Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 496 warboss
Deep within the tunnel, the orc mechanics cunningly attempted to detonate a haphazardly piled, rusty stack of fuel barrels to create greater chaos, hindering or even severely damaging the assault team.

"Blow! Blow up these tin cans!" screamed an orc mechanic wearing a dirty leather apron and covered in grease, lighting the thick fuse with trembling hands, a cruel expectation on his ugly face.

But Sergeant Vasily reacted as swiftly as a cheetah.

"Grenades! Cover the fuel barrel pile! Eliminate the threat!" he shouted the order, throwing a fragmentation grenade himself.

Several deadly metal canisters traced precise parabolic arcs, carrying the will of the Ash Knight, as they fell into the dangerous area of ​​fuel barrels.

A violent explosion occurred instantly, and an orange-red fireball soared into the air, with scorching blasts of air carrying metal fragments and burning orc remains that slammed into the surrounding area.

The mechanic who lit the fuse and the orc boy who tried to cover it, along with some of the obstacles, were blown away and set ablaze by the immense force, turning into charred remains.

The flashes and shockwaves from the explosion briefly illuminated the more chaotic and dangerous road ahead for the assault team, and also cleared away a large area of ​​obstacles.

Braving the scorching heat and the scalding metal fragments flying like bullets, they trudged over the still-burning, foul-smelling remains of orcs and the twisted, deformed piles of scrap metal.

Veteran Sergeant Vasily was always at the forefront, like a sharp blade.

Every swing of his power sword carried deadly efficiency honed through countless trials. The eerie blue light of the sword flashed in the dim passage, precisely slicing open the throats of green-skinned men and cleaving through their rudimentary armor, carving a path paved with blood and steel for his brothers behind him.

Mikhail followed closely on the sergeant's flank, his chainsaw sword roaring at maximum power, each heavy slash or swift thrust taking the life of a greenskin.

He could clearly feel the coordinated operation of his superhuman muscles under the power armor, the power feedback transmitted by the servo system, and the perfect rhythm of his brothers' intertwined firepower and mutual cover.

In this brutal tunnel warfare, the veterans' experience and calm command, like a furnace, rapidly forged the new recruits' combat instincts into more efficient and deadly killing techniques.

Every successful block, every effective kill, and every collaboration with his brothers strengthened his confidence and resolve.

Finally, when the roar of the chainsaw sword and the howl of the bomb gun merged into a destructive torrent, tearing through the last barrier of a low wall made of thick scrap iron plates, huge orc skeletons, and still burning vehicle wreckage, the view suddenly opened up.

A stench a hundred times stronger than that in the canyon outside, almost suffocating, mixed with the pungent smell of engine oil and blood, along with a primal, frenzied, and unsettling energy pulse, rushed towards us like a viscous, tangible torrent, instantly clogging the power armor's breathing grille. Even after being filtered, the smell was still nauseating.

They stepped into the true heart of the orc lair—the core area of ​​Delta-7.

This is a massive natural cave, hollowed out of the mountain by orcs using brute force and rudimentary tools. The space is vast enough to accommodate several main battle tanks. The cave walls are covered with crudely made trophies: rusty, broken human weapons, fragments of alien carapaces, and skulls of various sizes strung together with iron chains and thick ropes. Large swathes of enormous fungi, shimmering with an eerie fluorescence and emitting a ghostly green or dark purple glow, wriggle slightly like living things, providing a morbid light source for the entire space.

In the center of the cave, a massive furnace, converted from the main engine core of an abandoned starship, was roaring and operating wildly, spewing out thick black smoke and scorching sparks. Thick pipes, like blood vessels, connected to it, pumping in unknown fuel and energy.

The sound emanating from this furnace was like the simultaneous hammering of a thousand blacksmiths, or the frantic beating of a huge, savage heart. It was the energy core of the entire orc stronghold and the embodiment of its savage soul.

Standing before the furnace, with his back to the hellish light and heat, a colossal green shadow, like a moving, purely malevolent mountain, was the very source of all this chaos, violence, and destruction—the orc Warboss, the tyrant of the Broken Tooth tribe.

The Warboss before them was even larger and more menacing than the intelligence agencies had anticipated.

It stood there, nearly three meters tall, like a monster made of scrap iron and muscle.

Its body is covered with "armor" several inches thick, roughly cut and welded from the heavy armor plates of a starship, with crooked welds, covered with rust and impact dents.

The armor plates were welded with countless rusted spikes, broken serrations, and skull trophies suspended by thick iron chains—human skulls were pale and hollow, orc skulls were grotesque and terrifying, and there were even some unrecognizable alien skulls, all exuding an aura of death.

At the end of one of its arms was a massive power claw, wreathed in an unstable, crackling crimson energy field. The deep hum of that field was like an engine overload, filled with destructive power.

With his other arm, he easily carried an enormous Gatling-style "super bang bang cannon" with barrels as thick as tree trunks and six barrels still emitting wisps of smoke. Just looking at it sent chills down one's spine.

Its massive, fang-filled mouth opened, unleashing a deafening roar filled with primal power and fury; each heavy stomp of its foot caused the entire cave floor to tremble.

The pure WAAAGH! energy, imbued with the fighting spirit of countless orcs, distorted the surrounding air like a tangible shockwave, forming a blurred force field barrier that showcased its unparalleled savage power.
-
Meanwhile, small pieces of gravel and dust continued to fall from the cave ceiling, accompanied by a continuous, muffled, thunderous roar of heavy artillery—this was the artillery group of the 17th Rostov Regiment of the Astronautical Army from the safe zone of the landing site, faithfully carrying out a saturation strike mission.

Their heavy high-explosive shells rained down on the mountainsides and entrance passages surrounding the core area, the massive explosions sending up clouds of mud and rubble, effectively deterring and suppressing the orc reserves attempting to emerge from other tunnels to support Warboss.

In the distance, the rumble of the engines of the Shocker armored personnel carriers could be faintly heard, their heavy explosive shells roaring continuously, providing a solid and reliable firepower support for the Astragalus infantry who were clearing out the remaining enemy forces and consolidating the front line.

The sky was filled with the whistling of Storm Assault Boats and Storm Claw engines. Like deadly dragonflies, they hovered low, clearing out any exposed targets with machine guns and molten lava cannons to ensure the safety of the assault team's rear and flanks.

The entire battlefield, from the sky to the ground, from the periphery to the core, formed a three-dimensional, coordinated network of destruction.

(End of this chapter)