The surviving Exile forces on the Blackstone's command bridge could only watch in mute awe as the Legion of the Damned swept through bridge.
none of the traitor's attempt managed to halt the fiery legion.
The burning, void-black figures moved like spectres of vengeance, each strike a precise execution. Their human-sized kin moved among them — those in matte void-armored carapace suits and others in distorted shinobi-pattern armor, their movements glitching through reality.
Through the swirling smoke and warp-filth haze, they saw Huron Blackheart himself retreating, crimson and black armor dimming as he abandoned his men to their fate. The Tyrant of Badab vanished into a side corridor, his warband falling around him.
Branek feels it, strange, quiet order descends on the Fortress. He noticed walls that moments ago wept ichor now returned to seamless adamantium again.
The atmosphere shifted. Branek felt it, a quiet order descending upon the Fortress. The cloying miasma of madness retreated. He glanced at the bulkhead wall where, only minutes before, blood had poured like a living wound. Now it was seamless adamantium once again, the warp-taint visibly fleeing the advancing black-armored warriors.
"So… this is a primarch on the battlefield?" Branek murmured, eyes fixed on the massive, headless figure leading the Legionnaires. The figure gave silent gestures, directing squads, and with every step they left only uncorrupted space behind.
The unnatural madness receded, replaced by a deathly calm and order.
His musing ended at the ragged coughing from Major Halvra and Captain Vossen. Both lay against a wall, blood seeping from mortal wounds. The remaining Exiles survivors rushed to them.
With one look, grim understanding passing between them.
There was no medic left, no field kit. The wounds were too severe.
Branek understand that this will be both last moments. He grabs the major right hand
All the other three also undersand this and each grab a hand to comfort.
Even in this cruel galaxy, there are still those who care of you.
They will make sure, the two will die in the company of friends. It only takes several minutes before both takes their last breath.
Branek pulled tattered fabric from a nearby corpse and laid it over their faces. No rites could be performed, but a soldier's final dignity was given.
A surviving Raider officer patches into fleet-wide vox, broadcasting emergency survivor report:
[This is Sergeant Rakan, 15th Raider Battalion. Blackstone Command Bridge secured… repeat, secured. Enemy forces eliminated. Reinforcements… The legion of the damned… assisting. Visual confirmation attached.]
-Dagger's Oath Command Bridge
On the fleet's command bridge aboard the Dagger's Oath and other surviving Exile ships stunned vox officers and commanders exchange shocked glances
The bridge turns to small chaos of disbelieve and gasps.
They know of such forces exists. It was documented in some inquisitorial archieves. Yet it also noted of how rare their appearance is.
"Legion of the damn? They are here?"
"Those guys are myths!"
"Hurry ask for feeds!"
Before anyone could ask for confirmation, data packet arrive revealing Helm-cam live feeds begin transmitting unmistakable images of Legion of the Damned legionnaires and void-armored human-kin slaughtering Word Bearers, Death Guard, and warp-spawn
Admiral Voorn's face remained granite-hard as helm-cam live feeds projected across tactical hololiths. The crew fell silent as Legionnaires and void-armored human operators obliterated remaining Chaos forces. Void-black armor wreathed in ghost-flame, bolters spitting warpfire bolts, daemons combusting as they drew near.
The air felt lighter.
"Status of our assault formations?" Voorn snapped, realizing there is still a problem for him to deal with.
His tactical officer replied. "Fleet elements Beta and Gamma are repositioning per AI-assisted prediction net. Alpha strike groups moving to intercept surviving traitor warships."
"Void superiority assessment?"
"Confirmed, Lord Admiral. We have them, but… the Vengeful Spirit remains active. It's attempting to disengage."
Voorn's gaze hardened. "Abaddon."
The ancient warlord's flagship was employing brutal tactical doctrine — multi-vector misdirection. Deploying false-signature squadrons, warp shadow projections, and phantom fleet echoes to disrupt firing solutions.
Sacrificial cruisers rammed Exile picket lines, forcing the formation dispersal. Even as Exile AI-adaptive battle-nets logged and countered these maneuvers, Abaddon's experience proved an elusive factor.
"Sir, enemy tactics have shifted to Pattern 13-Delta. Cross-spectrum warp illusions confirmed on sectors 04 to 07." an officer reports from his station.
"Adjust prediction matrix. Initiate Omega Displacement Counter-Tactics. Focus lance batteries on predicted escape vectors." admiral voorn replied.
"Yes, sir."
Secondary tactical officers relayed orders to plasma-lance batteries and Nova torpedo tubes to preemptively sweep the escape corridors.
Meanwhile, shipboard vox-channels came alive with chatter.
[Boarders repelled on Deck 12]
[CTG Shinobi teams confirming sector clearance]
[Void-shield relay three holding, despite localized flux]
Voorn glanced toward his fleet AI-holoform, a faceless figure of light and data.
"Have you catalogued all maneuver variants?"
[Affirmative, Lord Admiral. 87% of observed enemy stratagems recorded. Probability threshold rising.]
"Then kill them all."
Even as Exile naval superiority was re-established, Voorn refused to allow reckless pursuit.
"No detachments beyond picket line until confirmation. Abaddon's trickery is endless."
His command bridge officers exchanged grim, knowing looks. It wasn't fear in their eyes but respect for the legend. Even defeated, Abaddon remained a danger.
On every bridge across the Exile fleet, tension lingered.
Voidsmen muttered tactic. Gunners loaded fresh power cells. Medicae crews retrieved the dead.
And somewhere, unnoticed, a lone unmanned drone circled in outer system, relaying silent, unbroken feeds of the battle's ending moments directly to Moon Tear Station, where Nusa and his war council watched in wordless interest.