Chapter 49 – The Gate and the Green Tide
Isis was livid.
Steam hissed from between her fangs as the heat glands in her throat flared to life. It had been years since she'd last activated that particular organ, but right now, she was so incensed she nearly breathed fire. Not metaphorically. Literally.
If another daemon of Slaanesh showed their twisted face in front of her, Isis swore by Godzilla's spines that she would bring down the full extent of her fury—wrath so absolute that even the Prince of Excess would recoil.
But that moment would have to wait.
Isis surveyed the aftermath of her rampage. The dungeon reeked of ozone, scorched flesh, and the faint, cloying perfume of daemonic corruption now rapidly fading. The six Dark Eldar prisoners—what remained of them—were nothing but shriveled husks, their souls already devoured or burned away in the confrontation.
"The Webway gate still needs to be opened," she muttered.
Fortunately, while these Drukhari were dead, there were still Craftworld Eldar scattered across the surface of this beleaguered world. One of them would have to suffice.
Meanwhile, Godzilla had arrived at the Webway gate.
Everything had unfolded so fast that even he hadn't reacted in time. Barely two minutes had passed since Isis entered the dungeon, yet already she had dealt with the threat.
Now, the King of Monsters stood before the towering, rune-carved arch of the gate. He narrowed his eyes.
'Time to open the door.'
But nothing happened.
Then—just at the edge of his peripheral vision—something flickered. A subtle swish of movement. Godzilla's gaze shifted fractionally, picking up a faint green blur behind the frame of the Webway structure. The moment his colossal golden eyes locked onto the movement, it vanished.
'Did I just see something dart past? Something... green?'
Behind the Webway gate, crouched low and cloaked in the advanced camouflage field of her armor, an Eldar Ranger froze in panic. She had felt the moment Godzilla looked directly at her, as if an entire world had turned its gaze upon a single mortal.
"By Isha's breath... Did that beast see me?"
The cloak still shimmered, still bent light around her in mimicry of invisibility, but no technology could shield her from the psychological weight of that gaze. It wasn't just seeing—it was being known. Tracked. Measured.
"I've faced an Avatar of Khaine before. Even that didn't feel like this..."
(Side note: The Avatar of Khaine is the living embodiment of the Eldar God of War, a fragment of the shattered deity infused into molten iron. Each Craftworld houses one, and their awakening is a harbinger of apocalypse.)
But this was different. The Ranger's vision, keener than a human's by orders of magnitude, could perceive the subtle crackle of radioactive energy wafting off the titanic reptile's hide. This was not natural. This was not Warp-born. This was not even xenos.
This was something other.
'Why hasn't Isis opened the door yet?'
Right on cue, the air shimmered. The Ranger didn't even have time to scream.
A lance of psychic force seized her throat mid-thought, hoisting her off the ground like a rag doll. She kicked, scratched, but the psychic barrier around her was absolute. Her weapons, her armor, her training—all worthless.
Isis emerged from the shadows of the corridor, cloak billowing with an unnatural wind. Her voice was clipped, urgent.
"I don't have time to explain. Eldar Ranger—open the Webway gate."
She released the psychic grip, and the Ranger hit the floor hard, coughing and wheezing, fingers clawing at her throat.
But she wasn't done yet.
With reflexes honed through centuries, the Ranger rolled onto one knee, leveled her shuriken rifle, and fired. The crystal-fused ammunition struck Isis' psychic barrier with a fizzle and disintegrated on contact.
Isis sighed and clicked her tongue. "This is your second warning. Open the gate now, or I'll open your brain."
The Eldar pulled a curved wraithbone dagger from her hip and lunged forward, screaming an oath to Asuryan.
This time, Isis didn't bother with diplomacy.
With a single gesture, she blasted a psychic bolt directly into the Ranger's skull. Not enough to kill. Just enough to wipe clean her surface thoughts and scramble her volition. The Ranger's pupils dilated. Her limbs froze mid-stride. Then she dropped to her knees, eyes glassy and compliant.
"Lord Isis," she said, monotone. "Awaiting orders."
"Open. The gate."
"Yes, my lord."
The Ranger turned, now little more than a puppet under Isis's control. Her hand hovered over the gate's runic console, ancient Eldar glyphs flaring to life beneath her touch. A humming sound filled the air as the portal shimmered into existence—a swirling corridor of otherworldly light, the bridge into the incomprehensible subdimensions of the Webway.
Godzilla didn't care who had opened it—only that it was open.
Without hesitation, the monster stepped through.
Isis exhaled, the tension draining from her shoulders. Her claws loosened on her staff.
"That… nearly delayed the entire operation," she muttered, frustrated with herself. "I wasn't prepared. That's on me."
She clenched a fist.
"As Godzilla's high priestess, I must be ready for anything. No excuses."
She followed her god into the Webway.
To be fair, no one could have expected what she'd just endured. Even the mighty Godzilla wouldn't have fared much better against Slaanesh's temptations—maybe. Probably.
In the grim darkness of the far future, the first obstacle any traveler faces isn't the enemy. It's the Warp.
Gods seduce. Tempt. Twist. Corrupt.
Slaanesh doesn't just manipulate—she steals. She covets. And once she's noticed you, she doesn't forget.
The last time Slaanesh had taken such an interest in someone was that angel from the Imperium...
On the other side of the Webway gate, the welcome was anything but warm.
The moment Godzilla emerged, a shell hit him square in the snout.
No—several shells.
A barrage of gunfire erupted all around him as he stepped into a battlefield saturated with fire and steel. A crude but massive Ork fortress had been constructed around the gate, and the greenskins were unleashing hell.
Dozens of war cannons, slugga turrets, and makeshift artillery batteries opened fire all at once, roaring with noise and flame. The sheer volume of dakka was staggering—even Godzilla staggered under the impact, his thick hide sizzling with small explosions.
One Ork boy peered through a makeshift rangefinder.
"Boss! Dat ain't da big git we wuz 'sposed ta shoot!"
The Warboss turned and backhanded him.
"Don' care if it's a grox in a dress—FIRE EVERYTHING!!!"
The poor Ork's rational thoughts were knocked out of his ears along with a few teeth. He returned to the trigger like a good little greenskin.
The firepower continued.
Rockets. Mortars. Las-shootas. Even something that looked suspiciously like a repurposed Imperial macro-cannon. The sky turned orange with fire. The earth shook.
Godzilla stood in the inferno, slowly raising his head. The only part of him now visible was the ominous glow of his dorsal fins, a ghostly blue against the red glare of explosions.
'So this is how you want to play.'
His spines flashed.
A moment later, the blue glow turned into a searing lance of atomic breath.
A beam of pure radiation incinerated the Ork city's central fortress in a single, uninterrupted blast.
BOOM!
The shockwave flattened several buildings. Orks flew like ragdolls, some vaporized, others tossed like toys.
That sound—the crackling roar of Godzilla's heat ray—would soon become the dominant rhythm of the battlefield.
The greenskins had picked the wrong kaiju to ambush.
And he was just getting started.
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