As Lucius had observed, Bard's World was but a speck of dust, an inconsequential rock within the remote reaches of the Nachmund Gauntlet. Though on a galactic scale the Gauntlet appeared as a narrow, fragile filament of light connecting the two halves of a severed empire, the reality of the region was one of staggering vastness.
It was a void immense enough for two titanic fleets to pass one another like ghosts, entirely unaware of each other's presence.
This was precisely why the Emperor could not commit more Legions to this particular game. Should Vigilus fall, the width of the Nachmund Gauntlet would be constricted even further, and the Imperium's tenuous grip on the Dark Side would be severed forever.
But the Emperor remained unperturbed; this, too, was a variable accounted for in His divine calculus.
…
Within the Black Legion fleet, the atmosphere was one of volatile tension.
"What? The Mechanicum forces have departed? On whose authority?!"
Abaddon's fury was a physical weight. The Chaos fleet had held a position of absolute naval supremacy, yet nearly a third of his strength had abruptly come about, tearing open warp-rifts and vanishing into the empyrean without a word of explanation.
The Despoiler's rage was thunderous. Though he had already conquered Vigilus's moon, Neo-Vellum, and transformed that industrial hub into a hellish Forge World, the sudden desertion of the Dark Mechanicum, those supposedly bound to the cult of Vashtorr, threw his strategic arrangements into disarray.
"Who ordered their withdrawal?!"
Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon's roar echoed through the bridge. Beside him, the Bringers of Despair remained silent, heads bowed, bearing the brunt of the Warmaster's wrath. Even the Warmaster possessed no leash for these defectors. His Chaos Sorcerers whispered that the "deserters" were acting upon the direct mandate of a Great Power within the Warp, a will that no mortal, no matter how favored, dared to defy.
Ultimately, Abaddon chose to ignore them. Whatever game was being played, it was beyond his immediate jurisdiction. He reasoned that wherever they were going, they would surely leave a trail of carnage that served his Long War, even if he loathed the loss of control.
Comprising three Battleships, thirteen Cruisers, and over twenty Destroyers and Frigates, the Dark Mechanicum fleet plummeted through the Warp toward distant Bard's World. This was a force of total annihilation.
…
When the Master Haemonculus realized he had become a mere plaything in a cosmic playground for the Warp's Great Powers, the cruel master made a pragmatic decision. He chose to "sever the limb to save the body."
He abandoned every human slave and every vessel that could not evade the spectral Librarians and shadows. Taking the quickest route to a Webway Gate, he fled back to the safety of Commorragh.
Through the guidance and psychic mastery of the legendary Librarians within the Legion of the Damned, the Imperial survivors achieved the impossible: they seized control of the abandoned Drukhari vessels. Whether the Emperor's own hand had nudged the machine-spirits of those xenos craft remained a secret known only to the Ruinous Powers.
The Emperor's command was absolute: return the humans to Bard's World and hold the planet. They would not permit a single step of retreat.
Ferrus Manus, acting with the strategic clarity of a Primarch, immediately drafted a series of anti-vermin countermeasures to repel the skaven-daemons. Yet, for reasons unknown, the xenos assaults had suddenly fallen silent.
…
Within the chamber of the Chaos Gods, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation.
Lucius moved his pieces with predatory grace. He committed the token representing Sneek and his thirteen daemonic warbands, and alongside them, he pushed forward the fleet representing the Dark Mechanicum.
On the table, Lucius's numbers were overwhelming. Across from him, the Emperor's side of the board held only a single contingent of the Legion of the Damned, the battered remnants of Bard's World's mortal defenders, and a scavenged fleet of broken Drukhari ships.
"Hehehe... it looks like someone is destined to lose," Slaanesh purred, leaning over the table. The Prince of Pleasure's violet eyes, shifting with infinite, hypnotic charm, flickered between the Golden Youth and the Black-Robed Man.
The other three Gods watched from their respective perches—one with a snicker, one in dull, stolid contemplation, and the last with simmering impatience. Though the scale of this match was microscopic compared to their usual games, as a diversion, it had become far more interesting than Abaddon's mundane fires in the mortal realm. The whims of the Chaos Gods were ever-fickle.
The Golden Youth squinted at the board. He reached out toward the Dark Mechanicum pieces. "They are also humans. They are My children..."
His hand was immediately swatted away by a prepared Lucius.
"Look closely. They are mine now," Lucius spat. "After this, I shall grant them a new station. I will find them a suitable Clan Chieftain, and the Forge of Souls shall be their promised land and their reward."
The Emperor pursed His lips, turning back to consult in low tones with Malcador.
Lucius granted them no time to deliberate. With a sweeping gesture, he smoothed the turbulent tides of the Warp, carving a path of least resistance for his new fleet.
Before the Dark Mechanicum commanders, a gargantuan, furred paw tipped with silver-green talons manifested in the void. It radiated an unholy viridian light. With a single flick of its wrist, the great hand swept away the warp-mists and empyrean storms.
"Praise... praise Vash—urgh, gack!—Praise the Great Horned Rat?" wheezed the Dark Mechanicum Archmagos. Half his mechanical components were rusted through, while his remaining flesh sloughed away in a state of rapid, pestilent decay.
Behind him, the usually stoic and scholarly Tech-Priests began to chitter like vermin, their voices rising in a discordant, squeaking chorus: "Praise the Great Horned Rat! Praise the Great Horned Rat!!"
The emotions of the skaven, be they mortal or machine, were intensely potent and profoundly wretched. They shone like beacons in the Sea of Souls. As the skaven population swelled geometrically, their collective faith fed the Great Horned Rat, making him stronger with every passing second. Like the Orks' Gork and Mork, the souls of the skaven were bound to their god; whether they willed it or not, in life and in death, they were but fodder for the Master of Ruin and his blighted realm.
"You don't mind, do you? Just a small favor for my followers. If You wish, You are welcome to try the same," Lucius chuckled, watching the Dark Mechanicum fleet translate into the Bard's World system.
He could see no way for the Emperor to produce any further combat strength to win this engagement. He was confident. If he won here, the fate of Vigilus and the Nachmund Gauntlet would be irrelevant.
The "Rats" within the reach of the Emperor's Astronomican would no longer be suppressed by His light. These "pests of the gutter" would stand upright, just as they had in Zavka and the Skaven-Blight. Only then could Lucius truly spread his rot across the entire galaxy.
"My fleet… Open fire!"
Lucius tapped the Dark Mechanicum pieces. Using their numerical superiority, they began to encircle the Imperial survivors. Three Battleships took the lead in a "Boar's Head" formation, their prow-mounted lance batteries and Chaos macro-cannons spitting plumes of devastating fire.
Even with the legendary Librarians at the helm, the captured Drukhari ships were overmatched. The humans could not open Webway gates, nor could they fully master the esoteric xenos weapon-systems. They were being hammered into submission, forced into a fighting retreat toward Bard's World.
Simultaneously, "loyalist" intervention arrived from an unexpected quarter. Sensing the heat of battle, the Ork fleets currently besieging the planet roared with excitement and charged into the fray, indiscriminately attacking both sides.
It was then that the Emperor finally allowed a thin smile to touch His lips. He looked at Lucius and spoke:
"Son of Man, Shadow of the Horn... you have much to learn. Victory in war is never decided solely by the pieces on the board, but by the nature of the game itself."