The Macragge's Honour.
This twenty-six-kilometer-long super-flagship currently hung motionless above the military docks of the Leviathan Complex. Its hull cast a deep blue sheen beneath the starlight. The massive aquila emblem on its bow looked remarkably lifelike, the gems embedded in its eyes refracting a dazzling brilliance.
Its hull was vastly more colossal than the Red Tear and far bulkier than the Pride of the Emperor. Adorned in deep blue plating, crested with a golden double-headed eagle, and bristling with countless macro-cannon batteries capable of pulverizing asteroids.
As Guilliman stepped onto the bridge, the entire crew of the battleship stood and saluted simultaneously.
Guilliman waved a hand dismissively, walking over to the command throne and taking a seat. "Open a channel to the Red Tear."
The communication link was established instantly. A holographic projection of Sanguinius flickered into existence.
The two Primarchs stared at each other across the void.
Guilliman was the first to speak, a helpless smile touching his voice. "We haven't seen each other in over twenty years, and you won't even have a drink with me?"
Sanguinius looked back at him. There was no blame, nor was there any coldness in those pale gold eyes. Just an utter calm.
"Having a drink before leaving is a waste of time." His voice mirrored that calmness. "There will be plenty of time to drink on the journey."
Guilliman shook his head, his smile deepening. "You really haven't changed one bit."
Sanguinius didn't reply to that. He simply gave a slight nod. "Let's go."
The transmission cut out.
The primary engines of the Macragge's Honour roared to life. The deep blue behemoth slowly banked, breaking orbit from Macragge.
The Red Tear trailed closely behind. Then came dozens of strike cruisers, escort frigates, and supply ships.
The two massive fleets merged in the void, forming a torrent of steel stretching for dozens of kilometers.
Heading toward the sector once blockaded by Warp storms...
Heading toward a planet named Aurelian IV...
--
Eastern Fringe of the Galaxy, the Minoris Binaries Cluster, Carolis Star System.
When the 28th Expeditionary Fleet burst forth from the Warp translation point, the entire star system seemed to tremble slightly.
The purple-and-gold Pride of the Emperor spearheaded the formation, the aquila on its bow glittering fiercely in the starlight. Trailing in its wake were over a hundred warships, all boasting the same regal color scheme.
The Emperor's Children fleet drifted into the sector like a rolling cloud of violet dusk.
Waiting on the far side of the system was the 52nd Expeditionary Fleet.
Their silver-grey hulls caught the starlight, reflecting a harsh metallic gleam. The Fist of Iron, a colossal twenty-three-kilometer flagship, hung quietly in the void.
The dense batteries of cannons lining its hull were currently in standby mode. Yet, the moment the Emperor's Children fleet materialized, every single barrel dipped slightly, aiming downward into empty space in a salute.
Ferrus Manus stood on the bridge of the Fist of Iron, peering through the massive observation viewport at the approaching purple fleet.
He wore his signature power armor, the silver-grey plating encasing his massive frame. His legendary living-metal hands shimmered with a fluid, silvery sheen under the bridge lights.
A rare smile graced his stern, unyielding face. He turned to look at the commander of the Morlock Terminators beside him.
"Gabriel." Ferrus's voice was a deep rumble, yet it carried an undeniable trace of excitement. "You see? I told you. Fulgrim would definitely come. And he made good time, too."
Gabriel Santar stood beside him, encased in his silver-grey Gorgon Terminator armor. A faint smile also touched his hard-bitten face. "You know Lord Fulgrim best, Father."
Ferrus waved a hand, his tone returning to the cold, metallic bluntness typical of the Iron Hands. "Alright, go load ten crates of Alcohol and Cigarettes from our stockpile onto a Thunderhawk."
He turned back, his gaze locking onto the purple flagship drawing ever closer outside the viewport. "You'll accompany me to the Pride of the Emperor. I intend to have a proper drink with Fulgrim!"
Gabriel Santar slammed his right fist against his breastplate. "Understood!"
He turned and marched out of the bridge, his heavy metal boots thudding against the deck plating.
As the bridge doors slowly slid shut behind him, Gabriel couldn't help but sigh. He shook his head, muttering to himself, "Father really does care deeply for Lord Fulgrim..."
"To actually part with ten of our last twenty crates of Alcohol just to share with him."
Those twenty crates were the very last remnants of the 52nd Expeditionary Fleet's entire supply. Normally, only the fiercest warriors in battle were granted the privilege of even a small glass.
And now, half of it was gone just like that...
"I wonder when the Warp storms around Aurelian IV will finally end? Damn Warp storms. It's been way too long since I've had a shot of alcohol or a drag of cigarettes."
Gabriel shook his head helplessly, picking up his pace toward the supply vault.
--
The rendezvous of the 28th and 52nd Expeditionary Fleets in this sector was nothing short of spectacular.
Over three hundred warships orbited above the Carolis star. The purple ships of the Emperor's Children aligned perfectly with the silver-grey vessels of the Iron Hands, their heraldry shining together in the starlight.
Thirty minutes later.
A silver-grey Thunderhawk Gunship slowly lifted off from the hangar bay of the Fist of Iron. Painted on its hull was the emblem of the Iron Hands... a silver, clenched gauntlet.
Twin tails of blue flame erupted from the Thunderhawk's thrusters as it accelerated toward the Pride of the Emperor.
--
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