Warhammer: The Time Traveler

Chapter 233 Scrap Code Attack (First Update)
The madness of the Arasaka Mokuei carrier battle group was like a deadly storm suddenly unleashed on a calm sea, aimed directly at itself. The roar of engines, the calibration of weapons, the fanatical shouts of soldiers—all these formed the prelude to self-destruction.

However, before this prologue could reach its climax, it was abruptly cut short by a silent force from the ancient darkness.

Inside the Night City temporary workshop, Chen Yu's anger was not the fiery, boiling heat of an organic being, but rather a pure, absolute zero-degree will to negate.

When the Arasaka Fleet's desperate attack was finally confirmed, the cursor representing the tactical nuclear missile on the tactical chart was flashing a blinding red light, like a coordinate that precisely pointed to his hard work.

Any action that interferes with important research progress, damages valuable experimental facilities, or wastes the resources and time he has invested violates his most fundamental principles. This is intolerable.

"Temporary authorization to invoke the encryption unit 'Echoing Echo'."

Chen Yu's voice rang out in the workshop, his tone still steady, but deeper than usual, revealing an unquestionable, cold decisiveness.

As he spoke, two clusters of eerie green light suddenly lit up deep within the empty eye sockets of the servo skull made from the remains of his exiled classmate, which had been hovering beside his shoulder.

This skull is not merely a sealed-off relic of the past, but a forbidden container meticulously crafted and subject to multiple layers of sealing.

Deep within its core processing unit lies a small, compressed, and static piece of obsolete code—a chaotic language originating from the depths of subspace, capable of eroding and distorting all mechanical logic.

Chen Yu's massive metal body stood motionless, but a condensed consciousness had already precisely penetrated the deep restrictions of the servo skull.

There was no physical key, nor any visible energy transmission; only a command consisting of anomalous geometry and blasphemous syllables was written directly into its core.

It was not the mathematical language of any known civilization; its structure defied spatial intuition, its syllables challenged auditory logic, and it seemed to be a whisper from another dimension.

"Om-"

The servo skull vibrated in response, emitting a chilling buzzing sound that was not like a metallic resonance, but rather like some living thing rubbing against the bones inside the skull.

The etched runes on the surface lit up one by one, their eerie green light flowing like a viscous liquid in the grooves.

An invisible and intangible distorted information field suddenly spread out from the skull—it did not produce electromagnetic fluctuations or cause gravitational anomalies, but like a stone thrown into still water, it stirred up ripples that expanded in circles below the level of reality, precisely enveloping the distant Arasaka fleet.

This is not an ordinary energy shock or physical intrusion, but a more fundamental conceptual contamination.

It directly affects the underlying logic of all mechanical existence and is a deadly poison that erodes the "soul of the machine".

The forbidden code, that taboo mechanical magic, has descended upon us.

Its speed of action and the severity of its consequences far exceed any cyberattack based on this understanding of the world.

The first to be affected is the command and data network upon which the fleet depends for its survival.

Every screen, regardless of size, whether located on the bridge, at a battle station, or on a personal terminal, was simultaneously engulfed by an incomprehensible torrent of symbols.

It wasn't random gibberish, but rather bizarre characters that kept twisting and rearranging, seemingly possessing life. They crawled all over the screen, layer upon layer, emitting a mad whisper that pierced the mind.

The operator futilely typed on the keyboard, trying to regain control, only to find that the command box was still flooded with the same blasphemous text.

Then, the deeper layers of the system began to rebel.

The environmental control system injects a toxic mixture of gases into the sealed compartment; the energy distribution system directs the reactor output to the cooling pipes of the weapons depot; on the life support system's monitoring interface, the curves representing the crew's vital signs jump wildly before eventually flattening into a straight line.

In reality, those people were watching in horror as their friends in the next compartment struggled to breathe. The obfuscated code was replicating and mutating at a speed beyond comprehension, like a plague with a collective consciousness, dragging the steel fleet into an abyss of self-destruction along every data path, every communication fiber optic cable, and even every wireless signal node.

"Warning! Unknown data storm intrusion! Firewall failure! Core logic..." Inside the bridge of the White Whale, the exclamation of the technical officer came to an abrupt halt.

The screen in front of him shattered without warning, and the flying sparks burned his face.

But what's even more terrifying than the physical damage is the psychological impact that follows.

His eyes twitched unnaturally and rapidly, his limbs convulsed violently as if being torn apart by an invisible force, white foam gushed from his mouth, and his gaze became unfocused for a moment, plunging him into primal madness.

This was only the beginning of the disaster.

The erosion of obsolete code ignores all physical isolation and logical protection.

Like a self-aware plague, it proliferates wildly along data chains, is transmitted through energy lines, and even leaps and spreads between invisible electromagnetic signals.

Each networked node becomes a new source of infection, spreading chaos at the speed of light to every corner of the fleet.

A fighter jet that had just been ejected and was preparing to join the attack formation was the first to be hit.

On the head-up display in front of the pilot, all flight parameters were distorted and deformed, turning into bizarre, constantly writhing patterns that made people dizzy.

The altimeter numbers were jumping wildly, and the fuel indicator was displaying a non-Euclidean geometry.

The pilot let out a scream that sounded inhuman, and his hands pushed the control stick wildly out of control.

The fighter jet's engine emitted a piercing shriek as it veered completely off course and crashed into a friendly aircraft on its right at a suicidal angle.

The deafening crash tore through the night sky.

The fireball rolled and expanded, and burning aviation fuel rained down on the sea, reflecting the silhouettes of more out-of-control fighter jets.

This explosion served as a signal, igniting the prelude to the Arasaka Fleet's self-destruction.

Inside the bridge, the fleet deployment map on the main tactical screen was completely covered by distorted symbols.

The fire control system locked onto friendly units without authorization, and the missile silo hatches opened and closed erratically.

A destroyer's close-in weapon system suddenly activated, and a barrage of scorching bullets swept across the bridge of a nearby frigate.

Below deck, the situation was even more chaotic.

The hatches were out of control, sometimes closing tightly and trapping people inside, and sometimes opening without warning.

The life support system was outputting an abnormal gas mixture, and the lighting system was flashing wildly. In the flickering light, the soldiers, corrupted by the obliterated code, were attacking each other with their weapons or engaging in primal tearing with their reinforced prosthetics.

The entire fleet is disintegrating from within, with every system and every networked individual becoming an accomplice to this chaos.

The obfuscated code not only paralyzed the fleet's combat capabilities, but also turned the sophisticated war machine into a self-destructive cage.

(End of this chapter)