The order spread through the *Talons of Terra* without fanfare.
There were no speeches.
No grand declarations.
Only a handful of coded vox transmissions sent across the Battle Barge, each acknowledged by a single click of confirmation.
The First Company was to prepare for boarding.
— Deep within the launch decks, Techmarines moved between waiting Thunderhawks, their servo-arms dancing over armour plating and engine housings.
Sacred oils were applied to every moving part while incense drifted through the cavernous bay.
The machine spirits of the gunships were awakened with ancient rites.
Each received the same blessing.
*”Carry the Emperor’s Angels safely into darkness, and return them to His light.”* Rows of veterans stood silently beside their assigned transports.
The warriors of the Hidden Talons’ First Company were unlike the rest of the Chapter.
Each had survived centuries of war.
Each had mastered every weapon in the Chapter armoury.
Each bore scars earned against enemies that most Imperial citizens would never know existed.
Their Vantablack armour seemed to swallow the light around them, while the silvery-black raven’s claw upon the left shoulder caught the glow of the launch bay’s lumens.
Veteran Captain Alaric walked slowly along the line.
He stopped before each Battle-Brother, meeting his gaze for a moment before moving to the next.
No words were exchanged.
None were needed.
— Chapter Master Corven entered the launch bay with Captain Lucien Voss, Chaplain Malthus, Chief Librarian Kaelen and Master of the Forge Hadrian.
The assembled veterans snapped to attention.
Corven looked over the company.
Forty Terminators.
Forty veterans in Tactical Dreadnought Armour.
Two full squads of Sternguard Veterans.
A squad of Vanguard Veterans equipped for close-quarters combat.
Techmarines.
Apothecaries.
Librarians.
Nearly one hundred of the Chapter’s finest warriors.
If the *Merciless Death* held answers…
These were the warriors who would uncover them.
— Corven stepped before Captain Alaric.
“You understand your mission.” Alaric nodded.
“Board the cruiser.” “Secure the bridge.” “Recover survivors, if any remain.” “And if the vessel cannot be reclaimed?” Alaric answered without hesitation.
“It will burn.” Corven nodded once.
“The Emperor protects.” “The Emperor expects us to do our duty.” A faint smile crossed Alaric’s face.
“As always.” — Master Hadrian approached carrying a small adamantium case.
Inside rested a number of polished silver devices.
Teleport homers.
He handed one to each Terminator Sergeant.
“The machine spirit aboard the *Merciless Death* is unstable.” “Teleportation directly onto the vessel is impossible.” “So we establish landing zones.” “Exactly.” — Chief Librarian Kaelen remained unusually quiet.
Captain Voss noticed.
“You’ve seen something.” Kaelen hesitated.
“Perhaps.” “What?” The Librarian looked toward the launch bay doors.
“I don’t believe we’re the first Astartes to board that ship.” Voss frowned.
“The black-armoured warriors.” Kaelen slowly shook his head.
“No.” “Someone else.” “Long ago.” — The launch bay doors opened.
Void shields shimmered.
Three Thunderhawks lifted from the deck almost simultaneously, engines roaring as they entered the darkness beyond.
The Battle Barge remained behind, flanked by the Strike Cruisers and escorting frigates.
Its broadside batteries continued exchanging fire with the enemy fleet.
The void battle had not ended.
If anything, it had grown more intense.
Corven watched the departing gunships from the bridge.
“Escort?” Master Decimus nodded.
“Four Stormhawk Interceptors.” “Maintain overwatch.” “No unnecessary risks.” The Chapter Master folded his arms behind his back.
“The First Company fights alone once they land.” — Inside Thunderhawk One, silence filled the troop compartment.
The veterans sat facing one another, bolters resting across their knees.
Only the vibration of the engines disturbed the stillness.
Captain Alaric stood near the cockpit.
Veteran Sergeant Gideon checked the seals on his Terminator armour one final time.
Brother-Sergeant Corian quietly recited the Catechism of Readiness.
Across from him, Apothecary Leon prepared his narthecium.
The ritual was familiar.
Every warrior aboard the transport understood it.
Preparation drove away fear.
— The cockpit vox crackled.
“Five minutes to target.” Alaric stepped into the cockpit beside the pilot.
The *Merciless Death* dominated the viewport.
At this distance its immense size became overwhelming.
Its scarred hull stretched for kilometres in every direction.
Scars from macro-cannon impacts marked its armour.
Ancient lance wounds had melted entire sections of plating.
Some damage appeared impossibly old.
Perhaps dating back to the Horus Heresy itself.
Yet despite decades of abandonment…
The cruiser no longer appeared dead.
Thousands of running lights glowed steadily.
Hangar beacons flashed.
Several defence turrets slowly tracked the approaching Thunderhawks.
They did not fire.
They simply watched.
Alaric did not like that.
— “Captain.” The pilot pointed ahead.
“The docking bay.” Massive blast doors stood fully open.
Beyond them…
Darkness.
No guiding lights.
No deck crews.
No movement.
Only a yawning void waiting to swallow the gunships whole.
Alaric keyed the company vox.
“No one removes their helmets.” “No one breaks formation.” “No one pursues contacts alone.” Acknowledgements came immediately.
— As the Thunderhawks crossed the threshold, every lumen inside the hangar suddenly ignited.
The vast chamber blazed with harsh white light.
Rows upon rows of Imperial landing craft stood exactly where they had been left fifty-one years earlier.
Arvus Lighters.
Cargo shuttles.
Thunderbolt components awaiting assembly.
Ground vehicles.
Everything remained in perfect order.
Not one showed signs of battle.
Not one had been touched.
Brother Cassian stared through the viewport.
“It looks…” He searched for the right words.
“…like they left yesterday.” Captain Alaric felt the same unease.
Nothing had gathered dust.
Nothing had rusted.
Time itself seemed unwilling to touch this place.
— The Thunderhawks landed.
Their ramps lowered with a metallic hiss.
Silence greeted them.
No gunfire.
No alarms.
No enemy.
Only the distant hum of a ship that should not have possessed power.
Captain Alaric descended first, power sword in one hand and storm bolter in the other.
His boots struck the deck with a heavy clang.
The rest of the First Company followed, spreading into disciplined formations.
Brother Cassian activated his auspex.
“Atmosphere breathable.” “Gravity stable.” “Temperature nominal.” He frowned.
“There should be bodies.” There were none.
Not a single crewman.
Not even signs that anyone had ever fled.
The landing crews had simply…
Vanished.
— A low chime echoed through the cavernous hangar.
Every Hidden Talon froze.
The sound came from the ship’s internal vox system.
After a moment, a calm, emotionless voice spoke.
> **”Welcome aboard, sons of Corax.”** The words echoed through the empty hangar.
Then the voice continued.
> **”The Captain has been expecting you.”** Silence returned.
Captain Alaric slowly raised his bolter.
“Defensive formation.” Forty Terminators locked their storm shields together, while Sternguard Veterans covered the flanks with disciplined precision.
Somewhere deeper within the *Merciless Death*…
A heavy blast door unlocked.
Then another.
Metal groaned against metal.
The echoes rolled through the immense cruiser like distant thunder.
Captain Alaric looked toward the darkness beyond the hangar.
“First Company.” His voice was calm.
“We move.” With measured steps, the Hidden Talons crossed the threshold into the forgotten heart of the *Merciless Death*.
Behind them, unseen by any Imperial eye…
The Thunderhawk ramps slowly began to close on their own.