Chapter 28: Hive Breaker
"This hive's massive."
Godzilla stood before the sprawling urban monolith—one of humanity's infamous hive cities. Despite the name, it had nothing to do with bees. The only real similarity was the sheer, overwhelming population density crammed into its steel and rockcrete guts.
The tallest spires reached kilometers into the smog-choked sky, towering like mountain ranges. Compared to them, even Godzilla looked like a bug. But the kaiju only muttered something that would have made any noble at the top of those towers faint with terror.
"This'll be more fun to wreck than Tokyo."
A hive city was typically split into four layers: the Spire, the Upper Hive, the Lower Hive, and the Underhive. The division wasn't just architectural—it was social.
The Spire belonged to the nobility, those decadent rulers living lives of sterile luxury above the clouds.
The Upper Hive housed the bureaucrats, merchants, and other so-called elites. Life here was still comfortable—clean water, real food, working lights.
Below that was the Lower Hive: factories, sweatshops, endless miles of gray walls and choking smoke. Workers and civilians lived short, miserable lives, one eye always on starvation or toxic exposure.
And below that… was Hell.
The Underhive.
A lawless, lightless abyss crawling with criminals, mutants, xenos, and Chaos cults. It made even Death Worlds look inviting. Down there, survival wasn't about status or birth—it was about teeth, claws, and how fast you could kill the thing crawling behind you.
So it was no surprise most of the Chaos cultists on this planet had crawled up from that pit.
And really, that was just typical for the Imperium. One day it's a rat swarm. The next, a Genestealer Patriarch giving sermons. Then one morning, you wake up and the Nurgle Rot's turned your neighbors into shambling plague-zombies—and that's still not even the worst Monday you've had.
Honestly, if you ever got isekai'd into the Warhammer 40K universe, you'd better hope you don't spawn in the Underhive. That's not a new life—it's a speedrun to the grave.
The Lizardmen, meanwhile, had just finished clearing out the last pack of Khorne Bloodletters. This batch of cultists had only managed to summon basic demons—no greater entities, no heralds, not even a Chaos Spawn.
As always with Warp entities, their corpses evaporated into nothing the moment they died. The Warp giveth, the Warp dissolveth.
"Was that it?"
[Negative. There are eight active ritual sites. You've only just destroyed the first. The remaining seven are still summoning.]
Eight. Of course it was eight.
Eight for Khorne. Six for Slaanesh. Seven for Nurgle. Nine for Tzeentch. The Chaos Gods loved their sacred numbers. Arbitrary? Sure. But tradition is tradition—even in Hell.
Makes you wonder what number the Emperor preferred.
Thirteen, maybe?
"Eight summoning sites? Alright. Let's get to work."
[Mission: Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull Throne!]
[Objective: On this hive world within Ultramar, the armies of Khorne and their Chaos Space Marine allies are mounting an invasion. Your task: annihilate all eight summoning sites. This marks the beginning of Godzilla's Great Crusade. In this distant star cluster, far from Terra's light, who will claim dominion—Godzilla, or the dark gods of the Warp?]
[Reward: +20 points per destroyed ritual site. Bonus +40 points if all eight are eliminated.]
Meanwhile, in other parts of the city, things were going from grim to apocalyptic.
Through the unstable Warp rifts, more of Khorne's demons poured into reality. The cracks wouldn't last long—a little force could disrupt them—but they didn't need long. The slaughter had already begun.
Khorne's legions surged into the hive like a tsunami of rage. Civilians were torn apart. The last pockets of mortal auxiliaries were overwhelmed. Even the Space Marines were starting to fall.
And then, on the opposite side of the hive from Godzilla, he emerged.
A Bloodthirster.
The greater demon of Khorne burst through the rift like a living calamity—scarlet muscles rippling, wings of leathery ruin snapping open, and horns like blood-forged spears curling from his brow. Twin axes, each the size of a tank, clenched in clawed fists.
He roared.
A sound that shattered windows, cracked stone, and rolled across the hive like a thunderclap from hell. Even the Ultramarines could hear it echoing in their armor.
"A demon," one of them muttered grimly.
A Bloodthirster wasn't just a big demon. It was Khorne's chosen—a living avatar of rage. And even among greater demons, there were hierarchies. This one? It had power. Enough to command an entire army.
"BLOOD AND SKULLS! TO THE THRONE!"
The demons surged faster, spurred by the Bloodthirster's will. The beast lumbered forward, step by step, heading toward the heart of the hive. A battlefield that big… yes, it would serve Khorne nicely.
The Chaos cultists followed suit, screaming praises and swinging rusted weapons.
The Imperium's front lines buckled once again.
At this rate, the Bloodthirster would be carving his way to the Spire in hours.
But Godzilla had already entered the hive.
The streets were wide enough for him—barely. Gothic towers loomed on either side, some partially collapsed from orbital bombardment. No lights. No sounds. A dead city.
Well—almost.
The ambush came suddenly.
"Kill the beast!"
"Your soul belongs to the gods, abomination!"
"For Chaos!"
Chaos cultists had taken up positions in the ruins, hurling fire from lasguns, autoguns, and even looted plasma weapons. Others charged like lunatics, waving chainswords and screaming for blood.
The barrage hit Godzilla head-on.
Nothing.
Not even a scratch.
With a slow twist of his torso, Godzilla stepped forward—and crushed one chainsword-wielding lunatic underfoot like an insect. Then he whipped his tail in a wide arc.
The building beside him exploded.
Stone and steel sheared apart. Bricks and glass became shrapnel. Chaos cultists were sent flying in every direction—some as chunks, others in a red mist.
From the shadows, the Lizardmen joined the battle.
High above the carnage, Chameleon Stalkers slithered along the building walls, their clawed hands clinging to vertical stone like spiders. From their perches, they aimed blowguns and silently executed cultists who strayed too close.
They were ghosts. Death made flesh. And the Chaos forces had no idea where to shoot.
But the cultists didn't care.
They just kept coming.
From alleyways, ruins, sewer grates—they poured in like rats. One group even rolled up in a stolen Chimera troop carrier, jury-rigged with spikes and daemon glyphs.
"Kill! KILL!"
All reason was gone. These cultists weren't human anymore. Just screaming meat wrapped around a singular desire: to bring down the titan walking their streets.
The Chimera's twin-linked heavy bolters roared.
BOOM.
A flash of fire struck Godzilla square in the chest—and fizzled out harmlessly.
"Not bad," he muttered, amused. "Cute toy."
*********
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