Karthorn Expanse — Maelstrom
The warp breach convulsed, expelling the battered of the Red Corsairs' battlegroup into the howling unreality of the Maelstrom's voidspace. This system is the current stronghold of the red corsairs.
Huron Blackheart deposited his blackstone fortress gifted by abaddon in this star system.
His group raiding parties has deny the blackship of its psyker supply.
Only with reinforcement of navy battlegroup and nearby astartes fleet, the red corsairs were forced to retreat. Even then, their fleet has taken some hit and no longer in prime condition.
The moment they emerged into realspace's relative safety, turbulent warp-fires clung to their hulls like oily tendrils, dissipating only when their battered Gellar fields stabilized.
Aboard the Gore Reaver, Huron Blackheart, Tyrant of Badab and master of the Red Corsairs, stalked the command deck like a predator..
"Status," Huron barked, his voice a thunderclap amid the tense chamber.
"Translation complete, Lord," reported Captain Varkhan, his tone tight but disciplined. "Fleet integrity at sixty-five percent. Hull breaches on three vessels. Minor void-shredding across multiple decks."
His crimson-augmented eye locked on the flickering hololithic tactical display blooming to life in crimson hues. Another fleet on his home. The data indicates the battlegroup vectoring to blackstone fortress
Their profiles were unmistakably Imperial and yet… wrong.
"Identify them. Now."
Lieutenant Drevik, worked the scanning runes with deft fingers. "Imperial-pattern ships, sire. But no Aquilas. No saint-statues or reliquary towers. No cathedrals. Only the mechanicus sigil."
His scan only detect the sigil of human skull inside of cog, which he mistook as a mechanicus.
The Tyrant's gauntlet tapped against the deck rail with an ominous clatter. "Imperial defectors… or something else."
A fresh data stream blinked into focus.
"They are veering vector to us, sire. Confirming one Gloriana-class battleship, two battleships, four cruisers, twenty destroyers… no known registry. They fly this sigil." Drevik's voice tremble at the formation coming at them especially with a mythical gloriana class battleship at the helm.
At the mention of a Gloriana, Huron's good eye narrowed, a cruel smile twisting his face. Greed burned in his heart. A Gloriana batlleship, a prize worthy of a Tyrant.
If abaddon has one, he too as a rising chaos lord should have the same glory.
Confident in his tactical acumen and the chaos of the Maelstrom at his back, Huron clenched his fist. "Engage. All ships advance. We will add the gloriana as an addition to my trophies." His grinned sickening lesser men.
It doesn't take long for the void erupted into fire.
Emerald lances hammered out in precise, coordinated volleys from the Machinist fleet.
Emerald beams cleaved through the starless dark, slicing apart traitor destroyers as if they were paper.
Nova torpedoes streaked forth, their contrails writhing and distorting through the gravitic flux of the Maelstrom's tides.
The first salvo struck home.
Aboard the Gore Reaver, alarms screamed.
"Shields down to twenty percent, starboard! Hull breaches imminent! Navigational stabilizers struggling to compensate for local gravitational shear!" Varkhan shouted.
Huron snarled. "Return fire. Focus on their engines. Gut them."
Chaos cruisers and battle barges unleashed a torrent of macro-projectiles and plasma warheads.
The void between fleets filled with explosions — but again and again, the Maelstrom's flux twisted their trajectories. Even those hitting only manage to hit the exile shields.
Even smaller ships deflected a barrage that should have crippled them. Their coordination is something only the most veteran navy group could accomplished.
A traitor escort screamed as a Nova torpedo punched through its shield bubble and struck its plasma core. The ship vanished in a silent blossom of violet fire.
"One of ours disintegrated!" Varkhan called. "Formation holding, but barely."
"Good. Show them the fangs of true master of mankin. No quarter," Huron barked.
Boarding torpedoes and modified Storm Ravens launched but the CIWS grid answered in kind.
Twin-linked rotary railcannons and plasma flak batteries painted the darkness with precise, unbroken torrents of fire.
The Maelstrom and warp anomalies disturbing the exile targeting system, however the AI managed to compensate it.
Not a single boarding craft reached Machinist hulls.
"Their point defenses… unnatural. Machinelike precision." Drevik hissed, fear overtaking his earlier arrogance.
"Reaper's Chain reporting incoming Nova torpedo strike!"
"Evasive pattern Char-Kel! Keep to the Gellar-warded lanes!"
The missile detonated in the emptiness overhead, casting the debris field in sickly green. Warp-fire clung to shattered hulls, flickering unnaturally before dying as containment fields purged it.
Huron slammed a fist into the brass rail. "Boarding actions again. We get inside those hulls or we die here."
Panic and Dissension
On the Fury's Maw, Captain Thulof glared at the datascroll.
"By the Eight-Fold Furnace… a Gloriana-class. That great crusade era flagship. Who in the Eye fields one of those?"
A junior officer stammered, "Sir… orders?"
Thulof's face twisted, he vox his order to the fleet channel "This is no mere vanguard. It's a trap. Huron's led us into slaughter. Break for the Blackstone — now."
On Damnation's Maw, Captain Kurlis snarled into the fleet-wide vox. "Cowards! Hold the line! We are the Long War's chosen, not void-addled whelps! A prize like that is worth the risk!"
The captain of Void Howl cut in. [Risk? Look at our losses! Shields gone, weapons failing, half our ships venting into the storm! You'd rather die for a damned relic?]
The argument grew, a cacophony of desperation amid the Maelstrom's whispering tides.
Even Huron's bridge shook as multiple nova impacts battered his flagship.
"Enemy cruiser crippled!" came a report, but relief was brief as Machinist destroyers group closed in, ready to aid their comrades.
The traitor fleet's cohesion splintered.
"Gore Reaver shields collapsing. Plasma drive manifold failing. Enemy fleet advancing. Additional contacts — another Machinist battlegroup translating in."
Fresh icons bloomed on the tactical display — a second wave of battlecruisers and destroyers, forming an impenetrable wall behind the main Machinist fleet.
Varkhan turned, sweat beading on his brow. "Lord, we must fall back. The noose is closing on us!"
Desperation surged. Huron ground his teeth.
"Dragon's Claw and Vengeance, cover our retreat. All remaining ships fall back to the Blackstone perimeter. Now!"
Even the most defiant captains relented.
-Daggerfall'oath command bridge
Aboard the Daggerfall's Oath, Admiral Voorn regarded the traitor retreat with in his next action plan.
"Enemy retreat confirmed to the blackstone Fortress perimeter. One cruiser is in critical condition." An officer reports.
Voorn's face remained flat, his gaze never leaving the tactical projection.
"Steel cordon primaris holding formation. Awaiting breach orders." The admiral vox his reports to Moon Tear Station.
Then Machinist's voice cut through the command vox.
[Prepare Fortress Assault Doctrine Omega. Breach them.]