BOOM—!!!
As the laughter erupted and the green light flashed, a visible shockwave surged outward from the marked area on Tyberos's map, like a violent storm, engulfing the entire underground city in an instant.
This shockwave was no ordinary explosion. It did not result from compressed gases or expanding air. Instead, it carried an eerie and chaotic psychic energy, a force that seemed to rip apart the very fabric of reality with the raw power of the Warp.
Countless clone soldiers, unable to react in time, were flung into the air like ragdolls. Some smashed into crumbling walls, while others were hurled into the bubbling, corrupted swamps, sinking without a trace, their lives extinguished in an instant.
Even the mighty Carcharodons staggered under the impact, their Titan armor groaning and screeching as the powerful force tried to uproot them. The grinding sound of metal-on-metal underscored the terrifying strength of the wave.
Chris and his team of operatives managed to take cover behind the rubble of collapsed buildings, narrowly avoiding the full brunt of the shockwave.
Even so, their helmet displays flickered erratically under the psychic interference, and their comms were overwhelmed by a screeching static that set their nerves on edge.
Airborne units weren't as lucky.
Though the Thunderhawk gunships, aerial Hunters, and other craft showed no signs of physical damage, their flight systems suddenly became erratic as if gripped by an invisible hand.
Some aircraft veered wildly before crash-landing in fiery explosions, while others were forced into emergency landings with heavy screeches of twisting metal.
The only exceptions were the two Knight mechs, which remained functional.
However, these mechs had depleted their payloads of munitions and were forced to retreat to the surface for resupply.
A few seconds later, the shockwave dissipated.
The once-chaotic underground city was plunged into an oppressive silence.
It was a silence so profound that it seemed to swallow every sound—the echoes of explosions, the clamor of battle, and even the faint bubbling of the corrupted swamps ceased entirely.
The eerie stillness pressed down on everyone like a suffocating weight, freezing the underground city in an unnatural, motionless state.
Chris cautiously raised his head, his helmet's augmented vision scanning the marked area indicated by Tyberos.
What he saw made his heart sink.
The area had been completely reshaped by the psychic shockwave.
At the center of the devastation stood a massive, swirling vortex—an emerald-green Warp gate, radiating an ominous glow.
The portal was at least a hundred meters wide, and rippling waves of green light emanated from its center, filling the air with an overpowering sense of dread.
Warp energy crackled and surged around the portal, its signature unmistakable—a harbinger of something monstrous about to emerge from the Immaterium into realspace.
Chris's gaze hardened as he took in the horrifying sight, fully grasping the gravity of the situation.
It was clear that the Chaos-worshiping Ghostface Clans and gnolls had succeeded in completing a vile and intricate ritual.
The ritual likely involved the mass sacrifice of human traitors' souls and flesh—or perhaps the heretics had willingly offered up their own bodies and souls to their Chaos God.
Whatever the case, the barrier between realspace and the Warp had been forcibly torn apart, and the glowing Warp portal stood as a beacon for more Chaos entities to flood into the material universe.
Lesser daemons, though dangerous, could still be managed.
But the true threat was the possibility of a Great Unclean One—a Greater Daemon of Nurgle—stepping through the portal and entering the underground city.
If such a creature appeared, the battlefield would be irreversibly lost. Worse, the resulting fallout could threaten the Imperium's control over a far larger region of space.
Chris quickly assessed the situation and came to a grim conclusion: the best course of action was immediate retreat.
Quicontor was a barren, abandoned planet with no strategic value.
It housed no Imperial citizens, no critical facilities, and no rare resources.
In other words, it was entirely expendable.
From the Imperium's perspective, it made no sense to risk so much in a battle over a worthless wasteland.
The Carcharodon Chapter, led by Tyberos, was an elite fighting force renowned for their unparalleled skill in close combat and tactical superiority.
If the entire company were to be lost in a futile engagement, it would be a disaster on a strategic level.
While the heretics might possess valuable intelligence on Chaos incursions into Imperial space, such information could never justify the loss of an entire company.
Chris quickly formulated a plan in his mind: immediate evacuation.
Before the situation deteriorated further, they needed to fall back to low orbit and deploy the fleet's full arsenal of orbital bombardments to execute an Exterminatus on Quicontor.
This approach would turn the entire planet into a smoldering wasteland, erasing all traces of the heretics and daemonic entities.
It was the only way to eliminate the threat without incurring unacceptable losses.
However, Chris knew that this plan hinged on convincing Tyberos to retreat.
From his brief interactions with the Carcharodon commander, Chris could already tell that Tyberos was a fearless and unyielding warrior, unlikely to abandon a fight easily.
Chris turned toward the frontlines, where Tyberos stood like an unmovable fortress amidst the chaos.
He opened his comms to propose a retreat, but before he could speak, Tyberos's cold, commanding voice resonated through the channel:
"All Carcharodons, charge the marked area. Let's finish these heretical scum once and for all!"
Before anyone could react, Tyberos surged forward, his massive frame moving with terrifying speed.
He became a blur, disappearing into the shadows of the ruins ahead.
Behind him, his company guards and over a thousand Carcharodons roared with rage and purpose, their metallic battle cries reverberating through the underground city.
Their Titan armor gleamed with an eerie green glow, reflecting the light of the Warp portal as they followed their commander into the enemy lines.
Even the clone soldiers, loyal to their programming, abandoned their defensive positions and joined the charge.
On the other side, the heretics and daemons worshiping Nurgle erupted into a frenzy.
They howled and roared in guttural, distorted voices, their chants filled with madness and incomprehensible Warp-twisted words.
The enemy forces surged forward like a green tidal wave from the direction of the portal, including hordes of Ghostface Clans, gnolls, and reeking abominations.
Chaos had fully unleashed its power.
From above, the battlefield was a scene of pure chaos.
The Carcharodons, a "gray spear" of relentless steel, drove into the "green tide" of heretics, tearing open gaping wounds in their lines.
Each burst of bolter fire meant another heretic fallen, each plasma blast left a grotesque monstrosity in ashes.
Though the Chaos forces counterattacked with unrelenting ferocity, the disciplined and overwhelming assault of the Carcharodons gradually began to shatter their lines.
At the heart of the charge, Tyberos stood like a living battering ram, leading his warriors straight toward the Warp portal.
With tactical micro-missiles and his rotary bolt cannon, he obliterated everything in his path, reducing corrupted flesh and bone to ash and sludge.
And when the enemy dared to come close, his chain-claw gauntlets roared to life, their serrated teeth shredding anything within reach into bloody chunks.
Behind Tyberos, his company guards wielded power hammers and chainsaw axes with deadly precision, pulverizing and eviscerating heretics in a storm of gore and viscera.
But the charge was not without cost.
The Chaos forces had laid countless traps of corruption and poison along their defensive lines, along with swarms of lethal Nurglings—tiny daemons that swarmed over the warriors, gnawing at their armor's weak points.
One Carcharodon heavy gunner, having run out of ammunition, switched to his combat knife to retreat to the rear.
However, he was overwhelmed by hundreds of Nurglings and flanking gnolls, who battered his energy shield with explosive charges and acidic bile.
Realizing his imminent death, the gunner initiated his armor's reactor overload, triggering a nuclear-level explosion that obliterated the enemies surrounding him.
His sacrifice cleared a path for his brothers to advance, and the surviving Carcharodons surged forward with even greater fury, determined to avenge their fallen comrade.
"Captain Tyberos! We must retreat! Fall back to orbit and initiate Exterminatus, or all of this will be meaningless!"
Chris's desperate voice echoed over the comms.
He and his operatives had kept pace with the Carcharodons, carving a path through the Chaos horde with skill and precision.
Now, they were within a kilometer of the glowing Warp portal.
But Tyberos was already at the portal's edge, standing in the corrupted swamp, his boots caked with foul sludge.
He showed no sign of retreat.
Instead, his helmet's visor locked onto a massive figure emerging from the swirling green light.
A deep, guttural laugh echoed from the portal, accompanied by the sickening stench of decay.
Stepping fully into the material universe was a Greater Daemon of Nurgle, towering over the battlefield at 15 meters tall.
Its grotesque, rotting body oozed pus and bile, with boils and tumors bursting open to release swarms of Nurglings and maggots.
Its every step left deep craters in the corrupted mud, and its laughter carried a sinister weight that seemed to drag on the souls of all who heard it.
"Heh heh... Child, your courage is commendable—"
Its voice dripped with contempt, like rotting sludge seeping through rusted pipes, each word weighing down the spirits of those who heard it.
The towering Greater Daemon of Nurgle loomed over Tyberos and his company, its bloated, diseased form pulsating with unholy vitality. Rancid fluids dripped from its ruptured boils and open sores, forming puddles of bubbling, acidic muck beneath its massive feet. The stench was unbearable—a mix of decay, death, and pestilence that seemed to hang in the air like an oppressive shroud.
Dozens of Nurglings crawled over its rotting flesh, giggling and chittering as they burrowed in and out of its grotesque body, their tiny forms writhing with chaotic glee. Occasionally, one would be crushed under the daemon's bulk, only to be replaced by a fresh wave of wriggling creatures spilling out of its wounds.
The daemon's eyes, glowing with sickly green light, fixed on Tyberos. Its lips, cracked and oozing pus, curled into a malevolent grin as it continued speaking:
"Ah, how delightful it is to see the false Emperor's hounds sent to die in such a futile display of bravado. Your flesh will rot, your armor will rust, and your souls will fester within my garden for eternity. Embrace the inevitable, little one."
Tyberos did not flinch.
The massive Astartes, clad in his custom Terminator armor, stood like an unyielding monolith amidst the filth and corruption. The dull green glow of the portal reflected off his battle-worn armor, casting him in a grim, almost spectral light.
With a deliberate motion, he raised his chain-claw gauntlets, the razor-sharp, serrated teeth of the weapons spinning to life with a piercing whirrrrr.
"Words of a coward," Tyberos growled, his voice a cold, metallic rasp that carried through the comms. "You think your corruption can break me? I am Tyberos, Captain of the Carcharodons! We do not bow, we do not falter, and we will carve your rotting carcass into pieces and cast it back into the Warp where it belongs."
With that declaration, Tyberos lunged forward.
The ground trembled beneath his magnetic boots as he charged, his chain-claws roaring to life, carving a crimson path through the filth and lesser daemons that swarmed to protect their master. Each swing of his weapons reduced Nurglings, corrupted Ghostface Clans, and other abominations into smoldering chunks of gore and ichor.
The daemon let out a low chuckle, seemingly amused by Tyberos's defiance. "Ah, the bravado of the righteous. Very well, child. Let me teach you the price of your insolence."
The daemon extended one massive, bloated arm. From the festering sores and wounds on its skin, streams of noxious bile and corrosive sludge erupted, forming a cascading torrent aimed directly at Tyberos.
BOOM—HISSSSS!
The bile struck the ground, dissolving everything it touched into steaming, acidic muck. But Tyberos, anticipating the attack, activated the thrusters on his Terminator armor. His massive frame launched into the air, narrowly evading the torrent as it splashed harmlessly against the ground below.
Mid-air, Tyberos retaliated. His rotary bolt cannon mounted on his power pack unleashed a hailstorm of explosive shells, each round detonating against the daemon's hide with thunderous force.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!
Chunks of decayed flesh were blasted off the daemon's body, spraying the battlefield with putrid gore. The Greater Daemon roared in anger, its deep voice shaking the very air as it swatted at Tyberos with one of its massive arms.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Carcharodon company fought like men possessed.
The elite Company Guard, equipped with power hammers and chainsaw axes, waded into the fray, smashing and slicing their way through hordes of lesser daemons and corrupted beasts. Their weapons howled and cracked with each strike, tearing through Nurgle's abominations with brutal efficiency.
Each Carcharodon fought with a single-minded ferocity that bordered on madness. They did not retreat, did not falter. Every fallen brother was avenged tenfold as the steel tide pushed ever closer to the portal.
Even the clone soldiers, despite their lower capabilities, pressed forward with unwavering determination. They formed defensive lines around the Astartes, providing suppressive fire with their Gauss rifles and missile launchers.
At the center of it all, Tyberos and the Greater Daemon clashed in a titanic struggle.
The daemon brought down its massive, pustule-covered fist, aiming to crush Tyberos where he stood. But the Carcharodon commander dodged with surprising agility, his chain-claws biting deep into the daemon's bloated arm.
WHIRRRRR—SLASH!
The teeth of the chain-claw ripped through decayed flesh, spraying viscous bile and black ichor in all directions. The daemon bellowed in pain, its cries echoing across the battlefield like thunder.
It retaliated with a backhand swipe, catching Tyberos mid-dodge and sending him crashing into a nearby ruin. The impact shook the ground, and debris rained down around him.
"Tyberos, respond!" Chris's voice crackled through the comms.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Tyberos's growling voice came through, filled with cold determination:
"I'm not done yet."
Tyberos emerged from the rubble, his armor battered but intact. His energy shields flared to life, deflecting a volley of toxic projectiles launched by the daemon.
The Carcharodon commander activated his built-in missile pods, firing a salvo of tactical-grade hydrogen warheads directly at the daemon's torso.
WHOOSH—BOOM!
The explosions engulfed the daemon in a blinding inferno, the shockwave flattening the nearby terrain and sending lesser daemons sprawling.
As the flames died down, the Greater Daemon stood charred but unbroken. Its grotesque grin widened as it spoke once more:
"Such spirit, such determination... You will make a fine addition to my garden, child. Come, embrace Nurgle's gift, and know peace in decay."
Tyberos's response was immediate and furious.
"Shut your festering mouth, filth!"
He charged once more, his chain-claws roaring, his bolt cannon blazing, and his battle cry echoing through the Warp-tainted air:
"FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR THE IMPERIUM! FOR THE CARCHARODONS!"
The final confrontation had begun.
As Tyberos engaged the Greater Daemon in a fight to the death, the rest of the Carcharodons continued their relentless advance, carving their way toward the portal.
They knew that their success—or failure—would determine not just the outcome of this battle but the fate of countless worlds.
The air was filled with the cacophony of war: the clash of steel, the roar of explosions, the screams of the dying, and the unrelenting laughter of the Greater Daemon.
The battle for Quicontor had reached its peak, and the ultimate test of Imperial resolve was at hand.
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