Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 885, page 08.884: "The Reversal of Fortune Between Hunter and Prey (Seeking Monthly Tickets!)"

A sudden attack, though not entirely unexpected, was impossible to prevent.

Inside the blasphemous, painful energy chamber of the Black Ark, a glaring rift was torn open in the curtain of reality. Accompanied by a wail that did not belong to the material world, a fleet of colossal gray-blue creatures suddenly appeared.

Black Mane, the pride of Dalian, a heavy terminator, like a giant spirit emerging from mythology.

The roar of the Stormburst Arrows and the howl of the Lightning Claws instantly filled the cabin, which was filled with living tubes and painful engines.

Efficient, precise, and brutal, the Terminators destroyed the critical warp stabilizer in seconds, forcibly halting the Black Ark's attempt to escape the real dimension.

Almost simultaneously, in space outside the ship, the hunt began.

Three Space Wolf Strike Cruisers began their hunt, their massive silhouettes resembling moving mountains, their countless Gothic spires and buttresses casting eerie shadows under the starlight.

They formed a wolf pack formation, surrounding the immobilized Black Ark in the center.

Attack waves consisting of Thunderhawk gunboats and Starhawk bombers roared out of the cruiser's launch bay.

The bombing squadron dropped a dense barrage of bombs.

Explosions erupted on the purplish-black hull of the Black Ark. High-energy plasma clusters easily tore through the outer armor, and jets of scorching metal cut deep into the hull like scalpels.

In those narrow, confined corridors filled with the atmosphere of death and torture, shockwaves swept through, rattling the black chains hanging on the walls as if playing a prelude to the impending massacre.

In this meticulously planned hunt, the flagship "Frostfang" made its grand finale appearance.

Its bow armor resembles the front of a magnificent fortress. As the huge launch hatch slowly opens, the Thunderhawk gunboats, which are already ready, launch their attacks in sequence.

These gunships are all painted in the iconic gray-blue of the Space Wolf, and their fuselages are decorated with the fangs and skulls of hunted behemoths, exuding a savage and domineering aura from the cold world of Fenris.

The atmosphere inside the assault compartment of one of the Thunderhawk gunboats was as heavy as iron.

Inside the assault pod, red tactical lights cast a blood-red reflection on the curved surfaces of each power armor suit.

The air was filled with the scents of engine oil, sanctifying ointment, and the unique odor of the wolves, a mixture of wind, snow, and wild beasts.

The deep roar of the engine came through the heavy deck, causing the entire cabin to vibrate rhythmically.

"Prepare for the assault!" roared a sergeant leading the team.

He leaned on a power battle axe that emitted a ghostly blue light, its blade engraved with intricate Fenris runes.

He wasn't wearing a helmet; his weathered face was etched with scars and tribal tattoos, and his eyes were as sharp as a wolf on an icy plain.

"For Ruth! For the Father! Every single Xenomorph, leave no one alive!"

The combat comrades inside the cabin responded with the roar of their cleavage and weapons.

They were not ruthless butchers; they were the creators of legends, living epics.

Every killing they committed would become a poem sung by bards in the Hall of the Fenris Long Table by the roaring fire.

In this alien realm filled with unknowns and malice, they are trying to use their unwavering belief in heroism to fight against and defeat the evil before them.

The Frostfang's bow rammed into a weak spot on the Black Ark, creating a perfect opening for the boarding forces.

The sergeant's Thunderhawk gunboat took the lead, piercing the gaping hole that was billowing with a ghastly green smoke like a javelin.

At the moment of impact, all sound was swallowed up by a piercing shriek.

The Thunderhawk entered the thin and toxic surface atmosphere leaking from the Black Ark, its hull violently rocking like a meteor thrown into a storm.

Magnetic restraints held the Space Marines, clad in terracotta armor, firmly in place to prevent them and their weapons from colliding within the ship's hold, creating a constant clanging of metal against metal.

The soldier steadied himself and looked one last time at one of his comrades in battle. The monk wore a distinctive silver shoulder armor on his right shoulder, engraved with the insignia of the Death Watch, and sported a thick, reddish-brown beard.

The sergeant roared through the piercing alarm, "Ulfa, you lead a squad of combat brothers to cover Wolf Lord as he takes the alien bridge! The skills you learned while serving in Deathwatch to slaughter heretics should come in handy today!"

Urfa slammed his fist into his breastplate, producing a dull thud.

"Yes! In Ruth's name, I will offer their heads at the feet of the Wolf Lord!"

Just then, a dazzling burst of light flashed past the blast-proof observation window of the Thunderhawk gunboat, briefly turning the retinas of everyone inside the cabin pure white.
-
In the void.

The light cruiser HMS Swift Eagle was entangled with the Ducali slave ship on its side, as if a venomous snake had choked it.

The alien boarding force is attempting to pour into the warship through this connection point.

However, the rescue came swiftly and decisively.

The high-speed battleship "Vostok" cut in from the flank like an angry bull.

This high-speed behemoth from the Calissis star system has a slightly different design style from the ships in the Gothic sector, with more rugged lines and a larger, more menacing armored ram at the bow.

At this moment, the adamantite ram below the bow gleamed with the awe-inspiring blue light of the disintegration force field, like a knight's lance piercing through the enemy lines, precisely penetrating the core of the midship section of the slave ship that was firmly entangled by the "Swift Skyhawk".

After a sickening metallic creak reached the critical point, a massive explosion illuminated the void.

Under the influence of the disintegrating force field, the hull of the slave ship was shattered, turning into a cloud of scattered, scorching metal fragments.

Countless pieces of debris swept across the terracotta armor of the "Swift Eagle" and left a series of dazzling sparks on the bow shield of the "Eastern".

Crisis resolved.

The two massive imperial warships quickly adjusted their positions and established an emergency docking channel.

As the hydraulic mechanisms of the hatches emitted a synchronized hissing sound, the naval forces of the "Dongfang" were already fully prepared. Clad in dark blue bulletproof armor and wielding laser carbines, they surged into the "Swift Skyhawk" like a tide at the command of their officers, joining forces with the officers and soldiers who had been guarding the core compartments, forming a pincer movement against the remaining alien boarding force.

This highly efficient collaborative combat is made possible by a seemingly insignificant yet crucial cornerstone within the vast territory of the Human Empire: the Standard Universal Construction Template (STC).

Whether it's the Calithis fleet, the Gothic fleet, or any Imperial naval fleet in the galaxy that flies the double-headed eagle insignia, the design of their main ships is largely the same.

Most of them originated from the same old STC template, and were then enlarged or reduced proportionally according to tactical needs, evolving into battleships, cruisers or frigates.

Therefore, even though the Imperial Navy's warships have huge and intricate internal structures like mazes, as long as there is a high-ranking technical priest who is knowledgeable in ancient technologies present, he can always quickly devise an effective reinforcement and defense plan based on the overall consistency of their design.

This greatly improved the efficiency of the Calithis fleet's officers and men in rushing to the aid of the Swift Eagle and eliminating internal threats.

The "Eastern" was a high-speed battleship with a full complement of crew, far exceeding that of a light cruiser.

The temporary personnel replenishment brought by this single ship alone is theoretically enough to restore the heavily damaged "Swift Eagle" to more than 80% of its combat capability.

On the command bridges of both ships, communication channels were occupied by dense and rapid streams of data and voice commands.

"The 'Eastern' is calling the 'Swift Skyhawk'. Our ship has suppressed the remnants of the enemy ship. What is the damage situation of your ship?"

"'Swift Eagle' reports that the ship's structure is stable, but multiple gun crews have suffered heavy losses. Requesting personnel support, prioritizing replenishment of the port side's main gun deck."

Although the officers on both sides had different accents and dialects.

However, officers of the Imperial Navy had to learn the difficult and ancient Gaugothic language as the common command language.

It is precisely because of this shared language foundation that communication between the command levels of both sides has been able to proceed smoothly.

Soon, the macro gun positions, whose crews had been almost entirely wiped out by the aliens but whose weapon systems remained intact, began to resume operation with the redeployment of reserve crew members.

However, communication among the lower-ranking gunners and sailors was far less smooth than among the officers.

On the broad but dimly lit port gun deck of the HMS Swift Eagle, the air was thick with the mingled smells of sweat and blood.

The emergency lights flickered on and off, casting a swaying, monstrous shadow on the massive shell loading mechanism.

This is the muscle and skeleton of the ship, the place where thousands of sailors used their lives and sweat to drive this steel behemoth.

A group of Callisti sailors from the ship "Eastern," led by a Gothic fleet sergeant, are frantically trying to get a dormant macrogun assembly back into operation.

These sailors who came to provide support spoke a Low Gothic dialect that was almost incomprehensible to the natives of the Gothic Sector.

"Turn off that pressure valve, quick!" the sergeant shouted, pointing to a complex control panel covered with pipes.

A young Callisi sailor paused for a moment, then replied in his thick accent, "Oui, chef?"

"What 'hello'? It's 'turn on'! Turn on that damn valve!"

The sergeant was so angry that his beard trembled.

To the Goths, who were used to the rough pronunciation of their native language, the sound of "oui" was like a soft, weak murmur, like a frog croaking in the sewers of their nest.

The language barrier, like an invisible crack in the hull, hindered cooperation between the two sides.

However, despite the misunderstandings and difficulties that followed, they were, after all, seasoned sailors who had spent most of their lives on cold ships.

With the temporary replenishment strategy of "Gothic fleet crew as the core and Calicus fleet crew as the auxiliary", the rudiments of cooperation began to emerge.

Veteran sailors of the Gothic Fleet, who were more familiar with the operation of the ship, naturally took on the role of initiators and commanders.

When they couldn't speak the language, they began to use the most primitive and effective means of communication.

A Gothic gunner gave up shouting and grabbed a Callisi sailor by the shoulder, shoving him toward a huge lever. He then pulled down with all his might while yelling "Ho-hey!"

The Callisti sailor instantly understood. He grinned, revealing his teeth stained yellow by the inferior nutritional paste, and responded with the same shout, working together with his two companions to forcefully press down the heavy lever.

With a loud bang, the massive shell was sent into the loading track.

On the other side, a Gothic engineer pointed to a row of dashboard lights flashing red warning lights and gestured to several of his Calithis colleagues how to turn them on and off.

The Calithis crew understood immediately and began operating with practiced ease.

Although the equipment on their motherships differed in appearance, their engineering principles and operating logic were almost identical—this is what makes STC so great.

As long-serving sailors, the shipboard operations are all very similar under the STC template—what they learned on the 'Eastern' will also be useful on the 'Swift Eagle'.

The entire artillery crew's operation was filled with a chaotic beauty of "getting by."

Commands were given by shouting, communication by gestures, and cooperation relied on the muscle memory and instinctive intuition developed among sailors over the years.

But this seemingly crude system miraculously started working.

With a belated roar, the long-silent cannon finally spewed forth destructive flames once more.

The Swift Eagle, a warship that had narrowly escaped death, rejoined the battle in a battered but tenacious manner.

Two Imperial warships, one on the left and one on the right, joined the Space Wolves in their encirclement of the trapped Black Ark.

They formed a perfect crossfire network with Astartes warships such as the "Frostfang," unleashing devastating firepower upon the alien hull.

The hunt for the Black Ark has begun.

(End of this chapter)