The Imperium's Frontier: Doom Approaches

A churning sea of beasts roiled beneath the ramparts. The towering walls of the Hive City stood firm and stubborn, their surfaces reinforced by Void Shield Generator arrays to hold back the surging Tyranid catastrophe outside.

Orbital weapons atop the walls fired day and night, their dense barrage bombarding the entire landscape. Once, standing upon these walls, one could gaze out at the boundless complex of buildings, at spires reaching into the clouds and intricate Gothic architecture, but that was a sight long since consigned to the past.

A scarlet expanse stretched to the horizon, blanketed by an ocean—an ocean composed of nightmare beasts. They crashed against the kinetic shields like a tide, while gargantuan warbeasts hammered the barrier and bombarded its surface with Bio-cannon fire. The flickering light of the Void Shield illuminated Olaf's head repeatedly.

The old wolf's graying beard and hair were lit by the shifting glows. He watched the rolling sea of fire beneath the walls, where rows of Autocannon batteries mounted on the ramparts fired in continuous succession, accompanied by the thunderous, wrathful roar of massive fortress-grade artillery.

Yet, no matter the efforts of the Imperial forces, no matter how many shells the Adeptus Mechanicus laborers produced, they could not destroy these beasts. They came in endless waves, and even with every ounce of strength expended, they could not inflict a single shred of effective damage.

Beyond the galaxy, far outside the light of The Emperor, countless such hive fleets were encroaching. These infinite Tyranid Swarm tendrils, destined to swallow the entire galaxy, reached out from the surrounding darkness, bringing with them a fated destruction.

It was a desperate truth. Anyone who learned of this, realizing the horror of the Tyranids, would fall into despair and collapse. But the Astartes would not; they could not. They were the Angels of Death of The Emperor, and they knew not the meaning of fear.

"Is all well, Olaf?" Bell approached and asked. His armor was stained with a large patch of blood. While that was nothing unusual for an Apothecary, Olaf knew the blood on Bell was not from healing a brother.

The Ultramarines Apothecary walked to Olaf's side, Bolter in hand, and looked down with him at the rolling tide of beasts below. Both gazed at the gray-red frenzy, watching the Tyranid Warbeast specimens roar and shriek.

"Whenever I think of the great enemy surrounding The Imperium, my brother, I cannot help but feel concern for our fellow humans," Olaf said, his gray beard fluttering in the hot wind. "The galaxy is treacherous. Ten thousand years have passed, and we still stand on the front lines, opposing the great enemy of The Emperor, yet peace and tranquility never seem to arrive. Within the galaxy, there is only eternal war and destruction."

"Perhaps so, brother, but there has never been a period in human civilization that was truly peaceful. Since our species originated on ancient Terra, we have been inextricably linked to war."

Bell removed his Centurion Helmet. It had to be said that he was quite handsome, possessing a refined, chiseled face—a true son of Macragge.

"We fight amongst ourselves, and we fight against external foes, but it is within war that human civilization has developed and grown strong. For tens of thousands of years, this is how we have walked."

"Indeed, my glorious brother." Captain Mikael arrived before the two, clutching his Centurion Helmet, followed by Lancelot and Ragnar, who had just returned from bathing in blood.

"Although the galaxy is filled with war, and death and destruction seem to be everywhere, it is not only destruction and slaughter that exist. At this very moment, our home, Macragge, has recovered from the catastrophe of the Tyranid war, and the entire Ultramar sector is flourishing."

Captain Mikael looked at the gray-red frenzy, raising his iron arm to point toward the horizon and the distant stars. "At the very moment we are attacked by the Tyranids, there are thousands upon thousands of Imperial worlds developing. Our suffering and our wars are the guarantee of their growth."

"Civilization, art, and reason still exist within The Imperium. Their sprouts are tenacious; though they remain fragile today, I believe they will continue to thrive and one day lead humanity to the state The Emperor expects of us."

"It is precisely for this reason that we, the iron guards of The Emperor, will forever wage war across world after world. Do not doubt or be troubled, my battle-brother; it is because of our fighting and sacrifice that the spark of hope continues to endure within The Imperium, allowing it to burn and grow in the thousands of worlds that remain peaceful today."

Mikael's voice was resonant and firm, like that of a learned old scholar. As a Captain of the Ultramarines, he was clearly well-read and accomplished in various fields. Unlike other chapters, the Ultramarines placed great emphasis on such spiritual cultivation, though it was clear not everyone favored this style.

Ragnar let out an impatient growl, brandishing a Chainsword he had scavenged. "I hate this flowery talk the most. We only need to know that the Allfather wishes, and requires, us to fight against the myriad enemies."

"But we cannot forget the purpose of our battle, nor why we exist," Bell said sternly, raising his arm. "It is precisely because some brothers forgot our purpose, and what The Emperor truly requires of us, that rebellion and betrayal occurred."

"We must not forget that our superhuman bodies are sworn to dedicate everything to the great cause of The Emperor, and what The Emperor requires has never changed: to seek the well-being of humanity as a whole. You should not forget this, Ragnar."

"Alright, Bell, don't get all high and mighty. Where did you read that?" Ragnar laughed as he walked up, took off his helmet, and draped an arm over his battle-brother's shoulder. But it was the learned Captain Mikael who provided the answer.

"If I recall correctly, this maxim is taken from the great Lord of the Salamanders, Vulkan. 'Vulkan lives.'" "Yes, Captain, as the son of The Emperor said."

Olaf, also from the Space Wolves but far more composed, nodded in affirmation. He looked at his battle-brother with approval, while Ragnar boredly scratched his head. "Ah, I don't get you lot. I'll just stick to hacking at the enemy and leave the thinking to you."

Before Ragnar's voice had even faded, something whistled down from the sky. It slammed heavily into the street behind the ramparts. Several Astartes walked to the edge of the wall to look at the object.

On the ground, several Planetary Defense Force soldiers who had been resting hesitantly approached with their rifles raised. Two of them stood at the edge of the crater to peer inside, then, in terror, raised their lasguns and began shouting as they fired into the pit.

Almost instantly, the two were torn to shreds by dozens of Tyranid Warbeast specimens. A dozen more crawled out of the pit, and almost immediately, countless Mycetic Spore pods slammed into the ground from the sky. Endless Tyranid Warbeast specimens tore their way out of their writhing landing sites, biting and clawing like newborn infants.

But these newborns began their frenzied slaughter almost immediately. Countless Tyranid organisms swept through the streets near the inner wall, and the sound of gunfire and screams instantly engulfed the entire city.

Bell looked up at the firmament in shock. In the cloud-covered atmosphere, Mycetic Spore landing pods burning with fire whistled down, striking the Hive City like meteors.

Although the anti-aircraft guns were still firing violently, they could not stop the sheer volume of them, and this was enough to prove what was happening.

"The space battle is lost! The swarm is increasing the intensity of the deployment!" Bell immediately reached the conclusion, but that was not the problem Captain Kaimier needed to consider.

The Captain donned his Centurion Helmet and activated his comms. "This is Captain Kaimier. All Astartes and mortal warriors, heed my command: abandon the walls and outer positions and retreat to the inner city! Move!"

After receiving a chorus of affirmative replies, the Captain nodded to his brothers. They immediately began to move along the ramparts. Spore pods whistled down on both sides of the wall, their writhing tentacles and massive bulk shattering buildings, with some even slamming directly into the wall itself.

Tyranid organisms poured out of the pods, slaughtering everything on the wall that was not Tyranid. The four Astartes fought their way through a corridor on the side of the wall and reached the elevator.

Surviving mortal soldiers joined their ranks. They boarded the elevator, which flashed with only red light, and descended to the ground. The moment the orbital elevator doors opened, they arrived in yet another purgatory.

The entire street was filled with Tyranid Warbeast specimens, gnawing and tearing at the bones of mortals. Screams and shrieks rang out one after another, and the Tyranid Warbeast specimens almost immediately noticed the group in the elevator.

Kaimier was the first to raise his Bolter and fire rapidly. A bolt instantly shattered the head of the first Tyranid. The Astartes and mortals immediately began firing; rapid-fire volleys splashed against the beasts, and dozens were killed on the spot. But at the other end of the street, hundreds more Tyranid Warbeast specimens were charging, destroying everything in their path and leaving only death and blood in their wake.

"Move! Advance!" the Captain roared, firing continuously. He drew his Power Sword and led the breakout. The sharp blade of the champion danced and shifted between the Tyranid Warbeast specimens, cutting them down one by one.

The group followed closely behind the Captain. Ragnar and Lancelot charged at the front, using their Chainsword and Power Sword to clear the way. The mortal guards followed close behind, firing at their surroundings. From time to time, someone would be struck down by a Flesh-Eater Beetle, or others would be knocked over and dismembered by a suddenly appearing Hormagaunt.

But they continued to advance, and from time to time, warriors from various corners joined the breakout force. Soldiers from Vostroyan, Valhalla, and the local defense forces filled the ranks, with gray-green and scarlet becoming the dominant colors of the unit.

At the front and flanks of the formation, Astartes from various chapters who had responded to Kaimier's call stepped forward with iron feet. Bolter fire and the roar of Chainsword blades were constant. The Angels of Death of The Emperor were leading the mortals out of the encirclement with high efficiency.

The streets were filled with Tyranid Warbeast specimens falling from the sky. They attacked every living thing on the street; residents and soldiers were bloodily slaughtered and devoured. The massive swarm of beasts overwhelmed the street-level positions established by the Arbitrators and defense soldiers, spreading everywhere.

In a street-side café, a large group of refugees who had fled inside in a panic watched the Tyranid Warbeast specimens trying to break in from outside. Their scythe-like claws pierced the door panels, biting and pulling as they tried to devour the survivors within.

Several of the stronger men tried their best to block the door, but their strength was no match for the Tyranid Warbeast specimens. The door was constantly battered and pushed; the terrifying monster shoved its head inside, its gaping maw roaring incessantly, spraying countless droplets of saliva onto the floor.

The women screamed as they watched the monster, but just as the door was about to be smashed open, the monster was dragged out by something. After a single shriek, it fell silent.

The door was suddenly pushed open, and the men blocking it were knocked to the ground. The people in the room looked at the giant standing at the doorway, holding a blood-stained Chainsword as he looked at them.

"What are you waiting for? Move!" the black-armored warrior said, grabbing his Chainsword and hacking another Tyranid to death. He beckoned for the people in the room to get out. Everyone scrambled to their feet and hurried past the giant; once they recognized him as an Astartes, they no longer doubted.

The refugee group joined the breakout army. These screaming refugees severely slowed the pace of the unit. Lancelot cursed as he turned around, raising his Bolter to shoot down the Tyranid Swarm that was in hot pursuit behind them.

"Ragnar! You're going to get us all killed by letting these refugees join!" "I must save them! I cannot tolerate abandoning the citizens of The Imperium!" "Can you for the love of Terra prioritize?! Is this the time to be spreading the spirit of The Emperor's benevolence?!" "I think it damn well is!"

"Enough! Quiet!" Olaf barked, a psychic shockwave blasting several Tyranids into the air. They slammed into the city ruins, instantly swallowed by a collapse of countless bricks and rubble.

"Cover the refugees and mortals as they retreat to the inner gate! Form a defensive line!" the old wolf, clad in towering chaplain armor, roared. Captain Mikael skidded to a halt, looking at the second gate of the Hive City slowly grinding open in the distance; they were not far from it now.

"Everyone! Form a defensive line! Now!" The moment the Captain gave the order, the dozen Astartes nearby snapped into position, standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind the mortals to shield them with their own bodies against the incoming bio-ammunition.

Flesh-borer rounds gnawed at their armor, yet failed to leave a single mark on the sturdy plating. The Astartes raised their Bolter weapons and opened fire in unison, a storm of shells tearing into the swarm.

Flesh and blood exploded across the street, splattering the walls, but suddenly a bolt of green plasma erupted from across the street. It struck an Astartes brother; his armor hissed and corroded under the plasma's heat, his flesh dissolving and collapsing in a heartbeat.

Olaf spotted the Tyranid Monstrosity at the end of the street, clutching a Bio-cannon. It roared, raising the weapon, while countless Tyranids of all sizes surged past it toward the gate.

"The mortals haven't finished retreating! We must hold the line!" Ragnar shouted, while Lancelot cursed loudly, watching yet another brother be disintegrated by plasma fire.

"We must preserve the lives of our brothers! We are the blades of The Emperor, we cannot fall here!" "We cannot abandon the mortal populace!" "Be reasonable, Ragnar! Their lives are as valuable as ours!" "You're full of shit!"

The two Astartes shouted at each other, their argument echoing through the comms inside their helmets—hardly a good sign under the current circumstances.

A towering angel statue crashed down amidst the war, the golden-armored colossus slamming into the side of the street, sending up a thick cloud of dust and ash that obscured everyone's vision.

Fog swirled through the dim street. Everyone held their breath, Bolter weapons aimed at the far end of the road, listening through their helmets to the dense, frantic patter of footsteps and the clicking, clacking echoes of Tyranid chitin.

The plasma fire had ceased, but the cold reality pierced their hearts like a dagger. Even the two dogs had stopped, holding their breath as they aimed at the unseen enemy within the fog.

The monsters' sounds grew closer, and closer. Every Astartes had their finger tight on the trigger, but suddenly, a dense, crimson beam of light streaked over their heads. The beam instantly pierced the fog, followed by countless screams and howls, and a mangled Tyranid corpse fell at Lancelot's feet.

They looked back and saw the massive figure.

"I am His blade, I am His weapon," the ancient voice spoke. Suddenly, they looked up as a flickering ion beam swept across the street; after a scream, the sound of a giant object crashing to the ground echoed from beyond the fog.

"I am Dreadnoughtus! I am His angel!" The Dreadnought crushed the crystalline pavement underfoot, the towering giant walking past them. Every lethal weapon on his chassis began to roar in unison: plasma cannons, Twin-linked Lascannon, Autocannon, and Missile Launcher all fired at once.

Devastating firepower erupted across the street, shattering ornate streetlamps and collapsing shops one by one, while the Tyranids on the blackened street were blasted into gore.

The Dreadnought raised his right arm, a Melta Blast erupting from it. The Tyranids closest to him dissolved into screams and sludge, yet several still leaped onto his back, attempting to use their Rending Claw to slice open the Sarcophagus.

But the Dreadnought raised a mechanical hand, plucked them off, smashed them into the ground, and crushed them underfoot. The towering giant wreaked havoc among the herd, single-handedly halting the charge.

"Retreat! Brothers, retreat!" the Dreadnought commanded. Following the storm of fire, the Astartes quickly withdrew behind the exquisite, almost artistic inner city gate.

"Dreadnoughtus! Fall back into the city!" Mikael shouted at the Dreadnought. The giant took another step, crushing the skull of a Tyranid, but he did not retreat, continuing his frenzied slaughter of the swarm.

"Dreadnoughtus! Fall back into the city!" Mikael barked again, but the Dreadnought did not respond. His weapons of destruction leveled everything in sight, yet Mikael was certain the veteran was not deaf to his commands.

"Dreadnoughtus, this is not the time for a glorious death! Your crusade is not over! The enemies of The Emperor have not yet been extinguished!" "I will destroy the enemies of The Emperor." The Dreadnought spoke, striking out again, his Lightning Claw shattering an entire squad of Tyranids.

"The Emperor needs you alive; only then can you fulfill your duty. Now, obey the order, my brother," Mikael said. After a moment of silence, the Dreadnought began to step back, firing violently as he retreated.

The Astartes and mortals at the gate also opened fire to cover his withdrawal. Dozens of guardsmen worked together to drag a Twin-linked Lascannon into position; once set, the gunner jumped into the seat and began to fire.

The storm of fire combined with the Dreadnought's own, obliterating the Tyranids on the street in an instant. In those fleeting moments, the Dreadnought stepped through the gate, and the massive, solid doors slammed shut behind him.

Olaf and Bell looked up at the sky between the high-rises. No spore pods were falling; clearly, the anti-air defenses were still holding against the current threat.

"It is coming to the final hour," Olaf said. They had nowhere left to retreat. Bell nodded firmly, "Yes. Let us hope Vito has a plan."

Before Bell could finish, Vito's voice crackled over the comms.

"If the four of you aren't dead yet, come find me at the command center. Captain Mikael as well." "You have a plan?" Olaf asked anxiously. "Perhaps. But it isn't a good one."

"Ha, when have you ever had a good plan?" Ragnar retorted sarcastically. Vito's voice chuckled, "Fair point."

The transmission cut off. The Astartes looked at one another, then glanced at the desperate mortals and soldiers around them. The five giants and the Dreadnought walked toward the administrative hall in the center of the city.

The final fate of this planet was at hand.