Datch glanced at the details of the Magic Beam Ray and imdiately thought of the world of comic book IPs.
"If this were Marvel or DC, the number of villains could be reduced by two-thirds. Doctor Octopus, Mutant Lizardman, Sandman… they'd all be turned back into pitiful workhorses or re city Gundams after a single shot."
Datch looked at Guilliman, nodded, and spoke calmly:
"Don't worry, Lord Regent of the Imperium. I'll bring Lady Gracia back safely."
Guilliman was surprised.
My friend, in the end, we have to part ways.
Before Guilliman could shout, Datch had already pulled out his Teleport Gun and set the surface coordinates for Paradis Island II.
He pulled the trigger. Suddenly, a swirl of green light erupted on the floor.
"Wait, Naless One! The intensity of the Dead Zone there is—"
Guilliman wanted to warn and give tactical advice about the anti-psychic field created by the Necron lords.
But Datch ignored him and leaped into the cave of light.
Changeling, Masque of Slaanesh, and Life Spirit followed quickly behind.
The hole of light rapidly shrunk and disappeared with a soft "pop" sound.
Guilliman's hand froze in midair. Helpless, he finally lowered it and rubbed his temples, sounding resigned:
"Always in such a hurry…"
…
As soon as the Naless Ones left, the Eldar Farseer Natase quietly exited from the shadows of the War Room.
He needed to imdiately report everything that had happened to the great Farseer Eldrad.
In their last conversation,
the Harlequin Troupe's Shadowseer, Sylandri Veilwalker, once ntioned venturing into the webway's darkest corridors in search of the unfathomable wisdom of the Laughing God Cegorach.
Now, this new information about the Naless Ones might help dispel the mysterious fog and reveal their true identities more quickly.
Could these Naless Ones be ancient gods who have slumbered since primordial tis, or were they freshly born from the void?
However, Natase was sure that the party wasn't ordinary humans or regular warp entities.
…
Paradis Island II, Near-Earth Orbit
The battlefield had beco a blood-soaked hellscape.
The clash between the Imperial Fleet and the Necron Fleet ignited the dark expanse of space.
Massive beams shot from the spears clashed with eerie green lightning, sketching deadly star patterns in the void.
Occasionally, the Imperial warships' void shields overloaded, jagged cracks spreading across their armor.
Hull sections stretching for kiloters crumbled in internal explosions, becoming tombs of steel rolling and falling toward the planet.
So shattered undead warships limped away from the battlefield, entering the warp for repairs.
Both sides suffered great losses, but neither retreated. The fighting was fierce and even, continuing until death.
The crescent-shaped Necron fighters resembled swarms of silver piranhas,
moving with impossibly sharp precision through barrages of bullets, engaging Imperial Lightning and Fury fighters in deadly dogfights.
Explosions blood like endless fireworks, turning fighters on both sides into burning wrecks every second.
Ground combat was even more brutal.
Eerie, tallic structures dropped densely into the atmosphere like a rain of teors.
Just before impact, they suddenly decelerated, hovering a few dozen centiters above the surface.
The huts unfolded, transforming into black arches pulsing with sinister green energy—temporary teleportation nodes.
Within the portals, shining tallic skulls surged out like a dam breaking, an endless flow onto the battlefield.
The Guardsn in the trenches fought desperately, illuminating the gloomy battlefield with laser beams, heat rays, autocannons, and plasma shots.
Shrill wails cut the air, creating a painful cacophony.
The heavy artillery pounded rcilessly, trying to destroy the portals.
But where the shells struck, the torn tal rippled like water, instantly healing after turning into streams of light.
The Necron assault swept in endless tallic waves; once one wave died down, another followed.
These silent, rciless killing machines, eyes aglow with relentless green light, advanced despite intense Imperial fire.
The Imperial forces were steadily forced back, their eyes bloodshot and filled with despair.
A green Gauss disintegration beam swept across the ranks—a chill scraping sound but no deafening blast.
The shot soldiers had their flesh, armor, and clothing stripped layer by invisible layer, peeled apart and dissected.
Beating hearts, gleaming white bones, and tangled nerves were revealed—the cruel biological truth laid bare before the living, until all that remained was ash.
Yet the Imperial counterattacks seed weak.
No matter how many Necrons were destroyed, more continually teleported in, regrouped, and launched new waves.
As both sides struggled for advantage, the Imperial losses only grew.
The Silver Shroud Sisters, along with the Imperial troops they'd tried to save, were cut off and surrounded,
trapped inside the half-ruined planetary defense command fortress.
They fought bravely, raining bullets on the enemy, destroying Necrons with chainswords and lta guns.
But as far as the eye could see, only endless green glowing eye sockets erged from the dust. The enemy was countless, inexhaustible.
Inside the command center, tension was thick.
High Sister Gracia stood before the broken surveillance slit, watching the undead tide crash like a silver sea.
His face, sared with mud and gunpowder, revealed deep exhaustion beneath a determined expression.
The barrel of the bolt pistol gripped in his hand was searingly hot, and his power armor was battered and dented.
"Sisters," her voice was a bit hoarse but unwavering,
"Our fight may end here. Yet every mont of resistance is faith in the Emperor, a defense of human dignity."
"Prepare for one last desperate stand. Show these aliens the power of our faith..."
The elder sister's speech was abruptly interrupted.
To her side, the floor twisted without warning, and a green teleportation portal opened from nowhere.
"Enemy attack!"
"Protect the High Sister!"
Nearby battle-sisters instantly raised their guns and revved up their chainswords.
"Stop!" Gracia shouted sharply, staring at the glowing portal with hopeful eyes, silently praying to the Emperor.
The Emperor did not disappoint her. The figure coming forth was the very Naless One she'd been waiting for.
Datch—clad in frosty armor, with a dignified helt blazing with blue fire in his eye sockets—stepped out first.
Next ca a mage in gray robes, a maid in a purple skirt, and a chubby green boy.
Descending from the portal, Datch's eyes scanned the crowd, instantly locking onto Gracia, whose presence was the most striking.
A prominent golden exclamation mark floated above the High Sister's head.
With a sliding tackle, Datch stopped before Gracia and casually opened an information panel:
[Gracia: High Sister of the Silver Shroud, known for unshakeable faith and tactical acun.]
"Naless One," Gracia tried to suppress her excitent.
She clenched her right fist and solemnly thumped her power armor chest with a dull sound.
The sisters behind her also sheathed their weapons and saluted.
"I've been ordered by the Regent to extract you," Datch followed mission protocol. "How do you plan to evacuate from here?"
Upon hearing this, Gracia's face lit up with joy.
Praise the Emperor for sending this Naless One to save his loyal aides.
The elder nun quickly gathered battlefield information and pointed out the window.
"Sir, we are completely surrounded. To break out, soone must draw away the undead main force to buy us ti."
Her words were cut off by a faint golden quest-interface appearing before her.
Just as she finished speaking, a quest panel popped up:
[Mission: Assist the Silver Shroud Order and surviving Imperial Guard by drawing the attention of the Necron forces in space, buying ti for their escape.
Mission Reward: 1200 EXP, 1200 Points, 300 Reputation, Frost Bomb Gun x1]
Datch glanced at the mission and nodded imdiately.
"No problem. I'll hold them off—get everyone ready to retreat."
Gracia bowed her head solemnly.
"May the Emperor bless you. The Silver Shroud will never forget this kindness, and will repay it soday."
Datch waved it off.
Repay ? If your future rebellion fails, just don't punish with that repentance-cha.
He summoned the Frost Dragon mount he'd just obtained.
The Frost Dragon's imnse form imdiately filled the open space before the command post.
The blue, ice-like scales and freezing aura instinctively made the sisters step back half a pace.
At the sa ti, a flash glead in Datch's hand—a Explosive-Bolt Sniper Rifle.
"What kind of Lich King doesn't use guns!?"
Datch muttered while stroking the rifle.
He leaped onto the dragon's back and flew towards the battlefield.
The Frost Dragon spread its battered wings and soared, stirring up a chill cyclone as it suddenly lifted skyward, rushing towards the distant battle.
Gracia and the others stood frozen there for three seconds before coming back to their senses.
The elder nun suppressed her emotions and began giving orders:
"Notify all units, check gear, gather the wounded, and prepare to escape southeast!"
"In the Emperor's na, we'll break out of the encirclent—and continue fighting afterward."
…
The Frost Dragon rose above the battlefield, sheathed in an icy energy shield.
Incoming Necron cannon beams slamd into its shield, creating ripples of icy blue light before being reflected or absorbed.
The dragon's counterattack was devastating—it opened its jaws and unleashed a spectral torrent of freezing blue fire.
Rather than burning, it was numbly cold.
Necron fighters struck by the breath instantly beca coated in thick, opaque frost.
Supercooled, their internal structures beca brittle and shattered like crystal shards sparkling in the air.
Datch commanded and adjusted his shots with the sniper rifle, targeting the larger and grander Necron units.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
After the first target fell—and with a Machine Spirit's Joy buff active—Datch never reloaded, just shifted to burst mode and picked off elite Necrons one by one, throwing the lesser ones into confusion.
Soon enough, Datch reached the most savage frontline.
Here, chaos and slaughter reigned.
The heavy firepower net had been breached; countless void-born undead surged into the trenches.
The screams of Imperial soldiers, their death curses, and the whine of overloaded weapons filled the air.
A squad of nimble, ghostly Scorpion Exterminators swung hyperphase blades the size of door panels, unleashing rivers of blood among fleeing troops.
Their three chanical legs gave incredible stability and charging power.
Each sweep of enormous blades whistled like cutting wind, slicing flesh, armor, and souls with ease.
Young Imperial trooper Sunny lay prone, firing without pause until her lasgun overheated, warning beeping, blue smoke trickling from the barrel. The weapon was done.
She watched in terror as a massive Scorpion Destroyer broke the final barrier and surged toward her trench, filling her vision with cold, tallic limbs and gleaming green eyes.
Her comrades were cleaved apart one after another by its terrifying blades.
Blood and severed limbs splattered all over her.
Despair overwheld her like an icy flood—she closed her eyes and braced for death.
But the pain never ca.
Instead, a sudden drop in temperature, a freezing wind, and the wrenching of tal by a trendous force filled her ears.
Sunny snapped her eyes open and saw a colossal Frost Dragon—sothing out of myth.
Its huge, scale-clad claws pinned the proud Scorpion Destroyer like a toy, grinding it into scrap.
There was a crunch, the living tal groaning, splitting open, and green liquid spurting out like blood.
Standing on the dragon's back was a man with blue flas in his eye sockets.
Honestly, he didn't look the least bit righteous—more like a servant of Chaos.
Datch looked down at the rescued female soldier, motioned to her to retreat, then raised a hand and quietly said,
"Dragon Breath."
The Frost Dragon lifted its head, gathering blue light in its throat, and blasted a dense jet of deep blue fla down the trench.
The Scorpion Exterminators tornting imperial troops sputtered and halted, instantly frozen under thick, transparent ice, inner lights extinguishing.
A mont later, they shattered into shards and scattered, cold light gleaming on the ground.
At the sa ti, the Changeling and the Masque of Slaanesh accompanying Datch leapt into action.
The Changeling swung a crystal-tipped staff, casting ancient spells.
Balls of blue and red fire exploded among the enemy ranks, and crystal chains snared the undead, immobilizing them.
The Masque of Slaaneshs perford, their movents graceful and their voices enchanting.
Even the undead were hypnotized, stuck in place as if frozen.
So Necron lords tried to issue ntal attack orders, all to no avail.
A few even burst out crying before their song ended, looking relieved.
anwhile, Life Spirit—the plump, round creature—darted toward the wounded imperial soldiers.
Warm green light radiated from its body, healing wounds like a gentle rain.
Within the Dead Zone, warp powers were strictly suppressed.
But since all these demons had contracted with Datch, they could operate on human belief instead,
so the effect was minor.
"Praise… praise the Emperor!"
Sunny was moved to tears by this miraculous spectacle, choking on her words. So did others.
"Aren't they supposed to praise us, or the Naless One?"
"Why do they praise that cursed guy when he did nothing and reaps all the rewards?"
The Masque of Slaanesh asked Changeling, puzzled.
Changeling chuckled,
"Weren't humans always like this? They never know who's good or evil—just repeat what they hear."
"Before the Great Rift, we could barely even enter the real world—yet still, they blad everything on us!"
"Puh! Puh!"
Hearing the two demons' conversation, Life Spirit wanted to join in,
but Masque of Slaanesh grabbed its little legs, tossed it behind, telling it sternly to stay still,
lest the Necrons shoot it and drag the rest down with it.
Plop, plop.
Poor Life Spirit, knowing nothing, shuffled back with a sad face to perch lazily on Datch's shoulder.
Nobody likes Life Spirit, and Life Spirit is very sad.
…
After clearing the trench, Datch dismounted.
He glanced at the ruined fortress and the approaching undead tide.
With a thought, a strange tool—a Ghost Pickaxe—appeared in his hand,
a magical item from the world of Terraria IP, radiating an icy aura, essential for digging graves and tunnels.
Datch swung the Ghost Pickaxe at the ground and nearby rocky walls.
No matter if it was hardened dirt, tough stone, or buried scrap,
at the slightest touch it was instantly split into neat, cubic blocks and stored in his ga inventory.
Each swing broke eight 1m×1m blocks—far more efficient than a mythril pickaxe.
Stunned, Sunny and the other survivors watched
as Datch dug an arc-shaped trench nearly 7-8 ters deep and about 10 ters wide in just a few minutes.
Then, he stacked the blocks into high, thick walls behind the trench.
The construction speed astonished the Star Force troopers.
With this efficiency, he could carve out the Grand Canyon in half an hour!
Standing proudly on the new low wall, Datch pulled out a giant gaphone,
cleared his throat, and mustered all his strength to deliver his carefully prepared opening line at the oncoming undead horde:
"Galactic shock! Insider secrets revealed! The mighty Silent King Szarekh once rose to power all by selling hooks!!"
With that, the Necron invaders froze in place on the battlefield.
Datch's actions were instantly uploaded to the Forgetting Grave warship's video feed.
On his throne, the Silent King Szarekh said nothing, but the air temperature in the chamber dropped several degrees.
Invisible rage filled the room, terrifying the two Necron lords at his sides.
"This arrogant scoundrel—he must die!"
Hapsatra bellowed on behalf of her master,
"Mobilize all forces! Exterminate this foul human heretic as top priority! Spare no expense—wipe them all out!"
With the Will of the Overlord driving them, the battlefield changed in an instant.
The scattered Necron forces suddenly sward toward Datch's trench as if iron filings drawn to a magnet—overwhelming in power.
Datch imdiately summoned Skarbrand, the starving daemon who hadn't fought in ages and was seething for battle.
He launched into the air with an ear-splitting roar, filling the atmosphere with the stench of blood and brimstone,
brandishing his massive battle-axe, cleaving through the undead swarms like a whirlwind of slaughter.
Everywhere he passed, tal shards and energetic fluids splattered.
"You too—get out there."
Datch threw another Pokéball.
Zarhulash appeared reluctantly, firing energy beams into the undead tide, knocking back those trying to scale the city walls.
Next, Datch opened the Room of Requirent,
deploying the Dark Angel brainstorming teams under Mordachi, and newly recruited Black Templar knights into the battlefield.
Fragnts of star gods, warp demons, dark angels, black sanctuaries… what a bizarre mix…
The surviving Imperial soldiers and nuns organizing the evacuation were dumbstruck.
They couldn't make sense of such an eclectic force!
They even expected infighting, but within minutes, the group found a way to coexist and quickly established rudintary cooperation.
Datch swapped weapons. In his hand appeared the Thunderfury Warhamr.
His Lich King skin automatically adapted, covering the hamr with frost and bone motifs,
the hamrhead glowing with icy blue lightning, blending with his armor seamlessly.
"For the Emperor! For the Lich King!"
Datch raised his warhamr and charged into the fray,
lashing out with thunderous fury—each blow smashing undead warriors climbing the city walls.
anwhile, he wielded the Golden Hamr to quickly repair injuries and armor for Mordachi and others, letting them fight on.
From afar, High Sister Gracia commanded her n in a southeastern breakout at the weakest point.
Though battered by the relentless silver sea, she stood strong as a reef,
glancing back at the glowing, unbroken defensive line where frost, fla, supernatural light, and lightning mingled, and felt only overwhelming awe.
That unpredictable Naless One drew all enemy fire onto himself alone.
"Hurry! Don't waste the ti they have bought us!"
Suppressing her inner turmoil, she spurred her group onward at top speed.
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