Archmagos Cawl's towering six-metre frame was draped in a voluminous red robe. Beneath it, a labyrinth of machinery pulsed and whirred.
He looked down at Datch.
"Nameless warrior, can you tell me—"
Datch had no wish to chat.
"Skip it. Got any missions for me?"
"I want to know—"
"Skip."
"…."
Realising no small talk would be tolerated, Cawl sighed.
"Then will you take me to Macragge and save Roboute Guilliman?"
A system screen appeared.
[Quest: Escort Archmagos Cawl to Macragge and resurrect the Thirteenth Primarch of the Imperium of Man—Roboute Guilliman.]
The Great Rift has torn the Imperium apart. Without swift action, human civilisation will perish. Assist Dominus Belisarius Cawl in reviving the Thirteenth Primarch.
Rewards: 2,000 XP, 2,000 Credits, Reputation +60, Tactical Shades ×1
"I'll help you save Roboute Guilliman."
With that, Datch accepted the quest and hopped away.
Cawl watched him leave, filing away every word and gesture.
Once the crisis passed, he would open a dedicated archive to analyse the nameless warrior's behaviour.
…
Datch wandered, "chatting" with NPCs and opening every crate he saw.
All he got were white items. No specials.
"Looks like gear only drops from quests or the cash shop."
He gave up rummaging and opened his profile.
Warhammer Universe had no levels. Quest XP was spent on skills and talents.
Skills and talents were earned through quests, or learned from NPCs once prerequisites were met.
Right now, Datch had only one skill:
Stomp Lv.1: Slam the ground to send out a shockwave that knocks foes back.
He wanted sword training—fighter piloting—psionics, if he was lucky.
But no one had time. The whole ark was in a running battle with the Chaos fleet.
A screen popped up:
[Player idle. Accelerate time-skip for dull story segments?]
Datch hit Yes.
The world blurred into fast-forward.
To onlookers, the mysterious warrior stood motionless like a statue. The glow in his lenses dimmed, as if he'd fallen asleep.
When word spread, Amarich and the others came to check.
"He must be a Perpetual-bound warrior," Amarich said. As High Marshal of the Black Templars, he had fought alongside such beings. When they disengaged, they simply froze.
Creed frowned. "Perpetuals feel like war-machines. This one seems… human. Aware."
"A unique Perpetual, perhaps," said Emperor's Champion Galen.
"The Emperor in His wisdom has sent him to aid us," Celestine declared.
Out in the void, the fleet duel raged on.
To keep engine cores from burning out, Garadon throttled back the Phalanx.
Casualty reports flooded in anyway.
Crews were at their limit. Many hadn't slept since Cadia, kept moving by stimms.
On Troxla Klavius, the gun-crew collapsed from overdoses. A shell slipped, detonated, and tore the destroyer apart.
On Hades XII, the chief psyker—exhausted—succumbed to daemon whispers. Fiends poured through him into realspace.
White-Shields of Cadia's 29th rallied, pouring fire to drive daemons back.
Still, Garadon ordered Hades XII to isolate itself, forbidding outgoing transmissions.
Inquisitor Greyfax demanded Cawl's ark mechanicus obliterate the vessel in a saturation barrage.
Some wept for Cadia's 29th.
None challenged Greyfax.
No one knew whether the daemons were banished—or merely waiting.
If they struck during Warp jump, the whole fleet could die.
Some might question an Inquisitor's right to condemn so many, but the informed knew the truth:
An Inquisitor has no right to let them live.
Noble mercy only buys greater death.
One hundred and twelve Terran hours after fleeing Cadia, the shattered planet finally yielded to the Warp—becoming a dying daemon-world.
The evacuation fleet reached the outer orbit of Kalthus, an icy moon of the gas giant Karsorn.
The Phalanx's Navigator reported calm Warp currents—translation possible.
"Raise the Gellar Field. Jump immediately," Garadon ordered, relief flickering across his face.
Just as escape seemed certain—
Abaddon arrived, hellfire in his wake.
Led by the Vengeful Spirit, a murderous Chaos fleet dropped from the Warp at extreme range.
They should have been behind the Imperials, but dark sorcery had tunneled them through the immaterium to flank their prey.
Panic erupted across the Phalanx's strategium.
Then the Chaos fleet ignored the Phalanx.
They raced past—straight for the Adeptus Mechanicus flotilla, and the ark bearing Cawl.
At that range, Iron Revenant's void shields should have held.
But fate twisted.
A shell burst against the ark's rear shield, crippling the plasma drives and knocking out its Gellar Field.
Without a Gellar Field, entering the Warp was suicide.
"No!"
Garadon's face drained. He hadn't saved Cadia—and now he couldn't protect the Archmagos.
But the Phalanx's Warp countdown had passed the abort threshold.
All he could do was watch Mechanicus ships fall into the trap.
"Alter course—now!"
Cawl's synthetic voice carried rare fear as he ordered the bridge to flee toward the frozen moon Klaisus.
Mechanicus ships still in realspace aborted their jumps, forming a protective ring around the ark.
"For the Omnissiah—today we earn our glory."
Every captain knew what waited.
Without Warp jump, Abaddon would butcher them all.
Still, they did not regret it.
Pilots gathered beneath statues of the Emperor, spoke ancient oaths, and launched their last interceptors.
They met a void swarming with Heldrakes and Hell Talons.
A battle from which none would return.
"For the Omnissiah! For mankind!"
Their final words vanished into weapons-fire.
…