"What did you say?" Abaddon exclaimed, both shocked and furious. "We've been boarded?! And by a bunch of mortals?!"

“Yes, sir.” A Chaos Space Marine wiped the cold sweat from his brow. “They are too strange. If we don’t send reinforcements soon, our defenses will be breached! Sir, I suggest you evacuate first…”

"Shut up!" Abaddon roared. "Who are we? We are the Black Legion! We have launched thirteen expeditions, each one dealing a fatal blow to the Empire! We are the Empire's eternal nightmare! And now, are we to retreat before a few mortals?"

"Assemble the troops immediately! I will make those arrogant bastards die here! Let the Empire know that we..."

"Bang!" "Rip rip rip!!!" "Boom!!!"

Before he could finish speaking, a huge ceiling collapsed, and on it, the corpses of Space Marines were piled up like mountains. On the mountaintop, several figures, bathed in the aura of blood, looked down.

Under Abaddon's shocked gaze, a man carrying a halberd looked around at him and said, "You're Abaddon, aren't you?"

"In the name of humanity, we bring you to trial, traitor!"

[30k to 40k words, some semi-pseudo-scripture content, no female lead, loyalty, not a wish-fulfillment story]

Hermes: "Horus, my friend, death is not the end!"

We were never soldiers… In their eyes, we were destined to be embodiments of rage. In their eyes, we were born only for destruction. But we were his companions. We were those he trusted. We were his advisors, his craftsmen. We were a glimpse into what this species could become when properly guided and freed from the shackles of its own evil and weakness. Of course, we were also taught how to fight. He knew war was imminent. It was a necessary part of ascension, though it was destined to be impermanent. We are the guardians of the new era, and must be strong enough to ensure its safety.”

This is the hut I built. This is the stone I meditate on. This is my bolter and chainsaw sword. I've been in this idyllic paradise for over a decade, even reaching the Qi Refining stage, and you're telling me this is a Warhammer? So the spiritual energy I breathe every day comes from the Warp?... Years later, a colossal statue stands atop Terra. Beneath the statue, they call me Regent, Godfather of the Chaos Primarch, Heart of the Dead, Terran Keeper, Ark Home Engineer, Terminator of the Second Brother, Dorak's Private Garbage Collector, Warp Landlord... "So, Your Majesty, it's rather impolite of you to be sitting while speaking to me."

Now, standing before you is Peturab Rurik Kislivsky, the Supreme Tsar of all Kisliv, the Iron Tyrant of Olympia, the Primarch of the Steel Warriors of the Fourth Legion of Astartes… If, if, if Peturab had not descended upon Olympia, but instead arrived in a Russian-style world and began his conquest there, what would have happened?

[Warhammer 40,000: The Merchant Ronin Fanfiction] [No System] [Loyal and Unorthodox] [Harem] [Growth] [Multiple Perspectives] [Entire Group]

When Wang Yunfei, a seriously ill patient, closed his eyes, he woke up in the world of Warhammer 40K.

This is a hive world not far from the Colonus Expansion Zone in the Calissis Star Sector of the Hazy Starfield. The original owner of the noble family, a transmigrator, is surprised to find that he has become the experimental subject of a certain wandering technological heretic.

Having passed the forbidden ritual, he gained a witty personality and the ability to genetically mimic others. But his immediate priority is to escape from the clutches of the motorgirl and then get on board the ship of the merchant ronin, Theodora, to take up his post.

[Claude Frye is also Cloud Fly, Brother Yunfei, how have you been? King, Little Wang... uh, Jin, right... not bad either.]

Wait, why does your surname end with Von Valancius?

[Act first, report later—it's an imperial decree, so what? What the chartered captain can handle, I'll handle; what he can't, I'll handle even more.]

【Ageta, no, Brother Jie, could you possibly make an exception for this alien technology matter?】

【Eh, I really don't know this, explain... a Szalak-brand space necromancer command vehicle! Jai, you're my Jai-ge!】

【Oh, so you like SM too ❤ No, I meant Space Marine, what are you talking about?】

When Chen Zuo pulled half a piece of moldy biscuit from the mouth of the mutant giant rat, the system suddenly popped the window: 【 SS-level silly white sweet detected, it is recommended to recycle 】 behind the young girl with radiation cockroach shouting cute.

In order to raise this mentally retarded AI to full scale, he carried a leaky prosthetic welding gun to sweep the garbage mountain, and every time he launched a recycling system, he hurt ⁇ grin: buckle of blood value buckle, this wave I made!

When the iron skin pinches the titanium alloy gate of the high arsenal valve with a robotic arm, Chen is teasing and rubbing the nuclear waste into a peerless soldier.

The pick-up and tattered team of the all-man crazy batch did not know that the fragments of the truth of the end they pieced together are triggering the countdown to global self-destruction...

War, war, war, endless war.

Khorne cares not for intrigue or loyalty, but only for endless violence and the art of war. A brilliant massacre where the few triumph over the many, a valiant charge against a powerful foe, is more likely to earn the Blood God's favor and blessings—for example, weapons igniting with an inextinguishable demonic fire, or bodies growing larger. Conversely, avoidance, cowardice, or the use of "dishonorable" means may lead to the loss of power or even being devoured by one's own comrades.

In the fortieth millennium, knowledge is an eternal curse.

Tech Priest Exanders Statcali discovered a distress signal from ten thousand years ago, originating from a forgotten, dead world—Xerath.

There was no life there, only a steel ruin stretching across the continent, and a black pyramid that looked out of place, bearing the emblem of the Mechanicus.

When the exploration team entered the silent sanctuary, they discovered not the expected relic, but a terrifying creation, half-human, half-machine, imprisoned in a vessel. Its final warning was not a gift to humanity, but a death knell tolling for the entire galaxy:

"They're awake! Run!!!"

Now, Exanders must confront a harsh truth: some knowledge is not for mortals to grasp; some silences, once broken, are the end of eternity.

"In terms of fighting ability today, who in the alien world can be called the best?"

"Haven't you experienced the difference between one supreme being and two heroes? The first one must be the old Heavenly Master Zhang Zhiwei, who has both life and death and a complete thunder method!"

"I don't think so. There are so many heroes in the world."

"Then who else do you think there is?"

"Can't I get anywhere at the headquarters?"

"Haha, then it's a numerical weird!"

Altaïr King was completely bewildered when he woke up to find himself transformed into a golden ear of corn in the Terran palace. It was common knowledge that being a member of the Imperial Guard was a high-risk profession. Especially in this dark and cruel future, the laughter of the evil gods was so piercing, and the claws of the aliens so menacing. Fate was capricious, cruel, and bloody, and he was now clad in radiant gold. He pondered whether he would end up being devoured by warp entities or roasted into popcorn by psionic energy, and then stepped out of his dark underground cell. The Imperial Guard was endangered, but not so easy to kill. Before facing his final fate, he still had a chance to begin his adventure. The burning galaxy was still far away, and the most serious problem this novice Imperial Guard now faced was—he was lost in the palace.