Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 595 The Iron Breaker

The closer you get to the STC Temple area, the more brutal the battle becomes, as if every step you take is treading on the heart of war.

The streets were repeatedly ravaged by artillery fire of various types, and the paving metal plates were twisted and rolled up as if torn apart by the hand of a giant, forming sharp and dangerous steel thorns.

The collapsed building ruins piled up like mountains, and charred remains—some of the rough, ugly green limbs of orcs, others of the intricate metal construction of the Faith Guard and the mutilated bodies of the local defense forces—were scattered haphazardly, like the aftermath of some cruel sacrificial ritual.

The air was thick with a mixture of smells that was almost nauseating: the rusty stench of fresh and congealed blood, the pungent ozone left behind after energy weapons were fired, the toxic fumes from incomplete combustion, and a primal and savage stench unique to orcs, like a mixture of moldy grain and thick sweat.

Several wide rivers of molten slag, still radiating a scorching red glow, lay across the path ahead. This was a terrifying man-made landscape formed by the uncontrolled outflow of thousands of tons of high-temperature molten metal stored within a nearby massive furnace area after it was completely destroyed by orc heavy artillery or suicide bombings, and eventually cooled down.

The dark red slag was still crawling and flowing extremely slowly in some areas, emitting terrifyingly high temperatures that could instantly scorch flesh and soften metal, and pungent smoke with a strong smell of sulfur and heavy metals.

On the murky river surface float incompletely melted mechanical wreckage, twisted weapon fragments, and charred remains of unfortunate victims, like silent warnings in a river of hell, slowly rising and falling.

The relentless advance of the Iron Hand Legion was not halted in the slightest by these terrible obstacles.

The heavily armored warriors of the Lakuan clan, relying on the powerful overall protection and efficient NBC protection provided by their power armor, calmly waded directly through the shallower, still glowing molten slag areas.

With each lift and fall of their heavy adamantite boots, a torrent of scorching, viscous molten slag would erupt, hissing as it landed on their armor, leaving brief burn marks before quickly solidifying and peeling off.

The warriors of the Valan clan exhibit a different tactical style, using the short bursts of power from their jump packs to leap across narrower river channels, or, with the assistance of engineer units, quickly erecting temporary reinforced metal bridges to cross wider river sections.

Their movements remained remarkably efficient and precise, as if the surroundings were a terrifying infernal furnace. However, from time to time, warriors would use the enhanced multispectral sensors on their helmets, or the newly formed, uncontrollable perception of some members, to silently record the shocking details in the slag river—a half-melted remains of a Christian Guardian, a civilian identification tag embedded in solidified slag.

When this image data is fed into their cold, logical core for processing, it seems to occasionally trigger some extremely subtle, indescribable data fluctuations, like a ripple beneath a frozen lake, appearing instantly only to be covered and swallowed up by a much larger stream of tactical data.

The magnificent yet dilapidated outline of the STC Temple was already in sight.

It was an extremely grand building, and even after such severe damage, its towering Gothic spires, enormous brass gear decorations, and countless sacred mechanical inscriptions covering its surface still stubbornly displayed the former solemnity and glory of the Mechanicus.

However, at this moment, its outermost layers of defenses have been completely breached. The once thick walls, which were tens of meters high, are now covered with huge gaps and cracks, as if they had been gnawed by a giant beast.

The vast plaza, once used for sacred ceremonies and processions, has now been reduced to a bloody battlefield, the ground littered with shell casings, limbs, and burning debris. Before the temple's massive alloy gate, scarred and dented from massive impacts, the last line of defense is crumbling.

A small squad of battered friars and a few technical priests formed this pitifully fragile defensive line. Their red robes were tattered, and the metal limbs and mechanical parts beneath them were severely damaged. Their energy readings and ammunition reserves were both dangerously low.

The beams of light from their radiation guns, plasma carbines, and electric staves had become thin and unstable, barely enough to repel the closest, howling orc lads.

The ground was littered with the broken skull fragments of more Confederate comrades and combat servants, silently testifying to the devastation of the defense that had preceded them.

Several technical priests bearing the insignia of high priests huddled behind a relatively intact defensive fortification beside the gate. The electric staffs in their hands were desperately trying to weave a weak, flickering barrier of electricity that seemed ready to be extinguished at any moment, futilely attempting to block the sporadic but powerful live ammunition fired by the orcs.

They chanted in a low, rapid voice, the sound broken and trembling with noise, due to the feedback of energy overload, bodily damage, and profound despair.

Leading this group of orcs in their final attack was an exceptionally tall and robust orc war chief, whose equipment was also relatively "well-equipped".

He called himself "Ironbreaker," and his rough, patchwork armor was splattered with the dried blood and greasy, dirty handprints of Imperial Guard soldiers. A grotesque war crown, savagely modified from a broken Sentinel armor helmet, sat atop his enormous head. An exaggeratedly thick power pipe, sparking with electricity, connected directly from his rudimentary backpack to a massive, roaring chainsaw axe.

The chainsaw axe's engine roared deafeningly, its high-speed spinning teeth adorned with fragments of broken armor and unrecognizable pieces of organic tissue.

The "Ironbreaker" strode with heavy steps that could shake the ground, completely ignoring the weak and ineffective fire of the Guardians of the Faith. The live bullets that hit his incredibly thick, patchwork armor only made a clanging sound, leaving at most a shallow white mark.

He opened his blood-red maw and laughed wildly, spitting out rotten saliva as he approached the temple's alloy door, a symbol of last hope, step by step.

"Smash this iron box! All the shiny stuff inside is mine!" he roared in triumph, raising the frenzied chainsaw axe high, his incredibly thick arm muscles bulging terrifyingly, ready to unleash all his brute force to chop down the weathered yet still sturdy temple door that guarded countless precious STC templates—

However, just as the wildly spinning, blood-stained saw teeth were about to touch the door, a silver-gray lightning bolt struck from the side at a speed beyond the limits of visual perception!
A hand completely covered in flowing liquid metal gripped the widest and root-side blade of the chainsaw axe with unparalleled precision, as firmly as the strongest hydraulic clamp!
"Huh?!" The Ironbreaker's maniacal laughter abruptly stopped, the immense impact and his own forward momentum causing him to stagger noticeably.

The chainsaw axe's engine emitted an extremely piercing shriek due to the forced braking. The high-speed rotating saw teeth rubbed violently against the liquid metal hand, sparking a series of dazzling white sparks and a high-frequency metallic grinding sound that made one's teeth ache!
However, the seemingly flowing metal hand remained completely still, and the serrations couldn't even leave a scratch on its surface!
Felus Manus appeared like a ghost beside the war leader. Her gaze, as cold as Medusa's frozen earth, pierced through the mask and the billowing smoke, locking onto the "Ironbreaker's" green face, which was contorted with shock and confusion.

(End of this chapter)