Witnessing history

Until that day.

A Thunderhawk Gunship from the Fourth Fleet of the Indomitus Crusade landed at their garrison. A travel-worn Space Marine of the Ultramarines Chapter stepped out and handed Colonel Carsten and Alexander an order personally signed by Admiral Abukhensis, commander-in-chief of the Fourth Fleet.

The order was brief and clear.

[Order: The "Pride of Cadia" 99th Regiment is to conclude its reorganization immediately, embark within seventy-two hours, and depart for garrison duty in the Malakbel system in Imperium Nihilus.]

Malakbel.

When Colonel Carsten found the name on the star chart-at the far end of the Milky Way Galaxy, in a dark region shrouded by the shadow of the Great Rift-a sense of foreboding rose in his heart.

Yet the instant Alexander, standing beside him, heard that name, an irrepressible, blazing light flashed for the first time in his pale golden eyes, which had always been as still as water. It was a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and madness.

He knew that the final battle of this lifetime was coming at last.

Malakbel. The Hymn Engine.

And... the roaring, unstoppable red cataclysm that would soon be drawn out of the Warp by the Hymn Engine's psychic light.

The Primarch of the World Eaters Legion, the vessel of the Butcher's Nails, the chosen of Khorne.

-The "Red Angel," Angron.

...How interesting.

Deep within Liu Zhipeng's soul, a whisper filled with delighted anticipation sounded, audible only to him.

Using soldiers I've twisted into fanatics through the ideals of "family" and "protection" to fight a tragic demigod driven mad by the loss of his "brothers" and "family."

That's black humor on a cosmic scale.

Let's see whether the protective flames burning in this little "hearth" of mine burn brighter,

or whether his vengeful fury, burning for ten thousand years, burns hotter.

He turned to the Imperial officer beside him, whose expression had grown grave at the prospect of the unknown war ahead, and gave him a radiant smile as warm as sunshine.

"Are you ready, Colonel?"

"We're going to... witness history."

Warp travel was the cruelest test of human bodies and minds, a journey spanning tens of thousands of light-years. Within the transport's cramped, oppressive compartments, time lost all meaning. Beyond the viewports, the Warp's bizarre, ever-shifting chaotic colors were enough to drive any rational soul mad. The monotonous, unchanging hum of the Gellar Field was the only barrier between them and the endless, malicious whispers outside.

For any ordinary Astra Militarum unit, months of such confinement would have been nothing short of a disaster. The soldiers' morale would inevitably plummet, while homesickness, fear, and suspicion spread through their ranks like a plague. Minor brawls, disciplinary breaches, and even mental breakdowns would become commonplace.

For the "Pride of Cadia" 99th Regiment, however, the voyage became an unprecedented, large-scale family bonding exercise on the move.

Until that day, when a shrill, piercing alarm shattered the transport's eternal calm. For the first time, the Gellar Field's hum, as steady as breathing, began to fluctuate violently and ominously. The hull shook fiercely, and the bizarre colors beyond the viewports instantly became a bloody dark red, brimming with malice and spite.

"Warp Storm! We've run into a powerful Warp Storm!" The captain's terrified roar echoed over the communications channel. "All personnel! Return to your stations immediately! Grab anything secured around you! Pray to the Emperor!"

Chaos instantly engulfed the compartments. Yet not a single soldier of the 99th Regiment panicked. As one, they simply turned their eyes toward the figure who remained as steady as a mountain amid the violent pitching-Alexander von Lawrence.

"It seems some guests have come to welcome us early." There was not a trace of fear on Alexander's face; a faint, amused smile even lingered at the corner of his mouth. He spread his arms and called out to his "family," whose eyes were filled with absolute trust:

"Brothers! Do you hear that? Those are the enemy's howls! The terrified screams of cowards cowering in the dark, dreading the flames we're about to bring!"

"Hold tight! Our hearth is being hurled onto the battlefield!"

"Let this storm rage even harder!"

Like a tiny boat amid towering waves, the transport struggled and tumbled through the fury of the Warp, hurtling toward an unknown shore filled with darkness and death.

When his awareness finally cleared after that long, nauseating whirl, the transport had finished its agonizing voyage and lay quietly within the hangar of an immense orbital station.

He and his 99th Regiment had finally reached their destination-the Malakbel system.

Through the hangar's enormous reinforced crystal viewport, he saw the planet that would bring his journey in this lifetime to an end-Malakbel. It was an ochre-colored rocky world that looked utterly unremarkable. Yet upon it stood a magnificent structure so vast that it could be clearly seen with the naked eye from low orbit. It was a white spire thrusting into the clouds like a sword, radiating a gentle, holy glow.

The Hymn Engine.

It was like a candle set amid endless darkness, its psychic light, filled with order and hope, so warm and bright. It constantly purified the surrounding, malice-filled space polluted by the Great Rift. Anyone loyal to the Emperor would feel warmth and reassurance well up from the depths of their soul the moment they saw it, like a wanderer returning home.

In Alexander's eyes, however, this "candle" was also filled with deadly, alluring danger. It did more than guide lost Imperial ships. It was like a great bonfire lit in a dark forest, attracting not only lost travelers, but also the hungry, bloodthirsty beasts drawn to its light and heat.

"Commissar, Colonel." A liaison officer from the Fourth Fleet approached them and gave a regulation salute. "Admiral Abukhensis awaits your arrival aboard the flagship, the Glory of Terra."

The Glory of Terra was an Emperor Battleship so magnificent that it took the breath away from anyone seeing it for the first time. Its mountain-like hull, more than ten kilometers long, was densely covered with Macro-cannon batteries and defensive arrays. The enormous solid-gold Aquila figurehead at its prow reflected the star's light with sacred majesty. It was the undisputed heart of the Fourth Fleet.

When Alexander and Colonel Carsten entered the enormous bridge, large enough to accommodate an entire formation of Knight walkers, they saw dozens of splendidly dressed senior officers from the Imperial Navy's elite fleets standing on either side, their faces filled with scrutiny and curiosity. At the very center of the bridge, before an enormous three-dimensional star chart formed from light and shadow, a tall elderly man in a white naval marshal's uniform slowly turned around. His hair was graying, but his eyes remained as sharp as a hawk's.

He was the commander-in-chief of the Fourth Fleet, one of the supreme commanders of the Indomitus Crusade, and the legendary naval marshal known as the "Shield of the Imperium"-Admiral Abukhensis.