Vigilus stands as one of the two most critical nodes of the Nachmund Gauntlet, the sole remaining artery connecting the Segmentum Sanctus to the Imperium Nihilus. Currently, it is arguably the most contested war zone in the galaxy.
The planet is a theater of absolute carnage, where every faction displays its own brand of slaughter. On the surface and in the high orbits above, Imperial battlefleets, Ork armadas, and predatory Drukhari raiders circle one another like sharks in blood-slicked water.
"Yes, My Lord! Here... so many strange-weird things!" the Skaven navigator stammered, staring at the auspex screen. Countless contact icons represented a density of warships that would give even the most fanatical Skaven pause.
Yet Kratch Doomclaw only let out a guttural roar. "Fool-stupid! The bigger the waves, the more precious the catch! This many surface-things crowded together means this... this is a prize-land!"
Kratch's survival in the World-That-Was, where he had the cunning to establish a headquarters at Crookback Mountain and profit from enslaved Night Goblins, proved he was no mere brawler. He possessed a strategic mind that surpassed his peers. The fact that the Nachmund Gauntlet was so fiercely coveted only reinforced his resolve to seize it.
"Orders! Pass the word down, this place belongs to Clan Rictus! It belongs to the Great Horned Rat!"
With the Warlord's decree issued, dissent was impossible. Beyond the clan's expansion, Kratch harbored a burning ambition: to curry such favor with the Great Horned Rat that he might achieve Daemonhood. If he could secure a territory desired by so many "lesser" races, the gaze of the Horned One would surely fall upon him.
He slammed the control levers forward. Warpstone fuel was pumped into the warp-engines, and the flagship, a floating mountain of industrial filth, spat out emerald exhaust plumes tens of kilometers in diameter.
Accelerating to a fraction of the speed of light, the Rictus fleet opened fire. Warp-Macro Cannons, Warp-Lances, and ship-grade Warp-Lightning Projections unleashed a merciless barrage, vaporizing anything in their flight path.
The green macro-blasts erupted like miniature verdant suns, their eerie, transmutative power instantly reducing several Imperial Navy escorts and Ork kroozers to glittering scrap.
"Lord Calgar! We are under unknown attack, two frigates and a destroyer have been lost!" As the green fireballs dissipated in the void, the Admiral of the local Imperial fleet relayed the devastating news.
The Imperial Navy's strength had already been bled white by successive conflicts; this sudden loss of vital assets to an unidentified force sent a chill of dread through the command deck.
"Unknown?" Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, frowned in grim confusion. He was currently coordinating a desperate defense against a relentless Speed Freeks Waaagh! that threatened to overrun the planet's hive-spires.
But clarity came quickly.
"My Lord! Look to the skies!" a battle-brother shouted, pointing toward the heavily polluted firmament of Vigilus.
A single, inconspicuous green spark appeared in the atmosphere, then another, and another, until they fell like a torrential rain of emerald fire.
"Anti-air batteries, stand ready!" Calgar bellowed.
Though the void shields of the Dirge Mast sector had become unstable under the Ork onslaught, he believed the hive's defensive barriers still had strength left. He was wrong.
The tips of the descending pods and landing craft were fitted with emerald-green, drill-like apparatuses. As they hit the atmosphere, they ignited with baleful green sorcerous flames. This warp-fueled fire filled Calgar with a sense of profound unease. The situation was spiraling beyond his control.
"Where are the Knights of Terryn and Dharrovar? I need them deployed immediately!" Calgar commanded.
"Relaying orders now, Chapter Master!"
Before the vox-operator could finish the transmission, the strange pods slammed into the hive's primary bastion shields.
VREE-VREE-VREE!
The massive drills at the base of the pods spun with manic intensity. Emerald sparks flew as the supposedly impenetrable shields began to crack and splinter. The Astra Militarum troopers along the Dirge Mast defense line looked up and felt their courage wither.
BOOM—BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The hive shields were punctured with terrifying ease. The pods and landing craft did not stop upon impact; they hit the earth like meteors and continued to rumble, their massive drills boring deep into the crust of Vigilus.
This was not isolated to one sector; the entire planet was being seeded.
Skaven never put all their eggs in one basket, and Kratch Doomclaw certainly wasn't going to commit his entire host to a single engagement. The Skaven needed to establish an Under-Empire, ensuring their survival and proliferation rather than seeking a decisive surface battle.
"Nest-mode... ACTIVATED!"
Once the ship-grade warp-drills reached sufficient depth, they fractured into thousands of smaller tunneling units. Under the direction of Warlock Engineers, these "Space-Hives" deployed, resembling the base-expansion technology of an ancient age. In an instant, subterranean strongholds were established.
Using warp-telegraphs, the various nests synchronized their coordinates. Clanrats armed with warp-rifles and bayonets began driving the Slave-Rats to work. Under the lash of their masters, the emaciated slaves dug a labyrinthine network of tunnels—interconnected, sprawling, and perpetually on the verge of collapse.
Once the seeds of corruption are planted, nothing can stop the endless tide of the vermin-kin.
When Calgar reached the breach site, he found a landscape of yawning chasms that led into the lightless depths. The once-sturdy Dirge Mast defense line was a shambles, pulverized by the kinetic force of the descent. The air was filled with the screams of dying Guardsmen and civilians, and massive fortifications lay in ruins.
However, there was a small mercy: the Speed Freeks warbands that had been charging the line were also caught in the drop. Their bikes, buggies, and Stompas had been crushed by the unknown pods. Furthermore, the newly formed chasms acted as tank traps; many Ork bikers, in their pursuit of a "good jump," had plummeted into the darkness below.
None of those Orks returned.
"What are your orders, Lord Calgar?" his adjutant asked. The question was clear: do they divert forces to investigate these subterranean intruders, or focus on the crippled but still dangerous Orks?
Calgar had a premonition, a gnawing certainty that if these underground interlopers were not dealt with immediately, they would become a catastrophe. But at this moment, he had no choice. The roar of Ork engines was rising again.
"Re-establish the line! Repel the xenos Greenskins first!" Calgar commanded, his gauntlets crackling with power.
"As you command, My Lord!"
As the Imperium turned back to face the Orks, the cavernous tunnel entrances began to cave in, burying the stench and the schemes of the Skaven beneath millions of tons of rock and soil.
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