Ulthwé Craftworld, the vast worldship that drifted like a ghost along the edge of the Eye of Terror, had never known true peace since its creation. Like a lighthouse standing beside the eye of a storm, it endured the constant incursions of Chaos seeping through the Warp Rifts. Its surface was covered in the scars of war, and its warriors were always ready for battle.
Big Mek Eldrad Ulthran, the legendary figure who had lived for ten thousand years, witnessed the rise and fall of the Imperium, and foreseen countless futures, stood atop Ulthwé's highest observation dome.
Beside him stood Ulthwé's finest Black Guardians and Storm Guardians. Their expressions were solemn, the atmosphere oppressive. Moments earlier, the Flawless Host, a Chaos Warband composed of Slaanesh's followers, had launched yet another surprise attack on Ulthwé's defensive network.
"Big Mek," a Guardian leader stepped forward to report, "the enemy's assault is fierce. They seem determined to breach our hull at any cost. Do we... need to commit more troops?"
Eldrad did not answer. He merely gazed quietly at the distant stars, at the region stained a bloody purple by the Eye of Terror. His psychic sight had long since pierced the physical barriers and seen something... different.
"There is no need." Eldrad's voice was ancient and hoarse, yet carried a trace of barely perceptible excitement. "Reinforcements... have arrived."
As soon as he spoke, the space ahead of Ulthwé suddenly peeled away in shards, like a shattered mirror. An unimaginably vast Webway Rift was forcibly torn open, and tens of thousands of ships swarmed out like locusts.
Ulthwé's defense platforms instantly went to maximum alert. Every warrior's nerves stretched taut. Drukhari? In such enormous numbers? Had they come to exploit the crisis?
Yet before they could react, the most magnificent flagship in the