Chapter One
Urliam Secundus, Ultima Segmentum
The sky over the Urliam Secundus Spaceport bled with raw crimson power as the bombardment hit its target with alarming strength. Docking bays and heavy machinery were obliterated immediately, and the immense fortress-like perimeter was disintegrated in seconds following, the fiery energies of chaos dismantling the order of Imperial architecture.
All of the inhabitants were silenced in an instant, their feeble cries cut off by the constant roar of the lasers' destruction.
Meanwhile, the Hammer of Dawn watched helplessly from the orbital dock; its weapon systems were undergoing maintenance by the techpriests aboard the satellite. The interceptors launched to engage Eternal Decay were powerless, too. The barrage of missiles left the bulk of the squadrons in tatters, and the remains were fleeing back to the orbital dock.
A few minutes passed, and the bombardment was finally over. The Death Guard battle barge's engines roared to life, and, as a warp portal opened in a revolting purple vortex, it sped forward and vanished without a trace.
2nd Lieutenant Nathaniel Hawkins woke from unconsciousness with a start, shaking his head to clear his mind. He looked around his cockpit for a moment, checking that all his systems were functional after the barrage of missiles.
Satisfied that his fighter was still intact, Hawkins gunned away with other Furies from the recently departed Chaos ship towards the hangar bays on the Hammer of Dawn. He checked all his scanners and vox-channels for remaining Wing Primus members but found none as his interceptor banked into landing maneuvers with the autopilot.
"Wing Primus, respond!" he repeated into the vox-unit. "Come in! Septim! Charter! Anyone, respond!" His watery eyes finally gave into tears, and he began to sob as his Fury entered the artificial atmosphere of the Dawn.
As servitors and techpriests came out from their stations to greet the incoming fighter, Hawkins popped the canopy and leapt out himself, landing hard on the steel grating. He didn't care about the techpriest's weak attempt to stop him. He ignored other Furies flying in as he strode across the wide hangar to the airlock, and he stepped through the security check as quickly as his legs could take him.
Passing technicians and security officers became nothing but blurs, and the hard edges of the corridor's architecture became soft as tears distorted his vision. In a matter of seconds, all nineteen of his closest friends in all the Imperium had been killed, or worse, lost in the immaterium of the Warp.
He finally made it to his wing's quarters, and he yanked the lever to release the heavy steel door. Near-blinding light shone through the threshold, and Hawkins had to shield his eyes to adjust, wiping the tears away in the process. As his sight recovered, his spirit remained in tatters; the room was empty. Twenty empty bunks lined the walls, and upon checking the pict-recorder's captured video, Hawkins had been the first to enter since the incident with Eternal Decay.
Breaking down to his knees, Hawkins cried out once more. Tears left trails down his cheeks, and his chest quaked with each sob. For the first time in Hawkins' career as an Imperial pilot, he knew the reality of war.
Aboard Eternal Decay in a narrow chapel, Kevus bowed with his nine other squad members to Chaos Lord Juurich, who was adorned in a vast pale green Terminator suit with pustules oozing acidic puss of Nurgle, and the stench would have killed any normal human.
"You have done well," Juurich said in a low, booming voice. "The weak troops of the Corpse-Emperor have been rocked to their core because of your masterful work, and the spilt blood has appeased the dark gods of Chaos." He turned around and pointed to a large eight-pointed cross. "Do you know what this is?" he asked the marines, not looking back.
"It is the symbol of Chaos, my Lord," one of them said, kneeling as he spoke to Juurich. "The symbol of truth."
"Yes," Juurich replied, "and no…" He paused and spread his arms wide, seeming to bask in the icon's glorious powers.
A sick green aura burst forth in a dark light from the Lord's figure, and it soared into the center of the cross, opening an empty meter-wide circle, a socket with ancient ports and markings.
Juurich released the last of the aura and let his arms fall limp to his side, hitting the near-organic suit with a gush of slime. He dropped to a knee for a moment, regaining strength, and his men knelt with him, careful to never be higher than their commander.
The Lord exhaled and got to his feet again, saying, "That is the Master Warp Drive to this ship. It would allow this grand vessel to traverse the great powers of the Warp in an instant, making travel to other galaxies as short as a trip to the moon from its mother planet. There is still a crucial component we are missing, however." He turned to Kevus and his men, who stayed at their knees. "And I want you ten to get it from the weak humans devoted to their False Emperor."
Hawkins was still whimpering and wiping his tearful eyes as he stepped to the airlock. A techpriest was standing on the other side of the threshold.
"You are to come with me," he said.
Hawkins nodded weakly and shuffled along behind the adept, sniffling down the dank corridor.
After a number of twists and turns, the pair reached the airlock leading to the bridge itself.
"What are we doing here?" Hawkins asked, slowly regaining composure.
The techpriest gave no reply, waving his cog-bladed power axe forward to push him on into the bridge. Hawkins stumbled forward through the airlock, steam hissing in his face, and he found himself face-to-face with the commander of the Dawn himself, Captain Lorne Mancurion.
Mancurion was an average person. His height was that of most, and his muscles were built and defined. His face was scarred from countless battles, and his disposition was brutal and resolute.
"Is your name Nathaniel Umbridge Hawkins?" he asked, his gaze piercing through Hawkins' watery eyes.
"Y-yes," Hawkins stammered back, shuddering in fear.
"And your designation code, is it A-N-four-zero-seven?"
Hawkins nodded quickly.
"Then why," he began, piercing through Hawkins' very soul now, "were you not at the debriefing two hours ago in block A-A-one?"
Then it all came back to Nathaniel Umbridge Hawkins.
"It has been branded as a heretical piece of equipment by the human's Inquisition, but it is much more meaningful to us, the followers of Nurgle. We call it the Eye of the Warp, and rightfully so." Juurich, the Death Guard Lord, looked back to the eight-way cross, eyeing the empty socket with a morbid sense of lust. "Once placed inside that port, the Eye will show us all knowledge Nurgle meant for us. Truth beyond that of Khorne, of Tzeentch, of any dark god. Nurgle will show us all of the Warp, universe, and future. It's also..." Juurich paused, turning back once again to his marines. "...the Eye of the Warp is the eye of Nurgle himself." The Chaos Lord laughed in anticipation of such an idea, his menacing tone echoing throughout the entire vessel.
"But do you really mean, Lord Juurich, his Eye?" Kevus asked, his eyes wide through the visor of his helm.
"Yes, young Kevus, I do." Juurich laughed again.
"Well then, where is it?" another marine asked, his body shaking with unbridled desire for the artifact.
"In the spaceport..."
"You mean they're not dead?" Hawkins asked Mancurion, jittering in happiness as a child would.
"No, they had all reported in at the debriefing, but my advisors agree that it may suit you to visit our infirmary for a checkup. It would do your worn mind well."
"Of course not!" Hawkins was so ecstatic that he had been forgetting to address Mancurion as a superior, and this last remark landed him a smash to the face. Hawkins reeled under the impact, and security officers stepped forward from their posts, four in total, to break up the starting brawl.
The captain waved them off, and they reluctantly stepped back. Hawkins shook his head, recovering from the impact, and tried to step forward again to retaliate, but the scars on Mancurion's face weren't just decoration; he had experience, much more than Hawkins.
Already he was on him, whittling away at Hawkins' diminished stamina with techniques known only to the sacred Death Cult and Vindicaire adepts. Pressure points ached and muscles grew weak as Hawkins was slowly picked apart by the captain.
After a final blow to the chest, Hawkins could take it no longer and fell to his back, breathless, exhausted, and thoroughly defeated.
"You win, sir..." he wheezed, his nose bloodied and face bruised.
"That's better, soldier. Now off to the infirmary..."
