Chapter 32: WAAAGH Enough
"This daemon engine's decent," Godzilla grumbled to himself. "But it's not WAAAGH enough."
He could feel it in his bones. Even the second-generation Godzilla back on Terra wouldn't have flinched. This thing might've given humans a rough time in the 2K era, but not anymore—not against him. Maybe they'd have to throw everything at it to bring it down, but even so...
Still not enough.
Godzilla wanted something bigger. Something louder. Something more WAAAGH.
Hell Drakes were impressive in theory—flying Warp-forged nightmares screaming through the air—but without ground support or combined arms coordination, they were glorified torpedoes. If you dropped them into Krieg's sky, they'd get chewed to pieces by layered autocannon nests and quad-Icarus batteries before ever reaching their targets.
No infantry cover. No armor push. No synergy. Just brute strength—and as far as brute strength went?
Godzilla was brute strength.
More WAAAGH. I want something more WAAAGH.
In the twisted lexicon of the Orks, WAAAGH wasn't just war—it was everything. Bigger meant better. Stronger meant smarter. WAAAGH was the essence of power, of momentum, of glorious, unthinking violence. It meant the surge of battle in your bones, the hunger for conquest in your blood.
And right now, on this war-torn world?
Godzilla was the most WAAAGH thing walking.
But the lizardmen had begun to encounter real resistance. Not scattered cultists, but an organized battlefront.
Across a shattered avenue, a Chaos battle array unfolded—Chaos Space Marines in corrupted ceramite, swarms of chanting cultists, hulking Daemons of Khorne, and rusted constructs of the Dark Mechanicum. They were entrenched across the boulevard, dug into makeshift fortifications of broken vehicles and half-collapsed habs. Heavy bolters bristled from behind ferrocrete. Turrets snarled with deadly intent.
"For the Emperor! Hold the line!"
Lasgun fire lit up the air like flickering candlelight. But against the encroaching Chaos Marines, it may as well have been exactly that—candlelight.
Flashlights.
The guardsmen's shots struck the corrupted armor of the traitors and fizzled. Even heavier-caliber support vehicles barely slowed the advance of the blood-mad Khorne legions.
The defenders were loyal, yes. Brave, undoubtedly. But courage was not armor.
And then came the sound.
A low, resonant rumble—like the planet itself drawing breath. The traitors halted mid-charge, eyes flicking upward. Even the World Eaters paused.
Boom.
It wasn't an explosion. It was a footfall.
"...He's coming!"
A Chaos Marine twisted around and roared into the Warp-tainted air.
"GODZILLA IS COMING!"
And just like that, the battlefield shifted. Everyone turned to look. Even mid-melee, Chaos and Imperial troops froze as a shadow eclipsed the skyline.
A mountain of muscle, scale, and nuclear fury stepped between the ruins—Godzilla, wreathed in smog and warlight.
One guardsman, locked in brutal melee with a cultist, looked up as the monster arrived. He stopped fighting.
"Emperor… what is that?"
What he didn't know—what none of them knew—was that the beast they saw came from Holy Terra itself, from the dawn of mankind. He was older than Astartes, older than the Imperium, older than the very gods of Chaos. A titan of prehistoric Earth. A natural catastrophe given flesh.
A walking god.
And now he was here.
The war, for a moment, ceased to be between Chaos and the Imperium.
It became Chaos versus Godzilla.
From the traitor lines, fanatics shrieked in ecstasy.
"It's him! The one from the intercepted comms!"
"He's massive! He's perfect!"
"Blood for the Blood God! Blood for the Blood God!!"
One particularly deranged World Eater—his brain either completely fried by the Butcher's Nails or devoid of all higher function—charged Godzilla head-on. Twin chainaxes in hand, he barreled through the fray.
Lizardmen surged to intercept, but the Chaos Marine fought like a man possessed. His axes whirled in crimson arcs, forcing several reptilian warriors to give ground.
He broke the line.
For a second, he almost made it.
Then his charge ended in a blur of light.
Schlkk.
The red helmet—horns and all—fell to the ground, the head still inside. The body dropped seconds later.
Isis stood behind him, tail poised like a scorpion's stinger, her violet eyes glowing with Warp-born power. The psychic backlash of her strike rippled outward, turning the Marine's ornate armor brittle and cracked.
"This chainsword's a bit oversized," she remarked, tail curling around one of the twin axes. "But I like the style."
She turned to her kin.
"Nice toy. Boys—go wild."
The lizardmen screamed their war-cry and launched forward.
Battle erupted anew.
This time, it was three factions clashing in a swirl of violence—Godzilla and his spawn, the Chaos horde, and the battered mortal auxiliaries caught in between. But for the first time, the guardsmen weren't being overrun.
They watched in awe as the lizardmen fought toe-to-toe with traitor Astartes. Godzilla himself waded into battle like a living apocalypse, every movement flattening a dozen foes.
At first, the guardsmen thought the reptilian warriors were Tyranids—xenos horrors they'd been trained to fear.
And they weren't far off.
The lizardmen's skeletal helmets, curved and grotesque, did resemble the chitinous visage of the Hive Mind's children. And Godzilla? He felt like a Bio-Titan—an apex predator torn from some Tyranid nightmare.
"Unknown xenos contact at position three," a field officer voxed to command. "Sir, we have a situation."
The mortal commander responded instantly.
"Report."
"We were holding off the heretics when a xenos force entered the engagement zone. They're attacking the traitors, not us."
The commander's bionic eyes glinted, unreadable.
"…Repeat that."
"They're killing the Chaos Marines, sir. Three—no, four confirmed Astartes kills. They're tearing through cultists and daemons alike."
There was a long silence.
Then: "Fire on them all. Heretic or xeno—it makes no difference. Purge the battlefield."
"Sir, with respect, I must add... we're not sure the traitors can defeat this xenos force."
The commander's voice turned cold.
"Are you suggesting we rely on aliens to fight our wars, soldier? Every man and woman under my command is a precious asset of the Emperor. I won't throw them away on a guess."
"No sir, I—sir, that's five Chaos Marines down now. Six. And more daemons by the second."
The commander frowned.
That was unusual.
Normally, bringing down one Chaos Marine cost dozens of lives and half a regiment's worth of ammo.
"Order the front line to pull back. Use the side streets. Let the xenos and the heretics slaughter each other."
A moment of silence. Then:
"Yes, sir."
It was the right call.
None of them had expected these lizard-things to be capable of holding their own—let alone dominating.
And none of them had any idea what Godzilla really was.
Not yet.
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