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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 41

"It is a strange thing to know that my father is not human..."

"My suspicions began very early, when I was but a child, short and little; I saw my father easily lifting things that should've been physically impossible for any human – enhanced or otherwise. I saw him lift boulders the size of hills and mountains, and break iron stone with his bare hands as though it was nothing, as though the hardest geological material did not at all matter to him. I believe my father did not try to hide it from me then, because he thought that I was just an infant, incapable of properly perceiving, understanding, and remembering the world around me. He was wrong."

Jadan raised a brow.

What?

Lift boulders the size of hills? How was such a thing even possible? It was almost too fantastical, but then why would High Chancellor Argall lie about such a thing? What would he gain from such outlandish claims? The answer was, well, nothing. First and foremost, this was a classified file, one that no one else had ever bothered reviewing, it seemed. Secondly, well... High Chancellor Argall was already the most powerful man in the Hyperborean Collective; there was nothing to gain from spinning an outlandish tale about his childhood or about his father. Therefore, the only conclusion she could possibly reach was that High Chancellor Argall was, in fact, not lying.

"I looked, I listened, and I remembered. Mother had him build our garden, using solid blocks of marble, each weighing several tons. Father did so without breaking a sweat, without a single hint of effort. He even made it look beautiful, just for her; they painted the rocks together – mother used tools and father used his finger. I, perhaps, could've done the same, but with great difficulty. Mother knew his secret, of course. She was the only one he told – at the time. My sister held no doubts or suspicions. And then, I saw my father fly. Unassisted. Even now, I struggle to make sense of it. How did he fly? What were the mechanics of his flight? He'd worn nothing more than a shirt and a pair of pants at the time; so, it could not have been technology. Father was flying when he first found me in that metal capsule; he'd flown through a mountain, through solid rock, to pull me from beneath the soil."

That would've been interesting to see, Jadan mused. As far as she was aware, the only way to achieve flight without technology was through the use of psychic abilities, which High Chancellor Argall surely would've recognized in his father if-

Jadan's eyes narrowed. But he would not have recognized it, would he? His superhuman genetic modification killed any chance of psykers being born. Not a single person within the Hyperborean Collective, save perhaps the nomads who roamed the open steppes, had the slightest chance at developing psychic abilities. Jadan wasn't sure how she felt about that, considering such knowledge was discovered not by Hyperborean Scientists, but by her people, in the early days since their induction into the Hyperborean Collective. Argall's genetic modification made it so that anyone he modified would have zero chance of becoming psychic or developing any form of psychic ability, which is rare enough as it is. No wonder Argall hadn't thought of it with regards to his father; he was probably not even aware of its existence.

She definitely wasn't sure of that. Her people were generally distrustful of psychic powers and the Volimar Republic, more often than not, sought to keep these psychics away from the general populace, simply due to the danger they posed to every single person around them, which most often included themselves. Of course, only the lesser psychics were captured. The really powerful ones were too dangerous and, more often than not, High Command had them killed. Their families, assuming they had any, would be compensated, of course.

Jadan herself hated it, but there was no denying its necessity.

The Hyperborean Collective would never have to suffer through psychic outbreaks or whatever arcane phenomena her people suffered through. Good. The galaxy was better off without psychics.

She continued the clip.

"When I grew old enough to appear identical to a human toddler, certainly old enough – in my father's eyes, at least – to perceive and remember the world around me, he stopped displaying his power. He steered clear of danger, of dangerous things. It was only when the Rangdan invaded our world and... only when my mother died that my father finally revealed his true powers once more. He called himself a Viltrumite, a race of warriors from the world of Viltrum. My father claimed that all the members of his race were much like himself, capable of inhuman feats of strength. We hadn't the time to speak of it much."

Jadan's eyes widened. A whole race of... entities like Argall's adoptive father... such a thing was terrifying to imagine. They've must've been hailed and worshiped as a race of living gods if

"Many do not know this and many more assume that it was the work of the Necrons, the Iron Men, but no... that night... it was my father – and my father alone – who destroyed the Rangdan Fleet that would've shattered our world into ruin. I'm still not entirely sure how he did such a thing. The Necron Cryptek, Lord Jzan, claimed that my father flew through the fleet and destroyed all their ships, but I struggle to comprehend such a thing."

Oh, she remembered this bit about Hyperborean history, where they awakened the "Iron Men" from their slumber in a desperate move to save themselves. "Necron Cryptek" was the first she'd ever heard of these supposed race of sapient machines. Lord Jzan... interesting. She would've loved to learn more of these Iron Men, who slumbered beneath the planet but any information on them was kept under lock and key, and High Chancellor Argall alone held the key.

It was a mystery, to be sure, but Jadan had long since learned to not question the reasoning of her superiors – at least, not too much. After all, some things were better left buried and forgotten. Such things were to be expected.

High Chancellor Argall's eyes grew sad for a moment as he looked away, the video feed briefly buffering, before it continued. "That night, my father left our world to pursue the Rangdan to... wherever it is those creatures made their nests. He pursued them to avenge my mother and to keep our people safe. It has been... several decades since he disappeared. I know my father is alive. I can feel his presence still lingering about in the galaxy. He is alive and I know it. I assume it is a simple matter of time dilation, but it could be any number of possibilities. My sister still holds out hope that our father will return to us, one day. But, I hope he returns soon, for her sake; unlike me, my sister is aging like an overripe fruit- hey, I'm recording here, you raisin!"

The recording ended with Lady Syreen, a remnant of the Old World and High Chancellor Argall's sister, appearing on screen and shutting down the video. Jadan chuckled and shook her head. But her amusement quickly faded, replaced by... something akin to confusion. So, the High Chancellor's adoptive father was... some kind of human-like alien. No odd physical descriptions were given, which meant that – for all intents and purposes – Argall's father looked identical to a human being, which was both interesting and worrying.

Jadan shook her head, ending the video feed. There was nothing more to see and, if she was being honest with herself, nothing more to learn. It was... interesting, however. All things considered, there were... plenty of revelations there and Jadan found herself at a loss for what to think or believe.

And then, just like that, their leisure time was over and the council was reconvened.

High Chancellor Argall was there, this time, likely because he wished to examine the effectiveness of the Hyperions, his personal project. Before them was a large screen, which relayed real-time data from the Hyperions themselves. The council members all sat and watched.

Twenty of the superhuman warriors were sent aboard a stealth ship – not heavily-armed or powered, like the other Hyperborean Vessels, but certainly capable of punching far above its weight class, due to the exotic light weapon it made use of.

Jadan breathed in.

The darkness was suffocating, a thick blanket of shadow that seemed to swallow the corridors whole. The emergency lights, barely functional, cast flickering, weak red glows that did nothing to dispel the overwhelming blackness. Junior Researcher Rosen Harthland, apprentice to Doctor Helmut of the Imperial Science Division, pressed herself against the cold metal wall, her breathing shallow, trying to steady the frantic beating of her heart. She was alone now. Everyone else had been taken. She didn't know how many there were, but the whispers in the dark, the low hum of distant machinery, and the soft, almost inaudible footsteps told her that the monsters were still hunting.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the terror gnawing at her insides. Rosen had always been a rational person, a scientist who dealt in data, facts, and calculations. But this… this was beyond anything she'd ever known. The monsters had cut the power, plunging the entire vessel into this oppressive darkness. They moved like wraiths, shadows within shadows, unseen but ever-present. She had heard the others screaming, their pleas for mercy cut short by something far too swift and brutal to comprehend.

A cold sweat dripped down her brow as she gripped the small, outdated plasma pistol she'd found in one of the maintenance lockers. It was all she had, and she knew it wouldn't be enough. The weapon felt heavy in her hand, a false sense of security that did nothing to calm her nerves. She had seen what they were capable of through the surveillance feed before it had gone dark, watched in horror as they tore through the ship's defenses with almost mechanical precision, incapacitated their accompanying Astartes with laughable ease, and then moved onward.

Her mind raced, trying to think, trying to plan. She couldn't stay here; they would find her eventually. But where could she go? The corridors all led to dead ends, blocked off by heavy bulkheads or other security measures she could no longer override. Every step she took could be her last, every corner she turned could reveal one of them, waiting in the shadows.

The faint sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the corridor, a distant noise that sent a jolt of fear through her. They were close. Too close. She needed to move. Now.

Rosen forced herself away from the wall, her movements slow, deliberate, trying not to make any noise. Each step was agony, the fear of being heard, of being caught, twisting her insides. She couldn't go far, not with the entire ship locked down, but maybe… just maybe, she could find a place to hide, to wait them out until… until what? Until they decided to leave? Or until she died of dehydration, alone in the dark?

She pushed the thought from her mind, focusing instead on survival. She turned a corner, her eyes straining to see through the gloom. There, at the far end of the corridor, was the door to the research labs. The labs! Of course! There were storage compartments, maintenance ducts, places she could hide, places they might overlook in their sweep.

Rosen quickened her pace, her heart pounding louder than the distant footfalls that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. The door to the lab loomed ahead, a monolith in the dark. She reached it, fumbling with the keypad, her fingers trembling as she entered the access code. The door hissed open, revealing the familiar, sterile environment of the lab, now a twisted mockery of what it once was. Equipment lay scattered, tables overturned, screens smashed. Whatever had happened here had been quick and violent.

She stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft click. The silence was almost unbearable, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. Rosen scanned the room, looking for a place to hide. The storage cabinets were too obvious, the maintenance ducts too small. Her eyes landed on the large, reinforced containment unit at the back of the lab. It was designed to hold volatile materials, secure against all external threats. If she could get inside, maybe she'd have a chance.

She crossed the room quickly, her footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the stillness. The containment unit was open, its interior dark and foreboding, but it was her only option. Rosen climbed inside, pulling the door shut behind her, sealing herself in the pitch-black space. She could hear her own breathing, harsh and ragged, the sound amplified by the close quarters. She pressed her back against the cold metal, gripping the plasma pistol tightly in both hands.

And then… silence. Complete and utter silence.

Time seemed to stretch, minutes feeling like hours as she waited, every second a test of her sanity. She could hear nothing outside the containment unit, no footsteps, no sounds of pursuit. Had she lost them? Was it possible?

A faint sound reached her ears, barely audible through the thick walls of the unit. A soft, almost rhythmic tapping, like something lightly striking the outside of the containment unit. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was slow, methodical, deliberate.

She held her breath, her heart nearly stopping as the tapping continued. And then, it stopped. The silence returned, oppressive and suffocating. Rosen felt a surge of hope, a desperate belief that maybe… just maybe… they had given up.

A sharp metallic clang shattered the silence, a deafening noise that reverberated through the containment unit. Rosen screamed, her voice a raw, primal sound of terror as the monsters in the shape of men pried open the door, their faces obscured by shadow, their eyes glinting with a cold, predatory light. They reached for her, their movements swift and inescapable.

"No! No! No! No! No!" The last thing Rosen saw before darkness claimed her was a pair of inhumanly strong hands pulling her out of her hiding place, her screams echoing into the void.

Argall smiled and was the first to clap. "Mission success."

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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 42

Her ears perked up at the faint noise of water droplets, falling from a high place and splattering onto a shallow puddle. She was familiar with that sort of noise. After all, before she ever became a scientist – or learned science, for that matter – Rosen was a prisoner, one of Udu Akkad's many bastard daughters. She was little more than a toddler when the Emperor conquered her supposed father's domain. Lost and forgotten, Rosen still had no idea how she ever ended up growing inside a prison complex, with only the remnants of her former father's former guards to watch over her – not even for very long. And every single day in that place, she'd hear the noise of water droplets, falling from the topmost parts and onto a stale puddle.

And so it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that she was now in a prison. After all, she was clearly still alive, which meant those... monsters deigned to keep her alive for a reason. She'd never really figured if they were gene-forged mutants, like the Astartes themselves, or if they were simply aliens. If they were the former, then this could only be an interrogation of some sort. And, if it was, then they'd be sorely disappointed, because she barely knew anything about the Imperium that most people weren't already aware of. That said, their survey ship likely held plenty of secrets. If it was the latter, however, then she was probably about to be served as a meal.

Rosen pushed herself off the cold, hard ground and glanced around her. Black. No lights. Pitch black. Her heart quickened and hammered in her chest, echoing in her very ears. She forced her breathing down. The floor at her feet was stable, at least, but navigating in complete darkness was a terrible idea. There was no way of knowing what she'd walk, bump, or fall into. She was safe – for now. So the best thing to do was to stay in place and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Her skin felt numb, but not with cold. It was a strange sensation, almost as if she had been submerged in icy water, and now, the numbness was creeping up her limbs. She tried flexing her fingers, willing her muscles to respond, but there was only the faintest tingle of motion, like a ghost limb. Panic clawed at her throat, and she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. It was probably some sedative they'd used on her. She'd read about such things in the medical files—drugs that could paralyze without dulling the senses. Cruel, but effective.

She closed her eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths, trying to bring her mind back to a place of calm. What could she hear? The dripping water, yes, but also something else—something faint and distant, like the hum of machinery. It wasn't the familiar thrumming of the ship's engines; this was more rhythmic, like a heartbeat, pulsing through the walls around her. It seemed to resonate within her own chest, a low, bass vibration that made her teeth chatter.

Her eyes snapped open. Light! Just a pinprick in the darkness, but it was there. Flickering at the edge of her vision, barely visible. She strained her eyes, willing the light to come closer, to break through the darkness. It pulsed in time with the strange hum, flickering in and out, like a firefly caught in a jar. Was it a malfunctioning bulb? Or something more sinister?

Rosen tried to stand, only to feel a sudden, sharp pain in her abdomen, a pulling sensation, like someone had jammed a knife into her gut and twisted. She doubled over, gasping, clutching at her middle. Her hands came away wet. She could smell blood, her blood, thick and coppery, filling her nostrils. The taste of metal coated her tongue, making her gag.

"No, no, no," she muttered under her breath, her voice a thin whine. "Stay calm. Stay calm."

But the pain was getting worse, spreading through her body like wildfire. Her nerves were on fire, and every breath was agony. She could feel her heart racing, the thudding against her ribs growing more erratic. She couldn't see it, but she knew she was bleeding out, knew that death was close.

What was happening to her?

She pressed her hands harder against her abdomen, trying to stem the flow of blood, but there was no relief. Her skin felt cold and clammy, slick with sweat, and her vision blurred, the darkness closing in. She was losing consciousness, she realized. The thought should have terrified her, but instead, there was a strange sense of detachment, a surreal calm that settled over her, like a heavy blanket. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe sleep would take her away from the pain.

The pulsing light flickered closer, almost directly in front of her now, and for a brief moment, it illuminated the space around her. She saw smooth walls, curved and organic, not like the angular bulkheads of the ship. The walls seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting in time with the hum. And on the floor in front of her, she saw her own shadow, stretched out in front of her.

But something was wrong. The shadow was wrong.

Rosen blinked, trying to clear her vision, focusing on the shadow. It was… wrong. Her shadow shouldn't have looked like that. There was no outline of her arms, no shape of her head or torso. Instead, the shadow was a strange, formless mass, amorphous and shifting.

Panic surged through her again, a jolt of adrenaline that snapped her out of her stupor. She tried to look down at herself, to see what was wrong, but her head wouldn't move. She tried to lift her hands to touch her face, but she felt nothing. No hands, no arms. She couldn't feel her legs.

A scream bubbled up in her throat, but it never escaped.

Her heart raced, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, as realization dawned. She was not in control of her body. She was not even in her body.

She was floating, detached, a consciousness without a physical form. The pulsing hum grew louder, drowning out the sound of the dripping water, filling her mind with static. The flickering light intensified, blinding her, until all she could see was white.

And then the light faded, revealing a scene that made her blood run cold. Her body. Her own lifeless body, lying on a metal table, blood pooling on the floor beneath it. Wires and tubes snaked out from the back of her skull, leading into a complex array of machines. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, unseeing.

Rosen's mind reeled, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She was dead. No, not dead, not entirely. Her body was dead, but her consciousness—her mind—was still active, still aware. They had taken her brain, wired it into their machines, kept her alive, kept her thinking.

And now they were harvesting her memories, her knowledge. They didn't need her alive. They only needed her mind.

Terror gripped her, a silent scream echoing in the empty void of her thoughts. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own mind, unable to move, unable to escape. The hum grew louder, drowning out all thought, until there was nothing but darkness.

Nothing but the darkness, and the endless, relentless pulsing.

Argall stared at the extracted information and sighed, shaking his head. "Tsk. Looks like she didn't know much about the Imperium – nothing worth extracting, in any case."

The woman's memories yielded no usable results. Her research dealt with geological data and she was not at all privy to classified information. Hopefully, the other scientists would know more. But, for now, it was looking like the only source of information he had was their ship, a task that Argall left to his people as no one else apparently had the stomach to do what he was doing, which was strange since he was murdering or torturing anyone. As far as he was aware, the process was painless.

Argall shrugged.

He then turned to a nearby machine, one that was responsible for the control and manipulation of flesh, blood, bone, and sinew. He'd designed this thing quite some time ago, an inferior variant of the Genesis Chamber – more focused on immediate results, rather than fine results. As a result, Argall only ever used it on prisoners, of which there were none – not for many decades, at least, until now. That said, the device used to decipher and view memories came from the Necrons themselves, something Argall hadn't yet replicated. "Alright, put her brain and nervous system back in place, and bring me the next scientist."

The machine clicked and whirred, its pale green lights blinking as it processed Argall's command. Tendrils of bio-mechanical filaments slid from their recesses, weaving around the brain and spinal cord suspended in the nutrient solution. Argall watched with mild interest as the filaments coiled and tightened, connecting to the severed ends of the woman's nervous system, feeding artificial life back into dead flesh. He had always admired the elegance of the Necron technology, how it interfaced so seamlessly with organic matter, bridging the gap between life and death. The only problem was the instability of the connection. It would last for a few more hours, perhaps a day if he was fortunate, before the tissue began to degrade irreparably.

As the machine continued its work, Argall stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. He glanced at the woman's face, her vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. There was no expression, no sign of pain or discomfort. Argall had made sure of that. Whatever humanity the scientists had, it was lost the moment they were plugged into the machine. Their brains became little more than data storage units, holding onto memories that Argall sifted through like files in a library. No emotion, no fear, no awareness. Just knowledge.

He turned to a console nearby, tapping at the controls. A holographic interface flickered to life, displaying a stream of data.

Rosen Harthland's memories flashed by, cataloged and sorted, her entire life reduced to a series of binary codes. Argall scrolled through them, scanning for anything that might be of use. Childhood memories, early education, geological research… nothing of importance. He paused on an entry labeled 'Udu Akkad,' but it was a dead end, just a brief image of a crumbling fortress and a handful of guards. Nothing worth investigating further.

"Useless," he muttered to himself. "Just another pebble in a field of rocks."

He dismissed the data, returning to the central screen. The next scientist was already prepped, their brain suspended in the nutrient tank, ready for extraction. Argall sent a command to begin the process, the tendrils snaking out to make contact. As the machinery hummed to life, Argall glanced back at Rosen's body.

She had been one of the easier ones to work on. Some of the others, those more versed in the mysteries of the warp, showed resistance, mental fortitude that made the extraction difficult, even with the Necron device aiding him. He anticipated challenges from the more experienced researchers on the ship. The data could become distorted, fragmented by the remnants of a strong will. Argall considered implementing a new protocol for those cases, a more aggressive extraction technique, something to forcibly strip the data without risk of degradation.

Argall sighed, rubbing his temples. "There's never enough time."

The machine emitted a soft chime, signaling the completion of Rosen's reintegration. The tendrils retracted, leaving the brain and nervous system nestled within the hollow of the cranium. Argall walked over, inspecting the seams. Flawless. No sign of damage, no indication that anything had been done. He nodded in satisfaction, making a mental note to refine the reintegration process further. If he could replicate the Necron technology entirely, there would be no need for crude surgery. Everything could be done seamlessly, efficiently.

Rosen's unconscious form was brought out and another scientist brought in, ready to be cut open, like all the others.

AN: Chapter 44 is out on (Pat)reon!

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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 43

"They will fall and be assimilated, like every other human empire we've come across. It makes no difference!"

"You fool, we don't know anything about them – not the size of their fleets, their armies, and not even the location of their home planet. We do not know how they fight or if they desire to fight at all. Do you intend to sail out into the void and hope to stumble into them somehow? Are the nails addling your mind, Angron? Perhaps, you need to be put down, like the rabid animal that you are?"

"RAAAAGH!"

"Brother stop! There shall be no violence among us! Not in my ship. Stop!"

"I shall tolerate no insult from you of all people, Rus! You're nothing more than a dog!"

"And you are a beast!"

"Cease this violence immediately, brothers! We stand to gain nothing from this. Angron, peace be upon you. Calm."

"Bah! Fine! For Sanguinius' sake, I shall take my legion away from this mess! You deal with it as you see fit, Rus! And we shall see how better you fare against a foe you cannot even fight!"

"Brother-"

"No, let him leave; Angron has nothing constructive to add to this council. He lost one ship and a research vessel that was supposed to be under his protection. He's a failure of a Primarch."

"Let us speak no ill of our brother, Rus. Let us, instead, turn our attention to the present. Dorne, you've been silent, thus far, care to share your thoughts?"

"There is nothing to share. As Rus himself stated before, we know nothing about this enemy; we're not even certain if they're humans at all or just another race of humanoid aliens. In any case, I do believe that Angron and the World Eaters are the worst possible choice for this conflict. The Lion would be a better choice, but he is nowhere close to this sector. But, once again, it is impossible to discern anything about this matter. I recommend sending in probes and scouts first."

"Angron did that already and his attempt was not at all ill-advised. Whoever our enemy is, they were able to find each and every single probe and destroy them before they could even begin scanning anything. Those that were able to search for a time found nothing of note, before they were destroyed. Narrowing down their general location is impossible, unless we deploy billions of probes to deep space and hope they stumble into something of note."

"So, we have nothing. This new enemy has destroyed one Imperial Vessel and stolen one other. I doubt a research vessel holds any information of any real value, but anything they learn about the Imperium is a potential weapon to be turned against us. We cannot afford to leave them be – not after their attack."

"What if we-"

"Oh, that's interesting. It's the emergency distress beacon from the missing research vessel."

"Alright, I'll just go ahead and state the fact that this is obviously a trap."

"Of course, but it's also our only lead. We have no choice but to take the bait."

"We'll lay our own trap, of course, but there's no telling what the enemy has planned or what they're capable of; we must be prepared for every possible eventuality. My librarians, those with the ability to see into the future, find their visions clouded when I commanded them to look into this place."

"Unsurprising. But, let us focus on what we can do. The beacon rings from this system and I have no wish to underestimate any foe; I suggest we..."

"How long before we reach my home?" Thragg asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the galactic map that'd spawned from the insides of the Reaper Leviathan, Nashara, who was now just as much a part of him as his own beating heart, but their individualities remained disconnected, separating their minds and memories, though accessing each other was as easy and as simple as blinking. Neither Thragg nor Nashara had any interest in joining their minds as one; they'd shared enough with each other, knew enough about each other. And they both hated how similar they were. And so Thragg and Nashara agreed to never join their minds, unless in the utmost need. And it worked better that way.

Connected they might've been, the co-equal gods were still distinct entities – Thragg and Nashara, Reaper and Viltrumite, gods all the same.

And so, Thragg asked the question, even if he could've simply known the answers by connecting with Nashara's mind.

"By your perception of time? A year, perhaps, maybe less." Nashara answered, appearing as a bluish, humanoid projection. The projection itself was unnecessary, but Nashara preferred it, apparently, once stating that all of existence was so much more interesting from a much smaller perspective.

"That will have to do." Thragg nodded and hovered away. Argall would definitely still be alive. His son was not under the spell of mortality as all other creatures were. But Syreen was another matter. Thragg sighed. He hoped that, at the very least, she'd still be alive when he got to her. How many years it must've been for them, without their father.

Too long.

Thagg wondered now if he had grandchildren. But, if Syreen was anything like her mother, then he probably should be expecting a whole new family tree by the time he got back home. Being acquainted with all his grandchildren would be fun. Nareena would've been overjoyed to do the same, though Thragg doubted she would've lived long enough to see any of her descendants.

He missed her as well. And, if there was an afterlife, Thragg wondered if she was the first person he'd meet there, the first to greet him. He'd die, sooner or later; such a thing was inevitable. Viltrumites aged in the thousands upon thousands of years, but they died eventually, usually through suicide after living for too long, but there were a few recorded instances of venerable ancients who simply died of old age – their bodies still strong, but their minds withered and gone.

Sighing, Thragg sat down and viewed one of Nashara's many memory shards, a means through which the Reaper recorded everything it knew. It was also his only means of alleviating his boredom.

There wasn't much to do when traveling across the void; so, Thragg spent his time learning. Nashara might've been horribly outdated with the current affairs of the galaxy, but that did not mean the Machine God was lacking in knowledge. It was, Thragg found, oddly amusing to learn of events so incredibly ancient that very few living creatures in the entire universe would've been old enough to even remember them. But Nashara remembered and probably so did its... strange cousins who called themselves the C'tan, though Nashara doubted that as they lacked physical forms at the time and would not have cared for the wars of the Reapers and the Old Ones.

That was, perhaps, one of the most interesting things about Nashara's existence. It didn't used to be a machine, as Thragg figured. No, the machine was simply a vessel for a higher existence. Though it no longer remembered, Nashara was once a being that fed on the light and heat of stars, an entity of pure energy, before the Leviathans captured and bound its essence onto a mechanical form, a Reaper, to act as the central intelligence and as a battery, stripping Nashara of everything it once was in a process that was far more advanced than whatever it was the C'tan taught the Ancient Necrontyr, something Nashara learned from listening to the faint whispers of the Old Ones and their minions, a war that spanned the breadth of the galaxy.

Thragg looked into the shard and learned and learned.

Neoth's eyes narrowed as he looked into the looms of fate and destiny. A great change had undone many of the threads, altering the fabric of what should be. One of his gene-forged sons was, unfortunately, always destined to become of the greatest enemies of mankind, destined to become the Arkifane, to mantle the name and destiny of Vashtor, the God of Craftsmen and Innovators, of unfettered and unbridled creativity – no rules, limits, codes, ethics, nothing. Vashtorr was destined to rule over the Forge of Souls, to build profane engines and weapons of great evil and malice, binding demons to metal constructs. But, as Neoth looked into the future, he saw... nothing.

Vashtorr was gone, his destiny undone, his future erased so utterly and so completely that the very idea of Vashtorr was rapidly fading from the Immaterium.

Something happened that broke the threads of fate, an arrival of something that should not have arrived or existed. The existence of Vashtorr was supposed to be an unbreakable thread, a fixed point in time; no matter what he did, one of his sons was going to become one of mankind's greatest and most powerful enemies. Why? Because he was on the path of the Rangdan and, no matter what he did or how he did it, the hostile xenos would've driven his son into a path of darkness, one that'd inevitably lead him into embracing the powers of the Immaterium – and there was nothing Neoth could've done to prevent that.

And yet, something did.

And now, entirely new branches of the future were there to see, revealing scenes that Neoth had never even conceived, of possibilities he'd long since abandoned.

It was hope.

Maybe, just maybe, there was finally a way for humanity to win without having to hide in the wretched ruins of forgotten gods.

"You have that look about you," The voice of his oldest and noblest friend echoed across the dark chamber. Neoth pulled himself away from the fabric of fate and destiny, sighing as he shook his head. He turned and saw Malcador walking towards him, his hood down. "Something's bothering you, Revelation, old friend."

"I'm fine, Malcador," Neoth said. "I'm simply... confused – pleasantly so."

"You speak of the Fate of the Arkifane, yes?" Malcador asked. "I've arrested and detained many cultists who spout the same words over and over again: the Fate of the Arkifane is broken, they said. Quite a fascinating thing. What did you see, my old friend?"

"I saw a future that I did not think was at all possible. I hadn't thought it possible for a very long time, now – not since the Iron Revolution, not since the massacre of the Golden Men." Neoth said. "But now... because of a... variable I hadn't known about, everything has been altered."

"It's true, then? The Fate of the Arkifane has been averted? Vashtorr has ceased entirely?"

"Embers of that creature's existence linger still, but I doubt they'd stick around for long." Neoth allowed himself a faint smile. "Even now, I feel its essence drifting away into nothing, into oblivion. In a few days, the very idea of Vashtorr will cease to exist. Its essence will be removed entirely from the fabric of fate and destiny. And humanity shall not have to suffer yet another foe."

Malcador's brow furrowed, his usually calm and inscrutable expression giving way to a rare look of astonishment. "A variable you hadn't known about? That's unlike you, Revelation. You always see further, deeper. What could possibly have disrupted the inevitable?"

Neoth walked slowly across the chamber, his heavy steps echoing in the vast, dark space. The dim light from the looming warp-lenses cast long shadows, their flickering reflections dancing on the cold stone walls. He paused, his gaze lost in the swirling colors of the Immaterium displayed before them. "I don't know, old friend. But something—someone—has unraveled the destiny of the Arkifane. It's as if an unforeseen force has intervened, one that doesn't belong in the weave of this reality. Perhaps an entity outside the reach of our understanding, or a mortal who defied the boundaries of fate itself."

"I would very much like to meet this mortal for myself, then." Malcador smiled.

AN: Chapter 45 is out on (Pat)reon!

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"They're not taking the bait. That's interesting. I think they might've pulled Angron away from this mess and installed someone else, in his stead." Argall noticed immediately, eyes narrowing as the Imperium's vessels appeared at the edge of the system, breaking through space by means of... something.

Honestly, their FTL technology baffled Argall to no end. He understood how it worked, on principle, but he couldn't figure out why the Imperium of Mankind hadn't bothered to improve their design; doing so wouldn't even take a lot of resources and it certainly wouldn't take a genius to do so. Hell, one of the junior scientists who worked under Argall as an intern was almost immediately able to figure out how best to rework the Imperium's FTL device, ensuring it didn't have a 2% chance of failing every single time it was used. That said, its ability to open a path into the 'Weirdworld', a term Argall coined, was – if nothing else – interesting. Though, to be certain, Argall had very little interest in exploring or learning more about that... very odd parallel dimension. Every experiment he'd performed, many decades ago, all seemed to end in some form of particle outbreak that would then have to be contained and disposed.

The Necron Phaeron, Khoteph, even admitted that he knew very little of the Weirdworld, aside from the fact that the Necrons themselves also knew very little of it, save through the Dolmen Gates, which they used to co-opt the technology of a race of ancient god-like beings known only as the Old Ones. But, even then, neither Khoteph nor his Cryptek, Jzan, had the barest idea how the Dolmen Gates even worked. They knew what it did and they knew how to operate it, but that was it.

Whatever the case, Argall wasn't touching that particular bit of technology unless he had a really long, interplanetary stick to poke it with.

"This complicates things," Jadan said, the admiral standing by Argall's side as they and all the other admirals and officers surveyed the positioning of the Hyperborean fleet. The bait was dangled and the trap was ready. All that was left was for the Imperium to actually unhinge its jaw and swallow. But, of course, with every battle plan, there just had to be complications. That Angron would be replaced was not one of the possibilities Argall considered, to be perfectly honest, which was rather alarming. "We tailored our strategy against the World Eaters, specifically. We'll have to learn more about these new generals."

Argall shook his head and smiled. "Not necessarily. The truth of the matter is that changes were always going to happen, which is precisely why our general strategy was meant to be fluid and dynamic – one variable changes, we can adapt quickly. In this case, nothing changes. It'll take them longer, perhaps, to take the bait, but they have no choice, otherwise."

Of course, Argall didn't have to mention the fact that the arriving fleet was three times larger than what he'd expected, but – once again – it changed little in the long run. Their overall strategy remained the same: lure the Imperium out into open space, where their numbers would count for nothing, due to the lack of any military or naval target. And, in that region of open space, the Hyperborean Fleets would break the Imperium until they surrendered, willingly chose to retreat, or until there was nothing left of them.

He also didn't have to mention the fact that he might've been hoping for this. After all, Angron would have been little more than a dumb brute, incapable of providing him or his people with any sort of learning opportunity that'd be worthwhile. But these... these new generals had to be competent and, therefore, would offer him and his generals and the soldiers and naval men at their command the chance to learn. The instruction and knowledge provided by Jadan and her people had been invaluable, true enough, but Argall would be limiting himself a little too much if all he had to rely on were the experiences of others and not his own.

This war... it would be a chance for his people to grow, to become more than what they were.

"As you say, High Chancellor," Jadan nodded, eyes narrowing as she stared at the Imperium's fleets. Three, Argall had noted immediately. There were three fleets, divided entirely on general aesthetic and chosen symbology.

"I have no interest in watching a bunch of ships slowly drift towards each other," Argall declared for all admirals and generals to hear. "They are our enemy and we are theirs. If they're not rising to the bait, I say we start firing until they do. All in favor?"

Every single one of them were in favor. And so, Argall spoke into the microphone that was connected to the Fleet Master – at least, the one in charge of the bait. "Commence attacking. Force them to come to you. But, if they don't respond, feel free to render their fleet to dust."

As the ships of his people moved, Argall could not help but grin. The vessels of the Hyperborean Collective, in general, were all built following his designs – far smaller, compared to the lumbering leviathans of the Imperium, but faster, sleeker, and deadlier. Each of them were armed with scaled-up Hardlight Rifles, capable of shooting out bursts of exotic photons, capable of punching through just about anything that existed, and powered by micro-fusion cells, because – even after all this time – Argall still hadn't figured out Zero-Point energy. Their shields were also better as the Photonic Shields, originally meant to prevent friendly fire, were capable of reducing the velocity of anything that passed through its field down to merely 2% of what it used to be, an upgrade that Argall had labored day and night to reach as the old model of the Photonic Shield, at best, could reduce it to 10%, which was still rather dangerous. And, even then, the hulls of their ships were made of a very highly condensed form of steel that was a hundred times more durable than almost any metal.

He would've otherwise made use of Necrodermis if the Necrons were kind enough to share that wondrous metal, but they weren't and so Argall hadn't bothered them too much about it; they were, after all, rightly secretive of their technology.

In comparison, the Imperium's vessels were larger and slower, and possessed powerful, but otherwise cumbersome projectile weapons. Argall hadn't fully ascertained the effectivity of their shields as the science vessel they'd captured did not have shields and the World Eater vessel they destroyed likely did not even have its shields active, but such a warmongering Empire couldn't possibly be lacking in that department. Their hulls were thicker as well, comprised of a composite alloy that was both durable and heat resistant – more durable than Argall's compressed steel alloy, but less heat resistant and far heavier.

The fleet that acted as bait was comprised of only twenty ships, with nineteen being entirely unmanned, controlled by AI, while a Fleet Master commanded the entirety of the fleet from safety of the capital ship, which was subsequently also the largest vessel within the ship, hardier and more powerful than the rest. The Imperium outnumbered them 20:1.

"Orders acknowledged, High Chancellor." The Fleet Master replied. "Weapons primed and ready to fire in 3... 2... 1... beginning salvo."

Beside him, Jadan took a deep breath, her eyes narrowed and her features grim. "And so it begins."

Argall's grin did not falter as the golden beams of the Hardlight Cannons tore through the first of the Imperial ships in only a few shots, blasting holes through its hull and out the other side, even damaging other vessels. Perfect. "And so it does."

Fleet Master Kulvareth watched the opening salvo with a cool, calculating gaze. Golden beams from the Hyperborean fleet's Hardlight Cannons punched through the Imperial ships like a knife through paper, sending debris and jagged shards of metal spinning into the vacuum. Beautiful. Every weapon designed by High Chancellor Argall was absolutely beautiful.

Yet, despite the initial success, Kulvareth knew better than to grow complacent.

The Imperium's vessels, though slower and bulkier, had not returned fire immediately. Instead, they regrouped, their larger ships moving to shield the damaged ones. Kulvareth's eyes narrowed. According to their calculations and simulations, an average World Eater response would have been a counterattack—brutal, overwhelming, and direct. But this... restraint... suggested a new kind of enemy. Someone far more cautious and tactical than Angron and his ilk, more willing to wait and bait his opponents.

A ripple of unease spread through Kulvareth's command deck. He could sense his crew's restlessness, eager for more destruction, but holding back under his steady leadership. This was, technically, their very first true engagement, despite having undergone over thousands and thousands of simulations.

"High Chancellor Argall was right," Kulvareth thought. "They've replaced their commander with another."

He turned his attention to the tactical display, studying the movements of both fleets. The Imperium's ships were larger by an overwhelming margin, but Kulvareth had no intention of allowing them to exploit that advantage. The Hyperborean ships were spread out, circling the enemy in a crescent formation, moving too quickly for the Imperium's larger vessels to pin down effectively.

"Initiate skirmishing tactics," Kulvareth ordered, his voice calm but firm. "Probe their defenses. I want to see how they react under pressure."

From the fleet's capital ship, orders rippled through the ranks. Groups of Hyperborean vessels broke away from the main formation, darting in and out of range like wolves testing a herd. Hardlight Cannons flashed, lighting up the dark expanse of space. Several more golden beams struck the enemy vessels, blasting holes through their thick hulls, but this time, the Imperium was prepared.

The first wave of return fire came from their massive projectile weapons. The heavy rounds tore through space, shattering asteroids and disrupting Kulvareth's careful formations. The Hyperborean Photonic Shields caught some of the fire, but a few rounds slipped through, slowed yet still dangerous. One of his smaller ships took a direct hit, its shield failing as the projectile punched into its hull. The vessel twisted, its engines sputtering, and then it went silent – heavily damaged but otherwise still repairable.

The greatest weakness of the Photonic Shield, he mused, was the fact that it generally failed when faced with a projectile that was much larger than the Photonic Field as no two parts of the same projectile could have differing speeds – the faster one would win out and cancel out the Photonic Field's kinetic dampening effect.

Kulvareth grimaced. He had anticipated losses, but the Imperium's accuracy surprised him. They were compensating for their slower speed by focusing on raw firepower and precision. And the fleet they faced was massive—three times what High Chancellor Argall had predicted.

"Shields to full capacity," Kulvareth ordered. "We'll need every advantage if we're to survive the next volley."

His fleet shifted, responding to the changing tide of the battle. The skirmish was turning into a brutal stalemate. Every time the Hyperborean ships moved in to strike, the Imperium vessels retaliated with punishing force. Yet the Imperium's heavy reliance on projectile weapons was also slowing them down, forcing them into defensive formations that kept them from advancing. The Hardlight Cannons also outranged the Imperium's vessels, though not by a very advantageous margin.

"Their strategy is clear," Kulvareth mused. "They're trying to draw us in, make us overextend. They want to trap us in a slugging match, where their numbers and size will overwhelm us."

Not clever at all. It was a simple strategy. More than likely, the enemy was probing them just as they were probing it. After all, neither side knew the full extent of their capabilities.

"Pull back the forward lines," he commanded. "Let them think we're retreating."

His fleet responded with disciplined precision, retreating just enough to give the Imperium the illusion of an opening. He could already see the enemy fleet repositioning, preparing to advance.

"Now, we test them," Kulvareth murmured, eyes gleaming. "Activate the Photonic Shield grids. Prepare for evasive maneuvers. When they advance, we strike where they're most vulnerable."

A Photonic Shield grid was the one way to supplement the Photonic Shield's main weakness, which was by sharing the Photonic Field between ships, thereby increasing its overall size.

The Hyperborean ships began a slow, calculated withdrawal, drawing the Imperium vessels deeper into the battlefield. The Imperium ships surged forward, lumbering but determined, ready to press their supposed advantage. Or, not quite. It would do him no favors to assume stupidity on the side of his enemy. After all, this battle had turned from a game of force into a game of wits. Whoever was smarter would win.

This war would be their proving ground.

AN: Chapter 46 is out on (Pat)reon!

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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 45

Interesting...

Sanguinius' eyes narrowed as he surveyed the proverbial field of battle, their war in the void. And this whole thing was going... really badly. But, in such conflicts, there really wasn't much of a choice. Sacrifice a few million to gain just a sliver of information. The very idea of it weighed heavily over his heart and shoulders. And, once upon a time, Sanguinius would've hesitated to implement such a cruel and callous command. But he was older and wiser now. And not even he could deny its necessity. And so, when he gave the command to consign dozens of ships in a skirmish to ascertain the enemy's weapons and technological prowess, Sanguinius did so with a ladened, but otherwise firm heart.

And, because of that, he got exactly what he wanted – information.

He very much did not like the information he received out of it. This was not the first time he and his brothers encountered a technologically superior human civilization and it likely won't be the last. However, this one was different. Just about every technologically-advanced civilization, at least the ones more advanced than the Imperium, always offered the hand of diplomacy first. And it was only when the diplomatic option fell apart that war was triggered. Here, there were no exchanges of messages or codes, nothing. This civilization, as far as the Imperium was aware, first attacked Angron and his World Eaters, entirely unprovoked.

And, oddly enough, Sanguinius believed his brother, simply because Angron would not lie about such things.

But, then again, Angron was also guilty of doing the exact thing to many other civilizations and so Sanguinius didn't feel too bad about it.

So, here they were, battling a technologically superior foe, knowing almost nothing about their civilization, not even the location of their worlds. In fact, Sanguinius wasn't even entirely certain that they were at all dealing with a human civilization.

That said, Sanguinius now knew that this enemy was not one to be underestimated or taken lightly. Their weapons, whatever those beams of golden light were, were exotic enough to outright ignore void shields and powerful enough to punch through hulls without much issue, boring holes through their ships and disintegrating any man, woman, or Astartes caught in its deadly light. Their shields were strong too, able to take on shots before failing, but nothing so strong as to be impossible to defeat, just stronger than what they were used to. And, even then, their ships were fast – very fast. Not nearly as fast or as nimble as Eldar Crafts, but up there in maneuverability. The Mechanicum would very much enjoy tinkering with such machines when they got their hands on a few samples, though that would have to come much later.

Thus far, it seemed like the enemy preferred a Naval Doctrine that made use of extreme distances, leveraging the incredible range of their weapons. And it worked because even their smallest vessels were equipped with scaled-down versions of their gold-light weapons. The Imperium's only possible response was through the Lance Batteries. Nova Cannons could technically perform similarly if not for their lack of accuracy and, honestly, Sanguinius had no interest in experimental weapons. The problem was that the vessels of their enemy were too nimble and too fast, which, more often than not, caused their Lance Batteries to miss entirely, even if they targeted the largest vessel.

The dexterity of their ships also made boarding actions practically impossible.

Infuriating.

But, of course, they expected this. All the losses were incurred for a noble and honest reason. Even now, Sanguinius had no doubt that his brothers, who were also participating in this naval battle, were learning about their mutual enemy, though – to be honest – Dorne was better at analyzing enemies better than either himself or Rus. So, he'd just have to wait for Dorne to come up with something, to make sense of the chaos. As it was, as Sanguinius understood things, there was no hope for victory unless they discovered the home system of this enemy. Because they were losing. A naval battle in which they outnumbered their opponent 20:1 and they were losing. Not terribly, but enough that even Sanguinius knew how a prolonged battle would end.

They'd lose. Sure, the vessels they'd lost, thus far, were the ones they could afford to lose, but what happened after?

Straight up. They'd need the naval strength of, at the very least, two other legions to break this stalemate and, even then, it was unlikely that the enemy they faced now represented the bulk of the enemy fleet. For all they knew, this was just a scouting force and their enemy had a much larger fleet, hidden somewhere.

The biggest problem, Sanguinius mused, was the ability of their weapons to ignore Void Shields.

"If we can analyze these beams of light enough, then it is entirely possible to calibrate the Void Shields to stop them," His on-board Tech-Magos explained.

And then, the enemy fleet began retreating.

They want us to follow them. Sanguinius's eyes narrowed. Definitely a tactical retreat, but to where?

They'd be fools to take the bait again, but... in accordance to their plan, there really wasn't much of a choice here. They had to engage the enemy long enough to intercept and understand, at the very least, the signals they emitted and where those signals were going. As Dorne had not yet ordered a retreat, it just meant their Mechanicum allies hadn't figured out the enemy's signal yet. And that meant the battle had to continue.

Sanguinius clenched his fists, his wings twitching unconsciously as he watched the tactical retreat unfold. His mind raced with calculations, weighing the risks. He knew what Dorne was likely thinking. They couldn't afford to let the enemy escape, not without gaining more data. Their foe's technology was too far beyond the Imperium's for Sanguinius to be comfortable, and worse still, they had no clear understanding of the enemy's strategic objectives. Letting them slip away could mean giving up the last chance to gain any meaningful advantage in this engagement.

Sanguinius's hand hovered over the command interface, but before he could issue any further instructions, the vox crackled to life with a transmission from his brother.

"Sanguinius," Dorne's voice came through, steady but with an undercurrent of urgency, "Brother, we're not prepared for a full pursuit. I recommend we hold the line and maintain range. I need more time to analyze their movements."

Sanguinius nodded grimly. Dorne, ever the tactician, was right. They had already learned valuable information, but chasing after an enemy that clearly had superior mobility was definitely going to lead them into a trap. Yet, they could not remain passive.

"Understood, brother," Sanguinius replied, his voice calm though tension threaded through it. "We'll hold position and focus on gathering what we can. I don't want to commit the entire fleet to a pursuit yet."

He turned toward his bridge officers, their faces tense but ready for his orders. "Prepare for long-range engagement. Do not pursue. Focus all efforts on gathering any signals, transmissions, or energy signatures. We need to understand how they communicate, how they move. This retreat is a test. Let's see what we can learn."

As his officers began relaying the orders, the fleet shifted, halting its aggressive maneuvers. Instead of pursuing the retreating enemy ships, the Imperial fleet repositioned itself into a more defensive stance, Lance Batteries primed for long-range fire while the Mechanicum servitors and tech-priests aboard every vessel set to work, scanning the void for any trace of communication or tactical signals.

For a moment, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath. The enemy ships continued their retreat, their golden beams of light growing fainter as the distance between the two forces increased. And yet, the enemy wasn't accelerating beyond what was necessary to pull back. They were still inviting pursuit.

Sanguinius leaned forward slightly, his keen eyes tracing the movements of the alien ships. What are you hiding? he thought. They were being far too deliberate in their retreat, as if trying to lure them into a particular range or formation. It wasn't random. What realized right then and there, however, was that the movements of the enemy fleet was too uniform – inhumanly uniform. Not even the Eldar moved with this much precision, this much unity. And that opened up the possibility that, perhaps, they were dealing with non-biological entities or, perhaps, a Hive Mind.

"Status on the Mechanicum's efforts?" he asked sharply.

An officer turned toward him. "They're still triangulating the signals, my lord. It's... difficult. The enemy's signal emissions are unlike anything we've encountered. But they are making progress."

Sanguinius let out a slow breath. Progress was good. But time was not on their side.

As if on cue, another signal came through the vox, this one from the lead ship of Leman Russ. The Wolf King, as ever, was not a fan of waiting.

"Brother," Russ's gruff voice cut through, "We're letting them go. This isn't our way. Let's hunt them down before they can regroup."

Sanguinius knew that Russ's blood was up. The Wolf King was always eager for the kill, preferring action to caution, and this careful dance was chafing at him.

"Not yet, Russ," Sanguinius responded, firm but measured. "We don't know enough. They could be leading us into an ambush, or worse, away from where they truly want to strike."

A low growl of frustration crackled over the vox, but Russ said nothing more. Sanguinius knew his brother would follow the command, even if begrudgingly.

The tension on the bridge mounted as the minutes passed. Reports from various ships came in, confirming that the enemy was still pulling back at a controlled pace. But they weren't firing. That, more than anything, unnerved Sanguinius. A retreating enemy usually laid down covering fire, yet these ships were eerily silent as they slipped away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the Mechanicum adepts broke the silence. "My lord! We have something."

Sanguinius turned toward the screen, where a complex series of energy waves and signals had appeared. The adept continued. "We've isolated a few key frequencies. It seems the enemy is using some form of tight-beam communication, directed toward the outer edges of this system. We can't decipher the content yet, but we've traced its origin."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Sanguinius's lips. Finally, they had a lead.

"Good. Have we pinpointed the destination of the signals?"

"Not yet, my lord. But we're getting closer."

Sanguinius considered their options. They couldn't chase the retreating enemy fleet, but perhaps this signal would lead them to something far more valuable. A base, a relay point, perhaps even the enemy's home system. The key was patience.

"Maintain position," he ordered. "Continue tracking that signal and prepare for further instructions. And inform Dorne. He'll want to know."

As the crew moved to carry out his commands, Sanguinius allowed himself a moment of reflection. This war was only beginning, but already it felt different from any conflict he had fought before. There was something unknown, something vast, lurking behind this enemy. And while Sanguinius had no doubt that the Imperium would prevail, he could not shake the feeling that the price of victory would be far higher than any of them had anticipated.

He would have to trust in Dorne's genius, Russ's ferocity, and his own judgment to guide them through what was to come. But the battle in the void was far from over. And as more and more golden lances came shooting out of the darkness and the Imperial Fleet returned fire with the dizzying beams of Lance Batteries, Sanguinius knew he had to make a decision.

"They're trying to play us for fools," Dorne's voice came through. "Their signal's jumping to a place dozens of light years beyond this system. They're trying to force us to stay here so that-"

"Multiple Vessels have just entered the system!" One of his accompanying adepts screamed. "Twelve- no, fifteen... twenty... fifty... seventy... two hundred. Two hundred... two hundred hostile vessels! The other fleets are reporting the same thing! They've surrounded us!"

Sanguinius's eyes widened. He gritted his teeth, his wings unfurling.

This was the part of the plan that he vehemently did not like. But, all things considered, Dorne had been correct in his assessment of the enemy and their potential plans. That said, this was going to hurt. And then, the Magos spoke, "Analysis complete. It is possible to recalibrate the Void Shields. Recalibrating now."

For a few moments, Sanguinius watched as the Tech-Magos frantically recalibrated the command module for the Void Shields. Another moment passed, before the shields flared and flickered to life around his vessel. And, just like that, the gold-light weapons were suddenly ineffective - at least, until the shields inevitably overloaded.

Sanguinius smiled. "Broadcast the recalibration information to the rest of the fleet."

"I already have," The Tech-Magos said, before scowling. "The Void Shields are straining. Their weapons are incredible."

Sanguinius nodded. "Then tell the rest of our fleet to reroute energy to their shields. We need to hold out for as long as possible. Return fire whenever you can, but do not pursue or engage."

And then, the enemy stopped firing their weapons. And all was still and silent.

"Lord Primarch," The captain of the vessel suddenly said. "We've received a... a message from the enemy."

AN: Chapter 47 is out on (Pat)reon!

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Chapter 1539 - yy