The battle raged on, relentless; the blue side had been reduced to 40% of its original strength. The surface fighting had already taken its toll—several million lives lost, counting civilians, of course. The Smurfs, due to lack of communication, mounted a disorganized and aimless resistance. Overwhelmed in space, the heretics began planetary bombardment. All kinds of bombs rained down on cities filled with millions of civilians, even though these places had no military infrastructure. It didn't matter to them—they had one goal: to bring death.
"It's time," I said to Nibe, as I briefly call her. "Let them feel the power of Dark Matter."
Moments later, I flew alongside the heretics, unaware of my presence. My target: the battleships bombarding the planet. I gently maneuvered the controls, dodging one ship after another. I couldn't afford a mistake—not now. Feeling it, the ship retracted its massive cannons; it knew what was needed and helped me. "KRA KRA KRA"—a bird cawed, catching my attention. One of the enemy ships turned its broadside towards me; for a moment, I thought it was heading somewhere. Until it unleashed a full salvo into Arcadia's port side. The entire ship shook, breaking invisibility. Arcadia automatically activated all guns, and laser beams decimated nearby ships. I pushed the throttle all the way forward, giving full speed.
I dipped the ship's bow, diving, causing the heretics to start hitting each other. I was fully focused. If not for my companion's cawing, nothing would have distracted me. I maneuvered with an agility they couldn't match, twisting the controls to conserve as much Dark Matter as possible. Entering orbit around Calth, passing through clouds stained red with pollution, I saw the horror humanity was enduring there. Civilians sacrificed to their new demonic patrons. The first signs of Chaos mutation were already appearing on the corrupted marines: extra eyes, mold, extra arms or legs, horns, even incomplete fusion with their armor.
I flew over the battlefield, lightly supporting the Ultramarines. My lasers disintegrated thousands of traitors along the front line. On those without helmets, moments of respite were visible—they shouted to the sky in gratitude, though I couldn't hear them, it was clear. I lifted my gaze skyward—there awaited the enemy. Breaking through the clouds, I saw the first wrecks of ships caught in orbit falling toward the planet. The guns heated up, and before I knew it, lasers were flying again in every direction. I rammed a ship near the communications station where Guilliman was clearly present—I saw him despite the distance between us. He was surrounded by his marines. Strange, since he had gathered only fifty, and if memory served, they died, and the Primarch himself was captured early on by Kor Pheron, before Roboute tore out his heart and escaped into the Warp. Signals from the nearby computer began to glitch; solar radiation rose incredibly fast. This meant the final phase of the battle for Calth had begun.
"Full power to the Dark Matter generator," I said calmly.
The gears in the engine room spun faster and faster. My massive guns slowly tore apart, forming something like masts made of black mist between two supports. I twisted the helm left, turning it dozens of times. Arcadia's bow tilted toward the sun of this system. The heretics had destabilized the sun, and now the radiation would wipe out everything not underground. Steering toward the sun, my giant sails absorbed the radiation, converting it into Dark Matter, while my guns blasted retreating traitor fleets. Were it not for the void, space would be filled with the sound of exploding ships and thousands of agonizing screams. But this was space—only light could be observed. They died in silence, left to fate; the void was their final station. The pirate flag waved, stirred by cosmic currents, while heretic corpses drifted around. "Enough," I whispered. The guns fell silent, barrels cooled, and laser light faded into the abyss of the void. I released the helm and stared at the suffering sun. Minutes passed before the helm slowly and autonomously turned toward the communications station. Radiation continued to act—and would for decades, if not centuries.
I could rest. I thought as I sat down. Nibe materialized again, holding two goblets and a bottle of alcohol in the other hand.
"Want a drink? I took it from your cabin," she said, pouring the red liquid. "What now?"
"I need to meet him," I replied shortly, clinking glasses with her.
Arcadia flew slowly, leaving behind a thick, heavy black smoke. Converting radiation energy, it slowly formed a massive cloud of black smoke that began to obscure the sun.The space battle was over; those on the surface who made it to shelters or underground would fight for years to come. An underground war awaited Calth. I looked at the masts absorbing the rays and felt the ship begin to fold them back into guns. I sipped wine—or maybe rum, I wasn't sure what it was—but I liked it.
I approached the station where other Imperial ships were docked. Damaged hulls stained with the blood of their soldiers, barely functioning machines were moored. Hundreds of servitors and marines, all able, began repairs and saving soldiers' lives. Ships beyond repair or too badly damaged were cannibalized to repair others until they disappeared completely.
Arcadia stopped level with the station's bridge, bridge to bridge. Sitting on the throne, I watched the Ultramarines panic upon seeing Arcadia. If I had fired, I would have killed them all, including the 13th Legion Primarch. Some apparently sent a distress signal in panic—they couldn't afford to lose their father.
I looked at Roboute, and he looked at me. Several kilometers separated us, yet we knew each other perfectly as if standing side by side. Thanks to Dark Matter and his semi-divine nature, this was no impossibility. He looked at my bridge, curious about the Xenos woman leaning on the throne, drinking. He wondered where the rest of the crew was, what kind of ship this was that showed no sign of damage, and most of all, who the man before him was—the one who single-handedly decimated the enemy fleet.
Chaos erupted on the communication station; officers were giving more proposals on what to do with their Primarch. Their army had been destroyed, the Primarch nearly dead, and fighting still raged on the planet. They had many tasks to do, and now a ship of unknown origin stood before their command center. Its guns were literally at the window—one shot and they'd all be dead. Their lives meant little to them, but Guilliman's life was priceless. They had to get him aboard the ship.
"SIR! You must evacuate!" one officer shouted.
"If he wanted to kill us, we'd be dead already. I doubt he's fighting traitors just to personally kill us," Roboute replied, watching the pirate drink wine in the company of a Xenos.
"Still, in this situation, safety must come first," another officer added, not wanting to challenge the Primarch's authority.
"Connect me to him on the vox."
I looked into the hologram of the primarch before me — wounded, with a wounded pride, yet standing straight as befitted someone of his stature. I met his gaze with my one "working" eye. I didn't rise from the throne, which seemed to annoy the marines behind Papa Smurf.
"You had some trouble," I commented, taking a sip.
"I didn't expect rescue, at least not from a single ship," he replied, trying to figure me out.
"That's fate for you. You can't predict if help will come, or what form it will take," I said in a melancholic, slightly rough voice. "I wanted to reinforce the crew on Calth, but your brother ruined my plans."
Roboute listened to my words but said nothing. He waited for me to continue.
"Don't worry about me. I'll recruit some men and disappear before your brothers tear the galaxy apart," I added, pulling a pocket watch from my pants.
"What do you mean?!" he hissed, still not fully aware of what had happened, lacking crucial information.
"Your brother Horus, along with the 3rd, 4th, 8th, 12th, 14th, 15th, 17th, and 20th legions, have risen in rebellion. On Isstvan V, the legions of your brothers Ferus, Vulkan, and Corvus were utterly destroyed. Ferus was killed by Fulgrim, who took his head as a trophy."
My words hit them hard. I saw shock and disbelief in their faces at what had left my mouth. They couldn't believe half the legions had turned against the Emperor. And one of the Primarchs had been killed — it was too much. Roboute Guilliman was especially affected — his brothers had betrayed him. He didn't have friendly relations with all of them, but they were still his brothers, and now they were his enemies. It took him a moment to grasp what he had just learned. He looked me in the eye calmly, but you could see the shadow of fear in them for what this meant. He shook it off and focused back on me.
"I never had a chance to thank you for rescuing me in the void, or for your help against the fleet. But I need to know if you have more information," he said seriously; I felt a plea in his voice.
I set the glass aside and stood.
"This is the last thing you'll get from me for free. Angron's fleet is heading to Armatura. The refugees are moving in that direction too. So you can assume it's a coordinated attack."
Armatura — the planet where the entire Ultramarines' army trains, from marines to regular soldiers. A fully militarized world. Besides Astartes, there are over a billion soldiers, 40 thousand Astartes veterans, 100 defensive ships, 25 titans, and planetary defense stations. Plus warehouses filled with weapons, ammo, spare parts. Everything needed for war — all of it was on Armatura. And the enemies are heading there for exactly that.
The whole station was heavy with gloom. Armed with this knowledge, they had to react somehow — but how? Roboute leaned his hands on the navigation consoles, pondering what to do. Nibe sat on the armrest of my throne, sipping from her glass as she watched the primarch sink into thought.
"With this knowledge, I have a broader perspective on the situation. But I want to know everything you have," he said, his voice calm but commanding.
"You can't afford it," I pressed one of the buttons. "My knowledge is more valuable than the entire Empire's economy." The hologram shimmered, smoothing the primarch's movements. "The price for the first question is 40,000 people ready to leave the empire and serve under a pirate flag. No spies or sleeper agents. And for the second, you'll have to give me the knowledge you received from the Emperor himself."
Hearing the price for the first question slightly lifted their morale — it was free, after all. They'd probably have to be skilled in ways I hadn't mentioned, but that didn't matter. Guilliman could easily hand over the homeless or whoever he needed — on a galactic scale, 40,000 was just a drop in the ocean. But the price for the second question froze their blood. Every primarch had received something from the Emperor, and that was the secret of making Astartes. It was sacred. Shouts of curses and insults echoed on the vox channel and on the station's bridge.
If I had been there, they probably would have torn me apart if they could. Apparently, their discipline had fallen along with such a crushing defeat.
"Look what you've done to them, Harlock," Nibe said with a smile.