The first warning klaxon echoed through the *Talons of Terra* a heartbeat before the boarding torpedo struck.
The impact reverberated through Deck Seventeen like the blow of a Titan’s hammer.
Adamantium groaned under the strain, warning runes flared crimson across every tactical display, and emergency bulkheads began to descend with ponderous inevitability.
On the bridge, not a single officer broke discipline.
Master of the Fleet Decimus watched the tactical hololith as fresh crimson icons bloomed across the formation.
“Enemy boarding torpedoes have impacted the *Black Talon*, *Night’s Vigil*, and our own vessel.
Additional torpedoes have been destroyed by point-defense batteries.” Chapter Master Asterion Corven remained motionless.
His gaze never left the drifting shape of the *Merciless Death*.
“Casualty reports.” “Minor structural damage across the fleet.
One breach aboard the *Black Talon*.
Internal defense forces have engaged.” Captain Lucien Voss studied another display.
“The enemy flagship is not advancing.” “No.” Corven folded his hands behind his back.
“It has already committed to its objective.” Chief Librarian Kaelen stood quietly beside the Strategium table.
His normally composed expression had become troubled.
“They’re buying time.” Corven looked toward him.
“For what?” Kaelen closed his eyes briefly.
“I cannot tell.” “I only know…” His voice became almost a whisper.
“…something aboard the *Merciless Death* is waking.” — Deck Seventeen.
Cargo Bay Twelve.
The blast doors had already sealed.
Atmosphere alarms wailed as emergency pumps compensated for the pressure lost during the impact.
Smoke drifted lazily through the corridor, illuminated by the intermittent flash of warning lumens.
Veteran Sergeant Darius stood at the head of Second Tactical Squad.
Ten Space Marines formed a firing line behind overturned cargo haulers and reinforced ammunition containers.
No one spoke.
Each warrior knew his role.
Brother Cassian knelt beside the shattered boarding torpedo.
His auspex hummed quietly.
“No movement.” Brother Matthias glanced toward the smoking breach.
“Too quiet.” Darius slowly raised one gauntleted fist.
The squad tightened their formation.
Every bolter tracked the rent in the hull.
The only sound came from escaping steam.
Then…
A heavy metallic footstep echoed from within the ruined torpedo.
Another followed.
Slow.
Measured.
Deliberate.
Not the frantic rush of berserkers.
Not the thunderous charge of Orks.
Whoever approached had no need to hurry.
A lone figure emerged from the smoke.
Ancient Mark III Iron-pattern power armour.
Its original colours had long since vanished beneath layers of soot and matte-black pigment.
No Chapter badge.
No purity seals.
No honours.
Only scars accumulated across centuries of war.
The warrior stopped several metres beyond the torpedo.
His featureless helmet regarded the Hidden Talons.
Silence lingered.
Finally, he spoke.
“You’ve inherited his patience.” His voice sounded strangely hollow, as though spoken from the bottom of an endless cavern.
Darius answered by squeezing the trigger.
— The corridor erupted.
Mass-reactive bolts screamed through the smoke.
Ten disciplined volleys struck almost simultaneously.
Each shell detonated against ancient ceramite.
The warrior staggered once.
Fragments of armour exploded from his breastplate.
His left pauldron shattered.
Yet he remained standing.
Brother Galen adjusted his aim.
“Head.” The next volley struck the helmet squarely.
The blast tore it free.
It spun across the deck before crashing against the bulkhead.
Every Hidden Talon saw what lay beneath.
Nothing.
No flesh.
No skull.
Only darkness.
Not ordinary darkness.
It moved.
It twisted like thick smoke trapped within invisible walls.
The empty armour tilted its headless body.
Then calmly continued walking.
Brother Oren muttered a prayer.
“The Emperor protects.” Darius did not allow surprise to become hesitation.
“Joints.” The squad immediately shifted their aim.
Bolter discipline replaced raw firepower.
Knees.
Neck seals.
Elbows.
Hip couplings.
One shell found the warrior’s right knee.
Ancient ceramite burst apart.
The warrior dropped briefly to one leg.
Brother Severan fired again.
Another bolt entered through the damaged joint.
The explosion ripped the leg completely free.
For the first time…
The warrior fell.
He struck the deck with a heavy crash.
Dark vapour poured from the shattered armour before dissolving into the surrounding air.
Within seconds…
Nothing remained.
Only an empty suit of broken armour.
Brother Cassian cautiously approached.
He knelt beside the remains.
His auspex completed three separate scans.
“No biological matter.” “No skeletal structure.” “No tissue.” He looked up.
“The armour was empty.” — None of them had time to consider the implications.
More footsteps echoed inside the boarding torpedo.
Not one pair.
Many.
Veteran Sergeant Darius slowly drew his chainsword.
The ancient weapon growled as its monomolecular teeth accelerated to full speed.
“Brothers.” His voice remained calm.
“They come.” Black-armoured figures emerged from the smoke.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty.
Every suit bore different marks of manufacture.
Some wore Mark II Crusade Armour.
Others Mark III or Mark IV.
One towering figure even wore the distinctive angular plates of ancient Cataphractii Terminator armour.
Every symbol had been removed.
Every surface painted black.
Every warrior silent.
Brother Matthias counted quickly.
“Twenty-six.” Darius smiled beneath his helmet.
“Good.” Brother Galen looked sideways.
“Good?” “We outnumber them.” Several Marines chuckled.
The tension broke for only a heartbeat.
Then Darius raised his sword.
“Hidden Talons.” Every bolter locked onto its target.
“Advance.” — Instead of waiting behind cover, the Hidden Talons moved forward as one.
It was not recklessness.
It was doctrine.
Raven Guard successors never surrendered the initiative.
The corridor narrowed toward the damaged cargo bay.
Only four warriors could fight abreast.
The enemy’s superior numbers meant nothing.
Brother Oren fired first.
Two bolts struck an approaching warrior in the chest.
Before the armour could recover, Brother Severan stepped forward.
His chainsword bit deeply into the cracked breastplate.
The enemy collapsed beneath the combined assault.
Another black-armoured warrior swung an ancient power axe.
Brother Matthias intercepted the blow with his combat shield.
Sparks erupted as energized fields collided.
Darius moved instantly.
His power sword slipped beneath the warrior’s raised arm.
One precise thrust.
The blade pierced the reactor housing.
Blue energy flashed.
The armour convulsed violently before collapsing.
Again…
Only darkness escaped.
No blood.
No corpse.
Only empty ceramite.
The Hidden Talons were not fighting living Space Marines.
They were fighting echoes.
— High above the battle, on the bridge of the *Talons of Terra*, another alarm sounded.
An augur officer looked up sharply.
“My Chapter Master.” Corven turned.
“What is it?” “The *Merciless Death*.” Every eye shifted toward the hololithic display.
The drifting cruiser had changed.
One by one…
Its ancient running lights flickered to life.
Then another.
And another.
Across the scarred hull, dormant systems awakened after half a century of silence.
The vessel looked less like a wreck now.
More like a beast opening its eyes after a long sleep.
Chief Librarian Kaelen staggered.
He reached for the Strategium table to steady himself.
Captain Voss caught his shoulder.
“What do you see?” Kaelen’s face had gone pale.
“I hear them.” “Hear who?” “The crew.” His voice trembled.
“They’re praying.” No one answered.
Because at that exact moment…
Every vox speaker aboard the *Talons of Terra* emitted the faint sound of thousands of voices chanting in perfect unison.
Not screaming.
Not crying.
Praying.
The prayer echoed through every deck of the Battle Barge, carried across vox channels that no one had activated.
Even the veteran bridge crew felt a chill.
Corven listened for only a few seconds before speaking.
“Seal all internal vox traffic.” The communications officer hesitated.
“My lord…” “It’s not using our vox.” The chanting continued.
Steady.
Unbroken.
As if thirty-two thousand faithful souls were gathered within a single cathedral.
Corven looked once more toward the awakening cruiser.
For the first time since entering the Dorian Expanse…
He felt the enemy’s true move had begun.
And somewhere deep within the ancient halls of the *Merciless Death*…
Something answered those prayers.