"Father!"
Amid the roar of Assault Craft engines and the hiss of plasma exhaust, the remaining Word Bearers Warriors finally passed through the seemingly bottomless opening and landed inside the vast metal hall.
They swiftly deployed into tactical formation, Bolters trained on every shadowy corner as their helmet sensors scanned the strange, unsettling space.
Then they saw something that baffled them.
Their Gene-Father, Lorgar, stood quietly to one side. The glow of the Greatsword in his hand had faded, but its tip still rested against the floor.
Not far away, Champion Hercules and the missing survey team lay sprawled across the floor, deeply unconscious. Only their steady breathing proved they were still alive.
The first Company Captain to land strode forward, scanning his surroundings warily before finally turning to Lorgar. "My lord, what... happened here? Champion Hercules..."
Lorgar did not even draw his gaze away from somewhere deep within the hall. He merely raised a hand to signal that there was no need for alarm, his voice utterly calm.
"Nothing serious. A minor accident. They fell and knocked themselves out."
"The Transport Ship is standing by above. You, escort them back to the surface immediately. Make sure medical support is ready. I will handle things here."
The warriors exchanged glances, but a Primarch's command was absolute.
They acted swiftly, carefully lifting the unconscious personnel, activating their Jump Packs, and flying toward the opening above.
Only when all signs of the warriors had faded did Lorgar turn and stride toward the metal wall on one side of the hall.
His psychic perception had already spread like spilled mercury, meticulously probing and analyzing every inch of the wall's structure.
Using the fragments of structural schematics he had obtained earlier from the projector Trazyn had given him—filtered, but still enough to point him