The Tyranids are the most formidable enemy of all factions in the galaxy. These ever-hungry xenos consume everything in their path, reducing entire worlds to barren rock, stripped of all biomass.
Compared to their mindless hunger, the conflicts between the Imperium and Chaos resemble nothing more than petty feuds between neighboring lords.
Paradoxically, in the war against the Tyranids, the Imperium—though the dominant yet declining force of the galaxy—is not the primary bulwark against them. The Necrons, Orks, and even Chaos Daemons are often the first to challenge the Tyranid advance.
When Guilliman received word of the latest Tyranid incursion, his expression darkened. The Ultramarines had fought three great wars against the Tyranids, each victory paid for with immense sacrifice.
At one point, the tendrils of the Hive Fleet had even reached Macragge, the heart of Ultramar.
The Tyranids, employing bio-organic weaponry, descended upon their targets like an endless tide. They were numerous and varied in form, their resilience and adaptability defying conventional military logic. Their ability to replenish their forces was unparalleled, their immune systems capable of rendering toxins ineffective within moments, and even the power of the Warp had little lasting effect on them.
Guilliman projected a star map before Dukel, pointing to Baal. "We must not allow the Tyranids to break through Baal. If this bastion falls, the swarm will spread unchecked, and half the galaxy will be lost."
Guilliman analyzed the battlefield with the precision of a master strategist. Dukel, however, had a different perspective.
"Brother, when the Tyranids invaded Macragge, you were still in stasis, weren't you?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?" Guilliman replied, intrigued.
Dukel gestured to Baal on the star map. "The tomb and remains of our brother, Sanguinius, rest upon that world."
"According to intelligence reports, the Tyranids have ignored numerous human-inhabited systems to strike directly at Baal, even at the cost of significant biomass losses. If their behavior is anything to judge by, they seem singularly focused on eradicating the Blood Angels."
Dukel paused before continuing, "But what if—just for argument's sake—these creatures, which evolve by assimilating superior genetic material, were to consume the essence of a Primarch?"
Guilliman's eyes widened. "You're suggesting—?"
"It's only a theory," Dukel said, waving dismissively. "I lack the data to confirm it."
"The expeditionary fleet received a distress signal nearby," he continued. "I plan to investigate personally. If Tyranids are present, I'll attempt to recover samples for study."
Guilliman frowned in thought. Given the Tyranids' sheer speed, it would be difficult for them to trap a Primarch, and after careful consideration, he nodded in approval.
Then, as if recalling something, he sighed. "But, brother, at our current pace, we may not arrive before the battle for Baal has already concluded. We may find nothing but ruins."
In warfare against the Tyranids, numbers mattered. No matter how powerful a Primarch, even if he could slay ten Tyranids per second and fight without rest, he would be but a drop in the ocean against the swarm.
Victory against the Tyranids required overwhelming firepower and massed armies.
Though the forces of the two Primarchs were vast, mobilization was no simple task—logistics, personnel deployment, and wargear preparation required significant time. Even before departure, countless arrangements had to be made, and the journey itself would be long.
Thinking of the time involved, Guilliman's concern deepened.
Dukel, however, remained unfazed. "Don't worry, brother. As soon as I received the psychic distress call, I ordered reinforcements."
"Reinforcements? You command additional legions?" Guilliman asked, surprised. His expeditionary fleet was close by, and any major deployment should have been known to him.
"Naturally," Dukel said, as though it were obvious. "Brother, do you think you're the only one with allies? Sanguinius once allied with the Necrons—why should it be unusual for me to have my own?"
"My ally was already positioned near Baal, so they arrived first."
Dukel himself commanded only an expeditionary force, but that hardly mattered.
Guilliman began to question further but was interrupted by the sound of approaching aircraft engines.
The Psychic Guard and the Doom Legionnaires emerged.
"Your Highness, the battleship is ready," reported Efilar. "It is currently in high orbit and can depart at your command."
Dukel nodded, exchanged brief words with Guilliman, and departed.
As he left, Guilliman sighed and returned to his office, where orders continued to pile up. Every few minutes, another stack of documents accumulated on his desk.
The battleship tore through the Warp, its Gellar Field shielding it from the horrors of the Immaterium as it raced toward the designated coordinates.
Upon arrival at the target planet, the atmosphere was littered with debris bearing the insignia of the Blood Angels, but the wreckage of Tyranid bioforms was even more abundant.
The devastation told the tale of a brutal battle.
"Recover all the bodies," Dukel ordered, leading his forces onto a landing craft.
As they stepped onto the world's surface, they found themselves surrounded by the dead.
Human settlements lay in ruin, walls and streets drenched in dried blood, bodies left to rot beneath the harsh light of the system's star.
In the grim calculus of war, neither side sought prisoners—only extermination.
A thick crimson mist blanketed the sky, giving the world the appearance of an apocalyptic nightmare. After surveying the devastation, they confirmed that most of the population was lost, with only isolated fortifications still holding out.
"Your Highness, we have detected anomalous activity 130 kilometers to the north," came a report from the command center aboard the battleship.
Dukel turned the aircraft toward the indicated location.
The sight was even more gruesome than before. The ground was strewn with shattered bodies—some belonging to the Tyranids, others to the Blood Angels and their mortal auxiliaries.
The corpses of Imperial soldiers were piled high, their fallen vehicles still smoldering. A war machine, its hull marked with the Aquila, lay in ruins, its exposed circuitry crackling with residual energy.
Dukel moved among the dead, occasionally pausing to examine Tyranid corpses or fallen Astartes.
Suddenly, from several kilometers away, a bestial roar echoed across the battlefield—a sound so filled with raw fury that it would have broken the will of any lesser warrior.
…
💎 Support this novel with Reviews & Power Stones! 💎
…
✅ Check out my Patreon for +40 extra chapters 📚 on all my fanfics! 🎉
🔗 [p@treon.com/LordMerlin]
🙏 Thank you for your support! ❤️