POV: Lord of Change, Skra'kalichaust the Schemer Skra'kalichaust was manipulating his newest puppet with deft and delicate tugs on its strings. The little distraction was a welcome reprieve from his machinations on the Screaming Vortex. The sorcerers under Eligael had offered him quite the treat, all in exchange for a minor pact they had forged. The pact looked quite solid from their end, but Skra'kalichaust knew better. All they wanted was for him to provide the means of transport onto the lead enemy vessel. The noble painter he had taken over manipulating was a remarkably good host. He had been tormented by one of his peers, and his position on the ship had proved ideal for the task at hand. Skra'kalichaust was honestly rather fond of the human's artwork, and his talents made putting up warding runes of suppression and deflection to keep his presence hidden a trivial task. The paintings themselves served as anchors of a warp portal, which was an inspired thought that came from the suppressed consciousness of his puppet. The fact that the man was a fussy noble with very few bonds on the vessel which was why no one batted an eye at him locking himself in his luxurious chambers for over a week while demanding random objects, paints, and exotic foods be delivered was another point in his favor. The vessel itself was the problem. This Argent Drake was a nightmare for a daemonic incursion. Its hull was warded extensively, several powerful psykers called the vessel home, and there was a potent shrine buried on the other end of the vessel. The guards were strong of will and well-armed. They even had Astartes. He wished deeply to study the clever teleportation trap he had sensed built into the structure, but doing so would risk breaking his pact and losing his puppet. Skra'kalichaust was nothing if not patient and meticulous. He would deliver on his promise to give Eligael's forces a way onto the vessel. If they survived or if the portal ended up moving into the trap was a problem for them. That ponce Eligael thought he could ascend and join their ranks. Ha! His main issue was the lover of his puppet, a priestess of the Anathema of all things! He might need to use one of his underlings to possess her. The risk of her breaking out of the same hypnosis and mind control effects he was using on his puppet was too high. She was poking her nose into his business and Skra'kalichaust was running out of excuses for his puppet to avoid her. "Time to paint a present for your dear lover, Santar. You should push your passion into this one." He whispered as he guided the man towards a fresh empty canvas. --------------------------------------------------------- POV: Genta "Ghost" W98, the Heretek Savant Genta felt it as the floor trembled faintly and glanced to the side, wondering what had gone wrong this time. Going from the forges of the Sundered Forge to the forging facility buried in the depths of the Sundered Horror Space Hulk hadn't changed life for Genta much. She had tended to the Silica Mutus known as 'Stalkers' before, and she tended to the Stalkers now. Unlike most of her peers, Genta was tolerated or even liked by the ancient machines. That fact, when paired with her unusual luck with her mutations, had been the impetus to elevate her to a Heretek Savant. Living in a corrupted environment meant it was impossible to avoid mutations, despite her extensive cybernetics, Genta had received the gift of Warpsight, letting her perceive souls and the predators in the warp. That had naturally helped her avoid any of the more dangerous and possessed machines and weapons. Her second major mutation had earned her the nickname. The Magos Biologis had called it 'Dimensional Instability', it let Genta spend short periods fully incorporeal, which had saved her life on multiple occasions. Having seen her walk through walls, her peers had called her a ghost, and the nickname stuck. That instability was also the only thing slowing down her third mutation, the Magos had called it the 'Mechanoid transition'. Her body was slowly becoming more and more mechanical, and her bones had already transitioned into a rare metal, which was what many assumed the Stalkers liked about her. Genta thought it was because she treated the machines with respect and spoke to them like they were intelligent. The first atomic mine they had hit had riled up all the Stalkers, it had taken time to calm the host down. The second, according to some of her friends who worked in the hangar areas which were closer to the outer surface of the Hulk, had wrecked their auspex arrays and point defenses on the side they had presented. After a while, the distant sound of explosive mines impacting the Hulk had become background noise. When the Noosphere announced they had cleared the minefield, they only had a few minutes to enjoy the quiet before the torpedoes impacted. Their forces only controlled about sixty-five percent of the hulk; the other thirty-five was a mix of rock, hollow space, or vessels that they hadn't deemed worth utilizing. Their main base of operations was an old forge vessel that had fused with a Universe Class mass conveyor that sat near the core of the Hulk. The engines they used to move the Hulk had come from a Long Serpent Class Battlecruiser that was stuck deep into the Hulk like a knife, with just her aft end and drive cones hanging out. The powerful engines were fickle, however, and needed constant attention from a large team of renegade Tech-Priests. Their main access to the Hulk came from a half-buried Conquest Class Star Galleon lying on her belly. The side they were presenting had what one of her friends had told her was a Xenos vessel, a Rak'Gol Mangler if the rumors were to be believed, though after being bombarded and nuked twice, there wasn't much left. Most of the remainder of the Hulk was the remains of dozens of smaller vessels, asteroid chunks, parts of an orbital station, and two separate thirds of a poor Carnage Class Cruiser. There were rumors of another Xenos vessel somewhere buried where Acolytes kept vanishing off into, but she had paid those rumors no heed. The melta torpedoes had managed to penetrate deep into the layered, chaotic mess and started numerous fires, most of the sections or vessels simply had to be sealed off but a few of them were critical to their operations and a large swath of manpower had to be directed to fire control or they risked losing most of the breathable atmosphere which most people and the labor slaves employed by the leadership needed to work. Genta had a bad feeling, so she sent some people to secure the entrances to her forge space while she hurried over to check on the pair of Serperos Overlord Heavy Stalkers. Those two tended to get antsy around danger, and she arrived just in time. The fire had spread and found itself a feast, a long-abandoned ship's magazine, sending a large shudder through the Hulk as it cooked off. The local noosphere network erupted with panicked emergency messages from various parts of the Hulk. It only got worse four hours later when the second salvo of torpedoes struck. ------------------------------------------------------- POV: Lord Arken Drakios Arken sat on the bridge, watching the readouts of the long-range Auspex. "Sir, the third salvo of torpedoes has been fully intercepted by the enemy support vessels." The operator informed him, which was confirmed by the display. "I'm surprised they were so slow to reorganize after the first salvo. I expected them to do it immediately, that's why we only launched three." Arken admitted as he stroked his beard. If he had known they'd take two Salvos like that, he'd have launched more in shorter intervals. The salvos had been launched days in advance, and hindsight was twenty-twenty. "My Lord, Magos Zeta 9-Kane has finished installing the flak turrets on the newly christened Gilded Scales and the Hunter's Lady. He managed to pump enough out from the forges to outfit the Defense Monitors and the Heavy System Ship." "That Magos is a born Shipwright, a damn good one too." Arken said, shaking his head as he studied the simple edge formation the enemy fleet had adopted as they took the vanguard and pulled the smoldering and still-burning Hulk to the rear of their formation. "At current speed, the enemy vessels will enter the edge of our established combat theater in eighteen hours, My Lord." His Master Helmsman, Lucius Grenada, muttered from where he lounged in his station at the fore of the bridge. "Have the lead crews rest up and report for duty in sixteen hours. We'll leave our berth in ten. Weapons, any update?" Arken inquired. "No, sir. The turrets and weapons keep shifting and locking onto the Repulsive." Came the slightly frustrated response. The bulkhead door to the bridge opened just as he spoke, "I wonder why the Argent Drake hates that vessel so vehemently?" "Oh, I can tell you that!" A familiar high-pitched voice said from his immediate right. A good third of the crew hadn't noticed the Princeps enter and jumped. "Lady Cavalerio, what brings you by?" Arken asked politely. "Delivery. You are to put this on under your armour and are not to take it off." She said as she held out a disk. "And this is?" He raised an eyebrow. "Emergency Teleport Homer, in case of extreme explosive decompression or hostile psychic displacement. I made one for Arianwyn, and managed to find the parts to make a few spares. She insisted you get one too." The little Lady Cavalerio as always spoke casually about the little technical marvel she had handed him. "I will wear it. Thank you. You said you know why the Argent Drake is so eager to fight the Repulsive?" Arken asked. "I do. The Argent Drake is the original prototype for the Corinus Class Grand Cruiser, which, as most of you might know, is the Repulsive-Class Grand Cruiser. Though the Corinus is a bit shorter than the Argent Drake, the plans were altered to include far less Archeotech when we sold them; they also didn't need to hold a titan." She waved a hand as she strayed off-topic. "Anyway, the reason is due to the fact that the entire class was renamed because so many of the vessels ended up turning traitor - an unforgivable offense. It would be like the great-grandchild of your dynasty going from stout loyalist to a heretic pirate. She will not suffer the indignation or share the void with an upstart whelp. She is… disappointed in her progeny, and she will make her displeasure known the only way she knows how, with the fury of a dragon." Nicole met his gaze as she finished, her unique eyes reflecting the dim light. "I see. Thank you for sharing, Lady Cavalerio." Arken said with a sagely nod. "Lord Drakios, if you can find a way to manage that your first salvo falls on that Repulsive. I can promise you, Argent won't disappoint you." Lady Cavalerio smiled. "Argent knows that vessel inside and out, their strengths, their weaknesses, no matter how much they might change or components they swap, they can't change their blood and bones." "I will strongly take that into consideration and, Emperor willing, see it done." Arken replied as he felt his throne and the surrounding ship subtly purr in response. "Will that be all?" Nicole cocked her head at the sound and blinked several times. "Ah, it was but Argent just requested something from me. Bridge crew! Please remain at your stations! Be aware I am about to enact a psychic power!" She made her way to the middle of the bridge, which was just in front of his throne. Arken waved down the worried looks of his personal guards. "Machines of the bridge at the behest of the Argent Drake, hear my voice." Arken could taste ozone, and a small crackle of electricity ran down Nicole's hair as power gathered around her. "You have worked hard, your work is not yet done. In the name of the Machine God, feel my power and be reforged!" A sphere of energy erupted from the Princeps and washed outwards in all directions, covering the entire bridge. Arken watched as wear and tear and minor bits of damage all vanished as the machines reverted to a pristine state. He felt it most intensely in the cables connecting him to the throne. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Nicole looked around the bridge and nodded. "Much better. Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Drakios. I need a nap." She curtseyed and then promptly departed, leaving most of the bridge crew confused, looking down at their stations and muttering prayers. "Yeah! She fixed it!" Lucius yelled, "That fracking button has been sticking for six years! Ahaha!" "Please take the time to familiarize yourselves with your repaired stations!" Arken called out as the crew broke into whispered conversations. "Should you feel the need to express appreciation, they may be given to Lady Cavalerio through proper channels after the war." He said as he swept his gaze around the bridge. His professional and veteran crew got back to work immediately with a new fervor. Arken sighed and leaned back only to find his headrest had perfectly aligned itself for him. He put that out of his mind and focused his thoughts on what he could do to bait the Wyrmsblood forward or out of the enemy fleet formation. "Lucius move us out of position, see if you can get us close enough for a salvo or bait the Wyrmsblood out." ------------------------------------------------------------ POV: Star Dragon's 9th Company Captain Bolaar Silvershield Bolaar stood drenched in sweat as he practiced his combat forms in just his robes. He pushed himself hard, but his thoughts continued to drift. He was grateful to Lord Drakios and everyone aboard the Argent Drake for hosting them. The ship itself had more amenities than they could want. Despite their recent losses, his company had likely never been stronger. Bolaar sighed as he stopped and walked off to grab a nearby towel and sat down on a bench. He draped it over his head and closed his eyes. He heard footsteps approaching, and a weight joined him on the bench. "You seem troubled, Brother." Astrovas commented. "I am. I would ask your ear and perhaps a consultation of the tarot from you, Brother Astrovas. I see two paths before me, and one, while foolish, tempts me so." Bolaar admitted as he meditated. "A reading? I can perform a small one." Astrovas said with a curious tone. "By five or by nine, Brother?" Bolaar heard the shuffling of cards. "I seek advice. Pull as you see fit." "We are the ninth, by nine it is." Astrovas chuckled and began to lay out the cards one by one. "The past, the present, and the future. Three columns, three cards. The past. The Warp, The Starship, Death." Astrovas paused. "That's a little on the nose for both us and the company." He admitted. Bolaar chuckled darkly from under his towel. "I am inclined to agree. The present then?" Astrovas flipped the three cards and made a displeased sound. "Again?" he muttered under his breath. "Astrovas?" Bolaar finally looked over, seeing the three cards. "The Space Marine. The Executioner. The Warped Renegade. What's wrong with those?" Astrovas sighed. "I performed a reading for Venerable Baldos before we made planetfall. It was those same three cards. He told me it is always the Space Marine and the Executioner followed by a foe he needed to kill." "Baldos said that, did he? Well, the cards mirror my current thoughts and desires. The future then?" Bolaar prodded Astrovas. Astrovas flipped the first card and gasped, "The God-Emperor. I don't believe I've ever drawn it during a reading before. My mentor told me this card speaks of Warp travel, of discovery, of hope in the cold depths of space." Astrovas continued flipping the next two cards. "The Lost Child in reverse and The Labyrinthine Path." "What does that mean? The found child will lead us on some meandering adventure?" Bolaar laughed for a few seconds before he stopped abruptly, suddenly recalling the Princeps's words at the meeting. "... Frak." Bolaar slowly stood up, shaking his head. "Well, did that help you make up your mind?" Astrovas asked as he studied the cards. "It did. I'm going to petition Lord Drakios to allow myself and the first scale Terminators to enact our vengeance on the Sky Scourer. If we can get close enough for a Lightning Strike Teleportation assault. We can cripple the vessel and claim the captain's head in an hour or less." "I would join you, Captain." Rumbled Silverfury looming in the entrance in his Contemptor Dreadnought. "I would ask you to allow young Solantar to come along as well. Venerable Baldos has declared he will remain with the Princeps. He stoutly believes she will manage to somehow provide interesting foes for him despite her intentions to stay in the middle of the Argent Drake." "She does have a strange knack for landing in interesting situations." Shaking his head, he chuckled, "I would be honored to have you, Brother Silverfury." Bolaar said as he nodded. "I shall go clean myself before I express my intentions to the Rogue Trader." —-------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Renegade, Voh the Reaper, Captain of the Wyrmsblood "Sir, reports confirm the fires in the Hulk have finally been contained, though damage was extensive in certain sections. Also, Lord Eligael is calling for all the carriers to prepare strike craft for an assault." one of his officers said. Voh had been the captain of the Wyrmsblood long enough that he was practically melded with the command throne. "I see. He intends to try and coax the Imperials into committing their fighters and overwhelm them. If we purge the enemy of their strike craft, our forces will have free reign to strike at the station. Despite our losses, we still outnumber the enemy. This is no raid, mark my words, but a siege. The enemy has the resources of a planet behind them, so we must strike quickly and decisively. Our ammunition is limited while theirs is not." Voh rasped as he examined the tactical display. Most of the loyalist vessels were loitering in formation around the Halo within its protective envelope of fire and support. The Inquisitorial ship and the Rogue Trader flagship were the only vessels bold enough to loiter outside that screen. As he watched, he frowned. What was the Argent Drake doing? It was getting closer. Still far outside lance range, was it planning to fire more torpedoes? He wondered. The ship suddenly shuddered as the engines sputtered. Voh snarled, "Engineering report!" "No problems detected. Yet the engines are behaving strangely." His Drivemaster replied, puzzled. The Wyrmsblood's machine spirit was imperious and prideful, often rebellious. Voh tapped into his connection with the ship, ready to guide the vessel into compliance. However, upon connecting, he found the ship was not displaying its usual cocksure hubris or disdain. Instead, it was gripped by an overwhelming terror. Voh himself envisioned colossal, ghostly silver jaws closing in around them. He sat up with a gasp, his heart—the last trace of his humanity—thundering in his chest. The only ships he could remember the Wyrmsblood showing such wariness toward were Abaddon's Planet Killer and the Terminus Est. They hadn't yet achieved a clear scan of the Argent Drake, but on paper, they should be evenly matched. Theoretically, the Wyrmsblood should have a firepower advantage, as it lacked bays. "Helmsman, we're out of formation." He pointed out, shaking his head as he tried to push away the gnawing sense of impending doom that was leeching into him from the ship. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ NoveI★Fire.net "I'm trying, Sir. The controls are fighting me." His helmsman growled. "Sir, the Xenos vessel we thought was derelict. It is no longer on our scopes." His Auspex operator called out. "It was a Drukhari vessel, probably trying to slink off unnoticed after their failed raid." Voh muttered, but his eyes kept drifting over towards the Argent Drake. "Distance to the Argent Drake?" "Thirty VUs, no make that Twenty-nine VUs, Captain," the operator replied. Voh tried to relax, that distance was well beyond even the extreme range for the two dorsal turrets of the Wyrmsblood's Sunhammer Lance Battery. The nagging sensation only continued to build. He glared at the Argent Drake. Why was it bothering him so much? Wait, why did the Drake have three dorsal lance turrets? He didn't recognize the pattern either. He watched the Argent Drake creep closer until it reached 22 VUs, when it finally turned away and showed them its broadside. Voh expected to feel the Wyrmsblood relax, but it didn't; instead, it was screaming at him that they were in danger. "Weapons! Target the Argent Drake! Launch Torpedoes, now!" Voh screamed as the alarms suddenly blared, as they detected an energy buildup from the Argent Drake. "Evasive maneuvers, now!" he called out just as the Argent Drake battery fired its hecutor-pattern plasma broadside. The first few shells splashed over the voidshields, the shields flickering as they were rapidly overwhelmed. All three layers were stripped one after the other, the few remaining shots splashed into the hull, vaporising chunks of armour. One lucky bolt struck the fore lance turret, blowing a hole clean through it and depressurizing it. The trio of lance strikes followed the moment the shields fell. The lances slid through the armour layer effortlessly, and Voh clutched his chest as sympathetic feedback with Wrymsblood made it feel like he had been stabbed in the heart. The Lances had done damage, but it was where they had struck that made Voh pale. Surgically precise, one had clipped their Munitorum, another the volatile auxiliary plasma banks needed to power the lances, the third hit their torpedo storage. Time slowed for Voh as all three volatile components detonated simultaneously, they did just as much, if more, damage than the strikes themselves. Time resumed and the bridge was in chaos. "The engines have been crippled captain! Thrusters are unresponsive!" "Multiple Fires! Several decks are reporting they've lost atmosphere!" Voh could tell that the fleet wouldn't respond in time. Drifting dead as the Argent Drake took her time lining up the second volley. Voh started to laugh even as the bridge consoles sparked and screamed. "I see now, Wyrmsblood, your Elder out there is terrifying. Sorry, I should have listened to you." Voh closed his eyes as he felt the next lance strike clip the ship's plasma drive. The ship detonated spectacularly, and shortly after, the debris from her hull peppered the nearby fleet vessels. Incidentally, she took one of the support raiders with her in her final moments. Leaving it a perforated drifting wreck. —------------------------------------------------------- POV: Lord Arken Drakios In stark contrast to the bridge of the Wyrmsblood, which was frantic and loud as the vessel detonated, the bridge of the Argent Drake was utterly silent as her crew watched on in a mix of shock and awe. In less than an hour, they had obliterated an enemy Grand Cruiser, a highly unusual feat, borderline unprecedented. It was only when an alarm blared from the gunnery decks that everyone snapped back into motion. "Doll, do we have a status report on the lances?" Arken asked as the weapon system threw up a warning. "That rapid-fire, overcharged salvo cracked two of the primary lens arrays, and the ArgentDrake also totally drained our emergency energy reserves. Swapping out the lenses will take us at least anhour; until then, you're down to just turret three," Doll replied from across the ship. "Get us back toward the station! All ahead full, and maintain evasive maneuvers! We've kicked the hornet's nest now," Arken called out as the ship banked sharply and accelerated. The enemy fleet was already scrambling to try and cut them off. "Prepare the point defenses; have the majority hold when the enemy strike craft arrive. They can open fire only once they're in optimal range! Launch our interceptors, but have them rally on the ship's far side. Target the smaller escorts with our broadside fire. Dissuade them from pursuing us." Arken barked out an order after order. The enemy had to respond to their decisive strike, and the neat and ordered fleet formations were rapidly devolving on both sides.