I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 206 You bug, go ahead and call your dad if you dare!
Behind Plantim's third line of defense, the air was thick with a nauseating mixture of smells—burnt promethium, ozone, and the sweet, pungent stench of rotting flesh. Two fully-covered "suicide squad members" were laboriously dragging corpses and tossing them into a gradually rising mound.

The pile of corpses contained all sorts of things: comrades wearing the same uniforms as them, but mostly Tyranid creatures of various shapes and sizes. Not far away, two promethium flamethrowers lay silently on the ground; clearly, a "purification" was about to begin.

“Ugh…” one of the men facing death let out a groan of disgust. He had just shaken off the corpse of a knife worm and was now futilely trying to wipe off the slimy slime on his gloves. “These Tyrann corpses are fucking disgusting, so sticky and greasy. And I have a feeling that the parasites inside them are still crawling up my gloves.”

"Damn it, can you shut up?" his companion said irritably, throwing a torn-up Tyrannosaurus corpse onto the pile of bodies. "Now that you mention it, I feel the same way!"

“I’m so glad our standard uniforms are full-coverage and we even have gas masks, at least we can’t smell anything,” the first man complained. “If it weren’t for those two things, I wouldn’t do this kind of mission to earn merit even if you killed me. What’s the difference between this and pulling a manure cart at the bottom of the hive?”

The other man nodded in agreement, tossing the half-corpse in his hand to the top of the pile of corpses with a dull thud: "Let's quickly light a fire and burn these things clean so we don't have to suffer like this anymore."

Without another word, the two quickly shouldered their flamethrowers and skillfully turned on the fuel valves. While igniting the pile of corpses, they changed the subject.

"Didn't we say before the war that we would use strong acid to temporarily dissolve the corpses, and then dispose of them properly after the war? Why are we starting to burn them now?"

“We didn’t have enough acid,” the other man said matter-of-factly, his voice muffled beneath his mask. “That’s how war is. No matter how much you prepare before a battle, once it starts, you’ll always find that you’re far from adequate. Not to mention, we’re facing the Tyranids… You’ll get used to it.”

The man, who was about to die, suddenly paused. He turned his head in confusion, his gaze sweeping across the desolate battlefield, but he saw nothing except the small hill that had always been there, now half-blown up by bombs.

"Did you hear anything?"

"A sound?" his companion asked doubtfully. "No, it's just the sound of the wind. We're behind the third line of defense, what sound could we possibly be making? Don't get distracted, let's finish the mission quickly, collect our merits, and leave."

However, no sooner had he finished speaking than three dark figures suddenly darted out from the reverse slope behind the hill like ghosts! Their speed was beyond imagination, and they covered a distance of tens of meters in an instant, rushing to the two of them.

The two heavily armored suicide warriors only had time to turn around in shock. The one who heard the commotion first didn't even have time to pull the trigger of his flamethrower before a sharp bone knife pierced his chest with lightning speed. Immediately afterward, the Tyrannical warrior swung horizontally, and his upper and lower body were instantly separated, leaving him without even a scream before he became two falling corpses.

"Holy shit!" His comrade, who had just been chatting with him, was killed on the spot. Another soldier, facing death, immediately went into a rage. "You stupid bugs, today is your death day!"

He pulled the trigger, and an enraged fire dragon roared forth, instantly engulfing the three Tyrannosaurus warriors. The warrior insects' strength was clearly insufficient to withstand the intense flames of the high-pressure promethium flamethrower. In the scorching heat capable of melting steel, the three ambush-successful aliens screamed and groaned as their hard shells rapidly blackened and cracked, quickly losing all vitality in the flames.

The player gasped for breath until the pressure indicator on the fuel tank began to flash, at which point he stopped spraying fuel. Before him, the three Tyrannical Warriors were reduced to charred remains.

"Ha...hahaha!" He laughed maniacally, panting, and stepped forward, kicking the charred corpses hard. "I thought you were so tough, how come you're all dead now? You filthy bugs, call your dad if you dare!"

Fueled by adrenaline, he had completely forgotten his earlier statement that "we're in the rear." Since they were in a theoretically safe zone yet still facing an attack from the Tyranid warriors, the situation on the front lines was likely extremely precarious. Just then, an indescribably loud bang resounded.

"Boom!"

The ground shook violently, as if struck by an invisible giant hammer, even causing the player's feet to lift off the ground. He instinctively turned around and saw a colossal creature, four or five stories high, standing not far behind him, its cold compound eyes indifferently watching him, this tiny being.

"Wow," the person facing death exclaimed, looking up, "This must be a great-grandfather level, right?"

"Paji!"

After a faint, almost inaudible sound, a giant foot slowly lifted up, leaving only a pool of unrecognizable red and black flesh on the ground.

Inside a regimental command post, the atmosphere was as heavy as a physical space.

"Which defense line has lost contact the latest?" The commander's gaze was fixed on the holographic sand table, where the blinding red dots representing the Tyranids were tearing through the green grid representing the human defense line with unstoppable momentum.

A staff officer strode forward, his finger swiftly swiping across the data panel to retrieve the latest battle damage report: "Sir! Outpost G-7 and the twelfth liaison node lost contact simultaneously thirty seconds ago."

The regimental commander didn't speak, but simply extended his tactical-gloved hand and drew a straight line on the holographic sand table, connecting the several green dots that had gone out one after another. The red trajectory pointed directly to their location—the regimental command post.

"It's moving in a straight line," the commander's voice was completely calm, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself. "It seems the target is indeed us. At this speed, it won't be long before we arrive."

He stared at the holographic sand table, watching the once crystal-clear three-dimensional terrain maps now being mercilessly swallowed by that blinding red torrent. This defensive line was meticulously designed by him and his comrades over countless days and nights, based on the terrain of Plantim; every firing point and every trench along the line was forged with the sweat of the soldiers. He had once thought it would be an impregnable Great Wall, at least enough to leave the insects with bloodied mouths.

But now, in the face of monsters of that level, this defensive line, into which countless efforts have been poured, is as fragile as a paper sandcastle on the beach, crumbling at the slightest touch.

An indescribable gloom welled up in his heart, mixed with anger and resentment. But he simply turned this emotion into a very soft, cold snort.

“Charge,” he whispered, “charge as fast as you can…we’ve got a tough one up our sleeve.”

(End of this chapter)