CHAPTER 160-165

Chapter 160: The Return of Abaddon

The Nurgle forces on the battlefield were purged almost instantly following the departure of the Great Unclean One.

Mortal soldiers, clad in protective gear, separated the remains of their fallen comrades before incinerating them with heavy flamers. Against the plagues of the Warp, the only recourse for mere mortals was the purifying embrace of fire.

The Astra Militarum's chirurgeons were utterly outmatched. Most Imperial Guard medics were trained only to handle basic trauma and infection, their expertise peaked at crudely digging out bullets or performing primitive amputations on wounded guardsmen. They would spray standard-issue medicinal salves onto wounds or shove pills down a soldier’s throat just to keep them from expiring on the spot.

As for curing a true Warp-malady, it was nothing short of a joke.

Setting aside the perennial lack of medical supplies, most field chirurgeons lacked any formal training; they were often hive-city back-alley quacks or tribal medicine men. They possessed nowhere near the knowledge required to combat these horrific contagions.

However, those of unwavering faith showed a fierce resistance to the viruses once the source of the corruption had vanished. Provided they were not exposed to the epicenter of the rot for too long, many found that even without medicine, they could achieve a miraculous recovery simply by clutching a copy of the Emperor’s Word and offering fervent prayers before His icons in a chapel.

As thousands of corpses vanished into the pyres, the mortal soldiers remained at their posts, doggedly repelling the daemons and cultists closing in from all sides to secure the landing fields.

All of this transpired under the watchful gaze of Vashtorr.

The lesser daemons lurking in the shadows were Vashtorr’s lackeys, minions who, when not performing unpaid labor in his Soul Forges, served as multifaceted tools of his will. Espionage was chief among their duties.

Vashtorr was incensed as he watched the Great Unclean One flee in a fit of rage. When Guilliman burned Nurgle’s Garden, the Plague God became the laughingstock of the Ruinous Powers. Vashtorr had expected the Great Unclean One to fight with suicidal valor for the Grandfather’s glory upon seeing the Avenging Son; instead, the bloated coward had broken and fled.

Worst of all, the daemon-beast had contaminated a vast number of Vashtorr’s Daemon Engines. These machines, now encrusted with malignant pustules and spewing virulent spores, could no longer be bartered to other daemons for support.

Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from the void.

Countless Chaos vessels tore through the veil of the Warp, manifesting on the periphery of the planet Wyrmwood. A savage opening salvo instantly crippled several Dark Angels cruisers. Violent explosions illuminated the planet’s surface like a series of newborn suns.

Guilliman, standing beside Lion El'Jonson, wore an expression of grim expectation.

As the explosions blossomed, Vashtorr immediately activated the numerous Chaos battery emplacements across the planet. Although he was startled that the Lion had located him so easily, and even more surprised that Guilliman had dared to land with the vanguard, everything was proceeding according to his design.

Abaddon had returned with his Dreadfleet. This time, he kept the slow, gargantuan Arks of Omen at the rear of the formation, deploying his conventional warships ahead.

The Loyalist fleet was now trapped. Massive gun batteries across the planetary surface shed their camouflage, elevating their muzzles to pour fire into the ships in orbit. Encircling them from the outer reaches was the entirety of the Dreadfleet. Hundreds of Chaos vessels filled the void almost instantly. In a single broadside, several Imperial ships were utterly vaporized.

The Lion’s heart wrenched as he watched his ships bloom into fire in orbit. He realized with a jolt of clarity that the earlier Chaos retreat had been a ruse; if he did not act decisively, all his sons would be consigned to the void.

As a second exchange of fire lit the heavens, the planet's surface grew even brighter. But this time, the explosions erupted from within Abaddon’s own Dreadfleet.

At a far-point on the planet’s flank, countless beams of light lanced out from the darkness. The Second Fleet, which had seemingly retreated, reappeared at the edge of the war zone with nearly double its original strength.

The initial ambush instantly decimated over a dozen of Abaddon’s warships. Guilliman looked up at the crisscrossing lances of light stitching the sky.

"Impossible! That fleet was confirmed to have translated into the Warp! From whence did these extra Imperial ships come?" Vashtorr hissed in disbelief, staring at the reinforcements emerging from the deep void.

The Lion, seeing the carnage being wrought upon the enemy fleet, turned to look at Guilliman, who appeared entirely composed.

"We must extract immediately," the Lion urged. "The enemy force is still too vast. Even with your reinforcements, the odds are not in our favor."

Guilliman knew this well.

The additional fleet had been acting on his clandestine orders long ago. The temporary withdrawal of the Second Fleet had been a calculated feint to deceive the Chaos spies. Though the combined Loyalist fleet numbered barely two hundred vessels, paling in comparison to Abaddon’s thousand-strong Dreadfleet, the situation was not as dire as it appeared.

Aboard the Pectaro, Axion silently reviewed the formal authorization document provided by Guilliman before activating all weapon systems to maximum output.

Beams of immense power, fundamentally different from standard Imperial Nova Cannons, erupted from the prow of the Pectaro. Faced with the dense formation of the Chaos fleet, this terrifying lance of energy pierced through four cruisers in a single discharge.

Sweeping waves of plasma, glowing with a brilliant cerulean light, raked across the Chaos ships. Every vessel struck saw its void shields flare violently; shield generators redlined instantly, each impact carrying the localized force of an entire lance battery.

Threads of high-energy particles wove through the plasma fire, ignoring void shield harmonics to punch through hull after hull. The lucky ships merely suffered dozens of decks worth of cellular disintegration; those less fortunate had their bridges swept, their entire command crews vaporized in a heartbeat.

The Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon’s own flagship, did not escape unscathed. A beam from a relativistic particle projector grazed its flank, turning the Black Legionaries and rebels within several compartments into a slurry of decomposed flesh.

The suddenness of the strike left Abaddon shaken. Faced with unknown weaponry, panic is inevitable, even for the Despoiler.

"Combat assessment complete. Plasma operational efficiency at 5%; area-of-effect damage insufficient. Adjusting to staggered fire patterns."

"Relativistic particle projectors: biological lethality at 12%. Attack angles restricted. Adjusting hull attitude."

"Nova Cannon: combat efficiency 413.21%. Note: operational efficiency may drop to 0% following hull reorientation."

Observing the densely packed Chaos fleet, the logic for optimizing lethality was clear. While the Nova Cannon was devastatingly effective, its recharge cycle was too long. Compared to the particle projectors, it was simply too slow.

Chapter 161: The Biological Grinder

"Notice: The Pectaro is initiating a transverse attack. All vessels clear the horizontal engagement plane."

The Imperial captains who received Axion’s warning could not fathom the intent behind the command. Nevertheless, they ordered their augur-crews to fix their sights on the vessel Guilliman had personally designated as an ally, hoping to discern its combat characteristics and find a way to coordinate.

Confusion soon rippled through the observation decks.

"The Pectaro is correcting its horizontal attitude... it is orienting itself perpendicular to the fleet formation."

"Angular thrusters detected. The vessel is entering a high-speed axial rotation."

As the Imperial captains watched the ship stand on end and begin to spin, memories of the Dark Mechanicum’s previous fate surged to the surface. They recalled the beautiful, death-dealing lattice of light that had swept across those traitor hulls, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

"Emergency thrust! Clear the horizontal plane!"

The Imperial fleet, which had been maintaining a tight mutual-defense formation against the incoming fire, scattered like a startled shoal of fish, diving violently "downward." Faced with the surrounding Chaos fleet, the threat from the planetary defense batteries below suddenly seemed the lesser of two evils.

Watching the bizarre maneuvers of the Loyalists, Abaddon sensed a trap. Instinct honed by ten millennia of war compelled him to order his own ships to follow suit, plunging the fleet to lower altitudes.

As the Imperial ships dove, the silver, rotating pillar of the Pectaro was left exposed in the center of the void.

The Chaos vessels naturally took note of the Pectaro in its vertical, spinning state. When magnified pict-feeds confirmed that a single, oddly-shaped ship was twirling like a top, derisive laughter erupted from the throats of daemons and rebels alike.

"Hahaha! A vessel so pathetic it cannot even maintain its own attitude control!"

Abaddon failed to recognize the ship; when he had last encountered the Pectaro, its configuration had been entirely different.

Then, the familiar ribbons of light erupted from the spiraling hull, resembling a bioluminescent jellyfish spinning in the deep. Densely interlaced bands of radiance swept outward, raking across the tightly packed Dreadfleet.

Simultaneously, the Second Fleet, engaged with the enemy periphery, executed an emergency breaking maneuver.

This time, the target density was immense. The thin filaments of light merged into a broad, cohesive ring of radiance that sliced through nearly a hundred Chaos vessels in a single revolution. Most of the high-energy particles exhausted their charge after piercing four or five hulls. The remnants drifted into the void, though some stray beams caught the Arks of Omen anchored at the edge of the theater.

The massive halo of light was visible even from the surface of Wyrmwood below.

There was no explosion. No bloom of fire.

A bewildered Abaddon stared at his fleet displays. Status reports indicated only minor superficial damage to most hulls. The attack appeared to be a grand, meaningless joke.

But as Abaddon opened his mouth to mock the display, he received a report that defied description.

Nearly two hundred ships had become ghost ships.

The rebels, the cultists, the Black Legion overseers, and the Astartes of various renegade warbands… not a single soul among them remained alive.

A terrifying report from a vessel that had not been entirely transfixed by the beams sent a chill down Abaddon’s spine. Upon contact with the high-energy particles, flesh had begun to rot and disintegrate at an impossible rate. Such scenes were usually reserved for the most virulent of Nurgle’s plagues.

Yet, unlike a Nurgle rot, these collapsing bodies showed no signs of mutation. They simply dissolved into pools of bloody slurry. The particles had lanced through the physical form, slaying every individual cell and rendering bone as brittle as ash.

The power armor that once protected the Astartes had become high-quality cans. Deprived of the bodies that filled them, the suits toppled to the deck, spilling "soup" from their joints. The Heretek Priests and their corrupted flesh-servitors were reduced to heaps of scattered metallic skeletons.

Deprived of the Hereteks' iron-fisted control, the ships spiraled into madness.

Unlike the Machine Spirits of the Imperium, Chaos vessels were often powered by daemonic entities crudely extracted and bound into the ship’s systems. These "spirits" were subjected to eternal torment, forced into compliance by profane shrines and sub-routines.

With the crews dead, these daemonic intelligences reclaimed their chaotic nature. The tortured entities howled with predatory joy as they shattered their shackles, eager to vent their millennium-old fury.

In an instant, all tactical cohesion vanished. Fleet formations and fire priorities were discarded. The targets were no longer limited to the Loyalists.

The battlefield became a chaotic snarl of wayward energy as malevolent warp-cannons and macro-batteries fired indiscriminately. Two hundred Chaos vessels began firing wildly at both friend and foe alike. Ships began to engage in brutal brawls with their own kind. Without the Dark Tech-priests to maintain them, void shields flickered and died, and entire hulls blossomed into fireballs under the friendly fire of their peers.

Abaddon realized the catastrophe unfolding. The remaining Dreadfleet vessels scrambled to clear the kill-zone, turning their guns toward the approaching Second Fleet as the Arks of Omen began their slow, ponderous advance.

Against conventional warships, the relativistic particle projectors were devastating. However, the Arks of Omen, armored by the fused wreckage of countless lost ships, possessed hulls too thick for high-energy particles to fully penetrate.

Having completed its sweep, Axion decelerated the Pectaro and brought it back to a level attitude, using its plasma batteries to pick off the Chaos ships already reeling from the daemonic infighting.

The other Imperial vessels followed suit. They coordinated their fire to overload enemy void shields, then watched as the rebels were vaporized by the batteries of their own maddened sister-ships. The unshackled daemonic machine spirits cared nothing for allegiance; they sought only to broadcast their agony and hatred.

Abaddon watched his fleet dissolve into anarchy. Enraged, he signaled the Vengeful Spirit to initiate a saturation strike on the Pectaro.

Colossal lances and massive macro-cannon batteries unleashed a deluge of fire. Beams of raw energy and high-explosive ordnance slammed into the Pectaro’s energy shields in a continuous, deafening thunder.

"Shield recharge rate nominal. Defense threshold rising to 55%."

Axion glanced at the shield load and felt a flicker of genuine surprise at the enemy's firepower. During the Federation era, void shield technology did not exist; most ships relied on energy shields. Restricted by power consumption, the shields on smaller craft could barely deflect micrometeoroids. Only on capital ships did they have true tactical utility.

It was only after the Iron Men began equipping dark matter reactor cores as primary power sources that these obscenely thick energy shields first gained the capability to withstand the concentrated fire of an entire enemy fleet.

Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon watched as the silver ship emerged unscathed from the curtain of fire. In a fit of fury, he slammed his claw onto a nearby console, leaving a jagged, deep furrow in the metal.

Chapter 162: The Shifting Rock

Abaddon roared, commanding all Arks of Omen to increase speed immediately. Since leading the Dreadfleets to ravage the galaxy, he had never suffered such catastrophic losses in a single engagement. In the eternal war between the Imperium and Chaos, manpower remained the most precious of resources. Mortal renegades and cultists were easily replaced, but reliable Chaos Warbands were rare treasures. To lose hundreds of Black Legion overseers stationed across those vessels was a bitter draught to swallow.

Upon the surface of the planet Wyrmwood, Roboute Guilliman watched the Arks of Omen slowly closing in. Without hesitation, he began coordinating the evacuation of all personnel. Guilliman had never harbored the illusion that they could utterly defeat these daemons and traitors here. This had been a daring feint, a tactic to lure the enemy into a killing zone and utilize Axion’s terrifying Pectaro to inflict massive attrition upon the foe.

As the Imperial fleet turned its full attention to the Dreadfleet in orbit, the surviving daemons on the surface surged in a relentless tide toward the Dark Angels and Ultramarines. Now, the time had come to withdraw.

The Lion surveyed his battered sons, his expression a mask of cold fury. Casting a gaze of pure loathing toward Vashtorr’s position, he issued the order for the Dark Angels to commence a fighting retreat under heavy covering fire. Abaddon, in his arrogance, had no inkling that he had fully ignited the Primarch’s righteous wrath.

As the Imperial fleet lowered its altitude to evade the Pectaro’s high-energy particle streams, Vashtorr sensed an unexpected prize. His eyes burned with predatory delight as he looked up at The Rock.

Deep beneath the battlefield outside the fortress-monastery, a damaged mechanical parasite was awakened. Its vermicular form squirmed out from a pile of shattered metal wreckage, burrowing deep into the foundations of the fortress as directed by Vashtorr. The Arkifane had his own ways of locating the shards of the "Key."

Initially, Vashtorr had intended to take The Rock by storm, but he had opted for a more insidious approach. Though Lion El'Jonson had inspected the relics within the fortress upon learning of Vashtorr’s objectives, the specific nature of the daemon’s target remained elusive. Consequently, the Lion had transferred the most vital Chapter relics to the Invincible Reason.

However, tucked away near the power core of the fortress was an ancient, mysterious machine, the Tuchulcha Engine, which had been overlooked in the haste.

As the mechanical parasite’s tendrils extended through the earth and breached the chamber, piercing alarms shrieked throughout the corridors of The Rock. Vashtorr knew his intrusion had been detected, but he cared little. Using the parasite as a beacon, he tore a rift in the Warp and manifested directly before the ancient construct, sparing not even a glance for the core of The Rock itself.

Rapid, complex streams of data flowed between the Daemon and the machine.

"I have secured the other two shards of the Key. Now, I shall take you to join them," Vashtorr pulsed.

"Agreed," the Tuchulcha Engine responded. The ancient sentience had long grown weary of its confinement. Once the three artifacts were reunited, its purpose would be fulfilled, and it would finally be free of the oversight of the Watchers in the Dark.

By the time the Dark Angels guarding the chamber of relics reached the core, the ancient engine had vanished. In their fury, the Unforgiven annihilated the remains of the parasitic construct and reported the loss to their Primarch.

The Lion remained silent. Since Dante had found him, he had glimpsed a fragmented prophecy suggesting that perhaps no force could halt the Daemon’s design. With the arrival of Guilliman and the devastating power of the ancient Pectaro, the Lion had almost believed they could defy fate.

Reality proved otherwise. He had never anticipated the enemy’s true target was the Tuchulcha Engine nestled beside the core. Without the engine, the mobility of The Rock would be severely compromised, a dire omen for the campaign ahead.

…

The last of the planet-side forces completed their extraction just before the fleet was fully encircled. The breakthrough maneuver began immediately. To protect the sluggish Rock, Guilliman ordered the Pectaro to take the vanguard. Its Nova Cannons spat colossal beams of light, each shot punching through the blocking Dreadfleet vessels with ease.

The Imperial ships plunged through the debris clouds, shattering the closing ring of the Arks of Omen. Volley after volley of enemy fire hammered against the Pectaro’s void shields, but the silver leviathan emerged from the fire and explosions time and again, obliterating any Chaos vessel in its path into scrap.

Only after the Imperial fleet had breached the blockade did the Pectaro accelerate. In the distance, the Second Fleet and the Wrath of Baal merged with the escaping Dark Angels, maintaining a staggered pattern of suppressive fire as they withdrew.

The Rock was the first to plunge into the Warp, followed by the vessels of the Second Fleet. Finally, once the Pectaro, Guilliman’s Honor of Macragge, and the remaining Dark Angel ships vanished into the Empyrean, Abaddon’s face contorted with incandescent rage.

Technically, this was a victory for Chaos; they had routed a Loyalist fleet carrying two Primarchs. Yet the cost was unacceptable. Nearly a thousand Chaos ships had surrounded a force less than a fifth their size, yet they had lost over three hundred vessels. Even though only forty-odd Dark Angel ships escaped, the exchange ratio was an insult.

A twisted Chaos servitor approached Abaddon, its voice a cacophony of grating binaric and screeches. "Warmaster... casualty reports indicate a loss ratio of approximately one to eight. Eighty percent of vessel losses are attributed to the unknown warship."

With a casual flex of the Talon of Horus, Abaddon reduced the foul machine to a slurry of meat and metal. He stared out at the floating graveyards of his fleet, his voice echoing across the bridge.

"You call this a victory?! Argh! Guilliman! You will regret this! I will make you suffer for this!" Abaddon felt his fury slipping toward the abyss of madness; this triumph felt more hollow than many of his defeats.

The sting was worsened moments later by a transmission from Vashtorr.

"Abaddon, move your fleet away from Wyrmwood. I have obtained what I sought. The Dissonance Engine can now be awakened."

Abaddon could hear the smug satisfaction in the Arkifane’s voice. To a Warmaster who had just traded a significant portion of his fleet for a pyrrhic victory, Vashtorr’s success was like promethium poured onto a wildfire. But Vashtorr cared nothing for Abaddon's losses; the Great Game moved forward, and the Key was nearly complete.

Chapter 163: Authorization Protocols

As the Loyalist fleet successfully broke transition from the Warp back into realspace, Commander Dante’s vox-relay teams were nearly pushed to their breaking point. A deluge of data flooded the sensor-banks of the Wrath of Baal.

Astropaths were all but drowned in the endless psychic static of incoming transmissions. After being rigorously screened by Dante, a single, critical intelligence report was delivered to Roboute Guilliman and Lion El'Jonson. To conquer the foe, one must first comprehend them; they had to determine exactly what the forces of Chaos were orchestrating.

Since their departure from the Wyrmwood system, clandestine Inquisition fortresses in neighboring sectors had detected unprecedented levels of reality-erosion. Titanic energy signatures had erupted from the direction of the Somnium Stars, leaving a massive spatial void in their wake.

The planet designated as Wyrmwood had vanished entirely.

All of this had transpired in the immediate aftermath of the loss of the Tuchulcha Engine. Guilliman was unfamiliar with the specific mechanics of the Calibanite artifacts; for that knowledge, he could only rely on the Lion.

Yet, the Lion was equally in the dark regarding the artifacts' true nature. His only recourse was the Watchers in the Dark. Though no one knew the true origin or identity of these diminutive, robed figures, they had stood as the silent custodians of these relics across the aeons.

…

While the Primarchs were occupied with the enigmas of the relics and Vashtorr’s endgame, Axion was satisfiedly reviewing a document delivered by Guilliman’s envoys.

Axion still struggled to comprehend why the Imperium insisted on using vellum as a medium for data storage. However, based on his burgeoning understanding of Imperial bureaucracy, the various heraldic crests and the sheer volume of wax seals suggested that this document carried "significant weight."

In one corner sat a unique sigil of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Axion recognized it immediately: it was the personal crest of Belisarius Cawl. Though it followed standard patterns, Axion noted the intricate binaric engravings and specific floral motifs identifying it as Cawl’s own sub-sect. He had seen similar marks aboard Cawl’s Ark Mechanicus.

The authorization document formally recognized Axion and his subordinate units as allied forces of the Imperium. It designated a mineral-rich world within the Bastior Sub-sector of Segmentum Pacificus as their station. Axion was to be responsible for the planet’s security and the reinforcement of neighboring Imperial worlds.

In exchange, the Imperium would provide a specified quota of logistical support. Axion's performance would be assessed based on the system’s resource output and its successful collection of the Imperial Tithe. The document contained a pledge: should Axion’s contributions meet the required threshold, the Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman would personally escort him to Terra for an audience with the Emperor and grant him access to the Imperial Archives.

The explicit promise of reaching Terra filled Axion with profound joy.

The appendix of the document detailed a convoluted point-contribution system and corresponding calculation formulae, alongside a comprehensive star chart of the Imperium's current borders. Using this chart, Axion updated his archaic navigational records, seeing the galaxy anew for the first time in millennia.

However, one supplemental clause left Axion somewhat perplexed:

"Responding to the Imperial summons and participating in combat shall grant additional contribution points. Scores are to be determined by the assessed difficulty of the engagement."

While it didn't seem inherently wrong, something about it felt... off. The mind of an Iron Man was meticulous, but its logic functioned on a different vector than that of a biological human. The authorization letter defined the mission clearly, established the results, and possessed a perfect logical loop. After several reviews, Axion failed to find any flaw in the reasoning.

In truth, this entire arrangement was the calculated result of a consultation between Cawl and Guilliman.

Ever since Axion had effortlessly annihilated the forces of the Dark Mechanicum, Guilliman’s concern regarding the Iron Man had deepened. He could not discuss such a volatile matter with the Lion, so he had turned to Cawl. Cawl, relying on his advanced hexamathic encryption to shield the transmission from the cacophony of the Warp, had managed to coordinate this strategy.

Axion had no idea what he was truly facing.

…

At present, the forces of Chaos had vanished; Abaddon’s Dreadfleet had once again slipped into the tides of the Empyrean. The First Legion had been mauled; less than half of the initial participants had survived.

The Lion did not doubt that if he and Dante had stood alone, the survival rate among his sons would not have exceeded thirty percent. Guilliman, meanwhile, faced a mountain of logistical nightmares. The strategic overview of the Imperium demanded his constant attention.

The internal rot of the Imperium could not be ignored, either. Guilliman had received clandestine reports that the Inquisition was monitoring the First Legion, suspecting that the Dark Angels sought to reform their ancient Legion-strength structure.

Guilliman could only shake his head bitterly at such reports. The Codex Astartes had been his error. He needed strength to save this crumbling empire; if he could, he would restore the Legions in a heartbeat. But the Dark Angels were currently in no state to form a Legion—their strength was barely superior to that of the recently rebuilt Imperial Fists.

When Cawl suggested utilizing the power of the Iron Man, Guilliman had hesitated for a long time. The Iron Man consumed metal and minerals; the Necrons were not a suitable foe, for Guilliman feared Axion might lose control if exposed to their technology. The corruption of Chaos made him equally wary of letting the machine-entity near the Warp-spawn.

The only viable target was the recently emerged Tyranid swarm.

Faced with intelligence regarding the Tyranids that had reached him months late, Guilliman considered yet another overhaul of the Imperial administrative system. He overlooked the fact that it was his own constant transit across the galaxy that had delayed the emergency missives.

Since finding Axion, he had journeyed from the Imperium Nihilus to the Ultima Segmentum, fought the Necrons, returned to Nihilus to find the Wrath of Baal and the Lion, and finally searched the Somnium Stars to clash with the Archenemy. The emergency data had been chasing Guilliman across the stars.

Had it not been for Captain-General Trajann Valoris and Lord Solar Leontus taking the initiative to form the Solblades to handle the Pacificus crisis, Guilliman might not have known of the threat until the Tyranid tendrils reached the Solar Segmentum.

Through their recent interactions, Guilliman had learned how to steer the Iron Man. So long as precious historical data was used as the lure, Axion would not resist being utilized.

Payment, of course, had to be rendered. Axion was completely unaware that the "reward" for carving a path through the Archenemy's fleet was, in reality, a sophisticated contract of indentured servitude.

Chapter 164: Segmentum Pacificus

Following the departure from the Somnium Stars, the colossal combined fleet was dissolved.

The Second Fleet departed in earnest, requisitioning all auxiliary vessels that had arrived to support them before plunging once more into the grueling conflicts of the Imperium Nihilus.

The Dark Angels, meanwhile, escorted The Rock as it began its slow transit back toward the Sanctus Imperialis. Bereft of the Tuchulcha Engine, the fortress-monastery could no longer traverse the Warp with its former impunity or deploy with such devastating speed. Now, among the various fleets, The Rock had become the slowest vessel in the void.

The Lion had only recently returned; he needed to reorganize the Dark Angels and cleanse the stains of the Fallen. He needed to husband his strength. Guilliman had informed him that a vast host of Unnumbered Sons, the Greyshields, remained on Mars, and that he could replenish his ranks from their numbers if necessary.

As to whether Lion El’Jonson would accept them, Guilliman did not interfere. As a Primarch of the Imperium, El’Jonson was entitled to his own judgment; Guilliman had no desire to force the hand of a brother with whom he had historically shared a fractious relationship.

Following several days of private discourse, the Lion gained his first true understanding of the Imperium’s dire state. When Guilliman requested his assistance in managing the Dark Imperium once his forces were refitted, El’Jonson refused without hesitation. His expression was one of rare sincerity as he offered a first-time compliment to Guilliman’s administrative prowess and voiced his approval of Dante, the loyal son of Sanguinius. He then informed Guilliman, with total gravity, that he had to uncover the machinations of Chaos and thus had no time to spare.

Dante had done well, El’Jonson noted; the Dark Imperium could remain under his stewardship.

Standing nearby, Dante, summoned by the Regent, bowed slightly at the Lion’s praise. Without a word, he donned his golden death mask and led his Sanguinary Guard back to the Sword of Baal to depart. No one could see the expression hidden behind that frozen, golden visage.

Seeing that El’Jonson’s mind was made up, Guilliman pressed the matter no further. Even if he disagreed with the decision, he would not move to obstruct the Lion’s actions.

Once the Sword of Baal vanished into the void, the Dawn of Fire quickly outpaced the lumbering Dark Angels fleet, setting a course for Segmentum Solar. Axion’s vessel, the Pectaro, followed in the wake of the Regent’s ship.

The journey from the Dark Imperium back to the Sanctus side required navigating treacherous Warp corridors. The Iron Man’s navigational arrays could not function correctly in areas heavily saturated by the Warp; if left to its own devices, the ship would quickly lose its way, unable to distinguish the Immaterium from realspace.

The situation in Segmentum Pacificus had grown critical. Guilliman needed to reach the Sol System immediately to take command and receive the latest intelligence.

When the two ships transitioned out of the Warp at the Segmentum Solar Mandeville point, Axion immediately cross-referenced his star charts. With almost no hesitation, he slaved the Pectaro to the calculated coordinates and vanished into the Warp once more.

Watching the Iron Man vessel disappear, Guilliman let out a long, weary breath. He did not know if this arrangement would ultimately prove a boon or a curse for the current Imperium. But at this stage, there were no other options.

Aboard the Dawn of Fire, a group of Tech-Priests stood in a tight circle around a massive machine. Metal mechadendrites probed deep into the unsealed interior of the device, analyzing the material composition and technological principles within.

It was a long-range Super Quantum Communication device, left to Guilliman by Axion.

Standard Imperial vox-arrays were limited to a range of a few thousand kilometers; interstellar communication relied almost entirely on the Astropaths. Such methods were incapable of real-time dialogue and were agonizingly slow. The ancient Federation, however, had never suffered from the vagaries of astropathic transmission. Advanced quantum technology made such long-distance calls relatively simple.

However, making a machine powered by quantum energy compatible with the archaic systems of an Imperial vessel had caused Axion no small amount of frustration. Ultimately, he had been forced to install an internal power converter. Due to this modification, the original monolithic casing could no longer be hermetically sealed.

Regarding these Tech-Priests, who had stopped at the veil of the Goddess of Knowledge without yet overstepping, the "Big Blue One" simply turned away, granting them a degree of indulgence. Guilliman felt a twinge of regret that he hadn't secured the machine immediately upon delivery, allowing several Tech-Priests to witness its inner workings.

Of course, a mere communication device possessed no true sapience or specialized functions. Aside from the delicate quantum core, most of the components served only to stabilize the energy flow. As for whether a Tech-Priest might optimize the power stability of certain weapons after studying it, Axion didn't care.

For now, aside from technologies involving psychic components, which Axion found incomprehensible, Imperial technology was hardly "advanced" by the standards of the Old Age. Most of it consisted of repurposed civilian and industrial equipment. In the Federation era, the "Creators" did not need to fight personally; rather than taking a gun to the front lines, it was more logical to install a weapon module on a robot. It was only natural that the Old Age lacked much in the way of personal "manual" gear.

Looking at current Imperial equipment, however, Axion often felt a sudden urge to enforce a "ban on illegal modifications."

Yet, as Axion made all speed for Segmentum Pacificus, the Bastior Sub-sector was facing a harrowing trial.

"Grendyllus," a splinter-tendril of Hive Fleet Leviathan, was currently lashing the fragile defenses of the sub-sector. The Imperial Fists' Phalanx was laboring within the system to purge the encroaching Tyranid bio-fleets.

Below the Phalanx lay the planet Sanctum, the home world of the White Templars Chapter. Lord Solar Leontus and Captain-General Trajann Valoris were both present on the surface. This was now the absolute front line of the war.

The intelligence Guilliman had provided to Axion was outdated; the planet the Regent had designated as Axion's new station had actually fallen weeks ago.

The loyalists of the Imperium, locked in a life-or-death struggle against the Great Devourer, had no idea that a very specific kind of reinforcement was about to arrive. Although Guilliman had dispatched astropathic messages to Leontus informing him of Axion’s arrival, the tides of the Warp seemed perversely uncooperative.

When the gleaming silver ship completed its sixth Warp jump, the message had still not reached the hands of Leontus or Valoris.

"Biological incursion threat identified."

"Tyranid bio-vessel detected. Classification: Hive Ship."

As the Pectaro translated back into realspace, its hull-mounted sensor arrays identified countless units almost instantaneously. Several Kraken-class escort bio-ships swarmed around a massive Hive Ship.

The Hive Ship was currently arched over the planet, latched onto the surface like a gargantuan tick, draining its lifeblood.

Axion performed a rapid star-chart comparison. He realized instantly that the planet this hideous bio-vessel was currently "kissing" was the very station Guilliman had assigned to him.

Chapter 165: A Bewildering Battle and Belated Tidings

"My Lord! The long-range monitoring arrays of the Phalanx have detected an unknown energy surge!"

An Astra Militarum guardsman, laden with vox-equipment, rushed frantically into the grand hall. At the far end of the long stone table sat Lord Solar Leontus, composed and severe. Beside him, Captain-General Trajann Valoris narrowed his eyes slightly.

Under the piercing gaze of the Custodian, the soldier felt a tremor of nerves, but he nevertheless barked his report with practiced discipline.

"The Phalanx has identified a massive energy detonation within the Hive Mind’s controlled zone. The surrounding Hive Fleets have undergone a marked behavioral shift. A vast number of bio-vessels are redirecting toward the blast coordinates; it is suspected they are responding to an internal crisis."

"Given that the xenos vessels are disengaging from active combat with Imperial ships, ignoring incoming fire just to withdraw, Lord Vorn has dispatched two Viper-class scout sloops to shadow them."

This sudden turn of events allowed Leontus to exhale a silent breath of relief. For weeks, the Tyranid offensive had been relentless.

Available strength within Segmentum Pacificus was dangerously thin. The swarm was devouring world after world with a terrifying, accelerating momentum. Sanctum had become the front line of the sub-sector, and over half of the surrounding systems had already been scoured clean of life.

The Tyranid bio-ships were seemingly endless, and the Imperial Navy had noted a chilling trend: the xenos were adapting at a geometric rate. A bio-chitinous hull that could be punctured by secondary batteries one day would require an extra volley of main macro-cannon fire just forty-eight hours later.

Furthermore, research by Imperial scholars suggested these horrors did not merely seek biomass. Many common minerals and rare metals were also within their predatory scope. These inorganic materials were refined by complex bio-organs and used to reinforce the claws and carapaces of the next generation of hatched war-beasts.

While humanity sought ways to eradicate the xenos, the swarm was finding ways to optimize its slaughter.

To make matters worse, the situation in Segmentum Pacificus was reaching a breaking point. Three distinct tendrils of Hive Fleet Leviathan were spreading rapidly. Captain-General Valoris was personally leading a massive contingent of Solblades to intercept the tendrils codenamed "Nautilon" and "Promethor," attempting to slow their advance and buy the Imperium time to react.

However, the Soblades were not currently within this immediate theater. This strange withdrawal by the swarm offered the buckling Imperial lines a momentary reprieve.

As the commanders took a breath to assess the shift, a high-priority missive reached Leontus's hands.

"A priority transmission from the Dawn of Fire, under the seal of the Lord Regent Guilliman. A specialized reinforcement unit is expected to arrive in the vicinity shortly. Recognized vessel signature: the Pectaro. Given the unique nature of these reinforcements, Lord Regent Guilliman has ordered them to the mineral world of Vorchad III, adjacent to the Night World of Vorchad. He has granted a series of specific authorizations, the details of which are in the appendix."

"The message further specifies that frontline Imperial forces may, if necessary, petition this unit for assistance. Such actions require the submission of detailed combat logs and a 'Contribution Assessment Report' for the unit."

Beside him, Trajann Valoris glanced at the attached assessment form. It was modeled after the standard Imperial Munitorum merit tables, but the required numerical values for recognition had been scaled up by a factor of tens of thousands.

Leontus, however, slammed a gauntleted fist onto the metal meeting table, leaving a visible dent.

"What is Guilliman thinking? Why is this unit being subjected to such 'special' treatment? With these preposterous calculation criteria, this force could be annihilated to a man and still not qualify for the lowliest medal of service! This will shatter the unit's morale!"

As Lord Solar, Leontus had led countless campaigns; he knew the logistics of martial honors better than any living commander. But Trajann Valoris had spotted the anomaly. He placed a hand on Leontus’s arm to still his anger.

"Special reinforcements. How special?"

As Valoris pondered the question, a private, encrypted vox-link chimed within his Auramite power armor. The content was so shocking that even the normally stoic and taciturn Captain-General nearly lost his composure.

Guilliman has entered into a collaboration with an Iron Man. This ancient construct possesses independent consciousness, entirely distinct from Abominable Intelligence. It regards Guilliman as a collaborator and has provided military assistance. Guilliman has now dispatched it to Segmentum Pacificus to aid Imperial forces in the field.

The Custodians aboard the Dawn of Fire had transmitted the data on Axion the Iron Man the moment they crossed back into the Sanctus side. They had observed and evaluated Axion’s actions for months. Initially, the Custodes did not believe a single Iron Man posed a significant threat, nor did they fully grasp Guilliman’s anxiety.

But after witnessing this relic of the ancient past conjure its own army and fleet out of nothing, and subsequently vaporize over two hundred Chaos vessels in a single engagement, they understood why the Regent treated Axion with such deep caution and intense scrutiny.

This was a razor-sharp blade. Handled correctly, it could solve impossible problems; should it slip, however, the Imperium would face an enemy of unparalleled lethality.

While the two leaders pored over the encrypted appendices, a new report arrived from the Phalanx, accompanied by grainy pict-feeds from the scout ships.

"A Tyranid Hive Ship has been confirmed destroyed!"

As the Viper-class scouts cautiously trailed the bio-fleet into the fallen zone, they found the void choked with xenos wreckage. Countless Vanguard Drones, Escort Drones, and Kraken-class bio-ships had been reduced to dissolving heaps of meat. Several bio-cruisers were in a similar state.

The organisms looked as if they had been passed through a gargantuan slicer.

The scout ship's captain could scarcely believe the data. Tyranid bio-ships possessed no void shields, but their massive carapaces and redundant biology allowed them to soak up incredible amounts of macro-cannon fire. Their spore clouds could even absorb energy or corrode incoming shells to protect the Hive Ship. Their most terrifying advantage was their sheer, overwhelming numbers.

Yet, in the center of the carnage, a vessel reflecting a silvery-white metallic sheen was accelerating toward Vorchad III.

Thick beams of coherent light erupted from the vessel’s prow, striking the Hive Ship that was still in the process of consuming the world below. A horrific energy surge triggered a chain reaction within the bio-titan’s gut.

A monumental explosion blossomed across the surface of the unfortunate planet. As the Hive Ship shattered, the energy surge traveled down the bio-vessel’s feeding capillary, which was still plunged deep into the planetary crust, and slammed directly into the world's core.

Across the surface of Vorchad III, the very earth began to split open.