Tyranids vs Marines Homeworld.
Brother-Sergeant Krassus was deep in thought. The hum of the bridge surrounding him allowed him to ponder how he had reached this point. Returning from a liaison with the Imperial Fists, after his squad was forced to call in support for simple civil unrest. That was what rankled the most. Civilians, admittedly with weaponry capable of penetrating the sacred warplate he and his brothers wore, forced him to call for the closest Imperial forces for support. Two brothers dead, two seriously wounded, and everybody else at less than full combat efficiency.
A shudder brought the sergeant back immediately. "Report!"
"Sire," the delicate voice of the ancient female captain barely rose above the alerts ringing out. "Something has struck us on the portside, and we appear to be slowing." The captain was busy tapping the command and control panel in the arm rest of her throne.
Red lights and a high wail interrupted all activity on the bridge and an automated voice, strangely reminiscent of the Chapter Master, began tolling a dire warning. "Hull breached! Hull Breached! Hull Breached!"
Slamming his helmet on, Krassus started spitting orders into the squad channel as he left the bridge and headed for the site of the breach. Klaxons wailed, lights flashed, lumen strips flickered, and competing voices blared out of the wall mounted speakers. Doors that failed to open on his approach suffered terminal hits from his power fist. The final bulkhead, protecting the rest of the ship from the vacuum of space stood before him, there was something wrong, the door appeared to be dissolving!
Confused, Krassus raised his bolt pistol ready, aiming at the discolouration, wondering what could dissolve void hardened ceramite. Footfalls to his left and right announced the approach of his brothers. His retinal display showing two red icons, two black icons, and six amber icons. Not the forces to defend a starship he would have wished, but he would not be without his brothers.
"Frankus, take Jerran and Rulfus, and hold the main bridge! Everybody else, phalanx to defend. Bolters until you are dry, then blades." The order was crisp and clear. Sending the most heavily wounded to make a stand at the bridge. If the attackers got past entry, the ship was lost anyway.
As the assigned marines were leaving, a huge talon ripped through the bulkhead, blowing detritus and loose panels through the hole and into the void. A large adamantium panel went spinning past the retreating marines, lodging itself in the joint between brother Awlgold's shoulder plate and breastplate, blood flowing straight through the hole to the void. Krassus was furious. A marine wounded, and nothing visible of the enemy except a talon or sword.
Before Krassus could question the wounded marine, long, vicious hooks erupted through the damaged bulkhead, and speared the wounded marine, breaking the connection between him and the deck, and hauling him through the damaged portal. With a large implosion of spinning fragments, the marine hit the bulkhead, and, having reached a point where the acid damage was too much, disintegrated it. Krassus lost sight of his wounded brother as a tide of blackness surged towards him and his remaining brothers. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, the vengeful sergeant gave the order to fire. Knowing that a bolt round would be kinder than any other fate his brother could suffer.
Shells spinning, sounds transmitted through their damaged warplate, the marines blazed away at the tide surging towards them. Fluids and pieces of *something* started floating around the head of the tide. That was bad. It meant power to the artificial gravity was failing. As Awlgold's indicator switched from amber to red, then black, Krassus charged his powerfist to capacity, and disengaged the magnetic seals.
"Brothers! Now is the time to die, take as many as you can! For the Emperor!" The shout was echoed by the confines of the corridor, and the cry for the Emperor was echoed by the surviving marines.
Krassus spiralled as he kicked off from the wall and floor, powerfist stretched out in front of him, bolter shells zipping past him, and erupting inside strange flesh. The enemy was revealed. Genestealers! A thousand thoughts flashed through Krassus' mind as his fist began connecting with alien skulls, the Tyranids were coming!
As his brothers joined the fray, knives flashing, pistols whipping, Krassus opened the vox to the ship channels. All he could hear, before attempting to speak, was the screams, cries, oaths, cursing of a ship being overrun. Checking his display, he saw the marines he had sent to the bridge were dead. Their icons a flat black. One by one, these heroes he had fought a hundred battles with were dying. No matter how many aliens were killed, there were always more to take their place.
With a tear on his cheek, Krassus leapt at a enormous monster, with six limbs, a large horn jutting from it's head, like a crest. The smaller beasts accompanying the Genestealers parted for him. The beast lowered its arms, and Krassus erupted in pain. Something was holding him. Not build to feel fear, a sense of dread, and loss over came the valiant sergeant momentarily, as he saw Awlgold's helmet approaching. Then a huge sense of pain, and loss.
The lictor withdrew its feeding tubes from the head of the space marine, and turned. It's black, alien eyes regarding the Tyranid Prime behind it. A psychic pulse, and the brood of monsters headed for the bridge where more prey were still living. They would be useful. They would take them, undetected, to the next feeding place.
In the darkness of space, a beacon lit up. Massive beasts, the like of which had never been seen in these systems turned their heads, strong prey was here. Rich feeding. Worthwhile biomass to consume. The beasts sent a pulse to other creatures, larger, void living creatures. They turned slowly, and began to head towards the beacon.