Warhammer: Opening is a Crisis of Doom

The sound of machinery humming echoed across the Argent Hammer's carrier deck.

The squad of the Silver Skulls who had been selected to fight on the ground jogged into the designated position for the final inspection of their weapons.

The heavily armored Thunderhawk gunship transports had their engines activated, waiting to take them to the surface.

The ribs have been hollowed out, and the munitions machine servant with servo machinery is moving slowly between the vehicles. It uses the mechanical arm with steel bones and exposed hydraulic pipes to place the shells, power packs, and fuel pumps in the designated positions.

Chapter servants came and went, bringing equipment, medals, weapons and ammunition to the Primaris Space Marines who were about to dispatch.

Chapter chaplains marched along rows of ready warriors, leading them in reciting the chapter's battle rites and affixing oath papers to their ships.

Cherubs and silver-plated servo-skulls hovered above the warriors, their censers belching thick smoke that filled the load deck with smoke.

Chapter Master Opal and Librarian stood in front of the observation deck, watching the final preparations.

A servant wearing a battle regiment robe came up and said respectfully.

"Captain Iser reported that the Imperial Fleet has successfully obtained control of low-Earth orbit and is ready to airdrop at any time."

"It looks like you're about to get the war you crave, Captain," said the Librarian.

"You make me feel like a war-loving space wolf." Opal looked at the think tank of the battle group, with a smile on his resolute face. It was obvious that he was joking with the think tank.

"Following the Primarch's will, I fight for Man and for the Emperor. War is a means to us, not a tool for our own pleasure."

"The 10,000-year-long war has already made us lose our original intention. The emperor created us for peace, but many brothers have sunk into the war and cannot extricate themselves. This is undoubtedly a great tragedy." The think tank smiled lightly, in the tone There was no shortage of some mockery.

"The Primarch will change all of this." Opal said, "We are changing, and humans are also changing. Even for the Empire, it is only a little bit, but it has already made a good start. Our mission is to help Lord Primarch , continue to expand these changes, and one day, the emperor's dream will come true."

"I hope so," said the think tank, and he took out an Emperor Tarot card, plain and simple.

Opal took it over and looked at the card. It was a clown card that was fooling the audience and making people laugh.

"The clown of fate," said the think tank.

"What do you mean?" Opal frowned slightly, "You mean the fate of mankind or this battle."

"I don't know. During the divination, I thought too much, which made the result biased. It may be neither, or it may represent both. The prophecy is full of uncertainty, and the clown is the Emperor Tarot The most complex of the cards, it represents fooling and having fun. No one knows whose face is under the clown mask until the show is over."

"You should concentrate on predicting this battle instead of thinking about other things." Opal put the crystal-polished Emperor Tarot Card back into the think tank's palm.

"Captain, the prayer is over." The priest's voice echoed in the battle group channel.

"Okay, now the conversation about divination is over."

After finishing speaking, Opal ignored the think tank, and went straight to the railing of the observation deck, facing the battle group brothers who were about to launch a battle.

He pressed the communicator to amplify his voice.

"Brothers." Opal's voice echoed throughout the carrier deck, "Once again, we will fight in the name of the Lord of Ultramar and the Emperor."

"In ten minutes, the fleet will enter the orbit of the planet. We will airborne and face those damned greenskins. Let us add another victory to the battle group's record."

Other fighters echoed Opal on the comm.

They chanted slogans, full of high morale.

"For the Emperor."

"For Guilliman."

"."

Opal watched them, smiling, as he pressed the rune button on his iron fist, and a vitrified heat shield slid down to cover his helmet.

"One last check and then prepare for airborne."

Opal ordered the thinker of the armor to confirm the basic information such as the servo system, weapons and ammunition, and flight bag fuel.

Wait until all the prompt runes on the helmet panel turn green.

He steps over to a gunship that emits a low hum.

The other fighters followed suit and entered different gunships.

After confirming that everyone is ready, Opal activates the team battle mode and shares each other's data information.

At the same time, distribute the previously formulated strategic arrangements to each team.

Flight routes and war maps appear in the minds and eyes of soldiers.

"Confirm your mission, brothers." Opal said through the communication channel.

"confirmed."

"confirmed."

The voices of various teams came one after another from the communication channel.

"Then let's get down to business and start airborne."

Opal gave the order.

The pilot of the gunship machine pressed the start button, and a slight vibration was transmitted to everyone along the metal bulkhead.

The energy was fed into the propulsion system, and dazzling flames were ejected from the propulsion port, and the huge thrust pushed the huge gunboat transport plane slowly out of the carrying deck.

Accompanied by hurried sounds and flashing lights, the huge hangar door was slowly opened.

The Stormbird fighters flew out first, and they needed to suppress the orc's anti-aircraft firepower for the primordial space fighters, and conduct a bombing to weaken the orc's resistance.

The boxy Thunderhawk gunship followed closely behind, rushing towards the planet that had been invaded and polluted by the orcs.

on the mine.

"Trash shrimp." The orc warrior Ulfud poked the human lying on the ground with his hammer, muttering in dissatisfaction.

Another shrimp died, and the boss knew he would beat him to death.

They need a lot of shrimp to dig things, and then give the things to the mechanic boy, who turns those things into iron sheets, and then makes all kinds of good things.

So, they can't kill all the shrimp.

Otherwise, you'll have to dig things out yourself.

Uvor didn't want to dig things, and digging wouldn't get those high-grade scraps and parts, or those shiny teeth, and it wouldn't make him greener, bigger, and stronger.

Orcs only get bigger, greener, and stronger on the battlefield.

Wufu touched the modified gun on his waist, thinking about the possibility of killing his boss with one shot.

His modified big gun is very good.

This big gun is so big, so thick, so strong.

The caliber is big enough to stuff a fart in and slam it out.

Able to make all enemies cry like a fart.

Ufo took his own hammer and slammed the fallen shrimp's head a few times until he bled, but failed to wake him up, so he gave up the idea of ​​continuing to save him.

The medical treatment of Orcs is very simple, just wake them up if they are unconscious.

If you can't wake up, you are dead.

Uver often uses this method to rescue grits who have fallen to the ground. With a hammer down, two or three out of ten can always jump up.

It's pretty good medicine.

Wufo grabbed the shrimp's body, threw it into his mouth, and started chewing.

Tastes a bit worse than Squig.

Uver chewed on the shrimp's corpse, and he walked towards the battle fortress. In order to avoid being killed by his boss, he decided to kill the boss first.

"WAAAAGH, I think I can be the boss."