Frontline Dispatch 17
Sector Red Nine, Outer Helios Front
Embedded Correspondent J Harland Reporting

There are moments in war when words seem inadequate.

The arrival of a Plague Colossus is one of them.

I first heard it before I saw it. A deep, rhythmic impact that travelled through the ground itself. The vibration rattled ammunition crates, shook dust from ruined buildings, and caused several nervous recruits to glance over their shoulders. At first many assumed it was artillery. Others believed heavy armour was approaching.

They were all wrong.

The shape emerged from the smoke shortly after dawn.

Standing several times the height of a battle tank, the creature advanced with dreadful inevitability. It was not a machine, though parts of machinery protruded from its twisted form. It was not entirely biological either. Like much of the Plague, it appeared to be an abomination created when flesh, mutation, infection, and battlefield salvage merged into something that should never have existed.

The Colossus moved forward without haste because it had no need for speed.

Nothing in front of it survived long enough to matter.

Heavy calibre cannon rounds struck its torso and disappeared beneath folds of diseased flesh. Missile impacts tore chunks from its body only for the wounds to writhe and close with horrifying speed. The creature simply continued its advance, each step bringing it closer to the defensive line.

The first fortification collapsed beneath a single blow.

Witnesses described the impact as resembling a demolition charge. A reinforced ferrocrete bunker that had withstood two days of bombardment was smashed apart in seconds. Gun crews vanished beneath falling debris as the giant monster pressed onward.

Panic spread quickly.

Veteran soldiers who had held their positions against Marauder assaults and Forge Father siege attacks found themselves facing an entirely different kind of enemy. The Colossus inspired a primal fear. It was not merely its size. It was the certainty that conventional weapons seemed incapable of stopping it.

As the creature reached the centre of the defensive perimeter, supporting Plague forces surged forward behind it. Stage Three mutants poured through breaches in the line while packs of lesser infected followed in their wake. The Colossus acted as a living battering ram, creating openings that the rest of the horde eagerly exploited.

One officer later remarked that fighting the Colossus felt like attempting to stop a landslide with a rifle.

The battle reached its climax when a company of Enforcer heavy weapons teams concentrated every available weapon upon the advancing monster. Plasma cannons, missile launchers, and anti armour lasers struck the creature simultaneously. The resulting explosion briefly illuminated the battlefield brighter than daylight.

For several moments the giant disappeared within a cloud of smoke and fire.

A cheer erupted along the defensive line.

It ended abruptly.

When the smoke cleared, the Colossus still stood.

Damaged. Burned. Bleeding foul black fluids.

But standing.

The creature unleashed a roar that echoed across the battlefield and resumed its advance.

The psychological effect was devastating.

Within the hour the defensive position had been abandoned and surviving troops were conducting a fighting withdrawal toward secondary lines. The Colossus continued forward, leaving a trail of wrecked vehicles, shattered fortifications, and broken bodies behind it.

As I write this report, command staff are already debating how such monsters can be countered in future engagements. Some advocate heavier weapons. Others suggest orbital bombardment. A few quietly admit that neither option offers much comfort to the soldiers expected to face the next one.

The battlefield belongs to the Plague tonight.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, intelligence reports suggest there may be more Colossi moving toward the front.

This is J. Harland, signing off from the frontier. Stay safe, and we’ll bring you the next report from wherever the war takes us.