The entire Chaos fleet within the star system was in retreat. The cruisers now took on the role of lost escort ships, positioning themselves defensively around the battleships as they fired back at the Tyran forces while advancing toward the rift. With their void shields overloaded by the recent arcing attack, the unshielded warships were destined for disadvantage in the battle against other warships.
To make matters worse, aside from the battleships, most of the cruisers had suffered varying degrees of damage. Some of the less fortunate ones had their propulsion systems disabled, and after struggling forward for a while, the engines stalled, leaving them stranded and exposed to concentrated fire.
A few of these ships, unwilling to endure the indignity of a retreat under fire, turned and charged with grim determination at the nearest Tyran vessel, ignoring the battering hull to accelerate toward impact. Those with enough speed managed to shatter the Tyran shields with their rams, though this merely shattered the shield, and the collision sent the vessel's entire hull shaking violently. No matter how prepared the crew, they were hurled mercilessly about, their bodies meeting a brutal end before the ship itself could fragment.
On the bridge of the *Vengeful Spirit*, Abaddon surveyed the state of his fleet, muttering grimly to Typhus, "At least forty cruisers will be lost during this retreat." Typhus responded with a furious remark, but the cacophony of explosions in the bridge drowned out his words.
Typhus, far off on the *Terminus Est*, watched as the *Vengeful Spirit*'s bridge heaved violently. Abaddon drove his power claw into the throne to brace himself. Typhus began to inquire about the situation onboard, but his words were interrupted by an even fiercer blast.
Abaddon hardly needed a report to know what had occurred. The previous attack had left the *Vengeful Spirit's* port side aflame, likely spreading beyond control until it ignited the munitions storage. Such collateral was an unfortunate reality of war; two blasts may have obliterated near ten thousand crew members, but no matter – hundreds of thousands remained.
Every minor affliction on the *Vengeful Spirit* weighed heavily on Abaddon, yet his gaze remained fixed on the Blackstone Fortress. The fate of this battle, and the chance of continuing the campaign, hinged on its ability to retreat with the fleet. Watching the bridge's display, he observed the two Blackstone Fortresses cease their barrage, pausing to amass warp energy as they slowly drew back – though not without frequent hesitations, as if resisting their pilots' commands.
"Have you noticed the Fortresses?" Abaddon asked Typhus. "I've never seen them so… so alive. Until now, I never even knew if they had weaponry beyond their vortex cannons, but here they are, actively fighting for me."
"If you gifted me a Blackstone Fortress, perhaps I'd study it enough to answer your questions," Typhus replied coolly.
Abaddon didn't indulge Typhus further. Casting a glance out the viewport, he saw that the *Vengeful Spirit* had almost reached the rift. "Layla," he called to his most trusted lieutenant, "go to the *Will of Eternity* and ensure it survives the retreat unboarded."
Layla prepared at once for teleportation.
...
Warp teleportation was notoriously unstable, but the spatial anomalies in this system enhanced both range and precision, allowing Layla to materialize precisely in the control chamber of the *Will of Eternity*, a cube of four thousand square meters, repurposed as the command center of the Blackstone Fortress.
As Layla arrived, she found the dark mechanicus priests, brought in for technical support, barking orders to their subordinates, commanding them to install additional propulsion devices across the Fortress.
"What's the situation?" Layla demanded.
The priest spared her only a glance before grumbling a response, "I don't know."
The Dark Mechanicus priests had a notorious fascination for the forbidden technologies of the Imperium, and though their loyalty had shifted, their temperaments remained much the same. Layla would have been tempted to draw her blade had the priest not been under Abaddon's command.
"Why do the propulsion systems keep failing? Even the newly installed devices are falling short!"
"This damnable Fortress. Cursed engines!"
Layla gleaned enough from the priest's complaints to gather that the propulsion systems on the Blackstone Fortress were malfunctioning, even the recently added ones proving unreliable. If the Dark Mechanicus priests were at a loss, there was little Layla could do.
"I do have a task you're suited for." The priest summoned a servo-skull, motioning Layla to watch. As the skull's glowing eyes aligned with hers, a vision materialized in her mind.
In a corridor at the edge of the Blackstone Fortress, five thousand mortal auxiliaries patrolled alongside ten Chaos Space Marines from various warbands. Suddenly, scores of blue rifts appeared before them, each disgorging a Space Marine. Last among them emerged an alien figure wielding a glowing device that it waved about frantically.
Layla recognized the sigils on the armor of the advancing marines – the Sons of Lamentation, with whom she had once battled. Yet, they seemed different from their past. Each was clad in terminator armor, advancing with cold precision and firing mercilessly upon the patrolling forces.
With no cover to shield them, hundreds of mortals were shredded to pieces every second, the Chaos Space Marines themselves barely lasting any longer.
"Unbelievable…" Layla muttered, her shock evident. She hadn't seen so many terminator-clad marines since the Great Crusade.
Layla reported this development back to Abaddon, requesting reinforcement. As she relayed the situation, she thought of her nemesis, Khayon. If only it were Khayon who had to intercept the Sons of Lamentation, she mused. But alas, Khayon was even more cursed than she was.