The Thunderhawk was fueled with promethium, its power surging.
The Tech-Priest on the Sacred Will had also repaired the Thunderhawk turret on the keel.
Blood Angels gunners scanned the surrounding void, while two squadrons of fury fighters circled the crimson Thunderhawk, escorting it.
Horatio leaned back on the soft seat of the Thunderhawk.
He reshaped the briefcase in his hand.
"If I can melt and absorb a weapon, then reshape it, won't I be able to carry the Holy Blood Chainsword, Spotless Angels Scourge, with me anytime, anywhere?" he thought.
Although Horatio wasn't sure if digesting this ancient sword and then releasing it would displease its ancient Machine Spirit.
He decided to try it when he returned to the Unyielding.
Regardless of whether it was feasible, having this skill meant he could draw a weapon at any time, even in situations where weapons were not permitted.
Suddenly, Horatio felt a chill run down his spine as he thought deeper.
He recalled the strange phenomena he had just witnessed on the mutinous crew members.
They seemed to be controlled by someone, devoid of their own thoughts and ideas.
Horatio didn't know what wicked scheme was at play, but if he were to be controlled as well...
Wouldn't he be able to pull out a gun on the spot and shoot all the high-ranking Imperial officials present during high-level meetings where weapons were not allowed?
Horatio felt his scalp tingle.
If such a thing truly happened, he would be the culprit, even if he wasn't.
With all the human and material evidence, he would surely die unless the Emperor himself intervened.
Horatio breathed heavily, this terrifying thought making him unable to even blink.
This matter absolutely had to be investigated thoroughly, no matter what.
Farida knelt by the Thunderhawk's window, watching the flashes of fire continuously emanating from the bridge of the Retribution-class Battleship, which was growing smaller in the distance. Her chest felt as if an invisible hand was tightly clutching it, making her gasp for breath.
'She will kill all of you and bring shame to the Hood Family…'
'She will kill all of you and bring shame to the Hood Family!'
'She is cursed; being with her will only bring misfortune.'
She collapsed backward, exhausted.
Horatio, quick as a flash, caught her and pulled her into his embrace.
"What's wrong?" he asked with concern.
Farida's eyes were devoid of light, and she gasped for breath, only able to weakly wave her hand at Horatio, feigning that she was fine.
But her thoughts were already in disarray.
The prophecy she had tried to forget for so long now presented itself before her once more.
Nine years ago, she simply went to school, yet it resulted in a bloody incident.
Eight years ago, her mother attended the Gothic War victory fleet review on Sanguinala, but her transport crashed on the return journey, leaving no trace of her body.
Today, eight years later, almost nine years, also on Sanguinala, a mutiny occurred on her father's warship...
All these events seemed to prove that she truly carried a terrible curse.
Her pupils trembled, her body shivered, and her hair became disheveled.
"It's alright, I'm by your side. Don't overthink it, and don't be troubled by any prophecy. You are you, Farida. No one can define your life with baseless words," Horatio said gently, stroking her back in comfort.
The blonde girl nodded blankly; she had taken his words to heart.
Although she knew Horatio was only comforting her.
"Yes, things haven't reached their worst point yet… Everything… Everything might just be a coincidence, that prophecy isn't real."
She tried her best to remain optimistic. Under Horatio's gentle and warm touch on her back, her rapid breathing and heartbeat began to slow.
And Horatio, of course, was well aware of the weight of prophecies in the Warhammer universe.
He knew what Farida was thinking and what she was worrying about.
She was afraid that she truly had a curse and would cause the death of both him and her father.
In the 41st Millennium, the End Times, a Warhammer universe filled with suffering and superstition.
Prophecies were very important to the Imperials living in this universe.
Because this truly was a universe with ghosts and monsters; atheism had no footing here, and steadfast faith was the only way to face the cruel reality.
Perhaps Farida was truly cursed, perhaps not; he didn't know either.
But he wanted to know if this was truly a prophetic curse or if someone was stirring up trouble behind the scenes.
From the clues he had just gathered, he felt the latter was more likely.
Because everything seemed 'too coincidental.'
It was as if someone had set a trap for this noble lady from the moment she was born.
Following this line of thought, Horatio broadened his perspective and came up with an even more terrifying hypothesis.
"I, as a descendant of Admiral Spire, also crashed eight years ago.
And as soon as my soul arrived in this world, I was almost sent to be a daemon host.
After I finally managed to ascertain my true identity, my father also 'committed suicide.'
Isn't all of this a bit too coincidental?"
Horatio expanded his thoughts, connecting them to the major events he had last seen from GW's official sources before coming to this world, and began a deep reflection.
"Could all of this be details of the great conspiracy in the official history, where Chaos weakened the Gothic Fleet?
The ultimate goal is to achieve what happened in the official history: when the Gothic Fleet had to respond to the 13th Black Crusade, they could only muster a meager fleet strength.
They couldn't even field more battlecruisers, leading to Abaddon's fleet pouring out of the Eye of Terror unchecked, crushing Cadia."
Various ideas and conspiracy theories bloomed in his mind like iron trees in flower.
Though fragmented, they sparked many points worthy of his attention.
The more he thought, the more he felt the terrifying, sinister, winding roots growing and spreading in a tangled mess. The profound darkness and shocking conspiracy made his mortal body feel deeply suffocated.
If this were a game, he would definitely choose to uninstall this damn game and turn off his computer.
He'd just flip the table, get it over with, and to hell with the Chaos Gods / The Four Gods of Chaos.
But when everything in this trash universe truly became his life…
To survive, so that his soul would not be tormented and tortured by daemons for ten thousand years.
Horatio became increasingly focused on his choices and path.
He understood that he must carefully and cautiously plan every step from now on.
Even a small mistake could lead to his flesh and soul being irrevocably lost in the perilous late M41 End Times.
"Come on, the challenge has begun."
Horatio let out a heavy breath.
Although he felt empty, annoyed, and disgusted by the uncertainty of the future and the intrigues around him.
But he could feel that there was a force, a warm and fervent force, as if supporting his belief, guiding him.
Guiding him to make the only correct choice amidst the countless conspiracies and traps before him.
He seized the moment when no one was paying attention, opened the file given to him by Lieutenant General Hood, and furtively glanced at the suspicious individuals and clues recorded inside.