Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 822, 08.821: "SOS! SOS!"

In the afterglow of that fireball that silently expanded in the void and finally faded away, the bridge of the Swift Eagle fell into a brief but profound silence.

The adrenaline rush from victory is receding, replaced by an indescribable sense of exhaustion, like a steel cable stretched to its limit finally loosening.

The immediate crisis was temporarily averted with the destruction of the enemy ships.

The bridge was no longer a noisy battlefield, but had returned to its normal function as the command center of an Imperial Navy warship—a solemn and dignified hall that blended sacred cathedrals with sophisticated machinery.

The towering Gothic vaults are hidden in the shadows above, while the solid ribbed arches of adamantium support the hull's spine.

Further back, the nuns of the Holy Rose led the congregation in prayer for the souls of the victims of the attacks on the Swift Eagle and the Light of Babel.

In the air, besides the constant low hiss of the life support system, there was also the faint metallic smell of overloaded energy conduits, and a faint, sweet scent left by the holy oil and spices burned to appease the ship's soul.

A very slight vibration came from the deck beneath my feet, originating from the shutdown cycle of the plasma drive, like the deep breath of this steel behemoth after a fierce battle.

In those tiered, recessed battle stations, countless mortal crew members and semi-mechanized auxiliary laborers were hunched over, busy at their respective control consoles. Their faces appeared pale and focused under the dim light of the rune-flashing displays.

Captain Horatio slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, finally getting a precious rest and respite from his tense nerves.

He remained seated on the command throne, which rose above the main deck of the bridge. It was a massive throne made of fine gold and ebony, with countless cables extending from the armrests and base, disappearing into the depths of the deck like vines.

His strong hands supported his handsome face, and his eyes were closed, as if he were resting from an outsider's perspective.

But only Horatio knew that he was observing the situation within a 3000-cubic-meter radius using the 'Void Commander' skill in Dark Vision, checking for any remaining enemy activity. In the airspace near the Comoros Passage, he dared not be complacent in the slightest, as more and stronger Dark Eldar might be preparing to ambush this piece of meat that was within his grasp at any moment.

"Captain, I brought a hot towel. You're sweating a lot. Please use it to wipe your head."

The accountant, Yin Shuyao, appeared silently beside him, her movements so precise they resembled a ritual, and spoke in a gentle and virtuous tone.

She presented a clean white linen towel with both hands, embroidered with the Imperial Eagle emblem in gold thread.

"Thank you, you're so thoughtful." Horatio smiled politely as he took the towel, wiping the sweat from his brow, but his gaze remained fixed on the dissipating wreckage outside the main observation window.

That nebula, composed of twisted metal and ice crystals, was once an enemy ship.

[Is the crisis over for now...?] A hint of doubt flashed through his mind as his azure eyes scanned the void before him.

This airspace is too quiet.

“Captain.” The voice of Lieutenant Louise, the chief of operations, broke the silence on the bridge.

She whirled around from her combat station, her voice strained with urgency, “'Starfire' has restarted scanning at 68 degrees to our starboard side! Attack ship E-99 has begun scanning at 90 degrees to our port side relative to our course!”

Horatio's gaze shifted to the main tactical holographic projector, a hint of barely perceptible apprehension in his eyes.

The old device was humming, projecting a three-dimensional star map in the center of the bridge, in which the runes representing the ships of Task Force RX-0371 emitted a steady, soft blue light.

The battlefield airspace that had just been cleared now resembled a contaminated data board, with more than a dozen suspicious signal points of varying sizes appearing out of thin air. These were not stable signal sources, but rather appeared and disappeared on the detector like bleeding wounds, each flash accompanied by a bizarre non-Euclidean geometric trajectory, causing the slave logic engine responsible for tracking to emit a series of sharp error messages.

"How is it?" Horatio's voice regained the composure of a professional soldier as he called out to Louise, who was staring intently at her data panel, her usually calm amethyst eyes now flashing with shock and anger.

“Captain…this is…” Louise’s voice trembled slightly, “Their signal signatures are mimicking…they are mimicking the energy echoes of our fleet wreckage and the transponder beacons of our allies! This is…a provocation against the prey.”

These ghostly signal points formed a perfect encirclement, bringing all the ships of Task Force RX-0371 into a crossfire net.

At this time, at this juncture, in this airspace that has just experienced a bloody battle, there is only one possible source for these signals.

call out! ——

Suddenly, a dazzling crimson orb of light slowly shot out from the stern of an Imperial Tower-class transport ship, piercing the veil of the void and flying towards a higher plane.

This is the highest-level signal flare used by merchant ships to summon their "sheepdogs" when they detect an extreme threat in the vicinity.

Almost simultaneously, the fleet's communication channels were flooded with terrified cries for help, a cacophony of low Gothic accents turning into ear-piercing noise.

"There's something next to us! Something's coming towards us! We need escort support!"

"Merchant convoy under attack! The 'Rosa's Smile' sends out a distress signal!"

"Captain! A distress flare has been detected fired by the Imperial Tower-class cargo ship 'Cordrick'!"

Officers from the communications and lookout units reported the situation of the entire fleet in a loud, rhythmic voice that echoed beneath the Gothic dome.

As one scarlet signal flare after another rose into the air outside the main observation window, like the last match lit by a desperate man in the darkness, the officers and men on the bridge of the Swift Eagle fell into a deathly silence.

The Scimitar-class escort ships and Cobra-Widowmaker-class destroyers in the escort fleet quickly adjusted their battle positions, their engine nozzles emitting angry roars, and sped toward the attacked transport ship while ensuring that other merchant ships were still within the escort circle.

“We are the hunters, but a single misstep can turn us into prey, Louise.” Horatio’s voice was cold and clear, each syllable piercing the ears of everyone present like an icicle: “The more critical the moment, the more we must remain calm.”

He turned to his first mate and swiftly issued a series of new instructions, each word transmitted with unquestionable authority through the fleet's communication channels to the bridge of every escort ship:
"RX-0371 Task Force! Sound the battle alarm! All fleets, maintain Level 1 alert! We are under attack! The Eldar alien attack fleet is here."

Swoosh—

Another deep red distress flare exploded in deep space.

That desperate crimson was like a fleeting star, its flames struggling to tear through the boundless darkness, only to be completely swallowed up by the cold, indifferent maw of the void moments later.

The alarm came from the rear of the fleet formation; two massive, slow-moving Imperial Tower-class transport ships, as heavy as behemoths, had been attacked.

Their outlines flickered in the distance, as if being torn apart by invisible claws.

The RX-0371 task force rapidly contracted its formation, compressing the distance between ships to the limit, forming a more compact, yet scientifically sound, defensive array with adequate clearance for maneuvering.

(End of this chapter)