Chapter 63: What Lurks Beyond the Rift
The aftermath was nothing short of routine. The next battle was merely cleanup—tedious, unglamorous, and hardly worth mentioning.
When a newly spawned Norn Queen emerged from the shattered remnants of the swarm fleet, she inherited little more than a skeleton crew. The entire hive force had been reduced to a dozen or so bio-ships. Worse still, their supply of biomass was critically low. Most of their airdrop organisms had been annihilated, and there wasn't enough living matter left to launch a meaningful assault—certainly not one on the scale required to retake Godzilla Planet.
Even the neighboring Ork world, once a thriving cesspool of green-skinned lunacy, had been stripped bare. The Orks had eaten nearly everything edible—and a few things that weren't. With nowhere left to feed, the hive fleet had no choice but to withdraw. The new Norn Queen gave the order: retreat to the void, find new prey, and survive.
[Mission Complete: +200 Points]
[Current Total: 800 Points]
"Tch. Still not enough."
Godzilla grunted as he reviewed his system menu. Just 200 points shy of the fabled 1,000-point milestone—the cost required to unlock the "100-Meter-Class Form." A form powerful enough to swat an Emperor-class Titan like a fly.
He chuckled at the thought. "Though… now that I think about it, are Emperor Titans even 100 meters tall?"
Honestly, he wasn't sure. The scale of Warhammer tech was so exaggerated it bordered on myth. Titans weren't built anymore—not in the 41st Millennium, anyway. Maybe they had been in the distant past, but no one alive remembered the Forge Worlds at their prime.
"Games Workshop doesn't even trust its own lore at this point," he muttered. Guilliman was resurrected, the Lion had returned—hell, maybe one day they'd bring back Sanguinius too.
And when that happened—when the three cornerstone Primarchs stood together again—the Imperium would finally reclaim its forgotten glory. The Second Great Crusade would begin, with the stars burning bright under the banners of the resurrected Emperor's sons.
But that was still far off.
Godzilla smirked.
"Doesn't matter. I've got my own ride now. Hell, I'm not afraid to fight Cadia head-on."
[Then let's go. The Eye of Terror awaits.]
"Wait—hold on. You're serious?"
[Why pretend otherwise? You've reached that level.]
"…I mean, fair point."
Cadia was doomed no matter what. Abaddon had already set his sights on the fortress world, and he wouldn't rest until he buried it. The Blackstone Fortress was coming, and once it fell, even Godzilla wouldn't survive the impact. No being, no matter how monstrous, could tank a moon-sized WMD to the face.
"Still… if I bail before the big rock lands, I should be fine."
[Correct. But before that, target Abaddon's Chaos Titans and their daemonic allies. If Imperial forces fire on you, treat them as hostile.]
"Yeah, yeah. I know the drill."
It wasn't even a moral dilemma anymore. Godzilla had been born in the 2K era, when nuclear dinosaurs were just metaphors and movie monsters. He had no allegiance to the Imperium of Man—especially not the fanatical, crumbling mess of 40K. If anything, the humanity of 30K had been more rational, more principled. But that was ancient history now.
"So, how long until the Cadia campaign kicks off?"
[A few months. No rush.]
"Figures. It's not like there are any satellites around Cadia to track movements anyway. Dammit, what am I even saying…"
Cadia stood alone—no moons, no neighboring planets. Just one fortress world suspended in the black tide of the Great Rift, surrounded by violent warp storms on every side. It was a miracle anything made it in or out at all. And when the fighting began, there'd be no room for second chances.
[One more thing. A one-way portal from the Realm of Slaanesh is about to open near your location. Be advised.]
"…Wait, what? A one-way portal? To Slaanesh?"
Godzilla blinked. He hadn't even fought Slaanesh yet. Why would the Dark Prince of Excess suddenly punch a one-way warp tunnel into his territory?
Before he could ponder it further, the system guided him to the far edge of Godzilla Planet. Isis was already there, waiting—flanked by a handful of brainwashed Eldar and a small detachment of temple guards. Oddly enough, she wasn't prepared for battle.
She was waiting.
Then, without warning, the air shimmered, and a tear opened in the fabric of reality—a thin, flickering warp portal barely stable enough to hold itself together. It wouldn't last ten minutes. It was the cheapest, most inefficient summoning possible—no Greater Daemons, no massive hordes. Just a trickle.
But what came through was even more baffling.
A cluster of Slaaneshi Daemonettes and Handmaidens stumbled out of the gate—running, not charging. These weren't invaders. They were refugees.
Before Godzilla could step forward, a massive claw lashed out from inside the portal and seized the last Daemonette. She screamed in panic, her serpentine tongue flicking wildly as she clawed at the grasping hand.
With a sickening crack, the claw squeezed—and the daemon was reduced to a fine pink mist.
Then the claw retreated… and from the depths of the gate, a deep, guttural roar echoed outward.
Godzilla's own roar.
"…Wait. That's my voice?"
He looked again, realizing what had happened.
"Don't tell me there's a Godzilla in the Warp."
[Bingo.]
"You mean—Slaanesh opened a portal away from Godzilla?"
[Correct. The Slaanesh Godzilla is so terrifying that even daemons are fleeing to the Materium.]
Godzilla stared at the sealed portal.
"Okay, that guy's awesome. I want his job."
He wasn't sure what Slaanesh had done to provoke his counterpart, but he didn't envy the Prince of Excess. A Godzilla that ruled a realm of daemons? That was less a kaiju and more a god.
Like the Emperor, really. Deified through myth, worshiped through fear. But where the Emperor wielded faith and fire, Godzilla obeyed the brutal, inescapable laws of physics.
"Star God," he muttered. "I could get used to that."
But the daemons hadn't escaped unscathed.
Before they could take a breath, Isis moved in—her stride elegant, lethal, and utterly mesmerizing. She didn't look angry. She looked entertained.
"I've been waiting," she purred, stepping past her guards. Her eyes glinted with cruel anticipation.
The Eldar followed behind, weapons drawn. Even the brainwashed ones knew better than to let a Slaanesh daemon live. Reconciliation between the Aeldari and their worst enemy was impossible.
The daemons cowered, eyes filled with confusion and dread.
"Don't kill them all," Isis commanded, flicking her fingers. "I want them alive. Limbs optional."
The Eldar obliged with savage joy. Scimitars flashed, blood sprayed, and Slaaneshi shrieks echoed as arms and legs were severed. For the Eldar, this was justice. For Slaanesh, it was torment.
And the irony was exquisite.
The daemons could see the Eldar's souls—radiant, succulent, so very purple with pleasure and rage. But thanks to the Soul Stones, Slaanesh couldn't touch them. Could only watch.
It was agony.
Within minutes, every daemon was either captured or crippled, unable to flee.
Isis smiled, victorious.
Her revenge was complete.
.
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