Warhammer 40k : John The Inquisitor

John stood at the edge of the airport parking deck, gazing out over the vast expanse of the apron. The colossal structure stretched from the hive city, its base sculpted into a magnificent golden eagle. It was the Imperial Sky Eagle—a symbol of the hive city's grandeur—its wings spanning a breathtaking three kilometers. Bathed in sunlight, the golden feathers shimmered with a dazzling brilliance. The eagle's talons gripped the platform as though preparing to lift the airport into the heavens.

Suspended far above the earth, the aerial platform hovered among the clouds, their hazy forms swirling beneath its white, protruding expanse. The wind whipped through the air, tugging at everyone's clothing. Jenny stood nearby, fighting a losing battle with her hair as it lashed against her face. She kept tucking errant strands behind her ears, only for the relentless gusts to undo her efforts. Overhead, the honor guard's flags flapped wildly, the golden and red banners dancing in the strong wind. Behind John and Jenny stood four towering giants, their power armor defying the storm's fury. The wind brushed against their plated forms without eliciting so much as a wobble. Helmetless but unbothered, they watched the scene with calm detachment. Meanwhile, John's crimson judge's cloak billowed dramatically behind him, but he appeared unconcerned. His focus was locked on the blue Thunderhawk ship descending slowly onto the tarmac.

The Thunderhawk's landing gear extended with a hiss of hydraulics, and the massive craft touched down with a smooth precision that belied its size. As the belly hatch lowered, revealing the emblematic letter "U" carved into its surface, the surrounding ground crew dropped to their knees in reverence. Heads bowed, they paid homage to the figures emerging from the vessel.

Jenny's eyes widened as eight giants strode forward, their heavy steps sending tremors through the ground. At their center hung a banner adorned with the ancient Roman numeral III. Leading the group was a figure of striking authority, his presence commanding respect. His centurion war helmet bore a horizontal plume of red and white feathers, and a rich scarlet robe draped from his right shoulder. Most striking of all was the ornate power sword at his waist, its scabbard a masterpiece of gold filigree and inlaid gemstones, centered by the same "U" symbol.

As they approached, the air seemed to grow heavier, the collective reverence of the honor guard and staff palpable. Even Jenny, usually composed, felt herself stepping back instinctively. John's steadying hand on her arm snapped her back to reality. She straightened, adopting a stoic expression as the leading Ultramarine removed his helmet. His chiseled features radiated authority, softened only slightly by a polite bow directed at John.

The unexpected gesture left Jenny and the gathered officials visibly stunned. Angels of Death, bowing to an Inquisitor? The sight was nearly incomprehensible. Yet John returned the bow with a calm that suggested he'd seen stranger things. "Thank you for coming, Captain Michael," John said with practiced ease. "On behalf of the Victoria Galaxy and the Imperium, I express our gratitude to you and your battle brothers."

Captain Michael's nod was firm. "Chapter Master Canio sends his respects and greetings, Inquisitor. He has entrusted us with the honor of supporting you, as is our sworn duty."

"Convey my thanks to the Chapter Master," John replied. "It is a privilege to stand alongside the Ultramarines and their blood brothers once more."

Michael's gaze shifted to the four armored giants behind John, acknowledging them with a nod before returning to John. "The Chapter Master has also sent his regards to an old ally." Michael turned to one of the giants, pressing a hand on his shoulder plate. "It's good to see you again, brother. Captain Canio remembers your valor fondly."

"The honor is mine, company commander," came the reply, delivered with a touch of warmth that seemed incongruous coming from such a massive warrior.

"Captain Michael," John said, turning to Jenny, whose wide-eyed disbelief hadn't quite dissipated, "is not only a champion swordsman but also the second-best duelist in the entire chapter. Only Cato Sicarius himself can challenge him for supremacy."

"Wait," Jenny blurted, her voice betraying her incredulity. "How did you manage to call the Angels of Death for backup? Aren't they… well, independent?"

John chuckled. "It's amazing what a little goodwill and mutual respect can accomplish. Let's just say we have an understanding."

Michael inclined his head. "Your methods of rooting out traitors and alien infiltrators have earned my admiration, Inquisitor. They are swift, precise, and… inventive."

"All in a day's work, Captain," John replied, feigning modesty. "But we'll need your strength and that of your brothers for what's to come."

"Say no more," Michael declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "We've faced the Tyranids before, and we'll do so again. Together, we shall crush them."

John's lips quirked in a wry smile as he glanced at the sky. Above, the combined fleet of Space Marines hung in orbit, a testament to the Ultramarines' readiness. Two battle flagships, four barges, and a host of smaller vessels formed an imposing armada.

"You're not holding back," John mused aloud. "An entire company, plus several sub-groups? I'd almost say you likes me."

Michael gestured toward his honor guard, who promptly removed their helmets. "I've brought veterans of the Tyrannic Wars, Inquisitor. They remember your courage well."

John gave a nonchalant shrug. "Courage, desperation… they're not so different when facing a sea of chittering death." The conversation paused as a sudden shift in the sky caught their attention. Ships in low orbit began moving with urgent purpose, veering from their stations. John stiffened, his expression darkening. "The Hive Fleet is here," he said quietly.

Michael's jaw tightened, but his eyes blazed with determination. "This will be a battle to remember," he proclaimed, raising his arm. "Brothers! Prepare for glory!"

The Ultramarines echoed his cry, their voices a thunderous roar. Around them, the gathered mortals joined in, their shouts mingling into a deafening war cry. "For the Emperor! For the Imperium!"

The naval gun thundered silently—an oxymoron that didn't escape Bryan's notice, even as the floor beneath him shook like it was trying to mimic an earthquake. Somewhere out there, giant shells tore through the fabric of the void, aimed straight at the nightmarish fleet of purple-black chitin monstrosities barreling toward them. Seconds later, the shells slammed into their targets, and the universe momentarily lit up like it was hosting the galaxy's most dangerous fireworks show. Flames and shrapnel painted the void, while the armored carapaces of the enemy cracked like poorly boiled eggs.

Above, the Imperial Navy's ship-borne turbolaser cannons and heavy light spear arrays lit up the dark with enough firepower to make even the bravest void beasts think twice. It was a spectacular sight: streaks of searing energy and bursts of physical munitions turned the cosmos into a symphony of destruction. Against this backdrop, the Tyranid Hive Fleet charged relentlessly, emerging from the shadow of Victoria's satellite like some kind of cosmic plague.

"And there they go," Bryan muttered as he watched a hornworm ship—a grotesque, bioengineered battering ram—collide head-on with one of their frigates. The Imperial vessel looked pitifully small as it was crushed, exploded, and vanished into the void within seconds. Around it, the Sword-class frigates attempted to retreat, maneuvering as quickly as their engines allowed, all while avoiding the swarm of living projectiles and plasma sprays that chased them.