The cathedral doors burst open.
Captain Alaric led the First Company at a relentless pace, the thunder of ceramite boots echoing through the immense corridors of the Merciless Death.
Behind them, the hidden chamber sealed itself.
The colossal black rings slowed.
The impossible runes faded.
With a deafening boom, the adamantium gates closed.
It was as if the chamber had decided it had revealed enough.
No one looked back.
Brother Cassian ran beside Captain Alaric.
“My Captain.” “You heard it as well?” Alaric kept his eyes forward.
“No.” “I felt…” He searched for the words.
“…recognition.” The feeling had lasted only an instant.
Not a command.
Not a temptation.
Merely the strange certainty that whatever rested beneath the Merciless Death had known the blood of Corax.
That thought unsettled him more than any daemon ever had.
The First Company reached the central promenade.
The immaculate avenue they had crossed only minutes before had changed.
Portraits lay shattered across the marble floor.
Several statues had toppled.
The stained-glass windows depicting the Great Crusade were fractured by fresh bolt impacts.
Brother Leon knelt beside one of the brass shell casings scattered across the deck.
He examined the markings.
“Legion manufacture.” He looked up.
“These were fired less than five minutes ago.” The Alpha Legion had already fought here.
Captain Alaric motioned toward Sergeant Corian.
“Scout ahead.” The Vanguard Veterans vanished almost immediately.
It was a skill every son of Corax inherited.
Within moments, even power-armoured Space Marines seemed to melt into shadow.
Only the faint clicks of the squad vox confirmed they remained nearby.
The report came less than thirty seconds later.
“Movement.” “Distance?” “Three hundred metres.” “Numbers?” A pause.
“Unknown.” “They aren’t Alpha Legion.” Alaric slowed.
“What do you see?” Another pause.
Corian’s normally calm voice carried an edge of uncertainty.
“I…” “They’re wearing Imperial Navy uniforms.” The First Company advanced carefully.
Storm bolters covered every doorway.
Brother Cassian’s force staff crackled with restrained energy despite the unnatural silence surrounding the Warp.
The corridor opened into another vast transit station.
Hundreds of Imperial Navy crewmen stood silently upon the platform.
Men.
Women.
Officers.
Ratings.
Armsmen.
All wore immaculate uniforms.
Every one of them faced away from the Hidden Talons.
Perfectly still.
Captain Alaric raised one hand.
“Halt.” Not one figure reacted.
Brother Leon checked his auspex.
“No life signs.” Brother Cassian whispered, “They’re not dead.” “They’re memories.” One of the figures slowly turned.
He was young.
Barely twenty standard years.
His uniform bore the insignia of a junior communications rating.
He smiled politely.
“Captain?” Another crewman turned.
Then another.
Within seconds…
Every member of the silent crowd faced the Hidden Talons.
None showed signs of injury.
None appeared unnatural.
They looked exactly as they must have on the day the Merciless Death disappeared.
The young rating spoke again.
“Captain…” “We’ve completed repairs.” Another voice joined him.
“The Navigator requests permission to translate.” Then another.
“Morning prayers begin in ten minutes.” Dozens of conversations began simultaneously.
The crew carried on with ordinary duties.
Completely unaware that they had been dead for half a century.
Brother Remus tightened his grip on his thunder hammer.
“My Captain…” “They don’t know.” Captain Alaric slowly lowered his storm bolter.
“No.” “They’re reliving their final day.” A piercing scream echoed through the station.
The illusion shattered instantly.
The smiling crewmen froze.
Their expressions became masks of terror.
Warning klaxons blared.
Red emergency lumens flooded the station.
Someone shouted, “Warp breach!” Another cried, “Seal the bulkheads!” The crowd erupted into panic.
Crewmen ran in every direction.
Children screamed.
Armsmen drew their weapons.
A deafening explosion rocked the station.
The Hidden Talons stood unmoving while the tragedy unfolded around them like ghosts watching history repeat itself.
Brother Cassian closed his eyes.
“It happened here.” Captain Alaric nodded.
“We’re witnessing the past.” The terrified crew ran directly through the Space Marines, never acknowledging their presence.
One officer stumbled to his knees.
Another attempted to drag him to safety.
Neither reached the blast doors.
The station vanished.
Silence returned.
The transit platform was empty once more.
Brother Corian’s vox clicked urgently.
“Captain.” “Contact.” “Alpha Legion.” Bolter fire erupted from the far end of the corridor.
Mass-reactive rounds slammed into marble columns, showering the Hidden Talons with fragments of stone.
“Cover!” Storm shields locked together as the Terminators formed a defensive wall.
Captain Alaric peered around a shattered pillar.
Twenty Alpha Legionnaires advanced in disciplined formation.
Unlike the empty warriors from the Talons of Terra, these were unmistakably living Astartes.
Ancient Mark IV armour.
Silver Hydra symbols.
Veterans of countless campaigns.
At their head walked a giant in ornate artificer armour.
His helmet bore a crested plume of silver.
Across his breastplate was engraved a single High Gothic word.
Praetor.
He raised one hand.
The Alpha Legion ceased firing.
“I am Praetor Nemeon.” His voice echoed through the ruined station.
“You have seen the vault.” Captain Alaric stepped into view.
“I have.” “Then you understand.” “No.” Nemeon sighed.
“I had hoped your Chapter inherited Corax’s wisdom.” Alaric answered by igniting his power sword.
Blue lightning danced across the blade.
“My Primarch also taught us not to trust traitors.” Several Alpha Legionnaires chuckled quietly.
Nemeon merely inclined his head.
“A fair criticism.” His calmness was unsettling.
He truly believed himself to be reasonable.
“You seek the relic.” Alaric said.
“We seek to contain it.” Nemeon replied.
“The Imperium would destroy what it cannot understand.” “And you would preserve it?” “We have.” The Praetor spread his arms.
“For ten thousand years.” Brother Cassian frowned.
“You’re lying.” Nemeon looked directly at the Librarian.
“No.” His voice became unexpectedly solemn.
“We have sacrificed entire warbands.” “We have murdered inquisitors.” “We have erased worlds from Imperial records.” “Not to possess it.” “To keep everyone else away.” Even Captain Alaric hesitated.
The Alpha Legion were masters of deception.
But Nemeon’s words carried no obvious falsehood.
Brother Leon whispered across the command vox.
“My Captain…” “I believe he thinks he’s telling the truth.” Alaric gave no reply.
Instead he asked the question that mattered.
“If containment is your purpose…” “Why attack us?” Nemeon’s expression darkened.
“Because someone else followed you.” The words had barely left his lips when every lumen in the station failed.
Complete darkness consumed the chamber.
Helmet optics flickered.
Auspex displays died.
Even the targeting runes within Alaric’s helm vanished.
Then…
A sound.
Not bolter fire.
Not footsteps.
Claws.
Something enormous scraped against adamantium somewhere above them.
The noise echoed through the station.
Slowly.
Patiently.
As though a predator had finally found its prey.
Praetor Nemeon looked upward.
For the first time…
The Alpha Legion officer showed fear.
He whispered a single sentence.
“We’re too late.” From the darkness overhead came the unmistakable shriek of twisting metal.
Then something landed among both the Hidden Talons and the Alpha Legion with enough force to crack the marble floor.
Neither side fired.
Neither side moved.
Because whatever had just arrived…
Was neither Imperial…
Nor Chaos.
And both Chapters immediately recognized it as the true enemy.