"Our escorts are gone," Typhus's image on the comms declared, relaying to Abaddon what he already knew.
Abaddon had no patience for Typhus's griping. He gripped the armrests tightly, trying to steady himself as the bridge shook violently.
"Portside's under attack!"
"We're awaiting damage reports from all portside weapon groups!"
"Assessing damage across the fleet!"
The crew members on the bridge reported incessantly. The fleet had just been ravaged by the strange energy weapon; every escort was destroyed, and the void shields of the other ships were drained. The Vengeful Spirit had taken a direct hit from a particle lance, battering her portside, leaving Abaddon frustrated.
"If you can't come up with a sound strategy, I'll pull my fleet out of here immediately!"
Typhus was even more exasperated than Abaddon, his physical form wavering between weakness and resurgence with every blast from the celestial engine. Pustules broke and reformed, flesh alternately decaying and regrowing… He was fluctuating between torment and a maddening, grotesque comfort.
"We need calm now more than ever," Abaddon spoke evenly, attempting to steady Typhus.
Yet the calmness in Abaddon's voice only provoked Typhus further.
"We're down every escort! I've lost ten cruisers! Ships can be rebuilt, but my kin are dead, and dead they stay!"
"You arrogant fool. Why didn't you assess the enemy's strength before charging into Cadia?"
Abaddon endured Typhus's grievances stoically, though inwardly he wanted to challenge Typhus—after all, Typhus himself had dispatched scouts to the Talon sector. Why hadn't he reconnoitered thoroughly? But Abaddon held his silence.
Just then, an adjutant burst onto the bridge, bringing news of the portside damage.
"My lord, a massive breach has opened along the portside…"
Upon hearing this, Abaddon felt as if someone were clutching his heart. The Vengeful Spirit's portside lay in ruin—a loss far more personal than that of any escort.
"Enough!" he bellowed at Typhus, who was still raging, "You wretched lapdog of the Dark Gods."
Typhus stilled.
"This fleet battle is lost," Abaddon said. Typhus nodded grimly.
Less than half an hour had passed since the engagement had begun, and already every escort was obliterated, and the void shields of all ships were offline. There was no feasible way to fight.
And Huron's captain had not transmitted any word to Typhus or Abaddon—likely dead. The Red Corsairs would likely withdraw as well.
Victory had been within reach only forty minutes earlier. Abaddon's first thought was to throw the entire fleet towards Cadia, deploying ground forces onto the planet.
With the Warp Rift still active in the system, summoning daemons would be simple for their sorcerers.
But he dismissed the thought. Dropping ground forces without orbital control would be suicide, and the fleet would be ravaged en route to Cadia. The cost was not worth it.
"Forty minutes ago, victory was at hand," Abaddon seethed, yet reason reminded him he had to retreat. If they lingered, that planet-sized weapon would soon discharge another arc, annihilating his fleet entirely.
Still, he had one last move before retreating: he would glean more information about the enemy's metallic world, hoping to find a way to strike it down in the future.
Typhus was done waiting; he cut the comms and gave the order to withdraw.
Plague Fleet ships slowly turned toward the Rift, then surged toward it with all speed. The Red Corsairs had already begun their withdrawal; with their escorts gone and commanders dead, retreat was the only choice.
Abaddon was unwilling to abandon the fight entirely, so he issued three orders to his officers on the bridge.
"Cover the Vengeful Spirit's retreat with all remaining ships."
"Prepare every vessel on the fleet's western flank to load assault torpedoes for a boarding engagement."
As he gave the last order, Abaddon's eyes fell upon an officer clutching dual blades. Tyrenon Lyra, a master swordsman, was among the founding warriors of the Black Legion.
But Abaddon did not send him to board. "We don't know if the enemy's shield repels all solid matter… Until I know more, you're staying on the bridge."
With the orders dispatched, Abaddon personally led the boarding maneuver.
…
Ten cruisers were loaded with assault torpedoes, each packed with mortal serfs.
The ten ships were the first wave, a probing force.
If they could break through, elite Black Legion troops would follow for a second wave.
Under Abaddon's command, the cruisers departed the fleet and advanced toward the celestial engine, launching assault torpedoes as they came within its gravity field.
Tens of thousands of torpedoes surged forward, their speed accelerated by the engine's gravity, even faster than normal flight.
As the torpedoes closed in on the engine, Abaddon watched the screen intently, awaiting signs of impact.
The torpedoes were drawn toward the satellite structure. As they neared the shields, they were intercepted by the engine's defense weapons, most blasted apart by missiles and lasers. A few survived the onslaught only to smash into the energy shield.
Abaddon felt disappointment but not defeat. He had learned something vital.
The enemy's shields differed from void shields; they intercepted all solid matter, whether torpedoes or ships. Nothing could breach them unless the shield was overloaded. To board the structure, teleportation would be essential.
This knowledge would be used in the battles to come.
"This war isn't over yet," Abaddon murmured, rising from his seat and clenching his power claw as he gazed at the battleship pursuing the Vengeful Spirit, its form gradually obscured by the cruisers moving to cover its escape.