Glimpsing the Abyss

Macragge's Honour, corridor leading to the quarters

The cold metal passage echoed with the heavy footsteps of MJOLNIR Armor.

Spartan Squad advanced in silence, the deep-blue energy lines on their pauldrons flowing beneath the dim lights.

A motionless figure leaned within the shadows outside their temporary quarters.

Inquisitor Greyfax's robes were like the night itself. Her hood hung low, concealing her face, leaving only those hawk-sharp eyes glinting in the darkness with cold scrutiny and inquiry.

As Carter approached, Greyfax slowly straightened.

"Captain Carter," her voice carried the Inquisition's characteristic chill, though she deliberately slowed her pace, revealing a hint of probing curiosity.

"On the battlefield, you spoke of a Primarch—the Regent of the Imperium of Man—in such... blunt terms. Aren't you afraid his wrath will eventually burn you and your squad to ashes?"

Her gaze swept over Carter's expressionless face, attempting to catch even the slightest flicker of fear or hesitation.

Carter did not slow his pace in the slightest. He did not even turn his helmet toward her.

He brushed past Greyfax, the faint current of air he raised stirring the hem of the Inquisitor's robe.

His only response was a brief, substantively disdainful snort from his armor's speakers, harsh as grinding metal.

The squad members merely shook their heads helplessly and followed their captain.

They filed into the quarters. The heavy Adamantium door slid shut soundlessly before Greyfax, completely cutting her off from the verbal trap she had so carefully prepared.

Greyfax stood alone outside the sealed door, and the shadows in the corridor seemed to deepen.

Beneath her hood, her thin, tightly pressed lips did not tense from being ignored. Instead, they loosened slightly, while the sharp glint in her eyes was replaced by a deeper, almost certain gravity.

"So confident... It seems the Imperium behind you," she murmured to the cold door, softly enough that only she could hear, "carries far more weight than we can possibly imagine."

She turned away, her robes silently merging into the depths of the corridor's shadows, leaving behind an even more complicated mystery.

Deep within the bridge, Guilliman's tactical command Sanctum

A vast holographic tactical table floated at the center of the command room, its cold light outlining complex terrain and moving battlefield models.

At that moment, the table repeatedly played key segments from the Battle of the Plague Garden, especially footage of Spartan Squad fighting under an Iron Warriors ambush.

Guilliman stood with his back to the entrance, hands clasped behind him like a contemplative blue mountain.

His gaze was fixed tightly on the few agile, efficient figures on the tactical table.

"Remarkable coordination efficiency," Calgar said from behind and to his side, his voice low and powerful. "Their reactions show almost no delay, as if they share a single mind. Those drones... they are as natural an extension of their bodies as limbs. Their shifts between attack and cover are seamless."

Guilliman did not respond to Calgar's admiration.

His fingers moved soundlessly across the controls, pulling up another set of images—the deep-scan data Cawl had obtained after acquiring the MJOLNIR Armor, overlaid in real time with combat parameters captured by the battlefield recorders.

Blinding, densely packed red warning boxes instantly flooded the edges of the tactical table like a cascade of blood!

"Data anomaly! Severe deviation from the initial model!" Cawl's mechanical voice trembled with shock and logical confusion as it echoed through the command room.

"The power armor energy core's peak output is 37.8% above the initial records! The shield system's peak overload tolerance has increased by 51.2%! Overall mobility indicators are up nearly 20%! Critical structural armor strength has risen by 35%! And those drones! There was no trace of them in the previous scans!"

The command room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Only the hum of Cawl's pouring data stream and the flickering light of the red warnings remained.

Calgar and several other high-ranking Ultramarines commanders looked at one another, their expressions beneath their helmets filled with incredulous shock.

It practically meant they had changed into an entirely new set of armor under layers of surveillance!

Saint Celestine radiated a soft, steady Glory. Her pure gaze rested on the MJOLNIR Armor models marked by red warning boxes on the tactical table.

"Perhaps... it is some kind of 'dormant' or 'deep camouflage' technology beyond our comprehension."

Her voice was ethereal yet insightful. "Their general specifically instructed us to 'authorize Captain Carter to make his own decisions when circumstances arise.' Could this 'decision-making authority' include... the authority to remove the limitations on these weapons and release their true combat potential?"

Guilliman slowly turned around. His eyes beneath his faceplate were sharp as blades and heavy as lead. Celestine's guess perfectly matched his own thoughts.

"It is not merely tactical authorization," Guilliman said in a low voice, every word carrying immense weight. "It is more like... the general gave Carter a key. A key that can unlock not only personal equipment, but deeper, unknown support assets. What we saw before was merely the tip of the iceberg above the water." His gaze swept across the red warnings on the tactical table. "This power after 'unsealing' is the true baseline strength of their reconnaissance unit."

"Hidden power?" Calgar's voice was slightly dry. "Our Imperium's technological framework... may not even be capable of understanding the form in which it exists!"

Celestine turned her gaze toward Guilliman. "There is another point worth considering. Captain Carter once mentioned that their Imperium has 'angels,' and believed my form lacked certain structural features. From his description, they appear to be a formally organized legion with an extremely high degree of uniformity. I sensed that when Carter spoke of 'angels,' his mental fluctuations carried reverence, as though he were speaking of beings far stronger than themselves. Combined with the technological level they have displayed... the Hilling Empire does not merely possess a powerful Angel Legion. The individual strength level of its members may well be..."

"A... formally organized Angel Legion?!" Calgar sucked in a breath. The impact of the concept far surpassed any weapons data.

The difference between one Living Saint and an entire legion of Living Saints! The level of power behind that was enough to make any Imperial's scalp go numb.

The command room sank into a silence even heavier and more suffocating than before.

Even the light of the holographic tactical table seemed to dim, cold data streams and red warnings reflecting off every face filled with shock and horror.

Within that nearly frozen silence, Guilliman's gaze unconsciously swept over one corner of the tactical table—where footage of Carter Squad calmly fighting on the battlefield and efficiently eliminating Iron Warriors had been paused. A detail once obscured by the intense conflict exploded in his mind like thunder!

Captain Carter's words during their first encounter rang out again, clear and cold: "...We encountered an unknown spatial anomaly while conducting a routine reconnaissance mission and were forcibly transferred here..."

A routine reconnaissance mission!

Guilliman's heart suddenly constricted, as though an icy giant hand from the Void had gripped it hard enough to nearly stop it. An unprecedented chill spread up his spine.

"The equipment technology they have displayed, their tactical discipline, their battlefield adaptability," Guilliman said hoarsely, "and the 'decision-making authority' granted by that general, capable of instantly unlocking such terrifying combat power... all of it surpasses even our Imperium's elite forces! Yet Carter said they were only a 'reconnaissance squad'! If... if that is true..."

Guilliman abruptly raised his head, his gaze seeming to pierce through layer upon layer of the ship's armor and reach the unknown darkness representing the Hilling Empire in the depths of the star chart.

He drew a breath and voiced the despairing conclusion:

"Then this squad, capable of turning the tide of a local battle on our battlefield and earning even the Ultramarines' admiration for its coordination... may truly be nothing more than an utterly ordinary reconnaissance unit within the Hilling Empire! It may not even rank among their main combat legion formations?!"

"What?!"

"That is impossible!"

"An ordinary reconnaissance squad?! What kind of joke is that?!"

Cries of disbelief and roaring protests instantly erupted through the command room! Calgar, the other Ultramarines commanders, even the hum of Cawl's Servo-skulls broke into distorted pitches! The holy light around Celestine flickered violently.

A squad equipped with high-tech power armor they could not comprehend, supported by lethal drones, possessing exceptional tactical discipline, and capable of facing Chaos Space Marines head-on and winning... was merely an "ordinary" reconnaissance squad in that Imperium's eyes?! It completely shattered the limits of their understanding of the words "ordinary" and "reconnaissance"!

Cawl's mechanical eyes fell into brief logical silence before erupting in glaring red light. Countless Servo-skulls spun madly around him as data streams poured forth like a breached flood: "Logic... logical verification... error! Warning! Rebuilding model! If the foundational level of individual combat units is this high... then the level of their primary combat units... their strategic weapon level... the scale of their war... model resource requirements... cannot be met! Cannot calculate! Logical chain collapse!"

At some point, Greyfax had silently returned to the entrance of the command room. She heard Guilliman's earth-shattering deduction.

Beneath her hood, her stern face had turned utterly pale. The knuckles of the hand gripping her data slate whitened from excessive force.

She stared fixedly at the image of Carter Squad on the tactical table. The scrutiny and hostility in her eyes had long vanished, replaced by nearly physical fear and suffocating gravity. "If... if even warriors like these are merely 'ordinary' expendable assets on the battlefield... then what kind of... hellish sight must the true front lines of the Hilling Empire's war be?"

Guilliman slowly closed his eyes, shutting out the glaring red light of the tactical table and the terrified faces around him.

Carter's cold, stern voice from the battlefield, carrying the absolute authority of military law as he rebuked him, now echoed with unmatched clarity in the depths of his soul.

That undisguised, nearly burning rage was not merely cold criticism of Guilliman's personal mistake.

It was more like an accusation erupting from the depths of the soul, carrying the stench of gunpowder and blood.

Within that harsh rebuke seemed to echo the bitter lessons Carter had witnessed firsthand, perhaps even endured himself—the countless lives needlessly extinguished by similar "heroic" reckless charges; entire battle lines collapsing and bleeding because of a commander's momentary impulse; and the echoes of desperate abysses carved into memory, abysses that could have been avoided if those in power had not neglected their duties.

That anger was filled with profound hatred for repeating such mistakes. It was ice-cold and piercing, yet scorching hot.

He opened his eyes and turned his gaze once more toward the tiny, distant Terra on the holographic star chart, surrounded by layer upon layer of crisis.

Along with the weight, worry, and responsibility already in his eyes, there was now an unprecedented sense of insignificance—and... a trace of reverence for the unknown.