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The Chaos fleet paused, momentarily confused by the self-inflicted cataclysm. It was the opening Caspian needed.

The Dominus Bellorum limped into Port Maw’s dry-docks, her hull scarred, her crew count reduced by a third. Lord Admiral Caspian walked the main hangar deck, stepping past medicae shuttles and the burned-out husks of fighter craft.

The Righteous Wrath , its ancient plasma reactors cycling inefficiently, bled a micro-flare of drive wash. It lasted less than a second. But in the empyrean-saturated void, it was a lit match in a powder keg.

“Contact! Enemy squadrons altering course. They have us, my Lord,” voxed Commodore Vance, the fleet’s taciturn second. battlefleet gothic armada pdf

Lord Admiral Caspian heard the news in the strategium of the Dominus Bellorum , his Emperor-class Battleship. The astropathic choir’s message was a fractured scream of static and terror. “...Furia-class... emergence... Gellar Field collapse... Port Maw demands immediate reinforcement. The Archenemy has come to Scarus...” The system of Periphery was lost. Not to Orks, nor to the insidious tendrils of Hive Fleet Kraken, but to the Despoiler himself. Abaddon’s 12th Black Crusade had pried open the Cadian Gate, and a splinter fleet, led by the ancient and corrupted Despoiler-class Battleship Blade of Antwyr , was carving a path toward the vital shipyards of Port Maw.

The gas giant, Praxis VI, had been ruptured, its core venting plasma that ignited into a permanent, hellish nebula. Within that crimson fog, daemon-ships prowled. Caspian ordered silent running. Engines to minimum, vox-beacons off. The fleet became ghosts, drifting through the asteroid debris of what used to be Periphery’s defense platform.

The Warp does not forgive. Neither, he knew, would the God-Emperor. But for twelve thousand souls, he had bought them a cleaner death than the Archenemy could offer. The Chaos fleet paused, momentarily confused by the

Vance understood. There was no argument. “Aye, my Lord.”

Caspian closed his eyes for a single heartbeat. He thought of Captain Sulla. A devout man. He had christened his ship’s main cannon “The Emperor’s Forgiveness.”

The fleet translated into the Periphery system at the Mandeville Point, a full day’s emergency burn from the primary shipyards. Auspex returns were immediate and chilling. Lord Admiral Caspian walked the main hangar deck,

A young lieutenant approached, holding a data-slate. “Casualty report, my Lord. The Righteous Wrath … all hands, twelve thousand souls.”

Caspian turned to the viewport. Outside, the repair gantries were already swarming over the Dominus Bellorum . But all he could see was the white, silent flower of the Nova Cannon’s mercy.