899.M41 – Amerikon Sector The Immaterium screamed.
Beyond the armoured hull of the Battle Barge *Talons of Terra*, the Warp churned in impossible colors, where storms of raw emotion battered the Gellar Field.
Lightning of crimson and violet danced across the void beyond reality, illuminating twisted shapes that vanished the moment they were seen.
Within the bridge, there was only silence.
Three hundred Space Marines of the Hidden Talons had spent centuries mastering that silence.
It was not born of fear but of discipline.
Every Battle Brother knew that in the Warp, unnecessary words were distractions.
Chapter Master Asterion Corven stood motionless before the bridge’s great viewing port.
Encased in Vantablack power armour that seemed to absorb every ray of light, he resembled a shadow carved into human form.
The only visible features were the crimson glow of his helm’s lenses and the silver-black raven’s claw emblazoned upon his left pauldron.
His right shoulder bore the Chapter’s ancient symbol—a white talon clutching a crimson moon.
Behind him stood Captain Lucien Voss of the Third Company.
“Estimated emergence in thirty seconds, my lord.” Corven gave a single nod.
No more was needed.
The bridge crew tightened their restraints as warning klaxons echoed through the ship.
“Five…” “Four…” “Three…” “Two…” “One…” Reality tore open.
The *Talons of Terra* burst from the Warp in a flash of blue-white energy, followed by the Strike Cruisers *Shadow’s Wing* and *Silent Judgment*.
One by one, thirteen sleek escort frigates emerged in disciplined formation around the massive Battle Barge.
The Amerikon Sector stretched before them.
Dark.
Cold.
Almost forgotten.
Long-range augurs immediately swept the surrounding systems.
“Normal space confirmed,” reported Brother-Serf Helkan.
“No hostile contacts.” “Warp translation successful.” Corven finally spoke.
“Report.” Chief Librarian Kaelen stepped forward.
“The Warp is…
unsettled.” Corven turned.
“Clarify.” “I sense echoes.” “What kind?” Kaelen hesitated.
“Old suffering.” Silence settled across the bridge.
Veteran Astartes did not dismiss such warnings.
For ten thousand years the sons of Corax had hunted horrors that hid beyond mortal sight.
A new voice interrupted.
“Astropath receiving transmission.” Static crackled across the bridge.
Then— A burst of distorted vox noise erupted from the communication altar.
“…Merciless…” “…help…” “…Emperor preserve…” “…coordinates…” The signal dissolved into screams before vanishing completely.
Every officer on the bridge turned toward the astropathic chamber.
Corven walked forward.
“When?” The Astropath, eyes sewn shut in the ancient manner of his order, trembled.
“It repeated itself six times during Warp transit.” “Origin?” “Unknown.” “Age?” The elderly psyker swallowed.
“…Approximately fifty-one standard years.” Captain Voss frowned.
“A fifty-year-old distress signal?” The Master of the Fleet activated a hololithic display.
Thousands of stars shimmered across the chamber.
A blinking rune marked the estimated direction of the transmission.
“The signal originates somewhere inside the Amerikon Sector.” Corven studied it.
“Identity?” Servitors searched ancient Imperial records.
Several long minutes passed.
Finally— “Confirmed.” “The vessel is registered as the Imperial Navy cruiser *Merciless Death*.” Another pause.
“Declared lost…
fifty-one years ago.” Murmurs spread among the mortal crew.
The Hidden Talons remained silent.
“What was her mission?” Corven asked.
A data-slate slid from the archives.
“Classification restricted.” “Override.” The machine-spirit protested.
Corven placed his gauntlet upon the console.
“I am Asterion Corven, Chapter Master of the Hidden Talons.” “Authority accepted.” Ancient files appeared.
**Imperial Cruiser – Merciless Death** **Last Recorded Mission** Escort classified cargo to Forge World Kheprion.
Escort vessels destroyed.
Final distress signal received.
Status: Missing.
Cargo: REDACTED Passenger Manifest: REDACTED Inquisitorial Seal Present.
Captain Voss crossed his arms.
“Inquisition.” Chief Librarian Kaelen looked uneasy.
“Whatever she carried was important.” Corven nodded.
“If it was valuable enough for the Inquisition…” “…it cannot remain lost.” The bridge lights flickered.
For only a heartbeat.
Then returned.
No one spoke.
Brother-Serf Helkan checked his instruments.
“No power fluctuations.” Yet every Space Marine had noticed.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
— Hours later…
The fleet entered the outer reaches of the sector.
Amerikon was unlike prosperous Imperial territory.
Most systems were dim.
Mining stations floated abandoned.
Asteroid fields drifted untouched.
Several orbital relays had gone silent centuries earlier.
Many Imperial worlds survived only because no enemy had yet bothered to conquer them.
Captain Voss examined the tactical display.
“There are thirty-seven inhabited systems.” “Only nine have responded to Imperial identification.” “Eight report normal conditions.” “And the ninth?” The Captain looked grim.
“No response after initial acknowledgement.” Corven considered this.
“Deploy reconnaissance.” Within minutes, Thunderhawks launched from every vessel.
Scout Marines vanished into the darkness aboard swift Corvus Blackstar gunships.
Frigates spread throughout nearby systems.
The hunt had begun.
— Deep within the bridge’s strategium, Chaplain Malthus knelt before a stone statue of the Emperor.
Candles flickered around ancient relics carried since the Great Crusade.
His crozius rested across his knees.
Without warning— The flames went out.
Every single one.
Darkness swallowed the chamber.
Only for an instant.
Then they reignited.
Malthus slowly rose.
He looked toward the stars beyond the armoured wall.
“Something watches us.” — Days later…
One Scout patrol reached an abandoned Imperial listening station orbiting a dead moon.
Its transponder still functioned.
Its lights still burned.
Its docking bay remained open.
Yet no vox reply came.
Scout Sergeant Varian led five Hidden Talons aboard.
The station was silent.
No alarms.
No gunfire.
No bodies.
Only abandoned meals, scattered tools, and flickering lumen strips.
It was as if hundreds of people had simply stood up…
…and vanished.
Varian activated his vox.
“Sergeant Varian to *Talons of Terra*.” “We have located Station Epsilon-Seven.” “No survivors.” “No enemy.” “No explanation.” As he finished speaking, one of his brothers looked toward a corridor.
“Movement.” Bolters snapped upward.
Nothing.
The corridor was empty.
Then— A metallic clang echoed somewhere deep inside the station.
Followed by another.
Then silence.
Varian narrowed his eyes.
“Advance.” The Hidden Talons disappeared into the darkness, their Vantablack armour blending almost perfectly with the shadows as they began to uncover the first mystery of the Amerikon Sector.
Far away, hidden among drifting asteroids, a lone vessel watched.
Its engines remained cold.
Its lights extinguished.
Inside, unseen eyes observed the fleet of the Hidden Talons.
A distorted voice whispered through the darkness.
“They have come.” Another voice replied.
“Let them search.” “The trap is already set.” The unknown ship silently turned away and disappeared into the void.