On the bridge of the genesis, the lingering echoes of the alarm had long since dissipated.
A solidified silence replaced it, more oppressive to the eardrums than the sharpest wail.
On the main screen, the Subspace ripples that had just stabilized boiled without warning.
It expanded violently, like a wound torn open by an invisible giant hand, spanning across the pitch-black curtain of the universe.
There were no explosions, no roaring sounds.
Only a pure torrent, interwoven with deep blue and golden radiance, burst forth from it.
The bow of a warship was the first to crash through that gate of light.
That was not a ship; it was a moving temple. Its front section alone was larger than the entire length of the genesis.
Engraved on its armor surface was an inverted azure Omega symbol.
The legion insignia of the Ultramarines shimmered with a cold light under the starlight.
"Flagship signal... con-confirmed..."
The voice of Commissar Valeria rang out on the internal channel, the audio distorted by the intense shock, carrying an irrepressible tremor.
She took a deep breath, every word seeming to be squeezed out from between her teeth.
"'glory of macragge', the flagship of the Regent... Robert Guilliman."
Before Valeria's voice had even faded.
The second, third, and tenth warships followed closely behind, emerging from the gate of light like awakened ancient behemoths.
The golden fortresses of the Imperial Fists reflected blinding light from their hulls.
The bloody chalices of the Blood Angels radiated a sorrowful crimson.
The machine god emblems of the Iron Hands were silent and cold.
One Astartes chapter after another, existing only in legends, arrayed their most terrifying war machines in this empty star sector.
They were not sailing.
They were descending.
Battleships, cruisers, frigates...
Hundreds of steel behemoths slowly deployed in an impeccable "Glory Array," filled with the aesthetic of classical military formations.
The ports of the naval guns were tightly closed, and the weapon systems had not been lit.
Their very existence completely devoured the light of this star sector, forming a moving continent of steel.
A shadow that represented the strongest military force of the Human Empire, enough to make even the stars dim.
On the bridge, the faces of all the mortal Battle Sisters were deathly pale.
The air seemed to have solidified into a physical entity, pressing against their lungs, making every breath incredibly difficult.
In the face of this pure military might, condensed from ten thousand years of history of warfare, individual courage seemed so insignificant.
This power was enough to crush any resistance.
Its existence was, in itself, a questioning.
A questioning, the most silent and yet most lethal, directed at any existence that dared to challenge the order of the Human Empire.
However.
On the throne, Leticia remained seated.
She had not even changed the posture of her crossed legs.
Those pure black eyes simply reflected the sea of steel stars outside the window with calmness.
There was no astonishment, no solemnity, as if she were admiring an ancient, magnificent scroll that had not been seen for ten thousand years.
Her composure, like a stabilizing needle, invisibly steadied the minds of those on the bridge who were on the verge of collapse.
Below the throne, the three Primarch Sisters displayed completely different postures.
"Ha!"
Angronia let out a low growl filled with longing, repressed thunder rolling in her throat.
She stepped forward, the massive chainaxe dragged behind her on the ground with one hand, making a harsh, grating sound.
On the axe blade, pure Battle Intent had already begun to condense into visible, scorching ripples that distorted the air.
"It's been a long time since I've seen such a big formation."
In the amber eyes of the Red-haired Valkyrie, flames that were almost boiling burned, licking at the feast of steel before her.
She suddenly raised her head, looking at Leticia on the throne, her voice filled with the extreme excitement of a hunter seeing prey.
"Big Sister, let me go!"
"Give me the time for one charge, and I can tear their ridiculous turtle shell completely apart!"
"Crude brute force is always the least efficient art."
A cold, slightly contemptuous voice interrupted Angronia's war cry.
Fogremia stepped forward slowly, standing side by side with her.
The fingertips of the silver-haired sword maiden gently swept through the air, and those beautiful purple eyes, like the most precise scanner, scrutinized the seemingly impregnable array before her.
"The formation is too rigid; the coordination gap between the ships exceeds 3.14 percent, which is simply a disaster."
"The flagship's position is too prominent, as if it's showing off; the flank's escort force is not even enough to deal with a single high-mobility decapitation strike."
She shook her head slightly, as if critiquing a crude work of art.
"Full of holes."
Fogremia concluded, her tone full of disappointment.
"Guilliman's tactics, after ten thousand years, are still so... lacking in imagination."
And beside them.
Sanguinia just stood quietly, as if everything around her had nothing to do with her.
Her pair of huge, snow-white wings were slightly folded, as if embracing an invisible sorrow.
Her gaze did not look at the massive fleet, but rather crossed the endless void.
Finally, it landed on the bridge of that flagship, landing on that insignia of the Ultramarines that she was so familiar with.
In those sky-blue eyes, an indescribable compassion flowed.
"He was once..."
Her voice was as soft as a sigh, yet carried an irresolvable heaviness.
"Our brother."
Battle Intent.
Scrutiny.
Compassion.
Three completely different postures, yet they all pointed to one fact.
They were fearless.
This massive fleet, enough to make the entire star sector tremble, was, in the eyes of these three reborn Primarch Sisters, nothing more than a group of old acquaintances, bringing a familiar, long-outdated power, here to pay a visit.
The deadlocked standoff lasted for a full ten minutes.
Every second was as long as a century.
Finally.
The Imperial fleet made its first move.
On the magnificent bow of the glory of macragge, a signal light began to flash at a specific frequency.
That was not an attack signal.
Nor was it a warning signal.
It was the highest encryption level communication protocol of the Imperial Navy.
The next second.
Beep—
A crimson communication request, representing the highest priority, instantly occupied the main screen of the genesis.
In the center of the screen, the majestic chapter insignia of the Ultramarines replaced all tactical data.
What broke this solidification was not deafening cannon fire.
But an invitation for dialogue.
A calm, weary, yet supreme-majesty-laden voice resonated through the communicator across the entire bridge.
"This is Robert Guilliman."
The voice paused, as if confirming the presence of the other party.
"I request to speak with your leader."
------------------------------
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! If the fanfiction has you hooked and you can't wait to see what happens next, you can unlock 30 or more chapters in advance over on my patreon: patreon.com/FTLGenBen
Also every bit of support means the world to me so if you're loving the ride, don't forget to drop a Power Stone, Thanks.