Chapter 29:
Though the Chimera transport was a sizeable vehicle by the standards of the Imperium, before Godzilla, it looked like a child's toy. The armored hull, the heavy bolter turret, even the roaring engine—all of it was insignificant next to the primal force bearing down on it.
In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, the weapons of mankind are legion, but not all are created equal. The Astra Militarum, or what remained of them in this hive, were but a pale shadow of the Astartes. Their firepower was ample in number, but not in might.
Still, a billion Chaos cultists can bring down a Space Marine chapter. Don't ask how. Just blame the math—it's Games Workshop's.
But Godzilla was no Space Marine.
"Not enough."
Twisting his massive body, Godzilla turned his burning eyes on the swarms of Chaos cultists firing from alleys and crumbling balconies. Their madness had long since outpaced humanity; whatever spark of man remained in them had been crushed under the boot of Chaos. But even the most unhinged heretic still carried traces of ancient human instinct—deep, buried fears hardwired into the genome.
And Godzilla would remind them what it meant to fear again.
He opened his jaws. Blue fire danced at the edges of his maw as the air crackled with radioactive charge. Then the atomic breath surged forth, a beam of pure destruction screaming across the ruined avenue. Starting at his feet, it swept forward like a divine scythe.
The cultists didn't even have time to scream.
Everything in the beam's path—flesh, steel, ferrocrete—was instantly vaporized. Gothic towers melted like wax. A grand Ministorum cathedral at the street's end stood for a heartbeat longer, then exploded into a storm of rubble and dust. A roar thundered through the hive.
The entire city shook.
Elsewhere, the Ultramarines steadied themselves, boots braced against the trembling deck of a shattered fortress-hab.
"What in the Emperor's name was that?"
"Did the power grid detonate?"
"No way. A power station wouldn't cause a shockwave like that. That was... an attack."
"An attack? Unless someone just dropped a cyclone torpedo..."
Note to self: Do not suggest cyclone torpedoes inside hive cities. Again.
The Astartes couldn't spare the effort to investigate. They had enough problems of their own.
Back at ground zero, the aftermath was surreal. The cathedral was gone. In its place stood a scorched canyon, carved clean through the hive's lower levels. The edges of buildings were sliced with surgical precision, and the blast tunnel stretched deep into the belly of the city. The scale of the destruction was breathtaking.
"That hit felt good." Godzilla rumbled, satisfied. "Too bad this hive is too damn big to level completely."
The assault of the Chaos cultists had paused. For the first time, they were stunned into silence. Those who hadn't been vaporized gawked in disbelief at the gaping wound in the hive, the cracked ferrocrete, the shredded passageways, and the howling winds tearing through the artificial canyons.
Then the symptoms began.
Skin flushed red. Rashes bloomed. Cultists twitched, scratched, and clawed at their bodies. Something in their bones itched. Something deep.
It wasn't madness. It was radiation.
Godzilla's breath had laced the ruins with invisible death. Cells burst. Skin split. Organs liquefied.
Some tried to scratch the pain away. Fingernails raked skin until they hit bone. Flesh peeled. Blood poured. No one stopped. No one could.
Itchy. Itchy. ITCHY!!!
One by one, they collapsed, bleeding and moaning, then fell still in twisted heaps of infection and ruin.
In the 41st millennium, there is no such thing as radiation protection for the average civilian. If you had a rebreather, you were lucky. If you didn't... well, your corpse would glow beautifully.
Godzilla continued forward.
On other streets, his Lizardmen allies surged into battle. Silent, efficient, and merciless, they swept through the crumbling hive with primordial fury. But as Godzilla pushed toward the upper levels, a new sight met his gaze.
A clearing loomed ahead—wide, scorched, and dominated by a grotesque monument.
A ritual site.
It was built from skulls.
Piled high, the heads of hive citizens—men, women, children, soldiers, priests—were arranged into a mockery of a throne. It radiated madness. The stench of blood and warp-energy hung heavy in the air.
"The Skull Throne... they weren't kidding."
Khorne's daemons turned at the sound of Godzilla's approach. Hundreds of red-skinned, horned monsters turned their fanged maws toward him. Then, in perfect unison, they screamed.
Their war cry was not just sound—it was a blast of malevolent will.
Godzilla roared back.
His bellow drowned them out. The very ground trembled. The daemons of Khorne staggered, stunned into silence, some even taking an unconscious step back.
The Lizardmen charged through Godzilla's legs, roaring in defiance, their claws tearing at the cracked ground.
It was impossible to tell which side was more monstrous.
The two forces met in a wave of violence. Khorne's daemons were born for battle, but the Lizardmen were no strangers to bloodshed. Blades clashed. Clubs smashed skulls. Sinew tore. Acidic blood sprayed across the stones. The warband howled with pleasure—this was the kind of butchery their blood god lived for.
Some daemons even forgot about Godzilla.
That was a mistake.
He stepped forward into the melee—and five daemons vanished beneath his foot. One was bisected by his heel. Another simply ceased to exist under the impact.
"Melee combat? Count me in."
Few beings in the galaxy could challenge Godzilla in hand-to-hand combat. A Warlord Titan, maybe. A true daemon prince. A god-engine. But none of those were present.
Except one.
A particularly large Bloodletter, a god-touched champion of Khorne, hurled himself toward Godzilla in a frenzy. Agile and frenzied, he leapt onto the titan's tail, scrambling up the thigh and onto his back. Finding purchase between Godzilla's armored spines, he roared and raised his bloodletting sword high.
It plunged into Godzilla's hide—and, this time, pierced.
Just barely.
The blade sank a hand's depth into the monster's flank, disappearing into the thick muscle. It was a power-weapon equivalent, its warp-forged edge honed for carnage.
The daemon shrieked in triumph, anticipating rivers of blood.
Then he tried to pull the sword back out.
It didn't move.
Godzilla's muscle had clamped around the blade like a vice. No matter how the daemon yanked or twisted, the sword was trapped.
"..."
Panic replaced joy.
"WAAHHHH!!"
He pulled again—desperately, furiously—but the sword refused to budge.
Godzilla turned his head slowly.
And smiled.
********
If you want to read more there's 15, 30, 50 chapters there of my written fanfictions and translated works in my Pat.Reon.
Here is the link:
https://patreon.com/LordFisherman?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
And if you can't find it just type my name: patreon.com/LordFisherman