Warhammer, from Gothic Fleet to Azur Lane

It's called Stormherald!

An Imperator-class Titan! This combat-class Titan is a mobile weapons platform capable of leveling entire hives. Stormbringer is a walking fortress. Its weapons can level entire cities.

Its legs were able to support the weight of this massive war machine, a fortress, barracks, and turret all in one, with arched windows through which the troops inside could fire on the enemy, if any were not crushed to death by the Titan. More often, of course, it was the beginning of tragedy.

The Herald of Storms hunched over its jagged battlements and a sacred armoured cathedral, seven spires piercing the sky, dedicated to the Emperor, also God of All Things (Om Messiah). Gargoyles carved around the defence towers and stained glass windows, their terrible mouths gaping, howling silently from the sacred citadel to the enemies below.

Its cannons and battlements were festooned with banners bearing the names of enemy war machines it had annihilated over the millennia since its creation. As the cries for the birth of the Sacred faded, the Knights could hear voices in the cathedral over the Storm Herald's shoulder, devout souls no doubt pleading with their transcendent sage to awaken the greatest of all divine machines.

There were spiral steps on the Titan's clawed feet, leading to the weapons room in its lower legs. While the Titan was still moving, Grimaldus passed through dozens of humble tech-priests and servants who were busy. When he stepped onto the first flight of stairs, the obstacle he had been waiting for finally appeared.

"Stop," he said to his brothers. It was the soldiers, their bodies covered by cloaks, filling the passages from the Titan's gates to various parts. The knights were blocked by the servants of the Mechanicus.

The soldiers who stood before them were known as Skitarii. These were the elite infantry of the Mechanicum - a fusion of weapon and human form. Like many Astartes, Grimaldus believed that they, too, had been transformed into weapons through crude surgery, but that he was a servant of glory, while they had no glory at all.

There were twelve of these bionic creatures, their bodies covered in windproof robes, and they brandished plasma weapons at the five knights.

"I am Grimaldus, Hermit of the Black Templars—"

——We know your identity——

They all spoke at almost the same time, but their choruses were far from harmonious, some sounding unnaturally deep, some sounding inhumanly robotic, and some sounding entirely human.

"Next time you interrupt me," the knight warned, "I will kill one of you."

We will not be threatened by you.

Twelve Skitarii spoke at once, but it was still an uncoordinated chorus.

"You are not worthy of speaking to me. You are nothing but slaves, barely higher than a robot servant. Leave now. I need to speak to your mistress."

—We will not submit to your orders. We will follow our duty—

A mortal might miss the differences in how the Skitarii spoke, but Grimaldus's senses could pick up on the slightest deviations in the way they spoke. Four of them spoke a fraction of a second later than the others. But he still found it interesting.

"I want to speak to the leader of the Guard Corps."

They have not encountered instructions to address the current situation and lack the knowledge to assess how this affects their superiors, so they remain silent.

"Master Hermit..." Primus said. "Must we put up with this stupid insult?"

"No," the skull helmet looked at the Skitarii one by one, his red eyes unblinking, "Kill them all."

Chapter 33: Battle of Armageddon (10)

A woman floated, just as she had for the past seventy-nine years, floating in a coffin-like milky amniotic fluid tank. The metal tank contained various chemical liquids and oxygen-rich mud. These smells and touches were the only constants in nearly a century. When she breathed in and out, they kept wandering in her lungs. This feeling never stopped and was not unfamiliar to her.

It wasn't that she felt uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. It was always unsettling, but not unnatural. Throughout that long span of combat, Captain Zaha had been able to keep herself warm by circulating the coolant from the plasma reactor at the heart of the Stormbringer.

The violent, world-shaking footsteps echoed around her, amplified like the beating of a mighty heart. It was a feeling of being protected by absolute power. But when the shattered, rioting consciousness of Stormbringer suddenly pierced her mind, trying to overwhelm her, she needed to stay focused in this crazy and precarious moment.

She knew that one day her assistant would unplug her for the last time - when she refused to return to the machine again because she was afraid that the Titan's powerful machine spirit would devour her weak humanity.

But that is not now, not today.

Despite the communication receivers implanted in her inner ear cartilage and receivers installed on the outer wall of her life support module, muffled conversations continued to be heard from outside.

They were talking, those voices, someone was intruding.

Captain Zaha paid no attention to their shared assessment of the situation. She twirled in the liquid, as graceful as an ancient sea creature from ancient Terra, though there was nothing lovely about the wrinkled, hairless creature in this spacious coffin. Her feet had been removed, for she could no longer use them. Her bones were weak, and her body was hunched and hunched.

She said to them, to her men and her brothers and sisters, with a hint of thought.

—I want to talk to the intruder—

"I want to speak to the intruder." The communicator on her coffin buzzed, echoing her silent words.

One of them approached the transparent shell of her amniotic cavity and looked at the floating shell with respect.

"My Lord," it was Ron who was speaking, and although she liked Ron, he was not her favorite person.

"My Lord, there is an Astartes who wishes to come in."

—I heard about it. —

"I heard about it."

——I understand. ——

"I understand."

"Your instructions, my Lord?"

She twisted again in the water, gracefully like a sea creature, despite the cables, wires, and ropes running from the coffin's mechanical generator to her spine, skull, and limbs. She was an ancient, withered puppet in the water, serene and smiling.

——Access rights granted. ——

"Access granted."

——Entry is granted——

Twelve voices spoke at once. The hammers stood still, no more than a finger's length from the Skitarii's skull. A burst of electric sparks from their power weapons struck their faces, forcing them back.

——Entry is granted——

They all chanted it again.

Grimaldus deactivated his scepter and pushed the enhanced skitarii away.

"Good luck to you."

The trip was short and uneventful, through narrow corridors and up elevator shafts to the sealed bulkhead door they stood in on the other side. On their way to the control deck, a large number of Mechanic Priests stared at them silently, their green-lensed electronic eyes spinning and refocusing, either scanning them or imitating human faces in some creepy expression.

The interior of the Titan was pitch black, too dark for unenhanced mortals to see, with only red emergency lights flashing inside, which the Knights had only seen before in bunkers and ships at war. But even without the visual enhancements of their helmets, their genetically enhanced strength could easily penetrate the darkness and see things clearly.

There were no guards outside the large double doors leading to the command deck, and they creaked open slowly as the knights waited.

Attarion grasped Grimaldus's prayer-covered shoulder armor. "Seize this opportunity, brother."

"Trust me." The priest looked at his brother holding the battle flag through the silver mask.

The command deck was a large circle with a raised staircase in the center, surrounded by five ornate, heavily entwined thrones. At the edges of the room, robed technologists worked at consoles filled with a dizzying array of levers, dials, and buttons.

Two huge windows offered a magnificent view. Grimaldus was aware that he was trembling as he realized that he was looking out from the eyes of the God Machine.

On the podium, a huge clear glass tank was supported by humming machinery. In the depths of its milky liquid floated a naked old woman, ravaged by her years and the bionic equipment necessary to maintain life in such conditions.

She watched with her bionic eyes.

"Hello, Astarte." The communicator in her coffin spoke.

"Hello, First Captain," Grimaldus nodded towards the water tank, "It's an honor to stand before you."

There was a noticeable pause before she answered, though her eyes never left his.

"You wish to speak with me. Do not waste time on pleasantries. Stormbringer will soon awaken, and soon I will walk the land. Speak."

"A Titan pilot stationed at the ambassador to Helsrich told me that the Overwatch Corps may not come to provide us with defense."

Then once again, silence fell.

"I see. I command one-third of the Legion's strength. The rest are already defending the Hemlock region, and many of them are fighting alongside your brother Salamander. Are you here to petition for my portion of the Legion's strength?"

"I am not here to beg, Captain. I am here to ask you, face to face, to fight and die with us."

The wizened woman smiled, an expression that was both maternal and hilarious.

"But you have not yet fulfilled your appointed duty, Astarte."

"Is that right?"

This time, the pause was longer. The old woman laughed in her bubbling tank. "We are not face to face."

The knight reached down to his armored collar and undid the lock there.

With the helmet off, the smell of the holy oil and the chemical smell of her amniotic fluid tank became much stronger. The first thing she said to me was something I didn't know how to respond to.

"You have kind eyes."

Her own eyes had long since been removed from her skull, and the sockets were covered by these bulbous lenses that distorted when she looked at me. I couldn't reply to her words, and I didn't know what else I could say. So I remained silent.

"What's your name?"

"Grimaldus of the Black Templars."

"Now we are face to face, Grimaldus of the Black Templars. You have been bold enough to come here and show me respect by showing your countenance. I am no fool. I know that a priest seldom shows his human face to those who are not part of his brotherhood. Ask what you wish, and I will answer."

Grimaldus took a step closer and pressed his palm against the surface of the coffin, which resonated with his armor. He seemed to be imprisoned in a cage as well, and he stared closely at the captain's mechanical eyes. "Captain Zaha. Helsrich needs you. Will you go? Are you willing to walk the world for this?"

She smiled again, like a blind grandmother with a mouth full of slothful teeth, as she pressed her palm against Grimaldus's. Only the reinforced glass separated us.

"The Guard Corps will set out."

It's really an Astartes succubus, a middle-aged woman special attack, who awakened the Emperor-class Titan by caressing her (some low-profile Ohm Messiah), and also charmed the old nun to be anointed. 3k has nun succubus, so can't 40k have monk succubus (justified)

Chapter 34: Battle of Armageddon (XI)

The Hall of the First Proclamation, commonly known as Sigismund's Hall. Legend has it that it was there that the first Grand Marshal of the Black Templars, looking out over the battlefield known as the Iron Cage, vowed that no matter what wounds the Imperium might yet suffer, the Great Crusade would continue. The other Legions were free to protect the realms of Mankind, and there was no shame in their decision.

But Sigismund's Imperial Fists would blacken their armour for the coming battle, continuing their mission to spread the Emperor's will into the Void. They would not defend, they would attack. Thus were born the Black Templars, the only warriors who did not end the Great Crusade.

On the dark iron walls, alien worlds and long-dead warriors are depicted - each a masterpiece painted by a different hand. The statue of Sigismund himself is the eternal guardian, flanked by the statues of the original marshals and lords of the Black Templars. Each bronze warrior is stained green by the bronze of time, but they still hold their swords high, full of fighting spirit, facing the gray flags of the age hanging on the Gothic vaulted ceiling.

Their armour is an ancient, crude, overlapping plate, a style rarely seen even among the Legion's true successors: those noble Chapters of the Second Founding. The outdated laurel-crowned helms distinguish these legendary warriors from those who would take their place ten thousand years later.

Once upon a time, the entire hall was filled with dust and the solemn and stale smell of parchment in ancient memories. Today, the solemn and solemn holy place is covered with blood and fire. Helbrecht, the Grand Marshal of the Black Templar, is fulfilling his duty - holding the Sword of Sigismund to clear away the enemies of mankind!

"Squeak--" The harsh sound of the wrestling between the disintegrators even instantly drowned out the dense and chaotic war cries in the hall. After a short delay, the huge war cry injected chaos into the battlefield again. "Waaaaaaaaaaaagh!" The bonebreaker, the over six-meter-tall green skin, showed agility and combat wisdom that could not be judged by appearance.

He cleverly seized the delay in the communication between the Contemptor Dreadnought and the Grand Marshal, and while dodging the black sword in the hands of the Emperor's Champion, he directly let go of the big spear that was slashing at the Grand Marshal, and instead used the force to overwhelm the Contemptor Dreadnought that had been in a stalemate with him. The huge power claws happened not to trigger the Radiant Shield, and directly tore through his armor, knocking him to his knees.

Fortunately, the Grand Marshal came back to help in time and pulled a storm shield from the side to block the follow-up killing moves of the Bone Crusher for the Dreadnought. But at this time, the balance of the battle had been broken. No matter how strong the Astartes were, they were just mortals. The pure power of the Grand Marshal's finely crafted Terminator was only slightly stronger than that of Ogryn, and was about the same as that of the modified pure melee Dreadnought.

If they were to go head-on with the Bonebreaker, who knew he had lost and only wanted to die in battle, fighting with his life at the cost of injury, then they would get what they wanted - both of them would die together.

He was in a dilemma. Even the Emperor's Champion could not do anything to this abominable alien. As the Grand Marshal and the strongest warrior present, he had ten thousand reasons to step forward and fight, regardless of life or death. But not now, he could not die yet.

Helbrecht, the Grand Marshal of the Black Templars, is a man of strong will, as Grimaldus said. He does not care about personal glory, does not express emotions publicly, and spends every second of his life on the Eternal Crusade. He is not afraid of death, but he cannot tarnish the glory of the Black Templars!

That Alpha, that traitor, he made a deal with Alpha for victory, for the Empire.

He used worthless military ranks and organization to exchange for eight precious battleships, but this secret was only known to him and some members of the Halsridge Expeditionary Force. Considering that Alpha's reputation was not to be hated by everyone, but he was also hated by everyone in the world, he had to suspect that Alpha might have killed or even replaced the insider after his death to hide this secret forever.

It would be unacceptable if the glory of the entire Black Templar was tarnished because of him.

All the thoughts took only a moment, and before he could react, his body honestly moved on its own. Sigismund's sword caught the Bonebreaker's heavy blow at a clever angle, unloading most of the force, and guided the huge power claw to penetrate heavily into the steel floor.

The Emperor's Champion beside the Grand Marshal also cooperated perfectly. The tip of the indestructible black sword pushed back the heavy punch that attacked the Grand Marshal. The Bonebreaker had already lost all weapons except the power claws. Then the two who took over the attack used their sharp blades to fill two deep sword wounds on the Bonebreaker that were visible to the bone but not painful.

We can't defeat it, the Grand Marshal thought. Such a sword wound has already cut open its internal organs, even if an Astartes is hit by a few blows, he will die on the spot, but even though this monster has dozens of wounds on its body and its stomach has been pierced and crushed by the fearless chainsaw sword, it can't even slow it down.

He glanced around the battlefield as he dodged. There were battles everywhere, and the Astartes were at a disadvantage. There were more than twenty greenskin warlords and warlords, plus a green tide that was almost forty times larger than the Black Templars Astartes and mortal servants. We will die here, he thought.

Another dodge and counterattack, his secondary heart already assisting the primary. He felt them beating in unison, but also in unison. The human heart beat like a tribal drum, fast and hot, and the genetically enhanced heart supported it with a slow, heavy thump.

The High Marshal mowed down two unfortunate greenskins who swarmed over him in a mindless frenzy, each shot tearing more of the black paint from their armour, but no Dorn's holy blood was shed.

His red cape was a brown rag that barely covered his torn neck guard, blood dried on his armor in smears, and his bionic arm was exposed, with servos and pistons working on the damaged section of his armor.

His glands were already churning out stimulants for the second time - this time from an injection into his armor. The Emperor's Champion could no longer hold out, and he had to squeeze out a little more strength to share the burden. We are going to die here, he thought again.

He couldn't help but think of the deeds of this sword and its first owner. This time I will stab more accurately than you, he said self-deprecatingly. He had already begun to look for the opportunity to die together, but he could no longer hear a single sound in the noisy battlefield.

Side steps, circling, unloading force, turning around, side slashing, straight stabbing, circular cutting... He abandoned all anger and pain, and like a bloodless and tearless war machine, he survived, bit, observed, and waited with precision.

More than one-fifth of his battle armor was damaged, and even the precious cross amulet fell to the ground - it was said that there were fragments of the God-Emperor's armor in it; his genetically enhanced body also kept sending out alarms, but he suppressed them with his strong willpower and faith - even though his brain was hot due to long-term overuse, his second heart was faster and hotter than a human heart, and his bones and muscles had already creaked in repeated collisions.

He continued to fight calmly, as always, in silence within the burning hallowed halls.

Until a familiar yet strange voice came from the built-in surviving communicator. It was the voice of Artemis, the captain of the Ascetic Chapter! "We are here!"

Chapter 35: Battle of Armageddon (XII)

Who is coming?

The Grand Marshal, whose brain was almost burned into a ball of paste, took a while to react. Something was wrong. Wasn't Captain Artemis of the Ascetic Regiment with that traitor? How did he get on my Eternal Expedition?

It can't be that a traitor came to support us on his own initiative.

I didn’t drink wolf wine, so why did I have hallucinations?

Until he heard new gunshots, new battle cries, and a familiar figure charging over with a spear in hand.

Salmin was so panicked that he saw that the Grand Marshal was in danger. He didn't care about the fish or the rotten ones, and rushed over with his spear. He really broke the enemy's formation with his strength, like the sky breaking the clouds. The densely packed orcs were not even matched by him, and even the two or three war leaders who blocked his way were smashed into pieces by him.