Bad news always comes in waves.
After Andy piloted the ship out of the planetary crust, triggering a disaster in the ninth sector of the Mid-hive comparable to a magnitude 8 earthquake, the seismic waves traveled downward. They pierced through the lithosphere, reaching a depth of fifty kilometers below the surface.
This was the planetary geothermal hub of Forge-7—and the stronghold of the "Ascension Mining Alliance."
In the center of this dark, humid underground cavern, filled with the stench of sulfur and geothermal steam, stood a throne cemented together from discarded pipes, industrial waste, and the flesh of unknown organisms.
Seated upon the throne was a massive creature: a Genestealer Patriarch.
Standing over five meters tall, it possessed a bloated purple head, four incredibly powerful upper limbs, and a chitinous carapace encrusted with thick psychic crystals. As the progenitor of every Genestealer on this planet, it was the absolute core of the cult—a living totem for the faith known as the "Four-Armed Emperor."
The violent tremors from the surface reached this depth, shaking loose rubble from the cavern ceiling. But the Patriarch did not react. Its glowing eyes stared fixedly at the rock layers above, as if its gaze could pierce through tens of thousands of kilometers of void.
It sensed it. Not a geological shift, but a grander, more familiar ripple.
It was—the Shadow!
In the rift between the Warp and realspace, a massive biological fleet had just cut into the edge of the Scalus Sector's gravity well. This Tyranid splinter fleet did not use Warp engines; instead, they utilized bio-ships known as "Narvhal." These vessels could sense and manipulate the gravity of planetary systems, creating a gravity tunnel of compressed space for superluminal travel—slower than human warp travel, but inexorable.
Though their physical forms were still hours away from Forge-7, the suffocating projection of the Hive Mind—the "Shadow in the Warp"—had already shrouded the world.
For the Patriarch, this was the signal. God had arrived!
The Patriarch's pituitary gland instantly secreted a unique chemical. This substance traveled along its psychic filaments, spreading through the planet's "Hive Mind Network" at the speed of light.
Its core directive code shifted. It force-switched from [Lurk, Infiltrate, Breed] to [Destroy, Chaos, Harvest].
The Patriarch opened its fang-filled maw and let out a silent psychic shriek. This pulse had no sound; humans could not hear it, and Mechanicus sensors could not read it.
But across Forge-7, millions of infected hosts carrying Tyranid DNA—from the laborers mining in the Underhive to the technicians in the Mid-hive and the officials embedded in the Spire's administrative buildings—stopped what they were doing at the exact same microsecond.
Their pupils contracted instantly. The human emotions, memories, and moral constraints in their minds were completely overwritten by this tyrannical psychic command.
The Day of Ascension was here!
Underhive, Mining Pit No. 44
Hundreds of purple-skinned, bald miners belonging to the "Ascension Mining Alliance" were at work. Known for being "tireless and never-complaining," they were the overseers' favorite labor force.
A human overseer, clutching an internal-combustion shock whip, patrolled the area with boredom. "Move faster! The Spire needs this ore shipment now!" he barked, reflexively cracking the whip.
Normally, these miners would simply bow their heads and keep working after a lashing. But this time, the miner who was hit stopped. He turned around slowly. His once-vacant face now twisted into an expression of extreme fanaticism and savagery.
He raised the high-power laser cutter used for rock excavation. "For the—Four-Armed Emperor!"
Zzt!
Before the overseer could react, the high-temperature laser beam swept across his waist. His upper body slid off, the cut smooth and charred.
Simultaneously, hundreds of miners across the pit rose up. Using pickaxes, drills, and even sharpened teeth, they lunged at every human co-worker and guard in sight. This was not an isolated incident. At that same moment, in hundreds of mining zones, factories, and reclamation stations across the Underhive and Lower-hive, mutinies erupted.
The most submissive workers had instantly become the most bloodthirsty beasts. They merged into a purple tide, launching suicidal charges against key power nodes and defense facilities under the coordination of the Hive Mind.
Mid-hive, Sector 5 Central Hospital
In a delivery room, a cry rang out. A young human husband leaned toward the bed with a face full of joy, wanting to see his newborn child. His wife was a capable administrative clerk; though usually quiet and a bit cold, he loved her dearly.
"Honey, you did it. Is it a boy or—"
the words caught in his throat. The infant the nurse was holding had skin of a faint purplish-red hue, and beneath its two normal small hands grew a third, deformed limb tipped with sharp claws.
This was a Purestrain Genestealer larva.
The Genestealer reproductive cycle is a perfect loop. First and second-generation hybrids look like monsters and hide underground. Third and fourth-generation hybrids look almost exactly like humans—even smarter, stronger, and more charismatic—responsible for infiltrating high society. The fifth generation, born from the fourth, undergoes an atavism, reverting to the purest Tyranid form.
The husband froze, his mind blank. He couldn't comprehend why his wife had birthed such a monster. At that moment, the wife—who should have been exhausted—suddenly sat up. She had received the Patriarch's signal.
The masquerade was over.
The weakness and maternal love on her face vanished, replaced by absolute coldness. She grabbed a pair of sharp surgical scissors from a nearby tray.
Puchu.
The scissors were driven precisely into her husband's carotid artery. Blood sprayed across her beautiful, icy face. The husband clutched his neck, looking at his beloved in disbelief before collapsing into a pool of blood.
The woman didn't spare him a second glance. She stepped out of bed, barefoot in the blood, and snatched the three-armed monster infant from the terrified nurse. She cradled the baby, a haunting smile spreading across her lips.
"God... is here."
"God is here! God is here!" she chanted, walking out of the delivery room. In the hallway, other "patients" and "visitors" were tearing off their disguises, pulling out hidden autopistols and bone spurs to slaughter the hospital staff.
This scene played out in every corner of Forge-7. Social order collapsed in an instant. The most terrifying part wasn't the enemy's strength, but the destruction of trust. The colleague you worked with daily, the lover sleeping beside you, the superior you respected—one second they were normal, the next they were an alien cultist stabbing you without hesitation.
Spire, Mechanicus Temple, Forge Tower
Fabricator-General Sigma-7 was in a state of absolute fury. "Heretic! That damned heretic!"
He was staring at the holographic display showing the massive ship that had entered the orbital dock. One hour. The orbital defense laser arrays needed one more hour to charge. But the enemy clearly wouldn't give him that time.
"If the lasers aren't ready and the fire-control radar won't lock, then fire manually!" Sigma-7 roared into the comms. "Order all anti-air missile batteries to ignore radar locks! Aim by hand! A target that big—even a blind man could hit it! Fire everything! Blow it out of the sky!"
The communication channel remained deathly silent. No one responded. "Answer me! 4th AA Battalion! 7th AA Company! Are you all dead?!" Sigma-7 slammed his fist onto the console.
The heavy doors to the command center slid open. A squad of elite Skitarii, responsible for guarding the tower's core, marched in. They wore red heavy carapace armor, clutching arc rifles that crackled with electricity.
"What are you doing here?" Sigma-7 turned, his bionic eyes flashing red. "I did not summon the guard. Return to your posts!"
The lead Skitarius did not stop. He removed his helmet. What was revealed was not a sanctified cybernetic eye or a bald head full of chips, but a face with faint purple skin and prominent bony ridges on the forehead. This was a fourth-generation hybrid who had climbed high into the Skitarii ranks.
"Fabricator-General," his voice was calm but carried a bone-chilling fanaticism. "The defense systems will not activate. We have severed the communication lines. To welcome the arrival of the Savior, we need this place to remain quiet."
Sigma-7 froze. His logic core screamed in alarm, but he could not compute what he was seeing. Skitarii were loyal warriors subjected to the strictest mental conditioning and neural modification. How could they betray him?
"You are... Xenos?"
"We are the Ascended," the Skitarius replied, raising his arc rifle. "Goodbye, rotting machine."
Zzzzt!!
High-voltage blue arcs illuminated the command center. Sigma-7 didn't even have time to activate his personal force shield before being struck by dozens of intersecting bolts. His highly modified body convulsed violently; internal circuit boards and biological tissues charred instantly.
Thump.
The Fabricator-General collapsed, black smoke rising from his chassis. He was permanently offline.
The hybrid Skitarius stepped forward, kicked Sigma-7's wreckage aside, and stood before the main console. He reached out and entered a string of commands into the panel controlling the planet's orbital defense system.
[Command: System Offline.]
[Command: Release all Orbital Locks.]
As the red confirmation key was pressed, the planet of Forge-7 lost its shell. It was like a peeled egg, exposed naked to the cold, dark, and malicious universe.
Outer Space, Orbital Docks
Thanks to Andy's brilliant planning, the ship was over 95% repaired, held firmly by several massive mechanical arms. Andy stood on the bridge, looking at the planet through the viewport.
From space, Forge-7 still looked like a hazy grey sphere with swirling clouds. But in Andy's tactical vision, the planet had turned red. Countless red dots representing "Firefights," "Explosions," and "Fires" were spreading frantically across the surface. Specifically, the anti-air sites that should have blinked with green friendly signals were all dark.
"What's happening?" Andy frowned. "Did Helios and the Mechanicus start a civil war?"
"No, Lord Andy," Six's voice suddenly rang out. It was no longer the flat broadcast tone, but carried a rare hint of emotional fluctuation. "I am detecting extreme-intensity Warp interference. This type of interference... is definitely not a normal Warp storm."
"It is ordered, oppressive—like a massive shroud, isolating this planet from the Warp."
Six pulled up a star map. At the edge of the map, what was once a void of darkness now held a shadow. It wasn't a lack of light, but a massive tide formed by hundreds of millions of bio-vessels.
"It is the Shadow in the Warp. The Tyranid fleet... is coming."