Warhammer, Emperor's Chosen

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Hundreds of years of dormancy shattered as ancient elevators roared to life, their grinding gears and machinery trembling with the effort. One after another, Leman Russ tanks, Chimera troop transports, and waves of Astra Militarum and Planetary Defense Force (PDF) troops descended from the Hive City's Middle Hive into the depths of the Underhive.

Nearby streets had already been secured by the PDF. Using abandoned buildings as strongpoints, they established line after line of defenses, fortifying the area into an impenetrable bastion.

Boom!

Clang!

The massive elevator descended once again, echoing through the Underhive. But this time, the platform bore not the Astra Militarum or the PDF, but a squad of Terminator-armored Space Marines alongside several Sisters of Battle clad in power armor.

At the forefront walked a noble lord garbed in elaborate protective armor, breathing through a filtration mask, and another Space Marine adorned in intricately decorated power armor.

The heavy footfalls of the Space Marines reverberated through the ground, commanding respect and fear. Ordinary soldiers nearby instinctively lowered their heads, with some even saluting the Sisters of Battle with the Aquila gesture, whispering praises to the God-Emperor.

Without pausing at the elevator, the group boarded a Land Raider Crusader that had been deployed ahead of time. Their destination: a nearby fortress. Once the lair of a local gang, it had now been converted into the temporary command center of the Astral Claws Chapter.

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"Brother Andar, report the situation!"

Chapter Master Lufgt Huron strode into the command center, his deep voice reverberating with authority. His face was dark and brooding, a storm threatening to break, as it had been since the previous day.

Although his forces had been claiming victory after victory, each piece of intelligence they received brought worse news than the last. And now...

"Estimates suggest that these xenos—Genestealers—have infested at least one-third of the Underhive. The exact size of their force is impossible to calculate, but there are likely tens of millions, perhaps even more.

"Despite their primitive weaponry, they display an extraordinary disregard for their own lives. In a single day, they launched over a thousand attacks from all directions, leaving behind millions of corpses.

"Their primary objective seems to be the elevators, likely to gain access to the Middle Hive or even the Spire, but their ultimate intentions remain unclear."

Andar concluded his report, his gaze drifting to Rogue Trader Noah, who wore armor reminiscent of a carapace shell. No one present had greater knowledge of these xenos than him.

Noah paused in thought before speaking cautiously: "It's likely they aim to reach the Middle Hive to hide and await an opportunity to board a ship off-world. Genestealers instinctively seek to expand their brood and spread their infection across the stars. Alternatively, they might be testing your strength, or even staging a diversion to mask other plans.

"My only advice is this: Never underestimate their cunning."

Indeed, this wasn't humanity's first encounter with the Genestealers. Over seven centuries earlier, the Blood Angels had faced them aboard a derelict starship, suffering catastrophic losses. Over 950 Astartes perished, leaving only a handful of survivors. The Chapter narrowly avoided annihilation, with Dante stepping up to lead the Chapter in its darkest hour.

Yet even with prior encounters, humanity still lacked a systematic understanding of the Genestealers' threat. To most, even those who had experienced the losses firsthand, they were merely another form of deadly xenos among the countless horrors of the galaxy. And the Blood Angels' experiences aboard derelict ships likely led many to associate Genestealers with the Warp, rather than recognizing them as scouts for a much larger extragalactic menace.

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Huron's voice broke the silence:

"How long to completely purge them?"

"It's nearly impossible." Andar replied grimly. "The Underhive's terrain is far too complex. Even if we commit all our forces, eliminating every infected individual would take an extraordinary amount of time—unless we abandon all efforts to identify targets and simply eradicate the entire population of the Underhive."

"Then do it! Kill every last one of these scum!" roared Captain Carnac Commodus, his fury palpable.

Huron shot a cold glance at the captain. Carnac had lost a squad of Terminator brothers earlier that morning to a Genestealer ambush. Despite their retaliatory slaughter of hundreds of xenos, one brother had fallen, and several others had sustained grievous injuries.

Noah's warning had proven accurate: the Genestealers' claws could tear through even the reinforced ceramite of power armor. In the Underhive's claustrophobic environment, the xenos' sheer numbers made them a mortal threat, even to the Space Marines.

"Calm yourself, Brother Carnac," Huron said, his voice icy. "We both know such an approach is unfeasible. The Underhive's labyrinthine nature guarantees that survivors will find places to hide. Without an Exterminatus, there will always be some xenos left alive."

Everyone present understood the grim reality. Completely eradicating the Genestealers would require a prolonged and exhaustive campaign.

------------------------

"What about the xenos' corpses?" Huron asked.

"Here," Andar gestured, pulling back a tarp in the corner of the command center. Beneath it were rows of reinforced glass cylinders filled with liquid, each containing a preserved Genestealer. Their grotesque forms sported four arms and chitinous carapaces.

"It's been challenging to capture any alive," Andar explained.

"No matter," Huron dismissed the thought of live specimens, his expression darkening further as he inspected the vile creatures floating within the glass.

"Chapter Master Huron," Noah interjected, "you've seen firsthand the danger these xenos pose. As I've stated before, I must reach Macragge with all haste."

"Why?" Huron demanded. "If, as you claim, these xenos have infiltrated nearly every Imperial world, why single out the Ultramarines for a warning?"

Noah hesitated before answering, his tone grave: "Because the xenos you see here are merely the vanguard. The true Hive Fleet is still beyond the galactic rim, but it is closing in on Macragge."

"How large?" Huron asked, his brows furrowing.

"Billions, but—"

Huron cut him off, his voice heavy:"I'm asking about fleet size!"

Noah's response was dire:"That 'is' the fleet size. Billions of vessels."

Huron's expression darkened further. His entire fleet comprised only a few dozen capital ships. Even counting every destroyer and escort, he barely commanded 300 ships. The entirety of the Imperium's fleet strength likely didn't total a billion vessels. And now, Noah was claiming that the Tyranid Hive Fleet alone numbered in the billions?

Had anyone else made such a claim, Huron would have dismissed it as exaggeration. But after witnessing the Genestealers' terrifying infection rate and sheer numbers, he couldn't afford disbelief.

....

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