The strategic hall of the Command Center was a vast hemispherical chamber two hundred meters in diameter, its dome rising thirty meters overhead. A colossal star map glowed across the curved ceiling, every planet, fleet, and battlefield of the Vigilant Star System marked in dense detail. Red denoted the forces of Chaos, green the Imperium's allies, and yellow the hostile powers, forming a living tapestry of war.
At the center stood a massive circular tactical table. Upon it shimmered a three-dimensional holographic battlefield. High commanders gathered around it, voices raised in heated debate. Fingers traced across glowing projections, marking new defensive lines, calculating troop movements, and arguing attack timings.
Bastian sat at the table, brow deeply furrowed. He reached out and pointed to the Dortria District.
"The Death Guard are concentrating here."
"Intelligence indicates they are preparing a major offensive against our third defensive line. The Iron Hands are holding, but the situation is critical."
"If Blade Cave falls, all of Hyperion will be exposed to the enemy."
Governor Lucian added, "We can conscript refugees as reinforcements to plug the gaps."
"The guardians of the Mechanicus can still fight," said Calderak, Great Sage of the Mechanicus from Underworld VIII, "but redeployment will take time."
Calgar stood on the far side of the table, listening in silence while his gaze swept methodically across every data point and battlefield marker.
Suddenly the projector flickered. A grainy black-and-white image of an ancient courtyard replaced the star map. When a figure in golden armor climbed out of a stone well, the entire hall erupted in shock.
"Silence. Show respect for the Nameless One," Bastian commanded, his voice calm yet carrying absolute authority.
The chamber fell deathly still. Chapter leaders struck their chests with clenched fists; officers raised the aquila salute.
Under the weight of every gaze, Datch stepped fully out of the projection screen. He glanced once at the surrounding officers, then walked straight toward Bastian as though nothing unusual had occurred.
Calgar's stern expression softened into one of pure excitement, eyes bright with anticipation. Cloak billowing, he strode forward to meet the newcomer.
"O Noble Nameless One," his voice boomed through the vaulted hall, "praised be your wisdom and strength!"
He halted before Datch, fist striking his chest in salute, a warm and genuine smile replacing his earlier severity.
Thanks to the Nameless One's presence on the Vigilant Star, the front has stabilized. If he were to truly ally with me… Abaddon and the Four Gods would be nothing but sport. This must come after the title "First to Raise the Double-Headed Eagle's Banner in the Realm of the Gods." And now a new title has been added: "Launch a Fierce Assault Upon the Great Raiders and Purge the Demonic Host."
The thought made Calgar's smile widen further.
Datch spared him a single glance and walked straight past without slowing. Calgar's smile never wavered; he simply turned and fell into step behind him.
Being ignored is the natural order of things. It would be far more troublesome if he acknowledged me.
Datch stopped before Bastian. The commander's eyes were a mixture of hope and tension.
Before Bastian could speak, Datch said quietly, "I'm heading to the Dortria District to deal with the plague outbreak."
The moment the words left his lips, a mission prompt materialized before him.
[Mission: Proceed to the Dortria District and resolve the spreading plague.]
With the Vigilant Star and the Crimson Star now resonating—forming the beginning and end of the Nachmund Sector—Chaos has fixed its gaze upon this region. Death Guard and Plague Marines have established a foothold. Support the local garrison and drive them out.
[Quest Rewards: 1,200 EXP, 1,200 Points, +300 Reputation]
The side-quest rewards were unremarkable. Datch simply reached into his inventory, drew out Sadako's videotape, and activated it in full view of the assembly.
He vanished instantly.
A heavy silence reclaimed the hall. Calgar, long accustomed to such displays, merely gestured to the stunned officers. "Continue the briefing."
Cheers rose again—louder this time, charged with fresh excitement and hope.
The Nameless One had departed for Blade Cave. The crisis there would soon be over.
…
The Dortria District had once been the most densely populated hive on the Vigilant Planet. Now it was a charnel house of plague.
Datch emerged from an advertisement holo-screen and landed lightly. The sight that greeted him was pure hell.
The sky was smothered beneath a diseased dark-green cloud layer, thick as a funeral shroud, choking every breath. Gloomy rain fell without cease—thick, yellow, reeking of rot. Wherever it struck stone it birthed mold; on the ground it formed bubbling pools that exhaled green vapor. Tiny nematodes writhed inside each droplet.
Countless plague-zombies staggered through the streets, once-human bodies reduced to gray-green husks covered in suppurating wounds and writhing maggots. Their eyes were milky orbs; viscous fluid dribbled from slack jaws. They moaned as they wandered the flooded ruins.
The air itself was a weapon—sweet decay mixed with industrial toxins. Every inhalation tasted of ancient, moldering rags. Swarms of bloated flies, eyes like drops of blood, droned overhead.
Occasionally the veil between worlds tore. Twisted daemons spilled into reality, running with cultists in search of fresh meat and souls.
Imperial defenders had fortified the streets with sandbag walls, razor wire, and automated turrets that periodically vomited flame. Soldiers in sealed chem-suits moved like men already half-dead from heat and exhaustion, faces hidden behind gas masks. Still they held, las-beams and bolt shells reaping a grim harvest.
Then came the Battle Sisters in black power armor, chanting litanies of the Emperor as they hurled krak grenades into the enemy tide. Their arrival steadied crumbling positions.
"For the loving Father-Emperor—praise eternal life!"
The Death Guard arrived in force, bloated, reeking, chanting praises to Nurgle as they advanced. On the Imperial flank appeared iron-gray Astartes—the Iron Hands. At their head strode a giant in heavier armor than his brothers, power hammer inscribed with ancient Medusan runes.
Iron Father Kardan Stronos. Legendary hero of the Iron Hands, member of the Iron Council, son of Gorgon.
Datch hurled a Poké Ball. Skarbrand erupted onto the field with a roar, axe already thirsty for blood. The Masque of Slaanesh followed, blades flashing in elegant, seductive arcs. Zarhulash rose into the air and vomited searing destruction that erased half a dozen Chaos Astartes in an instant.
Last came Pugh, floating serenely, his loyal bodyguard Orange at his side. The plump little boy radiated soft emerald light. Wherever the glow touched, Nurgle's corruption withered. Infected machinery collapsed into rusted scrap. Plague-zombies screamed, then fell silent as vibrant flowers and grass erupted from their corpses. Even some daemons convulsed, their rotten flesh sloughing away until they stood transformed—beautiful, peaceful angels of life.
Deep in the Warp, Nurgle felt the disturbance and instantly recalled every daemon. Those that had already changed remained, now free of the Plague God's yoke.
The sickly green clouds thinned, then parted. Sunlight—real sunlight—poured down upon the poisoned streets. Survivors looked up and wept with joy.
Datch patted Pugh's head. "Good work."
Pugh wagged his tail proudly and nuzzled his master's cheek.
The Masque of Slaanesh's eyes narrowed dangerously. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to deliver a solid kick to that smug little glutton. Orange immediately stepped between them, blade raised. The newly born angel formed a protective circle.
The Masque snorted, lowered her foot, and stalked away with a dancer's grace.
…
Empowered by Pugh's purifying light, Imperial morale soared. The counterattack smashed the daemon-less Death Guard. The Plague Marines—bitter rivals of the Death Guard—seized the moment and struck the Imperium's flank, hoping to link with their hated cousins against the "Corpse King's" servants.
The Death Guard, however, despised the Purifying Plague Marines' ideology even more than they hated the Imperium. They abandoned their erstwhile allies on the field, withdrew, and left the Plague Marines encircled and isolated. Pugh's aura had already nullified their warp-sorcery and plague weapons.
The result was a slaughter. When the surviving Plague Marines finally broke out, fewer than one in ten remained. They fled, screaming vengeance against the treacherous Death Guard.
With the enemy routed, control of the Dortria District passed to Iron Father Kardan and the Iron Hands. The Imperium had clawed back a measure of strength on the Vigilant Planet.
After the battle, exhausted soldiers searched the ruins for survivors and salvage. Tech-priests examined shattered machinery. Battle Sisters knelt in circles, praying over the fallen.
Kardan approached the Nameless One, a golden question mark hovering above his head in Datch's vision.
"Honored Nameless One," the Iron Father said, voice heavy with ancient grief, "I am Kardan Stronos, Iron Father of the Iron Hands. I have heard of your power that pulled Sanguinius back from the realm of the dead. If it is within your strength… bring our Primarch, Ferrus Manus, back from death. The Iron Hands have been fatherless for ten thousand years."
A new quest prompt appeared.
[Main Quest: Resurrect the Primarch of the Iron Hands Chapter During the massacre at the landing fields, Ferrus Manus was slain by Fulgrim. Even after ten millennia the sons of Gorgon have never abandoned hope. Kardan Stronos begs your aid in returning the Primarch to the living.
[Rewards: 2,000 EXP, 2,000 Points, +500 Reputation, Lost-and-Found Fishing Pool & Rod ×1]
Datch's eyes lit up at the final reward. The Doraemon-style fishing pool and rod could locate any lost item—STCs, ancient relics, even wayward Husky dogs. Perfect.
He accepted without hesitation.
Kardan's face split into a rare, radiant smile. He pressed a steel medallion engraved with Gorgon's symbol into Datch's hands.
"This emblem binds the friendship between the Iron Hands and the Nameless One. Any son of Gorgon who sees it will answer your call."
Datch stored the medallion in his inventory. Another powerful ally group secured.
…
Even as the Vigilant Star's situation improved, psykers across the galaxy felt violent warp-storms. Nightmares followed—skies bleeding, ancient beings rising, despair flooding the stars.
The dreams became reality.
A colossal Chaos fleet tore into realspace. At its head sailed the Vengeful Spirit, a mountain of guns and blasphemous runes, a colossal daemon statue on the prow eternally breathing warp-flame. Behind it came vast, twisted arks over two hundred kilometers long, spines and daemonic visages covering every surface.
Abaddon the Despoiler had arrived with the Black Legion. Mortarion followed—vastly swollen, the Death Guard Primarch a walking plague. Then came Fulgrim, Magnus the Red, Lorgar, and Perturabo.
Only the highest Imperial leaders—Calgar, Bastian, Governor Lucian, Sage Calderak—understood the full horror of those names. Their faces drained of color.
Emergency beacons screamed toward Terra, Macragge and Baal. Thanks to the star-trail Datch had left behind, the signals reached the loyalist Primarchs in record time and were instantly relayed to Macragge.
Roboute Guilliman stood at his strategium window, staring at the void, jaw tight.
"Another galaxy-spanning war has begun."
His gaze moved to the star-trail's entry and exit points. The technology that allowed Warp-free travel was priceless—yet if Abaddon seized the Vigilant Star, Macragge itself would become the new front line.
Guilliman drew a slow breath and began issuing orders. Every available reinforcement, supply ship, and war engine was rerouted to the Vigilant Star System.
No matter the cost, the Stargate must hold.
…
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