This was the romance of men. In the earliest days of gaming, this was the core of the RTS genre. It was a shame that with the passage of time, games like StarCraft, Warcraft, Command & Conquer, and Age of Empires had gradually faded into obscurity.
But this was a real-life RTS. Zhou Ye seized the moment to recover.
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"Cadia stands!!!"
With roaring war cries, munitions rained down upon the battlefield.
Countless Tyranid Hormagaunts surged forward, violently crashing against the Cadian lines.
Inside the command center, the Cadian Lord General Drost, Lamenters Chapter Master Malakim, and Captain Farinport of the Eighth Grand Company from Trailblaze all stared at the main screen.
Before them was a Tyranid flood, a veritable tide of chitin and claws. In the face of such a deluge, their forces seemed as fragile as paper.
"We've cleared the Tyranid organisms that breached the perimeter, including several hundred Tyranid Warriors."
Malakim's brow was furrowed as he watched the screen. Without their support, those Tyranid Warriors would have inflicted devastating damage on the defending troops.
"Biovores have been spotted. My men will conduct a long-range precision strike against them."
Another report came in, this time from the Iron Warriors. While most people assumed the Iron Warriors did nothing but dig trenches like the Imperial Fists, they were also masters of all manner of war machines. Now, with this dangerous Tyranid bio-artillery appearing on the front line, they were mobilizing their own units to carry out a precise decapitation strike.
But before he could finish his sentence, the entire command room fell silent. On the screen, a corner of their defensive line was breached, and a flood of red dots poured into the center of their position.
"What happened?"
"The Hive Mind appears to have psyker units. The soldiers on that section of the line had their brains blown out by a psychic attack. The Tyranid swarm tore open a breach."
"A Lamenters Centurion, leading a Terminator squad, has plugged the gap. Get your men over there and re-establish the line, now!"
The Iron Warriors Captain, Farinport, immediately dispatched several of his battle-brothers. Forget decapitation strikes; they now had to constantly adapt to the shifting battlefield, building new fortifications on the fly.
They had to hold back yet another wave of Tyranids, but for some reason, the Cadian Lord General Drost felt a creeping sense of despair.
Although the Lamenters and the forces from this "Trailblaze" he had never heard of kept assuring him that everything would be fine once "that Lord" arrived, but…
Could he truly make it? Drost was keenly aware of the Imperium's efficiency, or lack thereof. It had nothing to do with incompetence; it was all because of the chaotic communications and the treacherous nature of the Warp. Moreover, with the continuous Tyranid invasion, the Shadow in the Warp was growing ever thicker.
Under these conditions, Warp travel became exceedingly difficult. Reinforcements might be on their way, but could they truly hold out long enough?
"Hope remains!!!"
Malakim had clearly seen the expression on his face. He gestured towards the most fortified bastion behind them, where a beacon tower was operating at full power, emitting waves of a peculiar energy.
The manufacturing cost of these beacons was extremely high; only about ten existed in total. Even with his Star Rails, Zhou Ye's trailblazing was often undirected. The beacon towers, however, could provide him with a clear path. After his initial period of aimless expansion, Zhou Ye had distributed these beacons to the elites of his various companies. He had them enter nearby sectors through the Warp and plant them in core locations, to serve as lighthouses guiding his trailblazing fleets ever forward.
One of these had been entrusted to the Lamenters. Zhou Ye's meaning was clear: this was their final insurance policy. If the beacon tower was destroyed, then there were only three words for their situation…
Beyond saving.
Another beacon had previously been given to Cawl and was now aboard Guilliman's Gloriana-class battleship, the Macragge's Honour. Although Zhou Ye had stated he lacked the power to link to Terra in the short term, Guilliman had taken it with him regardless.
The battlefield was a meat grinder. As the Imperium's finest, the regiments from Cadia, like the Death Korps of Krieg, were often thrown into the most terrifying and bloody battles. Now, facing the frenzied Tyranids, only they could hold the line, engaging in a repeated tug-of-war with swarms of Hormagaunts and Termagants. The local Planetary Defense Force's morale had not yet broken.
This was partly due to the Commissars standing behind them with their bolt pistols, but also because of the giants in bright yellow.
The Lamenters Terminator squads. During their time together, the local forces had discovered that these noble Angels would actually talk with them, encourage them, and treat them like friends. Especially during the recent campaign to wipe out the local Genestealer Cult, it was the Lamenters who had charged at the forefront, even suffering casualties to protect them.
Such noble Angels, making such sacrifices for lowly mortals like them. The morale of the local PDF was locked in place. As long as those yellow giants stood, not a single one of them would retreat.
Even so, facing a Tyranid swarm that outnumbered them dozens of times over, their lines were still being compressed. Even with the ceaseless barrage from the fortress's anti-air cannons, more and more Tyranids landed. First, it was millions, then millions more…
Soon, the Tyranid bio-ships, dropping pods in numbers that surpassed artillery shells, had unleashed a sea of Tyranids that could level mountains. Although they had consolidated the entire planet's forces and mobilized nearly all available manpower, giving them a fighting force of at least a few hundred million within these fortresses, they were facing a swarm several, even ten times their size.
Moreover, against even the lowest-grade Tyranid creature, an ordinary mortal—especially one not even trained to PDF standards—didn't stand a chance. The battle had become so brutal precisely because the loss of the Navy allowed the Tyranid fleet to deploy its forces with near impunity.
"Everyone, get behind me!!!"
Outside a narrow street, a single Lamenter was firing precise shots from his bolter, blowing apart the Hormagaunts that charged at him one by one. His bolter roared, firing far beyond its standard ammunition capacity.
But it was useless. The number of xenos was simply too great. Finally, with a defiant scream from its machine spirit, the bolter overheated and exploded.
The Lamenter tossed the ruined weapon aside and drew his chainsword.
With his jump pack and an Astartes's superior mobility, he could have easily fallen back to the main defensive line. But he refused to yield a single inch of ground.
Behind him cowered several hundred civilians, many clutching infants to their chests. This was supposed to be the rear echelon. But against the Tyranids, who swarmed over everything and even attacked from underground, you never knew where they would pop up.
The Lamenters had been forced to dispatch half of their non-Terminator squads to act as firefighters, leading elite Cadian units to constantly clear out emerging Tyranid threats and construct new, complex defensive lines to isolate the breaches.
Like the shattered Imperium itself, the main hive city of Fordia on Ashford was now fractured and broken.
The Cadian general had no choice but to order a fighting retreat, continuously shrinking the defensive perimeter.
As a result, many areas that were once safe zones for civilians had inexplicably become the new front line.
This was the situation the young Lamenter, born on Trailblaze, now faced. He had grown up on a world invaded by Orks. Not yet ten years old, he had been rescued from the green tide by a squad of Lamenters Terminators.
He followed the Lamenters' fleet and settled on Trailblaze-25. After passing numerous trials and proving compatible with their gene-seed, he joined the Chapter that had saved his family, becoming a proud Lamenter. Now, he was just like the Lamenters who had pulled him from the Ork Waaagh! all those years ago.
He would create a shield for the subjects of the Imperium, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
He crashed into the swarm of Hormagaunts. His chainsword swung relentlessly, its bright yellow casing quickly becoming caked with Tyranid gore.
"No, don't…"
Seeing the dense swarm of gaunts, a group of women behind him tried to stop him. A true Angel of the Imperium had no reason to fight so desperately for mortals like them.
The cost of creating one of them was far too high for such a trade.
As more Tyranids poured onto the battlefield, his movements grew slower. Even a Space Marine succumbs to fatigue. It was how Abaddon had managed to barely defeat the aging sword-saint Sigismund—through sheer attrition.
At that moment, among the swarm, several large Tyranid Warriors charged out.
Don't be fooled by how Captain Titus nearly insta-killed them in Space Marine 2. That was Titus; not every Space Marine possessed that level of skill.
The women looked at one another, then, with grim determination, they stood up. This world was the most important industrial hub in the entire Underworld System.
To combat the Tyranids, they had manufactured vast quantities of consumable explosives, like grenades.
They were trapped in a building with no route of escape. Once the Angel in front of them fell, their deaths were certain. And he was already on the verge of collapse.
So, one by one, the women took out the grenades they had been given.
Struggling to fend off two Tyranid Warriors, the Lamenter prepared to meet the Lord of Trailblaze. A Tyranid unit designed to counter Space Marines; even at his peak, he could hardly fight two at once.
He was already fumbling for the melta bomb at his waist, ready to take them with him.
The two Warriors were upon him. In a single exchange, the Lamenter was sent flying, smashing heavily against the wall behind him. Even with his power armor, the two Warriors had inflicted massive damage.
He coughed up a mouthful of blood inside his helmet. He tried to stand, because the two Tyranid Warriors were already charging towards the civilians he was protecting.
But…
"NO!!!"
He saw a sight that made his soul crack. The women, clutching their children, offered him a faint smile.
In that instant, they activated the melta bombs in their arms. Seeing the devices, the two Tyranid Warriors' faces showed a clear expression of dumbfounded confusion.
BOOM!!!
A massive explosion tore the building apart. The shockwave threw the Lamenter clear of the structure. The two Warriors who took melta bombs to the face, along with all the surrounding gaunts, were consumed by the blast.
They never could have imagined that a group of seemingly helpless women would use themselves as bait to deliver such a devastating surprise.
Finally…
"Uwaaahhh!!!"
With a choked sob, the Lamenter stumbled back to the defensive line alone. He ripped off his helmet, revealing golden hair and a young, handsome face.
But he couldn't care about his appearance now. He clamped a hand over his face, and racking sobs shook his massive frame.
"Lift your head, my boy."
His Company Captain, one of the original Lamenters not from Trailblaze, walked over to him.
"I have served for nearly a hundred years. I have saved many lives, but I have also failed to save many more."
"Yes, sir…"
Hearing this, the young Lamenter stood up. His captain was the man he respected most in the world. It was he, clad in Terminator armor, who had carried him out of the Ork horde.
"We bear the future of humanity on our shoulders. For the Lord of Trailblaze, for Mankind, and for the Emperor, we march on in this cruel, hellish galaxy. There are still more lives waiting for us to save. As the Lord of Trailblaze says, 'Compassion is our weakness, and also our weapon.'"
"Yes, sir…"
"So stand up, and unleash your fury upon the Tyranids."
"..."
The young Lamenter picked up his weapon once more, and the war began anew.
Finally, the first day ended. The entire city was filled with the corpses of Tyranids and humans.
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Author PS: Finished MyGO!!!!! yesterday. All the authors in my writing group who write this kind of stuff have collectively become abstract. Emmmmm… Good thing I don't write that.
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