Pandorax System.
In the orbit above, a lone battle barge floated silently. It was a weather-beaten vessel, its hull covered in dense scars that looked shocking under the sun's light. These marks were different from ordinary void damage—they were twisted and winding, like brands left behind after being torn by Warp turbulence.
Inside the bridge, dim lights cast mottled shadows on damaged display screens. Several Space Marines in bright yellow power armor stood around the star map table. The symbol on their shoulder pads, resembling a bloody teardrop, flickered in the eerie green holographic light.
The Lamenters Chapter.
"Brother Duncan, where did the tides of the Warp bring us? Where exactly are we in the Imperial domain?" Malakim Phoros turned to look at the Techmarine operating the instruments. His voice carried an oppressed exhaustion, and his well-defined face was written with helplessness. As a Chapter Master, Malakim felt that his Chapter had some inherent issues. To an extent, compared to their allies, an invisible shroud of misfortune seemed to cling to them, constantly leading them into sudden crises.
Just a week ago, they were stationed in the Maelstrom zone. When news arrived from Baal—that their Genetic Father, the Great Angel Sanguinius, had been resurrected—Malakim could hardly believe his ears. Such news was completely incredible. He was ecstatic yet weeping; without sufficient preparation, he hurriedly settled affairs with nearby allies and led his team into the Warp to rush toward Baal.
Then, the unlucky times began. The Lamenters encountered a Warp storm and lost their way completely. Now, having finally broken free, they found they had lost Warp navigation capabilities and were stranded above an unknown Imperial world.
"Chapter Master, calculations from the star charts show our current position is in the Segmentum Obscurus, within the Demeter Sector." Techmarine Duncan manipulated his instruments, and the holographic map rotated, eventually locking onto an inconspicuous point of light. "And this system we are in, if the data is correct, should be the Pandorax System. The planet beneath us is Pythos."
Malakim looked out the observation window. He saw a planet shrouded in emerald green. Lush forests covered almost everything on the surface; from orbit, it looked like a giant piece of green velvet spread silently in the void. This appeared to be just an ordinary planet. Malakim breathed a sigh of freedom. Knowing their location was enough. To his eyes, having just come from a place like the Maelstrom, this was merely a peaceful Imperial system.
"Very well. In that case, let us go down and see if we can acquire some resources," Malakim said with a sigh. The long Warp voyage had damaged the Geller field, and many mortal servants had perished in conflicts with Warp demons. They now had to rely on the strength of the Astartes to maintain the ship's operation. Moreover, as a Chapter that was never wealthy, the Lamenters' supplies were depleted.
Half a day later. Surface of Pythos, Catachan 183rd Regiment base.
"Welcome, Death Angels of the Emperor." A camouflage-clad, muscular Catachan strode forward to meet them. His weathered face bore a simple and warm smile. "I am Colonel Strykes, commander of the Catachan 183rd, stationed on this world."
Malakim nodded, scanning the Imperial Guard commander. Catachans lived up to their reputation; even through the camouflage fatigues, one could feel the explosive power in that frame.
"I am Malakim, Chapter Master of the Lamenters," he said directly. "We need supplies. Our ship was heavily damaged in the Warp, and our resources are empty."
Though he said this, Malakim held little hope. When they descended for reconnaissance, he found the population was much scarcer than imagined. There were only three hive cities that were tiny by Imperial standards, including the capital, Attica. Considering the lush vegetation, he had almost given up—could such a wilderness world supply an Astartes Chapter?
To his surprise, the Catachan agreed immediately. The Colonel explained their presence was an accident, a small deployment error by the Departmento Munitorum. The 183rd was supposed to be in the Maelstrom like the Lamenters, but a transport ship dropped them here and no other ships had visited since. Such errors were common in the Imperial system, and even Guilliman's reforms had only mitigated them.
Malakim wasn't surprised by the error, but he doubted whether a regiment lost without logistical support could provide what they needed. He soon had his answer.
"Emperor above..." Malakim murmured, staring in shock. In the Catachan base, super-heavy tanks were everywhere. Those creations of the Omnissiah stood proudly in the sun. Rows of Leman Russ Battle Tanks were parked in the open lot. Behind them were things that would drive any armored commander mad—Shadowswords, Stormblades, and even dozens of Baneblades. These core assets were parked casually like scrap metal, without even tarps to cover them.
Everywhere he looked, Catachan soldiers wore power-feedback armor that even elite guardsmen rarely obtained, patrolling with bolters. Rows of baskets held equipment that would make one stop breathing—Iron Halos, Rosariuses, master-crafted bolters, power swords, volkite weapons... these precious resources were piled up like cheap wholesale goods. Malakim touched the power sword at his waist that had been with him for centuries and suddenly felt it was no longer special.
"How did you get these things?" Malakim asked. The supply volume was absurd. Even among the Tyrant's Legion of Huron Blackheart in the Maelstrom, such sights were rare.
"To be honest, I don't know. We picked them up," the Catachan said, spreading his hands.
"Picked them up?"
"Exactly. Most of this was found in the forest," Colonel Strykes scratched his head with an 'I'm also confused' expression. "We aren't sure of the source, but much of it is blessed. Our sanctioned psykers confirmed it isn't a Chaos plot. I suppose it is the Emperor's grace."
Malakim felt a surge of envy. Why hadn't he enjoyed such treatment? Wait. Perhaps this was an omen. That man must have his reasons.
"Then, I will trouble you. I will pay a certain—"
Malakim was about to say more when an explosion rang out. The roar was earth-shaking. Everyone stared at the sky. Giant flames erupted in the firmament, like an angry god waving a burning sword in the clouds. A small point of fire appeared in the smoke, expanding into a blazing fireball within seconds. Shards of armor fell from the void like a metal rain, glinting under the sun.
"My battle brothers are still up there!"
"No!"
Through Astartes vision, Malakim saw Thunderhawks and escape pods detaching from the burning sky-ship. Those familiar points of light traced burning trails through the atmosphere like falling stars. People were still alive. He watched the pods descend, praying for his brothers' safety.
"Look! What is that?" a Catachan soldier shouted.
Iron rain descended, tearing through the clouds. The steel was menacing, reflecting an ominous cold light. Malakim recognized them instantly. Those were Chaos Astartes Dreadclaw Drop Pods!
War had begun.
"War has begun."
Meanwhile, at another location on Pythos, far from the base. Grey-brown rocks were exposed on the surface, and sparse weeds trembled in the wind. In this silent wilderness, a figure sat cross-legged on a large stone.
Adam raised his eyes toward the distant sky. His gaze pierced hundreds of kilometers, landing on the burning battle barge. Even Adam felt his spirit concentrating to an unprecedented height. A fire burned in his chest—not anger or fear, but a heat close to anticipation. It was the excitement of a hunter seeing the prey step into the trap.
"Yes. Are you ready?" Another phantom voice echoed in his ear, ethereal yet descending from the high heavens. It was layered, like thousands of voices whispering at once, yet like a single voice echoing in the heart. "It seems you are in better shape than I imagined."
Adam smiled. "I don't even need to enter the Throne Room now. Speaking directly with you gives me such clear instructions."
"Naturally," the Emperor said calmly. "When you sit on a terrifying electric chair for ten thousand years and finally see a glimmer of hope to get off work..." His voice was light, stating a simple fact. "No matter how fractured my spirit is, all parts will set aside their disputes and reach a consensus to face the enemy."
True enough. Adam nodded. He looked back at the exploding barge in the distance. He confirmed in his heart that the souls fallen in this process had returned to the Throne. He could pull them out with reality-warping power anytime.
"The Lamenters, is it?" Adam murmured. The name wasn't famous in the Empire, but he had heard of their deeds. A Chapter shrouded in misfortune, paying a heavy price in every battle, yet never retreating. Their bad luck was truly a spectacle to behold.
The battle about to occur in the Pandorax System would have an intensity that "Apocalypse" could not describe. A Chapter like the Lamenters might face extinction if they were not careful. But it didn't matter. To maximize the deception, the Empire had made no visible changes to Pandorax. No grand fortresses, no military facilities to alert Chaos. They only installed an Eternity Gate teleportation device to ensure a steady stream of reinforcements.
Adam stood up, confirming the military units in his plan. "The deployment is complete. The arrow is on the string."
He felt the Warp energy on the planet beginning to fluctuate violently. The invisible energy was like a boiling ocean, rolling, roaring, and tearing in the void.
The storm was coming. The storm was here!