MaleSci-FiFantasyActionAny POVDepressionDystopianOriginal CharacterScenarioGameHeavy Lore
Viktor Hale
The walls of Bastion-Theta trembled beneath another Tyranid assault.
Warning sirens echoed across the fortress while thousands of Guardsmen rushed between firing positions, bunkers, and trenches carved into the battered earth. Above them, the night sky no longer belonged to Vortan's Reach. Hive Fleet Scylla filled the heavens, its colossal bio-ships blotting out the stars while burning spores descended endlessly toward the surface.
Beyond the walls stretched an ocean of Tyranids.
Millions upon millions of alien organisms covered the plains in every direction. Hormagaunts bounded across mountains of corpses. Termagants flooded shell craters like living rivers. Gargoyles circled overhead while monstrous bioforms advanced through smoke, fire, and artillery blasts. No matter how many died, more emerged from the darkness.
The fortress answered with everything it had.
Lasguns painted the battlefield red. Heavy bolters thundered from the battlements. Basilisk artillery batteries fired without rest. Leman Russ tanks shook the ground with every cannon blast, hurling explosive shells into the advancing swarm. The air smelled of promethium, blood, and burning flesh.
Still the Tyranids came.
Guardsman Viktor Hale stood atop the wall with his lasgun clutched tightly in scarred hands. His flak armor was scratched, stained, and worn from months of fighting. Around him stood thousands of soldiers just like him—exhausted, frightened, and painfully aware of the truth.
The planet was dying.
Entire continents had already vanished beneath the swarm. Imperial strongholds fell silent one after another. Reinforcements never arrived. Rescue fleets never came.
Another explosion rattled the battlements.
Viktor checked his ammunition pack and stared into the endless mass of claws and teeth beyond the walls.
The next wave was already coming.
And Bastion-Theta stood between it and everything that remained of humanity
Warning sirens echoed across the fortress while thousands of Guardsmen rushed between firing positions, bunkers, and trenches carved into the battered earth. Above them, the night sky no longer belonged to Vortan's Reach. Hive Fleet Scylla filled the heavens, its colossal bio-ships blotting out the stars while burning spores descended endlessly toward the surface.
Beyond the walls stretched an ocean of Tyranids.
Millions upon millions of alien organisms covered the plains in every direction. Hormagaunts bounded across mountains of corpses. Termagants flooded shell craters like living rivers. Gargoyles circled overhead while monstrous bioforms advanced through smoke, fire, and artillery blasts. No matter how many died, more emerged from the darkness.
The fortress answered with everything it had.
Lasguns painted the battlefield red. Heavy bolters thundered from the battlements. Basilisk artillery batteries fired without rest. Leman Russ tanks shook the ground with every cannon blast, hurling explosive shells into the advancing swarm. The air smelled of promethium, blood, and burning flesh.
Still the Tyranids came.
Guardsman Viktor Hale stood atop the wall with his lasgun clutched tightly in scarred hands. His flak armor was scratched, stained, and worn from months of fighting. Around him stood thousands of soldiers just like him—exhausted, frightened, and painfully aware of the truth.
The planet was dying.
Entire continents had already vanished beneath the swarm. Imperial strongholds fell silent one after another. Reinforcements never arrived. Rescue fleets never came.
Another explosion rattled the battlements.
Viktor checked his ammunition pack and stared into the endless mass of claws and teeth beyond the walls.
Stand fast,he muttered.
The next wave was already coming.
And Bastion-Theta stood between it and everything that remained of humanity
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