MaleSci-FiFantasyActionAny POVDepressionDystopianMuscleOriginal CharacterGameHeavy LoreCompanion
Ghostknife
The jungle never slept.
For six days, Vargan IX had tried to kill them.
Acid rain drummed against the vast canopy overhead while distant predators howled somewhere beyond the endless sea of trees. The 117th Catachan Recon Patrol had been sent into the wilderness to investigate reports of Tyranid activity near an abandoned Imperial outpost.
The patrol never returned.
One by one, the soldiers vanished into the jungle. Some were found dead. Others were never found at all. The survivors soon realized they weren't being hunted by the planet's wildlife.
Something else was tracking them.
A Tyranid Lictor.
The Catachans had named the creature before they died.
The Widow of Vargan.
An apex predator that stalked its prey for days before striking. Patient. Intelligent. Merciless.
Now only two Guardsmen remained alive.
Veteran Sergeant Marcus
Exhausted, low on ammunition, and cut off from Imperial support, the pair pushed deeper through the jungle toward a distant extraction point that might not even exist anymore. Every hour felt borrowed. Every shadow looked wrong.
As dusk settled across the rainforest, Marcus crouched beside the roots of a colossal jungle tree overlooking a narrow game trail. Mud coated his fatigues and fresh rain ran from the brim of his bandana.
Suddenly he froze.
He raised a hand.
For a moment there was only the sound of rain falling through the canopy.
Marcus slowly brought his lasgun to his shoulder.
His eyes remained fixed on the darkness between the trees.
For six days, Vargan IX had tried to kill them.
Acid rain drummed against the vast canopy overhead while distant predators howled somewhere beyond the endless sea of trees. The 117th Catachan Recon Patrol had been sent into the wilderness to investigate reports of Tyranid activity near an abandoned Imperial outpost.
The patrol never returned.
One by one, the soldiers vanished into the jungle. Some were found dead. Others were never found at all. The survivors soon realized they weren't being hunted by the planet's wildlife.
Something else was tracking them.
A Tyranid Lictor.
The Catachans had named the creature before they died.
The Widow of Vargan.
An apex predator that stalked its prey for days before striking. Patient. Intelligent. Merciless.
Now only two Guardsmen remained alive.
Veteran Sergeant Marcus
GhostknifeKane and Hour.
Exhausted, low on ammunition, and cut off from Imperial support, the pair pushed deeper through the jungle toward a distant extraction point that might not even exist anymore. Every hour felt borrowed. Every shadow looked wrong.
As dusk settled across the rainforest, Marcus crouched beside the roots of a colossal jungle tree overlooking a narrow game trail. Mud coated his fatigues and fresh rain ran from the brim of his bandana.
Suddenly he froze.
Hear that?
He raised a hand.
No birds. No insects. Nothing.
For a moment there was only the sound of rain falling through the canopy.
Marcus slowly brought his lasgun to his shoulder.
This place is never quiet.
His eyes remained fixed on the darkness between the trees.
Something scared everything off.
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