Thousands of naval ratings, led by their Commissars and veteran sergeants, moved first to seal the shattered breaches in the lower hull. A torrent of las-fire and solid slugs filled the corridors. Any daemon daring to charge into the tunnels was ruthlessly banished.
The heavy void-combat suits made the mortal soldiers' movements slower than usual. The blasphemous roars of the daemons seemed to bypass the vacuum, screaming directly into their minds. Psychic dread gnawed at every rating.
Several distinctive bolt rounds suddenly streaked overhead, instantly detonating the hideous, snarling heads of daemons lurking at the far end of the corridor.
"Move aside, soldiers!"
The voice over the temporary vox-channel was muffled but commanding, carrying an aura of absolute confidence and unshakable resolve.
The naval ratings huddled on the front lines, clutching their weapons as they struggled to hold the line, knew that voice well.
The Ultramarines had arrived.
Figures clad in blue ceramite power armor quickly used their massive frames to plug the narrow ship corridors. The remaining naval ratings carefully used the Ultramarines as cover, advancing slowly by their sides.
The daemons, seizing the gap in suppressing fire, charged frantically, only to be shattered against the blue wall of Astartes.
The Ultramarines wielded chainswords and bolt rifles, one hand maintaining a rhythmic cadence of fire while the other hacked any approaching daemon into bloody segments.
"The Holy Emperor, His might protects the domains of Mankind! We are Your blade, advancing under Your will! Grant us courage and strength to resist the corruption of Chaos and safeguard the peace of the Imperium!"
Over the vox-net, Ministorum Priests constantly chanted Imperial prayers to bolster the resolve of the mortal soldiers and keep their spirits from breaking.
Under the deluge of bolter fire, several lower-midship compartments were quickly retaken. The daemons were pushed back by the sheer volume of munitions.
In the upper decks, Calanthus, leading two squads of Ultramarines and a contingent of naval ratings, stood ready behind a trembling armored bulkhead. Once the daemons cut through this layer of armor, they would be the final line of defense.
In the lower decks, ammo-tending servitors lugged massive crates forward. Bolt rifles were tossed to the servitors for magazine changes while the Astartes drew bolt pistols to continue their advance. The servitors worked tirelessly, reloading rifles and pistols before carefully handing them back to the towering figures at the front.
Combat inside the corridors was not overly difficult yet. Even with Warp-empowerment, these lesser daemons remained fragile before the demigods of the Emperor.
However, the tide soon shifted.
The mortal soldiers fighting alongside them began to move sluggishly. Then, with silent shrieks, they turned their weapons upon their own comrades.
The lead Ultramarine shifted slightly, then hammered a fist into a corrupted soldier, smashing him against the bulkhead.
"Sir, the mortal soldiers are breaking. Corruption is manifesting on the front lines. One mortal turned into a daemon almost instantly."
Though the other naval ratings were mentally prepared for the horrors of the Warp, seeing their brothers fall to corruption and turn on them in mere minutes was a devastating psychological blow. They were forced to split their attention, chanting along with the prayers over the vox.
The Holy Word dispelled the gloom. The naval ratings gripped their weapons with renewed resolve, following the Ultramarines forward, until they reached a point where the red hue of the Warp became visible.
The front line had reached the breach. Through the shattered lower hull, the roiling tides of the Warp were visible.
The Ultramarines instantly felt an indescribable mental assault as visions of corruption and depravity flickered before their eyes. The Magnificat implanted within the Primaris Marines immediately began secreting stimulants to suppress these thoughts.
The mortal soldiers behind them were not so fortunate.
The moment they faced the raw Warp, the front rank of soldiers transformed into daemons almost instantly. The few whose will and faith remained steadfast were cut down by their corrupted former comrades.
The Ultramarines were forced to fall back immediately, ensuring the line was held within compartments where the Warp was not directly visible. The daemon-tainted naval ratings were purged by several volleys of fire.
Calanthus knew well that ordinary mortals could not gaze upon the Warp. Even the Cadians of old, before the Great Rift opened, had found such battles exceptionally difficult. Corruption and rot were always present. Warp-taint was insidious.
Only loyalty to the Emperor and an iron will could serve as a shield.
"Captain! How much longer until the ship can translate out of this zone? We need to leave immediately!" Calanthus demanded over the vox.
"Sir, we are trying, but the midsection of the hull seems to be snagged on something. We can't move forward or back!"
"We must send a team outside the ship to see what has happened. If we force a retreat, the ship will be torn in half!"
From the bridge, the Captain issued a flurry of commands. At the primary consoles, servitors, Tech-Priests, and bridge crew worked frantically.
Due to the collision, external sensors were damaged; one side of the ship was blind. Feedback from hull sensors only indicated that a section was wedged tight, but the severity of the situation could not be determined.
The front line in the lower decks had stabilized. Though the daemons were endless, they could not break through the dozen-or-so corridors held by over a hundred Ultramarines. The armored bulkheads of the upper second deck, though seemingly on the verge of collapse, remained stubbornly in place.
Calanthus looked at the unbreached upper decks and the soldiers standing ready, then hesitated for a moment.
"First Squad, split two tactical groups and follow me. Everyone else, fill the gaps and hold your positions."
The Sergeant of First Squad scanned his unit and signaled two groups to follow Calanthus.
"Sir, where are we going?"
Calanthus glanced at the massive hull of the space hulk visible through a viewing port, then replied coldly to his battle-brother's question.
"Into hell, my brother. The ship is trapped here. We must go outside the hull, find what is pinning us, destroy it, and return."
"This is a ship lost in the Warp for over five thousand years. No one knows what lies within. It could be hordes of daemons, a nest of traitors, xenos filth, or something else entirely."
"I cannot tell you what we will face. So keep your wits about you and be ready for anything, my brothers."
Hearing Calanthus's words, the Marines tightened their grips on their weapons and roared in response.
"Courage and Honor, my Lord! We are the sons of Guilliman!"
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