narrow passage, they screamed and charged forward, their sharp claws scratching the Astartes' ceramsite armor with a piercing sound.

Some ratmen were fearless and detonated the small bombs they were carrying, trying to die together with Astrin. The blast and shrapnel caused the Astartes to be injured one after another.

Abaddon was terribly anxious. The mission to capture the Skaven alive was still unfinished, yet time was running out. He discarded his corroded Power Sword and, picking up a Power Axe from the ground, began hacking at the approaching Skaven. He shouted, commanding the Astartes to change their tactics and try to surround any lone Skaven.

But the rat people are very cunning. Once they sense danger, they will quickly flee and use the complex terrain inside the ship to set numerous traps.

At the same time, in space, Horus closely monitored the battle situation, constantly adjusted the fleet deployment, and carried out an all-round clearance of the remaining Skaven warships, not giving the other side any breathing space, and providing solid backing for the Astartes who were boarding the ships to fight.

Abaddon locked onto a smaller, seemingly weaker ratman in the chaos. He seized the opportunity and swung his axe, which spun and cut off the ratman's escape route.

The ratman screamed in terror and turned to escape to the other side, but was pinned down by the Astartes warriors with grenade launchers.

Abaddon took the opportunity to rush forward, ignoring the crazy attacks of the surrounding ratmen, picked up the shield on the ground, protected his body with the shield, and grabbed the ratman with his power gloves.

However, the moment he grabbed the ratman, a highly corrosive mucus spurted out from the ratman, quickly corroding his gloves. Abaddon gritted his teeth, endured the severe pain of corrosion, and quickly stuffed the ratman into a specially prepared confinement container.

As soon as the container was closed, a protective energy shield lit up, isolating the ratmen's poison and attacks.

Abaddon did not bother to check his injured arm, and immediately commanded the Astartes warriors to break out to the evacuation point.

Along the way, they encountered wave after wave of crazy obstructions from the Skaven. The Astartes fought and retreated, their armor covered with scars, and some warriors even fell in a pool of blood due to serious injuries.

Finally, they successfully reached the evacuation point and boarded the receiving spaceship, which quickly left the Ratman command ship and flew towards Horus' flagship.

On the flagship, Horus saw Abaddon successfully bring back the Skaven, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face. He immediately ordered the fleet to pursue the remaining Skavens, making sure to completely eliminate these aliens and bring long-lost peace to this universe.

In the spacious interior of the Spirit of Vengeance, Horus walked towards the imprisoned alien ratman with interest.

The rat-man struggled frantically in its specially made cage, emitting bursts of shrill screams, but Horus seemed completely unconcerned. With a playful smile on his face, he turned his head and said to Abaddon beside him, "Do you think if I give these to her, will she be moved to tears?"

Abaddon frowned slightly and opened his mouth, wanting to say something, such as reminding Horus of the difficulty and sacrifice of this mission, but when the words came to his lips, he swallowed them back.

He smiled bitterly in his heart. After all, the man in front of him was his genetic father. Even if his style of doing things sometimes made people feel helpless, he could only accept it silently.

Abaddon lowered his gaze and responded, "My Lord Primarch, I'm sure the Eleventh Primarch will appreciate this special gift."

Horus laughed and patted Abaddon on the shoulder, then turned his gaze to the ratman again, with a cold light flashing in his eyes: "I hope this little thing can make her gain something, and the efforts of so many of our soldiers will not be in vain." After that, he turned and walked towards the command console in the ship's room and began to issue the next order, preparing to carry out a final cleanup of the remaining ratman forces and completely end this cruel war.

…………

In the frenzied arenas of Nuceria, the former dogs of war have become the fearsome World Eaters.

These warriors, clad in heavy armor, shouted Angron's name passionately, their voices as loud as thunder, as if they were going to overturn the dome of the arena.

At this moment, a thrilling gladiatorial battle unfolded. On one side stood Kahn, Captain of the World Eaters' 8th Company, his piercing gaze radiating a chilling murderous intent. On the other, stood Moder, Champion of the 11th Legion. His nearly three-meter-tall frame towered over Kahn like a towering mountain.

Both sides were holding chain axes, and with a command, the battle broke out instantly.

The chainsaw axe rotated at high speed, the teeth flashed with cold light and made a sharp buzzing sound.

Kahn moved his feet flexibly, cleverly dodging Mode's fierce attacks while looking for opportunities to counterattack.

He looked at Mod's gigantic figure and couldn't help but wonder in his heart, "How on earth did the Eleventh Primarch manage to make his offspring so large? After all, size is power."

Mod relied on his huge size and powerful strength to swing his axe with tremendous force every time, as if he could split the air.

The whistling sound of the axe blade cutting through the air, intertwined with the shouts of the audience in the arena, formed a movement full of violence and desire.

This battle is not only a showdown of strength and skill, but also a contest of glory between the two legions.

The chainsaw axes of both sides collided violently, and the high-speed rotating teeth entangled with each other. In an instant, a deafening roar broke out in the air.

The sound was so sharp and piercing that it seemed to be able to penetrate people's eardrums, and the surrounding air was violently vibrating due to this powerful force.

Kahn gritted his teeth, tensed the muscles in his arms, and tried his best to fight Mod.

Using his huge size advantage, Mod poured his strength into the axe, trying to suppress Kahn.

Inside the arena, flying sparks and scattered metal debris intertwined, like a gorgeous yet dangerous fireworks display, drawing wild cheers from the audience, wave after wave, pushing the atmosphere of the entire arena to a climax.

During the stalemate, Kahn suddenly exerted force, twisted sideways to break free from the suppression, and chopped Mod's arm with the chainsaw axe.

Mod reacted quickly, raising his axe to block. Sparks from the friction of the saw teeth flew everywhere, illuminating the two men's faces full of fighting spirit.

Mod saw the opportunity, shouted loudly, and chopped down fiercely from top to bottom with the axe blade making a whistling sound.

Kahn retreated quickly, the soles of his shoes scraping against the ground, leaving a mark. The axe blade chopped down against his armor, leaving a deep dent in the ground.

Kahn steadied his body, took advantage of Mod's old moves, and rushed forward, pressing the chainsaw axe straight to Mod's throat.

Mod tilted his head and the axe blade grazed his neck.

Mod took advantage of the situation and hit Kahn in the chest with his elbow. Kahn was knocked back a few steps and felt a dull pain in his chest.

Around the arena, the World Eaters were frantically shouting Kahn's name, their voices filled with bloodlust and fanaticism; and the soldiers of the 11th Legion were also cheering for Moder. The shouts of both sides intertwined, as if to ignite the atmosphere of the arena.

Chapter 267 The Correct Use of Prophecy

In the arena, a fierce duel was in full swing. The two Primarchs, Leman Russ and Huile, came silently to the back of the seats like ghosts.

Watching the fight in the arena, Wolf King Leman Russ asked Hui Le beside him with great interest, "Who do you think will have the last laugh between the two of them?"

Huile spat out two words almost without thinking: "Mode."

Leman Russ raised his eyebrows slightly, a teasing expression on his face, and said, "So decisive? The opponent is Kahn, a veteran who has experienced many battles."

Upon hearing this, Huile tilted his head slightly, looked directly at Leman Russ, and asked, "You clearly believe that Modder will win, so why are you asking me again?"

Leman Russ's mouth curled up into his signature wild grin. "That's different. It feels so different coming from you and thinking about it myself."

In the arena.

Mod's offensive became increasingly fierce, the frequency of his attacks dropping like a torrential rain, and his power also increased exponentially.

Every time he attacked, he cleverly used his strong physique and heavy weight to his advantage, like a heavy chariot rushing forward, crushing Kahn madly, trying to suppress his opponent with absolute strength so that he had no power to fight back.

Kahn gripped the chainsaw axe tightly, the teeth spinning at high speed, making a sharp buzzing sound. He concentrated all his attention, using the axe as a shield, struggling to withstand Moder's wave after wave of fierce attacks.

In the intervals of resistance, Kahn was full of doubts. The Mod in front of him fought in a weird and ruthless way. His attacks were swift and irregular. Every blow was full of desperate madness. He was like a hungry wolf who would do anything to achieve his goal.

This was completely different from his impression of the 11th Legion's disciplined and tactical style of play, as if it came from the fighting style of the Space Wolves.

Although Kahn was full of doubts, he was not distracted at all. He swung the chainsaw axe in his hand tightly and blocked Mod's attacks one by one.

The teeth of the chainsaw sword collided with Mod's weapon, sparks flew, and the sharp and piercing sound of metal friction echoed in the empty arena.

Seeing that he could not defeat the opponent after a long time of attack, Mod's eyes became more fierce. He let out a wild beast roar, and his body suddenly accelerated. A series of dazzling attacks poured out like a storm.

He abandoned all defenses and focused all his strength on attacking.

Kahn was forced to retreat, his boots leaving two deep marks on the ground. He knew that such blind defense was not a long-term solution and he had to look for opportunities to counterattack.

Just as Mod was about to chop down with all his strength again, Kahn suddenly dodged to the side, and taking advantage of the moment when Mod's attack missed, he slashed at his arm with his chainsaw sword.

Mod reacted extremely quickly, immediately pulling back his arm and kicking Kahn in the chest.

Kahn was unable to dodge the kick and was sent flying back several meters before falling heavily to the ground.

However, Kahn did not give Mod a chance to breathe. He rolled over the moment he landed, quickly stood up, gripped the chainsaw axe again, and rushed towards Mod with a determined light in his eyes.

At this moment, the atmosphere in the arena was pushed to its peak. The shouts and cheers of the soldiers from both sides were deafening, and the confrontation between the two had entered a white-hot stage.

Kahn charged towards Mod, his chainsaw axe wielding the force of the wind, thrusting straight at Mod's throat. Mod's eyes flashed, and he dodged the fatal blow, swinging his heavy axe. The blade grazed Kahn's shoulder, leaving a trail of blood.

Ignoring the pain, Kahn wielded his axe like a whip, sweeping across Mod's lower body. Mod leaped to avoid the blow, twisting mid-air and using the momentum of the fall to bring the heavy axe down on Kahn. Kahn blocked with his axe, but with a resounding clang, the force of the blow numbed his arms and sank his feet several inches into the ground.

At this time, Mod's attack continued, and a series of axe techniques that were difficult to distinguish between real and fake surged towards Kahn like a surging tide.

Kahn was caught in a dilemma and suffered several more wounds on his body.

Just when Mod thought he had won, Kahn seized the opportunity when Mod attacked, took a quick step forward, and slammed the chainsaw axe straight into Mod's abdomen. Mod couldn't dodge and could only block with the axe handle, but the teeth of the chainsaw axe got caught in it, and for a moment the two of them were in a stalemate.

Mod tried to break free, but Kahn twisted the axe with all his strength, and the chainsaw sword tore through the axe handle, and the teeth were about to cut Mod.

At the critical moment, Mod dropped his axe and hit Kahn's wrist with his elbow.

Kahn felt pain, and the chainsaw axe deflected, glancing past Mod's body.

Mod took advantage of the situation to retreat, drew a dagger from his waist, and distanced himself from Kahn. The two men confronted each other again, and the air in the arena seemed to be frozen by the tense atmosphere.

The two men looked at each other, the flames of battle burning in their eyes, and neither dared to relax first.

Mod took the lead. He flashed and rushed towards Kahn like a ghost. The dagger in his hand flashed with cold light and pierced Kahn's heart.

Kahn dodged sideways and swung his chainsaw sword, trying to cut off Mod's attack route.

Mod rolled nimbly to avoid the attack, then used the stone pillars at the edge of the field to leap up and attack Kahn from the air.

Kahn reacted quickly, raising his chainsaw axe above his head to form a defensive barrier.

Mod's dagger stabbed the chainsaw axe, sparks flew, and Kahn took the opportunity to push hard, knocking Mod back several steps.

After Mode stabilized his body, he suddenly changed his tactics. He began to move quickly around Kahn, constantly stabbing with the dagger in his hand, trying to disrupt Kahn's rhythm.

Kahn watched Moder's every move closely, his feet moving in sync with his movements, always maintaining a defensive posture.

Suddenly, Mod increased his speed, and after a series of feints, he suddenly squatted down and stabbed Kahn's leg with his dagger. Kahn was unable to react in time and his leg was scratched, and blood instantly stained his armor red.

But Kahn did not flinch. He roared, ignoring the pain, and swung his chainsaw sword in a frenzied counterattack against Mod. His attacks became more ferocious and fierce, and every swing was accompanied by a whistling sound.

Mod was forced to retreat again and again, and several scratches from the chainsaw axe gradually appeared on his body.

At this moment, the bell of the Colosseum suddenly rang, signaling the end.

Both of them stopped what they were doing, breathing heavily, their eyes filled with unwillingness and anticipation for the next round of battle.

Medical staff quickly entered the venue and bandaged the wounds of the two men, while the audience excitedly discussed the fierce battle that had just taken place, looking forward to even more exciting confrontations.

Hui Le stood in the spectator seats, overlooking Mode who was fighting fiercely in the arena. It seemed as if all the breath around him had been drained away. He stood frozen in place, falling into deep silence.

Her eyes were fixed on Mod's agile yet somewhat manic figure, and countless complicated thoughts were churning in her mind.

Who could have expected that Mode, the person she had spent all her efforts and invested countless resources to create, the one who carried all her hopes and was regarded as her trump card, would be so disappointing in his performance at this moment.

Hui Le had taken great pains to cultivate Mod. The Blood God's Wine, a truly precious divine object, imbued with the most violent power in the chaotic world, she generously used it to baptize Mod, solely to unleash his boundless potential and grant him combat prowess beyond that of an ordinary human.

Furthermore, she also added the special attack genes that had been used against other Astartes by Leman Russ's Legion, applying them to Mod without reservation. In her vision, Mod should be like a sharp blade, indestructible on the battlefield, crushing the enemy's Eighth Company Captain in an instant with absolute force.

But reality hit her like a hammer. In the battle before her, despite Mode's fierce offensive, he was unable to inflict a fatal blow on the Eighth Company Captain.

His attacks were disorganized and seemingly fierce, but in fact they were full of flaws and he failed to exert his full strength.

Looking at the stalemate on the field, the anger and unwillingness in Hui Le's heart surged like a surging tide. So many resources were spent, so much effort was invested, and the result was not satisfactory.

She couldn't help but ask herself in her heart, was her judgment wrong from the beginning?

Leman Russ stood beside Huile, his sharp eyes catching the hard-to-conceal distress between her brows. He leaned slightly to the side and spoke softly, his voice filled with brotherly concern: "Huile, if this is really putting you in a difficult position, why not let me train Moder? I will personally train him, let him lead my 11th Company, and teach him the techniques of commanding battles, as well as the complex knowledge of runes."

Hearing this, Huile's heart suddenly moved, and he looked up at Leman Russ, his eyes full of complicated emotions.

In fact, she knew in her heart that her legion did have shortcomings in combat command and military literacy training.

Although she carefully nurtured Moder on weekdays, she was unable to do so when it came to teaching advanced combat command strategies and combat knowledge. She could use them herself, but she couldn't teach.

After all, he was not good at commanding battles, and he really couldn't give Mod more professional guidance in this regard.

Huile's thoughts were tangled. On the one hand, Mod was a creation she had poured countless efforts into, and it was hard not to hand him over to someone else. On the other hand, she understood that Leman Russ's proposal was for Mod's own good and for the overall war situation. After a fierce ideological struggle, Huile took a deep breath and said slowly, "As long as Mod agrees, then it's fine."

Leman Russ's lips curled up slightly, revealing a confident smile. He knew Moder too well, a warrior with an insatiable thirst for power and knowledge. How could he possibly refuse the offer of his personal instruction and command of the Wolves' 11th Company?

In his opinion, this cooperation is a done deal.

Next, just wait for the battle to end, find a suitable time to have a good talk with Mod, and everything will fall into place.

He seemed to have seen Mode growing rapidly under his guidance, shining brightly on the battlefield in the future, and making great military achievements for their camp.

…………

In Macragge's magnificent and solemn council chamber, Guilliman was concentrating on reviewing the mountain of documents in his hands. He glanced up inadvertently and caught a glimpse of the faint and slightly strange smile on Curze's face.

Guilliman frowned slightly, a hint of doubt flashed in his eyes, and asked: "Coz, why are you always laughing? Did something happen?" The Primarch's voice echoed in the spacious hall.

Curze, startled awake by the sound, faltered for a moment, his smile fading before quickly disappearing, his expression becoming flustered. His eyes flickered as he faltered, "No, I just thought..." Midway through his words, he pictured Guilliman's ambition among his brothers, and he nearly burst out laughing again. He forced himself to hold it back, and his words abruptly stopped.

He really didn't want Guilliman to notice these absurd thoughts in his mind, and just wanted to escape from this embarrassing situation as soon as possible.

Koz lowered his head, pretending to straighten his clothes, trying to hide his abnormality, and raised his foot to leave.

Guilliman wouldn't let him get away so easily. He took a few steps forward, quickly extended his arm to block Curze's path, and said with a slightly serious expression, "Did you do the homework I assigned last time? Especially the one about administration. You know, it's crucial to our management of the Empire, and I hope you'll take it seriously."

The corners of Curze's mouth rose slightly, revealing a confident smile. Looking at Guilliman's slightly skeptical eyes, he said calmly: "Actually, those are all in my mind. I will write them down for you." After that, he reached out and picked up the pen that Guilliman usually used on the table.

Then, Koz cast his eyes on the file bag of administrative files piled aside, nodded slightly, and began to write on it.

His handwriting was like jumping notes, dancing quickly on the paper, smooth and powerful.