Warhammer: Start with a dog

Twenty-four feet.

twenty-three.

twenty two.

It's now!

Markutian carried his heavy bolter and used the last bullet chain to pour out a dazzling barrage of fire at the rushing Imperial cousins. The opponent's charging momentum did not stop, but it inevitably slowed down for a moment. That.

Ciel clenched his two-handed chain sword with one hand, and with the other hand he had to hold down Ursus, who was constantly howling and swearing an oath dedicated to the bloody power and the father of genes.

Valier half-knelt by the bulkhead, still calmly pushing out the excess liquid from the last anesthetic syringe.

Serion raised his gun amid the din of metal boots stampeding furiously across the cabin, the roar of gun muzzles, the clang of shell casings on the bulkheads, and fired at the location their father had just designated. gun.

His poorly made prosthetic limb suddenly stung untimely, and even the pleasure could not cover up the malicious bite of the metal on his flesh and blood, but he endured it, and he hit the blue one accurately.

At first, there were only sporadic sparks falling from the top of the head, gently brushing over the shoulders of the brilliant scarlet and bronze armor below, and floating over the bone-white Terminator Ankh.

Nothing seems to happen.

The next second, the bright branches formed by the high-energy lightning tree illuminated the entire dark corridor, striking at the warriors below. As their deepest human instincts drove them to raise their heads in surprise, the ionized air emitted The smell of ozone came out, and the deepest shadow fell on them with the brightest light.

Even the Space Marine's visual capture could only see a small shadow falling when the pale fingers rested on Ptolemion's neck guard, which was fleeting.

"pharmacist."

A sound that couldn't be ignored penetrated the light curtain and blew into everyone's ears.

Valier suddenly stood up from behind the cover and threw an anesthetic syringe in his hand in the direction of the speaker.

Ptolemion's three companions were paralyzed by the electric current and knocked unconscious on the spot. Each of their power armor backpacks was overloaded. The servo motors of the artificial muscles emitted faint black smoke, and their limbs were locked in an unnatural way. In the stiff armor joints.

Only the strong and powerful Company Champion and his proud armor have not been completely defeated. The ancient machine spirit of the Terminator roars, refusing to succumb to the artificial thunder and lightning, and continues to re-inject power into the Champion's electronic muscle bundles, calling. Warriors rise up to fight with it.

Ptolemion used his thunder hammer and large shield to support the heavy power armor. He just shook, and then the joint servo was reactivated, and there was a loud roar accompanied by the smell of burnt metal and flesh. He angrily Trying to reach out and pull off the hand that was unscrewing his helmet, "You unclean heretic..."

"Stop it Robert's family, you really like to say these things." (*Even if they are painted in red, they like to say some beautiful and useless words as much as the blue ones.)

The Origin Chapter Champion's tone changed completely when his armored hand grasped a wrist with an unexpected feel and size.

"you……?"

"What are you doing? Let's finish it quickly. I still have several places to catch up on."

With the hiss of sealing and decompressing, the helmet lock opened, Lamizane held a handful of anesthesia syringes in the tiger's mouth, and dug them into poor Ptolemion's lateral carotid artery and artery. In the skin next to it.

"Okay, it's okay, it's okay."

But the Imperial Space Marine with neat short light brown hair was not as obedient as Tathagata suggested.

Encased in Terminator armor, the Chapter Champion glared unyieldingly at their attacker.

At some point, the machine soul that was so angry just now, urging and encouraging him, has become as quiet as a chicken. His strength seems to have been stripped of its support and is rapidly draining away.

The light blue ionized smoke gradually dispersed, and Ptolemion saw that standing next to him was a barefoot man with only a tattered cloth cloak covering his body, but his appearance was not inferior to that of a man wearing a Terminator armor. His height, the pair of completely dark eyes looking out at him from the pale face, he felt a cold finger with sharp nails pressed between his eyebrows.

His status as noble to a Space Marine is evident, or was noble.

This...this...this is impossible...must...warn...go back...message...

"Oh, you only came with one ship and one company this time, um, not bad...huh? I didn't expect you to be a cranberry without even a silver nail." (*Heh, no wonder I tasted it The smell of blood is diluted, and the speed at which they replenish new blood seems to be only as fast as ten thousand years).

A warrior who had served his Chapter for forty years, and who had humbly declined three times the honor of naming him Lord of his Company due to his superior fighting prowess, the Champion of the 3rd Company still refused to pass out, his eyeballs As if he was about to explode, his brain throbbed in his skull with pain, and his eyesight went black.

But when he heard this rather frivolous comment while suffering from a severe headache and nausea, a primitive anger still surged uncontrollably from Ptolemion's heart.

He opened his mouth, and the thunder hammer in his hand felt his fighting spirit again and roared in response, but the high concentration of anesthetic peak instantly exceeded the neutralization limit of his pebble kidneys, and the warrior of the Origin Chapter finally roared unwillingly. There was a sound.

"traitor……"

The unconscious darkness swallowed Ptolemion Saralon in an instant, leaving only the angry look on his face at the enemy of the throne.

Lamizane nodded and turned around to greet him - or the descendants of his current body to clean up the aftermath.

Speaking of which, why didn't they make any move just now?

"Why are you still standing there? Come here, tie them all up and lock them up first... Huh? Oh. Huh. Come over here after it's over." (*A burst of heavy ridicule)

Twenty-two feet away, the warband's pharmacist was checking the retina and fundus conditions of each brother who had been stabbed in the eye. Fortunately, they all wore helmets. The lightning just now was just ordinary high-energy lightning, and no one was really blind. Lose.

Blinking their stinging eyes, the other members of the First Claw groped over, deftly peeling off their power armor, but somewhat crudely beginning to tie and drag away their still-alive and skinned trophy slaves and throw them into makeshift cells. When, Lamizane glanced at Valier.

"I said I wanted the strongest, fastest-acting anesthetic. Valier." There was obvious dissatisfaction in his words, "But this big guy didn't fall down immediately after receiving six injections in his neck." (*you The dissatisfaction, according to me, is because you feel embarrassed that he didn't fall down according to your gesture when you said it's okay - but it sounds like what Chagatai would say. Do you know Chagatai?)

"I don't know him, but you actually noticed this." (*...!)

The former member of the Red Pirates silently saluted his new master, and selectively ignored the other person's sudden soliloquy.

"My lord," he said, "this is the best medicine we can collect. These are the medicines intended for the operations of our wounded."

He felt the tall figure in front of him pause slightly.

"Okay." Midnight Ghost said softly at last, "First let us collect all the cranberries scattered on the ship."

Then he gave a few instructions and disappeared into the shadows again.

The First Claws hurriedly filled themselves with the equipment they had just captured and began to rush towards the next location.

————

The schematic diagram of the PSM painting of the Origin Chapter. If you don’t say it is the Ancestral Blueberry Group, you really can’t tell that it is a blueberry at all. It is completely a cranberry.