Phelps turned around and looked toward the corridor leading to the upper deck, his cloudy eyes flashing with undisguised greed.
Their goal from the beginning was not to massacre ordinary civilians and military police.
It is Machine God.
That was the heart of the entire Retribution-class Battleship, the sacred place where Machine Spirit resided, and the ultimate control center for all systems, including the ship's power, fire control, navigation, and shields.
From the moment he boarded the ship, the Rust Plague he carried began to spread outwards, slowly corroding the warship along metal pipes, ventilation systems, and even energy circuits.
But the Gemstone, after all, an Imperium capital ship that had served for at least a thousand years, having experienced hundreds of battles, large and small. Its Machine Spirit had been forged in the fires of war, becoming powerful and unruly.
The Tech-Priest's daily prayers and sanctifications, Ministorum Priest' regular purification rituals, enveloped the entire ship in the dual protection of faith and the Machine Spirit.
Without getting close to the core and personally contaminating the main core of the Machine God, it is impossible to shake the will of this steel behemoth.
Not to mention enslaving its Machine Spirit, turning this Retribution-class Battleship into their new mobile plague fortress.
The Machine God, along with the bridge, belongs to the core area of the warship and is located at the very center of the middle deck.
It was surrounded by the most elite naval garrison, Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarii, and layers upon layers of energy shields and blast gates.
They now consist of only twenty-two people, without a Chaos Engine, without Plague Vehicles, and not even many heavy weapons.
With only a few thousand slow-moving Plague Zombie and a few hundred insignificant low-level believers behind him, a frontal assault would be tantamount to throwing an egg against a rock.
Therefore, we cannot force our way in.
Phelps raised his right hand, covered in rotting flesh, and began to toy with a Nurgling that had crawled out of his body.
He needs more "buddies".
Just then, the simple communicator on his waist emitted a crackling sound of electricity.
The message came from a mole planted in the naval communications system.
After the military police lost contact, the bridge ordered the entire lower deck to be sealed off.
A mixed force consisting of two naval garrison companies and a Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarii is heading towards Zone H4.
They planned to establish a blockade to completely contain the plague at the grassroots level.
After listening, Phelps chuckled softly, the laughter stirring the decaying tissue in his chest, accompanied by a series of labored, bellowing breaths.
Just in time.
He immediately gave orders to the soldiers behind him.
The lower-level Chaos Cultist drove thousands of Plague Zombie in a feint attack towards the main passage.
We don't need to win; as long as we create enough chaos to draw the attention of the Imperium mixed forces to the front lines, that will suffice.
As for him and the twenty-one Plague Marine...
Phelps looked up at the intricate network of ventilation ducts and maintenance shafts overhead.
The rusted metal pipe walls had been so corroded by the plague that they were easily torn apart.
He turned and crawled into the maintenance shaft on the side, his massive body squeezed into the narrow pipe, corrosive liquid flowing everywhere along the pipe walls.
Twenty-two figures seemed to burrow into the maggots of rotting wood, silently circling around the pipeline network to the flank and rear of the mixed force.
The front is a scene of revelry among the walkers and believers, while the rear is guarded by the blades of the Death Guard.
Phelps' smile behind his mask became increasingly distorted.
He wanted to see if these lackeys of the False Emperor could handle this "surprise" from their Grandfather.
The corridor was deathly silent, with the bodies of three hundred naval military police lying haphazardly across the passageway.
The swollen, blackened body had begun to swell slightly under the influence of the zombie plague.
Before long, they will shakily stand up and become the newest subjects under the Grandfather.
The twenty-one Death Guard warriors following Phelps stood silently.
They were remnants of the Twilight Raiders, the most tenacious warriors of the XIV Legion.
Compared to the Khorne Cultist, they adhered to a different philosophy of war.
Patience, calculation, and a sudden, fatal blow to the enemy.
Phelps has always considered himself a "strategist".
Before his fall from grace, he was a well-known siege engineer in the legion, skilled at finding the weakest gaps in seemingly impenetrable defenses.
They are adept at dismantling an entire fortress, skin and bones, in the least effortful way.
Even after being embraced by his Grandfather, this tactical instinct ingrained in his bones never faded.
He disdained victory achieved through sheer numbers; in his view, every plague spore, every zombie, and every warrior should be used wisely.
He raised his right hand, covered in rotting flesh, and gently pressed his five fingers against the cold bulkhead.
The Rust Plague surged from his fingertips, spreading rapidly along the metal's texture like living mold.
Dark brown rust crawled across the pipe joints, infiltrated the surveillance lines hidden inside the walls, corroded the glass lenses of the optical lenses, and gradually brought the Imperial Navy's surveillance network into its perception.
Countless images unfolded in his mind.
At the main entrance of Zone H4, two fully staffed naval garrison companies are setting up blast gates and heavy firepower positions.
The soldiers pushed ammunition boxes, setting up Heavy Bolter and Melta Cannon in a crossfire pattern, their guns fixed on the entrance to the passage.
Their orders were to hold the front line and trap the unknown plague enemy in the lower-level living area; everyone assumed the enemy would rush out from the main gate.
Meanwhile, 300 meters behind the main gate, next to the maintenance hangar, a mixed force of Adeptus Mechanicus and naval personnel was setting up a temporary heavy artillery position.
A thousand Skitarii stood in neat rows, their metallic prosthetics and implants reflecting a cold light under the emergency lights.
They are Omnissiah's most loyal warriors, a perfect blend of flesh and steel, with precise firepower and an iron will.
One thousand naval soldiers were positioned on both flanks of the position, operating sixty twin-mounted Heavy Bolter and four laser cannon arrays.
In the center of the position, transport Combat Servitor were shuttling back and forth, methodically moving ammunition and calibrating the gun barrels.
Dozens of Combat Servitor were crouched at the front of the position, their optical lenses flashing red light, and the chainsaws and nail guns on their servo arms ready to be activated at any time.
At key points, there were three " Onager " light infantrymen, three Cataphractii-pattern Ballista, and ten Leman Russ Russ, their heavy armor exuding a cold, oppressive aura.
And in the very core area, in front of the Tech-Priest, stood six Kastelan Battle Robot, neatly arrayed.
This is a standard Adeptus Mechanicus assault team, with ample heavy firepower and complete mechanical units, which should have been an excellent combination to deal with the plague zombie horde.
But in Phelps' eyes, this was the perfect "prey".