Bzzz—BOOOOM—!!!
Even in the deep central region of the Kasr Kraf Fortress' core bastion cluster, the sudden, violent thunderous roar from the heavens above clearly reached everyone's ears, pounding their eardrums like an earth-shattering hammer.
Including the Mechanicus Tech-Priest Magos who had been trying to seize Dubois' orichalcum composite briefcase containing the Honkai Energy Cube—they all simultaneously froze, halting their standoff and turning toward the tactical projection command platform at the center of the hall.
"Battleships! How dare they…!"
Each battleship was precious to the Imperial Navy—these were not destroyers, escorts, or cruisers that could be replaced like cabbages. Yet in desperation to overload the void shield protecting Cadia's surface fortresses—to tear open a gap in the fire network—Abaddon had deployed several ancient battleships built specifically for boarding combat, overloading their engines to ram straight into the planetary void shields!
Only a battleship—tens of kilometers in length, its hull forged entirely of dense adamantine and ceramite—could withstand Cadia's defensive firepower without disintegrating midair, inflicting maximum damage in a suicidal strike.
Everyone knew the tactic. The question was—who could bear to use it?
The Black Legion's battleships were ancient relics—war machines left behind from the Great Crusade by the traitor legions. Their construction techniques and blueprints had long been lost to history. Even to Chaos, they were irreplaceable.
Such waste! Such madness!
The warning lights of overload had already turned blood-red across the instruments.
On the tactical projection display, the data chain representing the fortress' multilayered void shield arrays—each line denoting output capacity and power tolerance—spiked violently. In an instant, the soothing green fluorescence turned into crimson overload warnings.
"All units! Brace for impact!"
"Protect the High Castellan!"
"Protect the Emperor—the Allfather—the God-Emperor—His relics!"
In truth, no one needed the order.
Through the tactical projector's live feed from the sky above, the Astartes' superhuman reflexes and their battle-honed instincts—etched deep into their gene-seed—had already driven them to act instinctively.
Zzzzt—
The faint crackle of mag-boots engaging at maximum power rang out. Dubois, clutching the briefcase, was lifted effortlessly like a chick by the Dark Angels Company Master standing beside him.
Just like the briefcase containing the Honkai Energy Cube, the Dark Angels Company Master cradled Dubois in his arms, swiftly moving under the hall's central support pillar, crouching low in a protective stance.
Immediately afterward, every Astartes present—including the Space Wolves warriors who had moments earlier mocked Dubois' authenticity—followed suit. Even those clad in hulking Terminator armor moved with purpose, forming a protective wall around Dubois.
Within seconds, Dubois had vanished from sight—sheltered beneath layers of power armor, ceramite, and genetically enhanced muscle.
Whether or not his claim was real no longer mattered.
If there was even a sliver of possibility that the relic was genuine—it had to be preserved.
Bzzz—Bzzz—
Maybe a second passed. Maybe several.
Amid the chaos of alarms, shouts, and the panicked cries of Imperial soldiers, Dubois lost all sense of time.
Then—
BOOOOOOMMMMM—!!!
The thunderous blast struck like the wrath of gods. The ground heaved violently; the entire fortress trembled as though the earth itself was breaking apart.
The Kasr Kraf Fortress command hall shook wildly—furniture, instruments, and relics crashing in every direction. The entire bastion cluster groaned under the pressure, shuddering as if it might collapse.
The floor buckled like a springboard, throwing men off their feet.
Crack—Crack—
Metal clanged, porcelain shattered, glass exploded. Heavy objects slammed to the ground, and the pained grunts of soldiers being thrown through the air filled the chaos.
Above, the ceiling split open with a deep, wrenching sound. Fortress-grade metal plating twisted inward; thick wooden panels, gilded decorations, marble ornaments, and chandeliers tore free and fell in ruin.
An organic servitor was struck directly by a falling chandelier from the ceiling. Its body tilted, its link severed irregularly, revealing a grotesque structure beneath—a mess of gray matter and twisted neural circuits. Torn metal data cables sparked violently, and murky nutrient fluid gushed out.
The heavy bronze reliefs engraved with the Emperor's holy words, the deeds of Imperial Saints, and the war glories of the Cadian Shock Troops crashed down under the external impact, clattering against the ceramite armor of the Astartes with clang-clang echoes.
No one knew how much time had passed before the tremors and roaring subsided slightly—then, bang!
Pushing aside the Kasrkin who had been shielding him, Ursarkar E. Creed's face was flushed. Ignoring his own discomfort, he lunged toward the tactical projection command platform, sweeping away the debris piled atop it with one broad hand.
Fortunately, Imperial craftsmanship was known for its rugged durability. The platform remained operational. Pulling out a cable connected to the vox-caster, Creed used his command authority to issue orders across the channels while his voice echoed throughout the hall.
"This is Ursarkar E. Creed, High Castellan of Cadia! The Kasr Kraf Fortress has suffered a suicidal strike from Chaos scum piloting battleships! If command channels are interrupted, do not panic! All units, maintain positions and follow pre-battle directives—hold the line!"
"Department heads of the Astra Militarum, report your casualty assessments!"
...
"Lord Dubois, is the relic unharmed?"
The Dark Angels Company Master, his winged helm still unfastened, rose to his feet. Half his face was dusted gray from the fallen decor. He patted his shoulder plates and robes to shake off the debris.
"Cough… I'm fine, thank you."
Dubois actually wanted to say he wasn't that fragile—after all, as an elite Imperial citizen enhanced by Honkai Energy augmentations, he wasn't some frail noble dandy. But seeing the fully armed Astartes around him rise, grab their weapons, and march out, he merely stood and muttered quietly.
The entire hall was now a scene of ruin. Shards of glass, torn decorations, and fragments of precious banners and oil paintings littered the floor. Every step of a ceramite boot crunched audibly against the wreckage.
"Long story short—protect the relic in your hands. I only hope it does not carry the taint of the warp."
With a faint hiss of pressure, the Company Master refitted his winged helm. The red lenses of his visor lit up, signaling the reactivation of the armor's interface link.
"Your words and identity still elude confirmation. But—based on my own intuition—I choose to believe in you, and in its power. Abaddon and his Chaos filth will soon launch their planetary assault. If you truly are no deceiver, the Dark Angels shall defend you to the death."
Leaving behind a five-man Dark Angels squad to guard Dubois, the Company Master strode out, issuing orders through his helmet's internal command network to coordinate with other Dark Angels forces supporting Cadia. His hand dropped to his magnetic belt, drawing his bolt pistol and power sword.
"Please, wait! Angelic Astartes, the situation you describe seems completely different from what I know. The so-called ten thousand years since the Great Crusade, the dissolution of the Legions, the Second Founding, and these weakened Chapters—why are things so different from the Astartes I remember?"
Dubois fired off question after question.
Couldn't they at least explain before leaving?
Even the Imperial Navy was like this—always speaking in half-answers. Whenever he asked about seemingly basic Imperial knowledge, the looks he received were as if he had uttered a heretical secret punishable by execution. The usual responses were: "You'll know when the time comes," "Above my clearance," or "That's for higher authority to decide."
If not that, then they were too busy fleeing or fighting. From the moment their fleet rendezvoused, it had been one endless chase and battle, leaving no time for proper information exchange.
And the constant incompatibility between systems—hardware, software, even databases. It was as though the other side didn't even have a proper shipborne data archive…
"Wetware," as they called it, was just too disturbing…
"There's no point discussing such shame and sorrow of the Imperium," the Company Master said coldly. "Let these mortals tell you the rest."
Through the vox-amplified speakers of his winged helm, the Dark Angels Company Master's voice carried both sorrow and anger. He clearly did not wish to repeat himself. "You, who were born in the golden age of the Great Crusade, may never understand the state of decay the Imperium has fallen into."
"When the Legions' bloodlines fought united under the Primarchs and the Emperor—one will, one purpose—reclaiming the galaxy and punishing the xenos… such glory was beyond imagining."
Then—BOOOM—! The ground trembled again, thunder rolling through the fortress. Dubois staggered slightly, but a strong arm steadied him.
"Well now," came a rough, amused voice. "Didn't expect a pretty-faced noble like you to have such a sturdy body, eh?"
It was the Space Wolves Rune Priest who had previously clashed with him. Retracting his supporting hand, the red-faced, broad, and fur-covered giant smirked, his power axe humming faintly.
With the neural link of his black-plated power armor, the armor's weight and strength were as natural as his own skin. He could feel Dubois' balance—the man's body, despite his noble appearance and smooth skin, had withstood the tremor without faltering.
As they walked, the Rune Priest shot him a mischievous glance. "If you're no fraud… tsk... how about joining our pack? Become one of Russ' sons?"
"Space Wolves barbarian!"
Ultramarines and Black Templars Astartes glared at him in disapproval.
"Hahaha! 'Ancient mortal,' you don't seem the petty type. If fate allows, I'll treat you to Fenrisian mead next time!"
A crude yet genuine man—hostile in distrust, open in belief, unashamed to show goodwill once his heart decided.
Soon, the hall was mostly cleared. Only a few Astartes psykers and officers, along with the veteran squad tasked to guard—or perhaps watch over—Dubois, remained. The rest, including Ursarkar E. Creed and his mortal officers, stayed behind.
Along with them were the Kasrkin troopers, members of the Inquisition, and several half-human, half-machine Tech-Priests of the Mechanicus.
Though the air of hostility had lessened, it was clear his movements were now restricted. He could go no farther than the outer battlement balcony of the fortress hall.
"Lord Dubois," rumbled a Black Templar Astartes in white robes adorned with a black cross, "Abaddon's assault is utterly reckless. His true target may well be you."
Dubois brushed the dust from his briefcase and nodded thoughtfully.
Under the watch of Astartes, Dubois stood at the edge of Cadia's supreme command fortress, on the outward-curving assault ring, gazing toward the battlefield.
In the heavens above, massive light flares clashed violently with the void shield fields, brilliant as newborn stars scattering across the sky. Not far from the fortress, a kilometer-long wreck of a battleship lay shattered, having plowed through fortress artillery emplacements and carved a deep scar across the ground.
That second impact—what shook the command hall earlier—had clearly been its doing.
Through his tactical binoculars, Dubois could see a colossal vessel sprawled between the distant fortress-cities, its broadside still largely intact, lined with rows of dark, gaping cannons.
The effects of ramming at such suicidal velocity were plain—the ten-kilometer warship's breakup had scattered countless shards of dark adamantine and ceramite, gouging titanic craters across Cadia's soil.
There, amid the devastation, was the breach in the void shield array.
From that breach—BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—! artillery thundered incessantly, orange-red flames illuminating the carnage as Chaos Daemons and their cultist thralls poured forth in waves.
It was as if the land had turned into a crimson swamp—blasphemers flooding the Imperial lines in numbers beyond reckoning.
Whoooosh—
Looking up, Dubois saw the Chaos assault still unending. From the broken clouds, orange firestorms spread outward. Hundreds of monstrous constructs descended through orbit, raining down upon Cadia like a storm of falling meteors.
The battlefield was thick with the stench of ozone, blood, and burning flesh. Strange weapon shrieks echoed through the chaos, and unholy whispers grew clearer by the moment.
When the orange flames of the Chaos offensive lit the shattered lines of the Astra Militarum, what emerged from them were legions of Chaos Astartes, the Lost and the Damned, Daemons, and Traitor Titans.
Their inhuman roars reverberated with the energy of the Warp.
"We have returned!"
"Death to the False Emperor!!"
Their blasphemous forms—mutated organs and warped flesh—disgusted Dubois to his core. He would never accept that such monsters had once been warriors of the Emperor.
Your Majesty, what would You do?
"Since you're a dedicated forgemaster," Dubois suddenly asked, turning to the Tech-Priest Magos whose mechanical eyes glowed green as he stared at the briefcase, "do you have a device capable of converting energy?"
"++What… do you intend to do?++" came the eerie binharic response.
Crackle—
Without answering, under the gaze of the Tech-Priests and the Astartes, Dubois opened the briefcase.
"Use it."
—
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