The fires of war along the eastern frontier had finally been suppressed, the remainder of the massive Ork armada utterly shattered into scattered remnants.
Across a vast, yawning theater of war spanning both the Segmentum Ultima and Ultramar, numerous Imperial battlegroups were fully occupied with hunting down the fragmented xenos elements fleeing in all directions. The Dark Angels left behind significant detachments to assist local Imperial forces in purging these persistent pockets of green skin.
As for the Lion himself, he and the Invincible Reason, along with a handful of other Dark Angels vessels, had slipped once more into the shadows, their current coordinates unknown.
Axion, having detached several standard fleets to aid the Imperium in hunting the routing greenskins, turned the Heart of the Forge around and began the journey back. The consumption of five fortress worlds had yielded an astronomical reserve of raw materials. Armed with the technological data salvaged by the Heart of the Forge, Axion was already formulating new concepts.
The method by which the Void Sword harvested psychic energy had long been deemed too volatile by Axion.
Having temporarily concluded its prior assignments, the Void Sword rapidly crossed a significant expanse of Imperial space to rendezvous with the Heart of the Forge. The two titanic vessels arrived in sequence near a barren, starless pocket of the void, initiating a massive transfer of logistics.
Colossal volumes of minerals and raw materials were funneled into the cavernous, empty bays of the Void Sword, destined for the construction of a colossal external apparatus around the hull. This system integrated independent Warp drives and specialized power conduits.
When required, the vessel could directly tear open the veil of reality, submerging itself into the Immaterium as an isolated entity to draw raw energy. The chaotic, unfiltered currents of the Warp would be immediately separated within the rift, parsing out psychic force, temporal energy, spatial displacement currents, and highly destructive power vectors to be channeled independently into the Void Sword.
Hyperspace folding technology was utilized within the hull of the Void Sword, folding a pocket of localized space to nearly ten times its original dimensions to construct these massive energy storage units.
Yet, it was the Ectoplasmic Dissociation Cannon that Axion anticipated most keenly.
During trials within the Warp, the researchers had deployed this weapon against approaching localized Warp entities. Whether vile daemons or other twisted monstrosities of the ether, any target struck by the beam vanished completely from existence. The space targeted by the discharge would be left as a small, supernatural vacuum, stripped entirely bare of matter and spirit.
Furthermore, this weapon could be translated into realspace, where it exhibited an equally terrifying efficacy against organic life. Biological entities caught in its wake instantly fell into a profound trance, their self-awareness erased entirely as they were reduced to compliant cattle awaiting the slaughter.
Axion's vision, however, far exceeded that of the original Federation researchers.
The Void Sword did not merely replicate this horrific weapon into standard firing arrays; Axion additionally retrofitted the vessel with a Hyperspace Offensive Module and a Temporal Flashback Module. This integration allowed the devastating beam arrays to simultaneously strike and re-strike vast swarms of biological entities across decoupled coordinates.
The moment its new armaments were finalized, the Void Sword vanished from the realspace lanes, plunging down a localized Warp conduit. Meanwhile, the remaining fleet escorted the Heart of the Forge as it resumed its steady advance toward the maelstrom of the Great Rift.
Axion intended to use the severed head of Zog Steeltoof to settle accounts with Roboute Guilliman.
…
For Huron Blackheart, this recent stretch of time could be described as remarkably comfortable.
Abaddon's personal visitation had bolstered his ground forces considerably, and the arrival of Khârn, the Chosen of Khorne, had proven an even greater boon. That single-minded maniac cared for nothing but slaughter, leaving the entirety of the material spoils to be plundered by the Red Corsairs.
The Imperial blockades and those sparse Mechanicus exploratory fleets had been led on a merry, disastrous chase by his captains. Today, the armada under Huron's personal command rivaled the scale of Abaddon's own Balefleets, lacking only the immense, grotesque bulks of the Arks of Omen to match them parity for parity.
However, such prosperous days were not fated to last.
Huron stared at the latest tactical slate, his face contorted in fury as he smashed the data-slate violently onto the deck plating.
"Incompetent curs! To let the greenskins snatch an Imperial patrol fleet right from under our noses, and to have Valthex utterly routed in the process!" His eyes burned with renegade fury, his roar echoing through the iron rafters of the bridge.
Armenneus Valthex, one of Huron's most fiercely loyal lieutenants, currently lay within a stasis-apothecary pod, his consciousness fractured. His power armor was thoroughly mangled, a massive, ragged rent torn across his torso. In the boarding action that had just concluded, he had led an elite contingent of Red Corsairs, confidently boarding an Imperial cruiser newly captured by the Orks, only to find the personal guard of the Ork Warboss, Zog Steeltoof, brutally overwhelming.
The sheer mass of those greenskins defied standard Imperial sub-sector records, and their wargear was deeply disturbing. The Orks were not merely wielding crude choppas and rusted chain-blades; they were encased in finely engineered, mid-tier power armor.
With mocking sneers, the Ork guard had thrown Traitor Astartes of the Red Corsairs clear across the decks with simple, casual sweeps of their heavy limbs. Those whose luck failed them were cleaved in two on the spot by massive power weapons.
The greenskins had launched a fearless, brutal counter-charge directly into the teeth of the Red Corsairs' firing lines, breaking Armenneus's renegade warriors in short order.
Lucius the Eternal had also boarded the Imperial vessel through unknown, esoteric means. Witnessing Valthex's collapse, an expression of sadistic excitement had flared within his scarred features. As a former swordmaster of the Emperor's Children, he roamed the stars eternally seeking duelists capable of testing his blade, driven by a pathological obsession with martial perfection.
Lucius had imagined more than once that if Sigismund were still breathing, he would have challenged the Champion of the Imperium personally, taking his head to claim his legacy.
Just as Valthex was on the precipice of execution, Lucius had emerged with a mocking, shrill laugh. He did not cast so much as a glance at Valthex, whom he had already classified as a weakling and a failure, but instead advanced upon the xenos, demanding a formal duel with Steeltoof.
However, the massive Orks, their frames rivaling the size of Castraferrum Dreadnoughts, were thoroughly amused by Lucius's theatrical challenge. Finding himself slighted, Lucius dissolved into an immediate frenzy, throwing himself into the thick of the Ork vanguard.
Utilizing his peerless bladecraft and fluid, supernatural agility, Lucius wove a bloody path through the towering xenos. Yet, the raw, crushing strength of these Orks startled him, igniting a rare, creeping spark of dread deep within his soul.
And it was that very spark of fear that incited Lucius into an even greater, self-loathing fury.
Exploiting the absolute chaos of the melee, Valthex's remaining sycophants dragged their broken commander from the deck. Fleeing blindly through the corridors to evade the hunting roars of the Orks, they managed to commandeer an Imperial lighter, slipping back to the Red Corsairs' vanguard before retreating immediately toward their primary anchorage.
Garreon, the Master Apothecary known as the Corpsemaster, had personally overseen Valthex's stabilization. After a grueling sequence of surgeries, Valthex's eyes slowly fluttered open.
"I... I failed..." Valthex's voice was a raspy whisper, saturated with bitter humiliation.
"Speak no further. Focus on your restoration," Garreon replied, his tone clinical yet firm as he checked the biological feeds. "This reversal is merely a temporary setback. We shall reclaim what was lost in blood."
On the command deck, Huron's rage subsided into cold, calculating malice. Prudent by nature, he had no intention of committing his own person to the meatgrinder. Instead, he dispatched a delegation of his inner circle to guide Khârn, the Chosen of Khorne, toward the path of this troublesome xenos warlord.
"Tell Khârn that if he brings me the skull of Zog Steeltoof, I will orchestrate a dozen campaigns to offer entire Imperial worlds to the Blood God," Huron hissed, his face shadowed by the dim light of the hololithic tables.
Receiving their master's decree, the emissaries departed, locating the Betrayer shortly thereafter. Upon hearing that a conflict of supreme violence awaited him, a terrible, joyless fire ignited within Khârn's eyes. Without a word of debate, he followed the Red Corsairs onto the waiting strike craft, the teeth of Gorechild eager for the harvest.