In less than a month since the war began, the enemies of the upper hive had been crushed, yet the fighting had not ceased.
The remnants of the fleeing enemy forces had no way to escape the hive city, forced to hide within the vast sewer networks of the upper hive. After witnessing or hearing of the executions of their comrades who had chosen to stand their ground, they realized surrender was not an option and resorted to guerrilla warfare within the sewers.
But they were not the only ones lurking in the labyrinth below.
There were also the fallen noble families who had lost in the political struggles of the upper hive. Unwilling to descend into the lower hive, they had settled within these ancient sewers, continuing their line in the shadows.
Alongside them were a scant few upper hivers who, distrusting the toxic rule of the Tyrant, had taken refuge underground, gathering with their servants and kin, still unaware that the First Army of the planetary defense force had liberated the upper hive.
The three factions frequently clashed in fierce skirmishes. And at times, the Imperial Guard and other First Army units would make their presence felt in the sewers, joining the fray.
Fully clearing out the sewer system was no easy feat. These tunnels weren't just a single passage but a sprawling network of ancient conduits, expanded over millennia as the original infrastructure decayed. Many of the old sewers even connected with the massive metal pipes above the lower hive, forming a shadowy city wedged between the two hives.
While all eyes were focused on this hidden battleground beneath the upper hive, no one had noticed the arrival of a new enemy from beyond the world of the hive city.
…
In the void above the Tyran Hiveworld, a Lunar-class cruiser drifted slowly through space.
The warship bore the scars of the planetary bombardment on Tyran III, its hull marred by strikes from surface-to-space weapons. But the damage was superficial at best, and if the captain so desired, the ship could still rain destruction upon the hive.
Inside the bridge, the captain sat upon his gilded throne, gazing at the planet below. The sprawling hive city was clearly visible against the surface, while the rest of the planet remained a wasteland of deserts and glaciers.
"We've lost contact with the Lord Marshal," reported the communications officer, approaching the captain.
"He has three minutes to reestablish contact," the captain replied, his eyes never leaving the planet. "Or I'll toss the entire ground force overboard."
The officer nodded in silence and turned to resume attempts to reach the Tyrant.
Unbeknownst to those aboard, the Tyrant had already been turned into a writhing Chaos spawn by his own servants—and subsequently obliterated. This cruiser, however, was merely fulfilling a task that should never have fallen to it: delivering the Lord Marshal's ground forces to the Tyran hive.
Time passed.
When the Tyrant still hadn't responded after half a day, the communications officer returned to the captain's side, only to find him staring wide-eyed out the viewport. Following the captain's gaze, the officer's breath caught in his throat.
The ship had moved into the planet's shadow, and there, floating in orbit, was a dark satellite.
"There's a satellite in the void," the captain murmured. "I am of the hive, and yet, I know nothing of a second satellite in Tyran's orbit."
"Perhaps... it isn't a satellite?" the officer suggested cautiously.
The captain remained silent, his eyes fixed on the massive structure. It appeared enormous, though still smaller than the planet's natural satellite. Its surface gleamed faintly with the light of the distant star, revealing the smooth sheen of metal rather than dust.
By now, it wasn't just the captain and his communications officer who were transfixed by the sight. The entire bridge crew, and indeed much of the ship's complement, had turned their gaze toward the satellite.
It was no natural body—they could see that much. It was an engineering marvel.
It looked almost divine, as if a god had shaped this miracle with their own hands, so that mortals might look up from their world and worship the wonder hanging in the heavens.
The second satellite in Tyran's orbit was clearly a construct, but its purpose remained a mystery to all aboard.
A space station? An orbital fortress? Something else entirely?
"Fire on it," the captain ordered suddenly.
"Why destroy it?" one of the officers asked. "It doesn't appear to pose any threat."
The bridge crew exchanged uneasy glances, questioning the wisdom of such a command. The structure, to them, resembled a monument—something precious and awe-inspiring, like a treasure unearthed in an archaeological dig. It inspired reverence, not fear.
"Fire," the captain repeated. "We may not be able to destroy it, but it is our duty to probe its purpose."
Reluctantly, and despite their misgivings, the crew prepared to execute the command. The ship began to reposition, aligning its broadside to bring its macro-cannons to bear on the mysterious satellite. At the same time, two plasma-tipped torpedoes were launched from the ship's prow.
The captain rose from his throne and approached the viewport, watching alongside his officers as the torpedoes streaked toward the satellite.
As the torpedoes neared, something strange happened. One of them veered wildly off course, spinning in circles before vanishing altogether, as if it had simply evaporated.
"What in the hell…" the captain muttered in disbelief.
Before they could fully process the event, the second torpedo reached the satellite's surface, detonating several kilometers above it. The explosion briefly illuminated a flickering energy shield encasing the entire structure.
This was no mere void shield.
Moments later, the ship's macro-cannon shells reached the satellite. Much like the torpedoes, several rounds were knocked off course and vanished, while those that struck the shield exploded harmlessly against it.
There was something about this satellite—a defense system, perhaps—but its stability was questionable at best. Its protection seemed erratic, unreliable.
In response to the assault, the satellite stirred.
It began to rotate, reversing its spin as massive weapons emplacements on its surface aligned with the cruiser.
Then it stopped, its main guns locking onto their target. A faint red glow appeared at the mouth of the primary weapon—a growing sphere of crimson energy.
It was small, but from this distance, they knew just how massive it truly was.
"Evasive maneuvers!" the captain bellowed.