Chapter 68:
BOOOOOMMMMM———!!!
The cruiser detonated in orbit, a colossal explosion blooming into a brilliant display of fire and light, scattering thousands of tons of burning wreckage across the void like metal confetti. Shattered fragments rained down from the heavens, turning into fiery meteorites as they plunged toward the prison world below.
Among them fell Godzilla.
He did not die.
But—
'I CAN'T FLY!!!'
The King of Monsters roared in frustration, flailing his massive claws through empty space. There was nothing to grab onto. No footholds, no ledges, no escape. He could only watch as gravity dragged his hulking form toward the planet below.
From orbit, the Slaaneshi fleet watched in awe as the titanic beast broke through the atmosphere, carving a trail of white-hot sparks with his body alone. He struck the upper atmosphere like a hammer against a bell, igniting streaks of flame around him as he plummeted toward the surface.
The problem was simple, and it had no immediate solution.
Godzilla couldn't fly.
But that was fine.
Isis wasn't in a hurry.
They were going to land on the prison world anyway.
On the surface of the planet, deep within its corrupted bastions, Lucius the Eternal was indulging in his usual madness.
The infamous champion of Slaanesh was leading an entire warband of Noise Marines and daemons in a twisted festival of torture and excess. Before launching the Black Crusade, they had chosen this planet to host a grand sacrificial banquet—a "gift" to the Dark Prince of Pleasure.
This was no ordinary prison world anymore.
Every man, woman, and child—whether criminal, jailer, or accidental bystander—was now a screaming participant in a living nightmare.
Purple mist drifted through the air like perfume. Ecstatic cries echoed through the corridors. Prisoners and guards alike writhed in waves of self-inflicted agony and pleasure, driven mad by sonic weapons and Slaaneshi drugs.
But it wouldn't last.
Soon, even this overwhelming pleasure would dull. The excess would breed numbness. And then... they'd crave more. More pain. More stimulation. More ecstasy. More madness.
Spikes. Claws. Whips. Burning metal and screaming flesh.
And then… still more.
But before the next step of damnation could begin, the skies screamed.
CRASH!!!
Godzilla slammed into the planet with enough force to flatten a mountain. Dust and fire burst outward in all directions, shaking the surface like an earthquake. Even for him, the impact stung.
Smoke curled skyward as the dust settled.
Godzilla slowly stood, brushing shards of scorched debris off his scales.
'Landed.'
He stretched his neck and looked toward the distant structures. The livable zones on the planet were few—most of the surface was wasteland. But the prison complex below was exactly where he needed to go.
'...Hey, why hasn't the system given me a quest yet?'
[No need to rush. The monster units haven't deployed yet.]
'Tch. Fine. Just make sure I still get the mission rewards.'
Without further complaint, Godzilla began moving across the scorched landscape, his footsteps shaking the earth beneath him.
This prison world, though isolated, wasn't unguarded.
A covert Imperial strike force had already infiltrated the planet.
Their goal was simple: overload the planet's core energy system and destroy the prison from the inside.
A suicide mission, but one they were determined to carry out.
The force was a rare collaboration of elite elements: Space Marines from the Space Wolves, Howling Griffons, and Iron Knights chapters; Astra Militarum shock troops, Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Inquisitorial agents, and even a few operatives from the Death Cult—Imperial assassins bred and trained to kill anything that breathed.
They had just landed on the surface and begun breaching the underground access points to the prison complex, which was buried deep beneath the surface like a hive city's sub-spire.
"Status report," barked a Space Wolf Sergeant.
"We estimate the gate will be open in three minutes, twenty-six seconds," replied the Tech-Priest, its voice half-human, half-machine, as binary code flickered across its cogitator visor.
Sparks flew as the gate's massive locks rotated with agonizing slowness.
But before the gate could fully open, the sky flared.
The Genesis, the battleship carrying Isis and the lizardmen, descended through the atmosphere, accompanied by fragments of the destroyed Chaos cruiser. The impact sites weren't far from the Imperial infiltration team.
"By the Emperor—have the traitors found us?" one Guardsman cried.
"No," a Tech-Priest said after scanning the ship's signature. "That vessel is not tainted. I detect no warp signature. It's not of the Dark Mechanicum."
"Then… what is it?" asked the Inquisitor.
"Unknown. I volunteer to investigate," said a voice, sharp and cold.
A Death Cult assassin stepped forward—female, clad in blood-red and black skin-tight armor, her face hidden behind a spiked mask. Blades gleamed at her wrists. Her aura was like a drawn knife.
Death Cults were infamous. Many among them had once walked the edge of heresy, their minds barely clinging to sanity after exposure to Chaos. Most were executed. But a few, through sheer will or divine providence, remained loyal to the God-Emperor—and honed their heretical techniques into tools of vengeance.
And this one had no implants. Rare. Deadly.
The Genesis touched down near the access gate. Massive, but not nimble, it wouldn't be lifting off again soon.
Deployment was swift.
Isis and the lizardmen disembarked first, a reptilian host bristling with exotic weapons and scaled warbeasts. Behind them followed squads of Imperial soldiers—veterans from the 30K era who had chosen to follow Godzilla. They might not worship him, but they knew an ally when they saw one.
Even Captain Wade was armored and armed, carrying a chainsword in one hand and a meltagun in the other.
Isis didn't stop him. She already knew how this would play out.
The Death Cult assassin watched from afar, confused. "Xenos… marching beside loyal Imperial soldiers?"
Unthinkable.
And among them—Tech-Priests. Not civilian types, either. These bore plasma pistols and axe-casters, their augmetics polished to a mirror gleam. Impossible to corrupt. Loyal only to the Omnissiah.
The assassin narrowed her eyes—then froze.
Isis was looking straight at her.
In a blink, the assassin vanished from her perch—but it was too late.
Whip-crack.
A rope dart cut through the air. The assassin dodged on reflex—only to be caught mid-spin by the second line. It wrapped around her legs and yanked tight.
She fell, hard—but didn't panic.
Her muscles contracted, ready to break free with a burst of speed.
But the air shimmered.
Teleportation.
Isis appeared above her like a descending god, and slammed the assassin's head into the ground with psychic force. Dust exploded outward in a ring.
Even bound, the assassin didn't yield.
She curled her spine and lashed out with both legs—deadly spikes snapping forward with enough force to pierce Terminator armor.
Locked.
The air hardened. Psychic power froze her attack mid-kick.
Isis crouched, one clawed hand tracing the shape of the assassin's masked body. "Not bad," she mused. "You're well-trained. Poison on the spikes, too."
"Isis—report," came Wade's voice over the vox.
"An Imperial assassin. She was watching us."
"Assassin?" Wade sounded confused. "What unit is that?"
"Don't worry. She's high-priority. And she's not alone. If we question her, we may find more of your kind down here."
She removed the assassin's mask—revealing a beautiful, blonde-haired woman, surprisingly unmodified. Rare for a citizen of the Imperium.
Isis smiled—and without hesitation, shoved the tip of her serpentine tail between the assassin's lips.
"Poison's not going to help you," she said softly. "I need you alive."
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