The Creators: From Night City

Page 469

But before the soldiers could cheer, a blazing, chaotic psionic flame suddenly shot out from the gaps in the crowded throng, melting the nearly insane machine gunner's head, along with most of his chest, onto his 'mother'.

The muffled roar abruptly stopped.

"Fire!" The political commissar brandished his chainsaw, and the exhausted soldiers began their desperate mechanical firing once again.

Lasers burned through flesh and blood, emitting a pungent, acrid smell, while groans and frenzied murmurs created a chilling, hellish echo.

These Heart Eaters, transformed from the inhabitants of the hive, are competent cannon fodder at the bottom, but once they cross the battlefield and surround the enemy, their sharp claws and teeth become deadly weapons.

A heavily armored soldier was firing wildly, but his laser gun quickly overloaded due to the intense fire.

Although there was no direct explosion, without the suppression of fire, a Heart Eater whose arm had been severed by a laser pounced on him and knocked him to the ground, its sharp teeth biting through his throat in the next second.

The political commissar brandished his chainsaw sword, killing madly while shouting to boost morale.

Little did he know that the treacherous demon hidden among the crowd had been watching him for a long time.

After a girl transformed into a Heart Eater was cleaved in two by a chainsaw sword, a pink freak suddenly emerged from behind her, its deformed limbs bursting with blazing pink flames, instantly merging the commissar's explosive pistol with his hand.

The chainsaw sword, caught off guard, only managed to graz the air beside the target. In excruciating pain, the commissar could only watch helplessly as the target re-entered the crowd and disappeared, leaving behind only a series of mocking yet chilling sneers.

The psionic flames spread upwards from his wrist, and the political commissar made a decisive move, swinging his sword to sever his own arm at elbow level.

But losing an arm significantly reduced his fighting ability.

The defeat of the political commissar, who served as a beacon of will, caused the morale of the entire company to plummet.

An unstoppable defeat ensued.

The remnants of the army began to flee towards their lair.

The political commissar didn't want to leave, but whether it was because the demon wanted to toy with him better, or because the emperor didn't need to spend his coin yet, after slashing a few Heart Eaters with his chainsaw sword, he was miraculously rescued by a group of soldiers and fled in panic with the troops.

But this is merely a precarious existence.

The mind-devouring Heart Eaters are tireless and indifferent to pain. They run like flesh and blood machines and will never stop unless their bodies are overwhelmed and collapse on the spot.

The soldiers of the Planetary Defense Force were all ordinary people, exhausted from repeated fierce battles, their physical and mental strength pushed to the limit.

People were constantly being caught up, dragged into the crowd, and devoured and killed.

Death is closing in.

In such a cruel situation, fate played another cruel joke on them.

After turning a corner, dozens of soldiers stood frozen in place.

Perhaps the recent earthquake damaged the supporting structure of the passageway ahead, and the collapsed metal debris blocked everyone's hope of escape.

"By the Emperor!" The political commissar's shout brought some of the soldiers back to their senses.

The chainsaw sword awarded to graduates of Loyalty Academy roared with loyalty, and Commissar Fakla raised the weapon high, demonstrating his unwavering faith through his actions.

"Soldiers, the time has come for us to serve the Emperor."

"By the Emperor, let us fight!"

"By the Emperor..." A cacophony of prayers rose and fell.

Everyone knew their death was imminent, so they all drew their guns, intending to take a few enemies down with them before their demise.

The enemy is approaching.

However, everyone only felt the metal ground beneath them vibrating slightly and abnormally.

A dull, rapid rumbling sound came from behind them, growing closer and closer, as if some enormous creature was frantically approaching.

The next moment, the stacked obstacles exploded outwards, and amidst the billowing dust, imposing figures broke through the barriers and stormed into the battlefield.

Taking advantage of their frantic pace, these metal giants bypassed the stunned remnants of the defense forces, like high-speed trains, and crushed into the crowd.

It's no exaggeration to say that this is what mowing down enemies in Musou is all about.

Their three-meter height results in a nearly half-length arm span, and their weapons are equally enormous, beyond the reach of ordinary people.

With a swing of the nearly two-meter-long plasma blade, a single standard horizontal slash is enough to clear the space five meters in front of him.

Three metallic giants stood side by side, easily blocking the wide passage.

"By the Emperor, it is Astartes!" a well-informed soldier couldn't help but exclaim.

Chapter 952 Adults and adults

Before the fleeing soldiers could even marvel at the sheer efficiency of the killing, even heavier footsteps sounded, and a heavily armored [Slayer] directly tore through the remaining brick pipes and charged into the battlefield.

The supporting structure around the sole of the foot unfolded in all directions with a crisp crack, and the anchor was driven deep into the ground with a loud bang.

The two terrifying Titan's Grip super-heavy machine guns were leveled as the armor raised its arms.

Several supports are locked to prevent the shooting posture from deforming under the violent recoil.

As the 'Apostles' in front skillfully dodged out of range, a deafening roar instantly resounded throughout the universe.

Armor-piercing shells, carrying streaks of fire, instantly filled the entire passage.

It is no exaggeration to say that the remnants of the defending forces even thought they were hallucinating.

Like an endless tide, the Heart Eaters were blasted out of the passage by bullets. The dead bodies didn't even have time to pile up before being turned into mincemeat by the violent bullet stream.

With the firepower density of just one armored vehicle, it managed to achieve a firepower intensity exceeding that of the fully-strength Third Company.

Faced with this scene, Political Commissar Fakla felt a little dizzy.

Normally, a weapon design like the Titan's Grip, with its maximum rate of fire and maximum caliber, would typically fail to pass final acceptance testing.

There are many things to consider on the battlefield, but the most important factor is undoubtedly endurance.

As we all know, a gun without bullets is nothing more than a pile of scrap metal. The weapons of the Human Empire are extremely durable, simple and brutal, and 'frugal' due to its unique imperial logistics and supply system.

When the laser gun's energy battery runs out, it can be recharged by simply throwing it into a fire. The Leman Rustank, with its simplicity and ease of production, firmly holds its position as the standard main battle tank of the Imperial Guard.

Its adaptive thermal combustion chamber reactor engine can adapt to various fuel types, including promethium fuel (which burns promethium), and not...

It can use petroleum, diesel, gasoline, crude oil, and even firewood or corpses as fuel, making it highly adaptable.

After all, with supplies from the empire sometimes going unreceived for hundreds of years, the possibility of fighting alone throughout a battle, and the need to penetrate deep into enemy territory from time to time, logistical pressure can only indirectly force the empire's military equipment to evolve in a direction that adapts to this environment.

Therefore, under normal circumstances, the Empire would never produce standard equipment like the "Slayer," which is thin-skinned, heavily armed, and insanely powerful, as this would be a devastating blow to the Empire's corrupt logistical capabilities.

Five minutes of firing followed by abandonment until the end of the war will likely become the norm, since not every faction is as extravagant as Anti-Entropy to have a 'craftsman' in charge of logistics.

It's no exaggeration to say that Jiang Bing, at full power, alone could match the productivity of ten large-scale casting worlds.

The large shell casings clattered as they hit the ground, their sound echoing in the hearts of all the defenders.

The gunfire ceased, and the Heart Eater's signature groan also disappeared.

Before the political commissar could finish his classic greeting, the leading apostle suddenly turned his head, his eyes flashing with golden light, causing him to hold his breath.

In the silence, the three Reforging Apostles remained vigilant.

After a brief tactical hand signal exchange, the three men, carrying their weapons, headed towards the pile of bones.

Everyone involuntarily held their breath.

Finally, a pink figure burst forth from the pile of corpses, its claws wreathed in psionic flames, attempting to ignite the enemy directly.

The Cat School of Witchers' swordsmanship is centered on lightness and agility, and the leading apostle clearly inherited the true teachings of his instructor.

Its heavy, 3-meter-tall body moved with surprising agility.

He ducked to dodge, then swung his sword upwards; the clash between the two happened in an instant.

And their fates are decided instantly!

The pink ferocious demon was cleanly cleaved in two, but the injury that should have killed it only caused it to bizarrely split into two smaller blue ferocious demons, which then bounced and charged toward the apostle once again.

However, this sudden change was easily neutralized by the two single-molecule plasma swords, and the two apostles delivered two precise thrusts, piercing the two enemies in mid-air onto the swords.

The blue demon exhibited a tenacious vitality befitting its demonic nature, still hissing and snarling as it hung on the sword, spreading corrupting whispers.

Even from a distance, the defending soldiers felt dizzy, but the two Reforging Apostles remained unmoved.

The 'Furnace of Life' burned fiercely, and a golden flame ignited from the sword's body.

Amidst wails, the two blue freaks were incinerated by the flames, turning into nourishment to be fed into the 'Life Furnace'.

The battle has finally come to an end.

The Terminator armor began to retract its deployed auxiliary anchors, while the remaining soldiers of the defense force quickly made way, stood at attention, bowed their heads, and pounded their chests with their fists in a salute.

"By the Emperor!" the political commissar finally uttered that classic opening line.

"Homage to you, the Emperor's angel!"

Astartes, also known as the Emperor's Angels, are warriors who have undergone brutal genetic modifications and are the highest standing combat force of the entire Empire.

Their numbers were extremely small, and their status within the empire's power structure was equally exalted.

At least for the defenders, the Astartes were a more exalted and rarer figure than their commander-in-chief.

After all, many people had actually seen the Commander-in-Chief, but many people had never seen the Astartes, who were mythical symbols and living relics of the Imperial State Religion and Imperial Power, in their entire lives.

Heavy footsteps sounded and stopped in front of Fakla.

As the highest-ranking officer in the company, the political commissar bowed respectfully, but couldn't help looking up at the other person.

The unidentified metal power armor shimmered with a golden light. Its material was not the most common ceramic steel in the Empire, nor was its style the most common Mark VII 'Crown' power armor in the Empire. Its appearance was more refined, and its craftsmanship was more exquisite.

Although the local army in front of him had some misunderstandings about his identity, the Reforging Apostle clearly had no intention of clarifying it.

He also didn't need to clarify or explain.

"The Nest City Defense Force?" came the cold, low Gothic voice, tinged with a hint of harshness.

The political commissar immediately agreed, and took the opportunity to subtly scan the angel's chest, shoulder armor, and waist, but failed to find any chapter insignia he recognized.

This made the political commissar somewhat suspicious of the other party's identity, but he did not dare to ask.

"Are you the commander of this team?"

"Yes, sir, Captain Michel has passed away. According to wartime regulations, I will automatically assume command."

Even through the goggles, the political commissar could still feel a burning gaze sweeping over him.

Bloodstains on his body, a deathly pale face, a chainsaw sword in his right hand—finally, the gaze lingered on his severed arm, which, despite some initial treatment, was still bleeding profusely.

The Astartes, who belonged to an unknown battle group in the eyes of the political commissar, tapped the device on his waist twice and then took out an injection that was quite large for a mortal.

"Inject one-fifth of the dose near the incision site, then have your men tidy up their appearance and come with me. A 'big shot' wants to see you."

Chapter 953 When you're traveling, you have to give yourself your own identity.

The lower nest was dirty, cramped, filthy, murky, dilapidated, and chaotic.

This is a consensus among all the people of Nest City.

But what the defenders saw and heard at that moment completely shattered this stereotype.

Inside a long-abandoned giant promethium smelting plant.

The rusty floor was smoothed out with some kind of translucent metal material, the messy machines and waste were cleared away, the walls were covered with precious light sources, and the surrounding area was bustling with people.

All the planetary defense personnel, including the political commissar, kept their heads down, remained silent, and dared not even look around carelessly.

The impressive defenses at the factory entrance made them think they had stumbled into the headquarters of an Astartes chapter, rather than some perilous battlefield in the Lower Nest.

The inner door, adorned with the imperial eagle emblem, was pushed open. Under the watchful eyes of the rows of apostle guards who resembled gods on both sides of the road, the defeated and timid soldiers entered the command center.

They finally met the 'master'.

Surprisingly, the 'adult' was not tall, and was even less strong than the soldiers.

He sat at a table, leaning on his cane, his face gentle, discussing the upcoming tactical plans with someone.

A topographical map of the nesting site was projected onto the table.

There was nothing supernatural about it; that was the political commissar's first impression.

The political commissar's second impression was that it was normal, even somewhat abnormal.

"The 3rd Company of the 75th Regiment of the Planetary Defense Force reporting for duty, sir."

The man finally turned around.