This Chapter has been delayed, well because I am currently travelling with my family. Anyways I think this is the first time Cassian has won against Chaos in a meaningful way, so progress. Enjoy the Chapter.
---
The bridge smelled of burned insulation and iron prayers. Sweat streaked every face, pooling under collars, stinging tired eyes. Deck plates quivered under every macro battery volley; faint tremors ran like restless ghosts through the steel bones of the ship.
Admiral Spire stood at the command dais, black coat heavy with sweat and gunpowder dust, eyes sunk deep from nights stolen by war. The Plagueclaw hung on the hololith, bloated and rotted, still coming, still spitting plague. Torpedoes even as fire and rupture cratered its hull.
Spire's right hand trembled. He folded it behind his back, jaw tight enough to ache. Couldn't let them see it.
"Range to target?" he rasped, voice sandpapered by smoke and sleepless hours.
"Six thousand, closing!" an ensign barked, hands dancing over runes that sparked under every touch.
Spire's eyes traced the readouts macro batteries red lined, prow lance capacitor flickering. And yet the Plagueclaw kept coming, bleeding green across the void.
—
Below, deeper in the belly of the ship:
Farron stood alone before the central node of the machine sanctum, mechadendrites twitching like angry vipers. Brass pillars rose around him, etched with prayers blackened by age; the air shimmered with the stink of sacred oils burned too long.
Then it came in vox‑spike and scrapcode: daemon code, living, rotting logic forced into the heart of the machine.
Runes across the main projector turned sickly green, flickering with shapes that slithered and oozed. Farron tasted blood as the code invaded, whispering grandfather's litanies straight into the wetware behind his eyes.
He felt it scrape at his mind, promising release, peace, rot eternal.
"Steel before sanctity," he whispered, voice stripped raw.
And then he struck.
Binary canticles poured from his vox‑grill, hard as gunmetal. Logic bombs detonated across subsystems, purging infected code in savage pulses. Whole memory banks burned, data sanctums centuries old gone in white hot flashes to stop the virus from crawling further.
Around him, junior Enginseers watched some with awe, some with horror, some with prayer.
One acolyte faltered, hand frozen over a runeplate. Farron's voice cracked like a whip:
"Do not look away! Do not think! Purge!"
The man obeyed, tears smearing oil on his cheeks.
---
On the bridge:
The Plagueclaw's torpedoes burned closer, shapes heavy with corruption. The void shields shimmered, wavered, flickered.
"Shields failing on port quarter!" a midshipman cried.
Spire tasted copper on his tongue, voice gravel low. "Redirect power. Keep the prow batteries hot. We break them or we die."
"Sir, we could divert power from maneuvering thrusters—"
"And be dead in the water if it survives. No."
A moment. A choice. Men would die either way. Spire made it anyway.
"Vox, target the wounded section. Fire macro batteries three through six. Brace!"
The Dauntless shook as its guns spoke: shells the size of shuttles roaring through void.
On the hololith, the Plagueclaw's flank split, pus and rust venting like a wounded animal.
But still it moved.
---
In the sanctum:
Farron staggered as daemon‑code coiled tighter, cold iron around his mind. Warp whispers rasped at his logic centers, feeding images of ruin, of victory bought with surrender.
Mechadendrites sparked; one servo cracked, dripping oil.
He slammed data‑spikes deeper, pushing his noetic core beyond safety. Burning out two logic cores in the process.
He forced one final kill‑phrase.
The infected data‑tapes burned, green runes dying like rot starved of flesh.
For a moment, the hololithic readout stilled. Systems cleared. The Dauntless exhaled.
---
Bridge:
Spire's hand fell to the railing, breath sharp, chest tight.
"Damage?"
"Plagueclaw venting plasma, Admiral. Its drive core's bleeding power. Their fire's slowing!"
Spire let himself close his eyes just long enough for a single breath. Then: "We fire until it stops twitching."
"Yes, sir!"
The Plagueclaw rolled, drifting now, the cancer in its guts spreading, a dying leviathan.
But even dying, it became even more aggressive like a cornered animal.
Torpedo bays flared one last time, and filth‑rimmed shells burned toward them.
Spire spoke without thinking, raw instinct. "Brace! Redirect what you can! All batteries return fire! Break its spine!"
---
Outside:
Macro shells found the breach in the Plagueclaw's hull. Fire bloomed, green black smoke boiling into the void.
On the hololith, the ship shuddered. Sections peeled open like rotten fruit.
Its last torpedoes drifted wide, off‑course, systems too dead to correct.
The Plagueclaw started to die.
---
Bridge:
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Just the hiss of burnt ozone, the rasp of breath, the thrum of living metal.
Then: "Direct hit! Multiple compartments rupturing!"
Spire's eyes stayed flat, voice iron. "Hold position. Keep guns on her. If she twitches, kill her again."
---
Sanctum:
Farron stood amid sparking ruin. Data tapes smoking, servitors slumped in silence.
Oil dripped from his hood, catching in the light like black blood.
He forced himself upright, vox grill rasping.
"It is done," he whispered.
---
Cassian didn't linger in the firefight. His chainsword bit deep into a conduit, sparks showering the cramped corridor as he tore through power lines and corrupted tech. The ship shuddered beneath his blows systems flickered, alarms blared, and the shadow of chaos spread like poison through the Plagueclaw's guts.
He smashed cooling ducts, severed fuel lines, and sent plumes of noxious steam choking down the halls.
Meanwhile, Faevelith became invisible, her form shimmering and folding into the warp's power. Without a word, she slipped away from the Breachers' grinding advance, invisible and silent, threading through the ship like a ghost with her own deadly purpose.
Cassian caught her fleeting glance a brief nod, no need for words. Each of them had their own role to play.
---
Faevelith stood in the heart of Pestilaan's sanctum.
The air here was thick with rot and despair. The floor pulsed beneath her feet like a living thing. Statues wept black goo, and the very walls seemed to breathe.
Pestilaan loomed, bloated and glistening with suppurating ulcers that wept foul pus down rust pitted plates. What scraps of flesh clung to his warped frame twitched with maggots, and every ragged breath came out as a wet, bubbling hiss. A formal mortal turned nurgle's champion.
"Grandfather's blessings await you, witch," Pestilaan rasped, voice thick as curdled milk. "Think on it. An end to pain. An end to doubt. His embrace is warm, endless, forgiving."
Faevelith's eyes narrowed, the glow of warp energy pulsing faintly at her fingertips. "Forgiving?" she murmured, voice low, soft. "That's what you call this?" Her gaze swept over the glistening sores, the crawling flies nesting in the rents of his armor.
Pestilaan's laugh gurgled up from somewhere deep and rotten. "All struggle rots in time. All beauty decays, all hope grows mold. Why resist what is promised to all? Grandfather's love ends the fear. You would never be alone again."
She stepped lightly across cracked deck plating slick with rot, illusions rippling over her like oil on water. "So you surrender to decay," she said, voice hard "You kneel before the grave and call it mercy."
Pestilaan shifted, bulk straining chains of rusted iron fused to his shoulders. Pus wept from the strain, dripping sizzling into the deck. "There is no kneeling," he rumbled. "Only release. You fight the warp, fight the truth of ending. You could be eternal in rot. Beloved. Unchanging with you loved ones."
Faevelith's lips curled not quite a smile. "Unchanging? Nothing lives that way," she whispered. Warp light danced in her palms, strands of power weaving around her wrists. "Life is change. Even pain reminds us we're alive."
His swollen tongue lolled, dribbling filth. "You think you're alive now? You are a flicker, a breath before the grave. With Grandfather, the fear dies. Only love remains."
"And yet you still hunger," she breathed, stepping closer, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "You still hate. You still fear. Don't dress it up as mercy."
For a heartbeat, the flies circling Pestilaan seemed to pause, hovering in the rancid air. Then his laugh burst out, wet and jagged. "Foolish child," he rasped. "You will kneel. Or you will be devoured."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "Then come," she said, voice cold as the void, warp light brightening around her, dancing like witchfire. "Show me your mercy."
Faevelith's eyes became cold. Illusions flickered around her like venomous mist. She moved with fluid grace, a predator stalking its prey in a nightmare.
The Champion swung his hammer a massive instrument of decay that cracked the floor where it struck. Each blow was meant to shatter her bones and crush her spirit.
But she danced through the storm ducking, weaving, her mind already predicting and slicing through corruption and madness. Her illusions warped reality, twisting Pestilaan's perception, driving him into maddened strikes at ghosts.
She plunged psychic daggers deep into his bloated flesh, searing open wounds that bubbled and festered. The Champion howled, rage and pain twisting his features into a grotesque mask.
The room shook, an unholy storm of rot and power rising as Pestilaan unleashed a wave of pestilence. Black spores swirled, thick and choking.
Faevelith raised her shields of warp fire and light, but the spores burned through, corroding illusions and flesh alike.
She keep pressing the assault even as it was disgusting for her.
Finally, with a surge of will, she drove her blade through the Champion's throat. The foul blood pooled at her feet, the last scream a rasp of defeat.
Faevilith's face scrunched her face in disgust at that. Out of all ruinous powers, she hated Nurgle the most. Everything about that particular thing was disgusting.
—
Few Hours later,
Back aboard the ship alarms screamed and the hull shook violently.
Spire's voice was steel and gravel: "All hands, prepare to disengage. Plagueclaw's systems are failing. Prepare for 200 percent thrust to starboard direction."
Farron's mechadendrites flickered in the glow of warning lights. "Corruption receding, but the cost is high."
Cassian's breath was ragged, sweat mixing with grime. The Breachers gathered, battered but alive, eyes blazing with a savage new respect.
No words were spoken only nods, silent acknowledgments of a hard fought victory.
The Plagueclaw twisted and groaned, a dying beast consumed by its own corruption.
As they slipped free into the void, the shattered remains of the Plagueclaw burned a dark star extinguished in the cold.
—
The Dauntless Class ship's bridge was a quiet storm.
Outside the thick viewport, the Plagueclaw that monstrous carcass of corrupted steel and flesh burned like a dying star. Its hull ruptured in slow.motion bursts, each explosion a bloom of fire and flame, bright and terrible, like hellish fireworks.
The entire ship was unraveling, spiraling into chaos, a perfect apocalypse painted in orange and crimson against the black canvas of space. Glowing veins of warp tainted energy snapped and cracked, sending jagged arcs of electricity dancing across its hull.
Down on the decks, the crew watched silent at first, faces drawn and tired, eyes reflecting the inferno beyond.
Then, a breath broke the silence.
A single, low cheer raw, ragged, but honest.
It was enough. Like a match struck in the dark.
The cheers swelled, spilling up from the lowest decks, filling the corridors, creeping into the very bones of the ship. Men and women who had stared down death and chaos found themselves laughing some with joy, others with tears streaking grimy cheeks.
---
Admiral Spire stood tall, though the weight in his shoulders was real. His eyes, sharp and tired, never left the fiery death of the Plagueclaw. His mouth twitched a rare, fleeting smile breaking through the grime of months.
Beside him, Magos Farron's mechanical limbs twitched softly. His usually stoic face softened, eyes reflecting the firestorm with a hint of something almost like peace. "We bought the Imperium time," he said quietly, voice low and rough.
Severik, the grizzled veteran, leaned against the railing nearby, his usually gruff demeanor cracked open by a faint smile. "Didn't think we'd see this day."
Faevelith's illusions shimmered faintly in the fading glow, her gaze distant but calm. She said nothing, but the nod she gave Cassian when their eyes met spoke volumes.
Cassian himself stood among the Breachers, his chest heaving, hands still warm from the fight. He smiled. The firelight flickered in his eyes an ember of satisfaction, raw and fierce. Around him, the Breachers lifted their weapons, voices hoarse but united in a single, guttural cheer.
The victory was theirs. After so long.
Below decks, the engine hum thrummed steady and strong again, the ship's heart beating past the storm of corruption.
On the lower platforms, quiet conversations began. Old grudges softened by survival, new respect forged in blood and flame.
A young Breacher, face streaked with soot and sweat, turned to his squad leader. "We did it. We actually did it."
The squad leader nodded, voice rough with disbelief. "This one's going to be told for a long time."
Back on the bridge, Spire's gaze flicked toward the stars silent, cold, but a promise whispered in the depths. The fight wasn't over. The Plagueclaw's destruction was but a single flame in a growing dark.
Yet tonight, they had won.
And as the Plagueclaw erupted in a final, cataclysmic bloom of fire, the light danced across every face aboard the Ship a reminder that even in the cold void of war, hope could still burn bright.
---
Word Count: 2284
Hey, if you're enjoying the ride, do me a solid follow, review, and favourite this story. It keeps the fire burning on my end and makes sure it doesn't get buried under a mountain of other fics.
Thanks for reading and if you're hungry for more, check out my patreon.
patreon.com/Kratos5627