The wreckage of the Blackstone Fortress, a tomb of ancient, corrupted stone, hurtled toward Cadia's northern polar continent with the unstoppable momentum of a dying god. The Cadians of the Arctic reaches had long since been evacuated or slaughtered during the initial chaotic landfall. First came the harbingers—smaller fragments of the fortress that streaked through the atmosphere like black fire, triggering violent, rhythmic tremors that cracked the icy plains.
Then, the primary mass struck. At the moment of impact, the residual warp-energies of the Blackstone collided with the reversed polarity of the Pylon network. The continental crust didn't just break; it shattered like fragile glass. The shockwave radiated outward from the impact site, swallowing the earth in a cacophony of groans and thunder. A towering tsunami, born from the displacement of the polar ice caps, surged toward the densely populated Southern Hemisphere, a wall of freezing death miles high.
On the Spire Plains, a thousand feet above the rising chaos, the evacuation was a scene of desperate, grinding misery. Thousands of transport craft moved in a frantic cycle on makeshift platforms. Outside the fortress bastions, a sea of civilians pushed and shoved, their cries merging into a single, discordant wave of despair.
Seventy percent of Cadia's population were soldiers, but the remaining thirty percent were civilians—families of the Guard, workers, and administrators. Now, knowing that the final destruction had arrived, they threw aside all discipline in a desperate bid to reach the helipads and escape the doomed world.
The Cadian White Shields—the youth of the Guard—struggled to maintain order. They offered words of comfort they did not believe, for they knew their own names were not on the manifests. They were prepared to die for Cadia, but the civilians did not share that stoic resolve.
Just as the situation reached a breaking point—with the crowd threatening to overrun the blockades and the White Shields reluctantly leveling their lasguns to prevent a riot—the sky darkened. The silhouettes of the two thousand massive warships of the Aiur Fleet loomed once more, casting a shadow of salvation over the plains.
Medical transports and heavy dropships began a rapid descent. Massive, multi-legged mechs crashed down into the mud, forming an impenetrable steel wall between the civilians and the landing zones. Brand's voice boomed over the vox-casters, amplified to a deafening roar: "Stay back! Form lines! Everyone has a place, but any who incite a riot will be executed on the spot!"
Guided by the imposing presence of powered-armored warriors, the people of Cadia began to file into the ships in an orderly, fearful procession.
On a makeshift helipad within the fortress, Creed watched the sky turn a bruised, sickly orange. He knew from Belisarius Cawl's frantic transmissions that the tidal waves and tectonic collapses were closing in. Time had run out. The Astartes and the Tech-Priests had begun their final withdrawals, while in high orbit, the remains of the Imperial Navy fought a suicidal rearguard action to keep the Black Fleet at bay.
Creed looked at the scorched earth beneath his boots and at the soldiers around him—men with hollow eyes and iron hearts. He knew he could not save them all.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw aching with suppressed fury. They had won the battle. They had broken the Despoiler. Why did it have to end with the world breaking beneath them?
With a roar of thrusters, a Valkyrie transport touched down beside him. Creed began waving his remaining officers aboard.
"Move it! Double time!" his adjutant, Jarran Kell, shouted as he shoved a Mordian guard into the cramped cabin. "Lord Castellan, are you boarding?" Kell turned, his voice strained over the howling wind.
"There are no seats left. I'll take the next one," Creed replied, offering a stiff salute to the soldiers inside. He reached out and shoved Kell toward the ramp. "Get in there, Jarran. That's an order."
"No, sir. You go first. The Imperium needs its General."
"I said get in! I'm taking the later flight!" Creed barked.
"There won't be another flight, sir," Kell said, his voice flat with the realization of the truth.
"Then I must ensure you leave," Creed said, his tone softening as he gripped Kell's shoulder. "Go. I am staying with Cadia until the end. A captain stays with his ship."
"We need you for the next war, sir! This isn't over!"
Creed shook his head. "I can't do it anymore, Jarran. I'm exhausted. I'm tired to my very soul. And besides... you know what the High Lords will say. I'm the 'bastard' who lost Cadia. I'm the man who let the Gate fall."
He signaled the pilot to lift off.
"Do you think I have the patience to explain myself to the Inquisition?" Creed asked, his voice thick with weariness.
"Cadia has always believed in you, General," Kell shouted as the Valkyrie began to rise.
"And they trust I won't make a mistake now. The Imperium prefers its martyrs—it's cleaner for the history books. Now, sit tight, old friend," Creed murmured. He took a few steps back and snapped a final, perfect salute.
"Cadia stands, sir! Cadia stands!!" Kell's voice was lost in the roar of the engines as the transport vanished into the smog.
Creed reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. It was battered, flattened, and had been unlit in his mouth for days. He struck a match, the acrid smoke filling his lungs and offering a small, familiar comfort.
"Hoo... yes. Cadia stands."
As the cigar tip glowed, the world around Creed suddenly froze. The wind died, the fires stopped flickering, and the very air turned to ice. A tall, metallic figure draped in a cloak of shifting light materialized before him. Trazyn the Infinite looked at the frozen Lord Castellan, tilting his head in clinical appreciation. "Yes... this is what I require. The true spirit of Cadia. This is not your end, Ursarkar; eternity awaits you in my collection."
Trazyn reached out a metallic hand to claim his prize, but as he touched Creed's shoulder, time resumed with a violent snap. Creed recoiled, his hand instantly flying to his heavy bolter-pistol. "What in the Warp? Where did you come from, Xenos?"
"Hmph." Trazyn ignored the panicked general and looked into the distance, where another figure was slowly approaching through the frozen time-stream. "What a repulsive, stagnant power you radiate."
Alexei walked toward them, gesturing for Creed to lower his weapon. He stood between the General and the Necron Overlord. "I thought my presence might surprise you, Trazyn. I didn't think you'd still be looking for 'souvenirs' while the world burns."
Trazyn did not waste words. He tapped his Empathic Obliterator against the ground, and a green beam of neural-shredding energy lanced out, striking Alexei squarely in the chest. Alexei collapsed, his body twitching in apparent agony.
Creed gasped, rushing forward to catch him. "Alexei! How... you fought the Warmaster! How could a single shot...?"
"It seems I overestimated the quality of this 'savior,'" Trazyn remarked, preparing his stasis-shroud once more.
Suddenly, time rippled. "Actually, I overestimated you as well."
The voice came from behind Trazyn. The "Alexei" that Creed was holding dissolved into a swirl of golden mist and void-energy. At Trazyn's feet, a severed mechanical head—one belonging to a Necron Deathmark—was tossed casually into the dirt.
The real Alexei leaped down from a nearby ruin, a mocking smile on his face. "Now, esteemed Trazyn, the Infinite... I suggest you depart. Considering you assisted Cawl with the Pylons, I will refrain from dismantling your current host body. But your 'collection' does not include the Lord Castellan."
Trazyn stared at the man, his ocular sensors whirring as he analyzed the illusory projection. Then, the Necron burst into a dry, metallic laugh. "How fascinating! It seems this galaxy is becoming far more interesting than my archives predicted!"
With a flicker of green light, the Overlord phased out of reality, leaving the helipad empty.
Alexei dropped his smile and turned to Creed, who was staring at him with a mixture of shock and profound confusion. "Let's go, Lord Castellan. It's time to leave this rock behind. The Imperium is about to enter a new age, and you have a front-row seat to the show."