From the cold perspective of the void, the sight was nothing short of apocalyptic. Between the orbits of Vigilus and its companion world, spacetime buckled and tore. Within the terrifying gravitational field of the singularity, even light was held captive, spiraling into a golden accretion disk that resembled the rings of a dying sun.
The Chaos warships, bloated with the corruption of the Warp, struggled like insects in amber. Despite their plasma drives screaming at maximum output, they could not break free from the gravitational halo. Hundreds of blasphemous vessels—hulls of fused bone and iron radiating the sickly glow of the Eight-Pointed Star—were inexorably dragged toward the central abyss.
"Curse you!"
Abaddon's veins throbbed against his temples, a terrifying aura of murderous intent radiating from his massive frame. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed on the holographic displays as they flickered and died. "Vile, groveling coward! Calgar, you set me up!"
The truth was a bitter draft. The entire war, from the initial skirmishes to the "rout" of the Imperial Navy, had been a trap meticulously laid by the Lord of Macragge. Calgar had used himself and the very lives of his fleet as the ultimate bait—and Abaddon, blinded by his own legend, had swallowed the hook.
The price of his arrogance was the annihilation of more than half of the Black Crusade's vanguard. Warships collided and collapsed as gravity crushed their hulls into scrap, their reactors detonating in brilliant, silent fireworks that illuminated the dark void.
Abaddon's heart burned with a shame he had not felt since the fall of Cadia. "Retreat! All ships! Retreat!"
He roared the order, swallowing his fury as he glared in the direction Calgar had vanished. "To the entire armada: all vessels capable of movement are ordered to execute an emergency Warp-jump immediately!"
It was a desperate gamble. To force a translation amidst such violent spatiotemporal fluctuations was suicidal; the risk of being swallowed by a Warp-storm or thrown into the screaming madness of the Empyrean was nearly absolute. But the alternative was total erasure by the singularity.
Using his personal teleportation flare, Abaddon returned to the Vengeful Spirit. Under his frantic direction, the surviving remnants of the fleet tore open ragged rifts in reality. Dozens of ships were instantly lost, sucked into the vortex of the Warp-storms or crushed by the singularity's reach as they tried to flee.
Tens of minutes later, the surviving vessels achieved a stable, if battered, state within the Warp. Abaddon sat in his command throne, his voice a ragged rasp. "Report. What remains of our strength?"
"Lord Warmaster," the vox-servitor droned, its metallic voice devoid of pity. "One-third of the initial fleet is accounted for. The rest... are lost."
One-third. Abaddon nearly spat blood. Not even at the gates of Cadia had his losses been so catastrophic. Two-thirds of his pride had been erased without ever setting foot on Vigilus, without ever truly engaging the enemy in the "glorious" decapitation strike he had envisioned.
"Marneus Calgar... I will carve your name into the throne of the Despoiler," Abaddon hissed. He had been humiliated. But as a master of the Long War, his mind already turned toward vengeance. He thought of the "Fallen" who had played their part in this deception.
"Fallen Angels, is it?" Abaddon sneered, a sinister scheme taking root. "Send a ciphered pulse to the Inner Circle of the Unforgiven. Tell the sons of the Lion that their lost brothers have been sighted on Vigilus. Let the Dark Angels do my work for me."
An adjutant approached cautiously. "Lord Warmaster, the plan to isolate the Imperium Nihilus... it is compromised. What are your orders?"
"Summon the leaders of the Black Legion warbands," Abaddon commanded. He could not return to the Great Four with such a failure. He had to keep the fires of war burning. "Calgar may have won the first engagement, but the war for the Nachmund Gauntlet has only just begun. I will return to Vigilus, and when I do, I will leave nothing but ash."
Back on the surface of Vigilus, Emrys stood within the fortress, watching the star-map as the red icons vanished into the void. The "Void Claw" had done its work.
A psychic link opened. Calgar's image appeared, his face weary but marked by a rare glimmer of satisfaction. "The plan succeeded, Emrys. Your contribution to the defense of this world shall be reported to the Lord Regent himself when he arrives."
"Thank you, Lord Calgar," Emrys said, his brow still furrowed. "But Abaddon is not a man to accept defeat. He will return. Chaos will not let Vigilus go."
"I know," Calgar nodded. "He will return in a year, or five, or ten. But by then, the Indomitus Crusade will have reached us. We have bought the Imperium the time it needs."
Calgar looked at the young Rogue Trader meaningfully. "The immediate crisis has passed. If you still intend to strike out into the Imperium Nihilus—the Dark Region—now is your window. The way is clear, for the moment."
"I understand, Lord Calgar."
"I expect we shall meet again, lad," Calgar said, his eyes filled with a strange expectation. "I wish you a smooth journey. I have already cleared your departure with the Naval Command. Go. Explore the dark."
The link severed. Emrys stood in the silence of the fortress, eventually letting out a soft chuckle. "He knew. As expected of a son of Guilliman, he guessed the existence of the Void Claw the moment I proposed the plan."
Calgar had tacitly approved the use of the forbidden technology by choosing not to ask where it came from. With a wave of his hand, Emrys deactivated the Void Claw array, securing the most valuable relic in the sector into his personal vault.
It was time to leave. Ahead lay the Imperium Nihilus—a realm beyond the light of the Astronomican, filled with secrets that had been hidden for ten millennia. The journey into the unknown had finally begun.