Arrival in the Underhive
Julius's gaze took in the horrific panorama of the Underhive. These lowest levels, normally cesspools of pollution, poverty, and crime, had become a vision of apocalypse. The vertical megalopolis burned, its structures torn by flames and explosions. Daemonic shapes and mutants ran rampant in the streets, turning the hunt for fresh flesh into a sinister bacchanal.
His attention was drawn to a tower in the distance, misshapen and pulsing. It was no longer made of metal and stone, but seemed sculpted from living flesh and solidified shadow. A palpable, corrupting, and unhealthy energy emanated from it, throbbing like a monstrous heart. That's where it is, he understood. The nexus of the infection, the throne of his enemies.
A priority message flashed on his interface. Thrawn. "Lord Commander, the cloned Sisters of Silence cruiser has arrived. Patching you through to their Sister Superior."
A new voice, cold, disciplined, and utterly devoid of emotion, resonated in his helmet. "Lord Commander. I am Sister Superior Corail of the 7th Javelin Battalion. We are in position. We have heavy teams: 300 Colossus, 700 Rangers, and 200 Interceptors. We are ready to drop."
Julius looked up at the sky, a maelstrom of purple and black hues. "The hunt is open, Sister Superior. And we are the hunters."
On the other end of the line, a rare, martial smile stretched Corail's lips. "Understood."
In the torn sky, the silhouettes of dropships and Valkyries appeared, plunging through the chaotic currents. The doors opened, and the Sisters of Silence jumped. Not in free fall, but in a controlled descent. The dorsal reactors of their Javelin armor ignited with a roar, slowing their fall and giving them terrifying mobility.
"TO THE HUNT, MY SISTERS!" Corail screamed over the Vox.
Hell answered. Dorsal cannons and salvos of incendiary missiles rained down from the sky, opening craters of liquid fire in the daemonic ranks. The Rangers, equipped with their Arkania Gambit heavy autocannons, opened fire with murderous precision, their incendiary rounds piercing resistant flesh. But their most potent weapon was their mere presence: their Null aura, an absolute psychic void, spread like an oil slick. Daemons caught in this field were seized by convulsions, their unstable forms disintegrating, exploding in geysers of uncontrolled warp energy.
Julius's army began to move, advancing behind this curtain of psychic suppression. The order was given: priority to incendiary weapons. Flamethrowers, thermal missiles, tracer rounds. Fire purified, burned away the corruption, and was a particularly painful death for these entities from a realm of immaterial passions.
The Tower of Flesh and Shadow
Be'lakor felt the arrival of the Sisters before he saw them. An irritation, like a dissonance in the symphony of Chaos he conducted. He turned towards Julius's direction, and a smile of millennial malice split his shadowed face.
"At last, you are here."
He walked to the balcony of his grotesque tower, pointing a clawed finger towards the Bastion army. A perverse will emanated from him. As one, the daemonic tide that had been fighting in a disordered manner reoriented. A concentrated wave of rage and perversion suddenly rushed towards Julius's position.
An Unexpected Refuge
Boris, stunned, watched the ballet of destruction and salvation unfolding before his eyes. The icy efficiency of these new warriors, the overwhelming firepower of Bastion... It was both terrifying and magnificent. He had made the right choice.
He approached a Death Trooper, his black armor pristine despite the chaos. "We... we have civilians. Many wounded."
The Death Trooper turned his impassive helmet towards him, then gave a nod. A woman in CMC-405 medical armor, lighter and marked with red crosses, approached. Her face, visible under her raised helmet, was young but etched with calm determination.
"My name is Jessica. I will help you." Her voice was soft, in total contrast to the surrounding screams. She spoke into her mic. "Medivac Delta-7, extraction point marked. Civilian mass, multiple wounded. Immediate priority."
A medical transport vessel, recognizable by its white and red markings, detached from the formation and descended rapidly towards them.
Boris felt his legs buckle. He fell to his knees, not from fatigue, but from relief. Silent tears streamed down his grimy face. "Thank you... Thank you..." he murmured, a phrase echoed in emotional whispers by the survivors behind him.
Julius observed the scene from the corner of his eye. A brief nod. These saved lives were a resource, yes, but also a validation. His empire offered safety, even in the midst of hell.
Then his gaze returned to the pulsating tower. The main assault was about to begin. He needed more intelligent cannon fodder.
"System," he thought, the mental interface opening instantly. "Purchase cyborg Terminators for me. Model 850, Death Trooper configuration."
The neutral voice replied. "Each unit costs 200 energy points. How many units?"
Julius quickly calculated the reserves accumulated during the massacre in the tunnels. A humorless smile appeared on his lips.
"One million units."
"Transaction validated. Deployment in progress."
It's good to be rich, Julius thought with somber satisfaction, as in the shadows around his army, a million new cybernetic forms began to materialize, their sensor eyes lighting up with a red glow in the Underhive's darkness. The real battle was about to begin.