899.M41 – Amerikon Sector The corridors of Listening Station Epsilon-Seven were unnaturally quiet.
Scout Sergeant Varian advanced at the head of his five-man squad, every movement precise and measured.
Their Vantablack scout armour merged with the darkness, broken only by the faint red glow of their helmet lenses.
The metallic clang echoed again.
Closer this time.
Varian raised a clenched fist.
The squad halted instantly.
Brother Cassian knelt, auspex held low.
“No life signs.” Brother Oren frowned beneath his helm.
“Something made that sound.” Varian nodded.
“Proceed.” The Hidden Talons continued deeper into the station.
— Epsilon-Seven had once monitored Warp routes leading into the Amerikon Sector.
Its cogitator banks filled entire chambers, while vox relays stretched like cathedral spires toward the void.
Now they stood abandoned.
Data slates littered the floor.
Meals had rotted where workers had left them.
A child’s wooden toy rested beside an overturned chair.
Not a single drop of blood stained the deck.
No signs of battle.
No corpses.
Nothing.
Brother Cassian stopped beside a terminal.
“This console still has power.” Varian gestured.
“Access it.” The Scout connected his armour directly to the station’s machine spirit.
Ancient data scrolled across his visor.
“Last log…” He paused.
“…Forty-nine years ago.” “Play it.” The room filled with static before an exhausted Imperial officer appeared.
His uniform was torn.
His face gaunt.
Behind him, alarms blared.
> “This is Lieutenant Garran…” > “Unknown vessels have entered the system…” > “No identification…” > “They’re not responding…” The recording suddenly shook violently.
A scream echoed from somewhere beyond the camera.
The officer turned.
“Seal every bulk—” The image froze.
Static consumed the screen.
Then…
Nothing.
Brother Oren examined the terminal.
“It ends there.” “No further logs?” Cassian searched again.
“There should be thousands.” Instead…
Every file after that recording had been erased.
Perfectly.
Methodically.
Not corrupted.
Deleted.
Varian’s voice remained calm.
“Someone wanted this station forgotten.” — Aboard the Battle Barge *Talons of Terra*, Chapter Master Corven stood within the Strategium.
A holographic image of the Amerikon Sector floated above the chamber.
Red markers slowly multiplied.
Captain Lucien Voss reported.
“Four more listening stations have failed to answer.” “Any signs of attack?” “None.” Chief Librarian Kaelen spoke quietly.
“It feels…” He searched for the right word.
“…planned.” Corven turned toward him.
“You sense Chaos?” “No.” Kaelen’s answer surprised everyone.
“I sense…
absence.” “Explain.” “The Warp leaves impressions.” “Fear.” “Hatred.” “Hope.” “Faith.” He looked troubled.
“These systems feel empty.” “As though someone removed every trace of emotion.” Even the veteran Chaplain Malthus looked uneasy.
Such a thing should have been impossible.
— Meanwhile…
Strike Cruiser *Shadow’s Wing* Brother-Sergeant Nicanor led a Tactical Squad through another abandoned relay station.
The story was identical.
Power.
Air.
Food.
Equipment.
No people.
The squad reached the station chapel.
The Emperor’s statue still stood proudly.
Candles had long since burned away.
Brother Lucan stopped.
“Sergeant.” Nicanor turned.
“What is it?” Lucan pointed toward the altar.
An Aquila had been carved into the stone.
Not by Imperial hands.
Someone had scratched it repeatedly until the Imperial Eagle became little more than a pair of jagged claws.
Chaplain Malthus would later identify it as an ancient Chaos symbol used by forgotten cults.
— Hours later…
Varian’s squad finally reached the station’s command spire.
The blast doors remained sealed.
Brother Oren planted melta charges.
“Ready.” Varian nodded.
“Execute.” The explosion echoed through the station.
The doors collapsed inward.
The Scouts entered.
The command center was untouched.
Hundreds of holographic displays still glowed.
Captain’s chair.
Navigation consoles.
Astropathic relay.
Everything remained exactly where it belonged.
Except…
Every chair faced the viewing window.
Every single one.
As if the station’s crew had gathered together.
To watch something.
Varian approached the armored viewport.
Beyond it lay only empty space.
Then— Brother Cassian gasped.
“Movement.” A shadow drifted across the stars.
Far too large to be an asteroid.
It appeared only for a heartbeat.
Then vanished behind the moon.
Varian immediately opened a vox channel.
“Scout Sergeant Varian to *Talons of Terra*.” “We have visual confirmation.” “Unknown object.” “Unable to identify.” Chapter Master Corven’s voice answered instantly.
“Maintain observation.” “Do not pursue.” “Understood.” — Several million kilometers away…
The unknown vessel drifted silently.
No running lights.
No active engines.
No Imperial transponder.
Inside its bridge, dozens of figures watched hololithic displays.
One figure wore battered power armour of indeterminate origin.
Its heraldry had been deliberately scratched away.
A distorted voice emerged from beneath the helm.
“The Raven’s sons have found the station.” Another answered from the darkness.
“They’re quicker than expected.” A third chuckled.
“It changes nothing.” “What of the Merciless Death?” The first figure looked toward the void.
“It remains exactly where we left it.” “And the relic?” “Still asleep.” Silence.
Then…
“Wake it.” — Back aboard the *Talons of Terra*, the fleet’s Master of the Forge entered the Strategium carrying an ancient data cylinder recovered from Epsilon-Seven.
“My Chapter Master.” “We recovered something.” Corven accepted the relic.
“What is it?” “A fragment of the station’s final transmission.” “Play it.” The recording crackled into life.
This time there was no image.
Only a terrified voice.
> “They came without warning…” > “They walk through the darkness…” > “Do not follow the Merciless Death…” A loud impact interrupted the speaker.
Heavy footsteps echoed.
Power-armoured footsteps.
Then came one final sentence.
Spoken by a voice unlike any Imperial servant.
Cold.
Patient.
Almost amused.
> “Tell the sons of Corax…” > “…we have been waiting.” The recording ended.
No one in the Strategium spoke for several long moments.
Finally, Chapter Master Corven looked around the chamber.
“The hunt has changed.” Captain Voss nodded.
“They know we’re here.” Corven’s crimson eye lenses narrowed.
“Good.” “For ten thousand years, the sons of Corax have hunted those who hide in the shadows.” He placed a gauntleted hand upon the hilt of his relic power sword.
“They have forgotten one simple truth.” His voice was as cold as the void itself.
“We were born there.” Far out in the darkness of the Amerikon Sector, an ancient Imperial cruiser drifted unseen.
Its name, worn but still legible across its scarred hull, read: **MERCILESS DEATH** And somewhere deep within its lightless interior…
Something opened its eyes.