Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 894, page 08.893: 'The Chaotic Movements of the Eye of Fear'

As the last Imperial Navy sailor assisting in the retreat was swiftly felled by a shadowy figure, the giant clad in Terminator armor—his terracotta shell stained not only with the blood of his enemies but also with his own—finally collapsed to his knees amidst the mournful cries of metal and flesh.

His power gauntlets slammed into the alien deck, which seemed to be made of solidified nightmares, producing a dull thud.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

A piercing scream, not from the material universe, broke the silence.

At the heart of the Dark Eldar ship, an overloaded energy component triggered a catastrophic explosion.

This enormous black ark, a colossal void whale eight kilometers long, first burst forth with a silent yet dazzling flash of light in the frigid vacuum.

Immediately afterwards, a cluster of ion light that tore through reality merged with the raging fusion reaction core. Its energy was not a simple physical explosion, but rather an unstable psionic energy mixed with the countless soul screams from the ship's "pain engine".

This destructive force intertwined and eventually formed a brief warp rift. The massive shockwave tore the entire behemoth apart from the inside, turning it into a pool of shimmering psionic embers that drifted slowly through the sea of ​​stars.

Neither the elite of the Space Wolves nor the Imperial Navy fleet could wipe out the black ark filled with alien warriors and twisted servants in a short time.

Its speed and stealth capabilities make it a deadly and elusive threat.

Therefore, the only option was to fight to the death: the Terminator team, with the support of the Imperial Navy's civilian troops covering the rear, fought a bloody battle, broke into the ship's engine room, installed and activated the miniature nuclear bomb.

The evacuation window for other boarding troops is 30 minutes.

Destruction will come in 30 minutes.

The enemy, of course, knew the empire's intentions.

The surviving members of the Dark Eldar fought for survival, unleashing their final frenzy.

They fought back at all costs, surging into the engine compartment like a tidal wave, every pale face twisted with despair and the pleasure of slaughter.

Thus, the 30 minutes allotted for the boarding troops to retreat became a hellish moment for the Terminator and the demolition team to hold out for the countdown to the nuclear bomb's detonation.

In those blasphemous chambers made of living sculptures, the Terminators of the Space Wolves slaughtered their way through the carnage, the alien limbs and entrails covering the eerily smooth floor.

However, the enemy was countless, and they paid a heavy price for it.

The surviving soldiers stood back to back, their breathing hoarse and labored through their helmet-mounted communications.

Fortunately, the Imperial Navy's boarding party of reinforcements arrived in time.

Amidst a hail of bullets, they built a defensive line with their own flesh and blood, protecting a Martian tech priest as he completed the final prayer and setup of the miniature nuclear bomb.

Mission accomplished, most of the troops were ordered to retreat, leaving only a suicide squad of ordinary people and a few remaining Terminators to hold the last stronghold.

After suffering heavy casualties, the aliens detonated the miniature fusion nuclear bomb the moment they touched it.

The pure flames of nuclear fusion collided violently with the twisted subspace energy from the ship's painful engines, ultimately unleashing a terrifying energy powerful enough to obliterate everything, blasting the entire Black Ark into fragments scattered across the starry sky.

For the Empire of Mankind, this sacrifice cost them a Black Ark that was almost impossible to produce, and every one destroyed reduced the number of Arks available. The value of this sacrifice was immeasurable, and every Terminator who boarded the ship and every Imperial Navy sailor who stayed behind to cover the retreat deserves to be remembered.
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Anchorage area of ​​Task Force RX-0371 ahead of Mandeville point.

The void remained as still as ever, as if the earth-shattering destruction that had just occurred had never happened.

The massive silhouettes of the merchant ships lay silently in the nebula's dim light, like resting behemoths.

The escorting "Furious" class interceptor formation, like vigilant sheepdogs, traced elegant yet deadly patrol paths around the fleet's perimeter.

At the heart of the fleet, Space Marines and Imperial Navy escort ships lowered their cannons, their formidable weaponry silently guarding every inch of the surrounding space.

The atmosphere on the bridge of the high-speed battleship "Eastern" was solemn and dignified.

The bridge was filled with the deep hum of the mechanical spirits, the soft creaking of the servo skulls, and the faint scent of machine oil and incense in the purified, recirculated air. Beyond the enormous armored glass windows lay the vast, boundless universe.

Three individuals with vastly different physiques and temperaments formed the core of power on the bridge at this moment.

Ragnar Blackmane, the wolf lord of Dalian, is a man whose physique is exceptionally robust even among the Astartes.

He didn't sit still, but paced anxiously. Every movement of the power armor and every exertion of the servo motor felt particularly heavy in the current environment.

His hand never left the hilt of the Frostfang sword at his waist, as if he were ready to face the next battle at any moment.

Rear Admiral Brues of the Calicus fleet stood in stark contrast to him.

He stood ramrod straight, his impeccably clean naval officer uniform perfectly embodying the proud discipline and order of the Imperial Navy for millennia.

His sharp eyes scanned back and forth between Ragnar and the convoy commander, pondering the arrangements for the post-war meeting.

Captain Horatio, the commander of the escort fleet, served as a quiet anchor between the two.

He stood before the enormous holographic star map, his expression focused, seemingly unaffected by the tense atmosphere on the bridge.

His calm demeanor revealed a composure and insight beyond his years.

"The situation on the Whirlwind Line is critical." Ragnar's voice, like the cracking of Fenris's glaciers, was filled with impatience. "The Blackmane Squadron must get to the front lines as soon as possible. This damned warp surge has kept us lost for far too long and wasted far too much time!"

"Do you understand the specific battle situation?" Horatio asked calmly without turning around, his gaze still fixed on the star map.

"To be precise, we all know now."

Major General Bruyès raised his hand and swiped on the control panel, and the holographic star map changed accordingly.

A massive star sector map unfolded before the three, with countless tactical icons flashing an ominous red light.

"This is a Star-language encrypted briefing just sent from Sintira, the capital of the Calesis Sector. I think your bridge should have received it as well, Captain."

Through that three-dimensional star map, Horatio could clearly see that the entire defensive system of the Whirlwind route had been thoroughly penetrated, forming a bloody, jagged pattern.

In the western part of the star map, the blue dots representing the Empire's power were almost completely shattered by the rough red markings representing the Greenskins.

A massive green Waaagh was flung out from that warp surge, sweeping across the entire subsector like a plague.

In the southwest, the purple symbols representing the rebellious Duchy of Severus are intertwined with the eerie black runes representing the Dark Eldar.

Taking advantage of the Greenskins disrupting the Empire's front lines, they are like greedy jackals, gradually devouring the Empire's planet.

Thanks to the highly mobile lightning tactics guided by the Dark Eldar, several planetary worlds have already fallen completely, and more than ten others are mired in a three-way war.

In addition, some planets under less control have experienced rebellions, ranging from "popular" uprisings to mutinies by the Imperial army. Separatist forces have seized the opportunity to rise, and whether they choose independence, become bandits, or even join forces with Chaos, none of these are good news.

These despicable traitors seized the opportunity to incite rebellion, usurp power, and indiscriminately attack or resist the forces of the Greenskins, the Severus rebels, the Dark Eldar, and even the Empire.

Today, the entire Whirlwind route has become a boiling pot of chaos, with the tentacles of war and disorder even threatening to reach Sintira, the capital of the Calithis sector.

"Fifty percent of the Calissis fleet is currently guarding the northern defense zone of the Eye of Terror."

Major General Bruys's finger swept across the star map, bringing up another set of images. "As the fortress fleet, we must maintain the blockade of the Gulf of Tonkin. This warp fluctuation is extraordinary; the activity of the Eye of Terror has reached its highest level on record."

Just recently, Kadia's forward outposts detected signs of a large-scale Chaos fleet gathering.

"What are the movements of the Chaos Fleet?" Horatio finally turned around, his eyes sharp as knives.

(End of this chapter)