The chainaxes bit the air first.
A deep, serrated roar filled the rotunda as the Scyllax Guardian-automata, still locked into their autonomous attack protocols, lurched forward without hesitation. Their chainswords shrieked to life and their heavy frames surged toward the Astartes intruders with the simple, unstoppable momentum of machines that had been told to kill anything unfamiliar.
The Space Sharks moved to meet them.
It lasted less than a second before Nolan's hand shot out, palm flat, placing itself directly in the path of the nearest Scyllax Guardian-automata's swing.
"Stop!"
The word cracked through the hall like a gunshot. His cyan wolf eyes had gone wide, darting between his own automata and the five grey-armored giants who had already shifted into combat stances, chainaxes raised, their pale faces utterly expressionless beneath their helmets. One Scyllax Guardian-automata had already caught the edge of a massive chainaxe sweep. The metal body sailed more than twenty meters across the room, crashing into the prayer-scripture walls with a sound like a collapsing shelf of iron. The echoes rolled and faded.
Nolan stepped forward, putting himself between both sides, and directed his voice at the towering figure encased in ancient Terminator armor at the center of the Astartes formation.
"Captain Tyberos of the Carcharodon Regiment! I have been on your regiment. I am Padrick, of the Third Company. We are fortunate to have met."
He kept his voice controlled, loud enough to carry over the dying whine of chainaxe teeth winding down. Then he added, with considerably more urgency:
"Look around you. Look at the walls. This is the territory of the Imperium of Man. The Emperor's statue is watching."
A pause stretched through the hall.
Then the massive ceramite gauntlet of Chapter Master Tyberos slowly rose, a single deliberate gesture. The five Astartes guards held. Their chainaxes dropped to idle, though no one lowered them fully.
When Tyberos spoke, his voice emerged from the depths of his helmet like something dragged up from cold water, each word grinding against the next.
"I remember Padrick. He died on the battlefield." A beat. "I also sense a weak connection to Lord Corax from you."
The dark lenses of his helmet swept across Nolan without rushing.
"Who are you? Why are you wearing power armor painted with Salamanders iconography? Where is this place?"
Nolan exhaled slowly through his nose. His gaze cut sideways to David, who had already begun issuing quiet subvocalised commands, pulling more Intelligent Control Corps toward the hall's outer ring. Nolan raised one hand in his direction, a single flat gesture: wait. Not yet.
He turned back to Tyberos and let his shoulders settle.
"I am the twenty-second Primarch, created by the Emperor." He kept the words simple, direct. "The Salamanders paint is a disguise, nothing more. As for this place: it is a primitive universe with no Warp presence. Chaos has not touched it. You are standing in what would be the equivalent of Terra in this universe, in the deepest level of my base."
The hall was very quiet.
Chapter Master Tyberos tilted his massive helmet very slightly. It was not much of a movement, but on a figure that size, wearing that much ceramite and iron, even small movements announced themselves.
A long moment passed.
"It seems you are not lying," Tyberos said at last. "And the psychic predictions received by my Chief Librarian were not wrong."
Then, without any warning, the Chapter Master of the Carcharodons Astra drove one armored knee into the metal floor. The impact rang through the entire rotunda. His five guards followed a fraction of a second later, ceramite hitting steel in a single concussive wave that shook the room. Five pairs of gauntlets pressed together as best the bulk of their armor allowed, sketching the shape of the Imperial Aquila salute.
Their voices came together in a low, unified murmur directed at Nolan.
"Void Father! Tyberos the Red Wake, Shade Lord of the Carcharodons, pays homage to the 22nd Primarch and offers greetings from the Sons of the Void!"
The next moment, the air was filled with the heavy thud of ceramite plates striking the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, Tyberos and his honor guard dropped to one knee before Nolan. Clashing their massive gauntlets together as best they could in their bulky plate, they formed the sign of the Aquila across their chests.
In a low, rhythmic growl, the gathered Astartes intoned:
"For the Void Father and the Primarch! The Carcharodons shall not falter until death!"
Nolan, visibly caught off guard by the sheer solemnity of the display, raised a ceramite-clad palm to settle them.
"I—I'll just call you Chapter Master," Nolan said, his voice echoing deep within his vox-grille. "Tyberos, what brings your fleet here?"
"My Lord Primarch," he said, "are you the one who sent two hundred thousand rounds of explosive ammunition to our flagship?"
What followed was a straightforward accounting of how the Carcharodons had ended up standing in Nolan's underground rotunda.
A cache of nearly two hundred thousand rounds of explosive materiel had appeared out of nothing in front of Tyberos, dropping through a brief and opportunistic Warp portal with no explanation attached. At the same moment, the Chapter's Chief Librarian had received a psychic prophecy from the Void Father. It was, as such prophecies typically were, elliptical to the point of frustration: a few words that sounded like riddles, fragments of imagery, nothing a commander could call actionable intelligence. The Librarian had confirmed the ammunition was clean, free of any Chaos taint, and had also understood that psychic energy could be used to send something back toward the source.
For most Chapters, the matter would have ended there.
The Carcharodons did not see it that way.
Two hundred thousand rounds was not a small gift. It was, in the estimation of the Chapter, exactly the kind of figure that warranted personal investigation. Perhaps even a visit. Chapter Master Tyberos had taken his personal guard and stepped through.
Nolan listened to the full account with his arms folded across his chest. By the end of it, a slow grin had spread across his face, pulling at the corners of his mouth despite his best efforts at maintaining a neutral expression. He pressed a thumb against his lower lip for a moment, then gave up and extended the thumb upward in a frank salute to the Carcharodons' thought process.
There was something genuinely admirable about it. They had known nothing about where they were going, what they would find, or whether they would survive the trip. They had simply calculated that the ammunition was worth showing up for and made their entry through the portal with the cheerful pragmatism of men who considered uncertainty a minor inconvenience. He had a new and uncomplicated respect for Chapter Master Tyberos, and for the particular variety of audacity that the Space Sharks apparently cultivated as a Chapter value.
He confirmed on the simulator that he had, in fact, selected the largest available supply shipment and sent it out at random. The tension in the hall deflated quietly, like air leaving a pressurised compartment.
Shortly after, the Intelligent Control Corps ringing the outer perimeter of the rotunda cycled down to standby. Nolan and David led the Carcharodons out of the rotunda and into the main hall of the base.
Tyberos, notably, did not react to David the way most people did when they first encountered him. Nolan asked about it, curious. The Chapter Master's answer was brief, practical, and entirely without elaboration. It settled the subject completely.
Nolan ordered the servo-robots to bring food and drink. The table filled quickly: meats, bread, preserved rations from the base stores, some of the better provisions that had come in with the last supply run. Tyberos removed his helmet. His face beneath it was the colour of old bone, the pale white of a man who had spent decades in the void between stars, where no sun reached. His eyes were solid black from edge to edge, the sclera swallowed entirely, giving his gaze the flat, depthless quality of deep water.
His guards accepted the food without ceremony. They ate with the focused efficiency of men who understood that calories were a resource and wasting them was tactically inadvisable. Not one of them touched the wine.
When the meal was done and the last of the dishes had been cleared, Nolan asked the Chapter Master what their plans were.
Tyberos set both gauntlets on the edge of the table and regarded Nolan with those lightless eyes.
"According to the Librarian, we can remain here for approximately thirteen Terran days. That was one of the reasons I was willing to make the crossing directly." He paused. "You should also understand our situation. The Carcharodons need large quantities of ammunition and food. As much as can be supplied. The more the better."
He let the pause sit.
"In return, my Lord Primarch: if both parties can establish long-term supply cooperation, you will have the full combat support of the entire Chapter. Tell us where to attack. Tell us how many to kill. We will handle the rest."
Nolan looked at him for a long moment. Then the grin came back, broader this time, white teeth showing at the corners.
"It's a deal," he said. "Double happiness. Don't regret it, Chapter Master."