The Conqueror floated silently in Amattra's low orbit.
This flagship of the World Eaters had suffered severe damage in the previous battle. Its hull integrity had been greatly compromised, and the enormous breaches blasted open by disintegration fields could not be repaired on the battlefield.
Captain Lotara Sarrin ordered temporary airtight bulkheads deployed, barely keeping the warship operational.
The interior of this XII Legion flagship was dimly lit, with scarlet lumen lamps as the only source of illumination. Most of the World Eaters had already gone down to the surface to wage war, leaving only a handful of third-line troops aboard to stand guard.
Lotara had commanded the Conqueror since she was thirty. Once one of the youngest captains in the Imperium, she now moved through the wrecked compartments of the ship. She knew every piece of metal here, and even darkness posed no obstacle to her.
"What happened to my ship?"
A massive bloody handprint stained the white uniform of the female captain. It was the primarch's recognition of her work, a precious gift she had always carefully preserved.
As the primarch's most fervent supporter, Lotara could fight for Angron until her death.
She stared into the pitch-black compartment, vaguely sensing that something within the darkness was watching her.
Maintenance Servitors would not be here, and unless assigned a task, the mortal crew preferred to remain huddled in their quarters.
The environment aboard the ship had become increasingly unbearable for mortals. Whether it was the World Eaters, stripped of their humanity by the Butcher's Nails and growing ever more frenzied and unstable, or the strange sights people claimed to have witnessed.
The captain had heard reports from her subordinates more than once. They claimed that something lurked in the ship's darkness, whispering eerily and tempting the desires within mortal