As the mission notification chimed, Datch's body underwent another transformation. His character was a Space Marine; after the first upgrade, his physique grew visibly taller and broader, shoulders and back now as wide and solid as the foundation of a mountain. His arms and thighs were compacted muscle cords, steel cable outlines showing beneath his skin; even the joints of his fingers became thick and powerful.
"Wow, I'm already upgrading!"
"I really do feel stronger," Datch marveled, flexing his new arms and feeling the new strength and more sensitive nerve feedback beneath the muscle.
His equipment had changed too: he now wore a blank "MK-X" power armor set—a stock version granted post-upgrade, with no special properties. Compared to previous models, its lines were sleeker and better streamlined, with the curve and seam optimized by the Archmagos Cawl for aerodynamics and better deflection of beam and projectile fire.
He tried a handshake—the armor's servo system responded with a smooth whine. Its response time was faster than the old models. The original Terminator Armor and Pumpkin Power Armor were now too small; to upgrade those, he'd need resources and to exchange an upgrade package.
His detective suit and other secondary gear didn't require upgrades and could still be used as before.
"Damn, those heartless devs—even my gear has to keep pace with upgrades?" Datch grumbled. He hated to burn his saved points, so for now he wore the free power armor.
He was a summoner now—gear gaps didn't matter. With Skarbrand, Changeling, and the Dark Angel squad at his command, who could possibly oppose him? Abaddon was probably just another stingy player.
Having confirmed the Alpha infiltrator's capture, Datch did not leave in haste. He took a stroll around the port, soaking in the sights and atmosphere. The game was stunningly realistic—NPCs seemed so alive, their backgrounds fleshed out, they truly felt like real people.
"It's like time travel! This company's production values are amazing."
Luckily, unlucky players don't get ported into the Warhammer universe—if they did, Datch mused, he'd shamelessly mock them.
Warhammer was a terrifying place—players who set foot here risked being looted by both merchants and the Emperor himself, their souls torn apart. Just thinking about it was scary enough; better to stay in-game.
After circling the local sights, Datch departed for the Macragge's Honour.
Thanks to Guilliman's graciousness, his story quest now had a golden exclamation mark.
Important people have lots of work!
…
Datch's ship departed Uranus port, crossed half the solar system, and arrived two days later at the Macragge's Honour, stationed between Earth and Mars. Since intra-galactic warp jumps weren't possible, travel occurred at sublight speeds.
Once docked, Datch transferred to a shuttle, traversed the void, then landed in the vast belly hangar of the flagship—an Emperor-class battleship. Countless other ships surrounded it—handling security, ferrying materials.
Disembarking, Datch found the decks bustling—packed with officers and tech-priests hurrying to and fro—preparations for the Crusade had reached fever pitch, and daily, people filed in to deliver reports or ferry replies from high authorities.
Datch made his way through the crowd, skipping and weaving past wary Ultramarines. After the recent Fifth Fleet incident, the Empire had raised its security level—even the flagship was on high alert, with the smallest deviation instantly flagged and rectified.
Any warship approaching the Macragge's Honour had to be escorted by Astartes or Imperial Guard, with all weapons and main reactors shut down—absolutely no one with a trace of danger was allowed near. Staff couldn't bring weapons or even any hazardous items aboard.
Of course, none of these rules applied to Datch. He wandered about, weapons still attached, bouncing his way to the core of the ship. Marines and guards pretended not to see him—if you achieved enough feats, not even the palace guard would mind you racing across the palace roof.
Regardless, much of the Macragge's Honour was under major overhaul; Mechanicus priests and Tech-sergeants tore down obsolete bits, replacing them for upgrades. Decks and corridors resembled construction zones.
Archmagos Cawl planned to optimize the battleship's speed, defense, and firepower using every trick he had. The whole ship would get a comprehensive boost.
Datch reached the command deck at last. Attendants in blue-trimmed robes from Terra and local officers hustled to their stations, dealing with affairs as holoscreens floated everywhere—the solar system's map laid out for strategic discussion.
Guilliman stood by the table, flanked by Archmagos Cawl, Lord Commander Trajann of the Imperial Guard, Inquisitor Arx, and other high officials. A giant holomap of the galaxy glowed before them.
A wide purple rift—the Great Rift—arched south from the Eye of Terror, running to the galactic rim, dividing the Milky Way in two and sending deadly tendrils into dense starfields. Systems were ripped apart, with reality and warp blurring dangerously. From the rift, the traitorous Red Corsairs, led by Abaddon, surged forth, aiming their attacks straight for the Empire's heart.
Based on this, Guilliman and the others hashed out the Crusade's objectives.
The main plan was to retake eight key nodes, including Voles, from traitor hands. The fifth Crusade fleet would seize Lysila, opening a corridor south; the third fleet would move next to take the ruined world of Olmeca, opening the western flank. If the blockade of Terra could be lifted, the Empire could advance into the galaxy.
But reports came in from Lord Inquisitor Rostov in Fomor III—a fell artifact, a black stone device, had been captured by the traitor fleet. Set aboard an ancient warship it cut the veil between realspace and the warp, spawning yet more rifts. All worlds conquered by the traitors were sucked into the warp—the unfortunate locals either enslaved by daemons or devoured outright.
If the Empire didn't stop them in time, Abaddon's armies would carve a straight path from the Eye of Terror to Terra itself.
"We must change our strategy and block Crusade of Slaughter at once," Guilliman declared. "And the fleet best placed to do that is the Third Expedition, under Lady Cassandra."
Previously, the Fifth Fleet was slated for the vanguard, but a new internal investigation, led by Garen after the previous crisis, revealed an outbreak of infection aboard the Fifth—meaning deployment had to be postponed pending resolution.
Thus, the only option was to launch the Third Fleet early, via the newly liberated Voles node world, directly to Fomor, to stop Crusade of Slaughter and prevent more rifts.
"With honor," said Lady Cassandra, bowing deeply, "I will not fail your expectations, my Primarch."
As the briefing ended, Datch scampered up to Guilliman.
"Any tasks you need from me?"
Guilliman gave him a look, then turned to Lady Cassandra. "Assist Lady Cassandra, commander of the Third Expeditionary Fleet, in crushing Crusade of Slaughter and foiling the Blood God's schemes."
[Mission Prompt: Aid Lady Cassandra Vanlescas, commander of the Third Fleet, defeat Crusade of Slaughter, and stop the machinations of the Blood God.]
[Success: 2,000 XP, 2,000 points, Fame +200, [Limited-Use] Original Gundam Transformation Glove.]
"Attack in Gundam form."
Datch was delighted. The glove allowed him to transform into a Gundam against giant threats on the battlefield.
"Of course, I'll help Lady Cassandra to victory." Datch accepted, skipping off.
"Your power armor?"
Archmagos Cawl suddenly appeared, scanning Datch in disbelief.
"The scanner says you're using new 'Primaris-forged' armor. But I've never performed Primaris surgery on an older Space Marine…"
"So he pulled off primaris-forging all on his own?" Guilliman was astonished.
"Don't ask me!" Cawl looked troubled.
"It's nothing—he has too many secrets already, what's one more?" Guilliman sighed, and let it pass.
…
Before long, launch day had come for the Third Expeditionary Fleet. Amid thunderous fanfare and fireworks, Lady Cassandra's flagship—the Noble Discipline—was first to depart, heading into the dark immensity of space.
As the command ship of the Centaurus Squadron, this Oberon-class battleship had a massive, blade-like hull with a ram bow the size of a light cruiser. Thanks to Cawl, it had also been extensively refitted—strategic and communications systems filled the upper decks and more research arrays were added to improve functionality. Some conservative Martians grumbled, accusing Cawl of hoarding ancient knowledge and dangerous innovation, but the Lord Commander silenced them. The Empire was nearly collapsing; any aid would be accepted.
As the rest of the fleet followed—engines firing, flames pushing the ships ahead—they moved into formation and headed for the Mandeville Point to jump into the warp.
Ecclesiarchal priests blessed the fleet as it departed. Martian tech-priests gathered to praise the Omnissiah in rituals; all of Mars erupted into productivity, surging 300% in output.
Once the Third Fleet was gone, Datch's interface flashed with another mission complete:
[Congratulations! You've helped Roboute Guilliman prepare for the Grand Crusade, and successfully launched the first expedition!]
[Reward: 3,000 XP, 3,000 points, Fame +500, Rick's Portal Gun x1]
Datch opened his inventory—a clear glass gun with green fluid, resembling an electromagnetic rifle.
[Item: Rick's Portal Gun]