Vmmm...
Accompanied by the tightening of massive steel cables and the hum of tractor beams, a series of thunderous booms echoed across the open sea—waters untouched by industry. Like sugar drops bursting through the surface, bulbous plumes of water shot skyward.
Splash...
Dark, oily mud, fragments of coral-like matter, thrashing alien sea creatures, and foaming white spray cascaded down from the rising metallic colossus breaching the waves.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Amid the shouts of soldiers from the Sacred Selene Empire's forward outpost and the coordination of machine-servitors, gunboats skimmed low over the water while amphibious engineering ships cut through the surf. Using alloy cables more than a meter thick, they towed and stabilized the long-buried wreckage beneath the sea.
Silver foam surged along the hulls of the landing craft. Above the swirling vortex, a kilometer-long surface-to-air support cruiser projected a powerful tractor beam, its energy waves parting the ocean in towering walls as the ancient, corroded wreck—buried and fused by centuries of salt and sediment—was wrenched back toward the light.
As the mud, marine growth, and silt washed away, the soldiers finally saw the immense shape of the vessel that had slumbered in the abyss.
A massive metal hull, its prow jutting toward the heavens, while the rest remained submerged beneath the waves. The ship's scarred plating bore the weathered traces of corrosion and time; beneath encrusted layers of barnacle-like growth, faint patches of red paint still clung to the surface. Burn marks and ruptured armor hinted at the violence of its fall.
Once the wreck was secured, the Imperial engineers surged forward. Welding torches flared, cutting tools screeched, and the hiss of clearing operations filled the air. Before long, at the highest point of the ruined bridge, a symbol emerged once more from beneath the filth of ages.
A white circle emblazoned with a black, eight-pointed sunburst—the emblem of the Bendu.
"Remember, your objective is the bridge," came the order.
A gunboat hovered overhead. After checking the gear of every man, the officer in charge gave the signal. Through the still-glowing breach cut by plasma saws, the engineering teams engaged their exosuit thrusters and filed into the wreck's interior.
Meanwhile—splash!—a second tractor beam erupted not far from the first site. Another tremendous crash rolled across the waves as seawater exploded upward in a column more than a hundred meters high.
Another wreck was rising from the depths.
This one was far sharper in silhouette—aggressive, dagger-like. Though its hull was ravaged, and the forward bridge had collapsed into twisted ruin, one could still imagine the majesty it once commanded.
What most intrigued the Imperial salvage crews, however, were the differences between the two wrecks.
"Gray...?"
Inside the bridge of the Pioneer-class Cruiser leading the expedition fleet, Inquisitor Scott Archibald—broad-shouldered, hard-featured, and sharp-eyed beneath short brown hair—fell silent as he studied the display.
He compared the two ships' paint schemes and insignia closely.
One bore a vivid red, the other a cold gray. One displayed a white field with a black eight-pointed Bendu emblem, the other a black field with a white six-pointed sun.
The colors alone meant little—but the symbols' near-identical forms, merely inverted, told another story.
"...A civil war," Scott murmured after a pause, voicing his preliminary conclusion. To confirm it, he would need the data gathered planetside by the engineering teams.
Not long after, a transmission came from the surface forward base. Following assessments of craftsmanship, metallurgy, engine design, and structural composition, the engineers reported that the probability of the two wrecks belonging to the same lineage exceeded eighty-five percent.
At the same time, as the engineers and attached tech-priests entered the bridge and data cores of the fallen ships, the process of data recovery, copying, and decryption had already achieved tangible progress.
Though the languages differed and the data architectures were alien, the logic beneath them—the structure of thought—remained familiar. Where there was common logic, there was a path to comprehension, however rough it might be.
Moreover, the language recorded within these ships resembled variants of English and Latin, greatly facilitating the decryption process.
Their language was compatible.
With the vast linguistic database of the Sacred Selene Empire—collected through centuries of conquest—there was no tongue unfamiliar to them. The empire's AI servitors, armed with hyper-evolved learning algorithms, rapidly cross-referenced intelligence and extracted relevant linguistic matches.
The most frequently recurring terms were listed one by one, projected on the holoscreens across the bridge.
Some remained only partially deciphered, with the shipboard AI marking uncertain words or speculative interpretations.
[...Galactic Republic... restructured... Galactic Empire...]
[The Speaker of the Galactic Republic Senate ***** (name undeciphered) amended the Galactic Constitution... the New Order replaced the Galactic Republic...]
[*** (suspected capital) and *** City renamed Imperial Center and Imperial City. The Senate became the Imperial Senate. The Grand Army of the Republic reorganized into the Imperial Military...]
[...The Emperor (former Speaker?) declared the Knights/Warriors traitors and branded all remaining ** as enemies of the Empire...]
...
As the list of translated data scrolled on, accompanied by recovered images and schematics, everyone on the bridge—including Inquisitor Scott Archibald—grew visibly excited.
Regardless of the details, this confirmed one thing: the new galaxy they had stumbled into by chance harbored an advanced civilization—one that had achieved interstellar colonization and faster-than-light travel.
They had struck gold.
Within the Sacred Selene Empire, exploration merits were a recognized system of achievement, tied directly to the newly discovered colony's level of technology, population, and resources.
Although these merits were often valued less than those gained through blood and battle—slaying foes, capturing fortresses, presenting skulls to the throne—they were still widely coveted. Many sought their fortune in the uncertainty of discovery; after all, luck was a form of strength.
Galactic Republic... Galactic Empire... The more Scott pondered, the more exhilarated he became.
If this intelligence proved true, even if he did nothing further, so long as he avoided mistakes, his rewards would be extraordinary:
A promotion to High Inquisitor beckoned. A First-Class Frontier Medal marked by the double-headed eagle and radiant star. An unconditional elevation in noble rank. His current cruiser could be exchanged for a 30-kilometer-class battleship. The Empress' personal grant of hereditary lands would cement his family's legacy...
"Haa..."
Exhaling a deep, excited breath, Scott forced down his surging emotions and began to plan his next move.
There was no question of engaging this so-called Galactic Empire directly—not with only a dozen ships and no battleship among them. The difference in scale alone rendered any confrontation impossible. They were not the Imperial Guard.
He would have to wait for reinforcements from the main fleet.
But simply waiting idly was not an option either.
"Pity. After ten years underwater, the crew of these wrecks have long since perished and rotted away—not even their souls are worth interrogating," Scott muttered, glancing again at the summarized report: 'The two crashed vessels appear to belong to opposing factions—loyalists to the Republic and loyalists to the First Empire—former comrades of the Grand Army of the Republic now at war with one another.'
Turning to his aide at the operations console, he ordered:
"Relay orders to the forward base: continue the salvage operation. Not a single wreck beneath the sea is to be left untouched. Accelerate decryption progress. We do not fight blind—compile all available intelligence into a unified report and distribute it fleetwide."
"Inform the auxiliary and servitor regiments of the Expedition Fleet—I require multiple elite strike teams. They will deploy aboard starborne gunships for reconnaissance missions. Using the fragmentary star maps recovered from these wrecks, they will verify the accuracy and timeliness of these findings."
His expression hardened.
"When necessary, capture prisoners. Perform soul extractions. Learn their customs. Learn their Galactic Basic Standard."
Even as he gave these orders, orchestrating a series of scouting operations to support the arrival of the Empire's main battle fleet, a burly communications officer in a cylindrical officer's cap raised his hand.
"Inquisitor Scott Archibald! Directive from the Imperial Military Command—first wave of Imperial reinforcements has departed."
At the mention of "new recruits," the communications officer's tone turned strangely hesitant, almost awkward.
"New recruits?" Scott blinked, wondering if he had misheard. "Why emphasize new recruits? Sergeant, are you sure that message was transmitted correctly?"
"No error, sir. I verified it multiple times. The term used was indeed new recruits—individuals not yet assigned serial numbers under the auxiliary or servitor regiments."
"What... what?" Scott stared in disbelief. No serial numbers? That means they haven't even graduated from the colonial training camps! Absurd.
"Bring up the visual feed."
"Yes, sir. Here's the incoming reinforcement transmission..."
The display flickered to life—showing the interior of a massive Imperial Navy personnel transport. The decks were filled with heavy weapons, atmospheric transports, tanks, artillery platforms, and starfighter squadrons.
Soldiers in olive-green armor and eagle-crested helms marched in formation, shouting in rough, imperfect Imperial Gothic: "Cadia stands!"
Nearby, bare-chested giants with red headbands and bulging muscles sharpened oversized blades, laughing and flexing like beasts of war. Silent ranks of troopers in gray-black coats and aged respirators moved with machine precision, boots striking the deck in perfect unison.
And then there were the towering figures—seven to eight feet tall, hulking, each gripping a weapon the size of a man's torso. Their expressions were simple, almost dull, but their presence radiated raw violence.
These were supposed to be "new recruits"?
Scott stared, speechless. These weren't recruits—they were walking incarnations of death.
Whatever the Imperial Military Command meant by "new recruits," he decided to ignore the terminology altogether.
...
Meanwhile, in the A–13 Grand Sector Governorate—
The Baal System, once homeworld of the Blood Angels Chapter, now the domain of the Blood Angels Legion.
Dong... dong... dong...
The call to assembly echoed through the citadel. Commander Lord Luis Dante placed his death mask upon the table. Radiant light streamed through the crystal windows, illuminating the newly built relief of the Empress Selene—depicted as a resplendent angelic figure crowned in gold.
The scars of the Leviathan War were long healed.
Dante lowered his gaze. His handsome, near-divine features—reminiscent of Sanguinius himself—could not conceal the fatigue and melancholy in his eyes. "So... Baal is no longer the homeworld of the Blood Angels?"
"Do not mourn. Do not cling to the past."
He turned, golden armor gleaming, eyes deep and resolute as he looked down upon the gathered Lords of the successor Chapters of the Blood Angels line.
It was a sight unseen for millennia—Sanguinius' sons united once more upon Baal.
Dante spread his arms. "Baal endures! The Blood Angels endure!"
"Gabriel Seth—Flesh Tearers! Zag—Red Angels! Sentiqan—Crimson Angels! Kurtus Mohl—Vermilion Angels! Oroc—Blood Drinkers! Cento Yol—Knights of Blood! Marakin Foros—Lamenters...!"
Like a patriarch calling his children, Dante spoke their names one by one. And indeed, he was a patriarch—his legendary life had spanned sixteen centuries, and he had triumphed in countless wars across countless worlds. He was the elder, even the father, of all Blood Angels.
"Go. Answer the summons of the Divine Empress! Fight! Roar! Let the blades of angels drink deep of blood! Let the enemies of the Empire learn the true hospitality of Baal!... For Selene—!"
"For the blood of Sanguinius and the glory of Selene!" ×N
...
Ultramar System, Macragge.
Within the Fortress of Hera, former Ultramarines Chapter Master Marius Augustus Calgar issued the same declaration:
"For courage and for glory—we fight for the Divine Empress!"
...
The Rock Fortress.
Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels and Keeper of the Truth, Azrael, delivered his mobilization order:
"For the Divine Empress—!"
Across the A–13 Grand Sector, the same scenes repeated. On every Chapter homeworld and fortress-monastery, banners were raised. All successor Chapters—save for the parent ones already integrated—were mobilizing. A crusade was beginning, rivaling even the Great Crusade of the ancient Emperor.
Endless fleets of the Sacred Selene Empire's Navy—Space Marine battle barges and strike cruisers among them—set course toward the outer warp-lanes beyond the sector's edge, bound for the grand hyperspatial port.
...
Meanwhile, in an uncharted colony world of the 23625th Inquisitorial Expeditionary Fleet—within an unexplored region of the Galactic Empire's domain.
Endor.
4 ABY.
The Battle of Hoth—a crushing defeat for the Rebel Alliance and a resounding victory for the Galactic Empire—had not yet faded from memory when a more terrifying rumor began circulating, deliberately leaked by the Empire's shadowy elite.
Whispers spread through black markets and mercenary networks across the galaxy—
Of the Second Death Star.
What none of them knew was that the rumor, while ensnaring the attention of the Rebellion and countless Imperial dissidents alike, also shone like a beacon in the dark—drawing the gaze of a certain reconnaissance team executing their mission nearby.
—
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