Chapter 423: Warhammer: What Do You Mean You Conquered the Zerg

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

The Eighth Soldier Source Temporary Assembly Area was the largest and most populous of the nine factories.

It was also the only one that had yet to send back good news.

An hour ago, deep inside Factory No. 8, the iron door of the storage room was being slammed with bangs.

Quake leaned against the cold iron shelves, gasping for breath.

He was only sixteen, a Tech-Adept at a textile workshop in the Bottom City, thin as a stick, standing only 1.6 meters tall, and among his peers he was always laughed at as a child who hadn't grown up.

Three days ago, when the conscription squad dragged him out of the Bottom City alleys, he was still clutching unfinished cloth, thinking it was just a formality.

He never thought he would encounter such a hellish scene.

At the moment the ritual erupted, he happened to be hiding in the storage room, sneaking bites of hidden Nutrient Paste.

The screams outside, the roars, the cracking sounds of bones deforming, rushed into his ears like a tide.

He trembled all over with fear, crouched behind the shelves without daring to make a sound, until a Chaos Waa'gh that had smashed through the iron door pounced in front of him, and he instinctively grabbed a broken table leg at hand.

That table leg was made of hard rubberwood, with a rusty iron nail driven into one end, something he had just caught sight of unintentionally.

The instinct for survival overcame fear.

He closed his eyes, swung the table leg, and slammed it hard onto that Waa'gh's head.

The sensation of the iron nail piercing the skull was sticky and disgusting; he retched for a long time, but also for the first time knew that these monsters could be killed.

One monster after another came upon hearing the noise.

He hid behind the door of the storage room, using the narrow terrain to ambush, and actually took down seven Aberrant Bodies that pounced at him in succession.

The iron nails on the table leg had long since bent, covered with black-red bloodstains and bone fragments.

When the eighth Aberrant Body with tentacles roared and charged at him, he was already so exhausted he could barely lift his arms, his vision kept blacking out, and even the fingers gripping the table leg were cramping.

Am I going to die here?

He thought unwillingly; he hadn't saved enough money to move out of the Bottom City, hadn't seen the golden lights of the Upper City, hadn't eaten the legendary grilled meat chops.

Just then, a surge of Heat suddenly exploded from his chest, as if a Flame flowed through his Blood Vessels to his Limbs and Bones.

Fatigue vanished instantly, his sore muscles filled with strength again, even stronger and more abundant than before.

On his originally thin arms, muscle lines faintly bulged.

Fear was also burned clean by this Flame.

Looking at the Aberrant Body pouncing in front of him, he felt no fear at all in his heart, but instead an irrepressible urge to tear the other apart.

"God Emperor... the God Emperor is blessing me!"

Quake was both surprised and delighted; since childhood he had listened to State Religion Pastors preach that devout Chaos Believers would receive the God Emperor's blessing in times of danger.

He thought this was a miracle.

He swung the table leg, and this time he easily smashed the Aberrant Body's head.

Black-red blood splashed on his face, the warm liquid slid down his chin, and he not only did not feel disgusted, but felt an inexplicable exhilaration.

"I want to go out, I want to save others."

Holding this thought, he tore off a thickest bone blade from the Aberrant Body's body, holding it in his hand as a Weapon.

The bone blade was heavy; if it were before, he couldn't lift it at all, but now he felt the weight was just right, very handy.

He kicked open the deformed iron door and stepped into this hell on earth.

The factory was worse than he imagined.

Everywhere were wandering Mutants, everywhere were biting and Shrieks.

He walked forward all the way, chopping and killing whenever he met a monster.

But that power kept growing; every time he killed a monster, he felt the Flame in his body burn a bit stronger, and his strength also grew a bit greater.

He wanted to find Survivors, to save those Ordinary People who just wanted to live like him.

But what he found were either completely Chaos Mutated monsters, or unlucky ones half-human half-ghost in the process of Distorting.

Someone cried to him for help, but the next second their arm turned into tentacles, roaring as they pounced at him.

Again and again, disappointment gradually accumulated.

Those he saved eventually turned into monsters that wanted to kill him.

"Why..."

Quake panted, standing among corpses piled like mountains, the bone blade dripping blood.

His figure had grown much taller; his originally loose work clothes were stretched tight, muscle lines bulging like rocks.

He could no longer tell which were monsters and which were still good people.

Perhaps... they were all the same.

Perhaps... kill them all.

Then there would be no more pain.

Once this thought arose, it grew madly like Lichen receiving sweet rain.

The Flame in his chest burned even fiercer; the pleasure of Killing numbed his mind like Poison.

He no longer searched for Survivors, just walked aimlessly forward, chopping and killing anything that could move.

Monsters were fine, people were fine, begging for mercy was fine, roaring was fine.

One strike, and all fell silent.

The more he killed, the taller his body grew.

Originally a frail boy of one point six meters, he gradually grew to nine chi tall, his muscles knotted, more burly than the burliest Ogryn.

A layer of bright red blood scab congealed on his skin's surface, like natural armor.

He casually picked up two machine gears smashed into pulp, strung several monster vertebrae, and made two heavy flails.

The metal shards on the gear edges were sharp as blades, whistling as they swung, one smash could crush a monster's head into mud.

He no longer remembered how many things he had killed.

He only knew that walking along, he left behind a ground full of shredded corpses, not a single living creature standing behind him.

Sister Agnes, captain of the Eighth Purification Squad, felt her unease growing heavier at this moment.

Their squad's advance speed had originally been the fastest among the nine teams.

From breaking the door in, the first half of the journey was unusually smooth.

No groups of mutants, no hidden witchcraft traps, not even many wandering Chaos Waa'gh.

The corridor was empty, only incomplete corpses littering the ground, as if something had cleared this place beforehand.

"Something's wrong." Agnes abruptly raised her hand, signaling the team to stop.

She crouched down, her fingertips brushing the bloodstains on the ground.

The bloodstains were not completely dry, and the corpses' wounds spoke of the violence they suffered in life.

Not caused by witchcraft, but more like being smashed to pieces by brute force.

"Not done by our people." The Combat Pastor beside him also frowned.

"No traces of Holy Flame scorching along the way, all physical crushing."

They advanced cautiously, the deeper they went, the denser the corpses, the bloodier the scene.

Until they turned the corner of the main workshop and saw the figure standing in the center of the mountain of corpses.

A burly figure nine chi tall, covered head to toe in bright red blood scabs, muscles rising like mountain ranges.

He held a flail made of metal fragments and bone shards in each hand, hanging at his sides; hearing footsteps, he slowly turned his head.

That face still faintly showed the contours of a youth, but his eyes no longer had a shred of humanity, only surging, almost tangible killing desire.

It was him.

It must be him, killing every living thing in this area.

Quake looked at the Purification Squad before him, clad in Power Armor and wielding Bomb Guns, the last trace of clarity remaining in his chaotic consciousness.

He recognized the State Religion Emblem on them, recognized them as the Emperor's warriors.

He opened his mouth, his throat making a hoarse, dry sound, like rusty iron plates rubbing:

"Please, stop me!"

But before his words faded, his body moved uncontrollably.

Muscles tensed, the flail raised high, the corpses under his feet stomped by immense force bursting like rotten tomatoes.

He reeked of blood, like an uncontrolled beast, charging straight at the Purification Squad.

Sister Agnes's pupils shrank suddenly.

She looked at the layer of blood-red killing aura almost condensed into substance on him, looked at the corpses crushed along the way.

Combined with this eerily empty scene all along the way......

An unbelievable answer appeared in her mind.

Her lips moved slightly, spitting out two words:

"Blood God..."