"We made a grave misstep from the very beginning."
"A serious and potentially fatal one."
Typhus spoke, his gaze directed accusingly at Abaddon, clearly attributing the fault to him. Even before he could continue, Abaddon's adjutants were already glaring at him, eyes filled with hostility. Yet Abaddon himself remained unmoved, lost in a haze of blurred memories, the confusion clouding the mind of the Black Legion's Warmaster.
Typhus ignored the hostile stares, pressing on, "We never should have trusted that mysterious sorcerer. Over the past years, he's constantly issued orders—one moment telling us to do this, the next to do that. Sometimes he even sent our forces to their deaths."
"And what did all his efforts bring us?"
"A rift, no more than that."
Typhus' words summoned memories in Abaddon's adjutants, recalling the events from years ago. The sorcerer had been brought before the Warmaster by Huron's men. None could say what he had whispered, but afterward, Abaddon accepted him, following his every instruction.
Typhus wasn't Abaddon's subordinate, but an ally, with no obligation to obey. Yet Abaddon had insisted that if the ritual succeeded, victory was assured.
"So what did we do?" Typhus continued. "We swarmed Cadia, utterly blind to our enemy. Just as we prepared for a fleet battle, the enemy crippled our ships with a strange weapon."
At this, the leader of the Red Corsairs fleet also cast a dissatisfied glance at Abaddon. Truly, their present predicament stemmed from that blind rush toward Cadia.
In response, Abaddon neither argued nor scolded; instead, he spoke with icy detachment, "You're free to leave, Typhus. Take your fleet and depart. After sustaining such losses, without a reward to show for it, at least you can walk away."
Typhus was silent, his rational mind acknowledging that the Plague Fleet had indeed paid dearly. Regardless of how the war might unfold, the best course might indeed be to withdraw.
Yet, to walk away would be to render all previous sacrifices meaningless.
Typhus decided to hear Abaddon out—to stay or to leave, all would depend on the Warmaster's next strategy.
"Instead of dwelling on blame, let us discuss our strategy," Abaddon said, rising from his throne and moving to the viewport to gaze at the battered fleet outside.
The sight was sobering: the fleet was a shadow of its former strength. Every frigate had been lost; the remaining cruisers bore the scars of battle, and although the battleships were in better shape, only the Vengeful Spirit remained truly intact.
The two Blackstone Fortresses, however, were absent.
Abaddon surmised they might not yet have crossed into the warp.
"You think the ritual was a failure. I, however, believe the opposite," Abaddon said, turning to Typhus. "Had it not been for the rift, our defeat would have been absolute. No hope of reversal would remain."
"And what good does the rift do us now?" Typhus asked.
"The rift is our edge, one we can still amplify," Abaddon suggested, drawing Typhus' mind further. "Imagine we begin systematically destroying the star systems around Cadia. What do you think would happen?"
Typhus considered this, his thoughts aligning with Abaddon's.
Celestial bodies suppressed the warp; hence the use of Mandeville points within star systems. By obliterating nearby star systems, the veil separating the physical universe from the warp would weaken, expanding the ritual's rift. This expansion would serve them in many ways.
For example, the Blackstone Fortresses, powered by warp energy, would grow even stronger.
Yet, despite understanding Abaddon's intention, Typhus remained skeptical. "Theoretically sound, but have you considered the sheer scale of destruction needed? We'd have to obliterate entire planets, even stars, and with utmost speed; for if we take too long, the Talon Navy would simply ambush us as they deploy from the rift."
"There's more."
"The distances between star systems are vast. Even if we destroy many, there's no guarantee the effect would reach Cadia."
Having laid out his doubts, Typhus waited for Abaddon's response, the decision to stay or depart hinging on how convincing the Warmaster's answer might be.
After a moment of thought, Abaddon spoke, "The sorcerer once shared something with me."
"Must you bring up that wretch again?" Typhus's patience was wearing thin.
Ignoring him, Abaddon continued, "If the summoned rift were meant only to allow passage for a few ships, there would be no need to establish ritual nodes throughout the Obscura. The rift can, at its fullest extent, encompass a sphere of three hundred light years in diameter. For every celestial body near it that is erased, its reach widens."
Typhus's mind whirled with the possibilities.
A rift stretching three hundred light years would be a dream; but even if it expanded only to planetary scale, that alone would suffice—demons could be summoned directly into enemy ships through the rift.
"Why did you keep this to yourself?" Typhus's dissatisfaction with Abaddon only grew; the Warmaster always held back vital information.
"If I had foreseen that the Iron Planet would reach Cadia in mere days, or that two Blackstone Fortresses would fail even to delay it... believe me, I would have made the necessary preparations," Abaddon replied, helplessly.
Typhus pondered, then nodded.
"For now, everything hinges on the return of the Blackstone Fortresses. If they do not return, we part ways immediately," Abaddon concluded, his gaze once more shifting to the stars beyond the viewport.
In silence, the others awaited their fate. The return of the Blackstone Fortresses was their sole hope for salvation.
...
How long had passed, none could say.
All auxiliary damage on the Vengeful Spirit had been stabilized, and the crew now attended to minor repairs.
At last, the space before the fleet shuddered. A dark, eight-pointed fortress emerged—the Blackstone Fortress.
The fortress had just passed through the rift at breakneck speed into the warp.
Accompanying it, however, was a beam of light—a lance, skimming past the fortress to strike the Vengeful Spirit, puncturing two engines near the stern.
In the bridge, Abaddon learned of the ill-timed disaster that had befallen his ship and felt as though a dagger had been twisted into his still-healing heart.
"Contact the fortress garrison and have them steer it closer," he ordered.
A lieutenant tried to hail the fortress crew, but despite repeated attempts, received no reply.
Abaddon suspected there might be intruders within the fortress. Determined not to let this final hope fall to ruin, he issued a second command to his lieutenant: "I will personally lead a contingent aboard the Blackstone Fortress."