The 40K era, outside the Granria System.
A transport vessel was currently traveling through the Warp.
Bang!
Bang!
Several precise shots destroyed the ship’s surveillance systems and nearby servitors as Azrael, Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels, advanced through the vessel in pursuit of Cypher.
Cunning bastard.
The moment Cypher realized his trail had been discovered, he had slipped aboard a transport ship already making a Warp transit, apparently intending to drag the Dark Angels into another game of cat and mouse.
Unfortunately for him, that game was about to end.
Azrael followed the flickering signal on his auspex through the ship until, at the far end of a corridor, he finally found the prey he had been hunting.
Another hooded Space Marine stood there with two pistols in his hands.
His back was turned.
Azrael narrowed his eyes.
There was no mistake.
Cypher.
One of the Fallen whom the Dark Angels had hunted for ten thousand years.
“Surrender, traitor.”
“You have nowhere left to run.”
“Repent for your crimes, and perhaps you may yet find salvation.”
“…”
Cypher ignored the demand and merely turned his head toward one of the transport ship’s viewports.
The once relatively calm, iridescent currents of the Warp had begun to churn violently.
His goal had been achieved.
The next moment, Cypher moved.
A flash of teleportation light enveloped him.
“Don’t even think about running!”
Azrael immediately opened fire.
Two bolt rounds passed through Cypher’s fading figure and struck the wall behind him, leaving blackened impact marks.
Beep.
Beep.
The signal on Azrael’s auspex vanished completely.
Once again, the Dark Angels had lost track of the elusive and mysterious Fallen.
“…”
“Inner Circle, regroup.”
“Invincible Reason, prepare for translation.
His teleportation range cannot have taken him far.
We’ll return to the search and continue following his trail.”
Azrael wasn’t particularly discouraged by the failure.
Hunting the Fallen had always been a long game.
One failed attempt meant little.
For now, the more important matter was returning to Granria III and locating the oathbreaker the Primarch had ordered him to find.
“Supreme Grand Master, Invincible Reason cannot currently cross the Warp storm.”
Just as Azrael thought everything was proceeding smoothly, the report over the vox made his expression darken. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“What?”
“The Navigators have sensed a hungry shadow drawing closer.
Combined with the increasingly violent Warp storm, another translation is nearly impossible.”
“What?!”
A hungry shadow…
Others might not immediately understand what that meant, but Azrael did.
The Shadow in the Warp.
Tyranids.
Hive Fleet Behemoth.
The Ultramarines had shattered the main force of Hive Fleet Behemoth in the Eastern Fringe, but portions of the defeated swarm had scattered.
Now, one such splinter appeared to be moving toward this region.
At this point in Imperial history, much of the Imperium still understood little about this newly emerged xenos threat.
But reports of the brutal fighting between the Ultramarines and Hive Fleet Behemoth had already reached Azrael, and he had taken them seriously.
What he had never expected was for a splinter of that Hive Fleet to appear this far toward the northern reaches of the galaxy.
And its course…
Seemed to lead directly toward the Granria System.
Toward the place where Merlin was.
“Try to break through the Warp storm and reach Granria!”
“At any cost!”
The Tyranid fleet was heading for Granria.
Fortunately, with the region cut off by the Warp storm, the Tyranids themselves would have to continue by slower conventional travel.
There was still time before they reached the system.
But what good would extra time do Granria?
The hive world was desperately poor.
When Azrael had landed there not long ago, the Priestley dynasty hadn’t even possessed a proper frigate.
How was such a declining Rogue Trader house supposed to resist an approaching xenos fleet?
If the oathbreaker the Primarch had spent ten thousand years searching for was devoured by Tyranids just as the Dark Angels finally found him…
Cold sweat formed on Azrael’s brow.
Then the Chapter’s list of secrets would have yet another entry.
“Is there any way…”
Right.
Interrogator-Chaplain Asmodai.
He was still on Granria III, keeping watch while the search for Merlin continued.
Azrael had left Asmodai behind specifically because the oathbreaker had disappeared.
Asmodai…
He was certainly unstable, but his combat ability ranked among the finest of the Dark Angels.
Few could say how much destruction that fanatical Interrogator-Chaplain could unleash when properly motivated.
“Let’s hope…
they can survive this.”
…
Caliban.
Stronghold of the Knights of Lupus, Mount Saint Grula.
A magnificent fortress-monastery stood within the valley.
It served both as the stronghold of the Knights of Lupus and as a library containing generations of knowledge painstakingly collected by Caliban’s scholars.
Its history was almost as old as humanity’s presence on Caliban itself, and many ancient technologies beyond the understanding of ordinary people were hidden within the vast monastery.
Now, however, an army numbering in the tens of thousands surrounded it.
At the very front rode Lion El’Jonson, leader of the united knightly orders.
Clad in magnificent black knightly armor, she sat astride a Calibanite warhorse that looked almost comically large compared with her relatively small frame.
Her armor was stained with the blood and fluids of countless Great Beasts.
The first defensive line established by the Knights of Lupus had proven even more troublesome than she expected.
The Great Beasts of the northern wastelands were fiercer and more aggressive than those found elsewhere on Caliban.
Even their appearances were more chaotic.
Six legs.
Seven horns.
Eight limbs.
Nine eyes.
Their bodies seemed to grow according to no natural pattern at all, producing grotesque monsters that had caused the knights considerable trouble.
This was a sign of severe Chaos corruption.
Merlin could tell that much.
The Knights of Lupus appeared to have fallen even further than he had expected.
But that was all.
Lion El’Jonson and the united knightly army had already slaughtered most of the Great Beasts defending the outer wastelands.
Now, countless pieces of heavy artillery had been aimed directly at the gates of the fortress-monastery.
“Lord Sartana.”
“I trust you’ve been well.”
In front of Merlin, Lion El’Jonson could still act like a girl eager to be praised.
But to the people of Caliban, she was the cold and formidable Lionheart King.
“Your beasts have already been destroyed by my army.”
“Order your knights to abandon this pointless resistance.”
“This is your last chance.”
Her clear voice carried across the battlefield through an amplification system.
There was no answer.
The fortress of Saint Grula remained sealed.
The Knights of Lupus standing on the ramparts remained silent and vigilant.
It seemed there would be no avoiding this battle.
Lion El’Jonson raised one hand.
Then she tilted it forward, pointing toward the magnificent monastery before her.
“Fire.”
It really helps the fic grow!