blogombal Page 158
Page 158
These guys always use so-called schemes and tricks, hoping to gain something for nothing and acquire things that don't belong to them.
However, the wizard did offer some good sacrifices, which did indeed make it happy. If it could continue to offer good things, it might be possible for it to provide what it wanted.
For example, there's the demon prince who's currently fighting the Slaanesh army in the wilderness.
Angron.
It is the demon prince, the son of the cursed one from ten thousand years ago, and the thing destined to become his possession.
hehe........
Khorne sneered from his throne, no longer pondering anything else, but focusing intently on the battlefield, searching for warriors who piqued his interest.
Meanwhile, Angron, who was in the midst of the battle, felt a strange sensation.
It was an indescribable feeling, as if someone was calling his name, but this name was not his current name, not the title of this demon prince, but his name from the past, when he was still human.
Angron?
Angron.
brother?
brother.
sorry?
I am sorry.
The nails buzzed and gnawed at Angron's soul and spirit. Just as he had become the Demon Prince, the nails were successfully removed from his head.
But soon, his nature displeased the supreme god, so the nail was infused with the power of chaos and was once again installed on his head.
He became a hunting hound, or rather, a dog.
A pitiful hunting dog, driven by a long whip, deprived of its freedom.
Such a fate has no end. Over the course of ten thousand years, he was driven back to reality time and time again, to start massacres in his father's kingdom, and then banished by those mortals and the offspring of his brothers with all their blood, strength, and sacrifice. This cycle repeated itself again and again, as if it were an endless loop.
However, today, it suddenly sensed that this cycle was about to end.
why?
He had become a demon prince, and even if he died, he would be resurrected in the subspace until he was driven by his master to hunt again.
He didn't know, but to be honest...
He didn't dislike that feeling.
With a roar, he tore the Slaanesh demon before him in two.
He could wait, wait for his master to throw him into the next hunt, and then he would discover the truth behind this feeling.
－－－－－－－－－－－
The fighting became increasingly fierce, even brutal.
Traitors poured in from all parts of the city, and countless enemies resisted the imperial army's attack. People had become a expendable resource, constantly being thrown into this meat grinder.
When people are put in, all that is produced is this utterly crushed flesh and blood.
The Titan legions are fighting within the hive. At this moment, all the Titans are engaged in the battle. Raiders and Warhound-level Titans are no longer of great importance in the battle. What is truly important is the struggle between the Warlord-level Titans.
The Titans of the Warlord class have changed their weapons. The volcano cannons they used last time have been removed, and they are now using the ferocious Death Chainsaw Sword and the Lightning Gauntlets.
There was no flying flesh and blood, nor many battle cries, in close combat among the Titan legions, but the ferocity they displayed was in no way less civilized than battles between mortals.
Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel, metal fragments flew everywhere, and the earth trembled with every movement of a Titan. When a Titan was pierced through its cockpit by another Titan and fell, losing its soul, the earth and sky shuddered.
Caesar, despite his exhaustion, charged into the ranks of a cultist, his chainsaw sword flashing and unleashing a storm of blood.
Enemy limbs and severed bodies flew everywhere, and the surviving enemies were terrified and began to flee with screams of pain.
But this will only make them die faster.
The Word Bearers, the Black Legion, and the Iron Warriors, all united as traitorous Astartes forces, advanced together to confront the Imperial Astartes of thirteen chapters. They were equal in number to the Imperials, and with the support of a large number of degraded Astartes, they even managed to suppress the Imperials on the main battlefield for a time.
However, this advantage was quickly eliminated.
In terms of both the quantity and quality of mortal troops, the Empire ultimately holds the upper hand. These ordinary mortals, who are usually inconspicuous, also possess their own strength on this battlefield, enabling the Astartes to contend with even more powerful enemies.
Lancelot was fighting a Black Legion warrior. He didn't recognize the man, but he could tell from the insignia and decorations on the warrior's armor that he was a Khorne Berserker.
Khorne Berserkers are the most terrifying warriors in the Chaos. They are ferocious and powerful, wielding savage battle axes to decapitate their enemies as a display of their power.
Lancelot had always considered his swordsmanship to be comparable to that of some veterans in the warbands, but at this moment, facing this Khorne berserker, he felt an unprecedented pressure.
The seemingly chaotic slashes were all aimed precisely at vital points, and every block effectively parried Lancelot's blows and allowed for a counterattack.
With another heavy blow, he was successfully sent flying, using inertia to stagger backward in mid-air before crashing heavily to the ground.
The impact jolted Lancelot's internal organs, but for Astartes' size, the impact was not fatal, and was even quite minor.
Taking advantage of this moment, Lancelot successfully shifted his gaze to observe his surroundings.
Even just a glance at his surroundings, Lancelot clearly sensed the price the Empire's army had paid at that moment.
The Imperial warriors who died around them were proof enough of the heavy price paid: the explosive guns that had run out of bullets, the broken chainsaw swords, and the mountains of corpses and seas of blood that could drown the ruins.
Not only mortals, but the Astartes paid an even more devastating price, often facing more enemies than themselves, and opponents stronger than themselves, empowered by the forces of chaos.
The missing helmet, the dented breastplate, the empty weapon pouch, the broken limbs, and the mutilated corpse.
Without a doubt, the war has reached this point. It is about to enter its final stage.
Both sides have been pouring their efforts into this meat grinder for nearly sixty-four Terran hours.
The approaching footsteps made Lancelot realize that the Khorne berserker was getting closer.
He quickly stood up and gripped his two-handed greatsword tightly. Light and lightning flashed on the blade, emanating from the disintegrating force field. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and faced his opponent once more.
The two-handed greatsword and the chainsword clashed, sparks flying, and then, in just a few seconds, the two exchanged blows dozens of times.
Without a doubt, Lancelot was once again at a disadvantage.
The terrible thing was that Lancelot was struggling to hold on. If nothing unexpected happened, according to his own estimation, within a minute, the Khorne berserker would find an opening, pierce his chest, shred his heart, and turn him into a cold corpse.
opportunity.
Lancelot searched.
support.
Lancelot pondered.
Just one explosive bomb, just enough to draw the enemy's attention for a fleeting moment...
Caesar........
Out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot saw Caesar, who was also caught in a fierce battle, and knew that the other could not help him.
Is this where my fate ends?
No.
A small figure in a gray military uniform rushed forward, but to the Khorne Berserker, he was not even a rock, just an insignificant grain of sand.
Then, he was knocked flying.
In other words, he was smashed into a pool of blood.
A single grain of sand cannot stop a person's progress; it will only be ignored and casually driven away.
But once the amount of sand increases, reaching one hundred, one thousand, ten thousand...
Even giants would be completely blocked from advancing.
Lancelot watched as soldiers charged forward, only to be turned into a bloody mist by the Khorne berserkers. But over time, these mortals managed to force a slight opening in his defenses.
His chainsaw axe was filled with the remains of mortal bones and flesh, which slowed its operation and momentarily slowed the Khorne berserker's movements, giving Lancelot an opportunity to roar and thrust his sword out.
The blade pierced the Khorne Berserker's neck, then swept it away, severing his head.
Lancelot, panting heavily, looked at everything before him, at the Astral Army soldiers who had died for him and the fallen Khorne Berserkers, and remained silent for a moment.
Immediately afterwards, he strode forward and once again plunged into the battlefield.
He continued his slaughter, but what he didn't notice was that as he fought, some crimson energy appeared, attempting to entangle his soul, but it was quickly blocked by another white energy.
Standing atop a city tower, Kayan watched the war advance relentlessly and took a deep breath.
Soon, soon.
He thought about it, then turned his head and looked at a pocket watch in his hand that was powered by spiritual energy.
From now on, there are only eight minutes left until sixty-four Terran hours have elapsed in the most brutal battle of this war.
Eight minutes later, death and fear will descend upon this world.
－－－－－－－－－－－
Chapter 190 Angron's Arrival
Gabriel Seth felt a strong sense of unease, so real that it affected his movements on the battlefield.
The Bloodthirsty One roared, its mechanical spirit driving the chainsaw greatsword to operate beyond its limits. The chainsaw gears were filled with fragments of enemy flesh and bone, and each rotation caused it to spew out a thin mist of blood.
A powerful downward slash was aimed at a terrified, corrupted Astartes in front of him. But due to the influence of that unease, at the last moment before the greatsword fell, another Word Bearer Astartes rushed forward.
The Word Bearer, Astartes, wielded a grotesque power scepter, its head topped with a hideous demonic skull. The blasphemous power of the warp and a disintegrating field flowed across it; a strike from it would not only shatter the power armor but also inflict some terrifying curse of unknown origin.
Curses have many effects: accelerating aging, stealing flesh and blood, evaporating blood... But no matter which one, for the cursed, they are all extreme torment and a fatal weakness on the battlefield.
Out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw the scepter aimed at his waist and abdomen.
If he gets hit, he can declare himself dead on this battlefield.
But he's Gabriel Seth.
Lord of the Flesh-Tearers, Son of the Wrathful Angels.
The Bloodthirsty was flipped over by its master with an almost unbelievable power and method, thus blocking the path of the scepter's attack.
boom!
The scepter and the Bloodthirsty Claw collided. The Word Bearer, wielding the scepter, clearly hadn't anticipated this turn of events. Having just seized Seth's weakness, he now exposed his own. Seeing the exposed torso, a terrifying smile appeared on Seth's face. Seth manipulated his arms, unleashing another powerful strike, sending the Bloodthirsty Claw flying from the ground, unleashing an unavoidable upward slash at his enemy.