As vast fleets of Khorne's daemonic warships burst forth from the Warp, their blood-hungry prows turned toward Sika's world, an unexpected force met them head-on—a monstrous Zerg hive ship.
These gargantuan, organic vessels, their chitinous hulls pulsating with eerie bioluminescence, unleashed a storm of plasma and spore projectiles upon the incoming daemon fleet.
The Imperial Navy, stationed in orbit, had no intention of yielding. Their admiral, clutching a rosary of the Emperor, muttered silent prayers for strength as the battle commenced.
Regrouping their forces, the Imperial fleet engaged in a desperate void battle. More than once, their flagship nearly fell to the relentless assaults of the daemon ships, their brass-plated hulls adorned with grotesque, blood-dripping sigils of Khorne.
Yet, to their astonishment, the same Zerg fleet that had previously ravaged the Imperium now turned against the daemons, unleashing swarms of bioforms that sought to overrun the infernal warships.
In the ensuing three-way carnage, Zerg acid cannons tore into the daemon vessels, sending burning wrecks plummeting to the planet below. But daemons do not perish so easily. From the craters of impact, monstrous forms emerged, wreathed in hellish fire.
Hellforged daemon engines roared, their fusion of warp-spawned essence and twisted metal making them formidable adversaries. Among them strode the Red Butchers—berserk World Eaters, their minds shattered by the insidious Butcher's Nails, reduced to instruments of ceaseless slaughter.
Locked away in chains during transit, these frenzied warriors were loosed upon impact, their vox-grilles howling in unholy rage. They rampaged with chainaxes and power fists, seeking to harvest skulls for Khorne.
Yet, to their surprise, the first foe they encountered was not human—it was the Zerg.
Screeching swarms of bio-organisms surged toward them, serrated claws and gnashing mandibles closing in. One Red Butcher was engulfed entirely, his armor vanishing beneath a tide of skittering horrors. Even the daemon engines found themselves besieged, slashing furiously through the living flood.
On the ground, the Imperium's position was dire. Behind their fortress shields, Imperial commanders bickered, paralyzed by indecision. In some hive cities, panic gave way to outright rebellion. Cultists seized the opportunity, riling the populace into rioting masses. In their madness, entire sectors of hive defenses were sabotaged, leaving gaping vulnerabilities.
The planet devolved into anarchy, as Imperial Guard regiments, refugees, cultists, and Zerg alike clashed in chaotic bloodshed. The once-proud world teetered on the edge of total collapse.
Meanwhile, in orbit, the Imperial Navy struggled. The combined might of the daemons and the Zerg was overwhelming. Warp storms raged, cutting off all communications—no distress signal could escape.
Just as all hope seemed lost, the veil between realspace and the Warp was torn asunder once more.
A colossal warship, its prow adorned with an immense ramming spike, emerged from the void—a mighty Imperial expeditionary fleet had arrived.
The glimmering hulls of its warships shone against the blackness, bringing a sliver of light to the war-torn sector. Aboard the bridge of the Imperial Navy's flagship, stunned officers watched as a Queen of Glory-class battleship accelerated—its reinforced prow split a Zerg hive ship in half with sheer brute force.
A deafening screech rippled through the void as the hive ship's wounded biomass writhed in agony. The surviving Zerg vessels retaliated, spewing forth vast clouds of chitinous organisms that swarmed the Imperial fleet like living torpedoes.
Torpedoes, lances, and macrocannon fire filled the void. The battlefield became a storm of death as the three factions continued their relentless struggle.
Amidst this chaos, atmospheric reentry pods blazed through Sika's skies, streaking toward the battlefield like falling stars.
With a thunderous impact, the drop pods slammed into the war-torn terrain. The dust settled, revealing towering figures striding forth—Dukel and the Doom Slayers.
By this time, the Red Butchers, stranded without reinforcement, had been nearly wiped out by the Zerg onslaught. Now, Dukel and his warriors stood before the surging swarm, a tiny but defiant bulwark against an ocean of writhing monstrosities.
They did not hesitate.
With deliberate precision, they drew weapons unlike the standard chainswords and bolters of the Astartes. In their gauntleted hands, new relics ignited with crackling power.
A deep hum filled the air as the power swords activated—at first, their force fields flared white-hot, but within moments, the glow darkened into a suffocating abyss.
The Blade of Pain.
Dukel had named them well.
"For the Emperor!" Dukel's voice rang across the battlefield as he raised his obsidian blade.
"For the Primarch!" his warriors echoed in unison.
The Zerg, sensing fresh prey, surged forward. To them, humans of flesh and blood were far more appetizing than the ethereal daemons. A massive bioform lunged at Dukel—only to be bisected mid-air. The blackened power sword carved effortlessly through its carapace, sending the bisected creature crashing into the dust.
A chilling, unfamiliar sound followed.
The dying Zerg screamed.
A pained, guttural wail—an alien sound to an alien species.
The swarm hesitated. Their hive consciousness faltered, puzzled by the sheer agony radiating from the fallen bioform. Zerg did not feel pain. They did not scream. And yet, here one lay, writhing and howling in torment.
As Dukel and his warriors waded into the swarm, their cursed blades reaped a path of suffering. Every strike carved through armored bodies, but more than that, it inflicted pain.
The swarm convulsed. Zerg, designed to fight to the death, now recoiled in agony. The psychic echoes of their torment fed back into the hive mind, sending shockwaves of confusion and distress through the collective consciousness.
Then, it happened.
A Hive Tyrant—the commanding intellect of the swarm—suddenly keeled over. Without a single wound upon its chitinous hide, it vomited violently. Bile and half-digested flesh poured forth until, with one final spasm, it regurgitated its own vital organs.
It died. Unattacked. Unharmed.
The hive mind reeled.
Across the battlefield, more bioforms began to collapse, purging their insides, overcome with an unfathomable sensation—fear.
Dukel could feel it. The enormous, insidious shadow lurking within the Warp—the monstrous hunger of the Tyranid hive mind—was in pain.
And then, the impossible happened.
The swarm fled.
For the first time in recorded history, the Zerg, an all-consuming force of destruction, turned tail and retreated.
Watching the chitinous tide recede, Dukel chuckled darkly.
"They're afraid."
The Doom Slayers stood beside him, power swords humming, their armored forms bloodied but unbowed.
The Zerg had met their match. And they feared.
…
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