Just to clear up any confusion caused by last chapter, Lord Beleth (the Sorcerer) and Belethus (the Armsman) are two different people. I hadn't realized that I'd given them such similar names until it was pointed out to me. That's my bad, and I apologize for the mixup.
Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k or Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Wreathed in sorcerous energies, and hidden in the wake of a dying star, the Battle Barge known as the Scion of Prospero drew in the calamity of the planets suffering under the wake of their final hours. Countless primitive souls sacrificed under the will of the Sorcerer Lord and his champions, instigated by a large scale ground invasion. What the feeble populace of the two orbiting planets lacked in quality, they made up for in numbers. Barely.
Using the energy gathered from the burning souls of his offerings, Lord Beleth channeled his might through the consciousness of his subordinate, Valentine, and followed his memories back to the location of the planet Atlania, observing all that he'd witnessed and far, far beyond. That power which was left as excess was channeled down into the amulet hanging from his throat, stored away for future use lest its touch burn the former governor's mind to ashes.
There.
His vision was filled with the image of a world on the verge of disaster, a trio of Ork warships hanging in orbit as they disgorged their filthy armies to ravage the surface below. He watched in silence as an Imperial craft appeared from the Warp, spitting out a series of escape pods before setting itself on a suicide course with one of the battle crafts, crashing into the much larger ship at full speed, and damaging it enough for the planet's gravity to spell its doom.
His mind's was assailed by a blinding spike of power from the surface, dragging him down to witness the figure of a young girl, regaled in ethereal garments laying waste to an attacking wave of greenskins. He took in the carnage with a restrained interest, distantly calculating the amount of energy being discharged and the apparent psychic might of the child, undoubtedly the one known as Madoka. His ancient features twitched with mild amusement at the horror she displayed when faced with the aftermath of her own attack.
Not long later, he was forced to reevaluate his assessment as she unleashed a second, even more devastating blast, wiping an Ork Kill Kroozer out of existence in a single shot. A force to be reckoned with, certainly, but still lacking in his eyes.
She was almost disappointing. Her arrival to this galaxy had caused a tumultuous uproar, dragging a plethora of chaotic problems in her wake, but she wasn't nearly so awe inspiring as her reputation had implied. Still, there was far more to a piece in the great game than simple appearances.
He followed the girl's path as she, her Inquisitor, and their Harlequin allies left Atlania, vanishing into the Warp and beyond the scope of Valentine's experiences. Without a word, he released his hold on the mortal man, causing him to drop at his side with a ragged gasp, trembling from the effort of keeping himself held together while being used as a catalyst.
As his channeling conduit was let go, the drain on Beleth's power rose exponentially, feeding off of the sacrificed worlds below like the greedy maw of a starving beast. He increased the flow of energy, keeping it just enough to fuel his goals without losing any more than he had to. Every drop of power could be turned to other uses after all.
The remaining Ork ship was left in a state of turmoil, hastily gathering up the surface forces before the rest of the greenskin fleet arrived. One became two. Two became four. Four became five. By the time the full force of the Ork WAAAAGH convened, having been split apart to search the other planets in the system, half a dozen massive warships were staged above Atlania.
To the fortune of the planet's feeble defenders, the horde had other quarry in mind, and turned their backs to the world they could have leveled. Beleth noted the numbers, storing them away that he might deal with their intrusions later. They would be a problem, certainly, but the brutish xenos were also notoriously easy to manipulate.
His sight dove into the chaotic realm of the Immaterium, following the clarion call of the girl's power through the maddened realm. Peering through space and time, he was able to find her exact location at that very moment.
An Imperial trade ship, repurposed from a Gothic-class Cruiser. She cowered in the lower decks, clinging to naval soldiers as madness spread through the craft like a plague. The defenses had been breached, and he could feel the presence of a formidable daemon on board. One which bore the sickening feeling of the Witch's presence.
With a whisper-like sigh of dissipating power issuing through the shrine room as the image was let go, Beleth turned his focus back to his immediate surroundings. His mortal servant, Julius, crouched by his side, still reeling from acting as the focusing point of the Sorcerer's might. Behind him, the trembling form of Genus, and the unblinking statue that was Homura, looked on with trepidation and impassive interest respectively. Four of his Rubrics stood guard at the door, as motionless and unfeeling as ever.
"The girl has been located." He stated, earning a curious glance from the white-furred creature at the foot of his charge. "However, complications have arisen."
"Where?" She pressed, stepping forwards towards him.
"In transit through the Warp. She appears to be fleeing a sizable Ork force."
"Can you reach her?"
As ever, her blunt line of questioning succeeded in rubbing him the wrong way, causing a spark of irritation to sting the back of his mind. This time however, he kept the emotion subdued. There was no purpose to showing such displays, and nothing to be gained from threatening her.
"Of course." He replied, gesturing around them with an open palm. "Now that I've located her presence, to track her down in the Immaterium would be child's play. However, as I mentioned, certain problems have made themselves inconvenient."
He paused, taking in the raven-haired girl's slight nod of the head with impassive silence.
"What kind of problems?" She questioned at last.
"A daemon has manifested inside the very ship she's being ferried on. It isn't strong enough to destroy the entire craft, but it appears to have thrown the crew into disarray, and is closing in on her quickly. She'll be dead long before we could arrive. Or she'll resort to using her particular brand of abilities while wreathed in the Warp. Both options have a similar outcome."
The answer displeased her. That much was painfully evident. A slight furrowing of the brow, and a minor downturn of the mouth. Considering the amount of self-expression she normally displayed, it might as well have been a full on scream of frustration.
But she didn't waste time on such trivialities. No, that wasn't the kind of person she was. If there was one small detail that Beleth was coming to grudgingly respect about this child, it was her ability to take problematic developments in stride.
"Can you fix this?" She asked, turning towards the catlike entity. Its head cocked up to her with an imitation of a coy look in response.
"Hmm? You want my help miss Akemi?" It questioned, its beady, blue eyes shining with a kind of alien mirth, or some kind of equivalent. "You know there's always a price attached to any assistance I provide, don't you?"
"I'm aware." She answered flatly. "You can't put a price on Madoka's safety. Do whatever you need to."
"Very well." It conceded, stretching Its forepaws as though the matter being discussed were of little importance. "Just be sure to make your offering properly. No attempts at double dealing, understand?"
Without waiting for any kind of response, the creature shook its tiny frame as though drying itself off after a swim. Instead of water however, ripples of subtle power flowed from the cat-being's body, causing tiny tremors to rumble through the fabric of reality. Despite himself, Beleth could not help but feel a small shudder build in the base of his spine. Whether it was an aid, thrall, or bound daemon, the creature was powerful. Such a waste for an entity like that to be serving a mortal.
"That should solve the problem." It remarked, shivering with the residual effects of its power surge. "Though it will make tracking her somewhat more difficult. In addition, this is likely to set her on a course with the third sooner than expected. I hope you aren't too disappointed at being left out as the last?"
She said nothing, instead turning away and striding towards the door and pausing only to flick the long strands of ebon hair away from her body. With a glance over its shoulder towards the Sorcerer Lord left behind, the feline made to follow.
Beleth watched them both go, his mind already pondering over how to use this to his advantage.
"Fecking son of a…"
"I think it was a left up here…"
"Again!? Are you joking!?"
"Um… this doesn't look right…"
"Sir! More of them!"
"I swear. If I get my hands on the fecking monster responsible for this…"
To say that Madoka and her two armed companions were lost would have been a terrible understatement. Despite their best efforts to look otherwise, none of them had the slightest idea where they were going.
"I don't remember seeing any of this before." She said, peering down the fork in the path with a small amount of concern. "Are you sure we're still in the living quarters?"
Belethus grit his teeth, staring straight ahead as though he could will the path forwards into existence if he tried hard enough.
"I know this was supposed to be the way forwards." He stated, tactfully avoiding bringing attention to the fact that 'supposed to' had been thrown out the window long ago. "I just need to get my bearings here…"
"Sir!" The armsman shouted, causing both Madoka and the officer to jump. "Did you hear that!?"
"Hear what?" He snapped back, glowering down at the soldier. "All I hear is you yelling in my ear. And I swear... if you're going to keep shouting I'll give you something worth jumping at."
"No! I'm sure I heard it!" He insisted, shaking his head while clutching his shotgun tight. "It was like… like giggling or something… sir… we need to get out of here!"
"And just what the hell do you think we're trying to do!?" Belethus demanded, throwing up his hands for emphasis. "We damn well aren't wandering around in circles for fun down here! I swear it's like the bleeding walls are changing around on us…"
A small gasp from Madoka caused him to look down sharply.
"S-Sorry." She apologized quickly, eyes turning to the ceiling. "But… for a second… I thought I heard something coming from above us."
"Oh, not you too…" He groaned, raising his hand to his forehead. "See what you did Rodrick? You've got the kid hearing things now. How about you go and-"
His words stopped dead as a chittering snicker issued from all around them, as though some spectral figure was trying and failing to suppress themselves. The sound echoed from all around them, peeling through the walls and increasing in volume as the being's cover was broken.
"You've gotta be kidding me…"
In that instant, time seemed to slow down tenfold as Madoka caught the first glimpse of a sight would quickly ingrain itself in the darkest confines of her mind. Shadows dripped down from the roof behind Belethus like some sickening gelatinous mass, rapidly forming into something resembling a semi-human form. In the distorted second that followed, she felt her eyes go wide as her mouth opened to shout a warning. Too slow. Far too slow.
Something on her features must have alerted the man to the danger as, upon seeing her, he dove to one side without pause. The move prevented instant death as what would have been a decapitating swipe from the inverted monster instead cleaved through his weapon arm at the shoulder, sending the severed limb flying at the pink haired girl and causing her to topple back in horrified shock. Even before the officer hit the ground, his strangled cry of agony still taking shape in his throat, three more of the shades were pulling themselves into existence in the now crowded hallway.
"Feck this! Feck this shit! Feck it all!" Screamed the armsman upon seeing his superior felled and set upon by monsters. Without any semblance of preamble, he turned on the spot and sprinted back the way they'd come, stumbling over himself in a blind panic.
Madoka froze. With the fleeing man at her back, and four living shadows before her, she found herself unable to even breathe. What kept her rooted to the spot had nothing to do with fear. Had the creatures that stared down ominously at her been some twisted amalgamation of flesh and bone, no matter how horrifying, they would never have held such power over her muscles. The force that rooted her was not terror, but recognition.
These weren't daemons. These weren't Orks. These weren't some unnamed monsters born of the hopeless universe she'd found herself trapped in.
They were familiars. Witch's familiars.
Seeming to feel her understanding, the four wisp-like entities began their unnatural giggling once again, shifting from side to side ever so subtly as though trying to restrain their amusement. One turned back towards the fallen officer, who was clutching the severed stump of his arm while feebly trying to inch away, while the other three began to advance on the pink haired girl. Seeing them coming closer was enough of a shock to force her out of the daze, prompting her to jolt backwards instinctively.
As one, the trio of monsters launched forwards with blinding speed, causing Madoka hands to jump to the gem at her throat, curling in on herself defensively. But the attack she'd been anticipating never came.
All three breezed past the girl as if she weren't even there, flitting to the sides at the last possible second to avoid running her over, and dashing past in pursuit of the man who'd fled the scene. Their cackling glee could still be heard as they vanished around the bend, sprinting after their unseen prey and leaving behind one very stunned child.
The remaining creature advanced on the injured form of Belethus, seeming to enjoy the string of breathless, frantic curses that were being ushered by the maimed officer. His eyes were growing increasingly unfocused as the beast drew close, and he couldn't work up the muscular coordination to tear his hand away from the bleeding stump of his arm to reach for his knife. Dizzied, disoriented, and dangerously close to unconsciousness, he was helpless to do anything but stare up as the shadow positioned itself over him.
One clawed limb raised itself above his head in preparation to end it. His weak struggles couldn't pull him out of the path of the bladed appendage.
A single blast, deafening in the relative quiet, erupted in the hallway. The shot rocketed over the shade's left shoulder, causing the creature to stiffen as the bullet embedded itself into the wall. A second and third quickly followed as it whipped around, the former going wild and ricocheting off the ceiling, while the latter struck home. The monster took the shot in the chest mid-turn, being blown off balance by its own momentum. It was quick to recover, cartwheeling back to its feet with a quivering hole in the substance making up its abdomen. Its head leveled, preparing to meet the new threat while the darkened material around its wound began to knit it back together.
It never got the chance to react.
Managing to finally still the tremors that had been ravaging her body, Madoka gripped the pistol she'd taken from the severed arm so tightly her fingers started to go numb. One final gunshot echoed throughout the hallway, blowing apart the spectral entity's head and causing its unearthly body to vaporize with a sound not unlike a disappointed groan.
For a long moment, the pink haired girl remained stock still, holding the pistol in a trembling grip as she gazed vacantly at the spot where the familiar had been. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the unfamiliar recoil of the weapon had left her arms sore. She didn't know why, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and hide away from the world.
It didn't matter what she wanted. Not while someone was bleeding to death right in front of her.
Snapping out of the daze, she dropped the gun to the ground and rushed to Belethus' side, falling to her knees beside his injured arm.
It was bad. Very bad. The Ork weapons had been crude, and many of the injuries inflicted looked as though they'd been torn out by the teeth of a wild animal. Whatever method the shade had used to sever the man's arm had been far swifter and more precise. Muscle, flesh, and bone had been sliced through as if by a blade of air, somehow looking all the more horrible for how clean the damage was. She could just make out a hint of bone showing through where his fingers covered, its edge flattened as if it had naturally grown that way. Blood was already spreading at an alarming rate, pooling on the floor and creating a steadily growing slick of crimson liquid.
"I-It's going to be all right." She assured, attempting to say something merely to fill the void. "I-I'm here… I can help!"
She didn't even know where to begin. There was no gauze to work with, and a tourniquet of torn cloth wasn't going to be enough to stem the flow from a lost limb. Desperately, her eyes raced along the walls in the faint prayer that there might be some kind of aid in sight. A medical station. An emergency aid kit. Anything.
"F-Feck me…" Belethus gasped, his voiced strained against the pain. "That makes twice damn it… saved by a little girl twice… the guys… are never… gonna let me live this down…"
She paused for a second, before giving a timid, half-hearted laugh which was answered with a terribly drawn smile from the injured man. She might have been on the verge of panicking from the sense of helplessness that was overtaking her, but she appreciated his attempt to make things easier.
"It's all right." She repeated, hands going to the hem of her shirt. "I have some medical training. Not a lot, but I think I can help. Just hold still. I'll bind your arm, and we can find a medicae together."
She'd normally have been hesitant to rip her clothing apart, especially given that this was the only set that she had, but she wasn't about to let something such as modesty stop her from trying to save a life.
Her actions were halted by a dry, humorless chuckle.
"You're going to patch this up?" Belethus questioned, a thin sweat breaking out across his skin as he stared vacantly upwards. "Going to find a medicae? When the walls are shifting and keeping us trapped? We didn't get lost by chance you know… those things… they're keeping us here…"
She wanted to say something, to hold onto the knowledge that something might work out, but no words came to her.
She stayed silent.
Her lack of a response seemed to be exactly what he expected, a long, weary sigh erupting from deep in his chest.
"Just tell me something kid… was it important?"
"Huh?" She questioned, uncertain. His eyes focused just enough to meet hers as his head drifted in her direction.
"I said… was it important…?" He reiterated, gritting his teeth against a flash of anguish. "I know you're with the Inquisitor. And I saw… those things didn't attack you. I don't know what the feck is going on, but I can see you've got something to do with it, yeah? So tell me… was it… important…?"
Her mouth opened, only to close again a moment later as she found herself unable unable to make a proper response. Closing it with a bitter feeling in the back of her throat, she merely nodded.
"Ah… that's good then…" He muttered, eyes going distant once again. "Wouldn't want… to die for nothin'. Get running back to that Inquisitor of your's little lady. Take my gun. You probably… need it… a lot… more than… I do…"
She forced herself to turn away. Forced herself not to look. She didn't know if he was dead, but she couldn't let herself check. She quickly made her way over to the discarded weapon, scooping it up without a thought and holding it at her side with both hands.
The sting in her eyes went ignored. She couldn't afford to be the girl crying over the form of the dying. Not now. She had to stay strong. Find Mami. Find Sayaka. She didn't know this man, not really, and to her shame that made it easier. Once more, she forced herself to ignore the burning sensation of guilt in her stomach as she skirted the edge of the hall and passed by his motionless form.
She hadn't even made it to the fork in the path before a voice stopped her.
That wasn't very nice.
Madoka tensed, whipping around and expecting to find some manner of twisted monster waiting for her.
The hall was just as empty as it had been a moment ago, only the body of Belethus disturbing the otherwise unbroken view of metal.
In here little one.
She gasped, hearing the voice more clearly. It wasn't coming from around her. It was coming from inside her head.
Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. She wouldn't be happy with me if I did.
The sound of high, feminine giggling filled her skull as the disembodied voice rattled around between her ears. She tried to focus on what Maximillian had taught her about blocking out the influence of the Warp. Whatever this creature was, it wasn't a familiar.
You just stay right where you are sweet thing. I'll be there in just a moment. Then we can go back to meet her again properly. She's been dying to see you again.
Madoka didn't need to be told how to react to such an invitation.
Picking the left path purely at random, she ran for her life.
Sayaka Miki flew through the confined halls of the Leshara's Grace, scores of crazed mutants chasing behind her. What the raving, gene-twisted humans lacked in speed and grace, they more than made up for in tenacity. Their numbers only seemed to grow as she flitted across open pathways and through various twists and turns, more and more being drawn into the hunt by the sound of their ravening horde.
She could hear their clumsy footsteps rebounding off the metal walls behind her, pushing herself just enough to stay ahead of the mob. Too quickly, and she would lose them regardless of how persistent they might be. What a shame that would be.
Her goal drew near as she shot through the next open doorway, launching her into one of the tertiary storage bays. Containers of all shapes and sizes lined the walls in a semi-orderly fashion, very nearly reaching up to the ceiling many meters above her head. In this veritable forest of metal and trade goods, she would make her stand.
The Eldar girl pivoted on the spot, sliding to a rapid halt in the midst of a particularly large clear avenue, ensuring that she was within clear sight of any who might be chasing. Her arm whipped across her form, discarding the now-ragged garments she'd pilfered earlier to disguise herself, and revealing her Harlequin's body suit. In a second flourish, she drew both her shimmering sword and shuriken pistol, readying herself for the oncoming rush.
She didn't have to wait long.
Mere seconds later, the vanguards of the mob stormed through the entryway, very nearly trampling over one another as they spilled forth like some cancerous tide of human waste. As one, their eyes locked onto the form of their quarry, a mindless cry of bloody purpose rippling through their ranks as they renewed their charge.
Behind her mask, Sayaka grinned.
As the horde thundered towards the lone girl, several small, round, metallic objects fell into their midst from above. Even had they possessed the cognitive ability to recognize the threat, none could have brought themselves to care in the frenzy that had taken hold of their minds.
Half a dozen miniature explosions lit up the confines of the storage bay, hurling shrapnel and hallucinogenic toxins through the ranks of the mutants. Cries of shock and alarm quickly turned to all out madness as the drugs took hold, filling the eyes of the fallen humans with visions of horrific monstrosities surrounding them. The mob turned in on itself, makeshift weapons swinging wildly in an attempt to batter the phantoms that existed in their minds, maiming and killing one another in the process.
Sayaka took her cue, darting forwards like a razor wind as her fellow Troupers descended from above. Just under twenty Harlequins dropped into the midst of the panicked horde, their blades reaping a terrible toll while their victims struggled to discern reality from nightmare.
The Eldar girl was not far behind, meeting the periphery of the head on and sweeping through them with a series of vicious, flowing swings. Four. Five. Six humans fell to her blade before her momentum was slowed to the point where she could no longer drive herself forwards without meeting heavy resistance. She feinted back, letting the small group that had turned to face her swing ineffectively at the space she'd occupied, before lunging forwards, opening all three of their throats in a single sweep of her sword.
It was the legacy of Mauryon, one of the tales of Biel-Tan she'd been made to memorize early on in her training. A small, hidden force against an overwhelming foe with a direct target that must be reached. The phantoms were their Orks. These madmen, the Raven Guard. And Madoka, their Webway.
Knowing that every moment she spent here was another that her friend was in danger, Sayaka danced in the ballet of blades with the speed and ferocity to rival that of even the most aggressive Howling Banshee, whipping along the edge of her foe's weapons to strike down groups with each gesture. They were too slow. Too flimsy. Even with their defeat being spelled out in the acts established in the original war, these players simply couldn't live up to the example of their Astartes roles.
In the span of forty-five seconds, over one hundred humans lay dead, their blood creating a single massive puddle of crimson in the midst of the containers.
"Is that all?" Navarre questioned, sounding genuinely disappointed as he surveyed the carnage from the midst of the corpse field. "Really, the quality of madmen these days has deteriorated. You'd think that these savages would at least pose somewhat of a threat with their insane bloodlust pushing them on and all."
The Troupe Master was untouched, somehow having managed to avoid getting a single drop of blood on his suit in all the fighting. Not all had been so fortunate. Several other players were sporting signs of damage from lucky hits dished out by their opponents. Three were limping, and one was slouched against one of the metal crates. Blood was slowly leaking out from behind his mask, and it was clear that even with the discipline of a Harlequin that he was having trouble breathing. The grenades had sown enough discord to prevent any deaths, but that didn't mean they were unscathed. The largely close confines of their surroundings didn't mesh well with the highly mobile fighting style the xenos preferred.
As much as it pained her to push on when there were those among her Troupe in need of aid, Sayaka knew that time was a precious commodity at the moment. They couldn't afford to sit idle.
As if reading her mind, Navarre cast a glance over his shoulder towards her and the standing Players.
"At the very least, this has made for an acceptable warm up act." He remarked, sweeping his gaze along their number. "But this is only a taste of things to come. We have a much more monstrous audience awaiting us, and to keep them waiting is simply bad manners. Tseranis is rallying the rest of the Troupe, and he will see to the wounded as they follow in our wake. All those still prepared to play your parts, stand tall and ready yourselves."
Not a single one of them wanted to be left out of the fight. Not knowing what would happen should Madoka fall to the daemons. Even the injured Player attempted to rise from his position on the floor, but his wounds made the act impossible, forcing him back down again in quick order. Grudgingly, he pulled himself to one side with the aid of two others and relegated himself to the shadows where he could hide should hostiles find their way back to the bay.
A single, satisfied nod from the Athair was all the signal they needed. Eighteen brightly colored Harlequins swept forth into the dimly lit halls of the lower deck, blades ready to taste the blood of mortals or daemons with impunity.
"Checkpoints Alpha-zero-three through Alpha-one-eight have all stopped reporting in. Distress calls being issued from…"
"Emergency alerts coming from the upper decks. Unknown hostile entities appearing all over the…"
"Gellar Field generators have come under attack by a large force of mutants coming through the vents. They were repelled by the armsmen on guard, but…"
A thousand blips and warnings lit up the command bridge holo-screens like some kind of horror show, each one feeding information back through Lord Crucian's Command Throne and feeding it directly into his brain as his crewmen gave continuous status reports. Even with his bionic augments, the sheer amount of information flowing through his skull was enough to tax his mind to the limit, feeling as though the data synths and logic processors buried beneath his cranium were on the verge of exploding. He wasn't a battle commander. He wasn't built for this. Even as he tried to tackle he problems arising in an efficient manner, ten more would pop up all over his ship, throwing his plans completely out of order. He was forced to face one simple fact.
Everything was going to hell.
And then there was silence.
For one blessed instant, it was as though everything simply stopped. The barrage of sirens against his mind ceased, and the voices of his fellow naval officers were snuffed out. He could see their mouths moving, turning to one another in confusion, but there was no sound to accompany the actions. He attempted to speak himself only to find that his words were caught in his throat, physically unable to be pushed forth.
Concern quickly turned to dread as the atmosphere around him thickened, pushing down on his body like some oppressive miasma. The Captain choked silently, struggling to merely draw breath as an invisible smothering blanket descended all around his form. It clung to every surface, dragging the other crewmen to the ground under its weight and pinning them, helpless as insects. Only the strongest managed to resist the oppressive force, and only for a short time before they too fell under the onslaught.
Just as he felt he could take no more, the physical presence pulled. The ship's Machine Spirit screamed in his head, tearing through his consciousness in the form of uncountable waves of binary emergency warnings, causing the Captain's mind to lurch back and forth at the edge of darkness. Unable to even think under the maelstrom, he and his crew were left utterly powerless as the Leshara's Grace plunged forwards under the will of the alien force. Every inch of movement felt as though they were being forced through a fine mesh filter, pushing themselves beyond a limit they were never meant to cross. Screens exploded in a hail of glass while electrical wiring was strained and shredded. Metal plating crumbled, and the husks of the Servitors collapsed in on themselves. Men and women writhed, unable to scream, as their bodies were subject to unspeakable pressure.
That was when, to the horror of all assembled, the protective shutter of the viewing port was torn away.
Unable to look away in time, the Chartist Captain was subject to the barest fraction of an instant where in his eyes beheld the unspeakable madness of the Warp. For that single, fleeting speck of time, the very cells in his body burned in an absolute rejection of what he witnessed, tearing themselves apart under the presence of such terror.
And then it was gone, replaced with the black expanse of open space, and the looming form of an Imperial space craft.
There was no time to question what had just happened. No time to be sickened by the sheer insanity he'd just experienced. Seeing the ship growing ever larger, Lord Crucian forced a single rushed command past the damage in his throat.
"Brace for impact!"
Whatever the vessel had been, it wasn't fortunate. Smaller than the Leshara's Grace by more than half, its broadside was struck by the larger ship's prow like a lance, effectively being split in half under the force of the hit before being blown apart. The Void Shields of the Grace endured most of the hit on their end, but the command bridge was still shaken by the impact, rumbling like a wounded beast.
Through the haze of psychological damage and ship debris, Lord Crucian caught a glimpse of fire being exchanged between other space crafts. Three against one. His vessel had destroyed the partner of the now-isolated ship.
Unable to make even the slightest bit of sense out of what had just happened, the captain finally gave in. Slumping back in his throne, he slipped into unconsciousness.
"Lord Marshal Sir! Urgent message for you from Captain Caridan!"
Lord Marshal Gregor Milenhelm, commander of the Cadian 426th regiment, looked up from the dataslates and files detailing the ongoing battle. All around the richly dressed general, similar items were rapidly exchanging hands and being hurried into the care of hastily assembled runners who would take the list of orders to the battle group assigned. With the way their communications had become largely inconsistent as of late, such measures were mandatory, even in the heat of battle.
"Report." He stated, looking down to the young boy who'd rushed his way through the throng of humanity to reach him. "Quickly now. The heretic vessels aren't going to sit around waiting for your explanation."
"That's just it sir." He began, stopping for a breath. It was obvious from the sheen of sweat that was layered over his skin that he'd been running missives for a long while, and his eyes had the telltale sign of stim-abuse. Seven days of almost perpetual fighting with hostile forces would do that. "One of the two remaining ships was just destroyed!"
Milenhelm paused, feeling a slight rush of elation at the news. They'd been chasing these bastards for almost a full month at this point, constant on and off skirmishes having thinned out the numbers on both sides while an infuriating amount of interference made all long range communication nearly impossible. If they'd actually managed to destroy one of the ships in this exchange, that would mean they'd inflicted more damage than he'd anticipated. Excellent news indeed.
"That's the best damn thing I've heard all day." He scoffed, feeling a grin pull at his bearded face. "Which ship took them out? You can tell the blighters they've earned a commendation from me at once."
"It wasn't one of our ships, lord." The boy explained, frowning with concentration as he recalled the exact wording the captain had given him. "Another craft just appeared out of the Warp. Rammed right through the traitor escort. Only their Cruiser is left."
"And who's behind this new arrival?" He questioned, mind racing with the implications. If one of their hails had gotten through back to Segmentum Command, things could be looking much better than they had this morning. By that same token, if this was more enemies… "Reinforcements? Are they flying the Imperial Eagle?"
"It's Imperial sir. A Cruiser. Gothic class the captain said." The runner answered. "Though according to him most of the guns and such had been removed. Looked like it had been repurposed or something. Weren't able to hail them, and they look about dead in the void. They're not moving, but the traitor ship is starting to pull away."
Milenhelm frowned, poring over what he'd been told. Perhaps it was a victim of the Warp. He'd seen more than one empty craft exit from the Immaterium, its crew lost to unknown causes, but the sheer coincidence of such an occurrence didn't sit well with him.
"Any signs of life?" He pressed, handing off the data slate he'd been filling out with orders, combat deployments, and troop maneuvers. "Is it just immobile, or is the thing a floating metal box?"
"The Astropath didn't seem to like it." The boy replied, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I didn't hear everything he was saying to the captain, but I heard the word 'daemon' brought up at least twice. Don't know if anyone's still living over there or not. The ship didn't look too damaged though from what I heard. A bit roughed up, but its got all its important parts."
That was enough to guide his decision. Hunting the madmen who'd been launching raids on Imperial worlds was a vital endeavor, but leaving a cruiser to the care of daemons could be much, much, worse than a few lunatics with guns. Being Cadian born and bred, he'd seen first hand just how monstrous daemonic war engines could become. Whether there was anyone still alive on board or not, ignoring the ship to pursue their quarry wasn't an option.
"Run back to the captain for me then, and bring him this message." The Lord Marshal commanded. "Tell him that I advise ordering the Minean Deliverance and the Guardian of Feroa to break off and chase down the last traitor vessel. See if they can't at least cripple their systems to prevent them from disappearing on us again. Inform him that I wish to have the Apocrypha engage this new arrival with boarding parties to see if we can't eliminate this daemonic force before it gets out of hand."
Given that the captain of the ship answered to the Imperial Navy rather than the Guard, Milenhelm technically had no jurisdiction over his actions, but recent events had forced the both of them to work together, and he liked to think that his words held some influence over the man's decisions.
"Right away sir!" The boy said, turning to run off only to be stopped with a hand on his shoulder.
"One last thing." The general added. "When you're finished with the captain, head down to the holding bay."
"Talk to the Freeblade. Tell her if she can be parted from her god machine for a little while that I'd greatly appreciate her aid in facing whatever's lying in wait for us."