The Steel Juggernaut lay in ruins, its once-mighty frame now a shattered heap of metal and flame, smoking like a funeral pyre. The shockwaves of its destruction echoed across the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath the feet of every Imperial and Tyranid alike. The defenders of Argon Theta—Skitarii, Guardsmen, and Titans—stood frozen for a moment, staring in disbelief at the fallen god-machine.
At the heart of the devastation, Broodarch Star Eater stood triumphant, his claws dripping with the remains of his enemies, his towering form casting a long shadow over the battlefield. His grotesque grin widened as he surveyed the chaos, the battlefield alive with the writhing, murderous frenzy of his Tyranid forces.
But for Broodarch, the destruction of the Imperator Titan was just the beginning. His appetite for power, for more, could never be satisfied. His mind buzzed with the stolen knowledge of the Hive Mind, every strategy, every tactic ingrained into his consciousness. And now, with the bio-engineered Bio-Titans tearing through the defenses of Argon Theta, Broodarch's thirst for dominance grew more ravenous.
As he stood amidst the carnage, Broodarch felt the threads of his control over the Tyranomarine legion. Their minds were all connected to his, a vast network of eyes and senses stretching across the battlefield and beyond. He didn't just command them—he could see through them and feel through them, his consciousness able to flow into any Tyranomarine bioform no matter how far they strayed.
He leaped from the wreckage of the Steel Juggernaut, his talons scraping against the cracked earth, and with a booming voice that shook the heavens, he roared, "There is no escape! All who stand before me will fall!"
Across the battlefield, the fight was brutal and chaotic. Imperial Guard regiments and Skitarii legions held their ground as best they could, unleashing their tanks and artillery in a desperate attempt to hold back the swarm. Leman Russ tanks thundered forward, their battle cannons booming as they tore through the ranks of the Tyranid swarm. Baneblades, the Imperium's greatest super-heavy tanks, fired massive shells into the Bio-Titans, their weapons shaking the earth with every volley.
But the Tyranomarines knew no fear. They fought like creatures possessed, their massive chitinous forms moving with terrifying speed and precision, cutting down Skitarii and Guardsmen alike. Krallix the Flayer led the charge, his bone-shard cannon firing in all directions, acidic spikes slicing through metal and flesh with ease.
"They all fall the same!" Krallix bellowed, his voice filled with manic glee as he ripped through a line of Skitarii. "Metal or flesh, they're all just meat for the grinder!"
Sikaris the Venomous, stalking through the wreckage of a demolished manufactorum, fired searing beams of bio-plasma from his arm-mounted cannon, incinerating a squad of Guardsmen before they could even raise their weapons. "Pathetic!" Sikaris hissed, his voice dripping with venomous disdain. "Is this all the Imperium has to offer?"
The Imperial defenders, though disciplined and well-armed, were slowly being overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of the Tyranid assault. For every enemy they killed, two more took its place. The air was thick with the stench of burning bio-matter and the deafening roar of war.
And yet, amidst the chaos, the Night Lords still lurked in the shadows.
From the cover of the ruined manufactorums, Captain Valek of the Night Lords warband watched the unfolding slaughter with cold amusement. His warband had always thrived in the dark, striking terror into the hearts of their enemies before delivering the killing blow. But even the Night Lords knew they couldn't fight the Tyranid horde head-on.
"We will bleed them," Valek whispered into his vox, his lightning claws humming with energy as he prepared to strike. "Let the Imperium die first, and then we will pick off what's left."
The Night Lords moved silently through the shadows, their cloaking fields shimmering as they stalked both Tyranid and Imperial forces alike. They set traps, detonated explosives, and struck from the dark, their signature terror tactics sending waves of panic through the ranks of the Imperial defenders. But unlike the Imperium, the Tyranomarines felt no fear.
Broodarch had already anticipated the Night Lords' tactics. Their terror was meaningless against his forces—his Tyranomarines did not retreat, did not flinch, and could not be demoralized. If the Night Lords wanted to survive, they would have to do more than strike from the shadows.
Broodarch's mind buzzed with possibility, and a predatory grin spread across his face. If the Night Lords wanted to play the game of shadows, he would show them who the true masters of the hunt were.
"Nerrax," Broodarch growled, his voice a low, rumbling snarl. "Unleash the Lectors."
Nerrax clicked his mandibles in gleeful anticipation. "Yes, Master. The Lectors have been… eager to feed."
Deep within the Dreadmaw, a new breed of Tyranomarine stirred. The Lectors, Broodarch's latest and most diabolical creation, had been designed specifically for one purpose: to hunt. Like their previous incarnation, they were stealth incarnate, ten times as lethal. Twisted fusions of Tyranid biology and Space Marine tactics, their bodies built for silent, deadly precision. Unlike the brutish strength of the standard Tyranomarines, the Lectors were sleek, agile, and nearly invisible when they wanted to be. Their chitinous armor shimmered with cloaking fields, their limbs elongated for swift, silent movement. Their claws, lined with venomous spines, could slice through even the toughest ceramite like butter.
But the Lectors' true power lay in their minds. Broodarch had engineered them to be psychic predators, capable of sensing the fear of their prey, tracking their every movement, and stalking them through even the darkest shadows.
More than that, Broodarch could see through their eyes, no matter the distance. His mind flowed effortlessly through the bio-network that linked him to every Tyranomarine, and through the Lectors, he could watch the unfolding hunt in vivid detail, feel the fear of their prey, hear their last breaths.
The Night Lords were no longer the hunters—they were the hunted.
The bio-pods opened, releasing the Lectors onto the battlefield. Their forms shimmered as their cloaking fields activated, rendering them nearly invisible to the naked eye. They moved with terrifying silence, disappearing into the shadows as they began their hunt for the Night Lords.
Through the eyes of the Lectors, Broodarch watched as they scattered across the battlefield, their senses attuned to the faint whispers of fear and movement. He could feel the Night Lords lurking in the shadows, thinking they were still in control. But that was their mistake.
"They will learn," Broodarch hissed. "No one hides from me."
Captain Valek's warband had been moving through the manufactorums, picking off isolated Tyranid bioforms and laying traps for the Imperium. They had been careful, as they always were, ensuring they left no trace of their movements. But something was wrong. Valek could feel it—a presence, a whisper in the back of his mind, like something watching from the shadows.
"Something's coming," Valek muttered into his vox, his lightning claws sparking with energy. "We're not alone."
His warband moved with heightened caution, their cloaking fields shimmering as they slipped deeper into the ruins. But no matter how silently they moved, Valek couldn't shake the feeling that they were being stalked.
And then the first Lector struck.
From the shadows, the Lector appeared, its cloaked form nearly invisible as it descended upon one of Valek's warriors. The Night Lord didn't even have time to scream before the Lector's claws tore through his armor, venomous spines slicing through ceramite and flesh with ease. The Lector moved with terrifying speed, disappearing back into the shadows before the others could react.
Broodarch smiled as he watched the kill through the Lector's eyes, the rush of adrenaline and violence surging through his own body. He saw the panic ripple through the Night Lords as they tried to regroup, but it was too late.
"They're hunting us," Valek growled. "Fall back. Regroup."
But the Lectors didn't give them a chance.
One by one, they struck, their cloaking fields rendering them almost invisible as they stalked the Night Lords through the ruins. The Night Lords, masters of stealth and terror, found themselves outmatched in their own game. The Lectors moved like wraiths, their psychic senses attuned to the fear of their prey, tracking their every movement.
Valek roared in frustration, his lightning claws crackling with energy as he slashed at the air, trying to strike at an enemy he couldn't see. "Cowards! Face me!"
Through the eyes of a Lector, Broodarch watched as it circled Valek, its body almost invisible against the ruined walls. The Night Lord captain spun, trying to anticipate where the next strike would come from, but the Lector was patient. It waited for the perfect moment, and then it struck.
The Lector lunged from the shadows, its claws outstretched, aiming for Valek's throat. But Valek was faster this time. He spun, his lightning claws meeting the Lector's in a screech of metal against chitin. The two predators clashed, their forms a blur of movement as they slashed and tore at each other.
But Valek was no ordinary prey. He had hunted for centuries, and he was not about to be taken down by some Tyranid abomination.
With a roar of defiance, Valek drove his lightning claws into the Lector's chest, the crackling energy ripping through its bio-matter. The Lector screeched in pain, its body convulsing as Valek twisted the blades, tearing it apart from the inside.
Broodarch felt the death of the Lector as if it were his own, the bioform's final moments flowing through his mind like a distant echo. But he was not concerned. One Lector lost meant nothing. There were more.
And they would finish the hunt.
"They will come for you, Valek," Broodarch muttered, his eyes glowing with a predatory hunger. "You can't hide from me."
The battle raged on, with the Night Lords continuing their guerrilla tactics, striking from the shadows and vanishing before the Tyranids could retaliate. Or trying to. But their advantage was wearing thin. The Lectors moved with deadly precision and eternal hunger, picking off the Night Lords one by one.
Valek knew he was running out of time.
"We regroup at the southern manufactorum," Valek snarled into his vox. "Move now or die."
But even as he spoke, he could feel the Lectors closing in, their psychic presence like a cold whisper in the back of his mind. They were watching. They were coming.