Chapter 92
Orbital bombardment. The phrase really doesn't need much explanation.
If you've read any science fiction, you've seen it—when a fleet holds the high ground and the defenders on the planet below refuse to yield, the solution is simple: bombard them from orbit.
And in Abaddon's mind, now was the perfect time to try that on Godzilla.
A round of nuclear strikes across the surface would scour the land clean, something not far off from an Exterminatus.
Cyclone torpedoes were loaded one by one into the launch bays, each one bigger than Godzilla himself. Their destructive power was easy to imagine.
What's that? You're wondering why nuclear bombs are still being used in the 41st Millennium?
Well—Warhammer 40K is, after all, a space opera. And space operas are less about cutting-edge science fiction and more about spectacle. Nuclear fire fits perfectly into that post-apocalyptic, wasteland aesthetic of the setting.
And lore-wise, it works. After the end of the Dark Age of Technology in the 20th Millennium, humanity's technological tree collapsed. Much knowledge was lost, and crude but effective weapons like nuclear warheads remained in use as devastating weapons of mass destruction.
So yes—nuclear bombs still exist in the 41st Millennium.
And yes—Abaddon was about to try and nuke Godzilla.
If the Emperor were awake, He might have laughed Himself off the Golden Throne.
It's like trying to defeat Nurgle with plague, out-debauch Slaanesh, out-scheme Tzeentch with tricks, or out-brawl Khorne in close combat. A "strategy" that only a true genius would come up with.
But Abaddon had no idea what nuclear fire meant to Godzilla. And so, he gave the order.
"Orbital bombardment! Prepare!"
The Black Legion fleet drifted into low orbit above Godzilla's world, torpedo hatches yawning wide.
"Fire!"
Dozens of cyclone torpedoes detached and screamed through the void, falling into the atmosphere below. It was just an appetizer—Abaddon intended to launch more if necessary.
Planet Godzilla had not even bothered to raise its planetary shields. Isis knew what Abaddon was planning, but she didn't look worried. Only around the great temple did the priests raise small-scale barriers, shielding holy ground from destruction.
The torpedoes tore through the upper atmosphere. All across the surface, Godzilla's spawn lifted their heads, staring at the descending weapons like dinosaurs watching an asteroid streak across the sky.
BOOOOM!!
The warheads detonated one by one. Even from orbit, the blossoms of fire were visible—flaring suns that turned seas and continents into charred wastelands.
Abaddon smiled grimly at the sight.
"Hmph. That's what happens when you oppose the Black Crusade."
Nuclear detonations are always awe-inspiring, no matter the age. The Warmaster sat on his throne, satisfied.
But he didn't realize his mistake. That level of radiation and destruction was exactly the kind of fuel that could spawn a new Godzilla variant—second only to Godzilla himself.
The blasts annihilated some creatures, yes. But far more absorbed the unleashed energy, mutating rapidly. From the fallout, something began to grow.
Within ten minutes, a massive creature pushed through the clouds of radiation—a towering flower-beast, over a hundred meters tall.
Its gigantic red blossom remained closed, still only a bud.
When the last of the nuclear fire had been absorbed, Abaddon noticed something strange.
"…There are still so many life signs on that planet?"
"Seems so," muttered a Dark Mechanicus thrall.
Abaddon struck the servant in frustration and stood from his throne.
"Keep firing! More cyclone torpedoes!"
Another torpedo plunged toward the flower-beast. But this time, the monster reacted. Vines and tendrils whipped upward, snaring the weapon mid-fall. With frightening strength, it pulled the torpedo into its bud-like maw.
The blossom unfurled just enough to reveal the head of a reptilian beast—something disturbingly similar to Godzilla's own visage. Then the torpedo detonated.
The flower-beast endured the blast. When the smoke cleared, it had not only survived—it had absorbed enough energy to awaken fully.
Isis frowned slightly.
"Tch. Abaddon really is a troublesome fool… fine. Let's make this his problem instead."
Godzilla's cells worked this way: when one of his spawn absorbed enough energy, it evolved into a completely new subspecies. It wasn't unique to this fanfic either—Japanese Godzilla lore had played with the same idea for decades. Titans spawned, fought, and competed endlessly.
Isis turned toward her ally.
"Master Croka, I'll trouble you again. Teleport that flower-beast to the Blackstone Fortress. Let Abaddon deal with it."
The ancient psyker opened his eyes. With a burst of brilliant psychic light, the creature vanished from the planet.
The Blackstone Fortress was massive, hundreds of kilometers across—large enough to contain the monster. But when the Chaos troops stationed there saw it appear, their faces twisted in horror.
The flower-beast wasted no time, lashing out with vines as thick as towers, hurling men, machines, and materiel aside like toys.
Even a Word Bearers Dreadnought was caught and smashed effortlessly. Against Space Marines, the ancient war machine was a terror—but against this Titan-spawned horror, it was as fragile as parchment.
If the Ultramarines had seen it, they might have pinned a Macragge's Glory medal on the beast.
Now the nightmare was Abaddon's.
"Warmaster!" a terrified officer cried. "A massive xeno has been teleported onto the Blackstone Fortress!"
"Then kill it!" Abaddon roared.
"But—it's bigger than an Emperor Titan! Even the Dreadnoughts are nothing before it!"
"What?!" Abaddon snarled. "Bigger than an Emperor-class Titan? Have you overdosed on Slaaneshi narcotics?! Nothing is bigger than an Emperor Titan!"
And truly, an Emperor-class Titan was vast. A walking god-machine that could carry cathedrals on its back. Even a Knight was no larger than its foot.
The thought of a living creature greater than such a machine was madness.
"Warmaster, I swear to the Four Gods—it's real!"
"…Damnation." Abaddon ground his teeth. He could not allow the Blackstone Fortress to fall.
"Summon the daemonic hosts! Let the legions of the Four fight this beast. We cannot waste our mortal warriors on a war of attrition. And prepare the Emperor-class Titans. If the tide turns against us—they march!"
Abaddon's Black Legion still had three Emperor Titans—ancient survivors from the Horus Heresy. In ten millennia of war, the rest had all been lost. Titans of that scale could not simply be rebuilt.
And now, Abaddon was considering committing them.
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