The void war slowly shifted.
What had been a grim, bloody slog through overlapping kill-zones and fire-laced corridors of space began, imperceptibly at first, to tilt. Minute advantages accumulated into lethal momentum.
Aboard the Dagger's Oath, Admiral Voorn stood rigid at the command dais, storm-grey eyes locked on the hololithic display.
Crimson icons, Black Legion warships, traitor hulls from a thousand battles still swarmed the outer ring of the Exile fleet.
But now, for the first time since the battle's onset, the enemy's advances began to falter.
"Confirm kill on that ship," Commander Haldron called from weapons control.
"Confirmed," came the curt reply from Ensign Vale. "Hull breaches across midship decks. Reactor bloom detected. She's breaking apart."
On the hololith, the traitor cruiser's icon winked out.
Voorn's jaw tightened. He could feel it. The pattern was turning.
Then came the voices. Cold, clinical, and unmistakably synthetic.
[FLEETLINK: DAGGERFALL'S OATH TO IRON-CROWN]
[Pattern predictive vectors updated. Enemy maneuver variance at 3.4%. Adjust fire arcs theta-5 through theta-12.]
[FLEETLINK: IRON-CROWN TO DAGGERFALL'S OATH]
[Acknowledged. Lance batteries aligning. Secondary torpedo grid repositioned.]
The ship's AI nexus had begun to speak. Not to their human occupants but to each other.
Within the hivelink, the encrypted void-space communication lattice reserved for the Exile fleet's synthetic minds.
Dataflows surged with tactical patterns mapped, analyzed, and countered at rates no organic commander could hope to match.
[FLEETLINK: DAGGERFALL'S OATH TO IRON-CROWN]
[Identified: Abaddon priority units engaging displacement wedge tactics. Probability of repetition within 4.6 seconds. Recommend lance fire cross-pattern delta-13.]
[FLEETLINK: IRON-CROWN TO DAGGERFALL'S OATH]
[Counterproposal: interception net alpha-7. Crossfire redundancy increased 8.2%.]
[IRON-CROWN: Accepted. Vector adjustments propagating.]
It was war tactic spoken in machine-code.
Precision, ruthlessness, and efficiency is the norm.
And it worked for the exile fleet.
In the next pass, a pair of Black Legion strike cruisers broke formation on what had been, hours earlier, a flawless flanking maneuver.
The AI-net anticipated it. Steel Cordon's lead ships shifted just four degrees portside, opening overlapping lance arcs. The traitor vessels sailed into a coordinated wall of plasma and railcannon rounds.
One winked out immediately. The other limped, trailing atmosphere and burning debris.
The bridge of Dagger's Oath erupted in a grim cheer. Even Voorn allowed himself a tight nod.
"About damn time," Haldron muttered, eyes scanning his display. Small smile in his lips.
"Maintain pressure," Voorn ordered. "No quarter, no mercy."
And yet, the exile is not the only one learning.
New enemy patterns emerged, subtle deviations in displacement, fresh wedge formations exploiting microfractures in the Exile fleet's battered cordon lines.
The AI nexus registered the anomalies in the hivelink.
[IRON-CROWN TO FLEETLINK ]
[Unclassified maneuver detected. Probability variance exceeds projected thresholds. Labeling 'Pattern Theta-Dagger'.]
[FLEETLINK: RED ROSE TO IRON-CROWN]
[Compiling countermeasure.]
[FLEETLINK: DAGGERFALL'S OATH TO RED ROSE]
[Delay unacceptable. Recommend brute force solution.]
For one brief, lethal interval, an enemy destroyer penetrated between two Exile light cruisers, a vector unanticipated, exploiting a debris field's sensor-blind pocket.
It let loose a salvo of plasma torpedoes into the rearward line.
One Exile frigate died in fire, its icon vanishing from the hololith. Another limped, venting fuel and atmosphere.
"Smart bastard" Vale swore under his breath.
Voorn's jaw flexed. "They're learning too."
Even so, the momentum held.
The AI nexus adapted at a breathtaking pace.
Predictive algorithms cross-referenced historical Warmaster-era tactics, Heresy-era fleet doctrines, and live enemy telemetry.
The Exile line began to constrict around the Vengeful Spirit's formation like a closing fist.
Bridge officers moved with mechanical efficiency. Sarven's brow was damp with sweat, her focus razor-sharp. Haldron's voice was a constant presence, directing fire arcs, confirming kills.
Ensign Vale's hands ached from tension, but he kept at his station, tracking torpedo vectors and lance battery cooldowns.
It wasn't victory, not yet, but it was no longer slaughter.
The bridge vox crackled.
[Admiral Voorn this is the 2nd iron cohort, we are engaging their boarding craft. There are too many of them.] Admiral Hyatt, commanding the 2nd iron cohort battlegroup reports.
"Status update" Admiral Voorn said.
[We've halted most of the boarding craft, but not all.] His voice was tight. [Multiple Black Legion squads breached the Blackstone Fortress. Ground forces engaging. We're pursuing them through sector corridors.]
A sharp pause.
"There is something worse sir, latest report from the inner perimeter. Huron Blackheart's forces destroyed the Gellar Field Generator. The Fortress interior's beginning to destabilize."
On the hololith, the Blackstone's icon flickered, a rising internal anomaly marker pulsing sickly red. If the Gellar field failed completely, the interior would be exposed to the warp, a death sentence for every living thing still inside.
Voorn's heart pounded, though his face remained a mask of iron.
"How many of our forces still aboard?"
"Last report from First and Second Army, there were 41% able bodied men and women still fighting. Trapped."
The bridge went quiet. Even the AI fell silent on the hivelink for a heartbeat.
"Around 410.000 soldiers are stranded? Can they hold?" Voorn's gaze fixed on the pulsing icon.
"Not likely," came Brennek's grim reply. "And even if they could… what's left of the interior will be a slaughterhouse without the Gellar field."
Commander Haldron spoke quietly, stepping close.
"We can dispatch Fourth and Fifth Army. Fresh troops. Reinforce the bastion sections."
A pause.
Voorn's jaw tightened.
He could see it in his mind, sending fresh regiments through those docking causeways, into a structure already bleeding into unreality.
A million trooper, turned to mist, bone, and madness. Fighting in blood-wet hallways against traitor Astartes in the dark, and against the warp itself.
It would be a feeding ground. A slaughterhouse. A meat grinder.
No matter how many men he sent, they would die.
Voorn exhaled slowly, then spoke with the steady cold of an officer trying to cut their losses.
"No."
[Sir—] Admiral Hyatt tries to plead but was cut off.
"We send no one," Voorn said, his voice low. "Not until the fortress is stabilized or the traitors dead. Sending Fourth and Fifth now would be like throwing bloody meat to sharks in open water."
Silence stretched over the bridge.
On the hivelink, the AI resumed its cold conversation.
[DAGGERFALL'S OATH TO FLEETLINK]
[PROJECTED ATTRITION FOR FOURTH AND FIFTH ARMY EXCEEDS 89.3%. PROBABILITY OF REINFORCEMENT SUCCESS: NEGLIGIBLE.]
[FLEETLINK: RED ROSE TO DAGGERFALL'S OATH]
[RECOMMEND REINFORCEMENT DELAY. LETHAL WARP HAZARD DETECTED.]
[FLEETLINK: DAGGERFALL'S TO OATH RED ROSE.]
[RECOMMNEDATION ACCEPTED]
Voorn's lips tightened. He is listening to the machine conversations. They too come to the same conclusion.
"Continue the void war," he ordered. "Focus all fire on isolating the Vengeful Spirit. Deny them reinforcements. Keep them boxed."
"Sir," Sarven asked quietly, "what about the men inside the fortress?"
Voorn's gaze returned to the hololith.
"They hold. Or they don't."
It was a brutal calculation.
But the void didn't forgive sentiment, not in this war.
And so, the void battle raged on. The AI-assisted Exile fleet tightened its net, warping predictive tactics around the enemy's own strategies.
Traitourous cruisers fell one by one to coordinated lance barrages. Strike craft were intercepted in overlapping CIWS corridors.
But below, inside the Blackstone Fortress, death stalked in the corridors.