Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 870 Warhammer-themed Massive Mixed Operation

After Victor brought the human expeditionary force to the Bloodlings' experimental base, Ryan had already made preparations to defend against it.

If he were one of those damned Dark Eldar, then this would be the perfect opportunity to betray them.

Just as Ryan had predicted, Victor did indeed reveal the dagger of betrayal.

But the only thing that Ryan didn't expect was that two more forces, not from the Black Heart Conspiracy Group, suddenly appeared behind Victor.

In fact, compared to the others, the sinister conspiracy group is the weakest of them all.

The other two Dark Eldar forces also seemed to be on guard against each other, showing no intention of fighting side by side, and instead attacking the Astartes Legion from different directions.

One of them was mostly female Dark Elfs, and Ryan immediately deduced that they were warriors of the Witchcraft Cult.

These dark Eldar women are all masters of the art of killing. Every day, they fight against other dark Eldar, orcs, humans, and even some unnamed monsters in the blood-soaked arena.

They honed their superb fighting skills, but also made themselves more elegant and agile. Relying on their powerful combat strength, the witch spirits fought their way out of the dark and cruel Comoros and earned a prestigious position second only to the Conspiracy Group.

While the witch spirits filled their spiritual void with the deaths of their opponents, they also became a conduit for the dark spirit race of Comoros to vent their bloodlust.

When those vicious spectators, after watching the bloody and exciting duel, leave satisfied like satiated vultures, they are, in a sense, making an outstanding contribution to maintaining the brutal order of Comoros.

Of course, the Elves appearing on this battlefield are only a small branch of the Elves cult, but these individual Elves, with their extremely powerful strength, still put considerable pressure on the Space Marines.

The other Dark Eldar force consisted entirely of elite killing squads made up of Nightmares.

Unlike the Witch Spirits, they did not possess strong individual personalities; they were all uniformly dressed in dark armor covered with jagged, barbed blades, and held half-Clive Blades still stained with blood.

This special Ada-powered weapon is more agile than the clumsy Clive Blade. It can be used alone or two and a half Clive Blades can be assembled together to form a more powerful killing weapon.

Ryan noticed the difference between these nightmares: among the conspiracies he had previously wiped out, there were also a considerable number of nightmares, but those nightmares were merely hired as elite bodyguards to protect the conspiracies' rulers from being killed by their ambitious subordinates.

It's strange, really. Comoros, this utterly unreasonable place filled with betrayal and deception, has somehow given birth to the Nightmare Order, a strange organization that is completely neutral, highly committed to contracts, and incredibly powerful in combat.

These appearing nightmares are completely different from the mercenaries; they are far more powerful in combat, and their organization and discipline far surpass those of the scattered nightmares.

Most importantly, Ryan Johnson sensed a threatening aura emanating from these nightmares.

This is quite astonishing. Lemanrus's ability to tear apart a succubus from the Witchcraft Cult proves that even the most powerful Eldar warriors are no different from the weak Conspiracy warriors when facing the Primarch.

Swatting a mosquito is the same as swatting a fly; to a Primarch who has awakened to the nature of the Warp, it's all the same.

However, the Dark Eldar are the first race to pose a threat to the Lion.

"Gallad, you take the inner ring and go take down those nightmare leaders."

"Stay vigilant; it's a formidable adversary."

Ryan did not choose to take action himself; he had a more important task to complete. In his view, his offspring were sufficient to deal with the leaders of those nightmares.

The will of the lion is the will of the dark angel, and Galad—the veteran of the inner ring who had experienced countless fierce battles in the Randan War and the Great Expedition—immediately accepted the order.

His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, beneath his helmet locked onto the ominous figure amidst the nightmare horde.

Without a word, several veterans of the Dark Angels' inner circle, equally battle-hardened and with perfect teamwork, followed closely behind Galad like the strongest shield and the sharpest spearhead.

The lion's son transformed into a bolt of black lightning, tearing through the chaotic battlefield and hurtling straight towards the Nightmare Lord named Drazar.

Besides Ryan, Chagatai Khan and Lemanrus also made similar decisions, dispatching their most elite troops to launch decapitation strikes against the Witchcraft Cult and the Nightmare Order.

These Astartes who followed the Primarch on their expedition to the Comoros were also among the rare to experience the bitterness of insufficient manpower when fighting against the Dark Eldar.

In the vast majority of the past, humans had abundant military strength, while the Eldar, due to a severe shortage of troops, could only resort to guerrilla warfare, firing a shot and then running away.

Led by Galahad, the Dark Angels tore through the Nightmares' defenses like the sharpest swords.

These Dark Eldar warriors, honed in the ultimate cesspool of Comoros, are indeed strong, but the veterans of the Dark Angels' Inner Ring who have fully completed the Great Crusade are monsters among monsters.

In terms of average quality, no legion's elite forces can compare to the Dark Angels.

Never underestimate the First Legion's strength; these warriors are capable of far more than you might imagine.

As Galad unleashed a devastating storm of power swords at Drazza, the Nightmare Lord vanished as if merging into the shadows, only to reappear a moment later beside Galad at an angle completely defying the laws of physics.

Two half-Clive blades, gleaming with a dark light, silently pierced the joint gaps of Galad's Terminator armor, like the fangs of a viper.

"Clang! Sizzle—"

A piercing metallic scraping and an energy burst rang out. Galad barely managed to parry the fatal blow with his amazing combat instincts, but a deep gash was still cut into his shoulder armor.

In the face of the weapons of the Dark Eldar, adamantite was not as powerful as imagined. As the intensity of the war increased, the once invincible armor suffered more and more setbacks.

The Blademaster's power is so great that even Galad rarely encounters it.

The servo system inside the Terminator armor emitted an overloaded hum, and the Dark Angel's muscles, bones, and internal organs convulsed violently, squeezing out its last bit of strength to resist Drazar's attack.

"For Caliban! For the Lion!"

Galad roared, and his power sword transformed into a curtain of light, clashing with Delazal.

Each collision erupted with dazzling sparks and ear-piercing noises. Delazal's fighting style was exceptionally flexible and unpredictable, making it difficult even for a sword master like Galad to defend against.

However, the son of Ryan persevered, sensing the special techniques used by his opponent with his own heart.

The Nightmare Lord's fighting style combines the Eldar's top-notch swordsmanship with the Nightmare Cult's unpredictable shadow-moving abilities, sometimes disappearing and sometimes launching deadly attacks from unexpected angles.

The half-Clive blade in his hand seemed to be alive, each strike deadly and ruthless. Through his opponent's moves, Galad saw an incredibly twisted, silent, and insane inner world.

An inner-ring dark angel attempting a flank attack was swiftly sliced ​​through by Drazar's ghostly spin, his twin blades crossed, the adamantite armor cleanly cleaved in two, the warrior's body instantly torn apart at the waist.

Galad's heart pounded like a war drum. He had no time to grieve for his colleague who had been killed in a single encounter by De La Zar, because even the slightest distraction would have meant certain death for him.

"What a magnificent death! The flowing blood is like the sweetest nectar, calming the madness in my heart."

"These humans don't understand that this is not an equal and bloody war at all."

"The outcome of everything was within my calculations."

Outside the chaotic battlefield, Victor, the mastermind behind the ruthless conspiracy, is patiently laying the groundwork for his trap.

His greatest strengths are his extraordinary patience and his thorough understanding of every detail.

It is precisely by relying on these qualities that this former lowly slave is climbing step by step into the upper echelons of the Comoros.

"Drazar was not actually a descendant of the Comoros. He was once the Phoenix Lord of the Ark Eldar and the founder of the Assault Scorpion Tribe Temple."

His strength is beyond doubt; even among the Phoenix Lords, few can rival him.

Unfortunately, Drazzar, or perhaps more accurately, Darth Ahra, possessed an overly arrogant and fiery temperament, leading him to haughtily choose to retaliate against Chaos.

"Victor said slowly, watching Blademaster who was fighting Galad.

"But even the Phoenix Lord is not 100% safe when facing Chaos. After he returned from the Warp, he took an elite Eldar from his master Asulman and disappeared without a trace."

"When he reappeared, he appeared as Derazar. He easily killed the Nightmare Lord at the time and took his place, becoming the new Nightmare Lord."

In Victor's eyes, Comoros has few secrets, and De Lazar's secrets are naturally not among them.

It was precisely because he knew the other party well that he was able to befriend him and call for his help in such situations.

There are many conspirators in the cabal, but only Victor and Drazzar maintain a good relationship.

Galad and the remaining inner circle warriors were locked in a fierce battle under the pressure of the Blademaster.

Relying on their fearless spirit of sacrifice, and utilizing their exquisite teamwork and the heavy armor of the Terminator, they risked their lives to hold off this terrifying enemy, buying time for the Primarchs.

Despite possessing powerful relic weapons, the Dark Angel retains the same spirit and qualities as before.

Blood and shattered armor plates splattered continuously; every clash came at a heavy price.

Drajar glared angrily at the humans before him. The arrogance of the former Phoenix Lord made him resentful that he was being held back by these few weak humans.

His opponent should be the leader of those primitive monkeys, an entity known as the Primal.

De Lazar was eager to try; he wanted to see if he could cut off Ryan Johnson's head.

They, the Spirit Race, are the most superior and powerful race!

In other areas of the battlefield, the Space Marines faced similar pressure, like an avalanche.

The Bloodlust's bio-engineered monsters have become extremely difficult to kill under the continuous infusion of the Plague Heart's power.

The wounds created by the explosion would be instantly filled with writhing, rotting flesh and proliferating bone spurs. Even if the thermoplastic weapon evaporated the foul-smelling pus, it would regenerate and spread again in a very short time.

Like mobile sources of plague, they assaulted Astartes' lines with their massive bodies and vicious disease.

Even the Primarchs, Llane and Ruth, would require far more effort to completely destroy them, as these monsters' resistance to warp forces is increasing dramatically.

The Lion King and Wolf King's expressions gradually turned grim as they suddenly recalled their encounter when boarding the Vengeance Soul.

That's how they felt when they besieged Chagatai, the Plague King.

"Chagatai, think of a way to stop that damned plague!"

"Lane roared, his Misty Jungle Domain was gradually losing its effectiveness. The Plague Heart, as a warp artifact on par with the Tuchucha Engine and the Ouroboros, also possessed some incredible power."

"How do I make it stop?!"

"You think too highly of me!" The Khan was also helpless. He was extremely familiar with this damned Heart of Plague, but now he naturally could not control the warp artifact as freely as he had in the Trial of the Gods, since he had not yet recognized a master.

He was also extremely vigilant, fearing that he might fall into the trap of the plague again, which would be a real disaster.

In the online world, can one really expect an emperor to suddenly appear out of nowhere and save his offspring?

"Why think so much? Charge in and kill all these disgusting monsters! That's the right thing to do!"

"Kill them first, then talk."

Lemanrus was truly engrossed in the killing, wielding his Frostblade Battle Axe as he weaved in and out of the enemy ranks, completely unleashing his savage instincts and bloodlust.

With Ryan and Chagatai present, Ruth felt he didn't need to use his intelligence, so the wolf king simply abandoned thinking and left everything to his muscle instincts.

The same applies to the wolf pack; since the alpha wolf is acting this way, they have even less reason to think.

Killing is exhilarating! Fighting is exhilarating!
The Space Wolves even feel more exhilarated now than during the Great Rebellion, because the rebels would immediately and rationally retreat when things went wrong, and would constantly make strategic and tactical adjustments, making it difficult for the Space Wolves to recklessly charge ahead.

But these foolish enemies will only swarm forward like endless cannon fodder, piling up humanity to their deaths.

Ryan was also quite helpless. He patiently searched for Victor's location, preparing to teach this two-faced traitor a lesson.

Victor, knowing Ryan's prowess, concealed himself perfectly, so much so that even the lion's wild instincts couldn't find where he was hiding.

"Does this look like some kind of life-or-death game of hide-and-seek?"

“O lion of mankind, your arrogance and conceit have led you to invade the Comoros with such a small force; this is a path to your death.”

"The Cataclysm will recede, the rifts in the Web will heal, and when the entire Dark Eldar of Comoros has resolved those troubles, you will be surrounded by countless enemies."

“I have already extended invitations to other conspiracies to cooperate in a hunt, and the prey is the three of you.”

"What good is being good at fighting? In this world, it's all about background. If three thousand Dark Elf Clan members can't kill you, then we'll take thirty thousand, three hundred thousand. Our race also has many powerful weapons left over from ancient times, and we can even summon the avatar of Bloodhand Kane."

"I'm asking you, how can we lose in this situation?!"

Victor's figure loomed in the shadows at the edge of the battlefield, a cold smile of triumph on his face as he calmly directed his few but cunningly positioned black-hearted warriors through the communicator.

Under his command, the Dark Eldar, like venomous snakes, waited for the opportune moment to strike or create chaos, firmly pinning the human legion to the meat grinder of the Bloodbringer's bio-engineered army, the Witch Spirits, and the Nightmares.

His goal was clear: to let humanity and the major powers of Comoros fight to the death, and then he would step in to clean up the mess.

Humans, Bloodwalkers, the Witchcraft Cult, and the Nightmare Order are all pawns in his game; only he himself is the one wielding the pieces.

He will reap the greatest benefits, then redistribute them, and win over those conspiracies and political allies.

Just as the battle reached its most brutal stalemate, Chagatai Khan, who had been sensing the fluctuations of the Heart of Plague with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them.

His eyes, which always held a stormy sharpness, were now filled with an unprecedented sense of horror and solemnity.

"Something's wrong. This thing... it's calling upon the power of the Plague Heart... it's already spreading through the cracks in the web!"

"The Warp has detected the presence of the Plague Heart. Those stupid black sprouts, they activated the power of the Plague Heart to stop us, but now is the time of the Cataclysm of Disintegration, and the defenses of the Web are at their lowest point."

Ryan and Ruston were taken aback for a moment, then a very subtle feeling arose in their hearts.

Could it be...

As if to confirm the Khan's warning, the cracks in the torn network, under the pressure of some force, began to expand at a visible rate.

This can no longer be called a rift in the network; it's like a damn portal has opened in the network itself!

A stench even stronger and more repulsive than the plague created by the Blood Spirits, a mixture of the cloying sweetness of rotting flowers and the putrid stench of endless despair, surged forth like a tangible tide from the largest cracks.

Accompanying this is a chilling sensation, as if countless viscous liquids are flowing on the skin, and the buzzing sound of countless flies flapping their wings.

"The Heart of the Plague..."

"It's mine..."

A deep, slow sound, as if from countless rotting throats, resounded in the soul of every living being.

The Primarchs, who had already received a warning, immediately ordered their legions to regroup and move to the edge of the battlefield.

Just as humans and the Dark Eldar were locked in fierce combat, a new force intervened in the war.

The first to emerge from the broken path was the Great Unclean One, Kugas, whose body was as large as a mountain, covered in pus and maggots, and who wielded a huge plague scepter.

Its eyes shone with infinite devotion to the plague and suffering; its mere presence caused the surrounding space to begin to decay and distort.

Behind it surged forth like a green sea of ​​pus, along with rotting behemoths and Deathguards, clad in heavy plague armor, their steps faltering yet remarkably tenacious.

The leader of these Death Guards who defected to Nurgle was none other than Typhon, the company commander who led the entire Fourteenth Legion to the Plague Garden in an attempt to have Nurgle forcibly corrupt Mortalian.

Beneath his rotting helmet, his eyes burned with fanatical loyalty to Nurgle, while behind him, a massive, bulging, abominable hive of creatures continuously spewed forth flies carrying deadly viruses.

Wherever he went, a black storm spread.

Typhons was incredibly excited; he finally had a chance to prove himself and present a truly precious gift to the great father of the plague, Nurgle.

He lost Mortalian, which led to Typhons being ostracized by other Nurgle demons in the Plague Gardens, to the point that he was considered a "stinking beggar from out of town."

Don't be fooled by the fact that Nurgle's demons seem to "love each other"; it doesn't mean they don't fight amongst themselves, though they might do so in a more covert way.

Only a great impure person like Kugas, who is "understanding," would be willing to maintain a good relationship with Typhon.

Therefore, when Nurgle sensed the presence of the Heart of Plague and sent his most beloved Kurgas to retrieve this warp artifact, Typhons finally had a chance to appear.

The unique environment created by the Heart of Plague felt like home to these suddenly appearing Nurgle armies.

They surged into the battlefield like a green torrent, instantly causing the Dark Eldar who were engaged in fierce combat to feel that the situation was beginning to spiral out of control.

The Bloodlings screamed wildly, beating Victor for what he had done and why all these Nurgle demons had come running over.

The leader of the ruthless conspiracy group was also horrified by this scene. He wanted to curse these Blood Spirits for their stupidity, since they had clearly activated the power of the Plague Heart in order to defend against the enemy.

But now he has no choice but to fight to the bitter end and eliminate all the invaders.

However, the chaos did not end; in fact, the situation worsened.

On another battlefield ravaged by the demon Slaanesh, numerous sinister factions have joined forces in an extremely rare move to fight these deadly enemies.

They paid a heavy price to finally repel the Slaanesh's demonic army, but several incredibly swift and elegant figures, almost blasphemous, quietly appeared.

They wore purple-gold power armor that once symbolized glory but is now adorned with twisted flesh and screaming souls. Their movements were elegant yet deadly, and the power swords in their hands gleamed with a morbid light.

They are the sons of fallen emperors, the perfect men of the past, now the decadent ones.

The foremost among the emperor's sons was none other than the chief apothecary, Fabius Bayer, who was obsessed with the perfect body and forbidden knowledge.

His face held the focus of a scholar and the greed of a seeker of knowledge as he calmly observed the fierce battle raging in the distance, his gaze fixed on the direction of the Heart of Plague.

"What a... chaotic yet beautiful symphony."

"Comoro, the last remnant of the Ancient Eldar Empire, is where countless Dark Eldar hide and continue their absurd and ridiculous rule."

Fabius, judging solely from his appearance, is utterly unremarkable, and could even be described as ugly.

No trace of his former "handsomeness" remained on his body; his hair was dry and withered, his skin was shriveled, and several metal tubes connected his head to the huge surgical backpack on his back.

Various giant syringes, chainsaw axes, scalpels, and hemostatic forceps hang from his powered backpack, making him look like an ordinary pharmacist.

However, this unassuming apothecary, son of the emperor, is now the de facto controller of the Third Legion, and no one dares to disobey his orders and will.

Even the warlord Abaddon had to maintain a good relationship with Fabius, otherwise his legions would have difficulty getting supplies.

“I don’t care about war. The Son of the Emperor has nothing to do with war anymore. We no longer exhaust ourselves for the will of any one person,” Fabius sighed, the image of Fugrim’s debauchery and depravity flashing through his mind.

Byr was utterly disappointed in his Primarch. Forgrim was now nothing but a maggot who only knew how to enjoy himself, and his existence was meaningless.

But it doesn't matter, I'll create a perfect Forgrim.
“The Bloodwalker’s skills… that forbidden knowledge about the essence of life… are the missing piece in the ‘perfect’ puzzle I’m seeking.” He licked his lips, a morbid longing gleaming in his eyes.

"Fight to your heart's content, you foolish mortals and pathetic aliens..."

"It is truly pitiful and lamentable that they are sitting on a mountain of treasures without realizing it."

"In that case, why not entrust these precious pieces of knowledge to me for safekeeping and transmission?"

"Only in my hands can this knowledge shine and continue to climb to higher peaks."

He gave orders to the emperor's sons behind him, who were already tormented by desire and distorted, indulging in physical sensual stimulation.

"Go, go hunt, go feast on the sweetest of the dark spirits."

"But you must remember, I'm letting you indulge in wild pleasures, not so that you'll actually become wild dogs."

"If you hear my order, you must immediately return to my command, otherwise... you know the consequences."

"When they're almost out of blood, that's when we'll enter and reap the rewards."

“Remember, prioritize capturing living Bloodlinkers; their brains…are worth more than any treasure. As for the souls of the Dark Eldar…consider them dessert.”

The fallen emperor's sons could no longer restrain themselves, letting out low growls filled with twisted pleasure, lurking in the shadows like beasts in heat, waiting to deliver a fatal blow to their weary prey.

The battlefield in Comoros instantly escalated from a chaotic battle between two sides into a terrifying melee involving humans, the Dark Eldar, the Nurgle Legion, Slaanesh demons, and the sons of the Fallen Emperor.

(End of this chapter)