Chapitre 37: A Bad day to be a Bug 2
The battlefield fell silent as two titans squared off. Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, stood resolute, heat shimmering around him like a mirage. Opposite him loomed the newly revealed Hive Tyrant, its icy blue carapace glistening with frost. However This was no mere Hive Tyrant—this was the Hivemind's ultimate weapon, a being of terrible purpose summoned a stress response to the unprecedented threat posed by the Primarch a variation of the Hive Tyrant where all it's conventional tactics and strategy does not work a Swarmlord.
Standing nearly twice Franklin's already impressive height, the Frost Swarmlord was a sight to behold. Its carapace, a deep glacial blue, glistened with frost even in the intense heat emanating from the Primarch. In each of its four arms, it wielded bone sabres that crackled with disruptive energy, their edges lined with alien crystals that pulsed with an otherworldly light.
"Well, well," Franklin mused internally, addressing the shard of Khaine within his Crone Sword. "Looks like the bugs brought out their big guns. What do you think, old friend?"
The sword pulsed in response, its psychic voice resonating in Franklin's mind. "A worthy opponent, perhaps, if it possessed any semblance of honor. But it is merely a beast, no matter how deadly. Show it the true art of war, my pupil."
Franklin grinned, his grip tightening on the Crone Sword. "With pleasure."
The Swarmlord made the first move, its four arms becoming a blur of motion as it brought its bone sabres to bear. Franklin's eyes widened slightly at the speed, but his own reflexes, honed by years of combat and further enhanced by Khaine's tutelage, allowed him to parry the strikes with fluid grace.
"Good," Khaine's voice echoed in his mind. "But watch your footwork. You could have countered that last strike if your stance was wider."
Franklin adjusted his posture slightly, feeling the difference immediately. As the duel intensified, he found himself falling into a rhythm, the teachings of the Eldar god of war merging seamlessly with his own combat instincts.
The Primarch and the Swarmlord became the eye of a storm, their clash sending shockwaves across the battlefield. Where Franklin's blade met the bone sabres, bursts of steam erupted as fire and ice collided. The ground beneath their feet became a patchwork of scorched earth and frozen crystals.
As they fought, Franklin became acutely aware of a shift in the Tyranid swarm's behavior. Through the corner of his eye, he saw waves of lesser creatures charging the Liberty Eagles' lines with reckless abandon in a Blitzkrieg like manner aiming to breakthrough enemy lines.
"Your sons are in danger," Khaine warned. "This beast coordinates the swarm even as it fights. You must end this quickly."
Franklin nodded imperceptibly, redoubling his efforts. His blade became a whirlwind of fire, each strike precisely aimed to exploit the smallest weakness in the Swarmlord's defense.
"There!" Khaine's voice rang out as Franklin's blade found purchase, slicing clean through one of the Swarmlord's arms.
But even as the limb fell, new flesh bubbled and stretched despite the wound being cauterized the Swarmlord cut the cauterized limb and began regenerating the lost appendage in a matter of seconds.
"Impressive regenerative capabilities," Franklin thought, narrowly avoiding a retaliatory strike that would have bisected a lesser being. "Any suggestions?"
"Overwhelm it," Khaine replied. "Its regeneration is formidable, but not instantaneous. Strike faster than it can heal."
Taking the advice to heart, Franklin unleashed a flurry of blows that would have been impossible for any being not blessed by both the Emperor's gene-craft and an Eldar god's tutelage. The DeathSword sang as it carved through the Swarmlord's defenses, leaving gouges in its carapace that struggled to close.
"Excellent!" Khaine's praise rang out as Franklin's blade severed another of the Swarmlord's arms. "Now, press your advantage!"
But even as Franklin moved to follow through, a wall of Tyranid flesh intercepted him. Lesser creatures hurled themselves between the Primarch and their leader, their bodies vaporizing in his heat aura but buying precious seconds for the Swarmlord to retreat and regenerate.
"Cowardly tactics," Khaine spat. "It knows it cannot win in single combat."
Franklin grimaced, his blade cleaving through the endless tide of Tyranid fodder as they were cleaved reduced to ashes moments later, "It's not cowardice, it's strategy. The Hive Mind is learning, adapting. We need to end this now."
With a burst of psychic might, Franklin cleared the area around him, the heat of his power incinerating everything within a hundred-meter radius. But the Swarmlord had used the distraction well, its severed limbs now fully regrown.
The duel resumed with renewed intensity. Franklin's every move was a masterclass in swordsmanship, each strike and parry guided by eons of martial knowledge imparted by Khaine. Yet the Swarmlord matched him blow for blow, its four arms working in perfect unison to create an all but impenetrable defense.
"Its technique is unrefined," Khaine observed, "but the sheer speed and number of its limbs make up for it. Any warrior less than a Primarch would have fallen by now."
Franklin acknowledged the assessment, his mind racing to find an opening "Good thing I'm not lesser, then," And in a moment of clarity, he saw it - a pattern in the Swarmlord's movements, a split-second vulnerability when it transitioned from defense to offense.
"Now!" both Franklin and Khaine thought in unison.
The Primarch's blade struck true, slipping past the bone sabres to bite deep into the Swarmlord's chest. In the same motion, he pivoted, using the momentum to sever two of the creature's arms and part of its jaw.
The psychic backlash was immediate. Across the battlefield, the Tyranid swarm faltered, their coordinated assault dissolving into chaos as their leader reeled from the devastating blow.
But before Franklin could press his advantage, the remaining Tyranids surged forward en masse. A living tide of chitin and claw rushed to protect their wounded leader, forcing the Primarch back through sheer weight of numbers.
"No!" Franklin roared, his blade a blur as he cut through the endless swarm. But it was too late - the Swarmlord, gravely wounded but still alive, was retreating behind a wall of its lesser kin.
"An inglorious retreat," Khaine sneered. "But effective. The Hive Mind values this beast's survival over its cannon fodder."
Franklin nodded grimly, watching as the Tyranids threw themselves into the inferno of his aura, their bodies piling up and vaporizing in a gruesome display of sacrifice. The heat was so intense that even Tyranid bio-projectiles melted before they could reach him.
Realizing that pursuing the Swarmlord further would only result in needless casualties, Franklin made a tactical decision. He turned his attention back to the broader battlefield, his voice booming across the comms.
"All units, this is Valorian. The enemy commander is wounded and retreating. Press the advantage! Drive them back to their final hive!"
As the Liberty Eagles surged forward, capitalizing on the Tyranids' momentary disarray, Franklin took stock of the situation. Reports flooded in from across the planet - the xenos were in full retreat, falling back to their last stronghold.
"How ironic," Franklin mused to Khaine. "A species bred for endless war, being outmatched at their own game."
"Do not underestimate them," Khaine warned. "They are retreating, yes, but they are far from defeated. The Hive Mind is cunning, and it learns from every encounter."
Hours passed as the Liberty Eagles pressed their advantage, driving the Tyranid swarm back kilometer by bloody kilometer. Franklin coordinated the assault from the front lines, his presence a beacon of hope and strength for his sons.
Then, without warning, a brilliant flash of light erupted from a neighboring planet in the system. Franklin's eyes widened in recognition.
"Father," he thought, a mix of awe and concern coloring his mental voice.
As if in response to the distant light, the Tyranid swarm suddenly changed. Their movements became erratic, uncoordinated. Where before they had fought with terrifying efficiency, now they lashed out wildly, attacking everything around them - including each other.
"The Emperor has done something," Khaine observed. "Perhaps severed this tendril's connection to the greater Hive Mind?"
Franklin nodded, watching as the once-fearsome xenos army devolved into a chaotic mass of feral beasts. "Whatever he did, it's given us the opening we need. All units, push forward! We end this now!"
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The Emperor's Side,
The horizon was a sea of metal and flesh, an awe-inspiring tableau of humanity's might arrayed against the endless hunger of the Tyranid swarm. Titan Legions strode across the war-torn landscape, their God Engines shaking the very earth with each thunderous step. Beneath their immense forms, a tide of Solar Auxilia and Mechanicus forces surged forward, their combined firepower creating a storm of las-fire and explosions that illuminated the grim battlefield.
At the heart of this maelstrom stood the Emperor of Mankind, a figure of such radiance and power that even the most hardened warriors found it difficult to look directly at him. His presence on the battlefield was both inspiration and weapon, a physical manifestation of humanity's indomitable will.
Unlike his son Franklin Valorian, whose approach to warfare was a more direct and personally destructive force with the subtlety of a nuclear bomb, the Emperor conducted the battle like a grand symphony. Each element of his vast army moved with precision, their actions coordinated with a level of strategic acumen that bordered on precognition.
The Astartes Legions, representing multiple Primarch-less Legions, formed the vanguard of the assault. They were the hammer of the Emperor's will, smashing into the larger Tyranid bio-forms with a ferocity that matched the xenos' own savagery. Dreadnoughts strode, their storm bolters and assault cannons reaping a terrible toll on the enemy.
Behind them, the Solar Auxilia and Skitarii laid down a withering barrage of fire, their combined arms approach creating killing fields where smaller Tyranid creatures were cut down in their thousands. Las-cannons and plasma guns as well as Radweapons lit up the sky, while the distinctive buzz of galvanic rifles added to the cacophony of destruction.
But it was the Emperor himself who truly turned the tide of battle. His movements were a blur of golden light, each gesture unleashing devastation upon the xenos horde. With a mere thought, he could vaporize entire swathes of Tyranid organisms, their bodies bursting into flames under the sheer psychic pressure of his will.
But the Hive Mind was learning, adapting to this new threat. Early versions of Neurotyrants and Zoanthropes manifested, creatures of immense psychic potential, manifested on the battlefield. They hovered above the swarm, their bulbous heads pulsing with alien energies as they sought to match the Emperor's psychic might.
It was a grave miscalculation.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he sensed their challenge. With a gesture, he unleashed a wave of psychic energy that would have overwhelmed even the mightiest human psyker. The Neurotyrants and Zoanthropes found their considerable mental defenses shattered in an instant. Their massive brains, so carefully engineered by the Hive Mind, became puppets for the Emperor's will.
Tyranid turned against Tyranid as the Emperor used these powerful synapse creatures to sow chaos in the enemy ranks. Hormagaunts slaughtered their own warrior-forms, while Carnifexes turned their bio-cannons upon their own Bio-Titans.
The Hive Mind reeled from this psychic assault, quickly learning that direct confrontation with the Emperor's mental powers was futile.Thus from this costly mistake, the alien intelligence quickly adapted its strategy. The psychic beasts were pulled back, kept carefully out of the Emperor's reach. It adapted swiftly, pulling its psychic creatures back and instead pushing forward waves of Tyranid Warriors and being directed by Tyranid Primes,accompanied by the numerous Gaunts.
The sheer number of xenos bodies created a living tide that threatened to overwhelm even the most stalwart defenses. Yet, at the center of this storm stood the Master of Mankind, an island of calm amidst the chaos.
Around the Emperor, his Custodes moved with superhuman grace and precision. Their golden armor gleamed in the harsh light of battle, each warrior a work of art brought to lethal life. They formed an impenetrable barrier around their lord, their guardian spears and sentinel blades reaping a terrible toll on any Tyranid foolish enough to approach.
For a hundred meters in every direction, a glaring void formed in the Tyranid swarm. It was as if an invisible wall surrounded the Emperor, against which waves of xenos flesh crashed and broke. The ground was littered with the twitching forms of slain Tyranids, their acidic blood pooling in grotesque patterns.
The Emperor observed this with a detached interest, his mind simultaneously processing countless strategic calculations. He could feel the Hive Mind's frustration, its alien intellect probing for weaknesses in the Imperial defense.
Then, as if in answer to this unspoken challenge, a new threat emerged from the swarm. A Hive Tyrant, larger and more fearsome than its brethren, rose above the lesser creatures. Its eyes, filled with cold alien intelligence, surveyed the battlefield. With preternatural speed, it began issuing silent commands to the swarm around it.
The effect was immediate and devastating. The previously uncoordinated masses of Tyranids suddenly moved with lethal purpose. Imperial battle lines, which had held firm against the mindless onslaught, began to buckle under this new, calculated assault.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he assessed this new threat. With a mere gesture, he dispatched his most trusted warrior to deal with the problem. Constantine Valdor, Captain-General of the Legio Custodes, moved with a speed that belied his massive frame. His spear, the Apollonian Spear, hummed with barely contained energy as he closed the distance to the Hive Tyrant.
As Valdor engaged the monstrous xenos commander, the Emperor turned his attention to a more insidious threat. In the distance, beyond the reach of his immediate psychic dominance, he could sense the presence of powerful synapse creatures. Zoanthropes and Neurothropes hovered above the battlefield, their bulbous heads pulsing with alien energies.
The Emperor knew he could wrest control of these creatures from the Hive Mind, as he had done before. But this time, he had a more ambitious plan. Not content with merely seizing control, he intended to use these psychic nodes to deliver a crippling blow to the Hive Mind itself – a psychic concussion that would reverberate through the entire Tyranid fleet.
As the Master of Mankind formulated his strategy, a new threat was taking shape far above the planet's surface. In the bio-ships orbiting the world, a Norn-Queen – one of the Hive Fleet's primary governing entities – had perceived the danger posed by the golden being below. With the incomprehensible speed of Tyranid evolution, it conceived of a new weapon to counter this threat.
Minutes later, a massive spore pod breached the planet's atmosphere, streaking towards the battlefield like a living meteor. As it crashed into the earth not far from the Emperor's position, its chitinous shell cracked open to reveal a new horror – a Norn Emissary specifically evolved to combat the Imperium's greatest Ruler.
The creature that emerged was a masterpiece of Tyranid evolution. Its form was serpentine, allowing for lightning-fast strikes and fluid dodges. Its carapace shimmered with an unnatural iridescence, hinting at the psychically resistant properties woven into its very genetic structure. Most tellingly, its head housed an enlarged brain structure, marking it as a powerful synapse creature in its own right.
The Emperor sensed the creature's arrival immediately. He could feel the psychic resistance emanating from the beast, a clear sign that the Hive Mind had adapted to his previous tactics. But where a lesser being might have felt fear, the Emperor experienced only a grim satisfaction. Here, at last, was a challenge worthy of his full attention.
The Norn Emissary wasted no time. With a grace that belied its massive size, it slithered through the chaos of battle, making a beeline for the Emperor. Lesser Tyranids instinctively parted before it, creating a path for their specialized champion.
As the creature lunged for him past the Custodes, the Emperor was ready. The Sword of the Emperor flashed out, meeting the Norn Emissary's razor-sharp talons with a shower of sparks. The two titans engaged in a deadly dance, each probing for weaknesses in the other's defense.
Physically, they seemed evenly matched. The Norn Emissary's enhanced musculature and bone-swords were a match for the Emperor's strength and master-crafted blade. But the true battle was taking place on a level invisible to mortal eyes.
With each clash of blade and claw, the Emperor launched psychic assaults against the creature's mind. But where previous Tyranid synapse creatures had fallen quickly to his mental onslaught, the Norn Emissary stood firm. Its enhanced brain structure, coupled with its connection to the Shadow in the Warp, allowed it to resist the Emperor's attempts at domination.
As they fought, the Emperor's mind raced. He could sense the creature's resistance, feel the alien intellect behind its eyes. And in that moment, he realized the opportunity before him. This was no mere beast to be slain – it was a key that could unlock the very defenses of the Hive Mind itself.
The Emperor's lips curled into a smile, an expression that would have chilled the blood of any mortal who witnessed it. He had found his vector of attack.
Changing tactics, the Emperor began to draw upon more of his vast psychic potential. Golden light blazed from his eyes and corona of energy formed around his body. The very air seemed to warp and twist around him as reality struggled to contain the forces he was channeling.
The Norn Emissary, sensing the change in its opponent, redoubled its efforts. Its strikes became faster, its psychic defenses more robust.
The duel between the two had reached a fever pitch. The Norn Emissary, with its serpentine grace and enhanced psychic resistance, had proven to be a formidable opponent even for the Master of Mankind. Its bone swords clashed against the Emperor's blade, each impact sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
But the Emperor, in his timeless wisdom, had not been merely fighting – he had been waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment, the single instant of vulnerability that would allow him to turn this confrontation into a victory not just for this battle, but for the entire war.
That moment came in a flash of insight and opportunity. The Norn Emissary, in its aggression, overextended itself. In that split second, the Emperor's blade moved with impossible speed, a golden arc of destruction that cleaved through the creature's defenses.
With a sound like tearing reality, the Emperor's sword bisected a portion of the Norn Emissary. Ichor sprayed across the battlefield as the creature's enhanced biology struggled to cope with the devastating blow as the Emperor Swiped with his Hyperphase Claws carving open the Emissary's torso revealing the alien organs beneath. But physical damage was not the Emperor's true aim.
As his blade struck home, the Emperor's psychic might surged forward. But instead of attempting to dominate the creature's mind, as he had done with lesser Tyranid synapse beings, he used the Norn Emissary for a far grander purpose – as a conduit directly to the Hive Mind itself.
The Emperor's consciousness rushed through the synaptic pathways of the Norn Emissary, traversing the psychic web that connected all Tyranids. He could feel the vast, alien intellect of the Hive Mind, a presence so enormous it defied comprehension. But the Emperor was not cowed. He had faced the chaos gods and emerged victorious. The Hive Mind was merely another obstacle to be overcome.
Gathering his immense psychic power, the Emperor struck.
A flash of golden light erupted from the Emperor's form, so brilliant and intense that it was visible even from the neighboring planet where his son, Franklin Valorian, was engaged in his own battle. This psychic conflagration coursed through the Norn Emissary and into the synaptic network beyond, racing across space to strike at the very core of the Hive Mind.
The effect was immediate and devastating.
Across twelve planets, Tyranid creatures suddenly stumbled and thrashed. The psychic backlash of the Emperor's attack reverberated through every synapse creature, every Warrior, every Gaunt. The carefully coordinated swarm tactics dissolved into chaos as the guiding will behind them was suddenly silenced.
On the Emperor's battlefield, the Norn Emissary's body combusted from the sheer power coursing through it. Its enhanced biology, designed to resist psychic assault, proved woefully inadequate against the full might of the Emperor unleashed. The creature's death scream was lost in the cacophony of confusion that erupted across the Tyranid lines.
In orbit, bio-ships writhed and convulsed. Some of the smaller vessels burst like overripe fruit, spilling their organic contents into the void. The larger hive ships fared little better, their psychically sensitive control systems overloading under the Emperor's assault.
The Emperor maintained his attack for what seemed an eternity, pouring more and more of his vast power into the psychic strike. He could sense the Hive Mind's pain, its confusion, its desperate attempts to shield itself. But the Emperor was relentless. This was not merely an attack; it was psychic surgery on a galactic scale.
Finally, with a psychic thunderclap that echoed across the Warp itself, the Emperor delivered the coup de grâce. The Hive Mind, that vast alien intellect that had guided the Tyranid invasion across countless worlds, fell silent.
As the golden light faded and the Emperor lowered his sword, the true extent of his victory became apparent. Across all twelve embattled planets, the majority of the Tyranid forces had been reduced to their base, feral nature. Without the guiding will of the Hive Mind, they reverted to little more than beasts – dangerous, certainly, but no longer the coordinated threat they had been moments before.
Some pockets of resistance remained. Hive Tyrants, with their own considerable intellect, managed to maintain control over small sections of the swarm. But these were islands of coordination in a sea of chaos, their impact on the overall battle drastically reduced.
For the Imperial forces, the change was like night turning to day. Where once they had faced a relentless, adaptable foe that countered their every move, now they found themselves presented with what amounted to a galactic shooting gallery.
Titans unleashed their apocalyptic weaponry into uncoordinated masses of Tyranid beasts. Space Marine squads, once hard-pressed by clever xenos tactics, now cut through confused hordes with ease.
The Emperor, his armor still smoking from the psychic energies he had channeled, surveyed the changed battlefield with grim satisfaction. He knew this victory, while significant, was not final. The Hive Mind, given time, would recover. The Tyranid threat was too vast, too alien to be ended in a single stroke, no matter how mighty.
The Emperor, delivered a devastating blow that knocked the Tyranid Hivemind out cold. For how long? Who knows. But one thing is certain: the Hivemind had just received its first knockout since its birth—a blow it will not soon forget.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone