War Hammer: The reality Bender Chapter 36 36: Cunning Warboss

Compared to Leonardo's razor-sharp, unstoppable combat style, Lucia's thod of waging war was often vastly simpler and infinitely more brutal.

Clad in her auric power armor, the pristine white wings upon her back violently snapped open. She plumted into the charging Greenskin formation like a localized teor strike.

Wherever she passed, Orks were either instantly pulverized or catastrophically maid. The battlefield was left in absolute ruin, littered with shattered bones and severed green limbs.

Existing simultaneously as a Living Saint and a reality architect, her ironclad faith fueled a raging torrent of the Emperor's psychic might, solidifying into an impenetrable shield around her form.

The stray rounds ricocheting across the battlefield struck her harmlessly, achieving absolutely nothing. Only the primary armants of tank-class vehicles required her to raise her relic storm shield to parry.

A looted Ork tank locked onto this highly threatening prey and charged toward her with maddened fury.

This armored behemoth, heavily modified by a kboy, featured two colossal, razor-sharp chanical pincers mounted to its front hull. The jagged spikes glead with cold malice, clearly intending to snap Lucia entirely in half!

Yet Lucia entirely disregarded the threat, burying her head and charging straight toward it.

The massive pincers slamd shut with crushing force, but were instantly outmatched by the deafening roar of her swinging chainsword, violently sheared into dozens of jagged fragnts.

In the next microsecond, Lucia collided with the front of the tank, slamming her relic storm shield directly against its hull!

BOOM!

A deafening, concussive boom erupted. Overlapping shockwaves violently expanded outward from the point of impact. The sheer kinetic shock instantly launched over a dozen nearby Orks screaming into the air.

The Greenskin driver frantically slamd his fists against the massive red button in the cab. The engine, birthed from unknown, ramshackle technology, roared in chanical agony, yet it fundantally failed to push the seemingly frail "humie" back a single inch.

Lucia remained completely silent. The adamantium teeth of her chainsword spun at blinding velocity, violently biting deep into the tank's armor plating. Subsequently, she engaged her transhuman strength, planting her feet and violently heaving upward.

Under the collective gazes of the surrounding Ork Boyz—their eyes wide with a chaotic mixture of terror, awe, madness, and fanaticism—the multi-ton Greenskin tank was effortlessly flipped into the air like a discarded toy. It traced a graceful, parabolic arc through the sky before crashing heavily into the dirt, violently rolling like a bowling ball and bowling over a massive swathe of Orks and light vehicles in its path.

"...Dat's so zoggin' WAAAAAGH!"

Rather than feeling terror, the Boyz who witnessed this spectacle grew exponentially more fanatical. They frantically charged toward Lucia, only to be effortlessly butchered.

"Absolutely brutal."

Observing Leonardo and Lucia carving a path of apocalyptic carnage through the Greenskin lines, Rowan couldn't help but offer a nod of genuine admiration.

He was currently positioned dead center in the defensive periter. Inquisitor Cybia stood directly beside him, maintaining a flawless vigil over his periter, while over a dozen Rubric Astartes had locked their shields together, forming an impenetrable wall around him.

As he spoke, Rowan drew the Ceremonial Sword of Solomon, casually pointing it outward.

He wasn't pointing the blade at a Greenskin, but rather at a fallen Astartes a short distance away.

The warrior's power armor had been violently ruptured. The ceramite was covered in a dense, spiderweb network of deep fissures, blatantly exposing the horrifying truth that there was absolutely nothing inside.

Golden flas of the Emperor erupted, instantaneously engulfing the shattered armor. The ceramite reconstructed itself at a molecular level; the shattered fragnts violently snapped back together, the deep fissures sealed, and all battle damage was erased from existence.

The Astartes rose to his feet in absolute silence, retrieved his fallen bolter, and imdiately charged back into the roaring fires of the frontline.

Indeed, Rowan was in absolutely no rush to join the Custodian and the Living Saint in violently tearing apart the Greenskin lines and breaking their assault.

Regardless of how much his ontological density had increased, he never forgot the fundantal reality that his physical constitution was still functionally identical to a baseline mortal.

Even if Rowan could utilize his reality-bending dominion to move at supersonic speeds... even if he could effortlessly stare an enemy to death if he truly focused... even if the kinetic barriers forged by his will could theoretically withstand a direct hit from a super-heavy macro-cannon...

None of these were valid reasons to act recklessly, let the adrenaline go to his head, and proactively throw himself into the enemy vanguard.

As for the catastrophic consequences of letting the adrenaline go to one's head, the Lord of the XIII Legion served as the ultimate cautionary tale—getting his throat slit, lying comatose in a stasis field for ten millennia, and upon finally waking up, being forced to desperately debug the horrifying legacy code he had written. It was a tragedy that brought grown n to tears.

Even Cybia, an Alpha-class psyker whose psychic potential was absolutely perfect for deploying apocalyptic area-of-effect devastation in such a chaotic warzone, was currently relegated solely to protecting his life.

However, while Rowan was not in a rush, a certain Ork most certainly was.

The heavily armored Warboss clad in the Commissar uniform witnessed the two blindingly golden "humies" violently carving their way through the green tide. His already grotesque visage instantly contorted in sheer, unadulterated fury.

Dis ain't gonna work!

Da Boyz got numbaz, sure, but dey ain't endless! Can't just let dese humies krump 'em for free! Gotta break dis up!

Pondering for a brief microsecond, he let out a deafening roar, violently drawing the attention of the surrounding Greenskins. Taking massive, ground-shaking strides, he casually crushed the skulls of several Boyz who failed to get out of his way with his massive chanical klaw, charging directly toward the golden humie with the giant white bird-wings.

I'm da kunning-est of 'em all!

Dis golden humie got feathery wings, looks real flashy, but she ain't nearly as big or thick as dat udder golden giant! She looks right scrawny, probably ain't nearly as dangerous!

I pick you!

"You! Get over 'ere and fight Zariya!"

He roared furiously, attempting to draw the attention of the golden humie rampaging through the green tide.

Noticing the actions of their highly Waaagh!-worthy Warboss, the surrounding Greenskins imdiately cast reverent, deeply expectant gazes upon him.

This filled Zariya with imnse satisfaction. An invisible, esoteric energy surged through his muscles. He felt boundless power coursing through his veins; his already massive fra even seed to visibly swell in size.

anwhile, amidst the absolute chaos of the battlefield, Lucia naturally hadn't registered the heavily armored Warboss imdiately.

She was currently pondering a singular question:

Why have these idiotic xenos stopped charging forward to die?

However, as the surrounding Orks rapidly cleared a massive, open circle around her, she swiftly noticed the ridiculously muscular Ork Warboss glaring at her with blatant provocation.

"Oh, I see how it is."

As a forr Canoness of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, Lucia possessed extensive tactical experience engaging Greenskins. Instantly comprehending the situation, a highly appropriate strategy rapidly ford within her mind.

She executed a maneuver that caused the surrounding Orks to breathe heavily, their eyes flashing a furious crimson.

She proactively lowered her chainsword and storm shield, driving them deeply into the blood-soaked soil.

"She finks we ain't worth it!"

The Warboss was blatantly enraged by this display of utter contempt. Suppressing a low, rumbling growl, he lowered his head like a charging grox, preparing to rush Lucia.

But Lucia entirely ignored him. With a violent snap of her wings, she launched herself dozens of ters into the air, landing atop the roof of the Ork Trukk she had just destroyed monts prior.

Her armored gauntlets violently pierced the thick armor plating, locking onto the internal support struts in a death grip.

Then, under the absolutely terrified, wide-eyed gaze of the Warboss—who had inexplicably halted his charge—Lucia casually beat her wings. She lifted the entire Trukk, weighing at least a hundred tons, directly into the air!

"Gork an' Mork above..."

This was the only final testant the heavily armored Warboss managed to utter before the colossal shadow cast by the suspended Trukk entirely engulfed his form. And then, it plumted downward with apocalyptic force!

"AAAAAAAAAAH!"

Lucia unleashed a deafening war cry, her fists raining down upon the roof of the Trukk like a localized teor shower. The hyper-dense steel warped and buckled inward under the terrifying, transhuman impacts.

Like an apocalyptic steamroller, she violently and utterly crushed the xenos trapped beneath the chassis. Torrents of green blood geysered from the seams of the undercarriage, accompanied by an endless, stomach-churning symphony of violently shattering bone!

--------------------------

Read 30 chapters ahead on Patreon!

spatreon/goatmama