The plague had just been eradicated in the Seventeenth Star System, and the ground forces were boarding transport ships bound for the system's two cruisers. But as the crew prepared to head back, a distant purple gleam suddenly appeared in the void.
The captains of both cruisers turned to the source of the light, their view magnifying to reveal what lay thousands of kilometers ahead. Twelve ships were advancing on their position: two lunar-class cruisers and a pair of storm-class frigates. Although most of the Talon fleet's captains and crew had no real combat experience, their immersive training and simulated battles had honed their instincts. Both captains immediately sensed something was amiss.
The composition of the enemy fleet was peculiar, as if it were intended as a decoy or a sacrificial tool to gauge the strength of its opposition. Yet, regardless of the enemy's purpose, Talon's fleet would not engage them directly but instead leap to strategic points across the sector.
The ships activated their dimensional engines and, after a ten-minute charge, vanished into the ether. This abrupt disappearance did not go unnoticed by the twelve encroaching vessels.
"Energy signal lost."
"It seems they fled in fear."
Within the lead lunar-class cruiser, all incoming data coalesced at the captain's bridge. He stood upon a pulsating platform of flesh, observing the tendrils that extended from the ship, coiling through space and occasionally obscuring his view from the massive windows. Below, the twisting, fanged maws that lined the platform occasionally emitted green gas, spurring the crew on with renewed vigor.
"M-m-master, they seem to be afraid of us and f-f-fled," stammered a Nurgling—a small, green creature of pestilence—scrambling onto the captain's shoulder. The captain gave a slow nod and turned, asking the towering figure behind him, "So, is it time for us to withdraw?"
A hulking figure in power armor with a scythe in hand, a Chaos Space Marine clad in the sickening regalia of the Death Shroud, said nothing, merely resting the scythe's blade against the captain's neck.
"No! We had an agreement!" snapped the Nurgling, its voice shrill with agitation. The captain calmly patted the Nurgling, signaling for it to relent, and turned back to the window. "It seems this is our fate," he murmured.
"Oh no…" The Nurgling clutched his neck, sobbing.
"At least we are together, no matter the end." The captain tenderly stroked the Nurgling as he ordered the crew, "Proceed forward."
The fleet moved onward, and from the moment those twelve vessels materialized in the system, the plague began to spread anew, transforming the population into disease-ravaged husks. This development did not go unnoticed by the fleet's plague sorcerer, who relayed the information to the captain.
"Strange," the captain muttered upon hearing the report. "Why does the plague here spread so slowly? Far slower than at the Cadian Gate. I thought the entire system would be overrun by now."
"Something within this sector weakens the plague's potency—it loses some of its... unique qualities here. Were it not for our arrival, the pestilence might have been entirely purged." The sorcerer's tone was tinged with frustration.
"Ah, so that's why we couldn't directly enter the Talon system. It's as if the whole sector is cloaked in some form of Gellar field," the captain replied thoughtfully. "This whole region is eerie."
The sorcerer nodded, closing his eyes and slipping into a reverie as he attuned to the plague's spread across the system. A moment later, he remarked, "Their faith is weak—tepid as water. If they had true conviction, the plague would have taken firmer hold… But this is a remote star system, after all."
The captain glanced at the sorcerer with a smirk. "And this 'they'—which god might that be?"
"You know who I mean," replied the sorcerer.
Another crew member piped up, "Which god? Is it the one who sits idle all day?"
A round of laughter erupted across the bridge, cut short by a sudden shout from a sensor operator: "Detecting massive energy signatures! The readings are—"
Before he could finish, the monitoring apparatus exploded.
Ahead, a series of radiant flashes lit the void, and a vast fleet materialized. Among the approaching ships, one towered above the others—a mighty battleship.
"A battleship," the captain whispered in awe, then bellowed, "We were born to die! The time has come! Prepare for battle!"
At his cry, the Death Shroud withdrew his scythe from the captain's throat, and the ship's bridge erupted into activity as the entire fleet went to full combat readiness.
Meanwhile, the Talon fleet had returned to the strategic point, bringing reinforcements—ten cruisers, twenty frigates, and the flagship battleship Talon's Dominion.
From his vantage on the battleship, Adam studied the advancing, grotesque vessels with a mixture of revulsion and resolve. He quickly devised a strategy, relaying his orders: "Don't let them close the distance. Focus fire and annihilate them."
The command rang through the Talon fleet, and beams from their particle lances converged upon the foe. Talon's Dominion's array of particle lances unleashed seven beams per volley, each more powerful and far-reaching than those of the cruisers.
As the densely packed beams tore across the expanse, they struck with deadly accuracy. With a single salvo, eight of the enemy's ten frigates were destroyed, and the void shields of the remaining ships shimmered dangerously close to collapse.