The void burned with ruinous light.
Kael had seen horror before—he had walked the vaults of Nostramo, seen men hang themselves with the entrails of others to avoid what waited in the dark—but what unfolded around Terra was not horror. It was corruption made art. The void itself screamed under the weight of what the traitor fleets had become.
The traitor armada filled the starless gulf like an infection spreading through a wound. Where once ships of noble design had sailed under the banners of the Legiones Astartes, now abominations drifted, warped by the gods of madness.
Kael stood on the Watcher Above's command dais, the light from the tactical hololith casting long shadows across his black armor. His helm was off, revealing his pallid face and eyes like twin abysses. Every now and then, the darkness beneath his boots rippled, reacting to the wrongness pressing in from beyond.
"Contacts multiplying," Joras said grimly, his one hand flying over the controls. "Three fleets converging. Emperor's Children, Death Guard, and… World Eaters. No sign of coordination—they're just… killing."
Kael's gaze hardened. "That is their coordination."
Outside the viewport, the first of the Emperor's Children vessels glided into range. What had once been the Glorious Choir, a strike cruiser of elegant design, now writhed with life.
Its hull pulsed like a heartbeat, veins of violet and gold flesh running through metal. From its vox arrays came a sound that was not communication but music—discordant, beautiful, and obscene.
Each note was agony made melody.
Kael felt it press at the edges of his mind, trying to slip through cracks that weren't there. He'd trained his will on Terra's prisons, in the psychic dark of Malcador's tests. His mind was iron, unyielding—but even iron bent under the right pressure.
He clenched his gauntlets, whispering into the void between thoughts: Not today.
Malchion's growl cut through the hum. "Their vox are broadcasting. They're transmitting pain."
Kael's tone was cold and precise. "Then silence their choir."
The Watcher Above's main batteries thundered. Lances of cerulean light tore into the Glorious Choir's flank. The vessel's living hull shrieked—a sound no machine should have been able to make—as molten ichor bled from the wounds.
The Emperor's Children didn't retreat; they sang louder. Their return fire burst against Kael's shields, washing the void in ultraviolet light.
"Bring us closer," Kael ordered.
"Closer?" Malchion said, incredulous. "Captain, that thing is alive."
Kael's black eyes gleamed. "Then it can die."
The Watcher Above plunged into the fray, shadow engines leaving only rippling distortion behind. Boarding pods screamed through the void, embedding themselves into the corrupted hull.
Kael and his strike team materialized within the belly of a nightmare.
The corridors pulsed like muscle tissue. Veins of glistening purple flesh pulsed beneath the metal deck. The air was thick with the scent of blood and perfume, rot and pleasure, life and death intertwined. Screams echoed from every direction—some human, some not.
An Emperor's Children marine turned the corner ahead, armor a perverse masterpiece of gold and ivory. His faceplate had been removed to make room for a chorus of new mouths that sang even as he fired. Bolter shells streaked down the hall, detonating against Kael's aegis field.
Kael raised Veilrender. "Sing for your god."
He moved forward, blade flashing. The marine's song ended mid-verse as Kael's sword cleaved through his torso, bisecting the creature in a shower of blood and filth.
The shadows around Kael thickened, reacting to his intent, extending into tendrils that struck out, piercing lesser creatures that skittered through the walls—mutant attendants, shrieking cherub-things with faces of porcelain and meat.
Behind him, Malchion fired controlled bursts. Each round tore through warped ceramite and shrieking flesh. The sound of bolters mixed with music until one became indistinguishable from the other.
"Captain," Joras voxed from the boarding teams below, "they've fused themselves to their own reactor controls. There's no command structure, just… excess."
"Then cut them loose," Kael replied.
Minutes later, the ship exploded—beautiful and obscene, a blossom of violet flame that lit the void. The Watcher Above was already gone, phasing into the shadow fold between light and reflection.
"Next target," Kael said flatly.
Malchion's voice came low. "Death Guard cruiser inbound. Pestilent Mirth."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Bring us to engagement range."
The Death Guard ship was not metal—it was rot. It crawled through space like a carcass that refused to die. Clouds of green miasma trailed from its vents, spores spreading across the void. Its hull was covered in blisters that swelled and burst, releasing bile and plague flies the size of servitors.
The vox lit with static, then a wet, phlegm-filled laugh.
"Night's Child," it rasped. "You come to dance with death? How long since you've breathed the air of decay, brother?"
Kael recognized the voice—or what it had once been. Captain Thelion of the XIV Legion. A man who had once debated morality with Kael over cups of synth-tea on Luna.
Now he spoke through lungs filled with disease.
Kael's reply was ice. "You traded loyalty for rot, Thelion. You're not my brother."
"Not yet," came the chuckle. "But you'll see. Nurgle loves all his sons. He will love you too."
The Death Guard fleet opened fire. Their weapons didn't just burn—they corrupted. Each hit smeared contagion across the shields, digital rot spreading through data-spirits, gnawing at the machine code. The Watcher Above groaned in pain.
Kael closed his eyes. He felt the infection crawling through his ship like maggots in a wound. His link with the Watcher Above deepened—darkness surged through the systems, consuming the corruption like fire devouring mold. The ship screamed, but the rot died.
"Shadow purge complete," Joras reported. "We're clean."
Kael's lips curved slightly. "Now let's return the favor."
The Watcher Above fired a concentrated barrage into the Pestilent Mirth's ventral hull. The shells punched through diseased armor, releasing geysers of toxic sludge and vaporized bone. The entire ship convulsed. Kael saw the silhouette of Thelion in the command blister, laughing as his body burst open with a thousand mouths.
Kael turned away before the explosion. "Burn it."
The Death Guard vessel tore apart in silence, the green mist evaporating into nothing.
Malchion's voice cut in. "New contact—World Eaters. Multiple boarding signatures. They're charging."
"Let them."
The Watcher Above's decks trembled as the impact alarms blared. Boarding pods tore through the hull, disgorging red-armored berserkers whose chainaxes roared in mindless hunger. The air filled with the sound of metal teeth grinding on ceramite and the endless howling of Khorne's children.
Kael met them head-on.
He struck like a shadow given form—silent, merciless, precise. Veilrender sang through the air, every stroke severing limbs and heads. The World Eaters fought like rabid beasts, their eyes burning red, saliva bubbling between broken vox-grills.
One lunged, roaring "BLOOD FOR—" before Kael's blade took his jaw and spine in a single motion.
"I know," Kael said quietly. "Always blood."
The deck became a slaughterhouse. The Silent Company fought with cold discipline, blades cutting through rage. The World Eaters' strength was overwhelming, but their madness left them predictable. Kael saw five seconds ahead—every strike, every scream, every heartbeat—and turned them into choreography.
When it ended, the floor was slick with blood and oil. Not a single World Eater remained standing.
Malchion exhaled, helm splattered with crimson. "Three Legions in one day. The galaxy's gone mad."
Kael looked through the viewport at the burning fleets, the writhing forms of ships that no longer remembered they were human creations. "Madness isn't new," he said. "It just learned how to dress itself."
"More fleets incoming," Joras warned. "Looks like the Word Bearers and Iron Warriors."
Kael's hand tightened on his sword. "Then let's greet the builders and the preachers."
He turned toward his men, his voice calm amidst the storm. "We hold this corridor. No retreat. No mercy. If the dark gods want Terra—they'll choke on the night first."
The Watcher Above pivoted into the heart of the battle, her engines blazing blue-white.
Around them, the traitor Legions came like an apocalypse made flesh.
But Kael Varan and his Silent Company—born in shadow, tempered by loyalty—did not break.
They became the shadow the warp could not swallow.
And as the first shells of the next wave struck, Kael whispered into the storm:
"Come then, gods. Let's see how well you bleed."