"Battlegroup Three, intercept the traitor cruiser squadron!"
"Indomitus Spear, fire your lances on the battleship! Ignore the smaller craft!"
"Fury Squadron Twelve, engage the Hell Talons!"
Inside the battle barge Silver Gate, the bridge thundered with overlapping commands as officers struggled to coordinate the massive engagement.
Hololithic displays filled the chamber, showing dozens of ships maneuvering across the void. Imperial vessels from three different forces now fought side by side—Ravian's battered fleet, the newly arrived Imperial reinforcements, and the scattered survivors still purging boarders from within their own hulls.
"Adjust vector of Battlegroup Two!" a tactical officer shouted. "If they continue that burn they will cross into Battleship Squadron Three's firing line!"
"Signal received—correcting course!"
At the center of the bridge stood the commander of the battle barge, Valeix watching the chaotic battlefield with cold focus.
The Silver Gate itself pushed forward like a fortress in space. Its massive hull bristled with lance turrets and macro batteries, while launch bays continued to deploy waves of Xiphon Interceptors into the void.
"Terminus Est identified," the auspex officer reported. "it's advancing toward the Imperial line."
Valeix's voice cut through the noise.
"All lance batteries—prepare focused strike. We break their spearhead before it reaches engagement distance."
"Aye!"
Outside, the void erupted again.
Lance beams fired from the Silver Gate and her escorts, brilliant lines of light cutting toward the bloated hulls of the Plague Fleet. At the same time, Fury interceptors screamed past the battle barge, diving straight into the swarms of Hell Talons rushing to meet them.
Fighters clashed.
Bombers threaded through flak bursts.
Cruisers maneuvered to avoid crossing one another's broadsides.
Despite the chaos, the Imperial fleets were slowly forming a single battle line.
On Ravian's flagship, the Vice Admiral watched the new formation appear on his hololith.
For the first time since the Warp rift opened, the odds no longer looked hopeless.
Then a new signal flashed across the command display.
Priority command channel.
Valeix.
Ravian accepted the transmission.
The image of the Astarte appeared before him.
"Vice Admiral," Valeix said calmly, though the thunder of battle echoed faintly behind him. "Pull your battlegroup back."
Ravian frowned.
"My ships are still combat capable."
"And already weakened," Valeix replied. "Your fleet has suffered boarding actions and internal losses. You will withdraw behind my formation and regroup."
The Vice Admiral pursed his lips, clearly displeased with the decision.
"Your will," Ravian said in a tense tone.
Valeix gave a single nod, then cut the transmission.
For a moment Ravian stood silently on the bridge, watching the battle unfold before him—Imperial ships exchanging fire with the advancing plague fleet while the Silver Gate and her escorts pushed forward to take the brunt of the assault.
Then he spoke.
"You heard him," Ravian said without taking his eyes off the hololith. "Order the fleet to reorganize and begin withdrawal behind the battle line. Maintain firing while pulling back."
"Aye, my Lord," the communications officer replied.
Across the fleet vox, new orders spread.
"Battlegroup Ravian, execute tactical withdrawal. Begin fall back in sequence. Escorts maintain flak screen. Do not break formation."
As Battlegroup Ravian begun their retreat to safety, Valeix begin to taste the foul power of the Plague Fleet.
"My lord," an officer said as he hurried to Valeix's side, still catching his breath. "Multiple capital ships report boarding actions. Traitor marines—Death Guard."
Valeix gave a calm nod.
"Inform the squads that they have unwanted guests," he said coldly, the anger he felt earlier now fully controlled. "They are to protect the vessels they were assigned to."
"I will relay the message," the officer replied before rushing away.
Beside Valeix stood another Astartes clad in Indomitus Terminator armor. The giant warrior turned slightly toward him.
"Do you believe they can deal with this problem?" the Terminator asked.
Valeix did not look away from the hololith.
"This is their final test," he said. "If they survive and complete their task, they will earn the right to wear power armor."
The Terminator frowned slightly.
The Death Guard were not ordinary enemies. Warp corruption had made them far more durable than normal Space Marines. Worse still were the plagues that followed them—diseases capable of killing even transhuman warriors.
And yet the squads Valeix had deployed across the fleet were not veteran Astartes.
They were the 10th Company.
Neophytes.
Every scout squad he could gather before the battle had been deployed aboard the capital ships as internal defense forces.
The armor worn by the Dark Knights' scouts was unlike the standard scout armor used by most Chapters.
Long ago, Atharion had disliked the idea that Neophytes could only participate in stealth missions. To him, it wasted their potential and delayed their combat experience.
So he designed something different.
The scout armor used by the Dark Knights contained almost every major component of power armor—reinforced plates, servo assistance, internal life-support systems, and combat sensors.
Only the backpack power unit was absent.
Without the reactor pack, the armor relied on smaller internal power cells and limited servos. It was not as strong as true power armor—but far stronger than ordinary scout gear.
This mean the Neophytes could grow accustomed to fighting in armored warfare long before they officially earned their full warplate.
On the hololith, red warning runes began appearing across several ships.
Boarding zones.
The Death Guard had already begun spreading through the fleets' corridors.
Then suddenly, the red runes stop spreading.
"It seems the Neophytes have the strength to face the Death Guard," Valeix said calmly. "It appears your worries were unnecessary, First Sergeant."
"I do hope they survive," the First Sergeant replied with a quiet sigh. "They are the future of our Chapter—and by extension, the future of Lord Atharion's vision."
Valeix remained silent for a moment before answering.
"If they fail even with the equipment I have given them," he said coldly, "then they are not worthy to serve under the Supreme Grand Master."
The First Sergeant exhaled slowly.
Even though the majority of the Dark Knights—and those descended from their gene-seed—were cold and calculating, there were still some among them who had not completely ridden from their humanity by the gene-seed.
"Get yourself together," Valeix said, drawing the First Sergeant's attention. He pointed toward the Terminus Est. "It seems our guest wishes to give us a warm welcome."
Outside the bridge viewport, the plague ship could clearly be seen charging straight toward them.
The First Sergeant straightened immediately.
"I will prepare the men," he said.
He turned and strode from the bridge, his heavy steps echoing across the metal deck.
The moment the First Sergeant departed, the bridge fell into a tense silence broken only by the low hum of the cogitators.
Valeix remained motionless on his position.
"Distance?" Valeix asked calmly.
A servitor wired into the command throne responded in a flat mechanical tone.
"Estimated engagement range in four minutes, thirty-two seconds."
But, before Valeix can said anything, the lights on the bridge and the screens on the cogitators begin to flash, as if the power being cut from their location.
"My Lord," the sound of the First Sergeant voice suddently come from the internal vox of their company, "the Death Guard have teleport inside the ship! I'm currently leading the Terminator squads to dispatch them!"
Valeix did not react immediately.
The bridge lights flickered again, dimming for a moment before stabilizing under emergency power. Warning runes flared across the cogitator screens like bleeding wounds of crimson light.
Valeix's eyes narrowed slightly.
"How many?" he asked.
The First Sergeant's voice crackled through the vox, the distant thunder of bolter fire echoing behind his words.
"Multiple strike points. At least five confirmed. They appeared near the reactor corridors and lower defense decks."
A pause.
Then the unmistakable roar of a storm bolter.
"All of them are Blightlord Terminators," the First Sergeant added, his voice grim.
"Contain them," Valeix commanded sharply. "Protect the engine room, and make sure they don't reach the lower decks—we cannot risk Poxwalkers or plague zombies overrunning our vessel."
"I've already ordered the Voidsmarshall to mobilize his men and seal off the lower decks," the First Sergeant replied. Behind him, the sounds of heavy flamers, plasma discharges, and the thunder of bolter fire echoed from the fighting.
"I will inform the Librarians to assist you in the matter," Valeix said, his tone calm but firm. "They should be able to greatly accelarated our efficeincy in clearing them, hold until then."
===
"Your will," the First Sergeant said before stop the transmission.
The First Sergeant hefted his heavy thunder hammer, the servo-arm whirring softly as the attached plasma gun hummed to life.
"We will stop them here," he said to the Terminators around him. "It's our duty to make sure none can defile Camelarion with their false way."
"Forward!" he roared, charging toward one of the Blightlords with his thunder hammer raised high. "Kill them all!"
The First Sergeant crashed into the enemy line like a living battering ram. His hammer came down in a thunderous arc—
—and the Blightlord's head burst apart under the impact, ceramite and rotten flesh collapsing inward before exploding outward in a spray of fragments.
The body staggered for a moment before collapsing to the deck with a heavy clang.
Around him, the Terminators surged forward.
The Dark Knights Terminators advanced like an iron wall. Storm bolters thundered in disciplined bursts, mass-reactive rounds slamming into the Blightlords as the warriors closed the distance. At the same time, power fists swung with crushing force, turning blows into devastating impacts against the corrupted armor.
Those equipped with assault cannons and plasma cannons opened fire from the rear ranks, their weapons roaring as they targeted the Blightlords still advancing down the corridor. Assault cannon shells tore chunks from diseased ceramite, while bolts of searing plasma burned through armor and rotting flesh alike.
Meanwhile, the Terminators armed for close combat pushed deeper into the enemy line. Thunder hammers crackled with caged lightning as they smashed into the plague warriors, while lightning claws flashed in arcs of blue energy, ripping through armor and flesh with brutal precision.
The narrow corridor became a slaughterhouse of fire and steel, the Dark Knights driving forward step by relentless step as the Blightlords met them with their infamous resilience.
While the Dark Knights and Blightlords slaughtered each other in the main corridors of the battle barge, fighting raged elsewhere within the ship.
In the lower decks and auxiliary passages, the Voidsmen fought a different horror.
The Blightlords' corruption had already spread. Crewmen who had fallen earlier were rising again—bloated, twisted things that shambled forward with broken limbs and rotting flesh. Plague zombies flooded the corridors in staggering waves.
"Bring the flamers or plasma weapons to the front!" a Sergeant shouted as he split a zombie's skull with his power axe.
The corpse dropped—but two more lurched over it.
Hearing the order, three Voidsmen armed with flamers rushed forward. The moment they reached the front line, they pulled their triggers.
A wall of burning promethium roared down the corridor.
The leading zombies ignited instantly. Diseased flesh blackened and split as the flames consumed them. Some continued staggering forward even as they burned, arms reaching out before collapsing into smoking heaps.
"Keep the flames on them!" the Sergeant barked.
Lasguns fired in steady volleys behind the burning barrier while another Voidsman stepped forward with a plasma gun. The weapon whined as it charged before releasing a blinding bolt of energy that vaporized a cluster of advancing corpses in a single incandescent blast.
Still they came.
The corridor filled with smoke, fire, and the stench of burning rot.
Further down the passage, more shapes emerged through the flames—bloated figures pushing past their burning kin.
The infection was spreading faster than anyone had hoped.
And the Voidsmen knew they could not fall back any further.
"Inform the Voidmarshal we have locked down Sector B-90," the Sergeant said to the vox-operator. "But we'll need more promethium if he expects us to keep holding."
The vox-operator nodded and began transmitting the message.
The Sergeant paused for a moment, letting out a small, bitter chuckle.
"But I suspect the others are asking for the same thing," he muttered.
He remembered the other Sergeants doing exactly what he had done—ordering their men to bring more flamers and plasma weapons before their deployment.
After all, it was the standard procedure drilled into them back at the Academy when dealing with plague outbreaks and infected crew.
He shook his head and turned back toward the corridor.
The flamers were being reloaded with fresh promethium cells while the lasgun line continued firing. Red beams lanced down the smoke-filled passage, dropping zombies that stumbled through the burning remains of their former comrades.
"Get back!" one of the flamer troopers shouted as the three stepped forward again, their weapons now reloaded.
The Voidsmen behind them quickly fell back a few paces.
Then the triggers were pulled.
With three simultaneous roars, torrents of burning promethium surged down the corridor once more. Flames washed over the advancing zombies, engulfing them in a blazing inferno as the infected bodies writhed and collapsed into blackened heaps.
But among the burning silhouettes of the zombies, something else moved.
Something larger.