The flagship *Storm Maiden* vanished as it slipped into the dimensional space, disappearing from sight.
In the star system, allies and foes alike took note of the *Storm Maiden's* departure, though none paid it further heed. The Chaos fleet, leaving the Titan legions and mortal servants aboard the astral engine, hastily withdrew with their Space Marines, crowding them into three warships instead of boarding the transport vessels. This time, the decoys absorbing the incoming fire were not cruisers but transport ships.
Previously encircled near the astral engine's orbit, the Chaos fleet found themselves still under siege as they retreated; every passing minute saw yet another transport vessel sunk under the relentless assault.
Aboard the bridge of *Soul of Vengeance,* a venerable veteran tasked with leading the Black Legion's fleet held Abaddon's body, staring at the grievously wounded Warmaster, alive but barely.
Two hours earlier, an axe of unknown origin had crippled the enemy's iron planet, enabling the landing assault. But had the Warmaster considered the still overwhelming naval advantage held by the foe? Even if they took the iron planet, what answer would they have to the Tyran navy's blockade?
The ancient warrior cradled Abaddon and furrowed his brow in contemplation. "Warmaster… tell me, what should I do?"
He murmured this entreaty to the lifeless form, but Abaddon offered no response. His wounds ran so deep that one could see through him from front to back. The sorcerers and apothecaries who had examined him earlier assured that he hadn't succumbed entirely, but his life force was faint, fading further with every heartbeat.
As the veteran pondered in helpless frustration, he felt a tremor. Abaddon's eyelids flickered, his sole remaining arm shuddered, and his finger tapped weakly on the bridge floor.
The warrior froze, then clasped Abaddon's hand, believing the Warmaster wished to convey something to him.
But Abaddon only drew a circle with his fingertip, painstakingly and with great effort. Though faint, it was unmistakable.
"A circle…" The warrior pondered, and then realization dawned upon him. "Vortex torpedoes! Vortex torpedoes!"
*Soul of Vengeance* held a formidable arsenal of these torpedoes—twenty-five, in fact. Abaddon had once gifted a single torpedo to Typhus, declaring it to be the last one. But in this protracted struggle for Cadia, no one had spoken wholly in truth.
"I will activate the vortex torpedoes at once." Rising to his feet, the warrior dipped his sword into Abaddon's blood, then held it aloft as he strode toward the armory.
The vortex torpedoes were guarded, and their keepers heeded none but Abaddon himself. To them, it mattered little who temporarily commanded the Legion's fleet; they obeyed orders from no one but their true Warmaster.
When the veteran entered the armory bearing his bloodstained blade, the keepers, ancient warriors themselves, watched in silence. "The Warmaster has…"
He started to explain but was interrupted as the keepers moved into action without delay.
The torpedoes were loaded, not fired all at once, but rather released one every five minutes.
Abaddon understood that whether or not they seized the iron planet, they would still face the Tyran naval blockade—and he had devised a way to scatter them.
…
One vortex torpedo emerged from *Soul of Vengeance's* lone functional launcher, surging forward. It tore past Chaos warships and closed in on the Tyran ships blocking their escape route.
Upon impact, the torpedo exploded, opening a violet vortex in the battlefield. In an instant, the Tyran ships activated their highest-priority protocols, urgently slipping into the dimensional space to avoid being drawn into the swirling abyss.
Although weakened by the activated Blackstone obelisks, the vortex was no less deadly to any ship caught within its radius. It roamed the star system chaotically, forcing Qin Mo to abandon his pursuit of the retreating Chaos fleet to contain the vortex and prevent its erratic path.
The vortex veered toward the Chaos ships.
Unable to control the vortex directly, Qin Mo twisted the surrounding space, distorting its trajectory so it reversed course.
But a god of the Warp, also drawn to the unfolding battle, wrestled for control of the vortex itself, propelling it rapidly toward the Tyran fleet once more.
Qin Mo distorted the space around it further, creating an illusion of infinite distance between it and everything around, rendering it seemingly motionless.
Another vortex torpedo launched, yet before it could release its chaos, Qin Mo redirected it, hurling it into the previous vortex.
Thus he clashed with the Warp deity, bending reality until the vortex dissipated.
With the vortex threat gone, Qin Mo turned his powers upon the Chaos fleet itself. Though he couldn't unravel their ships directly—steeped as they were in the psychic energies of the Warp—he bent the very fabric of space around them, drawing them back to the astral engine's orbit, undoing every effort of their retreat.
But just as the Chaos fleet appeared doomed under the Tyran navy's lances, a vortex torpedo aboard *Finality* detonated.
Harnessing the meager psychic energies released in the vortex, a Warp deity, hindered by the obelisks' interference, used them to manifest a door through the shattered remains of *Finality.*
Qin Mo contemplated amplifying the obelisks to their fullest, creating a zone forever purged of psychic energies. But, aware that doing so would also drive away friendly souls, he hesitated.
"So, you wish to enter, do you? Very well." Qin Mo twisted the space around the Chaos fleet, trapping them in a paradox. Though engines fired at full throttle, they moved not an inch closer to the gate created by *Finality's* remnants.
Within the fleet, psykers and sorcerers burst apart as they desperately tried to channel psychic energy. Though their efforts yielded only droplets, these were not without consequence.
The gate sprouted oozing tendrils, dotted with blue feathers, which wrapped around the ships, dragging them into the depths of the Warp.
With that final act, the gods of darkness withdrew their gaze from the star system.
With the obelisks at full power, the tendril-laden gate was all they could conjure, their utmost response to the plight of their servants.
If this would not free them, then let them be buried here.