Upon reaching the source of the sound, they discovered yet another battlefield strewn with corpses.
Within the dense jungle, Dukel found the wreckage of a Blood Angels warship.
The vessel bore deep gouges and extensive corrosion, clear evidence of a brutal engagement.
What unsettled Dukel most, however, was the nature of the wounds on the fallen. Some bore bite marks, grotesque and jagged, yet distinct from the talons and mandibles of the Tyranids. They were more akin to the bite of a man—one with elongated fangs.
Nearby, the unmistakable footprints of an Astartes were pressed deep into the soil. A suspicion took root in his mind.
Following the tracks, Dukel soon came upon a lone warrior clad in the crimson of the Blood Angels. The Space Marine knelt over a corpse, ravenously tearing into the flesh with feral hunger. The wet, ripping sound of fangs shearing muscle echoed through the clearing.
The warrior's eyes glowed red with madness.
The horrors of war had awakened the flaw lurking within the sons of Sanguinius, transforming this noble warrior into a ravening beast.
With a guttural roar, the Blood Angel lunged at Dukel.
Before he could reach him, Doom struck. The massive warrior slammed the frenzied Marine to the ground, pinning him beneath his armored bulk.
"Do we grant him the Emperor's peace?" Doom asked.
Dukel did not respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, pressing his fingers to the Marine's forehead, searching for a flicker of lucidity within the storm of rage. He channeled his psychic power, attempting to draw the warrior's mind back from the abyss.
The warrior's eyes gradually cleared. He licked the blood at the corner of his mouth, confusion flickering across his face. When he beheld Dukel, realization dawned upon him, and he recoiled in horror.
"Y-You are the Primarch?" he stammered. "Forgive me, my lord. We failed. The Tyranids dragged us down…"
From those few words, Dukel pieced together the tragedy.
The Blood Angels' vessel had been en route to Baal when it passed by a world under xenos invasion. The plan had been to launch a Whirlwind torpedo from orbit and depart swiftly, but the Tyranids reacted with terrifying speed, crippling the ship and forcing it into an emergency descent.
"What is your name?" Dukel inquired.
"Keon, Second Company, Blood Knights."
The revelation clarified much. The Blood Knights were unlike their more disciplined brethren. They embraced their genetic flaw, allowing their thirst for blood to consume them. Among the successors of Sanguinius, they were the most infamous.
"You fought well, Keon."
The Blood Knight visibly relaxed at those words, fear of his Primarch's condemnation fading.
"I will honor the blood of Sanguinius," he vowed, his voice strained with effort.
Yet the struggle proved too great. His brief clarity shattered, and once more, he descended into madness.
"Take him back. I will examine him in my laboratory."
The arriving medical team swiftly followed Dukel's order.
"Shall we continue the search, my lord?" Efilar asked.
"Yes," Dukel said, his gaze hardening. "There is something else on this world."
His mind returned to the many dead Genestealers he had encountered on the way. The Tyranids never acted alone. Where there were vanguard organisms, worse things lurked beneath the surface.
"But our scans detected no further Tyranid presence," Efilar noted.
Dukel gestured to the ground beneath them.
"The swarm often burrows deep when needed."
This world was rich in minerals, its underground network vast—a perfect nest for the xenos.
Deep within the tunnels, a Genestealer Patriarch moved with slow, deliberate steps.
The creature had four arms, purple-hued flesh, and a crown-like ridge of chitin adorning its head. A black marking ran down its bony crest. In one clawed hand, it clutched a twisted bone staff.
Behind it, its hybrid brood followed, carrying human captives on their shoulders.
Among them was a child-like hybrid, no older than six by human reckoning. Her body bore the same purple skin, her extra limbs marking her as something beyond human.
They gathered before a cavernous pit. The air was thick with the stench of decay, viscous mucus clinging to the walls.
With reverence, the cultists turned to their Patriarch.
"Is the Emperor's angel here?" one whispered.
The Patriarch peered into the darkness. For a moment, it was still. Then, it gave a solemn nod.
"Yes. This is a sacred place, fit for the angels of the God-Emperor."
The assembled hybrids trembled with fervor.
"Under His divine gaze, we cast down the tyrant rulers," one chanted. "In return, we present our offerings, praying for His continued love."
The Patriarch raised its staff. The cultists dragged forth their captives—human prisoners, trembling yet defiant.
"You dare invoke His Majesty's name?!" one spat.
"Filthy xenos filth!" another cursed.
Their defiance was met with indifference.
The Patriarch struck the bone staff against the ground. The sound reverberated through the tunnel, an eerie chittering undertone woven into its echoes.
The Genestealers responded in kind, forming a ritualistic circle. Barefoot, they stomped and hissed, their voices melding into an otherworldly hymn.
The pit answered.
A deep, rumbling growl emerged from the abyss. The very air grew heavier, colder. Something vast stirred in the depths.
Then, movement.
A pair of multifaceted eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Hissing filled the cavern as the beast advanced, the scrape of armored chitin against stone heralding its approach.
At last, it emerged.
A massive Tyranid horror, its carapace thick like ceramite, mandibles clicking with hunger. It did not step fully into the light but loomed at the edge, staring at the assembled cultists.
Its eyes glowed with a cold, calculating hunger.
The Patriarch trembled, awed by the presence of the supposed 'angel.'
"We are your faithful servants," it murmured. "We offer these blood offerings in your name. May you accept them in the Emperor's grace."
The captives were shoved forward, stumbling toward the pit.
The six-armed hybrid child was among them. She staggered before the towering xenos, then fell to her knees, eyes wide with adoration.
The Tyranid tilted its head.
And watched.
…
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