Chapter 64: Flesh, Steel, and the Shadow of Cadia
What Isis did next was, in every way, consistent with the brutal traditions of the 41st Millennium.
Cruelty was not a sin in this galaxy. It was routine. A necessity. A tool.
Even the Imperium and the ancient, arrogant Eldar did not shy away from binding daemons in chains, torturing them, and parading them as trophies—grisly reminders of victories won over the horrors of the Warp. That even the daemons themselves whispered about Isis's methods was less a condemnation and more a badge of honor in the eyes of the galaxy.
This was Warhammer 40K. Kindness got you killed.
"I won't let you die too early," Isis said coolly, gazing through the energy bars of a reinforced cage. A caged Daemonette glared back with baleful, hate-filled eyes.
"You'll experience pain in the real universe. The kind your Prince of Excess could never truly imagine."
One of the caged Slaaneshi daemons lay at her feet, neck twisted in such a perfectly calibrated angle that even a Khorne Berserker might have applauded the technique. Isis didn't blink.
She had time. Time to repay Slaanesh for what it had done to her. Time to unmake its gifts, to break its toys, and remind it that even gods could suffer. Godzilla's crusade wasn't ready to begin yet, and Isis never wasted time.
We won't linger on her methods. The readers of this tale need not know the full depths of Warhammer cruelty.
Instead, we turn back to Godzilla, who had other concerns.
Cadia awaited. But before that, there was preparation to be done.
First, the Genesis.
As formidable as the battleship was, it wasn't… well, it wasn't Godzilla enough. That, at least, was the new term the King of Monsters had coined to describe his aesthetic preferences.
It took thirty minutes to walk a single lap around the Genesis, a fact Godzilla didn't mind. What bothered him was that the ship, massive and revered though it was, lacked the raw power he desired.
"I want a bigger, stronger, more Godzilla-like ship," he muttered, stomping the ground for emphasis.
Thankfully, he didn't have to do it himself.
Katata, ever the pragmatic high priestess of lizard-kind, had already begun the retrofitting process. With an army of new-gen Lizardmen engineers and technopriests in tow, she began augmenting the Genesis with local biomechanical materials—Godzilla-imbued flora and fauna, engineered for energy conduction and armor resilience.
The Adeptus Mechanicus, of course, hated every moment of it.
"Oh, Omnissiah, spare your servant this desecration!" one tech-priest wailed as Lizardmen smeared organic gel across the plasma core.
"Do not attach beast flesh to sacred machine nodes!" another shrieked, clutching a cogitator as if it were a holy relic.
"That moss is growing inside the cogwork! Inside! Who's going to purge the circuits?!"
Captain Wade's crew had to physically restrain the tech-priests before they launched a holy war against Katata. Not that they'd win. For all her seemingly delicate features, Katata could lift ten-ton engine components with one hand—and if it came to it, snap a tech-priest like a twig.
"Calm down," one of the crewmen said, trying to reason with the frothing red-robed priests. "We're subordinates now. This ship belongs to them."
"This is blasphemy!" a Mechanicus adept shouted, venting steam from his mask. "Look what they've done! This glorious vessel of the Omnissiah, now defiled with… plants! This is a violation of every tenet in the Lex Mechanicus!"
Katata stepped forward, wiping bio-paste off her hand. "Your transformation efficiency is too low."
That silenced them.
The words hit like a plasma shell.
Low? Low?! Did this alien dare accuse the Mechanicum—blessed stewards of ancient knowledge—of inefficiency?
Even the Emperor himself might have chuckled.
"If the Emperor had a choice, he wouldn't have chosen the Mechanicum," Godzilla muttered to himself from a nearby platform. "But in the 30K era, you worked with what you had."
Katata continued unfazed. "This section improves energy flow. This material stores more power. That one boosts burst output. All of it harvested and bred for specific functions."
The tech-priests didn't believe her. Of course not.
"Do you dare to challenge us in a test of efficiency?" one finally demanded.
"I don't have the time," Katata replied simply. "My God's voice echoes with the Great Plan. He will march across the stars, to the Eye of Darkness itself."
"You mean the Eye of—" Captain Wade began.
"—Terror," she finished.
The name alone made even the most hardened Imperial veterans pause. The Eye of Terror—the bleeding wound in realspace. A roiling storm of daemons, madness, and heresy.
"So… Cadia?" Wade asked quietly.
"I only know that I must follow him," Katata replied, looking skyward. "My god moves, and I must move with him."
For a long moment, the bridge of the Genesis fell silent.
Then Captain Wade stepped forward. "Tech-priests. Enough."
"But Captain—!"
"No more protests. If what she says is true, this is our chance—our chance—to serve the Emperor again. To reclaim lost honor."
"…Loyalty," murmured one of the tech-priests, and the others followed.
Only a few dared stay behind, watching with reserved curiosity as the Lizardmen continued their work.
And it was working.
The retrofit process moved rapidly. With the help of tens of thousands of Imperial crewmen and a sea of tireless Lizardmen, the Genesis evolved daily. One upgrade after another. A small change here, a massive overhaul there.
The Navigator's sanctuary became a temple—a shrine to the ancient Lizardman priest, whose spirit now slept within, dreaming of celestial conquests.
Across the ship, conduits infused with Godzilla-borne biomatter enhanced energy transmission. The Mechanicus—despite themselves—were forced to admit the results were real. Binary readouts confirmed improved plasma stability. Energy spikes that once overloaded loyalist plasma cannons were now fully contained.
The Genesis could finally fire without fear of self-destruction.
And at the bow, the ship's ramming angle was re-forged—now resembling the unmistakable horned snout of Godzilla himself. From a distance, it looked almost Orkish in its brutal design. Katata had planned to mount captured Ork turrets too, but there simply wasn't enough time.
Because time was running out.
The stars turned, and months passed in the blink of an eye.
Across the galaxy, a shadow stirred.
[BATTLE OF CADIA]
The Black Crusade had begun.
Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos, led the Legions against the fortress world of Cadia—the Imperium's bulwark at the edge of the Eye of Terror. It would be the battle that ended an age.
And in that moment, the long-dormant fires of the Imperium began to stir.
Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion, Regent of the Empire, stirred from his stasis. For the first time in ten thousand years, the Imperium's greatest living son would walk again.
But Cadia would not fall alone.
Godzilla would be there.
The Imperium did not yet know of him. His previous appearance alongside the Ultramarines was buried in classified datafiles—witnessed by too few to matter.
But this time…
This time the entire Imperium would see him.
From the dirt farmers of distant agri-worlds to the High Lords of Terra themselves.
They would know.
"I think it's time," Godzilla said, eyes glowing like molten suns.
[Then let's go. Cadia awaits.]
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