There are many kinds of laboratories.

Humanity has a long tradition of martial arts. The grapple, the throw, precision strikes, secrets of stance and perception - a martial tradition going back to the era of the primate. None of that prepared the people of Houndclaw for fighting the Tyranids. Blademasters with centuries of experience were cut down by lesser bioforms because they did not understand the tells of an insect. Marksmen defaulted to shooting at eyes and heads because that was what they had been trained to do. Post-battle autopsies revealed that the Devourer had been building heads of bone and muscle. So many theories had been tested and failed, and humanity had fallen back on the supremely inefficient use of mass promethium and unguided gunfire in place of precision.

There had been enough of each, thank the Omnissiah.

In the aftermath, the dojo of ZRK-333 had become the most unique and valuable asset of the Isohedron. In collaboration with Magos Pinel's genius for servitorization, and with even Inquisitor Iconium turning a blind eye, the Swarm had been resurrected. The sacred technology of Man had been twisted into unity with xenos strains and now ranks of Tyranid Warriors line up with the discipline of Astra Militarium regiments, their shells painted in blue and bone. Their cybernetic implants blink red until they are activated, whereupon they walk into the arena to duel the champions of humanity. 

And champions there are in abundance. The best Skitarii of a dozen forge worlds sit in a crowd on the stands, discussing constantly amongst themselves. Electromancers sit in silent meditation, praying to their null-staves. Neuromancers sit separately, surrounded by data monitors, observing real-time trackers of the combatants' brainwaves as they work to convert particularly effective techniques into wetware implants. The black-armoured champion of the Adeptus Astartes, Eunicornius Kim, sits alone in a box that has been ambitiously built to house a dozen Astartes. There are even guests from outside the cult - black-clad Death Cultists, hard-bitten Guardsmen, a caste of eerie knights in incomprehensible triangle helmets and mirror shields, and - [b][i]is that a Custodian Guard!?[/i][/b]

No. No. What the fuck? That's just an Ogryn dressed as a Custodian Guard. It has a Guardian Spear and everything, and a magnificently waxed walrus moustache. Who...?

[i]That [/i]aside, this is a big change for the dojo. For centuries the presence of the Electromancers was a mild cost center for the Isohedron - they brought a little security, some maintenance for the electrical networks, but they were not particularly productive outside that. Now many of the most wealthy and powerful martial organizations in the Imperium are paying a vast tribute in wealth, favours and respect to learn the lessons being developed here. As with any action in the Imperium, the trade is earning an equal number of denunciations and accusations of tech-heresy - but almost uniformly from the half of the galaxy furthest away from the Tyrannid threat. One of Archmagos' many negotiations was to draw in a delegation from Ultramar - if possible they would bring both experience and legitimacy that would take the Isohedron to new heights.

But there were still kinks to be worked out. Not least is right now the Sister of Battle behind you stiffening as she looks at the organized ranks of Tyranid Warriors. She has been lost in a reverie as she contemplates the tale of Vandire in the context of her own personal issues, but this snaps her out of it. The sight would shock anyone, but not everyone has a bolter within arms length of your spine.