Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 510 Leading the Charge
Hathor casually held the massive power warhammer "Worldbreaker" in his left hand. The hammerhead was tightly enveloped by a dark blue energy field, and ancient inscriptions flickered on the handle. The deep hum was like the inexhaustible pulse deep within the earth, shaking the soul.

His right hand was adorned with a massive power claw called the "Claw of Horus," its streamlined, silver-white metal blade gleaming with a cold, deadly light. Below his wrist, the Storm Bolt Gun's muzzle was deep and exuded a pure aura of destruction.

The miniature wolf head emblem at the top of the ebony-handled ceremonial dagger hanging at the waist is lifelike, as if it is about to break free of its restraints and let out a silent roar.

She simply stood there, her very existence like thunder tearing through the dark clouds!

The blasphemous spiritual pressure that permeated the surroundings was forcibly dispelled and purified by this pure and powerful will.

A power and an unwavering belief in victory, originating from the ancient Golden Age, were instantly imprinted into the soul of every Ash Knight, like a tangible mark!

All Astartes, whether new recruits or seasoned veterans, instinctively tensed their steely bodies and straightened their spines.

Behind the goggles, every gaze burned with ignited awe and boiling fighting spirit.

Hathor took a step forward.

The enormous magnetic combat boots slammed into the ground with a thunderous sound, like ancient war drums beating on scorched earth, heralding the arrival of the final judgment!

She didn't use a megaphone, but her deep, magnetic voice, imbued with supreme authority, resounded like rolling thunder, clearly echoing throughout the bloody battlefield, even overpowering the blasphemous groans emanating from the depths of the fortress: "Ash Knights! Raise your heads! Fix your gazes on this fortress before you, forged from filth, lies, and betrayal!"
Behold how it reeks of decay and death, how it defiles the sacred land of the emperor with its festering body, how it mocks the indomitable dignity of humanity with its twisted form! It is the target of your swords! It is the object of your rage!

She suddenly raised the "Worldbreaker" high above her head! The azure energy field surged instantly, emitting a deafening roar, as if the keel of a starship were breaking!
The blinding light tore through the polluted air, illuminating the congealed bloodstains and symbols of faith on the warriors' armor.

"Those rotting corpses of the Father of Plague inside, those bastards wallowing in pus! Do they think they can escape judgment by hiding behind this tortoise shell woven from planetary shields and filthy sorcery? Do they think that the rotten walls built with writhing flesh and twisted souls can stop the purifying fire of the Empire's loyalists?"

Her voice was like a chainsaw slicing through fine gold, filled with piercing contempt and chilling killing intent.

Her molten gold-like gaze swept over every face in the array covered in cold, refined gold, as if she were tempering every sharp blade in a forge.

"They are wrong! Utterly wrong! The Holy Scriptures forged our steel frame! The relentless flames of war have honed our invincible edge! Now is the time for this reforged spear of the legion to pierce the corrupt heart!"

Her voice suddenly rose, resolute and unwavering, carrying the determination to end all decay: "In the name of the Emperor! I, your commander, will be the first to step into that filthy lair! I will join you in shattering their shields!"

Your explosives will tear their festering sores apart! Your chainswords will sever their twisted limbs! With the loyalty bestowed by the Emperor! With our inextinguishable rage! To destroy this fortress! To destroy all the filth and betrayal within—”

She swung her warhammer down with the force of splitting mountains and shattering rocks, aiming it directly at the stench-filled core of the fortress, her voice like the final horn of destruction: "Burn! To! Ashes!"

"For the Emperor! For the glory of the Ash Knights! Charge!" Hathor issued his final command.

"For the Emperor! For the Ash Knights! Turn to ashes!!!" The earth-shattering battle cry erupted like a destructive tsunami!
All the Ash Knights' power packs roared violently, their chainswords howled as they activated, and their bomb guns were all cocked! Hathor took the lead, his massive body transforming into a silver-white hurricane of destruction, hurtling towards the rotting fortress at incredible speed!

Without any hesitation, she aimed directly at the fortress's main gate, which was made of massive, decaying bones and writhing metal and was dripping with pus!

The "Worldbreaker" trailed a dark blue energy trail, and wherever it passed, the ground cracked. Low-level Nurgles and zombies that blocked its way were crushed as if by an invisible giant hammer, instantly turning into a cloud of filthy flesh!

"Charge!" the sergeant major of the fifth company roared, and the steel torrent of Ash Knights followed closely behind that unstoppable figure, launching a desperate charge!
-
Deep within the decaying fortress, in the hall of desecration.

The place was filled with an indescribable stench, and the air was thick with a visible cloud of yellowish-green spores.

In the center of the hall, a massive blasphemous altar, composed of rotting flesh, writhing entrails, and rusted metal, emanated nauseating psionic energy, constantly reinforcing the fortress's magical shield.

Beside the altar, Grot, the massive Nurgle demon lord known as "The Rot Lord," clad in rusted plague plate armor and wearing a huge, rotting horned helmet, was humming contentedly.

It was surrounded by a buzzing cloud of decaying flies, and its enormous plague scythe dripped with corrosive pus.

However, when the roar and killing intent of Hathor's Ash Knights charging through the layers of corrupted barriers seemed to tangibly penetrate them, a hint of seriousness flashed in Grot's turbid compound eyes.

“Annoying…bugs…need…more powerful…removal…” Its sticky voice echoed in the filthy hall.

It slammed the plague scythe to the ground with a dull thud.

Then, its massive yet agile corrupted body began to stagger around the altar, each step treading on the blasphemous runes that had been pre-drawn and depicted with congealed pus and putrid grease.

It chanted blasphemous incantations, the sound like millions of maggots writhing in mucus, or the rattling of phlegm in the trachea of ​​a dying person, each syllable filled with the ultimate distortion of life and order.

As the ritual proceeded, the enormous, writhing mass of decaying flesh at the center of the altar began to throb violently, like a giant, dying heart.

Countless foul-smelling pus was drawn up from the trenches around the altar and injected into the core of the rotting flesh.

On the surface of the rotting flesh, countless agonizing and distorted human faces appeared and dissolved, emitting silent wails. Their souls were extracted and transformed into the most filthy psionic fuel.

The spore cloud condensed in the air swirled and converged toward the altar, forming a viscous, foul-smelling, yellowish-green vortex.

Grot raised his scythe high and frantically poured his filthy psionic energy into the center of the vortex. The space began to groan under the strain, and more foul-smelling pus seeped from the walls, as if the fortress itself was convulsing in agony at the impending terror.

(End of this chapter)