When Morgan finally extricated herself from the consciousness composed of fragmented memories and incomplete sensory input, the void-space chronometer on the battleship already showed nearly forty-six Terra Standard Hours.
In other words, they had been buffeted by the void-space currents for about two days. At first, this sudden misfortune had certainly caused tension on board, but fortunately, under the careful guidance of the hundred Dark Angels led by Zahariel, everyone quickly calmed down.
By the time Morgan had almost involuntarily fallen into meditation, the situation on the battleship had reached a reassuring state. Sailors and indentured servants worked as usual, Zahariel's warriors guarded every corner,
and the Tech-Priests ensured the basic operation of the void-space engines without issue through their grinding generators. The inexperienced navigator was the most exhausted of them all, constantly searching through the chaotic storm currents for an opportunity to force a jump.
It was in this reassuring environment that she began her meditation, trying to calm and control the turbulent ocean in her mind, caused by the sudden void-space storm. Before falling into slumber, she had meticulously instructed Zahariel not to disturb her.
But clearly, some had broken their word.
Morgan did not wake up in a peaceful environment, as Zahariel was relentlessly knocking on her cabin door. Although he hadn't directly forced his way in, the continuous noise had successfully disrupted her rhythm, forcing her to hastily conclude her work in the psychic sea and return to reality.
As a consequence of this abrupt halt, psychic energy swirled erratically around her body, spreading disorder and dissonance. Even those with weak psychic abilities could clearly feel the invisible waves of psychic energy emanating from Morgan.
She opened her eyes, furrowing her brows in displeasure. Adjusting her clothes, she stepped out of bed and slowly opened the door.
Before Zahariel could say anything, the Spider Queen's words assailed him.
"For your own sake, Zahariel, it had better be truly important."
"Otherwise, I'll chop you into fine mince, make you into porridge, and feed you spoonful by spoonful to that glutton from Barbarus next door."
Morgan's rebuke struck Zahariel with a strange familiarity. Besides, there was no porridge on board, nor were there any Barbarus natives.
He lifted his head, paused for a moment, then cast her reprimands aside, relaying the current situation in the most anxious tone.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Lady Morgan."
"But the situation is indeed critical, and we require your strength."
"What happened?"
"Our navigator is dead."
"...Are we still in void-space?"
"Yes."
"And the navigator is dead?"
"Yes."
"...I hope the next step isn't that we need to clean up."
——————
The Lost Wanderer was a Hunter-class destroyer, one of the smallest vessels in the Human Imperium's vast fleet. However, unlike its Cobra-class brethren, Hunter-class destroyers were now almost exclusively armed by the Dark Angels Legion.
Due to their distrust of the Mechanicus and other Imperial institutions – indeed, all Imperial institutions – the Dark Angels Legion rarely brought in warships from outside. Therefore, in the First Legion, Hunter-class destroyers replaced the usual Cobra-class vessels. They boasted heavier armor, better survivability, greater speed, and absolutely no reduction in standard armament.
And despite being the smallest class of destroyer in the Imperial fleet, the Lost Wanderer was still remarkably complete. The kilometer-long vessel carried ten thousand crew members, from the captain down to the indentured servants. It had an engine repair bay specifically for Tech-Priests and a hallowed sanctum exclusively for the navigator.
"Navigator Hesmil-Hughes. He had been navigating without rest for two days, with no issues. Approximately one Terra Standard Hour ago, he claimed to have found a void-space rift in the storm that allowed for a forced jump, and he expelled everyone from the sanctum, forbidding them from disturbing him."
"Forty-five minutes later, the standby personnel heard his wails from outside the door and forced their way in, but by then, he had completely lost all vital signs."
Morgan glanced at the deceased: The navigator appeared to be in his fifties, his face gaunt and slightly deformed, characteristic of long-term inbreeding, with a heavily protruding chin and forehead. His expression was solemn and pale, his eyes tightly closed.
There wasn't a single wound on his body; he looked as if he had simply fallen asleep. Except for one place: the third eye on his forehead, which was most crucial for a navigator, had completely festered and disintegrated.
Clearly, this had cost him his life.
Morgan extended her hand, carefully examining the remnants of the deceased's soul, analyzing the last hour of his life.
She quickly found what she was looking for.
The navigator had not lied; he had indeed found a void-space rift that could allow for a forced jump. Although there was no way to predict where they would end up, it was better than remaining in void-space.
However, as he continued to explore and confirm the feasibility of this rift, he encountered a predicament: some lingering storm fragments had conveniently blocked the entrance to the rift, making passage extremely dangerous. After a prolonged and fruitless wait,
seeing signs that the void-space storm was gathering strength again, the navigator finally stopped waiting. He activated the "Heavenly Disturbance" inherent to every navigator, attempting to forcibly twist reality at the rift to allow the battleship to pass through.
But the moment the navigator's will came into contact with the storm fragments, he suddenly realized that this storm was not an ordinary void-space storm. It contained terrifying, unprecedented elements, and the instant he understood this, these elements ravenously turned on him.
An unknown adversary, the pervasive void-space storm environment, coupled with the exhaustion from two consecutive days of intense mental focus, triggered a catastrophic chain reaction in that moment.
This already unremarkable navigator had his soul's core completely ripped apart before he could offer any resistance. The remaining fragments were exposed to the storm, swept away in the blink of an eye, vanishing without a trace, leaving behind only a brief wail and a cold corpse.
Morgan withdrew her hand.
Her psychic energy extended its will into the tempestuous void-space. The rift still existed, and the residual storm breaths obscuring it still occupied the area. But this time, facing an opponent of a completely different caliber, they couldn't even hold on for an instant. Morgan merely frowned, and the terrifying elements that had killed the navigator were crushed in her unseen hand.
The Spider Queen glanced at them, her frown deepening.
She roughly understood what had happened.
"Notify everyone, Zahariel, prepare for a jump. I will temporarily assume the navigator's duties and lead the forced jump."
"...With all due respect, Lady, do you know how to navigate?"
"No."
"But forcibly pulling a destroyer out of a rift is no big problem. After all, my psychic power is a billion times stronger."
She turned around. Despite her relatively small stature, she made the Dark Angels involuntarily lower their heads.
"This storm is different from any we've encountered before, Zahariel."
"If I'm not mistaken, the First Legion is already in trouble. And if they aren't in trouble—then the situation is even worse."
"But no matter what, we must return to real space as quickly as possible, back to the First Legion's fleet."
"Do you understand my will, Zahariel?"
Zahariel, a Dark Angels captain, theoretically the highest-ranking administrative officer on this warship, looked at the "mortal" before him who held no actual rank. After less than a second of thought, he lowered his head.
"I understand."
"Then, execute it."
"Execute my will."
These words seemed to possess a strange magic. The moment the previously hesitant Dark Angels heard them, any slight resentment in the hearts of Zahariel and the other warriors present instantly transformed into pure obedience.
"Understood, my Lady."
——————
The forced jump proceeded smoothly.
Approximately ten indentured servants and servitors were sucked into the walls and steel of the ship for carelessly moving at the moment of the jump. Other than that, the entire battleship suffered no losses.
A brief spell of dizziness and physiological nausea lasted for a few moments among the Dark Angels. Then, Lion El'Jonson's scions quickly regained their senses. Although Zahariel's subordinates were a group of Calibanites who could hardly be called
"Dark Angels veterans," having endured the fires of the Rendan Empire, they still quickly recovered, bypassing the still-unsettled mortal crew to operate the various instruments of the battleship, immediately ascertaining their position in the star system.
It should be noted that these Calibanites were considered non-veterans only within the Dark Angels Legion itself.
And the first feedback quickly arrived.
"Ship contact! It's an Imperial warship!"
The voice reporting the news carried a sharp sense of joy, which was understandable. The moment this message came, a wave of relief spread through everyone's hearts.
Only one person did not smile.
Ever since being swept into void-space by this strange storm, Morgan had not once shown her smile. Even the most perfunctory or false smile had vanished from her face. She stood at the core of the command center, with Zahariel and the captain respectfully at her sides. Subtly, all the Astartes seemed to accept the rationality of this scene.
She issued commands, her voice cold and swift.
"Continue the investigation, attempt communication."
"Order the bow to prepare torpedoes for deployment if necessary. Maintain readiness to engage and disengage from combat at any moment until the other party can prove their identity."
In sync with Morgan's words, the Dark Angels carried out her orders: they covertly aimed their torpedoes at their allies, doing so without any emotional burden.
After all preparations were complete, the reconnaissance team reported again.
"We've observed signals from more Imperial vessels. This is a fleet, including battleships and battlecruisers. They are besieging a world. We can see burning void fortresses and orbital defense arrays. The bow crew wants to know if we should maintain torpedo readiness."
"Of course, why not?"
As Morgan softly retorted, the First Legion's destroyer gradually left the gloom of the star system's edge, cautiously advancing towards the central, war-torn star system. Their movements were soon detected by the outermost drones, and a cruiser immediately turned around, as did several destroyers and frigates.
Concurrently, a deep voice echoed continuously through the public channel within the Dark Angels' warship.
——————
"Unknown vessel, halt."
"This is the Death Guard Legion, Seventh Company Captain Nathaniel-Garro. Report your identity. Repeat, report your identity."
——————
The communication was relatively smooth, but both warships fell into a brief state of bewilderment or confusion.
Garro was bewildered by the sudden appearance of the Dark Angels' warship here, while Morgan and Zahariel were confused about their location.
The entire Imperium knew that the Death Guard Legion was currently fighting alongside Horus's Shadow Moon Wolves Legion. This meant that they had been swept by a storm directly from the northeastern part of the galaxy, where the Dark Angels were located, to the western part of the galaxy, where the Shadow Moon Wolves were, traversing half the galaxy in just two Terra Standard Days.
But Morgan's bewilderment did not last long, as Zahariel's questioning gaze had already fallen upon her.
Morgan closed her eyes.
She cleared her thoughts, and once again emphasized her current objective.
She needed to return to the First Legion as quickly as possible. No matter where she was now, she had to get back to her brother Lion El'Jonson as soon as possible, and she had to make it to the feast of the Legion's death: only then could she hope to claim a share in a Primarch's demise.
This was her purpose, her goal, and she had to act for it.
No matter what…
Morgan opened her eyes.
"Ask the Death Guard Legion's battle-brothers if they need assistance."
"Also, maintain speed and prepare for a planetary assault."
——————
The Dark Angels' inquiry did not receive an immediate response. The Death Guard Captain seemed to hesitate, caught in a slight dilemma and a mix of gain and loss over some matter of honor.
This situation persisted until Morgan ordered Zahariel to establish a private communication channel with the Death Guard Captain. She activated it, her pale lips pressed against the communicator, and her cold voice dripped into the Death Guard's ear.
Fortunately, she had heard a little about this old Terra veteran before.
"Captain Garro, I am Morgan, the psychic advisor to the First Legion's Primarch. They also call me the 'Soul-Drinker.' I believe you, who fought alongside the First Legion on the Rendan front, might have heard of me."
"...Lady Morgan, hello."
"Indeed, I have heard of your reputation and power. The name 'Soul-Drinker' has indeed… circulated within the Fourteenth Legion."
"Good, then I'll be brief. My psychic perception informs me of the situation on this world: you are fighting against countless, mentally controlled adversaries. Your forces are insufficient to tear through the tide and defenses composed of hundreds of millions of fearless, undead husks. Your warriors are bleeding in this war of attrition, and their blood is being shed for naught."
"The only way is to find that psychic controller and decapitate it. You know, Captain Garro, how crucial my power and the hundred elite Dark Angels I lead would be in such an operation."
"Whether for us or for you, choosing to join forces against this situation is not a complicated or sinister matter. It's simply the most basic and genuine solidarity among brothers fighting side by side, isn't it?"
"Could a little honor ever be more important than the warm blood of our battle-brothers?"
"Am I right, Captain Garro?"
——————
This time, Garro's silence did not last long. The phrase "battle-brothers' warm blood" clearly moved the Death Guard Captain, and his reply came swiftly.
"You are right, Lady Morgan. This is indeed just a joint operation."
"Then, now, I formally invite you to join this war, Lady."
"No need for formalities, Garro."
Morgan exhaled softly, her lips almost touching the communicator. A faint smile finally graced her face.
"Since we are fighting side by side."
"From this moment on, we are comrades."
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