The surface of the world of Niades was cleansed by an Exterminatus, and its orbital tower had collapsed in a cataclysmic explosion. Most of the cunning creatures upon the surface perished instantly in this terrible blast; their remains reduced to nothing but charcoal and ash by the raging flames. The few surviving scavengers who crawled out from beneath the earth could only scream helplessly at the empty sky and charred ruins.
The Sword of Baal led an allied fleet of surviving Imperial ships, warping through the stars. Overcoming countless difficulties, they finally reached the appointed rendezvous in the Cryptus System—a place that had once served as a battlefield between the Blood Angels and the Tyranid Hive Fleet. General Meren Drost mustered thirty million Astra Militarum troops from battlefields across the region, backed by the Firstborn Armoured Regiment of Vostroyan. Sister Magda Grace and her Order of the Sacred Rose contributed ten thousand Battle Sisters, while the beleaguered citizens of the Empire, hardened by harsh survival, joined the Planetary Defense Force to fight the Great Devourer.
Yet the battle in Hades ended in tragedy. Dante and his Blood Angels alongside the Flesh Tearers arrived at the last moment to reinforce the defense, but even their heroic charge could not secure victory. In the end, however, the King Zarathusa of the Mephrit Dynasty joined forces with them. Before the Necrons slumbered again, he activated the stellar prism matrix, unleashing a torrent of stellar energy. This mighty solar beam wreaked havoc upon the Tyranid fleet, forcing a delay in their advance toward Baal.
Of the tens of millions of Imperial soldiers who evacuated Hades, only a few thousand survived. The Battle Sisters suffered horrific losses—every one of them wounded. Before departing, Dante ordered the complete annihilation of the Hades system: any remaining biomass must be destroyed to give no chance for the Tyranid to recover. Death reigns alone in the Cryptus System now.
At Guilliman's call, Imperial armies flocked to Baal for its defense. The First Expeditionary Fleet swelled rapidly as relief fleets converged. When the Sword of Baal emerged from the Warp, its armored plates raised high, and dazzling starlight illuminated the gloomy command deck. Shipmistress Livia and her crew were so shocked by the sight that words failed them.
Before them stretched a magnificent armada.
The flagship Macragge's Honour resembled some great beast surveying the void. Its incredible size and cold, menacing prow exuded a suffocating sense of power—even without firing a shot, it looked capable of conquering worlds at will. It was encircled by battleships and cruisers, as though a king were reveling among his subjects. Servitors and crews swarmed around the larger vessels, effecting repairs and supplying munitions. Astartes strike cruisers stood out for their distinctive insignias and stern silhouettes. The Mechanicus' titanic Ark Ships and stately Knight transporters were present as well.
Forest-like rows of massive cannons glittered with starlight from their lances, as the void shields bathed the fleet in seas of prismatic color.
"I… I've never seen anything like this…" said Shipmistress Livia, trembling as she gazed at the host of warships.
"…So many…"
"Baal is… saved." Captain Orpheo, standing at her side, clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The Blood Angels were ablaze with hope. They truly believed, facing the monstrous Tyranid Hive Fleet, that perhaps this time, under the Primarch's leadership, they might prevail. They knew all too well that the Tyranid bio-ships' cyclopean armor could deflect even macro-cannon shells, and a single psychic bolt from a purple hive ship could rip a Nemesis-class battleship apart like paper. The threat was supreme—but now, hope had returned.
On arrival, the first to depart was Castia. Her research pertained to the ancient Blackstone Fortress, and she needed to report her findings to the Mechanicus and request resources for the next stage of experimentation.
At that moment, Datch's minimap updated. A golden question mark appeared over Guilliman's icon.
"Does the story of the Battle for Baal begin now?" Datch muttered to himself.
He waved his hand, opening the Room of Requirement entrance and summoning the Dark Angel squad. In front of everyone, he withdrew Rick's teleport gun, set the original coordinates, and fired toward the floor. A green teleportation portal flared open.
Datch strode through, returning directly to Macragge's Honour.
Livia, Orpheo, and the rest gasped in astonishment. This nameless stranger's methods seemed truly limitless. Thanks to his help, the odds for Baal now looked much better.
…
Macragge's Honour
Datch teleported onto the command deck, guided by Guilliman's coordinates. Sicarious and the Honour Guard, seeing it was Datch, saluted and lowered their weapons. A military council concerning the upcoming Baal campaign was in session, nearing its conclusion.
Datch stood aside, observing quietly. A massive strategic star map floated above, holographic and luminous. Guilliman, standing atop a high dais, manipulated the map and issued orders. Captains of the capital ships watched silently—these were the officers who would first cross swords with the Tyranid and upon whose success the fate of the ground war depended.
If the void battle was lost, ground operations would be in vain.
Astartes Chapter Masters, Astra Militarum generals, and Battle Sisters lined up with steely resolve. Nearby, representatives of various Knightly Houses and Titan Legions listened in silence. The ground forces' fate hinged on the fleet breaking the Tyranid blockade. If successful, a series of brutal, close-range planetary battles—won with flesh and steel—would follow.
Behind Guilliman stood Silent Sisters clad in black and the Adeptus Custodes in brilliant gold. When Guilliman entered the battlefield, they would lay down their lives to protect the Emperor's son.
Suddenly, Guilliman's voice resounded across the vast deck:
"Honored guests,"
"The enemy we face comes from the darkest reaches beyond the galaxy. They are vast, voracious, and remorseless."
"They have subjugated countless worlds and slain numberless souls. Yet their destiny denies them true victory."
"Mankind may suffer setbacks, but our resilience and strength go far beyond the monsters' comprehension."
"As we have done for millennia, we will confront crisis after crisis and, in the end, it is we who will endure and laugh last."
"By the Lord of Mankind's name, we unite here to strike the enemy and claim both victory and glory!"
"For the Imperium! For humanity! We must win this battle."
Thunderous cheers and applause swept the deck.
"That is all. Return to your posts. Prepare for war. Humanity will triumph, and the Imperium will stand victorious."
With that, the meeting ended and officers departed for final preparations.
Soon the command deck stood empty, save for Guilliman, who turned to Datch with a smile.
"Nameless One, I am aware of your achievements on Niades… and you are certainly—"
"Skip!" Datch called out. "What's next?"
Guilliman remained composed. At first, the word "skip" unsettled him, prompting fears of offense. The second time he heard it, he blamed his own delivery. By the third and fourth occurrence, he no longer cared—if anything, Datch's impatience felt like a waste of his own time now.
"The Battle for Baal is about to begin."
Guilliman shifted effortlessly to the next topic. "However, the scale of the Tyranid Hive Leviathan is beyond imagining. The costs of a frontal assault would be catastrophic."
"After much analysis, we have formulated a decapitation mission. You are assigned to carry this out."
"The Hive Mind links the entire swarm via the great hive mother and special node-organisms, forming a unified command network. If the hive mother can be destroyed, the entire swarm will collapse into chaos. Victory, then, can be achieved with minimal losses. We need your help to accomplish this."
As soon as he finished, a quest panel popped up before Datch.
…
[Mission:]
Support Primarch Roboute Guilliman in destroying the Tyranid hive ship and help secure victory for the Imperial fleet.
The sky swarms with insects, Baal bleeds, and the ancient homeworld of the Angelic Bloodlines stands at the edge of destruction. Guilliman has gathered countless Imperial warships to face the Tyranid fleet besieging Baal and is prepared to rescue the Children of the Angels.
Yet the numbers of the swarming hive fleet are overwhelming. Only by slaying the hive mother and casting the enemy into confusion can victory be gained at tolerable cost.
Aid the fleet in destroying the hive ship.
[Mission Rewards: 2000 EXP, 2000 Points, +300 Fame, "Town Portal Scroll" ×1]
Datch had long anticipated this mission and had been preparing for some time, completing many quests and saving up points. Now he stood ready for the chance to summon the Fallen Imperium Fleet.
Tyranid hive fleets could easily number tens of thousands of bio-ships. Their hive mother, acting as a command center, was even grander in both power and scale. The smallest of them was several hundred kilometers long, sheathed in meter-thick chitin and leathery skin that healed itself under fire—a daunting target for even the Empire's mightiest guns.
Destroying such a ship required firepower sufficient to wipe out a whole hive fleet.
The mission was daunting, but the rewards generous. Any surrendered target would be instantly teleported home—a truly magical tool. As soon as the reward came, Datch planned to set it atop Macragge's Honour and use it when next paying his respects to Guilliman.
"Any questions about this mission?" Guilliman asked.
Datch snapped out of his thoughts.
"No problem at all. I'll handle the hive ship."
"In that case, it's in your hands." Guilliman allowed himself a quiet satisfaction. With the Nameless One's aid, even the Tyranid hive ship presented no intimidating prospect.
The current priority was to eliminate as many Tyranid bio-ships as possible.
…
Elsewhere in Cryptus System, watchful eyes observed the Imperial fleet as ever more warships jumped in. These belonged to Zarathusa, Emperor of the Mephrit Dynasty. He had earlier allied with Dante, Chapter Master of the Blood Angels, to activate the ancient stellar prism matrix and repel the Tyranid incursion. But only temporarily—the Pharaoh knew well he was no real ally of the Imperium, nor would humanity accept him as such. Should this massive Imperial expedition discover one of the tomb worlds, things could turn ugly quickly.
Zarathusa commanded the shutdown of all secondary systems on the tomb worlds to keep hidden from the Imperials. His decision was not driven by fear of mankind, but careful calculation. The Mephrit Dynasty had only just awakened from sixty million years of slumber, lacking its former strength. Clashing with a war-crazed, fully-mobilized Imperial expedition would only spell massive losses.
Though their ancient technology was mighty, the Necrons should not underestimate the might of humanity. Should conflict break out, both sides would suffer, and no one would profit.
After the Imperial fleet set sail for Baal, Zarathusa slowly diverted his attention, yet inside he felt a growing urgency—the Dynasty's armies must be reawakened and their lost power restored without delay. They had been lucky to escape notice this time. If humanity returned, Revelation would demand a high price.
…
Edge of the Cryptus System
Reality itself was beginning to unravel, shredded like fragile silk. Many ships of the First Fleet plunged into the frigid void of realspace, firing up their drives at once as they raced headlong for Baal's rescue. Soon, the Tyranid bio-fleet appeared.
The tactical screens of every flagship were swamped with tens of thousands of crimson enemy signals, forming a blood-red sea of light. Tyranid recon swarms waited long and hungry, like wolves, lying in ambush.
"Fire!"
Guilliman gave the order.
Beam after beam of crimson and incandescent light split the darkness, targeting the fastest and most numerous Tyranid ships with cold precision. The super-heated rays punched through carapace and chitin, vaporizing Tyranids and leaving smoking holes behind.
Shredded flesh and ichor burst into the vacuum and instantly crystallized into ice. Moments later, capital ships and cruisers thundered as their huge cannons launched barrages big enough to shake their own hulls. Shells the size of containers crushed the smaller bio-ships and tore grave wounds into the bigger ones.
Nova cannons in the prow were loaded, firing solid projectiles close to the speed of light, bursting like a chain of miniature suns in the Tyranid swarm. Lances stabbed forth with high-energy light, piercing the thick bio-armor and impaling vital organs.
But the Tyranid returned fire with relentless ferocity. Missiles and spore torpedoes gushed forth, trailing sticky residue. They crashed into Imperial void shields; most exploded as seething clouds of acid. Stray warheads broke through, smashing into armor and injecting disassembly enzymes or releasing deadly bioweapons inside.
The larger node bio-ships launched blasts of bio-plasma and psionic lightning. Thick beams of foul green and purple arced across the battlefield, sometimes bypassing physical armor to wreak havoc on systems and even disabling entire shield generators at once.
Tyranid firepower lagged behind the Empire's—but their numbers more than compensated. No matter how many bio-ships were blasted apart in each volley, the gaps were instantly filled with newly-arriving swarms. Under this endless saturation bombardment, void shields flickered and overloaded, finally collapsing with a sorrowful hum. Without those shields, corrosive acid, bone spikes, and massive bodies crashed directly through armor, unleashing internal explosions.
The battlefield soon became a massive, howling vortex of slaughter.
…
Inside Macragge's Glory, beneath the great dome:
Datch felt as though he were standing in a panoramic, immersive war movie. Outside the window, cosmic fireworks erupted—deadly yet oddly beautiful—as broadsides lanced through the darkness. The swarm became a shower of blood and blinked-out life.
The metallic shards of shattered ships mixed with noxious green vapor from evaporated Tyranid acid. As the fighting escalated, a vast form entered the fray—the Tyranid hive ship.
Even through swathes of collision and distance, the sheer immensity of the thing was instantly brutal—a moving continent rather than a ship. Its outline was irregular, tumor-like, easily estimated at more than 700 kilometers long. Waves of mountainous chitin rolled across its surface, festooned with forests of living batteries, spore vents, and massive tendrils the size of Imperial cruisers. Even Macragge's Glory seemed small beside it.
"Tch, just look at that size! The designers really went all-out," Datch mused.
He opened his inventory and drew out a random summon card for the Giant of Light.
"At critical moments, it all comes down to whether fate smiles on you!" Datch clasped his hands tight, whispering the kind of mysterious prayer only gamers roll before opening a lootbox:
"If only I could draw something like the Fantastic Four, this whole Tyranid mess would be handled in a snap!"
"If I just get a 'normal' Giant of Light… I'll have to fall back on my Plan B and summon the Fallen Imperium Fleet."
He finished praying, tossed the card into the air, and voiced the command:
"Giant of Light—appear!"
The card spun rapidly, bathing everything in a dazzling, blinding light. Within the glow, countless images of majestic, divine Giants flickered and whirled.
There was the King of Ultra, with his royal cape and cosmic balance;
There was Ultraman Noa, embodying the primordial Light of the Universe;
There was Ultraman Legend, radiant with the universe's will;
There was the miraculous fusion of legendary warriors, Ultraman Saga;
There were trusty Zoffy, Seven with his sharp head-darts, Jack and Ace with their gleaming beam skills, lively Taro—
Giants in all forms: common, rare, basic, ultimate… All dazzling, all magnificent.
"Give me a strong one! Give me a strong one!" Datch pleaded, eyes locked on the roulette's spin.
At last, the speed slowed, images became fewer, and finally, all illusions merged into one form: a gentle, solid golden light.
Shining Ultraman Tiga.
"…Eh?!"
Datch's face twisted in disbelief.
"Did I just win the title of 'Most Tragic Corpse Chucker'?"
"Shining Form—well, that's cool and all, but…"
He glanced outside at the hive ship, a continent-sized shadow blotting out half the window.
Compared to Tiga's mere 120-meter height…
"Ah, this sucks. Grandpa D has trouble throwing conchs at 130 meters, and all he does is trick children. But that hive ship—hell, it's probably eaten whole civilizations by now…"
"…Guess I still have to summon the Fallen Imperium Fleet."
Datch's worries were not unfounded, yet the summoning ritual was now unstoppable. The shimmering golden card transformed into a stream of light, shooting out toward the frigid void outside Macragge's Glory. The golden light expanded against the backdrop of war, outlining a new shape.
At last—a giant figure, glittering pure gold, appeared amid the battlefield, instantly drawing attention. The Giant stood tall, exuding an aura of "Hope" and "Miracle." Yet… in all the vastness, it was only about 120 meters high.
In the sea of space, dwarfed by the 700-kilometer-long hive ship and surrounded by Imperial battleships and bio-behemoths, even this symbol of hope and wonder seemed exquisitely… tiny. Like a lone candle burning to light the abyss, floating in devouring darkness.
Datch could only sigh. The size gap was just too much. Shining Tiga was about to become Fallen Tiga.
...