Warhammer: Start with a dog

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Vosko Bogus, or rather, Vosko Dofok, who had not yet "graduated" from the Dofok clan and obtained permission to transfer back to the Bogus clan, was holding his bolter and moving forward steadily.

The ground under his feet had a strange texture, at least the recruit had never thought of stepping on the ground of his hometown. If a 3K ancient Terran and his dog were present and knew what Vosko was thinking, he would tell the newcomer Iron Hand that this was called "stepping on SHI feeling".

The eyepiece captured several focal points, and the teammate walking in front of him on the left made a gesture to him. Although Vosko had just been taught the meaning of this set of gestures by the fire line, he had memorized the meaning of the most basic ones with his smart head that had undergone preliminary transformation: the "Son of Phoenix" veteran meant that there were difficult enemies ahead, and he should be vigilant and ready to attack at any time.

——Although Vosko didn't see this, his own eyepiece seemed a little slow in the strange green and moist fog he had never encountered since landing, and he relied entirely on the information shared by his teammates to fight.

——So far, their team has been moving forward and successfully killed all the invaders they encountered on the way - mainly because his other four teammates handled them as easily as cutting melons and vegetables, which made the newcomer of the Iron Hands admire them and more eager to get his own victory.

He carefully read and analyzed all the data that could be displayed in his eyepiece. Except for a series of very small energy peaks on the energy detector, which were usually counted as normal interference levels and almost negligible, there was nothing.

However, out of habit or caution, he still wrote down the number of this series of tiny peaks and glanced at them from the corner of his eye. Three, seven, nine, fourteen, twenty-one.

So how did they judge that there were enemies ahead? Or, this was the answer to his previous doubts about them: the condition of the power armor of these loyal and glorious ancient warriors was the appearance presented to others by the long-term struggle against Chaos and the eternal expedition of hatred against the great enemies?

But since these experienced veterans did not talk about their past battles and did not belong to the same chapter as the Iron Hands, Vosko privately thought that it might be impolite to ask too much about other people's past.

And for now, he is still facing good news and bad news. Life is always like this. Being an alien among the natives of Medusa, being strong and cold is one aspect, and on the other hand, you must be very good at finding joy in suffering.

The good news is that the airdrop capsule he took was of very good quality, worthy of being a product of the Iron Hands. It took them to land safely and opened the warehouse smoothly. Everyone was intact without missing any limbs.

The bad news is that the place where they landed seemed to be the closest to the center of the enemy among all the teams, which meant that there would be great pressure on both sides.

If they were a team composed entirely of new recruits, this would be really bad news, but now, perhaps this is not bad news for him. Vosko glanced at his comrades.

Beside him were four temporary companions from the same assault team.

The one leading the way on the left front holding a power sword made of alien trophies was the cousin of the "Sons of Phoenix" regiment who had just chatted with him before the airdrop and introduced himself as Flavius, and he was also the captain of this team.

On Vosko's right, the shield guard of the entire team was the sturdy Palos. Judging from the tacit understanding and communication between him and Flavius, the two of them should have been partners for a long time, and the former had served as the latter's deputy.

On the left and right wings behind Iron Hand were Merricks and Bellaphos. The former had a mechanical prosthetic arm that Vosko felt familiar with, and was not very talkative. Vosko observed that his prosthetic might need more subtle adjustments to meet the balance he needed. Their technical sergeants might be new or of poor quality; the latter's power armor, which was covered with a lot of oaths and hymns, was surprisingly bumpy, as if someone had hurriedly and tried their best to repair its surface before setting off, but didn't have time to polish it too smooth.

The advancing position of this team was actually very strange. Yes, the position of the entire team now was - these four veterans were "protecting" the newcomer in the center.

As the number of their kills and the frequency of tactical communication increased, Vosko's feeling became stronger.

This is very, very rare, at least no new recruit in the Iron Hands will receive such treatment, because first of all, when you plan to stand out alive from the Ouranus Rock under the Iron Moon, you have to use the weapon in your hand to kill as many of your competitors as possible, no matter whether you know each other or how good the other party is.

A hearty battle royale is the first lesson that the Iron Hands teach their new recruits: never really trust anyone, even your brothers next to you.

Maybe the culture of the Phoenix Sons is just the opposite, focusing on protecting their new blood and letting the veterans lead them on the battlefield, while imparting experience and cultivating mutual understanding?

It feels good to be protected, Vosko thought, he hasn't received such attention from the "elders" since he was three and a half years old.

This can indeed guarantee a certain survival rate for new recruits, but the disadvantages are also obvious. This cannot allow new recruits to grow up quickly through bloody lessons. Just like if a Medusa child does not learn to swing simple weapons to knock down something to show his talent for fighting before the age of three, he is almost doomed to not survive on this desolate planet.

Although the training of new recruits in the Iron Hands is ruthless and cruel, it is indeed efficient and makes people remember it - because in this kind of battle, as long as the new recruits are not dead to the extent that they cannot be transplanted with prostheses or enter the Dreadnought, they will not be counted in the death statistics of the Iron Fathers.

Those experiences that lead to the first death can naturally come in handy in the next battle, until the day they really die, then those valuable experiences and all kinds of strange ways of death will enter the clan's (not the regiment's) Simulacrum Holy Chamber and Thought Collection, and the gene seed will also make the next carrier more vigilant in the dark.

As they got closer to the rear of the invading enemy, the ground, which had been eroded to a soft fleshy swamp, forced them to slow down. The ground, which was originally composed of basalt and black quartz, was covered with strange or fresh organic matter, becoming fertile and disgusting.

"Pah." Vosko frowned and pulled out one of his power boots from the dirt and mud that might have been the corpses of the Medusa Defense Army. The black paint coating on it had been eroded, revealing the faint original color of the ceramic steel material underneath.

He immediately took a few steps to the side, bypassing the more "field ridges" formed by the mixture of metal, plastic and corpses on the ground that began to grow leather membranes and eyelashes or teeth.

"It's too... smelly here. I never thought that the land of Medusa washed by lava would have such a strong smell. Is the seal of your power armor okay? Why can I still smell the stink when I wear a helmet?"

Then he closed his mouth uneasily and subconsciously tried to spit - although his power armor had checked itself three times and assured him that his helmet and seal were intact, he could still feel the stink of rotten meat pouring into his mouth as he opened his mouth. Now there was a bitter and strange taste on the root of his tongue, as if he had eaten rotten meat and vomited bile.

The snickering sound came from Flavius ​​or Bellaphos.

A dense cloud of mist was driven by the air flow and came towards him close to the ground. The water vapor in it seemed to condense into larger droplets because it was too rich and abundant.

He saw a series of tiny peaks flashing across the graph of his energy detection instrument from the corner of his eye. Three, seven, nine, fourteen, twenty-one, forty-nine, seventy-seven...

Suddenly, the sound of intensive shooting from the grenade launcher rang out, and the red warning that suddenly lit up in his helmet told him that the launch point of the bombs came from behind Vosko.

The bombs hit his power armor one after another, and bright sparks popped out on the black surface.

The Iron Hand turned around with a secret, hurt feeling and a sense of relief that he had finally waited for "betrayal" and began to use his weapon to fight back against his former teammates.

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Vosko Dovk poured all the bullets from the grenade launcher in his hand on the traitors.

Even so, the Death Guards were obviously very difficult to kill, and the newcomer of the Iron Hands fully felt this.

Just now, with the help of the two veterans of the Sons of Phoenix behind him shooting in front of him, the three of them luckily killed a Plague Drone that was trying to sneak up on him with a corrupt poison cloud as a cover. The black plague flies surrounding this evil creature were the culprits that caused Vosko's energy detector to be unable to detect the drone itself whose energy fluctuations were covered by the swarm of flies.

Obviously, the Sons of Phoenix had much more experience in dealing with these evil creatures of chaos than he did, and those subtle peaks were one of the bases for them to judge the incoming and shoot in time.

With the arrival and elimination of the drone, the Sons of Mortarion obviously noticed the uninvited guests who appeared in the back.

But there were only five of them, so the number of plague warriors sent to deal with them was not that large.

Vosko's shooting was calm and steady. A series of precisely spaced bolts tore through the rotten armor of the burly Death Guard that rushed toward him. Suspicious-colored body fluids gushed out from the honeycomb-like holes on the surface of his pierced power armor. A supernatural stench that was even stronger than before spread as if it had substance. Even his comrades around him couldn't help but step back half a step.

The body of the Plague Warrior pierced by the Iron Hand presented a horrible situation after the liquid gushed out. The muzzle fire illuminated his body without skin, fat and muscle layers. His internal organs were now like some spoiled oysters and sea intestines in a big belly pot made of armor.

But even so, he did not die. He laughed mockingly at Vosko, "Zombie King's running dog!" Flies buzzed around his bulky figure, and a choking cloud of plague overflowed from the top of the heavy sickle in his hand. He swung it and swept towards the Iron Hand.

This attack, seemingly covering a large area, did not succeed, as a sword light flashed from his side. The Death Guard roared and tried to turn around, but one of his arms flew out, and his flesh and blood merged with the ceramic steel, and after landing, it was greedily devoured by the ground.

It was Flavius, the warrior wielding his alien sword. The blade was not stained with a drop of corruption. The swordsman was as nimble as a huge herd of cattle among the lumbering and slow Plague Marines. A flying cat, every time he stretches out his blade and claws, a Plague Marine will lose the ability to fight.

Merricks and Belafos are equally skilled swordsmen, and the former saved Wasco once: Iron Hand broke through the defense of one Plague Marine and planned to turn around to attack another, but he didn't know how to tell the difference between the latter and the other. Will the corpse explode and cause another injury when it falls? Fortunately, Merricks dragged him away, avoiding the tragic fate of the recruit being showered with virus corpse water.

They did a good job at the rear, so well in fact, that they alerted a truly terrifying Chaos Emissary who had originally been charging forward, but had stayed in the rear during this battle.

He was dissatisfied that his slow but smooth action of bringing life to this place was interrupted.

The master of the Destroyer Beeflies turned to see who was destroying his recently sown fields.

First came the cloud of Destroyer Beeflies with wings, mouthparts and tail stings. They were more powerful and evil than any previous swarm. The buzzing sound of the demonic insect's wings was like the sharpening of a hundred chain swords. The ribs of the corpse were rough and dry.

The four veterans of the "Sons of the Phoenix" have completely restrained the relaxed and leisurely fighting posture just now, and have shrunk the team together vigilantly, and used the superposition of their respective relic defense positions to resist these small and greedy attacks. demon.

From the center of this gift promised by the Plague God, an extremely huge giant appeared. An impressive and distinctive bone horn grew on his helmet, and the ancient Terminator armor was bulged by his His belly was stretched out of shape, and a huge scythe was held in his hands. The blade of the scythe was still dripping with juice that exuded a rich subspace aura. There are several thick hollow bone exhaust pipes standing high behind him, which are connected to the inside of his body. Swarms of destroyer flies are constantly flying out of these bone pipes at all times and joining around him. Among more and more destruction clouds.

"Typhons."

Before Wasco could ask the question, Merricks answered the question he wanted to ask, "That is the First Captain of the Death Guard, the Herald of Nurgle, the spreader of disease, the master of the Destroyer Hive, Ty Fons, he is also an extremely powerful psychic wizard, you have to be small..."

The visitor whose name was mentioned proudly raised one of his hands towards them.

Merricks was the first to bear the brunt. The veteran coughed without warning, his body swayed, and streaks of ominous black blood began to flow from the breathing grid of his helmet.

"Why." The abominable intruder and traitor laughed in a low voice, "Ah, you are so pathetic and lamentable that you did not join our embrace immediately. It seems that your master has not completely given up on you, someone's child... …”

Before the first company commander said certain names, a beautiful and clear voice sounded in his ears, stopping the second half of his words.

"Go back to your fetid swamp, wizard."

A flaming sword light fell faster than the sound.