WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. SCREW YOU, NURGLE, YOU GIANT INFECTED PIMPLE. GO BOTHER ULTRAMAR AGAIN.

*runs in, slightly panicked*

Guys, I broke free of the Inquisition's conditioning, but now the Arbites are after me! I didn't know jaywalking was a capital offense on some worlds, and now they want to put me to death!

Star-Bound

Chapter 17

Swarm

The Tyranids were unrelenting in their advance. Even with the firepower of the Shepard Crusade's fleet, hundreds of enormous spacefaring creatures made it past the blockade to deposit their smaller bioforms into the atmosphere. They then wheeled around to engage the Imperial vessels, which led to a running battle throughout the system.

The war on the planet was much harder for the defenders. The skies were filled with Tyranid pods and flying organisms that fell around the three population centers. Antiaircraft batteries roared as they shot down thousands of targets, but there were simply too many pods coming down to risk sending up the human fighters. They would have been smashed out of the sky by the falling Tyranid 'delivery system'. Instead, they were grounded until the wave ceased, and then they would be unleashed to hunt down the larger flying creatures.

Shepard watched from the strategium with Helmin as Xem-Beta provided analyses for the situation. It didn't take long for her to see a disconcerting development.

"They've found gaps in the anti-air defenses," she said. "It's not that they're getting through, they're actively aiming to land where we can't hit them."

"The xenos have a dark reputation for adapting," Helmin commented. "Any tactic we utilize won't work for long."

"Then our best bet is to make them waste their biomass as quickly as possible." Shepard turned to Xem-Beta's hologram. "How soon before it's safe to launch our air force?"

"Approximately one-point-three-two hours," the Magos said. "Our aircraft will focus on the larger bioforms, but I have directed the Pteraxii to counter the smaller creatures the xenos employ. After the skies are clear, they will enact harassment protocols."

Shepard believed him; she'd seen the Pteraxii—Skitarii with mechanical wings and talons replacing their feet—in action before. If the Imperials could gain control of the air, it would go a long way towards ending this war quickly.

"All right, Xem-Beta will remain in command of the air defenses." Shepard studied the tactical display. "The Tyranids know we're here, and there's not enough biomass anywhere else on the planet. All we have to do is starve them out."

"The Astra Militarum will hold the line," Helmin promised. "They've been reinforced with platoons from the Deltic Scorpions, critical bastions are held by the Sisters, and the Astartes are ready to deploy wherever they are most needed."

"I just hope everyone remembers that I don't want martyrs," Shepard muttered, "especially since that'll just feed the Tyranids."

Helmin nodded. "We have special units armed with flamer weapons to turn the dead to ash. The xenos will have no bounty of flesh this day."

"Well, I'd rather we burn more bugs than our boys and girls," Shepard said. "Spread the word that I'll personally give a medal to anyone who can confirm at least twenty kills and not die in the process."

Helmin blinked. "That will certainly make them fight like lions."

"That's the point."

Though she still hated what fame brought her, Shepard could see the value of using it to inspire soldiers to perform feats of valor. Sometimes, being a hero had its merits.

"Alert," Xem-Beta said, "xenos bioforms detected. They will reach the outermost defenses in forty-nine minutes."

"Looks like they're readying for our dance," Shepard said, and gently elbowed Helmin. "Why don't you tell the artillery to start up the music?"

"With pleasure, Your Holiness." Helmin grinned and switched on the vox. "All batteries, fire when in range! Send these abominations back to the void that spawned them!"

…

Several hours later, Shepard charged for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Liberator carved through a screaming Hormagaunt, while Shepard's fist shattered the skull of another. A moment later, she brought her weapon down on the head of a Tyranid Warrior before it could fire its weapon-symbiote at her. At her sides, the Alexian Guard hacked through more of the smaller aliens, clearing a path as they fought their way back to the safety of their own lines.

"Damn, that was close," Shepard panted, then spat out alien blood and washed more out of her hair with the water from her canteen. "I think that's the fourth helmet I've lost since the Crusade started."

"Fifth," Carolya corrected. "But it saved your life, so it was a noble sacrifice."

"Tell that to the artificers," Shepard joked. "Last time I told them I needed another helmet, I swear they started to cry."

Some of the nearby Guardsmen who heard the exchange laughed, even as they reinforced the front line, but the laughter ceased when one of them died to living ammunition.

The defenses had held so far, but the Tyranids were only keeping the humans pinned with lesser organisms, while they spawned their more advanced creatures and consumed the biosphere. Thankfully, their progress was slowed by the planet's pollution; there was little biomass to consume outside the three hives.

"Incoming Gargoyles!" a Guardsman shouted, as a swarm of winged creatures flew into view.

"Never a moment's rest," Shepard muttered, but didn't take to the air. Instead, she grabbed a fallen lasgun and joined the Guardsmen in filling the sky with fire. Hundreds of the aliens died, but hundreds more fired the living weapons merged with their limbs; soldiers dove for cover, but many were too slow. In the frenzy of activity that followed, Shepard did what she could to help the medics; unfortunately, most of that involved dragging screaming men and women to triage centers, or just holding someone's hand as they died.

This wasn't the first time since the invasion started that Shepard had watched her soldiers die. The only thing she could do was help keep morale up during and after attacks. Fortunately, she was able to do that well; executions via Commissar were as low as ever, and there were almost no reports of cowardice among the Crusade's forces. Of course, it was still early in the battle, but Shepard had heard stories of the Tyranids' ability to destroy the morale of soldiers long before the fighting started, so it was good to know that that hadn't happened this time.

Finally, the last of the wounded had been taken to the field hospitals, or had passed on. Shepard barely had time to wash some of the blood off her armor when Carolya caught her attention.

"Your Holiness," she said, pointing to the outer defenses, "the xenos come again."

Shepard nodded tiredly, then schooled her features into something more determined. "Well, let's show them how the Imperium treats uninvited guests, shall we?"

…

Helmin braced himself in his command throne as Iron Judge shuddered. The main cannon blew a hole in the sea of hissing Tyranids that washed against the outer defenses. That hole was made larger by the tanks of the First-Blooded, while the infantry mowed down the survivors. The tide fell back, but everyone knew that it would return within the hour.

"Vox, patch me through to the Magos," Helmin ordered calmly; he waited until his vox officer nodded, and then Helmin spoke again. "Xem-Beta, are there any strategic updates?"

"Nothing that would alter our current tactics," Xem-Beta said. "However, data suggests that the xenos will adapt within the next three attacks, with a forty-six percent chance that they will do so before the next. We must be vigilant."

Helmin smirked. "Vigilant is my middle name, my friend."

"I find that unlikely."

Helmin would have laughed, but he was distracted by a loud crash above his head. Reflexes, honed by years of combat, had him draw his pistol as the hatch of Iron Judge was ripped off. A huge claw plunged down and tore across Helmin's shoulder; his bolt pistol boomed, deafening in the enclosed space, and struck right into the Lictor's tentacle-covered face. A moment later, the tell-tale hiss of lasguns from a dozen directions punched through the Lictor's carapace, and the alien fell over, dead.

"Lord-Marshal!" Several Guardsmen from the Eleventh Vigilant Guard dragged the corpse away, and a sergeant appeared over the ruined hatch. "Are you injured, sir?"

Helmin winced at the pain in his side. "I wouldn't say no to a medicae."

"Understood, sir." The sergeant held out her hand, and helped him out of the Baneblade. "Let's get you out of there."

"Yes, let us hurry." Helmin managed a weak smile. "I'd hate to get even more blood on my chair."

…

Zandtus listened to the report and sighed. "At least the Lord-Marshal will survive his injury, but the xenos are being clever. They snuck in several assassin-beasts during the last assault, lying in wait until we relaxed, because that's what we've been doing between attacks."

Torlim paused as he wiped blood from his power sword. "The attacks were unsuccessful."

"But they caused havoc." Zandtus waved his hand at the dead Lictor; only minutes ago, it had torn apart three Necropolis Hawks in an effort to kill him, and had only failed because he and Torlim had overwhelmed it. "And the xenos are learning. This attack was a failure, but who's to say that the next one will be?"

"I understand," Torlim said, "but we are also more prepared. The Tyranids will not catch us unawares."

Zandtus watched as an Apothecary arrived to harvest the gene-seed of his fallen brothers. "I hope that will be enough."

…

Shepard scowled as another blade-limbed Tyranid tried to slice her to pieces. Instead, Liberator was hurled into its chest, and it feebly gasped for air; it managed one weak breath before Shepard stomped its head into paste.

"And now I've got bug on my boot," she muttered, and then staggered when a Tyranid siege-beast's bio-ordnance exploded nearby, and reached for her vox. "Riona, where's that counter-artillery?"

"One moment, Your Holiness." There was a distant boom, and shells screamed overhead; Shepard heard the explosions, but she could only imagine the spray of dirt and alien gore that followed. "Apologies for the delay, but our spotters were in danger of being overrun."

Not for the first time, Shepard cursed the adaptability of the Tyranids. Every strategy they employed would be countered at some point—static gun lines would be smashed from below by tunneling monsters, armor was swarmed by smaller organisms, and counterattacks were met with exploding creatures. The Astra Militarum had suffered horribly at the Tyranids, and it looked like it would get worse before it got better.

The Crusade's saving grace were its other elements. Whenever the defenses looked like they would break, the Order of the Iron Tears would step in, their faith bolstering flagging spirits and their weapons driving back the Tyranids. The Necropolis Hawks had become adept at countering the aliens' underground assaults, even entering the tunnels they made and taking the fight to them; the Lamenters had remained on the surface, engaging the Tyranids that maintained the hive mind with daring raids. The Deltic Scorpions had assisted the Lamenters by going after the lesser command-beasts and capitalizing on the confusion they caused. The Adeptus Mechanicus had assisted the other air forces, and the skies were now owned by the Imperium. Close air assaults by Pteraxii and Archaeopter aircraft punished any Tyranid that dared to show its face.

And then there were the Space Wolves. Shepard was used to allies who enjoyed fighting, but some of the Space Wolves were actually singing as they slaughtered their way through the hordes of aliens. When Shepard and the Alexian Guard returned from their latest foray, they found the Wolves standing on a small mountain of corpses, with a few taking a moment to wipe the worst of the gore from Bjorn.

"Away with you, whelps," the Dreadnought commanded, though he didn't dismiss the Iron Priest that reloaded his assault cannon. "The Saint is here, and I would speak with her."

Shepard glanced at the piles of bodies, a tangled mess of pale flesh and purple carapace; some of the Space Wolves were taking trophies in the form of claws or teeth, and there were plenty to go around.

"I'm surprised you have time to talk."

Bjorn laughed. "These creatures are nothing to us. I hope to face a Hive Tyrant and bring its head to the Fang."

"Well, I haven't seen one yet." Shepard took a moment to wipe away some alien flesh from her armor. "They're getting better at hiding their leaders, but if they don't break through our lines, they'll run out of biomass soon."

"The beasts will grow desperate, or they will implode under their own hunger."

"That's the hope, anyway, but there are still a few billion of them on the planet." Shepard grimaced. "These freaks scare me more than anything else I've fought so far."

"What of the forces of Chaos?" Bjorn asked. "Most mortals seem absolutely terrified of the Traitors."

Shepard smirked up at him. "Please, Chaos is afraid of me."

Bjorn's laughter was even louder than before. "If only all our foes could be so easily cowed by your might, young one."

"I'm not young," Shepard protested. "I'm a hundred years old!"

Bjorn leaned down so that his vision slit could almost meet Shepard's gaze. "I have lived in this shell for over ten thousand years, little girl. Half-life though it may be, everyone is younger than I am."

Shepard grinned. "Whatever you say, grandpa."

In the days since the war began, Shepard and Bjorn had developed a firm friendship, though their teasing suggested a thinly-veiled contempt. However, both saw the same weary stubbornness in the other, and they had quickly bonded.

Bjorn chuckled once again, and then stood up to his full height. "You should get some rest while you can, little Saint. The xenos will return soon."

Shepard turned back to the field of burning alien bodies. "And we'll be ready."

…

Phoros resisted the desire to put his fist through the tactical display. His frustration didn't stem from failure on the battlefield—if anything, the Lamenters had had more success in this campaign than any other in their history. Instead, he was frustrated with his inability to fight alongside his brothers; his recovery from his ascension to Primaris status meant that he wouldn't be fighting at his best. While that normally wouldn't have stopped him, Shepard had ordered that none in her Crusade would needlessly put their lives at risk, and the battle had yet to reach such a dire state.

"To temper your wrath until the moment of greatest need shows wisdom." Across the strategium, Blaise gave him a knowing look as she spoke.

"It is not wrath that unbalances my humors, but frustration." Phoros pointed to a series of marks on the display that bore the Lamenters' heraldry. "My place is out there, with my brothers, yet I am here, made an invalid by what should have given me strength."

"You are a Chapter Master," Blaise said. "Surely you have had to command from the rear before?"

Phoros sighed. "I have, but…" he trailed off, unable to voice his childish thoughts.

"This campaign was to be your chance to prove yourself to Saint Shepard," Blaise guessed. "Your Chapter is doing that on the field already, and I am certain that you will have your personal glory soon."

"I hope that you are right," Phoros said, even as he directed a demi-company of Lamenters to cover the withdrawal of several Militarum companies.

Blaise tapped her chin with a bionic finger as she studied the tactical display. "Even if it does not come today, or even in this campaign, I doubt that Saint Shepard will hold it against you."

"I was not aware you had become so close with her."

Blaise shrugged. "We are friends, and she is my Order's Matriarch. Even if neither was the case, she is not hard to read." Her gaze hardened. "The xenos attack again from the north."

"They likely have some kind of hive set up there." Phoros was already making the necessary arrangements. "My brothers will clear out the location, and then you can bring in some of your sisters to purge it in fire."

"Saint Shepard does like it when the aliens die in fire," Blaise commented idly. "Though if your men can break open their carapaces beforehand, it will speed up the process."

"It shall be done," Phoros said.

Blaise smiled. "Yes, I think you will have no trouble fitting in here."

…

Xem-Beta noted his emotional responses spike once more. It had happened eighteen percent more often since he and his forces had joined the Shepard Crusade. This particular set of emotions was recognized as 'anxiety' and 'anger'. The anger stemmed from the proximity of xenos bioforms to holy Mechanicus facilities, and the solution to removing the emotion was simple—the total eradication of said xenos. Not only would that appease the more bellicose machine spirits, but it would improve morale among the unenhanced; it didn't matter to him, but he understood how important such things were to those not blessed by the Omnissiah's logic.

The anxiety, on the other hand, was more difficult to pin down. Xem-Beta had not been afflicted by such a distraction in over two hundred years, not since he was fully inducted into the Cult Mechanicus. It didn't even make sense; as far as he could tell, the Crusade was holding the Tyranids back on all fronts, and rapidly reducing their stock of biomass. He allowed himself to feel pride that it was his contribution to the Crusade that had secured air dominance, and then tried to address the anxiety again.

Casualties were higher than they had ever been, that could have been the reason. Normally, Xem-Beta wouldn't have been bothered by such things; the Astra Militarum alone died in their millions every day. However, his association with Shepard had exposed him to human values that he had long thought purged. He had started to value human life, if only because it was more difficult to get anything productive out of a soldier when he was dead.

Had he started to care about the other elements of the Crusade? Perhaps not in the conventional manner, and certainly not in a way he could understand.

Eighty-two-point-nine percent of my ground forces on the planet remain unallocated, he calculated. Probability of Imperial victory increases by twenty-six percent if they are deployed. Increase of risk to manufactorum facilities… deemed acceptable.

"Input command," he intoned over the noosphere. "All Mechanicus forces are to assume purge protocols. Death to the xenos. Deus Mechanicus!"

…

Deep within the strategium of one of the other hives, Helmin deftly organized the bulk of the Crusade. He had come up with a masterful rotation of the Astra Militarum, so that no regiments were on the front lines for too long, and reserves could be deployed quickly in case of a sudden change in the battle.

"Excuse me, Lord-Marshal," an aide said, and handed him a stack of dataslates. "New reports have just come in; I've organized them by urgency ident-codes."

"Thank you," Helmin said absently, and began to read the first of the reports. "The damned xenos are getting smarter, it seems."

The aide, a waifish girl that practically swam in her uniform, looked worried. "Sir?"

"They're using packs of the larger beasts to draw fire, thus allowing the smaller creatures to advance with fewer casualties." Helmin shook his head. "If we focus on the lesser monsters, the larger ones will rampage through our lines; if we do the opposite, we risk whole sections of our defenses getting overwhelmed. And if we try to divide our fire between them, we may not do enough damage to either.

"And I can't just order the men to target the little ones anyway; those Carnifexes are too distracting." Helmin sighed and took a sip of water, wishing that it was something stronger. "I'll ask Lord Phoros or Lord Zandtus if they can divert hunter-killer teams to eliminate the beasts before they can form up with the majority of their forces."

The aide nodded, even though the words weren't directed at her; she then nearly jumped out of her boots when alarms blared in the strategium, and red lights on the display suddenly replaced a large section of what had only moments before been an unbroken block of green.

"Report!" Helmin roared, and a junior officer stood at attention.

"Sir! The Athonian Nineteenth is gone! We've lost all contact!"

"By the Throne, they were holding the eastern center! Where were the reserves—" Helmin froze, and his eyes grew wide with horror. "The reserves were being reorganized. The timing… the xenos knew when to strike!"

The red spot on the display continued to grow, and the strategium was filled with shouting voices.

"They're breaking through!" Helmin ran over to the Master of the Vox, heedless of the wound he reopened. "Move all available forces to the breach, and have the xenos contained! And get me Saint Shepard, damn you!"

…

Despite the initial panic, the Crusade reacted swiftly and efficiently. The Necropolis Hawks and the Space Wolves redeployed fastest, and the Lamenters were only minutes behind them; the Mechanicus had thousands of Pteraxii and hundreds of Archaeopters over the breach by the time they got there, and fifteen different Militarum regiments were called up to reinforce the disintegrating perimeter.

For her part, Shepard led Canoness Mallis' Preceptory, following as quickly as possible after the Space Marines. The Astartes had their aerial transports, but with so many craft in the air, the Sororitas elected to travel over land in a column of Rhinos, Immolators, and Exorcists. Shepard rode with Mallis in the command Rhino, reading reports as they came.

"It's bad out there," Shepard muttered. "Casualties in the breach are over eighty thousand, and will probably get worse."

Mallis read the same report. "This says that the attack began with an underground assault. How did the Athonians get overwhelmed so quickly? They are among the best tunnel-fighters in the Astra Militarum."

Shepard frowned. "It could be that that was the plan—wipe out the units best suited to keeping them from making a breach. They focused on the Tunnel Rats, and overwhelmed them."

"We have over two hundred thousand Militarum soldiers encircling the breach." Mallis gripped the hilt of her chainsword tightly. "Nearly three thousand Astartes, and a thousand of my sisters, with more on the way. The xenos will be crushed."

"Not if they break into the hive proper," Shepard argued. "We'll have a hell of a time digging them out if they make a true breakthrough."

The Rhino came to an abrupt halt. "Your Holiness," the driver called out, "we've arrived! There is fighting ahead!"

"Okay, everyone out!" Shepard practically ran through the hatch, Mallis and her Celestians right behind her; nearby, the Alexian Guard hopped off the Exorcists they'd been perched on. "Move in and contain that breach!"

"IT SHALL BE DONE!" the Preceptory shouted as one.

Even with the reinforcements pouring in, the Tyranids were causing havoc. Soldiers were dragged screaming down by scything talons and butchered, while others were torn apart by living ammunition. Others still were annihilated by concentrated psychic power as the psykers of the Hive Mind were unleashed. Enormous serpentine Trygons and Mawlocs rampaged through whole platoons, and were only brought down by concentrated anti-tank weapons.

With the arrival of the Crusade's best, morale and discipline began to return. Volleys of las-fire hissed as they burned the flesh and carapace of Tyranids as they poured out of the sinkhole they'd used to breach the line. Flamers roasted the aliens as they tried to push farther, while bolt weapons tore flesh and shattered armor.

Though the Imperial forces fought with the strength of zealots and the skill of veterans, Shepard quickly saw that something was wrong. The Tyranids were unusually coordinated, even for them. They moved with unnatural precision, and unbelievable ferocity; Shepard saw a Termagant tear a man's throat out with its teeth, despite bleeding to death after losing three of its legs.

Shepard looked for the weakest point in the Imperial line, and found it among a platoon of Guardsmen that had been cut off by a swarm of screeching Hormagaunts, led by a hulking Carnifex. If the Tyranids broke through there, they would eventually split the containment force in half.

Without another thought, she flew through the air, the Alexian Guard right behind her; they landed amidst the aliens, several of whom were crushed by the impact. One of the Hormagaunts was too close to swing Liberator, so Shepard opted to simply punch it; her enhanced strength tore the creature's head clean off. Around her, the Alexian Guard lashed out with their power swords, or fired point-blank with their bolt pistols.

The Guardsmen cheered, and then fired a withering volley that cut down many of the smaller Tyranids. Satisfied that the line was rallying, Shepard turned to face the Carnifex, which was covered in the blood of a squad it had just butchered. Before she could make a move, a trio of rockets slammed into the Carnifex; one blew a deep crater into its carapace, another tore off an enormous talon at the shoulder, and the third miraculously went inside the Carnifex's mouth. The front half of the monster exploded in a shower of flesh, blood and carapace. Shepard turned and saw the Exorcist responsible for the kill in the distance; she saluted with Liberator, even if the gunner couldn't see her.

This hadn't been the first time Shepard had seen the Sororitas pull off feats so unlikely that it wouldn't be out of the question to call them minor miracles. More than once, she'd seen lucky hits that had defeated otherwise impervious enemies, or flashes of light that had turned aside attacks that should have been lethal.

Shepard had once asked Blaise to explain the phenomenon to her; after a long speech about faith and belief, Shepard came to the conclusion that the Sororitas had somehow managed to weaponize their faith.

A roar from behind caused her to whirl around; out from the sinkhole emerged a true monster. It wasn't as large as the serpentine Trygons and Mawlocs, but it exuded an aura of malice that sent a shiver down her spine. It was more than twice as tall as a Primaris Marine, with thick muscle covered in living armor. A tail twitched behind it, its tip ending with a small pincer—though 'small' still meant it was as large as Shepard's torso. Each of its four arms ended with a massive living sword, the serrated edges crackling with psychic energies. Its head was topped with a bladed crest that was long as a human leg; underneath that crest was a pair of eyes that glowed with power and inhuman cunning. A long tongue ran over dagger-sized teeth, and then the mouth that held them opened wide to let out a terrifying scream.

It was more than just noise, Shepard realized; a squad of Intercessors clutched at their heads, and several collapsed in twitching heaps. This monster wasn't just physically powerful, it was also a psyker!

I was wondering when I'd get to fight a Hive Tyrant, Shepard thought grimly. Let's see how much backlash gets caused when I kill it.

The Tyranid leader-beast seemed to recognize Shepard as a priority target herself, and it charged at her at almost the same time she charged at it. It swung two of its swords in a wide horizontal arc, which she nimbly flipped over with the help of her wings. She hurled Liberator, but her weapon was deflected by another sword; the fourth sword only missed her head by the narrowest of margins.

Shepard hovered in the air, just out of the Hive Tyrant's reach. Okay, he's better than I thought, so—shit!

The Tyrant opened its mouth impossibly wide, and a glowing orb of energy shot out; if she hadn't thrown herself to the side at the last second, to say that it would have hurt would have been an understatement. Even if she could heal from terrible injuries, she had no desire to test her limits.

Shepard snapped off a shot with her bolt pistol, but the bolt only left a burr on the Tyrant's carapace. The monster responded by getting in close and stabbing with all four of its swords; again, Shepard used her wings to flip over its head, but this time, she got close enough to leave a bloody furrow on its head with Liberator.

Just before Shepard landed on the ground behind the Tyrant, its tail whipped around and smashed into her side. She was sent tumbling into the gore-streaked mud, but rolled to her feet and charged again.

"Okay, you son of a bitch, let's—"

Indescribable pain flooded her; it started with her stomach, and worked its way up to the roots of her hair, while everything from the waist down was completely numb. She collapsed to the ground, and Liberator fell from her grasp.

The Tyrant roared in front of her, but it sounded so far away. Why did it sound so far away, when it was right there? The sound of fighting had become muted as well. Was the battle over already? What was going on?

Shepard weakly turned her head to call for backup… and then saw her severed lower half several feet away.

"Oh…"

She blinked once, twice, and then everything went dark.

That happened.

That. Happened.

I killed off Shepard.

But the fight isn't over.

Yes, I'm aware that that was the Swarmlord, but Shepard doesn't know that. As far as she was aware, that was just a Hive Tyrant.

Speaking of Shepard, I have a challenge for anyone who actually plays 40K. I want to see if you can build a Shepard for the tabletop. Rules-wise, she would just be played as Celestine. In my head, I would start with the Celestine model, but remove the doves and clip off the blade and guard of her sword. Replace it with the Corvus hammer from the Dark Angels Black Knight set (maybe sand down the spike to turn it into a blade). Either paint her wings to look like they're made of light, or replace them entirely with wings from a Stormcast Eternals kit. Also remove the giant halo. You could also use some tiny dots of Green Stuff to represent the blackstone she has on her armor. Paint her hair that classic fem!Shep red, her armor silver, with that classic Shepard stripe on her right arm. If you can come up with a better version, I'd love to hear about it.

You could also just take that idea, cut her in half, and put her at the feet of a Swarmlord model. Apply lots of Blood For the Blood God.

Too soon?

As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can get it as a PDF on my site (link in my profile), or in eBook and physical format on Amazon. Seriously, it's one of my only sources of income, and I need the help. I can't work on much of anything else, because I'm going to be taking my dog to cancer treatments every day for the next few weeks.

You can also support me on P-atreon (link in my profile). The more you donate, the more rewards you get, including a free copy of my book if you support at the top tier! One day, I'd love to earn enough to afford a place to live, where I can do nothing but write for you guys every day.

Thanks to the following people, who are helping me towards my dream:

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Next Chapter: The Crusade musters to avenge its fallen heroine. Lords of the Crusade plan to cut the head off the beast. The soul of the Saint wanders through the void…

Stay safe out there!

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