Hive in the Underhive

Sergeant Hex led the final charge.

He and his remaining brothers advanced, relentless and resolute. The Queen loomed ahead — a grotesque titan of pulsing flesh and razor-edged limbs.

There would be no retreat. No safe distance. Not for the Deathwatch.

The Spyre Hunters followed, elegant yet faltering. The swarm pressed harder. One by one, the nobles fell — torn apart or dragged into the dark. Only an Orrus remained, bellowing with rage, his power fists smashing xenos like insects. Too wounded to keep pace, he stood his ground alone.

A Deathwatch Marine reached the Queen — only to be impaled by a scything talon the size of a man. She lifted him like a trophy, then flung the shattered corpse aside.

It was enough.

Hex surged forward, his power sword a blur. He struck with fury — carving through sinew and talon, hacking at swollen glands and twitching flesh.

Then she struck back.

A claw slammed down, pinning Hex to the floor. His armour cracked. Blood pooled. But he smiled through the pain.

His work was done.

From behind, the last surviving Deathwatch Marine raised a Power Cone — primed and humming with unstable energy. He hurled it.

The Cone sailed through smoke and shrieking air — and struck true.

It embedded at the base of the Queen’s neural stalk, its ancient mechanisms activating in a surge of destructive power.

The Queen convulsed — flailing, her massive body thrashing through the chamber like a storm. The crew braced themselves… but there was nowhere to run.

A single heartbeat.

A flash of impossible light.

Silence.