On that day, the inhabitants of the Hive World Volkus began their lives as they always did: the laborers toiled, the dregs of society scavenged, and the killers hunted. None of them knew that their world was about to end.
BOOM.
The Great Volkanon's magazine detonated. The colossal weapon that had guarded Volkus's near-Earth orbit for over a millennium unleashed the most brilliant and terrible explosion the planet had ever seen. The flash was so intense it was visible from satellite monitoring stations across the system.
The earth of Volkus didn't just tremble—it shattered. A tectonic fissure split the crust directly beneath the mountain-cannon's foundations. The continental shelf was blasted open, and molten lava geysered from the depths, sending tremors through the entire planet.
The collateral damage was absolute. Many of the Primal Zerg units were swallowed by the rift, which was large enough to consume a Glory-class Frigate vertically. No one will ever know the true death toll—the number of nobles, commoners, and criminals who perished in those first few minutes was beyond counting.
After that day, the once-glorious industrial jewel of the Imperium would never shine again. And then came the Swarm.
With the planet's primary orbital defense silenced, the Overmind struck while the iron was hot. Three Leviathans entered near-Earth orbit. Before the local Imperial fleet could even coordinate a counter-attack, the Zerg began raining spore sacs onto the surface.
"Begin the harvest. Let the red rain fall."
By seizing Volkus, the Overmind would eliminate the Imperial threat in this sector. Volkus was the most prosperous industrial hub in the region; if the Swarm could consolidate its hold here and in T'au space, they would effectively control the galactic northeast.
As expected, Zehaka had been vaporized at the epicenter of the blast.
"Abathur, reconstruct Zehaka's essence."
"Sequences stored. Reconstitution underway," Abathur rasped.
"Zehaka, once your new body is complete, you will return to conquer this world and lead your pack once more."
"I will offer this planet to you on a platter of bone, my Sovereign."
In truth, Zehaka's absence didn't slow the invasion. With the ground defense system in shambles and the orbital cannons gone, the Imperial Navy couldn't stop the Leviathans' airdrops. Once the Zerg established nests within the shattered Hive spires, the eradication of the survivors was only a matter of time.
"Refreshing."
The Overmind surveyed his three simultaneous theaters: the T'au, the Imperium, and the Primal world. He had challenged every major power in the northeastern quadrant. If a Greenskin Waaagh! appeared now, he would have officially offended every major race in the sector.
But the Overlord remained calm. Aside from the Necrons, which force had he yet to humiliate?
"The battles on these three fronts should conclude soon. We will pool our resources and prepare to face the Undead."
The Overmind hadn't forgotten that Trazyn the Infinite had "collected" one of his Cerebrates. He wanted it back before the Thirteenth Black Crusade began. If the Zerg were to dominate the Milky Way, the Necrons were an obstacle that had to be dismantled.
The final battle for Volkus began.
Despite the shattered continental shelf and constant earthquakes, the Imperial garrison managed to organize a defense in the few stable regions left. Volkus was a complete industrial ecosystem; each Hive city was designed to be self-sufficient.
But it was a futile gesture.
Born anew in an even more powerful form, Zehaka descended to the surface. Surrounded by his Primal guards and a sea of standard Zerg strains, he marched toward the final Imperial bastions. The fortresses unleashed a desperate, panicked barrage of fire, but they couldn't change the reality: 70% of the planet had fallen in a single day.
In orbit, the naval war was just as grim. The burning wreckage of an Imperial Frigate streaked through the atmosphere, crashing into the ruins of the capital. Zehaka reached the outer perimeter of the Governor's Palace—a structure the size of a city cluster.
The Swarm breached the outer trenches. Ferocious Zerglings tore through the PDF lines. The Overmind noticed that many of the defenders were mere militiamen, lacking even basic flak armor. Their weapons were rusted and poorly maintained.
"The Imperium is even more ruthless than Arcturus Mengsk," the Overmind mused. Compared to these High Lords, Mengsk was practically a saint. It was staggering; the soldiers didn't even have plastic sheeting for makeshift shields.
But the Overmind showed no mercy. He was an outsider in this galaxy, a predator with no room for negotiation.
Zehaka leaped into the second line of defense, his claws a blur of motion.
"For the Emperor!"
A lone Storm Trooper ignited his jetpack, charging Zehaka with a primed melta-bomb. Zehaka didn't even look at him; a casual flick of his tail sent the man flying like a broken toy.
"Eliminate... all... humanity!" Zehaka growled, his voice a rasping approximation of the human tongue.
"Kill them all. I want to see if their 'Corpse-God' truly stirs."
The Emperor had the power to intervene—to manifest the Legion of the Damned or a Living Saint—but he remained silent. Perhaps he was unwilling to expend his strength on a lost world.
Three months later, the last human gunshot echoed across Volkus. Then, there was only silence.
Every human on the planet was gone—from the High Lords who couldn't flee to the mutants in the sumps. The Swarm began the "reclamation" process, gathering the mountain of biomass into digestion pools to fuel the next stage of evolution.
A few lucky merchant ships escaped the blockade, carrying tales of the horror. The industrial jewel of the Imperium was gone, and the shadow of the Swarm began to stretch toward the neighboring systems. The sector was falling, one world at a time.