Chapter 424: Warhammer: What Do You Mean You Conquered the Zerg

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

The roaring of bombs, the howling of tiberium flames, the crackle of ion beams, and the sizzle of heat melt rays all blasted open simultaneously in the spacious main workshop.

The firepower of over a hundred people poured out in an instant, dense as a wall of fire, sweeping toward the burly figure atop the mountain of corpses.

Even an Empire Dreadnought Mecha facing such dense firepower head-on would instinctively raise its arms to block or sidestep to avoid vital points.

No flesh-and-blood body could remain unscathed in such a metal storm.

But Quake did not dodge.

He stood with both hands hanging down in the center of the mound of corpses, the tips of his two gear flails dragging on the ground, leaving slight depressions in the gravel.

The curtain of bullets slammed into him, bombs exploding into fine blood mist, tiberium flames licking his body and igniting crimson light, ion beams and heat melt rays sizzling the surface scabs.

Yet Quake did not move at all from beginning to end, not even furrowing his brow by half a degree.

The scab congealed on his skin surface was no longer ordinary flesh residue.

Beneath the dark red scab layer surged chaos energy, forming together with the mutated keratin an armor unique to Blood God Believers.

The impact of grenades could only make him lean back slightly, and tiberium flames could not burn through his skin at all.

Sister Agnes's knuckles trembled as she gripped her chain sword, stormy waves surging in her silver-gray eyes.

She recognized the essence of that blood-colored skin: it was the Blood God's blessing, a blasphemous protection granted by the Warp.

In the endless great game of the Four Gods, Khorne, seated upon the Iron Blood Throne, was never the stingiest with his gaze and gifts.

His gifts never followed mortal logic.

He cared nothing for faction, morality, or purpose, nor even whether believers believed in him.

He cared only for one thing.

Whether killing itself was pure enough, instinctive enough, whether it could bring him a trace of pleasure in endless slaughter and blood.

Becoming a Chaos Champion might only take one glorious victory, but becoming a Divine Chosen was as difficult as ascending to heaven.

Only your battle, your killing intent, your most primal destructive urge bursting forth in desperate straits.

Only if you could please that bloodthirsty god across the barrier of the Warp would he cast his gaze upon you, pouring his unique power into your body.

Obviously, Quake had done it.

A sixteen-year-old Bottom City Textile Apprentice, thin as a hemp stalk, with only a table leg studded with iron nails in his hand.

Starting from the desperate straits of the storeroom, to survive, he was forced to appear in a hell full of Aberrant Bodies.

Without witchcraft, without combat armor, not even a decent weapon.

Relying solely on survival instinct and ever-growing killing intent, he hacked down several monsters far stronger than himself all the way.

This pure slaughter, squeezed out from desperate straits and free of any stray thoughts, was exactly to Khorne's taste.

"He actually became a Killing Divine Chosen..." Sister Agnes's voice was low, carrying a barely perceptible tremor.

Before her words fell, Quake had already closed half the distance.

He made no tactical moves, simply strode forward and charged straight at the Purification Squad's formation.

His nine-foot-tall body was like a moving mountain of flesh, the two gear flails swung at his sides, whistling through the air.

The Iron Guard soldiers in the front row gritted their teeth and held down their triggers, the bomb gun muzzles almost pressed against Quake's body.

But he ignored them, letting bullets smash into his pectoral muscles, sending up sprays of blood.

In the blink of an eye, he had charged into the formation.

The heavy gear flail was raised with the force of ten thousand jun, and the first row of shield-bearing Iron Guards didn't even have time to react with a block before the blunt weapon slammed hard into the center of the shield wall.

The ceramic steel heavy shields were no different from thin wooden boards; there was not even the sight of heavy-armored warriors straining to block, their armor dented by the blow.

They were directly shattered, vanished.

Like a fragile soda can, easily dented by a blow, spilling juice, then flying away without a trace.

Quake's movements were fast, completely at odds with his burly body.

His left-hand flail swept horizontally, sending three Iron Guard soldiers flying, while the gear blade of his right hand followed with a downward chop, directly cleaving a warrior holding a heat melt gun, person and weapon, in two.

Heat melt fuel spilled from the cut, splashing onto his arm and igniting into a great fire, but it was like pouring oil on flames, making the blood color all over his body even more intense.

The Combat Nuns immediately flanked from both sides, the high-speed rotating saw teeth of their chain swords biting into Quake's forearm and waist-abdomen.

The piercing friction sound sent up sparks and blood beads, yet could not even cut open the surface scab, leaving not a single wound.

Quake let out a low roar, his muscles tensing fiercely, actually relying on his flesh-and-blood body to shatter the saw teeth.

He twisted backhand, the nun grunted, and the wrist holding her sword was directly snapped.

The next second, the heavy flail slapped onto her chest armor.

The nun's body was directly flung backward, sending up a spray of blood mist.

All that remained was the arm Quake held in his grip.

Sister Agnes watched her companion killed so easily, without thinking too much.

Sacrifice was itself a kind of glory.

She took a deep breath, raised her Holy Emblem high, and the Faith Spiritual Light around her surged to the extreme:

"Focus fire! Shoot his eyes!"

The three Combat Pastors in the center of the Team chanted the Purification Prayer simultaneously, golden Holy Flame spraying from the tops of their Holy Staves, turning into three fire snakes that all pounced at Quake's face.

The holy flames burned against the blood-colored light, Quake's advancing footsteps finally paused for half a second, a pained low roar issuing from his throat, as he instinctively turned his head to avoid the direct blow.

But it was only half a second.

He took a big stride forward, actually charging straight through the Holy Flame.

The outer layer of the Blood Scab was charred and smoking from the burn, but the blood-red radiance within surged with madness, constantly repairing the scorched tissue.

In a hair's breadth, he had reached the Pastor's front; his Flail swept over, kicking up a rain of blood carrying severed limbs and arms.

The Holy Staff clattered to the ground, and the golden Holy Flame instantly extinguished.

The bloody massacre unfolded completely.

For Quake now, this Purification Squad, whose combat power rivaled a small Space Marine reconnaissance squad capable of wiping out an entire cult Outpost, was...

No different from the unarmed civilians and mutated monsters in the factory, in essence.

Merely "toys" that could barely rouse a little interest in him.

Explosive rounds couldn't penetrate, flames couldn't burn through, Chain Swords couldn't cut.

He was like a fierce Tiger that had burst into a flock of Sheep; wherever he passed, flesh flew, armor shattered, and Shrieks and the sound of breaking metal rose and fell endlessly.

In the Shadow, three Pureblood Gene Stealer figures pounced down soundlessly.

They were originally hidden sentries lurking in the depths of the factory; seeing the Purification Squad wiped out entirely, they wanted to take advantage of the opening while Quake was restrained by the Holy Flame to launch a sneak attack, attempting to tear apart this out-of-control humanoid beast.

Sharp Rending Claws carried a cold radiance, heading straight for Quake's nape and both eyes.

But Quake was like he had eyes in the back of his head.

He didn't turn back, instead swinging his Flail backward with his backhand.

With three crisp sounds, three Pureblood Gene Stealers were slammed heavily onto the Ceiling like swatted flies, and when they fell again, they were already twisted into a lump of rotten flesh.

Their bodies weren't very durable to begin with, and before the monstrous strength of the Khorne Divine Chosen, they appeared even more fragile.

From the simultaneous volley of firepower to the death of the last Gene Stealer, it was only a few dozen seconds before and after.

The entire hundred-man Purification Squad, along with the three lurking Pure-blood Chicken Thieves, not one survived.