A blood-red lightning bolt streaked across the infinite void, looking as if the very universe itself was bleeding. Space was torn open with a scarlet wound. Though the very tip was narrow, it split wide behind, stretching for millions, even tens of millions, of kilometers—enough to swallow whole stars. And it was all the work of that hellish ship.
The asteroid it towed was equipped with a wicked, arcane engine. Around it floated blade-like obelisks of Blackstone, carved with blasphemous runes, drifting among countless engines. There were eight pieces in all, spinning ceaselessly like the teeth of a spinning sawblade.
As the Hellship advanced, the device sheared through the taut fabric of reality with the sharpness of a knife, cutting open the curtain of space and allowing Warp energy to pour into realspace.
The Battle Group Saint Aster appeared in the Hellship's wake, launching the first attack wave.
A dense barrage of missiles and torpedoes fanned out, leaving blazing trails through the vastness. In moments, torpedoes and missiles struck their targets. The warheads' heavy atoms triggered fusion reactions, releasing energy on par with the sun. Dazzling bluish-white light illuminated all of space.
On the command deck, crew members instinctively shielded their eyes from blindness by the brilliant flash. Such terrifying explosions could obliterate even giant cities. Yet, as the light faded, the crew of the Saint Aster discovered a bitter truth: the enemy fleet had suffered little loss. The asteroid—supposed to be destroyed—was only lightly damaged.
"What's happening? Why didn't such a saturation attack work?" Athagey frowned deeply. "And we didn't even detect a void shield on the target?"
"This isn't a void shield," said Rostov. "It's Warp protection."
Several psychic advisors echoed the judge's words. Indeed, although a subspace field surrounded the asteroid and the Hellship, it was too far away to be visible.
"Why isn't this showing up on Navigator?" Athagey asked in confusion. "Any anomaly should have been detected and reported immediately."
"The laws of nature are breaking down here," Rostov said solemnly, making the sign of prayer and kissing an amulet. "Our machines do not function properly now. Only faith can bring victory."
Athagey started to reply, but her men spoke first. "Groupmaster, I've detected multiple targets. They—they're…leaving the asteroid's orbit. They…they…"
"Stop stammering and speak clearly!" she demanded.
"They're not ships, ma'am. I'm trying to get a clear read."
"Switch to visuals, then," Athagey ordered firmly.
The screen before her changed, revealing the void: countless monsters flying through emptiness. They flew on, wingbeats echoing even in airlessness, their howls strangely audible in the minds of men. Their wings flapped like birds in an atmosphere, surging through the void. They rushed toward the Imperial fleet at impossible speed, leaving afterimages behind.
"Fire! Stop them!" Athagey shouted.
The warships obeyed. Like twinkling stars, high-density energy beams and blazing spears of light shot forth, tearing through the demonic wave, blasting holes in their bodies. Salvoes of shells erupted among the monsters, creating a sea of all-consuming fire. Daemon forms burned away in space, their twisted souls screaming as they were forced back into the Warp, further distorting space-time.
But the number of daemons was limitless. A wave would fall and another take its place, breaking through the Imperial blockade and desperately ramming at the ship's void shields.
By the laws of physics, these unnatural monsters should never have been able to breach the voidshields. Yet, the asteroid's blackstone devices kept generating pulses of foul subspace energy—waves echoing out like ripples on a pond. Every daemon struck by these pulses became more frenzied, their mad howls crescendoing.
Their advance stuttered when met with realspace resistance—but powered on, all the same. When they touched the void shields, a fierce reaction erupted—suddenly, a blinding light, as if a newborn supernova, burst forth. As the radiance faded, the void shield generators sparked and burned out under overload.
With shields down, the howling demons crashed into the hull, forcing their way in by any route and attacking the crew. The armed forces and Astraeus responded without delay, fighting pitched battles in the corridors and halls.
"It's time," Rostov declared, turning from the bridge to lead his followers into a boarding operation. Their goal: destroy the blackstone device on the asteroid.
"It could be a trap," Athagey warned.
"I'm prepared even so. If I do not return, deliver my things to the tribunal," Rostov smiled. "All men must die. If today is my day, let me honor the Emperor's expectations."
"Then may the Emperor bless you, Inquisitor," Athagey said.
"And good luck to you as well, Groupmaster. So long as the rift remains open, the enemy is endless and that hellship cannot be destroyed. Be careful."
Rostov was hoping a certain nameless one would join the team. If the man really had as many mysterious abilities as rumored, their task would be much easier and success more likely. But all of Rostov's aides reported they could not find the nameless one. He had simply vanished.
"We'll have to do our best without him," Rostov sighed, setting off with his team and the Space Marines led by Captain Messinius to board the asteroid. Their gunboat launched from Saint Astertes, plunging into the howling daemon waves, blasting a path and parachuting down to the asteroid's surface for sabotage.
…
Elsewhere, Datch was using Sadako's videotape to teleport between warships, wielding a golden hammer to repair paralyzed or drained void shield generators, preventing the demons from overrunning the Imperial fleet.
Inside the attack cruiser USS Illusion, klaxons blared and crimson warning lights swirled. Daemons had forced entry, slaughtering armed crew and servitors who tried to stop them. Near the void shield generator, a tech priest was hurled across the hall, his servitors torn asunder by the daemonic tide. All around, blood and severed limbs littered a grisly scene.
"No…" The tech-priest struggled to rise and continue repairs. But his vision showed warnings, and many of his body's components were too damaged to function without emergency repairs.
A guttural roar!
A group of bloodthirsty, horned daemons howled skyward, the smell of burning sulfur filling the air. They charged for the downed tech-priest, intent on gifting his head to the Blood God.
At that decisive moment, the shattered projection screen beside them—meant to display chaotic tactical data—emitted a piercing electromagnetic screech. The image flickered and warped, replacing tactical symbols and fragments with unstable static.
Startled, the daemons paused. The static stilled, sharpening into a clear black-and-white image: a moss-covered old brick well, oddly timeless, unreal in appearance. The daemon cocked its head, letting out a low, confused growl. What is happening?
Suddenly, a hand in a brilliant golden gauntlet, radiating pure, instinctively revolting light to daemons, gripped the well's edge and hauled itself up.
The daemon's three hearts skipped at once. Sheer terror swept over it.
No… it can't be…
The daemon stared wide-eyed, completely forgetting the crawling tech-priest—fixated on the black-and-white figure emerging from the well's center.
"Accursed one!?" The daemon recoiled in terror, huge body shuddering, eyes flaring with flame. Who is this freak? Trying to scare us like this? Shameless!
Suddenly the golden figure zoomed in close, face looming on screen, eyes ablaze with golden fire, sending chills down the daemon's spine.
"AAAA!!!"
"This damned existence is terrifying!!" shrieked the killer daemon.
The golden-gauntleted hand broke through the flickering screen, erupting from two-dimensional image into reality. Next came the arm, shoulder, half a torso…
"Aaaah…" The daemon's cry became desperate sobs. Ignoring the tech-priest nearby, it fled on all fours, screaming: "Run! Run! The accursed one's crawled out of the damned screen!!"
To the eyes of Warp daemons, how terrifying must the Emperor be? Just seeing them weep and run revealed the answer. They all wished for more legs—they feared, if caught, the golden figure would cut them down and obliterate their very existence—no recovery possible, unlike defeat to another daemon or human.
"Such fast runners!" Datch remarked, watching daemons flee empty-handed. "Right, back to work."
He whipped out the golden hammer, banged on the overloaded generator, and restored it. Then he healed the tech-priest and still-living servitors, organizing everything in minutes. Finally, Datch produced Sadako's videotape and set off to the next ship.
Why not use Rick's portal gun? Because portal fluid is expensive—but Sadako's tape is free.
The tech-priest recovered from shock, intending thanks, but watched Datch disappear in a blink. He pulled forth a censer and incensed it with deepest reverence.
"Praise to gears and wrenches. Truly this must be a savior sent to rescue the faithful."
…
With Datch in Emperor's guise, the repair mission proceeded smoothly. No daemon dared face him; those who tried were easily beaten back to the Warp.
When news spread that a nameless one was healing void shields and defending against the daemonic invasion all by himself, Athagey and the others were shocked: One man repaired all these ships? They'd once wondered why he enjoyed such privileges—now they thought perhaps he deserved more.
With this nameless one, it was nearly impossible to lose in the void war.
After repairing Saint Aster's fleet, Datch checked the minimap for the asteroid's position and found Inquisitor Rostov's icon and a golden exclamation mark.
"Have I hit a key plot point already?"
With that, Datch drew Rick's portal gun, fired at the ground, and opened a green portal directly to the asteroid's surface.
The surface battle was escalating. Rostov and Messinius—heroes of the Imperium—pushed toward the core, battling as they advanced. The Warp protection meant few daemons were present; mostly, the asteroid was held by Chaos Space Marines, cultists, and enslaved thralls. They'd built fortifications and subspace field generators to block Imperial attack.
Rostov and his men had to fight their way in, step by bloody step.
Datch arrived as the fighting raged, bombs and beams illuminating the dark, frozen asteroid. The rock itself had little strategic value—its devices, installed by the Dark Mechanicus, were the true prizes. Only their destruction would end this war.
"Nameless One!!" Rostov shouted, ducking behind cover after firing at the enemy, watching Datch appear on the battlefield.
When preparing to storm the asteroid, he had ordered Saint Aster searched, but no trace was found. He'd assumed the man wouldn't participate in this meatgrinder—but hadn't expected him to show up like this.
"Praise the Emperor! Victory is ours!" Messinius cried, waving the company banner and rushing to Datch's side.
"Brothers! Rally to the Nameless One!"
The battle-brothers, hiding in cover, obeyed without hesitation, forming up around Datch, surging forward with heavy firepower to destroy the enemy fortifications.
"This is the most reckless way to fight," quipped Cheelche, the Chikanti Xenos, firing her Tau Pulse Rifle before falling back.
Rostov hated to admit it, but Cheelche was right. Even the most advanced armor couldn't save Space Marines at this range from so many bullets—a bloodbath was inevitable.
But then, he and Cheelche realized they'd been outplayed. As Astartes fell, Datch stepped forward and struck them with the golden hammer—the wounded stood up, fully healed, armor and all, in seconds.
Rostov's eyes widened. "Impossible! How could…?"
It was true—mere moments would see someone revived from near-dead, even powered armor restored.
No wonder Messinius rallied everyone around Datch—he could instantly bring battle brothers back from the brink. Even those wounded would do better to heal themselves with his power and return to the fray right away.
"When did humanity develop such wondrous technology?" Cheelche wondered. In her mind, the human Imperium had always been ignorance and violence—now, suddenly, a miracle was in play.
Even the dead Necrons must return to their tombs.
"Humans are too reckless!" Rostov could only answer by not answering. He truly didn't know the answer.
"Enough. Let's charge together."
Rostov and his men emerged from cover, joining Messinius and the other Astartes in a forward assault. Assault beams and bombs rained down on the enemy. Traitors and daemons alike were shredded, their remains strewed across the ground. Defenses fell one after another.
BOOM!!
The first generator was destroyed; the subspace field flickered and died.
"Press the attack!" Messinius shouted. "Push on! Take victory!"
BOOM!
Sensing disaster, the traitors summoned more daemons—a colossal wave of Warp energy swept over the advancing Imperials.
Datch calmly tossed a Poké Ball, summoning Skarbrand and the Changeling as spearheads, cleaving a path through the daemonic surge.
The daemons initially cheered upon seeing Skarbrand: "Excellent, a herald of the Blood God! Khorne must favor us!"
But moments later, when Skarbrand whirled through their ranks, hacking furiously, terror set in: "No! The Blood God is displeased, he assists our enemies!"
The Changeling laughed cruelly at the scene—a tragic, cosmic irony. Skarbrand, once obsessed with Khorne's favor, was now his greatest foe; likely never to return to the Blood God's realm.
But, perhaps that doesn't matter. To enter Khorne's lands, only battle is needed.
"Oh Blood God, I'm only doing this because I'm forced. The hacking was fun, but all thanks to that human. My loyalty to you is absolute, without question; you are always my one true master." Skarbrand, full of sorrow and regret, swung his axe in fury—blood flowing like a river.
….