The fleet attacking the Song Offering belonged to a Drukhari Kabal that had long lurked within the Webway, the transport network left behind by the Old Ones.
They lay hidden in the labyrinthine branches of the Webway, like spiders waiting for prey in the shadows.
They had set their sights on the Song Offering's full load of "live captives" and vast quantities of supplies.
Several days earlier, when the Song Offering had tumbled ignominiously out of the Warp passage.
While its navigation systems were in disarray under the influence of the Warp Storm, the hunters had already locked onto their prey.
Now was the moment when everyone aboard had just shaken off the storm's aftereffects and was at their least guarded.
The warband's leader was a Kabal pirate lord known as Valak, "The Impaler."
On the command throne of his Torture-class cruiser, the Wailing Corridor, he revealed a sinister smile.
A pair of bionic eyes gleaming with eerie green light were set into his pale face.
"Perfect timing." Valak's voice was hoarse and grating.
"Webway exit coordinates locked, ten thousand meters from the prey, in a complete sensor blind spot.
Activate the shadow field. Run the void jammers at full power.
Let's give these sluggish monkeys a 'surprise.'"
"Heh heh heh."
Accompanied by Valak's laughter, the Drukhari fleet emerged like demons rising from the deep sea.
Without warning, they leaped out of empty space.
The Wailing Corridor led the way, closely followed by two Corsair-class frigates with razor-sharp lines, painted deep purple and white.
Their appearance brought no energy fluctuations, no roar of engines, as though they were themselves part of the void.
This was precisely the most terrifying feature of Drukhari ships.
In pursuit of ultimate speed and ambush capabilities, they made appalling sacrifices in defense.
They had put all their technology points into stealth, maneuverability, and ferocious firepower capable of tearing prey apart in an instant.
They were true "glass cannons" in the Warhammer universe.
The shadow fields and void jammers made it impossible for the Song Offering to detect the fleet's presence.
The surrounding Warp Storm, which had yet to fully subside, served as a natural barrier.
It completely blocked any distress signals the Song Offering might send.
For the dark bean sprouts, this region was the perfect hunting ground.
The Wailing Corridor cruiser's hull, shaped like a twisted spine, adjusted its orientation slightly.
Beneath its prow, launch tubes resembling insect mouthparts opened silently.
Two slender torpedoes, their surfaces covered in bizarre runes and tiny spikes, were ejected.
Electronic decay torpedoes.
These were vile creations of the Drukhari, capable of suppressing energy generators.
Trailing eerie green wakes, the two torpedoes shot precisely toward the Song Offering's pale blue, spherical Void Shield.
At the moment of contact, there was no deafening explosion. Eerie green patterns rapidly spread across the surface of the shield where it had been struck.
These patterns spread relentlessly, disrupting the shield generators' energy flow and forcing them into an unstable recycling state.
In the struck area, the shield rapidly dissipated at a visible rate, leaving a gap over a hundred meters across.
Only then did shrill alarms ring through every corner of the Song Offering like a belated death knell.
"Alert! Unidentified ships detected approaching!"
"Port side under attack! Shield energy down thirty percent! Local shields have failed!"
"It's the Drukhari!"
"The D-Drukhari?!" Kerry's voice trembled, filled with terror.
The prestige of being the descendant of an Astra Militarum major general offered him not a shred of courage at that moment.
The greatest "campaign" of his life had been successfully "simping" his way into a relationship with Isolde.
When it came to war, he knew absolutely nothing.
Isolde was little better.
She forced herself to remain composed, but her fingers clenched tightly around her wineglass and her face instantly drained of color betrayed her.
She excelled at dealing with the powerful at banquets and balls, and was well versed in using wealth and rhetoric to secure benefits.
But military affairs and combat were fields she had never ventured into.
Sweat streamed down Otto's fat face. He kept wiping it away, but more and more welled up.
He had indeed spent a few years in the Astra Militarum when he was young, but only as a lowly grunt.
He had survived long enough to retire through sheer luck, then used shameless flattery to work his way into his current position.
Have him command a ship against the notorious Drukhari pirates?
That was far beyond the limits of his abilities.
"The bridge! Let's go-go to the bridge first!"
Isolde was the first to react, her voice carrying forcibly suppressed panic.
"Yes, yes! To the bridge!" Kerry snapped out of his daze and staggered to his feet, only to nearly trip over himself.
He looked at Otto, a trace of dependence showing in his eyes:
"Otto! Y-you take command!
You served in the Astra Militarum. You can command the soldiers aboard properly, right?"
Otto opened his mouth, wanting to say he could not, but as he looked at Kerry's expression, which was on the verge of tears.
And at the complicated look Isolde cast him, mingled with a trace of trust, he swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.
Power-he too craved power, but when responsibilities far beyond his ability to control truly pressed down on him like a hill.
He felt only endless panic and bewilderment.
"I..." Otto stumbled over his words, but finally, under Kerry's almost pleading gaze.
"As you command, my lord! I... I'll do my best!" He agreed.
Yet amid overwhelming panic and a lack of ability, his so-called "command" soon became a disaster.
In a muddle, Otto followed Kerry and his wife as they rushed to the bridge.
Upon reaching the bridge, faced with consoles flashing countless red warnings and the officers' anxious gazes, Otto's mind went blank.
He kept repeating the same order: "Hold them off! Fire! All weapons, fire!"
But he gave no specific tactical orders, much less any resource allocation or response strategy.
Finally, under immense pressure, he made a seemingly "reasonable" decision:
"A-all defensive units, use your own judgment! Fire at will! Hold your posts!"
But without unified command, the Song Offering's defensive sections became isolated islands, each fighting its own battle.
Just then, the second stage of the Drukhari attack followed hard on the first.
Two Corsair-class frigates suddenly appeared like ghosts at the gap in the shields.
Splinter turrets and laser cannons spat lethal fire.
They exchanged fire with the poorly coordinated weapons platforms on the Song Offering's decks.
The frigates had a clear objective: draw and disrupt the Song Offering's fire to create an opening for their allies.
The Wailing Corridor cruiser did not waste the opening the frigates had created.
Its ventral bay doors opened, and a mixed formation of six Razorwing attack craft and four Voidraven bombers flew out like venomous wasps leaving their nest.