Baal Secundus.
Burning wreckage streaked across the sky like black lines, metal shards and chunks of flesh crashing onto the plains for hundreds of kilometers.
Tyranid flying swarms churned the skies, layer upon layer forming black clouds.
Yet they were waning.
An overwhelming number of Ork Flyboy Dakkajets, Burna Bombas, and Deffkoptas were slashing through the flying Tyranids and spores in brutal dogfights—or simply crashing into them for mutual destruction.
Compared to the bio-instinct-driven Tyranids, these Orks seemed even less afraid of death.
Or rather, they didn't even comprehend what death meant.
To the Ork Boyz, this was pure WAAAGH!, pure fun. Their only concern was coming up with even more explosive stunts.
Even dying for it was worth it.
Of course, these Orks did fear one thing: being eaten by Da Boss.
Now, Saint Orktillery Broadcast Towers were blasting "WAAAGH, WAAAGH, WAAAGH—" across the entire planet, a holy chant that basically translated to:
"Kill or be eaten slowly by the cunning and brutal Da Boss!"
Dudududu—!
With excited roars, a squadron of Blitz Bombaz dove down, attempting to bomb the Tyranid ground forces.
BOOM!
Unfortunately, their bombing altitude wasn't calibrated properly, and they smashed straight into the ground. A one-time bombing run. Planes and pilots, both gone.
But they scored heavy kills in the process.
The chain of massive explosions killed a Hive Tyrant, and more Tyranids descended into chaos due to losing their synapse controller.
On the plains…
Kill Krushas, Morkanauts, and other massive Ork walkers rampaged through the Tyranid swarms, initiating a brutal massacre.
Heavily armored Ork Boyz fought ferociously, beating Tyranid creatures until they screamed in agony.
With abundant resources supplied by Da Boss, these savage and mighty Orks had become pure war machines.
Even more terrifying…
They were endless in number.
The combination of raw individual strength and sheer numbers allowed the Orks to suppress the Tyranids on the battlefield.
Their tactics were simple and direct—surround the bugs, smash the bugs!
"Wretched inferior beasts!"
The Hive Mind of Leviathan, through the eyes of a mutated Hive Tyrant, surveyed the battlefield.
It realized its swarm was struggling to handle the Orks.
These Orks seemed even more dangerous and troublesome than the ones encountered before.
In order to take this planet…
The Hive Mind decided to repeat an old tactic: set a trap and eliminate the Ork Warboss to plunge the army into disarray.
It had already locked onto the Ork leader Steeltoof, watching him charge forward, step by step, into its death trap.
That Ork Boss would soon meet his doom.
The swarm would lure away his bodyguards and isolate him, and the twenty-plus Lictors specially bred to kill Orks would tear him apart!
After its recent failures, the ancient Hive Mind was seething with rage—it craved a slaughter to soothe itself.
The Tyranid swarm would crush this Ork force and devour their biomass to recover from its earlier losses.
"Faster. Just a bit more. The mouths of the swarm hunger!"
The Hive Mind trembled with anticipation. Just ten more meters, and Steeltoof would be inside the trap—drenched in acid and cloaked in Ork spore fog.
This tactic had been tested and proven.
But then…
Just as Steeltoof was about to step into the acid-laced spore mist, he suddenly stopped.
The Hive Mind felt a flicker of unease: "Did he… realize it was a trap? No way…"
But reality confirmed its worst fears.
The trap had been discovered.
The Ork pulled out a walkie-talkie-like device and barked something into it. Moments later, a massive wave of Ork air and ground strikes hit the area.
The meticulously prepared Tyranid trap was obliterated, and the specially-bred Lictors perished in the blasts.
"Impossible! How could these inferior beasts detect my trap?"
The Hive Mind was in disbelief.
Yes, the trap was prepared hastily, but it still bore the mark of its cunning—there was no way a bunch of Orks could see through it.
Especially since in past wars against the Orks, this trap had worked dozens, even hundreds of times.
"I figured these clumsy traps were for brainless gits. You think this kinda dumb trick would fool us?"
A sharp and oddly smug voice rang out—captured by Tyranid bio-listening spores.
The Hive Mind burned with rage, trying to identify the one who dared mock the Great Devourer.
It assumed a more intelligent species had assisted the Orks.
But soon, it located the source of the voice—it was… an actual Ork?!
More precisely, this was the Steeltoof Tribe's Chief Advisor, Ironwrench—top graduate of the Ork Academy, famed junk collector, and self-proclaimed Chief Student of Da Boss.
(That last title, of course, was self-declared. Eden had never acknowledged it.)
Ironwrench, as usual, wore a wrinkled tuxedo, mechanical monocle gleaming, exuding an air of intellectual smugness.
Behind him trailed several well-behaved, nerdy-looking Orks—all appearing quite clever.
These were Rippa's handpicked "Ork Smarts"—each one educated at Loyal Sons Academy, cultured and dangerous.
Some typed away feverishly, recording Ironwrench's insights; others pored over maps or relayed communications.
Clearly—
This was an Ork tactical command center.
And this utterly shocked the Hive Mind. What it saw defied all its expectations and understanding.
These Orks… were evolving faster than the Tyranids?
A hint of unease stirred within the ancient intellect. Orks were already powerful. Now, with intelligence?
How could Tyranids ever defeat them?
Ironwrench stared at a vague, fuzzy holomap and mocked:
"This trap's gotta be laid by a right dumb git. Empty-headed, too simple.
We Orks ain't stupid. We saw right through it—especially someone as cunning and sneaky as me!"
The other Ork Smarts nodded in agreement, loudly ridiculing the "big dumb git" who set the trap.
The Hive Mind of Leviathan, upon hearing this ridicule from Orks of all creatures, boiled with fury—feeling as if it had just endured the most vicious insult in the galaxy.
After all, everyone knew Orks were the dumbest race in the galaxy.
And yet now—
They were calling it dumb? Brainless?!
This was an affront to the ancient wisdom of the Great Devourer!
It felt like its own brain matter was boiling.
Since its creation by the Hive Mind of the Great Devourer and its march into the galaxy, it had consumed countless sapient species, devoured innumerable worlds and lives.
Never had it suffered such disgrace.
First, its cunning was crushed by savage beasts.
Then, it was mocked by green-skinned animals.
The Hive Mind could no longer contain its fury.
It deployed every last Lictor trained to eliminate Orks, commanding them to decapitate the Ork command center.
Not just out of rage—eliminating the Ork leadership would cripple their forces.
A swift path to ending the war.
It believed the Lictors could easily eliminate the weak Ork minds.
The assassins crept through the shadows, hugging the ground as they infiltrated the area with the help of Raveners.
But the moment the first blade struck—
It hit a force field.
Human-made defense systems protected the Ork command!
"Knew those dumb bugz would try sumfin sneaky…"
Ironwrench straightened his wrinkled tux, mimicking Da Boss's calm swagger under fire:
"We Orks don't eat grass—we got our bashas and choppas ready fer ya!"
In truth—
He had studied numerous Tyranid ambush cases during his time at Ork Academy and had always planned for an assassination attempt.
The self-obsessed Ork was certain the bugs would target him—after all, he was the cunning brain of Steeltoof's horde!
The defenses bought time for the Ork guards to charge in and slam into the Tyranid assassins.
And just as the Lictors tried to bypass the Ork guards and kill the brains—
They were ambushed.
Cloaked mechanical suits uncloaked in the shadows, unleashing particle beams that punched through Tyranid chitin.
The Orks had also deployed assassins—T'au stealth suits!
The Hive Mind, having fought the T'au before, recognized the stealth team's tech instantly.
Sensing disaster, it ordered an immediate retreat.
Too late.
The precious Lictors were all slain by the combined might of Ork guards and T'au stealth units.
"Cunning, filthy beasts!"
The last Lictor let out a psychic shriek, vibrating the air—proof of the Hive Mind's immense rage.
Somehow, the races of the galaxy were uniting to fight the Tyranids.
This was a deeply dangerous development.
It would bring ever more resistance against the Hive Fleet's galactic tendrils.
"Wait… did that bug just talk? Did it praise me?
Maybe they're just as smart as us Orks, eh?"
Ironwrench blinked, puzzled.
Thud—
The last Lictor dropped dead, eyes wide open in disbelief.
On the plains…
The Tyranid swarm had fallen into deeper disarray, surrounded and beaten by the Orks, with no sign of recovery in sight.
Even more critically—
Even if the Hive Mind of Leviathan had succeeded in assassinating the Ork Warboss or their advisor, it still wouldn't have caused the collapse of the Steeltoof Tribe or created any opportunity for divide-and-conquer tactics.
Because behind the Steeltoof Tribe stood only one true controller—Da Boss.
As long as Eden remained, these Orks would never splinter.
Gradually, the Hive Fleet began reducing the number of Tyranid spores being deployed onto Baal Secundus. The Tyranid swarm was retreating.
According to the Hive Mind's original plan—
The swarm was to first consume Baal Secundus and Baal Primus, establishing spawning bases before launching a steady assault on Baal itself.
But it never expected such powerful resistance from both worlds. The daemon beasts and the Ork beasts had struck the Tyranids with overwhelming force.
After careful calculations—
The Hive Mind determined that defeating these Ork beasts would require too high a cost—simply not worth it.
So, it temporarily abandoned the assault on Baal Secundus, shifting its focus to Baal itself, hoping to break through there.
There, it could still acquire new biomass.
At present, the Hive Fleet retained nearly half its total strength. That should be more than sufficient to conquer the red world of Baal, populated heavily by humans.
The Hive Mind revised its strategy—launching a full-scale assault on Baal!
The daemon and Ork beasts were too troublesome… Surely the weak humans wouldn't be so hard to crush?
In truth—
The Hive Mind harbored a hint of concern. But the unbearable hunger, and the promise of rich biomass on Baal, compelled it forward.
The swarm had to replenish its biomass, or everything would grind to a halt!
Thus, Leviathan gathered all its main tendrils into one direction, surging toward Baal in the most ferocious assault yet...
...
Temporary Savior's Sanctuary.
Suspended in midair, a spherical holographic starmap glowed softly.
This map was synchronized with the master command room and was continuously updating with the latest status of the Baal system.
Eden rose from his seat, gazing up at the flickering lights on the star chart.
Compared to earlier, over half the red dots representing Leviathan Hive Fleet had vanished—Baal's allied forces and the Khorne Daemons had struck the Tyranids with devastating power.
Thanks to Ka'Bandha's assistance, the Baal alliance achieved results several times greater than anticipated—a literal blood profit.
As expected, Eden had underestimated the power of that Exalted Bloodthirster.
According to the latest reports—
Leviathan had abandoned the assault on Baal Secundus and was now rallying its swarm to launch an all-out attack on Baal.
In response, the War Ministry reassessed the Savior forces' current military strength to adapt to this new stage of war.
Based on the latest evaluations—the Savior's forces now outmatched Leviathan.
To minimize casualties, Eden's territories had constructed layer upon layer of fortifications on Baal, reinforced with tanks and artillery.
They were armed to the teeth.
It was a necessary measure.
After all, fighting wars like the Imperium—with pyrrhic victories and staggering losses—wasn't true victory in Eden's eyes.
To him, barely surviving the onslaught didn't count as triumph; it was merely enduring under duress.
An act of desperation.
From the beginning, the War Ministry had followed Eden's military doctrine:
Always assume the worst-case scenario, deploy forces far exceeding the enemy's, and support them with the most advanced technologies to secure the best results.
Under this doctrine—
If the Savior's military couldn't achieve at least a 3-to-1 kill ratio, it was considered a failure—too embarrassing to even mention.
With superior manpower and equipment, pulling off bad results meant you might as well retire on the spot.
Of course, this battle was a little different.
The Baal campaign involved a nearly unstoppable Leviathan fleet—an apocalyptic-tier battlefield.
Thus, the War Ministry treated it with even more caution.
They planned for the worst, organized the entire warzone accordingly, and ensured that even with no reinforcements, the Savior's forces could still secure victory.
In other words—
The Savior's forces roughly matched or slightly exceeded the Leviathan fleet in raw power.
And that didn't even include the 20,000 Adeptus Astartes from supporting Chapters, or the billions of Imperial Guard soldiers arriving as reinforcements.
Now, with Leviathan's forces halved and starving—and Baal's alliance still at full strength—the strategic advantage was obvious.
The Tyranids loved using swarm tactics and attrition warfare, right?
Then let's fight a war of attrition!
As long as they proceeded step by step, carefully grinding the Tyranids down while cutting off their retreat—Leviathan would be dead meat!
Using bunkers and concentrated artillery clusters to wage attrition was also the safest approach.
"We may have the upper hand, but we still can't be careless."
Eden looked at the projected image of Tarko, who was reporting the latest updates.
"Stay alert for Leviathan's movements. Focus defenses on the core sectors. Watch out for Tyranid decapitation tactics."
Even though they were in a winning position, this was no time to pop champagne.
Who knew if the Tyranids had one last trick up their sleeve?
Especially given how quickly they evolved and how often they used assassins and traps. If they destroyed the Savior's command structure, it could all unravel in an instant.
Extreme caution was mandatory.
Tarko saluted respectfully:
"As you wish. We'll further reinforce core defenses and ensure results that make you proud!"
...
Baal Surface Warzone – Sector Two.
Temporary Mess Hall.
The kitchen staff bustled nonstop, as savory aromas from sizzling woks wafted throughout the camp.
Drenin and his bunkmates from Dorm 1313 were having a hearty meal.
After receiving their sacred battle armor, they'd been assigned together—along with three other dorms—to form a 12-man fireteam.
Actually, that wasn't mere coincidence.
The War Ministry had considered such personnel pairings during dorm assignments from the beginning.
A grizzled Cadian veteran shoveled food into his mouth, visibly uneasy. He looked around and asked:
"Guys… is this really an apocalyptic-tier battlefield?"
He had expected that after receiving his lavish "farewell meal" aboard the transport ship, he'd be hurled straight into a brutal meatgrinder—
—sacrificing his life for the Emperor.
But upon arrival?
Conditions weren't just good—they had improved.
Aside from more artillery noise and the occasional starship wreckage streaking across the sky like a meteor—he hadn't even fought more than a handful of Tyranids.
In truth—
The Tyranids had been attacking sporadically, but they never broke through the first defense line. Only a few stragglers had ever reached the second.
"Yeah…"
A boisterous Catachan brute chimed in:
"We've been here for days and haven't even seen a proper fight. These meals are too good—it's making me anxious!"
These past days felt more like shift work.
They reported for duty, rotated shifts, ate on time, and rested regularly.
Sometimes a few stray bugs would show up—just enough to spice things up.
The only real change was that they'd all gained weight.
When his comrades asked, the Krieg Guardsman remained silent. He had no answer.
After all, the last apocalypse-tier war he fought was underground—wading through nuclear-contaminated sewage, the corpses of friend and foe choking every corridor.
His entire regiment had died.
He alone had survived.
Drenin sighed deeply:
"Just eat while you can. Maybe the real war hasn't started yet… We might not live long enough to enjoy meals like this again."
He had a gut feeling that the true storm hadn't yet begun—and that his chances of surviving it were slim.
"Yeah, you've got a point, we—"
Before the Cadian veteran could finish, alarms blared throughout the mess hall.
Not just here—
Across the entire surface warzone.
(End of Chapter)
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