Chapter 1179 Victor's Tactics
In the control room of the black hole transmitter, the alarm sounded as sharp as the screams of a dying man.
Blinding red warning runes flashed across the holographic projection, showing the outer defense nodes going offline one after another.
The Dark Eldar technician's slender fingers danced frantically over the control panel, trying to repair the destroyed communication link.
Sweat slid down his pale forehead and dripped onto the operating table engraved with painful runes, making a slight "hissing" sound.
"Damn it! Knock down the enemy! Repair it quickly!"
The roar of Archon Mars echoed under the dome. His gorgeous armor was stained with the blood of slaves, and the poison crystal spear in his hand trembled slightly because of anger.
Six fully-armed conspiracy warriors stood beside him, and rapid breathing could be heard under their visors - these usually elegant and calm killers were now as tense as frightened beasts.
No one noticed the shadows moving in the corner of the control room.
“Ka-ba!”
A crisp sound of cervical vertebrae breaking came from the ventilation duct.
As soon as the outermost warrior turned his head, he was dragged into the darkness by a huge hand covered with spiked armor.
His limbs kicked wildly in the pipe, making dull thumping sounds, followed by the sticky sound of flesh being torn.
A few drops of purple blood dripped from the ventilation grille and splashed on the ground into a gorgeous little flower.
“There’s an invasion—”
The second warrior's warning came to an abrupt end.
A pitch-black power dagger pierced through his open mouth, and the tip of the blade came out from the back of his neck with broken teeth and tongue.
The sword-wielding Midnight Lord slowly emerged from the shadows, and the breathing grille under the bat-wing helmet spewed out cold white mist.
As the warrior's body slowly fell, the killer had merged into the darkness again.
Mars' pupils suddenly contracted.
His fighting instinct frantically called the police, but it was too late - the lights in the entire control room suddenly went out, leaving only the emergency lighting casting a blood-red glow. In this strange shadow, he saw something he would never forget in his life.
Giants dressed in skeletons were hanging upside down on the ceiling, their power claws glowing with blue energy.
A matte-coated bolter protruded from the ventilation duct, the red light at the muzzle like a demon's eye.
The most terrifying thing was the pale figure standing in front of the console. Blood was dripping from Conrad Curze's bat-wing helmet, and his claws slowly opened with a sharp sound of metal friction.
"For my Lord, for Nostramo." The Primarch's whisper was like a death knell.
In the next moment? Sevatar's chainsaw halberd pierced a warrior's chest from behind, and the rotating saw teeth crushed the spine into pieces.
Before the body fell to the ground, the first captain had already drawn back his weapon and with one sweep cut off the legs of another enemy.
Then, three Night Lords leaped out from the shadows at the same time.
Their lightning claws cut through the air, leaving behind faint blue afterimages in the red light.
Then six arms flew into the air, and splattered blood drew abstract patterns on the ceiling.
A technician on the side tried to activate the emergency protocol, but his head was smashed by a flying bomb.
The impact of the bullet pinned his headless body to the console, his fingers still twitching in reflex.
Mars' spear stabbed at Curze's heart, but the Primarch easily avoided it.
The tip of the poison crystal blade grazed Curze's shoulder armor, corroding it into a wisp of green smoke, but Midnight Ghost just let out a low laugh.
“Too slow.”
Curze's claws crossed and slashed, tearing the Archon's ornate breastplate like thin paper.
Mars looked down at his protruding ribs and squirming internal organs, his face full of disbelief.
The massacre in the control room gradually turned into a bloody show.
A Night Lord pinned the warrior to a data terminal and used a power dagger to cut open his abdomen inch by inch, letting purple intestines flow all over the keyboard.
Another warrior smashed two enemies' heads together until their skulls popped like overripe fruit.
Sevatar specializes in cutting off limbs, leaving seriously injured enemies wriggling and wailing in a pool of blood.
Curze stood in the center, slowly peeling off Mars' spine. The Archon's screams were like the most beautiful music, and the Primarch closed his eyes in ecstasy, feeling the subtle tremors of the bones separating with his fingers.
When the entire spine was pulled out, he swung the "trophy" like a whip, throwing the minced meat onto the console.
When the last Dark Eldar in the control room stopped breathing, the only sound left in the control room was the "tick-tick" of dripping blood.
Curze walked towards the main control console, stepping on the ground full of minced meat, and every time he lifted his boots, they would bring up sticky blood.
The Primarch admired the warning message flashing on the screen, and suddenly smashed the entire operating panel with one claw.
"Target cleared." Sevatar shook off the tissue fragments on the chainsaw halberd, "The black hole emitter has been paralyzed."
The Night Lords gathered in silence, their armor covered with pieces of flesh and blood, but no one showed any sign of fatigue.
Coz took one last look around the slaughterhouse, and was satisfied to see that every body had died in the most painful way.
“Keep hunting.”
Following the Primarch's orders, these nightmares from Nostramo merged into the darkness again, leaving behind only a Death Temple filled with blood and fear.
In other corners of Commorra, more Dark Eldar are about to learn the horror of the Midnight Sons.
On the other side, on the obsidian-paved Avenue of Glory, Angron, like a blood-red comet burning with blazing flames, slammed into the Dark Eldar's defense line with the force of thunder.
In an instant, there was an earth-shattering roar, and the Dark Eldar's defense line was torn apart like paper, leaving a huge gap that was bloody and horrible.
Angron's copper-colored power armor was splattered with purple blood at the moment of impact. The blood seemed to be his trophy, making his armor look even more hideous.
The two axes in his hands - "Blood Father" and "Blood Son" - were swung rapidly in the air, drawing deadly red tracks. Each track carried unparalleled power and murderous intent, as if to tear apart everything in this world.
With every step he took, the ground cracked under the weight of the Primarch's body weighing dozens of tons, and gravel and limbs flew everywhere in the powerful shock wave, falling like raindrops.
"Kill that monster! Don't let him get close to Lord Victor!" The Dark Eldar soldiers screamed in horror. They had never seen such a terrifying existence. The fear in their hearts made their voices tremble.
The voice of Kabal High Commander Seraphim screamed across the comm network.
This Dark Eldar noble, known for his cruelty, now had his voice distorted by fear.
His slender fingers danced wildly, mobilizing the firepower of the entire line of defense. The suspended turrets turned their guns, dark matter snipers took position, and even the Nightmare Guards who were supposed to guard the inner court were urgently recalled.
The first salvo was like a purple rainstorm.
Fifty poison crystal rapid-fire cannons opened fire simultaneously, and the corrosive barrage turned the hundred-meter area around Angron into a death zone. The ground emitted pungent green smoke under the erosion of acid, and the obsidian melted into a viscous slurry. Three dark matter armor-piercing shells hit the primarch's breastplate from different angles, and the energy enough to penetrate the battleship's armor exploded on the adamantine surface with dazzling purple light.
Angron merely shook himself slightly.
He looked down at the nano-coating on his breastplate that was repairing itself, and a hideous smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.
When the second wave of bullets came, he suddenly accelerated——
"boom!"
The Primarch's charge caused a sonic boom, instantly breaking through the firepower network.
The first to suffer was the left-hand artillery formation. Angron's shoulder armor directly smashed two rapid-fire cannons, and the technicians operating them were crushed into meat paste.
With a horizontal slash from the “Blood Father”, three suspended turrets exploded into fireballs in the air.
The "blood son" in his right hand chopped down, splitting a Nightmare Guard who raised his shield to block into two halves, including the man and the shield.
Seraphim saw it clearly on the command platform - this was not a blind frenzy, but a precise tactical breakthrough.
Every time Angron destroyed a firing point, he would use the explosion to cover and change the route of the charge; every time the enemy tried to encircle him, he would first break the core of the formation.
"Seventh and ninth squads, flank us!" Seraphim roared, "Activate the Pain Cage!"
Twelve Witch Cult messengers of pain leapt out from the shadows, the neural whips in their hands weaving into an electrified web of death.
This is the most vicious trap set by Comoros, which has made countless powerful opponents kneel down and beg for mercy in severe pain.
Angron suddenly stopped charging.
A stream of data flashed across his tactical eyepiece, instantly analyzing the weak points in the power grid.
At the moment when the long whip was about to wrap around his neck, the Primarch took a precise step back and slashed the ground with his two axes.
"boom!"
The obsidian ground exploded under the huge force, and the flying debris pierced the slender bodies of the messengers of pain like shotgun shells.
Angron took the opportunity to rush in, his two axes dancing into a red whirlwind.
The first witch spirit was cut in half, the second had his skull split open, and when the third tried to block, both his weapon and arm were cut off.
The palace's last line of defense was two twenty-meter-high dark matter gates, guarded by a team of fully armed cabal warriors. As they raised their heavy poison crystal cannons, Angron made an unexpected move—
He threw out the "Blood Son" fiercely, and the spinning giant axe whizzed past like a flying disc, cutting the three warriors in half.
At the moment when the enemy formation was in chaos, the Primarch activated his jump pack, and his huge body flexibly leaped over the heads of the remaining guards.
"For the Emperor!"
Angron's impact with the ground shattered the base of the gate, and "Blood Father" made a powerful upward move, splitting the entire left door leaf off.
The spinning door panel smashed the entire Nightmare Squad that was ambushing behind the door into pieces.
When he bent down to pick up the "blood" stuck in the corpse, Victor's voice finally came from the deepest part of the palace:
"I admit that I underestimated you, Lord of Red Sand."
The Blackhearted King slowly stood up from his throne, playing with a black hole grenade in his hand.
Angron shook off the blood droplets on the axe blade and quickly scanned every corner of the hall with his tactical eyepiece. His voice was hoarse from the long battle, but still as steady as thunder:
"Game over, Victor."
Angron’s voice was like sandpaper rubbing against obsidian, low and oppressive. “There is no Webway for you to escape this time.”
Victor leaned on the throne, tapping the armrests with his pale fingers. A playful smile hung on his uncomfortable perfect face, and a dangerous light flashed in his amethyst eyes. The Blackhearted King crossed his legs gracefully, and his luxurious shadow robe flowed on the steps like mercury.
"Not bad, not bad, not bad."
He clapped softly, and the applause echoed in the empty hall like the sound of a poisonous snake moving over dry bones.
There was a creepy delight in every syllable, as if the life-and-death struggle before him was just a play to entertain him.
"You are strong, Primarch." Victor leaned forward slightly, his voice as soft as a lover's whisper, "But..."
The corner of his mouth suddenly twisted into a hideous arc.
"Why do you think I would come to greet you alone?"
In an instant, the air in the entire throne hall solidified, and six dark purple psychic chains shot out from the void and instantly wrapped around the limbs of the Primarch.
These energy bodies formed by pure malice squirmed like living things. Painfully distorted human faces appeared on each chain, emitting silent screams.
"Welcome to experience the hospitality of Comoros." Victor slowly stood up, the psychic whip in his hand circling like a venomous snake, "These psychic energies come from 100,000 souls who were tortured to death... I hope you like it."
Angron's muscles tensed instantly, and the copper-colored power armor began to emit smoke under the erosion of psychic energy.
But he did not utter a cry of pain, instead he snorted with disdain.
The Primarch's brain rapidly analyzed the energy composition of the chains, calculating the stress points of each chain.
“That’s all you can do?” Angron suddenly grinned, revealing his white teeth. “I thought the Blackhearted King would be more… creative.”
Victor's smile froze.
He saw Angron's left hand, "Blood Father", suddenly change its grip, and the axe blade cut into the weak point of the rightmost chain at a strange angle. At the same time, the Primarch's right leg suddenly exerted force, and his fifteen-ton body spun with amazing precision.
"Crack!"
The first chain snapped, and broken psychic fragments flew around like glass.
The soul trapped within sighed in relief and dissipated in wisps of smoke.
“Impossible!” Victor screamed, and for the first time, a crack appeared on his flawless face. “Those chains are enough to restrain a Titan!”
Angron did not pause for a moment. He used the momentum of his rotation to fiercely chop the second chain with his right hand.
The decomposition force field on the axe blade collided violently with the psychic energy, emitting dazzling sparks.
The Primarch's tactical brain worked at a rapid pace, and each strike landed precisely on the resonant nodes of Viktor's psychic structure.
"Your tricks..." the third chain shattered in a burst of energy, "...are outdated!"
When the last chain broke, the shockwaves sent spiderweb-like cracks through the dome of the throne room. Victor stumbled back, the psychic whip in his hand twisting like a dying snake.
Angron did not give him a chance to breathe. The Lord of Red Sand rushed up the stairs, and the "Blood Father" and "Blood Son" crossed and slashed at the neck of the Black Heart King. Victor hastily raised the Staff of Pain to block, but realized his mistake the moment of contact...
"boom!"
The finely crafted scepter broke like a dead branch.
The axe's force remained, leaving two deep wounds on Victor's chest that were deep enough to see the bone.
The Blackheart King spat out a mouthful of purple blood, staggered and fell on the broken throne.
"You...what kind of monster are you?" Victor's voice trembled with fear.
Angron looked down at him, blood from the axe blade dripping onto the face of the Dark Eldar Lord.
“The Emperor’s wrath.”
"Is that so?"
Victor suddenly changed his expression and looked at Angron with a smile.
"That's really, such a pity..."
