High above Terra's orbit.
A seemingly ordinary vessel floated quietly in the void, docked harmlessly among countless other ships. It looked no different from the vast swarm of transport vessels gathered from various star systems. It was a Charter Fleet transport ship, a model ubiquitous within the Imperium.
The so-called Charter Fleets consisted of pure transport vessels built with extremely low costs; they weren't even equipped with Warp engines. They moved sluggishly through realspace using conventional plasma engines, trading time for safety. In this clumsy but reliable manner, they maintained the lifeline of the Imperium's vast territories.
This was precisely what provided Vashtorr with the space to operate. After all, who would guard against a ship that lacked even void shields or a Warp drive? It was a classic case of hiding in plain sight.
Vashtorr stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze piercing through the viewport toward the golden planet rotating silently in the void.
Terra. The cradle of humanity, the center of the Imperium, and the seat of the Emperor's Throne.
"Why do I have a sense of foreboding?" he murmured.
For a sub-god of the Warp like the Arkifane, manifesting his true essence in the material universe was an extremely difficult feat. To craft this vessel-body capable of moving freely, Vashtorr had consumed an unimaginable amount of soul-stock harvested over ten thousand years. While it couldn't be sustained for long, it was enough for this operation. The power contained within this shell was sufficient to turn any existence that dared block him into ash.
"At this stage, you aren't planning to back out, are you?" Hearing these words, the Warsmith standing beside him—Dantioch—gave him a faint, sideways glance.
Vashtorr did not care about the hint of offense in the other's tone. Over this period, he had grown accustomed to the Iron Warrior's mannerisms. To prove his commitment to this "bridge-burning" mission, the Warsmith had even handed over his warband's only Battle Barge as a deposit for their cooperation. That was the lifeblood of any Chaos warband, demonstrating his sincerity.
Naturally, while entering the Sol System, they had encountered direct inspections from Inquisition agents. The remains of those inspectors were currently skewered upon the iron spikes on Dantioch's back. Their hollow heads hung there quietly, like silent torches.
Vashtorr had to admit that the Warsmith's decisiveness in killing was surprising even to him. This ruthlessness was very much to his liking.
Dantioch cared even less. He had not hesitated for a second when he struck. Setting aside the fact that Lord Adam possessed the power of resurrection, Dantioch—who could now be considered a Warp daemon under the Emperor's banner to some extent—could ensure that the souls of the loyal Imperial soldiers he killed would return to the Throne, allowing for a future chance at revival.
Even in the worst-case scenario where resurrection was impossible, he would have acted without hesitation. For Lord Adam to achieve ascension and for the Imperium to be revitalized, Dantioch believed such sacrifices were worthwhile. These were noble sacrifices.
As for the qualms of conscience? What a joke. In this universe, discussing such things was far too much of a luxury.
"Of course that's impossible," Vashtorr withdrew his thoughts, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.
He had come all this way. How could he return empty-handed? Turning back was out of the question. He shifted his gaze toward the other side of the viewport.
—The Phalanx.
The behemoth floated quietly in the void, defying the so-called common sense of the Imperium. Anyone who witnessed this treasure passed down from the Dark Age of Technology would utter a heartfelt gasp of wonder. To call it a ship or a fortress was inadequate; describing it as a "colossal mountain floating in space" was more fitting.
Its scale was so vast that it would leave the Imperium's greatest poets at a loss for words. Upon that massive megastructure, every mounted battery was indescribably grand, far surpassing the main cannons of any Imperial battleship. Layered upon the surface were decorations accumulated over ten thousand years—grand Imperial bas-reliefs, religious murals praising the Emperor, and monuments carved by countless artists who had exhausted their life's blood. These layered works of art were like an honorary battle-cloak draped over the giant, adding a sense of sanctity to its majesty.
"It truly is beautiful, isn't it?" Even as the god of machines born from the War in Heaven, Vashtorr couldn't help but sigh in admiration. From his perspective, this was indeed a masterpiece.
"Heh, I don't see it that way," Dantioch sneered. "To me, this merely reflects the inferior aesthetics of those ten-thousand-year-old turtles, the Imperial Fists. It was only during the Siege of Terra ten millennia ago that Rogal Dorn, believing himself no match for our Lord Perturabo, hid this star fortress in Saturn's orbit. Otherwise, it would have long been one of the Iron Warriors' trophies."
A fanatical light flashed in his eyes. "And now, we shall end this error." The Warsmith turned to Vashtorr, his voice carrying the characteristic persistence of the Iron Warriors. "If I were you, I would suggest that after you take this ship, you consider painting it in yellow and black. Believe me, Lord Perturabo would be very pleased."
Speechless. Typical Iron Warrior thinking. Vashtorr shook his head. The moment the topic of humiliating the Imperial Fists came up, this fellow became inexhaustibly talkative.
Just then, a communication transmission entered the bridge.
"This is Imperial Regent Roboute Guilliman. To all Imperial forces in the Sol System—Chaos has invaded our home. This is not a drill. We must take up arms and defend our home. I announce that, according to the authorization procedures of the High Lords of Terra, I shall command all Imperial military forces within the Sol System to resist the invasion. All units, enter maximum combat readiness immediately. For the Emperor!"
It was a vox-transmission broadcast directly to the entire Sol System. Vashtorr and Dantioch exchanged a look.
The time had come. The so-called Imperial Regent's attention was now entirely consumed by the daemon invasion on the surface. All Imperial fleets would be mobilized, and all defensive forces would be sent to the most critical areas.
Meanwhile, their "harmless" Charter transport would strike a blow the Imperium never expected.
In this battle, the advantage is mine!
"Then, let us begin." A meaningful smile appeared on Vashtorr's lips. He could wait no longer!