Vrrrooom—BOOM!!
A deafening, glass-shattering roar erupted throughout the Kasr Kraf Fortress Complex, from the lowest bunker to the highest spire. It was as if a volcano had exploded, the ground itself groaning, the planet trembling beneath its own ruin. The shockwaves rippled through Cadia, from its iron crust to its Chaos-tainted skies.
The earth shook like a dying world.
With the sudden shutdown of the colossal blackstone obelisk array that had long stabilized Cadia, the planet's suppression effect upon the Warp began rapidly collapsing.
Before the eyes of mortals and soldiers alike, shapes began to form—grotesque, translucent, humanoid entities, their faces twisted and molten red, seeping through the thinning veil of reality.
Jellyfish-like tendrils of shimmering, wet translucence flickered in and out of existence among the stars—gliding, writhing, and vanishing in pixelated bursts of distortion, only to reappear again, closer each time.
The Warp's spawn had breached reality. The demons were dancing.
With the Chaos onslaught and the profane rituals of the traitor Astartes and cultists already flooding the Cadia System with waves of psychic corruption, the fortress world had long since resembled a den of nightmares. Now, it had become a domain of madness—a hellscape born anew.
From the edges of the Eye of Terror, every Imperial citizen within the so-called Cadian Gate could see it—if they were unfortunate enough to look skyward from atop their hive cities, peering through the toxic industrial clouds.
They would behold a vision that would shatter the soul of any loyal Imperial subject.
A vast, black ocean of raw psychic energy was expanding across the heavens, dark and beautiful, thrumming with intoxicating power.
That monstrous eye—like a malignant gemstone embedded within the northwest reaches of the Astronomican's domain—now blazed with a light of terror unseen since the dawn of the Imperium.
Cadia.
That eternal bastion, that light unextinguished, that fortress that had stood for tens of thousands of years guarding the Empire's northwestern frontier—was dying.
The stars blurred. The void itself seemed pixelated—an astronomical mosaic of ruin.
Because of Cadia's existence, a narrow inward curve within the Eye of Terror had long served as a stable warp corridor for Imperial fleets. But now, that corridor was collapsing. The tides of unreality surged like colossal tendrils, writhing, splitting, merging—impossible to describe, unholy to witness.
It was… mesmerizing.
As the boundaries between Cadia and the Warp, between the real and the unreal, dissolved, torrents of raw energy from the realm of destruction poured forth. The demonic entities spilling through the rifts cackled with glee, their laughter grating and hateful.
Millions of twisted cultists screamed in ecstasy. Even as the Cadian defense lines carved through their pale necks with lasfire and bayonet, they raised their hands, shouting their cracked voices hoarse in praise of their so-called True Gods.
To die upon this desecrated ground—this holy soil of damnation—was, to them, the highest honor.
Plaguebearers, Beasts of Nurgle, Rot Flies, Daemons of Slaanesh, Fiends of Fear—all shrieked as they drew in the swollen, chaotic energy of the Warp, their cries forming a symphony of horror.
The battered Chaos Space Marines, bloodied but unbroken, took the opportunity to bellow praises to their dark patrons, mocking their loyalist kin who still fought in the Emperor's name.
They believed the battle already won.
Once the power of the Dark Gods descended, they thought, everything would be made right again.
But beneath the blackened soil, the glowing purple-red lines spreading outward were… wrong.
Different.
Different from the usual corruption of the Eye of Terror.
"Grrk—kaaa… hrgh… blrgh…?"
A few Plague Daemons—their bloated, pus-leaking bellies dragging against the ash—stepped curiously onto the luminous lines, expecting to feel the comfort of the Garden of Nurgle, the rot and bile they so adored.
"Gah?"
Their delight froze.
One of the smaller Nurglings, gleeful at first, lifted its stubby, green fingers—now glowing with faint violet spots where it had touched the radiant surface. Its massive eyes widened in confusion.
Before it could react, the infection of light spread.
Its flesh blackened, shriveled, and disintegrated into dust—as though sunlight itself had reduced it to ash.
"WAAAHHHHH!!"
Screams of agony followed, shrill and terrible, echoing across the battlefield. Within mere heartbeats, the raucous clamor of demons and cultists alike fell silent.
Beneath their feet, the ground blazed like a rising sun. Layers upon layers of intricate Honkai corruption sigils flared outward—roaring ceaselessly, luminous pillars spearing into the clouds, erasing every trace of Chaos ritual upon the planet. It was divine wrath incarnate—obliteration made manifest.
If one gazed from low orbit, the ashen, smoke-choked skies of Cadia would suddenly ignite in brilliance. Beneath the veil of darkness, buried deep within the planet's crust for thousands of meters, the colossal network of blackstone megastructures began to resonate.
It was as though a miniature sun had been born below, burning with the fury of nuclear fusion.
Blinding light devoured the heavens. Endless radiance surged forth, sweeping away all before it with ruthless finality.
It mattered not whether one was a cultist, a Chaos Space Marine, or a daemon of the Warp—no corporeal or ethereal being could endure such an assault, a strike that tore directly through reality itself, annihilating from the Imaginary Dimension downward.
Raging Honkai Energy particles surged through the rifts of space-time, rewriting the local physical laws of the material universe.
Then—Vwooom!Kzzzzrrt!—
Within Cadia's atmosphere, the howling Warp daemons were engulfed by that radiant fusion light. Like candles in a storm, they became fuel for the blaze—burning away into nothing.
Even before they could activate their return teleportation beams, countless Chaos Space Marines landing on Cadia's surface were struck by the light. Regardless of rank or favor, their corrupted armor cracked like fragile shells. The daemon souls bound within, the mutated flesh, all were vaporized—dissolved into drifting red mist.
Only twisted fragments of ancient ceramite and blackened armor remained.
Abaddon the Despoiler felt the chill of dread.
Just moments before, he had decided to personally lead the Bringers of Despair, his Terminator elite, to the front lines. He had reached the teleportarium chambers—then the anomaly erupted.
Dozens of warbands, entire companies of the Black Legion, tens of millions of the Lost and the Damned offered as sacrifices—all gone.
The Dark Mechanicum's Titan detachments from the Legio Mortis, Legio Vulcanum II, and Legio Death's Head, obliterated.
Entire cadres of sorcerers and Dark Apostles, erased in an instant.
A total massacre.
He didn't even need to consult the tactical holomap—just standing by the viewing ports aboard the Vengeful Spirit, he could see the fortress world below burning like a star.
"Warmaster, Lord Erebus of the Word Bearers has transmitted a message," a mortal crewman stammered, bowing low. "He reports that his mission is complete and that he and his forces are withdrawing…"
"…"
Silence. None among the Chaos Lords answered—but their glares spoke volumes.
Damn the Word Bearers. Cowardly sorcerers and ritual-chanting worms! Always eager to whisper blasphemies and leech off others' victories, yet the first to flee when true battle begins.
Even among the Khorne-aligned warbands—berserkers who prided themselves on blood and battle—few now looked confident.
They were brutal, not stupid.
Retreat.
Even Abaddon's expression darkened. His heart raged, his veins burned—but he restrained himself. He was the Warmaster of Chaos. He could not lose. He could only triumph.
In the pit of Chaos—where betrayal was virtue, mercy weakness, and ambition the only law—authority was measured by strength alone. Even the slightest hesitation could invite rebellion.
Abaddon knew his hounds too well. Even the veteran sons of Horus, the so-called core of the Black Legion, had long been steeped in this cesspool of treachery. Did anyone truly think they wouldn't someday follow their father's path—by killing their master?
For the briefest instant—less than a heartbeat—Abaddon felt nostalgia. He remembered the Luna Wolves, the old days of the Sons of Horus, when a Legion stood united by honor, by the glory of their Primarch, by order and purpose.
Now it was all filth and decay.
But the feeling passed—faster than a breath. His heart hardened once more.
Horus was a failure.
He would not repeat that mistake.
"…Have we lost?"
Suddenly, Abaddon's expression shifted into a smile. The talons of Horus' Claw gleamed with a metallic hiss as he extended his empty right hand. A flicker of light—then a massive tactical projection of the Cadia System's warzone materialized above the command dais.
The gathered Chaos Lords looked at him in confusion.
Abaddon threw back his head and laughed.
"I laugh at Ursakar E. Creed's lack of cunning—and Logan Grimnar's lack of foresight. If I were commanding this war, I would have played this card at the moment their fortress was truly lost. Had they done so, even if we survived, the cost would have been catastrophic."
He sneered. "But no—they hesitate, they flinch, they squander their timing. To reveal their final card now? Pitiful. It achieves nothing but mockery. Decaen and his ilk cannot hold their lines, nor can they truly harm us. Hah! The Corpse-Emperor's lackeys grow more inept by the day."
Then, that cruel grin deepened.
"In that case… since they've revealed their trump card, shall we not answer in kind?" His eyes burned red, his voice venomous. "Order the fleet to withdraw from Cadia's orbit. The Eternal Will—Blackstone Fortress—will overload its reactor and ram the planet!"
If he could not have Cadia, then no one would.
The decision was made. The madness in his voice left no doubt.
A few Chaos Lords muttered curses under their breath—reckless, ruinous, wasteful—but none dared to speak openly.
"Execute the order!"
The Warmaster's command echoed through the deck. His face remained cold, confident, unyielding before his treacherous subordinates, as if this destruction were part of a grander plan—a victory deferred, not denied.
Then came a shout from one of the Noise Marine Lords of Slaanesh, his mutated voice echoing through vox-speakers grafted into his throat. His pallid, patchwork skin reflected the crimson light outside the viewport.
"Warmaster! What in the Warp is that? What trickery is the old meatbag on the surface conjuring?"
Abaddon turned, irritation flashing across his features.
But then he froze.
The sight before him made even the Despoiler's vast pupils contract to razor-thin slits.
"Bridge—warp jump! Now! GET US OUT—"
Vrrrmmm—!
Too late.
The purple-red energy lines spreading across Cadia's crust surged like wildfire. Using the immense blackstone network buried beneath the planet as a conduit, unfathomable torrents of Honkai particles awakened. As though responding to a signal, the entire planetary lattice erupted in radiant fury.
On the planet's northern hemisphere—directly facing the Chaos fleet in low orbit—a titanic rhombic cross of light carved itself across the surface, burning with divine geometry.
An oppressive stillness fell, heavy and alien—an annihilating presence utterly unlike the Warp.
Even the daemons that had moments ago poured from the Eye of Terror—those wretched things that had danced in madness under the collapsing obelisk network—now froze. Fear, raw and instinctual, took them.
Then they fled. Every last one of them, scrambling, dissolving back into the shadows like vermin from flame.
The expanding Eye of Terror itself seemed to hesitate, as though time had stopped. The rift wavered.
And then—it began to tear open.
Only the most powerful entities could perceive through that storm—their consciousness piercing both realspace and unreality. What they saw was beyond comprehension: an overwhelming, divine will, blazing through the Warp, scourging its horrors, standing tall against the Four Powers themselves.
A fifth Chaos God?
A being whose power burned brighter than a thousand simultaneous supernovae—rampaging across the Warp, erasing lesser daemons and challenging the four-dimensional tyrants in open combat.
In that instant, across countless worlds—within the Webway, the Dark Eldar realms, the newly arisen Ynnari, the fleets of the Adeptus Mechanicus en route to Cadia, the Astartes reinforcements, even the Adepta Sororitas breaking through the Warp—every psychic, every prophet, every machine-seer felt it.
The Necron Overlords, in their tomb worlds, saw it reflected in the alignments of their astro-chronometric augurs.
It was… impossible.
Then—
Cadia ignited.
The entire planet burst with blinding radiance, tearing the void apart. Space itself rippled like water, and the very fabric of the galaxy shimmered around the Eye of Terror. The rift, poised to engulf the system, wavered as waves of pure light expanded outward, reshaping time and space in concentric ripples of annihilation.
At the center of the crimson-gold rhombic cross, a flash of silver light erupted—piercing through the void with unstoppable might. The entire Cadia System shuddered as the fabric of space-time itself fractured and tore apart.
Crack-crack-crack—!
From the rift burst forth a colossal warship, its metallic prow gleaming with an unmatched sheen of deep-gold alloy. The gaping void parted before its advance, revealing a massive steel visage—a skull-shaped emblem shining coldly beneath the starlight.
Iron Warriors?
Abaddon could only mutter the words in disbelief.
But he had no time to think.
A second behemoth emerged—its hull pale as bone, marked by a vast, vertical crimson pupil emblazoned upon its side. The symbol alone froze the blood in Abaddon's veins.
For the first time in millennia, the Warmaster of Chaos trembled.
"This is impossible—!!"
For upon that warship's banners was emblazoned the sigil of black and white—the Black Wolf devouring the Moon.
The Luna Wolves.
...
Meanwhile, at Kasr Kraf Fortress—
"Trazyn," Selene's voice was calm, her tone edged with amusement. "I look forward to your next move."
Standing behind the motionless Necron Overlord, Selene's commandeered living-metal body gleamed faintly under the cold light. "As you can see, I can grant your kind flesh once more. But this body…" she tilted her head, her voice soft but firm, "forgive me, I do not share my collectibles."
She leaned closer, her metallic form pressing lightly against Trazyn's. "I'll be watching you."
As her words faded, the red glow in her eyes dissipated. A stream of violet-red luminescence flowed from her chest, slipping into Trazyn's inert form. This time, Selene did not seize control—she merely left her mark.
"Blessing or curse…" Trazyn murmured bitterly, his voice hollow with disbelief. "I've spent my eternity capturing legends—and now, I've been captured myself."
The mighty collector, the eternal archaeologist, outwitted and overtaken.
He glanced toward the body Selene had left behind—the hybrid frame of half-metal and half-unknown organic material, now suspended in stillness, eerily beautiful in its half-human femininity.
Such a treasure—lost.
By every instinct, he should have taken it—displayed it within the Prism Gallery of Solemnace, as the crown of his museum collection.
But he could not.
Not now.
"What… must I do?" he finally asked, the ache of denial and curiosity burning in his living-metal heart. The echoes of Selene's power still rippled through his consciousness.
Before him, a shadow loomed—vast and towering, a colossus draped in sanctified armor. The sigil upon his ornate gold-chased armor burned with a symbol both alien and ancient.
Among interwoven olive-leaf etchings and filigree, the embossed numeral gleamed—
'II.'
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