The Last Warmth

The screen lit up, and the young man's face appeared before them all. Behind him stood the Central Control Room's enormous bulletproof window, now covered in a spiderweb of cracks. Through it, they could clearly see the hellish, blood-red sky outside and the enormous dark crimson figure charging forward in a frenzy.

Yet the young man on the screen was terrifyingly calm. His face even bore a faint, composed, almost courteous smile.

"Good afternoon, Admiral Abukhensis, and generals." His voice carried clearly through the comms to every corner of the bridge. There was not a trace of fear of death or despair at the coming apocalypse in it, only the calm composure of someone about to attend a grand banquet he had long awaited. "My apologies for interrupting your enjoyment of this magnificent display of destructive fireworks, but what I have to say may take a little time. I hope you will hear me out."

Admiral Abukhensis said nothing. He merely stared fixedly at that far-too-young face on the screen.

"First, I must state a fact you may find difficult to accept." The smile on Alexander's face did not fade in the slightest. "We have failed. We cannot save the Hymn Engine. We cannot save this fortress. Angron cannot be defeated by mortals, at least not by the methods we are using now."

His words struck every commander who still clung to a shred of hope like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over their heads.

"Second, I hope you will issue the order to retreat immediately."

"What?!" The Mars Fleet captain who had been the first to accuse Alexander of being a "coward" once again sprang up before anyone else. "Retreat?! You coward! Madman! Do you even know what you're saying?! We are soldiers of the Imperium! Behind us stands the Hymn Engine! The hope of all Imperium Nihilus! We..."

"General," Alexander calmly interrupted his roar of anger and humiliation, "allow me to ask you a question. Which do you consider more important: the Hymn Engine, or the entire Fourth Fleet gathered here, a force representing a full tenth of the Indomitus Crusade's fighting strength?"

The Mars Fleet captain was left speechless.

"The Hymn Engine is a beacon. It is important. But when a forest is consumed by a fire that cannot be extinguished, a wise forester should not cling to his little wooden watch post and burn to ashes with it. He should immediately take every tool and every person he can use, withdraw to safety, and then build a wider, stronger firebreak."

"If the Hymn Engine is destroyed, the consequences will extend far beyond the loss of a navigational beacon." Alexander's voice suddenly grew profoundly grave. "Its explosion will inject Khorne's boundless hatred into the soul of every living mortal here, like the most virulent plague. When that happens, you will face an enemy more terrifying than Angron-yourselves."

"Your soldiers, your comrades, even you yourselves could fall in an instant, becoming slaves of Khorne who know nothing but slaughter and bloodlust. Have you ever seen millions of your own people suddenly turn their guns around and begin massacring their comrades in a frenzy? Believe me, you do not want to."

A deathly silence fell over the bridge. An expression called "fear" appeared on every face. It was not that they had never considered this terrible possibility, but they had deliberately avoided it. Now, this young Commissar had laid that bloody reality bare before them all in the cruelest, coldest, most blunt manner possible.

"So, Admiral." Alexander turned his blazing gaze back to the fleet commander-in-chief, who had remained silent throughout. "Please consider the greater good. Take every unit that can still evacuate and leave immediately. Return to the Lord Regent's side and tell him what happened here."

"As for us..." Alexander turned his head and glanced at the alloy doors behind him, already on the verge of collapse. That radiant, sun-warm smile returned to his face. "...we will offer you and all our departing brothers the most magnificent, dazzling display of farewell fireworks."

The transmission ended, and the screen went dark.

The bridge remained deathly silent. Every gaze rested on the white-haired old man, motionless as a statue. They waited for their commander-in-chief to make the hardest, most painful decision of his military career.

After a long while, Admiral Abukhensis slowly closed his bloodshot eyes. A cloudy tear slipped silently from the corner of his eye, creased like a dry riverbed. Then he abruptly opened his eyes again. All hesitation, pain, and reluctance had vanished from them, replaced by a steel-cold resolve.

"All ships, heed my command!" His hoarse voice, filled with unquestionable authority, rang out across the fleet's communications network. "...retreat. Every ship still capable of movement is to disengage immediately and assemble at the designated emergency jump point. This is not cowardice. This is an order. For... the Emperor."

With that, he slumped helplessly back onto his command throne, as though all his strength and soul had been drained away in an instant, leaving an ordinary old man who had suddenly aged a hundred years.

As his order, filled with pain and resolve, went out, the brutal naval battle in orbit over Malakbel took a dramatic turn. The Imperial Fleet's once-unbreakable line of steel began to draw back slowly, like an ebbing tide. A tragic, heroic retreat, filled with sacrifice and glory, had begun.

Meanwhile, in the fortress's crumbling Central Control Room, Alexander set down the communicator. He turned to face his ten thousand "family members," already assembled. Their faces showed no fear of approaching death, only the ecstasy and excitement of people about to celebrate the holiest of festivals. They clutched High-Energy Plasma Explosives powerful enough to blast even a Bloodthirster back into the Warp, their cold casings already covered in fervent slogans painted in their own blood.

"The Fireplace is here! Burn everything to ashes!"

"Our bodies are firewood, our souls are flames!"

"Fight for our Elder Brother! Give your lives for the Emperor!"

They were waiting for their Elder Brother to give his final command.

Alexander looked at those faces filled with fervor and adoration, and a trace of tenderness rose in his pale golden eyes. He spread his arms as though he meant to embrace all ten thousand members of his family.

"Brothers! Can you hear it? That is the horn calling us home! Our fleet is retreating, and the rest of our family is leaving this place safely. We will be their final shield! We will be the first beacon the Imperium lights upon this dark land-and the brightest!"

"Now! Raise the 'firewood' in your hands! Let us offer that big fellow outside, who has grown tired of waiting, the last warmth of our 'home'!"

"Roooooar!!!"

Ten thousand throats of mingled steel and flesh unleashed an earth-shaking roar as one, filled with longing for destruction and glory!

Then, BOOM!!!

The Engine Room's blast doors, forged from an unknown alloy of the Dark Age of Technology, finally gave a groan under the strain of Angron's ceaseless, furious blows and crashed down.

An enormous, oppressive dark crimson figure appeared in the doorway, followed by eight equally immense and terrifying figures wreathed in hellfire. Angron and his eight mightiest bloodthirsty servants had finally stepped into the tomb Alexander had built for them with his own hands.