"A feint attack from the front."
Phelps's hoarse voice whispered directly into the minds of every believer through the Warp.
"Drive all the zombies out of the main gate, make a huge commotion, and draw the attention of those two naval companies."
The moment the order was given, a cacophony of roars erupted from the depths of Zone H4.
Driven by the Chaos Cultist, thousands of Plague Zombie staggered toward the main entrance.
The rotting soles of the feet slapped against the metal floor, making a series of loud "slapping" sounds.
They charged forward haphazardly, braving the impending heavy firepower, falling in waves only to be replaced by an ever-flowing tide of rotting flesh.
The gunfire from the main gate suddenly intensified, the roar of exploding shells and the scorching sound of lasers blending together.
The soldiers' screams and the zombies' wails mingled together, successfully drawing everyone's attention.
The commander of the mixed force, a Tech-Priest in a red robe, even went so far as to adjust the frontal surveillance camera angle and said to the naval lieutenant beside him:
"The frontal pressure isn't too great; these zombies can't break through the defenses. We should hold the flanks and rear to prevent the enemy from outflanking us."
As soon as he finished speaking, a faint cracking sound of rust came from the ventilation ducts above his head.
No one noticed the insignificant sound, or rather, no one had time to react.
Dozens of dark green poison gas bombs had already fallen in unison through the gaps in the ventilation grilles onto the metal ground inside the battle line, exploding with a deafening roar.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang!"
A series of muffled thuds rang out, and thick, dark green mist surged from the projectiles, instantly engulfing most of the position.
Visible rust particles churned in the mist, carrying the putrid stench of a plague of Nurgle, seeping into every crevice and joint.
The mechanical units on the position were the first to lose control.
The intelligent Servitor that was transporting ammunition froze on the spot, and its optical lens instantly became cloudy and dark.
The line interface rusted at a visible rate, and pinkish flesh bulged and grew at the joints.
Their originally orderly movements became distorted and chaotic; some spun around in place, while others turned their guns on the human soldiers around them.
The servo arm creaked and clicked, and viscous corrosive liquid seeped out from under its metal casing.
The Combat Servitor crouching at the forefront reacted more violently, their power cores immediately becoming disordered after being invaded by the Rust Plague.
The armor plates in his chest cavity bulged outwards, and flesh and blood spread out along the gaps. The once sharp chainsaw blade was covered with pustules, yet it still carried a deadly killing power.
They roared and pounced on the nearest Skitarii, completely out of control.
Vehicles deeper inside were also not spared.
The hydraulic lines of the Onager Walker began to rust and leak, the scope of the Ironstrider Ballistarius became completely ineffective, and the power reactor of the Kastelan Battle Robot emitted an ominous hum.
Rust spread like a plague across the armor surface, melting the metal and causing flesh to proliferate wherever it went. The Machine Spirit was twisted and contaminated amidst painful screams, gradually becoming a slave to the plague.
"It's Rust Plague! Shut down the ventilation system and activate the purification system!"
The Tech-Priest also started shouting incoherently, binary prayers pouring out of his speaker in an attempt to calm the out-of-control Machine Spirit.
However, the plague spread far faster than he had imagined. In just a few seconds, 70% of the Servitor and Combat Servitor on the position were completely out of control and became accomplices of the enemy.
The Skitarii standing inside the lines were not spared either.
Their bodies have a very high rate of mechanical modification, with prosthetics, reinforced bones, and built-in life support systems all becoming carriers for the invasion of the Rust Plague.
Dark brown rust marks spread from the interface between the implant and the flesh, drilling deeper along the blood vessels and nerves, bringing excruciating pain and numbness.
But they are the Skitarii, believers in the Machine God.
Their steely will kept them from collapsing immediately; many even severed the nerve connections of their infected prosthetics, continuing to fire with their remaining flesh and blood.
Taser arcs and laser beams pierce through the fog, attempting to retaliate against an unseen enemy.
However, without the calibration of the intelligent control system, it lost the ammunition resupply from the Servitor and the forward suppression from the Combat Servitor.
To rely solely on flesh and blood to fight off the approaching Death Guard is nothing but a pipe dream.
When the fog concentration reaches its peak, the grilles of the ventilation ducts completely rust and fall off.
Twenty-two burly figures leaped out of the pipes and slammed heavily onto the metal floor with a dull thud.
The Death Guard didn't even bother to fire.
For the people of the Grandfather, long-range shooting is far less satisfying than close-quarters combat.
They reveled in the sensation of rotting flesh cracking under the warhammer, in the agonizing cries of their enemies ravaged by the plague, and in the warmth of blood splattering on their corroded Power Armour.
That was the best offering to our Grandfather.
Phelps took the lead, his rusted warhammer crashing into the Skitarii lines with a whooshing sound.
The heavy hammer easily shattered the chest cavity of a Skitarii; steel and flesh shattered simultaneously, and dark green plague energy surged wildly into the man's body through the wound.
The Skitarii didn't even get a chance to scream before his body visibly turned black and swelled up, collapsing limply a few seconds later, soon to become one of the walking dead.
The disease spreads faster than the killing.
The plague germs in the air entered the soldiers' bodies through their respiratory tracts, tiny wounds on their skin, and every exposed mucous membrane.
Hundreds of Nurgle diseases broke out simultaneously in the human body.
High fever, fatigue, severe diarrhea, and uncontrollable muscle cramps.
The various symptoms overwhelmed the vast majority of soldiers within just one minute.
The hand holding the Boltgun trembled uncontrollably, and the muzzle of the gun could not be kept steady.
Some people were hunched over, vomiting violently, unable to even stand, while others collapsed to the ground convulsing, spitting out dark red foam, their pupils rapidly dilating.
The battle lines collapsed instantly.
The Plague Marine were like harvesters rushing into a wheat field, unleashing deadly blows with their Power Axe, rusted Power Hammer, and plague Power Claw.
Each swing sent up a shower of blood and flesh, and with each step forward, more than one corpse fell.
The Skitarii ' counterattacks struck their rusted Power Armour, only sending up a few Mars; they couldn't even penetrate the surface of the rotting flesh.
The Tech-Priest attempted to retaliate with his Machine God, a gear-like staff resembling a long-handled axe and equipped with a Melta ray.
But just as he raised his staff, Phelps ' warhammer slammed down in front of him.
With a loud crash, the staff shattered along with his upper body.
Black engine oil mixed with dark red blood and murky putrid fluid, spilling all over the ground.
The entire battle, from start to finish, lasted no more than two minutes.
The mixed force of two thousand men was almost completely wiped out.