Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 532 Eat My Flying Head Fist!!! (5K1)
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Urkanthos, former Fleet Master of the Black Legion, Lord of the Plunder of Abaddon, Leader of Abaddon's Hounds, theoretically the God of War's representative here and now to the Black Legion on this crusade, was in pure fury of joy.

And Artesia Bloodmouth, the demon summoned in response to his urgent and pressing need, promising to aid him in his ascension in exchange for a greater share of her profits from Urkanthos, was feasting with him in the slaughterhouse of fresh, holy flesh in his growing shadow.

He used his huge palm, which had turned into a claw, to grab a dying young witch by the waist, bit off her neck, and drank her blood like wine in a glass. There were many such witches on the ground here, but this one's body was the most intact. She was still breathing just now. The fierce charge launched from the air by these fanatical girls of the Corpse King did seem to work at first with their sophisticated weapons and quite good training. At least the black and gold tide of Abaddon hounds that landed after Urkansos and rushed towards the temple from the landing chamber was suppressed in an instant, just like a wave of black oil hitting a row of thorny black and red roses, and then rolled up waves of muzzle flames and exploding flesh and blood ceramic steel.

However, when these witches who underestimated their enemies continued to attack the larger airdrop chamber at the back carelessly, the door opened, and the impatient Skull Lord inside began to shoot at them. The blood cannon and skull storm gun turned their bodies into pieces of bright black, red and a little white paint that were smeared on the ground.

As the tiny, sharp drills of the Butcher's Nails pierced the remnants of Urkanthos' brain tissue and nerves behind his eyeballs, he heard Artesia cackling behind his parasitic spine. "More! My Lord! More! Holy blood! Khorne's favorite! He will turn his gaze upon you! Here! I can feel it!"

Although these witches who prayed to the corpses were foolish and unwilling to accept the dark truth, and they annoyed him with their so-called prayers, their blood tasted as sweet and pure as the demons and the warmaster promised. He evaluated it and continued to drink it. He could feel that this pure blood was like sweet wine, flowing under his armor, soaking the remaining parts of his body that had not been transformed, and those that had already been transformed, like limbs soaked in a moist pupa or amniotic fluid sac that were about to emerge.

Soon, he would have majestic, curly horns, powerful claws, fangs, and huge, towering wings, joining the ranks of the higher orders, no doubt about it.

Just as he allowed himself a moment to imagine how to fill the Black Legion with the power of Khorne and make the Warmaster recognize the power he represented, a bolt of lightning hit his head from the side and below, causing Urkanthos to tilt his head slightly and stop imagining the sweet and tender flesh he was chewing in his mouth. He spat out the black armor fragments that stung his long and curly tongue and turned his eyes to the ground in annoyance.

There, on the uneven rocks, lay another Corpse Queen Witch who had been hit by the Skull Lord's skull shells. The jet pack on one side of her was destroyed, and a small-scale explosion occurred at the same time, so she fell to the ground with only half of her body, but miraculously she was not completely dead. Her short, dyed white hair and young face were stained with her and her sisters' blood. In her only remaining left hand, she held a bolter tightly, with smoke still coming out of the muzzle.

It was this weapon that had just hit the half-demon lord while he was feasting on the nuns' flesh and blood. Being attacked at such a close distance made Urkanthos furious. The Lord of Plunder roared, threw away the broken pieces in his hand, rushed towards her, grabbed her neck, and pulled her up from the ground. The combat sister stared at him with hatred, chanting intermittent prayers, "Glorious Lord of Humanity, our Saint, please protect our temple, let me continue to have strength, let me continue to fight for you..."

"That is a good thought," said Urkanthos, his voice now sounding almost like the snarl of an animal in the deformed skull. "But it is a good persistence. Your bloody charge and slaughter and being slaughtered glorifies Khorne and honors the Blood God. Whether you believe in him or not, these killings please him, so I will offer both your blood and skull to him. Feel honored, witch."

She obviously disagreed with Urcanthos' words, but Artesia Bloodmouth smiled in Urcanthos's shadow and spoke, "Yes, yes, that's right. This is the best, the highest quality, and the largest quantity. Pure and high-quality blood and skulls. With your blood, a new temple dedicated to Khorne will be built on the temple you dedicated to the Damned. Such an offering will surely bring the blessing of the Blood God into my lord's body."

The Battle-Sister realized the threat posed by the Fallen and the Demons before her. She spat at them and used her remaining twitching arm to stagger and try to raise the bolter to continue shooting at him, but she had lost too much blood, and her blood volume had dropped to a terrifying level. Her heart and other organs began to enter the final stages of failure, and the Lord Khorne saw the look in her eyes that he had seen thousands of times, the feeling of death beginning to descend on the human body and gradually losing its organic vitality, as if something unspeakable and invisible was being sucked out from behind the vitreous body, something left and turned the lively eyes into lifeless matter.

He opened his huge mouth, intending to enjoy her while she was still fresh and offer her to the Blood God, but her next move made Urkanthos pause. The Witch of the Corpse King raised her arm, and the grenade launcher fell from her hand. She raised her hand and pointed it in a direction behind the Lord of Khorne as if she was trying to reach someone's hand. An expression of dying ecstasy with strong religious fervor appeared on her face. She didn't even care about the fishy blood flowing from her mouth, nose and ears. "It's... sacred..."

Her expression was so happy, so relieved, and so real that when Urkanthos heard these words, he couldn't help but turn his head to look at the battlefield behind him: the scattered landing capsules, the rumbling vehicles, the smoke, blood, corpses and uneven trenches, scattered battles, and nothing else.

"It's the same dying trick again," Artesia muttered, "Girls of the Cursed always have this or that dying hallucination! Let's kill her quickly, and then we can tear open the door of the temple and let the blessing of the Blood-Red God be poured into you, my dear."

Bloodmouth was right. Perhaps the meaning of the fantasy that had just been interrupted by this witch was to remind him not to waste time. Khorne was very anxious.

Urkanthos grabbed the battle-sister's head with his swollen and deformed claws, and with a loud tearing sound of muscles, nerves and vertebrae, he inserted her head, which still maintained an ecstatic expression, into the trophy rack behind him so that her sisters would be the first to see her later.

Just as he stood up and took a step forward with confidence——

Artesia Bloodmouth howled horribly from behind his neck, and then his huge shadow with bloody slits and sharp teeth began to fade away rapidly. Before Urkanthos could angrily ask what happened, the demon seemed to be planning to flee back behind the veil and didn't want to stay here to explain even one more word -

There was a loud bang.

It was the sound of a high-speed object breaking the sound barrier, but why was there—

In his erect pupils, he saw an axe that looked increasingly large. The front end was burned into a bright, fiery orange-red by the high-speed friction of the air, and it was "flying" straight towards Urkanthos from a distance.

Its head accurately pierced Urkanthos' arm as he subconsciously raised his hand to defend himself, and then burned through his shadow before he could completely escape from it.

Finally, the demon was "nailed" to the ground in the real world amidst the painful wails and desperate screams of his bloody mouth.

Then, the heat from the red-hot axe, like a burning ember, immediately and impatiently began to burn the demon's shadowy form, as if someone had inserted an unextinguished match into the center of a piece of gray paper, starting from the "nailed" entrance, Artesia began to "burn" from the inside out, and the demon screamed in disbelief, she frantically screamed the name of the Blood God and another.

"What is this..."

His questioning was silenced by a fist smashed into his face with a horrible fury and power unlike anything Urkanthos had ever seen in any of the past ten thousand years of known conquests, battles, and slaughter.

Then came another punch, hitting the Lord of Khorne in the chin.

The power contained in this is so hot, huge and pure.

Everyone within a one-kilometer radius heard the horrific sound of flesh and bones bursting.

The demon lord's elongated and horned skull was like the head of the battle sister he had just torn off. It was angrily and alive beaten off from his thick and deformed cervical vertebrae, then bounced to the side and rolled down, until it bounced several times on the ground and stopped among a pile of corpses. At this moment, the tail sound of the Lord of Plunder's roar had not yet dissipated, and his tall and abnormal demonic body was still standing in the same place. Suddenly, with the belated explosion of the second sound barrier being broken, a rustling sound came from the broken neck of the half-demon prince, and the blood that the Lord of Khorne had just absorbed flew high from the crack between the head and the neck like a scarlet fountain, and then splashed in all directions.

The Archsister and others who observed this incredible scene from the defense spire of the Temple of Santa Murica blinked in surprise. Sister Genevieve, the guardian of the Temple territory and the leader of the Seraph Squad, asked hesitantly, "What is that?"

Her twin sister, Sister Eleanor, the guardian and administrator of the Cadia sanctuary of Our Lady Martyrs, also looked over. "It was too fast, and was shrouded in a cloud of steam or mist - whatever it was, it killed the half-demon prince with one blow, and I must point out that this half-demon prince has just severely weakened our defenses and garrisons with just himself and his three heavy demon engines. I think we should probably just -"

Another earth-shattering explosion was heard outside the defense wall.

Their conversation had to be paused, and they looked towards the source of the noise through the void shield of the temple.

Everyone saw the flying fragments of fire, skulls and high jets of blood steam. The red figure wrapped in mist, who had just knocked the half-demon prince's head off with two punches, now rushed to the nearest skull lord.

At first glance it looked so small that they could hardly see its movements at this distance, but it also seemed huge and omnipresent. The moment it raised its arms, it even gave people the feeling that it would fill the world forever.

Then everyone realized its movement through a moment of mysterious watching: it simply clenched its fist, then punched the terrified, full-fire heavy demon war engine, and then punched again.

The earth shook, and the entire Temple of Santa Murica seemed to tremble under its wrath.

Even the most determined nun could not help but be terrified. Standing at such a distance, they could only follow the red figure with their peripheral vision. It seemed that every time they looked at it, it would become larger and occupy more time and space. They could feel an ancient, primitive, angry and hot irrational emotion calling them to join, to join the battlefield, to join its ranks.

Archdeacon Mendazus tapped his ancient and tall staff on the ground, calling the others back to their senses. They all looked away and dared not look any further.

Genevieve finally managed to pull her eyes away from the figure that seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. It was difficult because its posture and the silent bloodthirsty call it gave really made her feel the urge of accelerating her heart. She finally put her eyes back to the present, but found that the hair on the back of her neck was all wet with sweat, and the inside of the nun's power armor was steaming. Just looking at the figure who killed the half-demon prince and was constantly dismantling and tearing the skull master with his bare hands, her adrenaline and other combat endocrine hormones rose sharply. A terrible demon.

"It seems that these giant demon engines may not be our biggest problem soon. I can feel that this new existence - it is so ancient, so deep, so evil, so powerful, it needs to be detected, confirmed and attacked immediately, but more than half of our Seraph team was wasted in the attack on the landing module just now and could not come back. Genevieve, this is your wrong impulse, impulse, all along."

"I admit it, sir, but I am no longer a student at your girls' school. If you still--"

"Sorry to interrupt," Eleanor raised her hand, listening to the content of the communication rosary, and raised an eyebrow. "The defenders of the northern defense wall were a little incoherent, but they still reported the destruction of the second Skull Lord. However, I would suggest that a replacement team go up to defend there. It sounds like you need to hold a new prayer and purification ceremony for the replaced part of the defenders, my lord."

Eleanor's next words were directed to Archdeacon Mendazus. The old man snorted and nodded, "Look, there are not enough Seraphim here to serve as the mobile reserve. Eleanor, you should guide your sisters."

Genevieve observed her sister. Even though she had just seen the terrifying existence that broke into the battlefield like her, Eleanor remained calm and elegant. Her expression was flawless, like a perfectly carved statue of a saint. She was the kind of leader who was born to lead her sisters in battle. The impulsive and restless Genevieve was here as her sworn sister to guard the church land entirely because of the prophecy of the deceased Cardinal Subara about the future of the twin girls.

"She is my twin sister. I will do my best." Eleanor's words were gentle but unquestionable. "We..."

There was another loud explosion and sticky gushing sound, exactly the same as the previous one, but at shorter intervals. They could hear the defenders on the defense wall cheering wildly because of the emotions they had witnessed - although the cheering only lasted for a short while before it was immediately cut off, and then they fell into a terrified silence.

Judging from the dense and terrifying sound of gunfire outside and other sporadic noises, the massacre of "it" outside the defense wall has obviously not stopped, and is even getting more intense.

This time, Sister Eleanor frowned, like an icon showing her expression. "We can't go on like this. It's too powerful. Our defenders here must find a way to consume it before engaging it." She turned to her sister, who subconsciously raised her shoulders. "Do you have your key with you?"

"Oh, no, no, don't. It's not necessary to use those, is it?"

"That's a good idea. A true Arch-Sister should be so decisive." Archdeacon Mendazus praised. "It's time to release them."

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Outside the battlefield of the Temple of Santa Molica, the War Blacksmith looked suspiciously at Hong Suo who was observing the battlefield in the distance through a telescope.

"You knew this would happen? So you told us to go this way?"

"What are you talking about?" The master of medicine observed with great interest and quickly began to record new observation data inside his medical power armor. "I didn't know it would be like this."

"Then this...?"

"He has been suppressed for long enough. Before he releases his accumulated pressure on us, we have to think about what he wants and find a better target for him to release it. This way, he can deal with greater pressure next time without leaving us hanging on the city gate." The master of potions commented in an experienced and considerate tone, and the warsmith couldn't help shivering under his armor. "If there is a chance, I even hope that my respected father can have a good exercise like this."

(End of this chapter)