Doom X Warhammer 40k Novels & Stories

The moment I heard the zombies outside the base howling through the mountain woods, I knew I had been reborn. Instinct took over. I bolted out of the room and lunged straight for the broadcast station's control panel. "Attention, everyone! This is not a drill! A large-scale horde is closing in! All personnel, fall back to the underground safe room immediately!" The words had barely left my mouth when the noise outside spiked. The snarls grew thicker, closer, and mingled with panicked screams from the humans.

Meanwhile, the zombies had already begun swarming up from below. The Soldatos immediately fired their submachine guns continuously, putting so many bullet holes in the attacking zombies they might as well have been sieves. Papa's back was broad and reliable in this apocalyptic world. I feared nothing as long as he was there beside me. When we finally rushed out of the apartment building, I realized that the scene outside was far more horrific than I had ever imagined. The streets were littered with burning vehicles and mangled corpses missing a limb or two, and zombies swarmed the streets in hordes.

Donovan Enterprises occupied the top fourteen floors of a glass tower in the financial district that caught the morning light and threw it back at you like a warning. I stood on the pavement outside for a moment, looking up at it. In my previous life I had never had a reason to come here. I had read about it afterward, in the examination articles, described as a memorial to one man's refusal to accept limitations, the journalist had meant it admiringly, reading it after the collapse, it had just sounded like a tribute, not this time. I pushed through the revolving door. The lobby was everything the building promised from the outside.

"What is your duty? To serve the Emperor's will! What is the Emperor's will? That we fight and die!"—chants from Warhammer 40,000 (videogame) (Content Warning—this chapter contains scenes of graphic violence and gore, reader's discretion is advised.) ** Ides of January, 41 AD The raw cry of—"Traitors!"—ripped through the torch-lit tunnel like a banshee’s wail. “Die!” SWISH THRUST “Urk—”