Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 805, page 08.804: 'The Threat of the Ouroboros'

"The situation was very strange, Horatio."

Major General Perug spoke, breaking the silence. He didn't look at Horatio, but stared out the window at the distant steel canyon eroded by acid rain—a part of the 'giant mouth' of Abyss Harbor.

He gently swirled the crystal glass in his hand, leaving streaks of amber liquid on the glass's surface.

"You may not know this, but the Gothic Sector was invaded by a Tyranid hive fleet more than a decade ago."

But that invasion… was strange. It was unlike any Tyranid invasion the Empire had ever recorded.

"What's so special about it?" Horatio asked, his voice steady and clear.

"These Tyranid creatures will disguise their egg cases as meteorites to infiltrate the planet's surface in a covert manner."

They spread, hatch, and lie dormant silently.

The major general turned around, his face etched with the weariness and worry of years of battle.

"When a planet is finally confirmed to be invaded, our Gothic fleet can't even find the main force of the enemy's hive fleet in orbit—no biological warships that blot out the sky, no overwhelming psionic shadows."

Only... silence. This wasn't a war of attrition aimed at consuming everything, but rather a precise assassination attempt against the entire world.

Horatio quickly constructed a tactical model in his mind: covert infiltration, dispersed deployment, and no clear command center signal.

"Concealing their tracks, harboring deadly intent," he muttered, summarizing as he organized his thoughts. "Do you remember the biological characteristics of these aliens, such as their colors?"

"Of course I remember."

The major general's tone carried a hint of disgust, "Because that color is just too ugly. A dark indigo blue, somewhat similar to those blue-blooded Titans, but their chitinous carapaces have a layer of deathly gray on them. In the shadows, it is almost invisible to the naked eye."

"This sounds like the style of the Ouroboros Hive Fleet. This branch of Tyranids is cunning and treacherous, unlike most of the similar Xenomorphs we've ever seen."

I heard from Diana, a priestess of the Holy Roses, that during our expedition to Fal, the Sisters went to the northern Gothic Sector to eliminate the Tyran threat. Could it be that this fleet has returned? Horatio asked.

"The Military Intelligence Command did not track down any organized enemy fleets, but small-scale incursions did occur."

The fleet is currently embroiled in heated debate over this matter, with very few clues available. Intelligence analysis is constantly oscillating between two conclusions: "a remnant raid" and "a prelude to a new invasion."

The major general sighed and downed his drink in one gulp. "We have no way of knowing the true movements of these aliens."

Just then, a gentle and calm voice intervened in this solemn military discussion.

Major General Perug's wife, a lady in an elegant silk dress, emerged slowly from the shadows of the room. Her steps were light, and a perfectly timed smile graced her face, neither frivolous nor overtly easing the tense atmosphere.

“Perhaps.” She gently placed her hand on her husband’s arm, but her gaze fell on Horatio. “We should invite Ms. Amberley, as well as the renowned Commissar Cafas Kane and his adjutant, to dine at our home in a private capacity.”

Her proposal was not merely a simple social event, but a sophisticated political maneuver.

In the power structure of an empire, a well-planned dinner party can sometimes be as valuable as a decisive fleet battle.

Inviting a judge means seeking the professional advice and support of an alien court.

Inviting Kane was a way to leverage the prestige of this "Hero of the Empire" and his unfathomable luck. "You're right. If, as we suspect, Ms. Amberley Weir is here for the Tyrannosaurus, we might be able to reach some agreement." Major General Peru's eyes flashed with approval. He grasped his wife's hand and nodded solemnly to Horatio: "This is the best course of action. Even setting aside official business, as friends and loyal servants of the Emperor, this is the proper course of action." His voice regained its composure, as if his wife's suggestion had guided him through the fog.

"In the name of the Emperor, it is our sole duty to unite all loyal forces."
-
After the banquet, a light rain began to fall in Abyss Harbor, which soon turned into a downpour.

Rainwater, carrying the ceaseless industrial dust from the upper levels of the city, converges into gray streams that wash over every inch of the cold plastic steel and rock in the throne area.

“It’s raining,” Thee said to Horatio, looking out the window at the night view, fragmented by the rain.

Her voice carried a hint of laughter, a stark contrast to the torrential rain outside the window.

“The rain is quite heavy,” Horatio replied, his gaze also turning to the window.

The raindrops pounded violently against the reinforced glass, producing a dull drumbeat, as if the entire nest was trembling in the wind and rain.

"Let's go back when the rain gets a little lighter. I'll take you to see my new collection."

Thee's tone suddenly became low and intimate, with an almost seductive gentleness.

Her thoughts seemed to sink into a deeper, more secretive realm along with the torrential rain.

Instead of shyly tugging at his sleeve as she used to, she approached him, her fingertips lightly brushing against the gold trim on his uniform cuff that signified his captain status—a small, yet possessive gesture.

“Of course, no problem, Thee.” Horatio looked at her and answered with a smile.

He couldn't refuse, nor did he want to refuse.

The two walked side by side into the exhibition hall. It was just as cold, quiet, and orderly as when he first came here.

The air was filled with a mixture of preservatives and fragrances.

Precise beams of light illuminated the "collections" displayed throughout the room, making them shine like the most dazzling protagonists on a stage.

“This is a specimen of the Krut Xenomorph.” Thee’s voice was filled with the joy of recollection as she pointed to a glass display case. “Do you remember where I captured this?”

Horatio's gaze fell on the creature in the display case.

It was a tall, Krut mercenary, wearing a feathered crown, his expression twisted with extreme pain and rage.

Its beak-like mouth still bore traces of dried, dark blood, its scaly muscles were taut, and it held aloft a Krut rifle, the bayonet of which was forever frozen in the moment of its charge.

Horatio's memories were instantly awakened, not by blurry images, but by concrete sensory impacts—the acrid smell of overheated metal in the engine bay, the distinctive musky scent of the Krut people, and the tense conversations of his comrades on the communications channel.

"The rescue operation of the 'Pure White Mayflower'," he said in a deep voice. "May the Emperor protect us. We almost lost the 'Epic' that time. If it weren't for the Faith Guard led by Lati fighting desperately to hold the engine room, we would have been torn to pieces by these cunning aliens."

“Of course, that’s right!” Thee laughed happily, opening her arms and lightly wrapping them around Horatio’s neck, even excitedly tiptoeing like a child who had received a favorite candy.

But Horatio knew that her joy stemmed from the recollection of that bloody massacre and the satisfaction of obtaining a rare alien specimen.

(End of this chapter)