The enormous Warship, like a dark gray sword, pierced the viscous veil between the Warp and realspace, racing toward coordinates shrouded in death's shadow in the Northern Dimlight Star Cluster.
The roar of its engines was muffled by thick armor, becoming a constant, low tremor deep within the hull, like the heartbeat of a steel behemoth.
Lorgar Aurelian sat quietly upon the throne in his private Meditation Chamber. The room was dim, with only a few floating Psychic Crystals providing a cold, lonely light.
Beyond the vast observation window lay the bizarre, ever-shifting vistas of the Warp, but he paid them no attention.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, steady and regular, like the rhythm of a countdown.
He was considering efficiency: how to break through the Rangdan blockade, crush their main force, and then withdraw, all at the least cost and in the shortest time.
Lorgar had a wider Great Crusade to pursue. He could not allow a single campaign to hold him up indefinitely.
The Word Bearers had committed twenty-five thousand warriors. They represented not only strength, but responsibility and cost.
As tactical projections raced through his mind like a holographic battlefield, an intelligence update shared by higher Command Headquarters fell like a stone into the lake of his thoughts, stirring a different kind of ripple.
The Death Guard Legion and its Primarch, Mortarion (First Company Captain), were confirmed to be joining the battle with their main force.
That name made Lorgar's fingers pause briefly against the armrest.
Mortarion... the Death Guard...
Then a "name," like a viper lurking in the depths of his memory, suddenly reared up in Lorgar's mind.
Typhus.
*No, not yet. Right now, he was still Calas Typhon, Company Captain of the Death Guard's First Great Company (Primarch), one of Mortarion's most trusted