The Invictus tore free of the immaterium In a violent shudder of purple flames, reality reasserted itself with a thunderous cry that echoed and vibrated throughout the ships hull.
The multitude of view screens flickered as the ships auspex arrays strained to recalibrate from the burning unnatural madness of the warp to the cold darkness of real space. An orchestra of noise assaulted the rogue traders senses, crewmen relaying reports of the usual shipboard damage inflicted when a ship tore its well back to reality and ordering Infernus teams to repair the damage, the chanting of Ministorum priests blessing the crew and praising the Emperor for yet another safe warp voyage. Once , before the great rift, warp travel was relatively safe aslong as a strong Gellar field was maintained however now every warp jump was a peril which necessitated a series of smaller warp jumps like skipping a stone upon a lake to avoid the predatory attention of those who dwelled within the lake.
"Lieutenant Fane, status report!" Damocles said. warp incursions had been reported throughout the ship during the last warp jump ranging from minor phenomena of strange voices and ghostly shadows to a deadly pox which had swept through one of the lower compartments which resulted in dozens of deaths before the ships priests andmedicadehad restored order and I feared further damage.
"My lord, 497 deaths reported during the journey to Elysia as well as 17 births. Compartment's 4A-7A have reported intense fires and infernos teams are enroute. Minor injuries relating to translation from the warp are coming in from the rest of the ship but no major damage report. I have given the signal to reopen the companion ways between compartments and restore normal ship routine." Reported Lieutenant Fane smoothly. Although still young for her position at only 27 Terran standard, she had displayed impressive leadership during the fall and after having been essential in taming the logistical nightmare that was the Novar fleet.
"Send my congratulations to the new families as well as an extra days rations for the mothers." I frowned, so many dead and we are yet to even set sight on the enemy. If the same story had played out across my fleet then potentially thousands had died. The Heretics would win this war by attrition if nothing else at this rate.
"What of the rest of the fleet ?" I fought to keep the concern out of my voice, my few remaining assets were irreplicable. To lose a ship now would be catastrophic.
Lieutenant Fane's fingers danced over the keyboards of her console, worn smooth over generations of long use. "long range vox has been received from theIron Vowand thestalwartand their escortsboth have translated successfully with minimal damage and are forming upalong judgment of saint Aloa has reported power fluctuations and the loss of two of its escorts who translated within one another. All hands lost." She paused to say a prayer for the loss of over 30,000 souls.
"no word yet from the Hammer of Mater and the Vanguards hope yet although scattered returns are being reported by fleet elements further out soitspossible they have been scattered further in system. the transports have arrived unharmed and are moving to the centre of the fleet where we can provide cover"
I cursed silently. As a Dictator class cruiser the Vanguards hope contained much of my fleetsfast attack capability. If it had been lost to the warp or cast adrift in the void... that would complicate matters. Thankfully the transports had arrived unmolested. Filled with supplies for the beleaguered imperial forces planet side any loss would have imperilled my mission.
"Helm, hold position whilst the fleet regroups. Lieutenant order a squadron of escorts to scout furthera fieldpassive auspex only I don't want the enemy to know we are here until we have some cohesion andreform the fleet into standard defensive positions we may be here a while longer" At my orders the bridge tumbled into motion as my crew hurried to relay my orders. Atticus stood watching beside me busy going over a data slate of the state of my Auxilia awaiting deployment in the hold. Veteran survivors of the fall of Mitar I would be relying on these men and women to provide my martial strength once the fleet had gain control of the high orbitals.
" Atticus, what's the status of the opposition ?" I Asked.
With a motion an aide passed Atticus a data slate and paused a moment to review its contents.
"Passive scans show that Elysia remains under siege. The heretic fleet here has split in two, the element over Elysia itself consists of a handful of capital ships mainly in the cruiser range with two dozen escort hulls, they are dispersed around the planet." Replied Helena. Atticus pressed a button on theholomap and the view changed from my fleet's disposition to that of the Eclipse fleet. Naval intelligence had flagged a former mars class battle cruiser once a proud vessel of the Imperial Navy, it had been warped by the touch of the Warp into a nightmare thing. Massive bronze runes glowed faintly across its hull, pulsing like diseased veins under metal flesh.A half dozenslaughter-class raiders made up the meat of the heretic fleet, their hulls lacquered in blood-red and matte obsidian fast and deadly raiders made for out manoeuvring imperial naval formations andwrecking havoc. Dozens of smaller void ships,iconoclasts and infidel-class destroyers, fast and rabid, darted like carrion birds between the larger ships controlling the orbitals.
"Have they detected our translation ?" Asked Damocles, turning to face Helena his face illuminated by the pale green glow of thehologlobe. With the fleet so scattered and significant naval assets still unaccounted for Damocles would need surprise on his side.
Lieutenant Fane regarded her console before replying. "unknown my lord. Passive auspexindicates no hostile course corrections or power surges from the Eclipse fleet. Their patrol patterns remain chaotic… indistinguishable from what we observed in the pre-translationpictsgathered at Bastion."
"They're disordered, but not blind. That fleet has been in orbit long enough to feel secure. Arrogant. Either they haven't seen us, or they've seen and don't care." said Atticus imparting his wisdom.
Either way, through ignorance or fate we have been given a chance to regroup and I plan on taking it.
Fane continued, "All external vox remains silent. No active sensor sweeps in our vicinity. It's possible… we translated in behind the shadow of Elysia's fourth moon. Auspex readings are still distorted, but the debris field around the moon may be interfering with their scans."
The Invictus trembled subtly as her retro-thrusters fired, nudging the massive warship into a new vector. The rest of the battlegroup began to close in, still bruised from the warp but intact.
"orbital scans also confirm the presence of significant debris from past engagements clutter high orbit anchor orbits, making insertion difficult without through prior mapping. Vox chatter is fragmented, mostly short range- indicating jamming or destroyed regimental vox beacons are active, which suggests imperial forces are still in the fight although judging by what we can hear the situation is rapidly deteriorating." Replied Atticus. The situation was grave it was clear that there was no unified command of imperial forces on the ground. Cities once marked as key staging ground for imperial forces were burning and Eclipse warbands had taken significant portions of the northern continent surrounding the Albion regiments defending the hive city of Berwyn.
"Contact!" cried Vox-Officer Bren, his voice slicing through the murmur of the bridge like a scalpel. "Multiple distress signals—Imperial ident codes. It's the Hammer of Mater and the Vanguard's Hope!"
The bridge of the Invictus erupted into controlled chaos.
Cogitator banks flared with urgent crimson warnings as relays clattered, sparking under the strain of sudden movement orders. Cherub servitors fluttered overhead, trailing incense smoke and vox-hymns, their mechanical eyes flicking and twitching as new data streamed across glowing parchment-screens. Servo-skulls bobbed from ceiling-mounted hatches, delivering brass-rimmed message cylinders to the senior officers who snapped them open with practiced hands.
"Location?" demanded Damocles , already moving toward the central hololith has it shimmered to life, cold green light painting ghost-shapes across the command throne."Two-point-three AU inward, on the edge of the third planets debris ring," Fane replied quickly. "Their translation put them too close to the planetary gravity well—right into an Eclipse interdiction zone. Hostile signatures are converging—fast."
The hololith bloomed with data. Crimson runes flared into being, denoting the presence of Eclipse warships bearing down on the battered Imperial vessels. From the faint warp-distortions around their growled, "We must respond, my lord. If we lose them..."
"I know," I snapped. "Helm! Bring us about. Plot a direct intercept course. Fane, signal the fleet — priority sigma. All vessels to form into assault pattern Novar-Primaris. We move to reinforce."
"Engines answering full burn!" bellowed the Chief Enginarium Officer, sweat beading beneath his rebreather as he barked into a vox-horn. "Auxiliary power routing to prow void-shields — Gellar capacitors still running hot from translation, my lord!" The Invictus groaned as her massive engines surged to life, her prows swinging toward the inner system like a leviathan awakened to fury. One by one, the rest of the fleet began to pivot into formation—Iron Vow, Stalwart and their escorts threading between them like iron pilgrims. "Signal the Captain Judgment of Saint Aloa to hold defensive position and guard the transports," I added. "They're to hold in reserve until their power regulation problem has been resolved I wont have a lucky broadside strip me of her ship."
"Decks four through six reporting stabilization confirmed, ready to fire void lances on command!" came the cry from a young fire-control officer behind a screen of blinking holos. "Arming macro batteries—blessed be their fury!" his youthful inexperience eliciting a chuckle from the more veteran bridge the tumult, the bridge moved like a living machine — voices overlapping, data flowing, commands issued and obeyed in a heartbeat. These were veterans of the fall of Mitar, men and women who had stared into the abyss of the Great Rift and clawed their way back on blood and duty. Now, they steered a deadly weapon of the imperium toward war once a thunder of engines and the soul-deep groan of stressed adamantium, the Invictus surged forward. Her massive frame, ancient and venerated, cut through the darkness like a blade, prow-mounted ram cresting with aquila-gold and sanctified iron. Her void shields flared like captured lightning as she accelerated, followed closely by the Iron Vow and Stalwart, their escorts swarming around them in tight, spearhead formation. The bridge crew braced asgrav-plates strained, the deck shuddering under the acceleration. Battle-hymns blared from chapel nodes across the ship, the voices of thousands of crewmen throughout the many compartments of the Invictus raised in praise to the Emperor as decks were sealed and battle stations sounded throughout the fleet." Final confirmations received from the Vow and Stalwart," Lieutenant Fane reported, her voice sharp with focus. "All guns primed. Ready to engage."
"Enemy vessels ahead — contact confirmed," came the voice from the augur-pit. "The Hammer of Materis under heavy assault by three heretic cruisers. The Vanguard's Hope is falling back, her escort screen collapsing!"
"Targeting solutions acquired," Atticus said. "Recommend immediate lance and torpedo volley to clear a corridor."
"Granted," said Damocles, his voice cold as the void outside. "Strike now."
A second later, the ship under foot bucked slightly — not from damage, but from release. Dozens beams of incandescent power leapt from the Invictus' dorsal lances, slicing through the black and hammering into a Chaos raider ahead. The heretic vessel twisted as its void shields collapsed in an explosion of purple primal energies, being over whelmed by the destructive energies of directed plasma, its hull warping and splitting in unnatural angles as explosions tore through its midsection. It died screaming in starboard, the Iron Vow opened fire with its forward batteries, a wall of fire and debris spiraling out toward a corrupted destroyer that tried too late to break course. Macro shells the size of Rhino tanks tore through its weakened voids, reducing it to slag and shrieking echoes of them, the battle bloomed.
The stars were lit with the fire of void-war — lance beams flashing, torpedo trails streaking, and macro-batteries thundering like the fury of a thousand gods. The loyalist ships punched forward through the forming meatgrinder, burning a corridor toward the beleaguered Hammer of Mater, their engines burning red-hot.
"Escort wings engaging enemy pickets!" Fane relayed.
The heretics reacted with a speed unknown for a force of the arch enemy.
As the Invictus ,Iron Vow, and Stalwart punched into the heart of the battle, corrupted vessels of the Eclipse left burning in the void as their commanders were caught unaware. Their captains, or whatever passed for commanders among such warped abominations, swung their fleets into a brutal new line — parallel to the oncoming Novar two fleets now faced each other across the void like ancient duellists as the Imperial forces rallied around their embattled allies. Glorious Imperial warships, proud and weathered, charged headlong into the black; opposite them, grotesque silhouettes of what had once been Imperial designs — now adorned with jagged runes, bleeding sigils, and daemonic effigies.
"Enemy vessels forming line abreast," Lieutenant Fane called out, eyes glued to her tactica display. "We're matched one for one across the main axis. They're daring us to close the line."
"Then accept," Damocles replied coldly. "Broadside pattern. Give them every barrel."
A moment later, the void between the two fleets erupted into cataclysm.
The Invictus' broadside guns opened first, a thunderous ripple of macro-cannon fire that raced across the flank . A dozen heretic ships responded in kind, their hulls vomiting fire and shell, a storm of destruction howling through the black.
Lance batteries fired in coordinated pairs from both sides, ruby and sapphire beams lancing out in precise, death-dealing arcs. One struck the stalwart a midships, void shields flaring to their limit before collapsing with a scream of energy distortion. Another beam from the Iron Vow speared a Chaos escort clean through the spine, detonating its warp core in a cascade of oily, multi colored fire.
"Void Shields failing on starboard!" a tech-priest barked from his throne of cables and iron, static crawling across his metallic jaw.
"Counter-roll! Bring portside batteries to bear!" shouted Fane. "Hold the line —Hammer of Materis returning fire, she's buying us a chance to link up!"
The fleet danced a deadly waltz through debris and flame, exchanging murderous broadsides as they drifted slowly, inexorably, closer into full engagement. Entire decks buckled under macro impact. Thousands died every minute — in both steel coffins and daemon-wrought monstrosities.
Still, the Novar battlegroup pressed on. From his command throne, Damocles watched the swirling hololith display — crimson enemy runes dancing with gold Imperial tags — and clenched his jaw. Each thunderous broadside loosed by the Novar battlegroup was answered in kind, the great ships of both fleets trading death in a storm of incandescent fury. Along the flanks of the Invictus, dozens of massive macro-cannon barrels recoiled with every shot, hurling building-sized munitions across the void in roaring arcs. The shells crossed the battlefield in seconds, some crumpling against void shields in dazzling detonations, others punching through and shearing jagged wounds into hulls of rotting iron.
Aboard the Invictus, her gunnery decks became an inferno of machine-oil and fire, deckhands screaming orders as the broadsides cycled again and again, venting heat and exhaust into the void through red-hot grilles. The great lance batteries fired in staggered rhythm, each beam a spear of burning sapphire energy that turned space into a kaleidoscope of light. One beam struck a heretic destroyer across its prow—sheering armor, hull, and crew compartments with surgical finality. Its void shields collapsed with a violet shriek, exposing its blasphemous inner workings to the cold void. Another beam missed high, slicing through a field of drifting debris and vaporizing it into clouds of glowing gas.
The void shields of the heretic line shimmered and groaned beneath the onslaught, flaring in bursts of lurid purple, then shattering into jagged fractals of raw energy. One corrupted cruiser, its hull twisted into a cathedral of teeth and bronze, was struck amidships by three simultaneous lance bursts from the Iron Vow. The void energy boiled away in a storm of static and light—then the final lance punched through its heart, slicing clean through its engines in a geyser of fire and tumorous wreckage. The ship listed, aflame, its dying vox shrieking insane praises to unnameable gods before it was torn apart by internal detonations. Bright flashes lit the darkness, each one marking the death of hundreds.
Above and below the primary battle line, a chaotic ballet unfolded.
Interceptor squadrons of the Novar fleet screamed through the void in tight attack formations — Vultures, Furies, and starhawk strike craft bearing the sigil of House Novar danced between the fire trails, engines glowing hot. Their pilots spoke clipped binary-code blessings and made the sign of the aquila before engaging the swarm of approaching heretic Heldrakes screaming, bat-winged monstrosities belching warpflame — clawed through the formations with glee. One Imperial fighter was caught in the jaws of a Heldrake's daemonic maw, its fuselage torn clean through in a burst of oxygen and blood. But the rest retaliated — missiles streaking in white-hot trails, autocannons raking the metal wings of their foes. A pack of Furies lured one Heldrake into the arc of a friendly escort's flak screen, where it was torn apart in a blaze of disciplined fire.
Below the line, Thunderbolts from the Hammer of Mater soared in wide arcs, trying to clear a path for boarding parties to reach the crippled Vanguard's Hope, which limped away from a burning heretic cruiser trailing a debris field and leaking plasma from her engines. Void shields flickered and sputtered as both ships raked each other with final, bitter broadsides. The stars themselves seemed to vanish, eclipsed by the battle's fury — replaced by a constant strobing of red and purple light, burning fusillades, and the long, cruel arcs of lance fire.
Inside the command sanctum of the Invictus, Damocles stood unmoved, hands gripping the edge of the plotting table. The doubt and turmoil that filled his mind and threatened to drown him was buried deep down.
"Maintain the line," he ordered. "Keep pressure on their flank. If the Hammer and Vanguard can disengage, we can split their line."
He turned to Lieutenant Fane, whose face was bathed in red warning-light glow. "And tell the Fury Wing to begin the counter-offensive. I want those Heldrakes gone before they turn their attention to the transports." Red warning lights flared to life across the Invictus' bridge, bathing the command sanctum in strobing pulses of crimson. A new, shrill klaxon tore through the air — the one every voidsman feared almost more than any other. INTERNAL BREACH. MULTIPLE IMPACTS. BOARDING ACTION IN PROGRESS. Sparks rained from ceiling panels as the bridge shuddered under localized detonations. Auspex screens bloomed with hostile contact markers — dozens of them — clustered around the portside engineering decks and lower launch bays. Boarding pods. Fast, cruel, and shaped like rusted claws. "Multiple hull breaches!" shouted Vox-Officer Grennel, his face pale, voice raw with urgency. "Enemy boarding pods have latched onto decks seven through nine — multiple compartments compromised!"
"Heretic filth," snarled Atticus, tossing his dataslate aside and drawing his carbine with a click of finality. "They've brought daemons or worse with them." Damocles Novar's voice cut through the chaos, cold and clear. "Seal all non-essential bulkheads. Initiate Protocol Malleus. Containment before counterattack."
"Understood, my lord," Lieutenant Fane replied, already barking orders into her vox. "Infernus teams to decks eight and nine! Rask's Arms men are already deploying — requesting permission to deploy the auxilia contingent." The Auxilla is the core of my fighting strength. If they blunt themselves against this boarding action then that would limit my choices once planet side. The sound of boots thundered through the bridge's gantries as bridge officers scrambled to maintain order amidst the chaos. Vox relays chattered madly, filled with overlapping requests for reinforcements, damage control, and medicae support. Amid it all, a new, chilling report silenced the bridge.
"Confirmed sighting," shouted Lieutenant Fane cutting through the din of bridge chatter, her voice steadier than the colour in her face. "Traitor Astartes among the boarders. Marking's of khorne. One squad—maybe more—pushing toward midship."
A sharp intake of breath rippled across the command deck. Khornate Astarte's are renown for their bloodlust and cruelty. for a heartbeat, the bridge faded around Damocles Novar. The clamor of orders, the shrieking of the vox, the crackling displays — all dimmed to a distant murmur, as if heard from underwater. Only those two words echoed in his mind, louder than any alarm: Traitor Astartes.
He felt it then — a flicker of fear. Not for himself. For his people. The last of his people.
For the crew of the Invictus, battered survivors of his broken house, who still called him Lord Novar with reverent loyalty. For the Auxilia troops in the holds, half-trained conscripts and grizzled veterans, too few, too hungry, too haunted — and yet they believed in him. For Lieutenant Fane, and Atticus, and Thorn — who followed him not because they must, but because they chose to. Because they still had hope they believed in him and what his house stood for. For hope and strength against the dying of the light.
A hope that now depended entirely on him. His jaw clenched as that realization crashed down like a storm tide. He was the last of his line, his father assassinated by a gene steeler in the opening minutes of the invasion, his sisters ripped apart by the scything claws of hormagaunts. There would be no reinforcements. No cousins to take up the banner. No family spires left unburned on Mitar's smoldering plains. His dynasty was reduced to this — one ancient ship, a battered fleet, a few loyal officers, and the stubborn will to endure.
And now the enemy had come aboard — monsters out of nightmare, clad in warplate older than planets, driven by gods who fed on despair. They would kill his people not with malice, but with indifference. Annihilation was a ritual for them. A sport. He looked around the bridge — at faces he knew, young and old, scared and defiant — and he felt the quiet, suffocating pressure of expectation. These people had followed him through the Fall, through the warp, through every failed promise of reinforcement or relief. He couldn't show fear now or panic would spread and engulf the entire fleet.
They still believe in you, something whispered from the hollow places of his mind. Don't you dare die with their hope in your hands.
He swallowed hard.
Then spoke, voice like a blade drawn in the dark.
"No one else dies in my name today."