So believe that war is rely the grand collision of armored divisions or the blood-slicked butchery of trench warfare. In reality, true war often begins in silence.
At first, no one noticed the anomalies—until they beca impossible to ignore. The ship's dical officers reported a sudden, unexplained wave of gastrointestinal failure among the lower-deck slaves, suspecting contaminated water. An officer vanished during a routine patrol, reportedly falling into an acid vat without leaving a trace. chanical failures and small-scale fires spiked by fifteen percent, leaving the damage control teams exhausted and overstretched.
However, there were small rcies. The slaves lining up at the reclamation vats were surprised to find that the daily protein blocks tasted slightly... better. Occasionally, one could even detect the savory hint of real at.
Correspondingly, the number of "missing persons" in the sump-levels continued to climb.
As the days bled into one another, an eerie, suffocating atmosphere settled over the lower decks. It wasn't just the Star Children and the Bronze Cog; the other clans slled the coming storm and ordered their mbers to steer clear of the rival territories.
Then, the shadow-skirmishes reached their breaking point. A deafening explosion rocked the entire vessel.
BOOM—
Enkidu's hand paused for a single heartbeat as he pressed the final round into the magazine.
His scout-carapace creaked softly as he moved, securing his sidearm to the thigh-lock. He checked the seat of his Charnabal Sabre one last ti before snapping his helt into place. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached from behind—Truen, carrying a massive boarding shield, ready to act as his shadow.
"Enkidu on station. Brothers, report status."
"Bellator in position."
"Sebastian in position."
"Varangis on overwatch."
"..."
Enkidu took a sharp breath and began a focused sprint toward the exit.
When the blast doors of the West Observation Gallery hissed open, Adelina was already there. She was surrounded by a makeshift command center of salvaged monitors, the screens flickering with grainy feeds from every corner of the lower decks.
"I'm not sure if bringing you here was the right move," Enkidu said, a trace of doubt coloring his voice. "Once the slaughter starts, I might not be able to pull you out."
"If I'm not with you, I'll die faster," Adelina replied without turning, her fingers dancing across the keys. Bulkhead gates dropped in sequence below, turning the lower deck into a sealed colosseum. "Officers have been dying for days. If this gets out of control, I'd rather be next to an Astartes than a target in an office."
Enkidu fell silent. He looked past the monitors and through the reinforced glass, watching the human tide beginning to surge below like ants on a disturbed mound.
Thick smoke billowed from the industrial vents. Hundreds of scrap-motorcycles tore through the haze, their mounted loud-hailers screaming the distorted dogmas of the Four-Ard Emperor. Stray rounds sparked against the bulkheads. The Bronze Cog was ready; they had established heavy cover at every major junction, mounting autoguns and light turrets. Whenever a Star Children hybrid got too close, they were shredded in a hail of lead.
Both sides had anticipated this. Following the at-shield waves, the heavy units erged. A massive Aberrant lumbered through the smoke, swinging a heavy industrial forge-hamr as if it were a twig. He swatted a motorcycle into the air; the rider was a sar of red before he hit the deck. Other Aberrants followed blindly, tearing through everything in their path.
Suddenly, several purple-black shadows flickered at the edges of the fray, rging into the darkness of the pipes. Enkidu's senses flared. He activated his psychic screen, tracking the ripples in the Warp.
He had seen them clearly—Purestrains. Creatures capable of carving through a Terminator as if it were parchnt. Despite his distaste for drawing from the Aethyr, he had no choice but to use it to track these monsters.
Fortunately, the "allied" clan had released their own Purestrains. The xenos clashed in the shadows of the ventilation shafts, a whirlwind of snapping maws and rending claws.
Yet, sothing felt wrong.
A sense of impending doom coiled in his gut. Enkidu frowned, his finger resting on the trigger of his bolter.
He felt as if eyes were boring into the back of his skull.
A ripple in the darkness flickered in the distance. Enkidu's hair stood on end. He threw himself to the side in a violent roll.
CRACK.
The glass shattered. A toxic needle tore through the air where his head had been a second before. Several silver hairs drifted to the floor, instantly dissolving in a hiss of corrosive venom.
Sniper!
Before Enkidu could locate the source, Truen roared. He drew his sidearm and hamred eight rounds into the rafters. With a dull thud, a hybrid sniper wearing a three-lens optic rig tumbled from the beams.
"Are you hit?" Truen asked, his voice shaking with adrenaline. He instinctively planted his shield in front of Enkidu. "Damnation, I didn't even see him."
"I'm fine."
Enkidu exhaled, staring at the needle. Dark red, the color of dried human blood. The scent was a virulent bio-toxin—far too sophisticated for a common slave. This was a specialized cult organism.
"Report: Sniper ambush at the West Gallery. Threat neutralized," he voxed to the squad. "Status check. Do you require support?"
"Sebastian, all clear."
"Varangis, seven targets attempted to bypass; eliminated."
"..."
"Vitaly here... need support. A group of fifty broke through Junction Three. Heading for the elevators. I'm in pursuit... they have a Magus. I'm hit."
The sounds of sporadic gunfire crackled over the link. Vitaly's voice was calm, but his breathing was ragged.
Enkidu t Truen's eyes.
"Adelina, lock the elevators."
"Understood. Lord Angel, now that the hidden threat here is gone, I'm secure. Go."
The officer sighed with relief and turned back to her screens.
"Look after yourself."
Enkidu didn't hesitate. He shattered the glass with his shoulder and dropped to the deck below. He hit the floor running, his dual sidearms barking as he tore through a group of hybrids. He was a silver whirlwind, carving a path toward the sound of the fighting.
Ten seconds later, he reached Vitaly.
By Astartes standards, Vitaly was functional. One arm hung limp at his side, his carapace armor twisted and crushed by a kinetic force. His other hand, however, was steady, still pulling the trigger with rhythmic precision.
"Status?"
Enkidu lunged, impaling a charging hybrid on his sabre and hurling the corpse away.
"Still got the arm. Mostly." Vitaly spat, exhaling a sharp breath as he fired.
"That's not 'fine.' I'll be picking bone shards out of your muscle in the d-bay later. When this is over, you're on light duty for two weeks. That's an order."
"What about Telax or Armand? I don't think they do 'light duty.'"
"I'll handle them. They'll agree."
A bolt of purple psychic lightning erupted from the crowd, arcing toward the two of them.
"Down!"
Truen's boarding shield spun through the air, intercepting the bolt. The tal blackened instantly. Truen charged into the press like a battering ram, reaching the hybrid Magus before the creature could cast again. He hamred his fist into the xenos' face until it was nothing but a red slurry.
A second later, the corridor was clear of living enemies.
"Junction Three secured," Enkidu voxed. Truen looked at his charred shield and finally allowed a grim smirk to surface.
"Guard duty successfully executed."
"Well done, Truen. Your reflexes are sharpening. Brothers, continue repor—"
ROARRRRRRRRRR!!!!!
A terrifying psychic ripple tore through the deck. Enkidu stumbled, his vision swimming as the sheer force of the Warp-blast hamred his mind.
Sothing was coming. Sothing massive.
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