The Trap

The Warp was an ancient, boundless ocean formed from the thoughts of living beings. Countless civilizations had tried to tame it, from the mysterious primordial civilizations to the Old Ones, the Aeldari, and humanity. None had succeeded. No one had truly glimpsed its nature or learned where its ancient inhabitants had come from.

Some beings called it heaven, others the Empyrean. Countless species depended on it and feared it. Where the Warp met the material universe lay the Eye of Terror, a monument to the Aeldari's fall and destruction. No one dared approach a place so universally dreaded.

Now a vast human fleet rampaged through it. Abaddon had brought crusades against the Imperium; humanity was taking its revenge in the seething Warp.

The immense ships advanced slowly, their ribbed hulls and ornate silhouettes resembling a procession of Gothic buildings. They might have been cathedrals carved into warships, sailing through darkness alive with color. Raging storms and daemons recoiled before their Gellar fields. Plasma flames streamed from the exhausts at their sterns, driving the great vessels onward.

At the head of the fleet sailed a flagship bearing a gilded double-headed eagle. A human skull adorned its prow, etched with golden words from the Emperor's holy scripture. More ships followed in a triangular formation, a spear aimed at the enemy.

Each carried thousands upon thousands of soldiers, charged with bringing the will of the great Crusade and the Imperium of Man to every daemon world in the Warp. Solemn and deadly, the fleet drove toward its enemies' vitals like a finely wrought arrowhead. The number of daemon worlds burning in its wake was already nearing several dozen.

“We will bring the fires of vengeance.” No captain questioned Saint Celestine's words. With this powerful fleet, they had slaughtered countless daemons and traitors. They charged ahead recklessly, yet no one could turn aside their blades. Even the wildest tides of daemons perished beneath the fleet's attacks.

Kaleb hurried through the corridors of the Glory, holding a data-slate against his chest. Pale light reflected from its surface. Years of ascetic discipline had left him gaunt, with no flesh to spare. Words from the Emperor's scripture covered his shaven head, as though only such markings could express the depth of his devotion.

For all his frailty, faith lent his steps a remarkable lightness. He served a great cause, accompanying a fleet that destroyed the Emperor's enemies. If necessary, he would offer his feeble human body for the Imperium, the Emperor, and humanity's highest aspirations.

He passed briskly through a maze of winding passages and crossed the stinking main gun deck, where noise rolled like thunder. Beyond lay the quarters assigned to the Astartes. The towering Primaris had no objection to his presence. They showed the devout monk respect and stepped aside to let him pass.

A corridor hung with battle honors led him into an avenue lined with statues of Imperial figures. At last he reached his destination: the bridge control room, where Saint Celestine stood.

The Emperor's chosen spokeswoman was studying a hologram, surrounded by senior military leaders making their preparations. Kaleb's arrival interrupted their discussion. “What is it?” Celestine asked.

“Something feels wrong. I've been troubled these past few days. Perhaps we should return and tell the Lord Regent where Abaddon is, instead of facing him alone.”

“Do not worry. Abaddon has few people around him now. This is our chance to strike. If we let it pass, who knows when we will be able to kill an enemy who poses such a threat to the Imperium?” Confidence filled her face.

“If we kill Abaddon, the Regent who saved all humanity will surely become its new Emperor. No one will be able to deny his achievements. Every power in the Imperium will kneel before him. We will see a living god walking among the stars.”

Zeal shone in Celestine's eyes, along with a longing for the world she imagined. Victory in the Warp and Abaddon's death would leave nothing to prevent Guilliman from becoming the Imperium's new Emperor. Of that, she was certain.

His accession would be good for the Imperium. Even Celestine had to acknowledge his talent for rule. In only twenty years, he had brought humanity this far. What might he accomplish in a hundred years, or a thousand?

Powerful nobles still obstructed many of his policies, hindering cooperation. Once Abaddon was dead, who in the Imperium would dare oppose him? Not even the other Primarchs would be able to prevent his coronation.

“Do not cling to your life, Kaleb,” Celestine said. “What we do will create a great Imperium of Man. If our lives can accomplish that, why should we hesitate to give them?”

“If that is truly what awaits us, then I have no objection. An Imperium bathed in the Emperor's light, free from ruin and suffering, is the future we pray for.” Kaleb nodded his agreement.

She had persuaded him once more. If the small sacrifice of his life could help the Emperor's light shine upon the Imperium forever, it would be worth it. The force Celestine led possessed extraordinary resolve and the strength to endure tremendous strain.

The great fleet swept through the Warp toward the daemon world where their intelligence placed Abaddon. They intended to destroy, in one stroke, the traitor who had launched thirteen Black Crusades against mankind.

It was all a vicious trap. The servants of Chaos had not lied to them. They had simply seen what Abaddon had arranged for them to see. Once the Warmaster learned that the Imperium's powerful fleet had split up, he acted quickly. Instead of meeting it head-on, he turned to deception.

Horus had been the first Primarch to join the Great Crusade. Alpharius had been the first to be found, but had not joined the Emperor's campaign at once. He had waited until several other Primarchs had returned.

When Horus was recovered, the Emperor taught him while continuing his conquests. Abaddon had been there too, one of the oldest warriors of the Luna Wolves. He had grown alongside his Legion through the Imperium's Great Crusade.

His military talent was formidable, as was his prowess in combat. After Horus died, he united the surviving Sons of Horus and other exiles to form the Black Legion. He was the chosen champion of the four gods after Horus, and servants of all four marched with him on every crusade. Those who underestimated him paid dearly.

When Celestine's fleet entered the ambush, Abaddon struck.

The already turbulent Sea of Souls erupted into greater fury. Waves of destruction followed one another without pause. Vortices churned amid raging storms. In an instant, the magnificent fleet, so solid a spearhead only moments before, was scattered. Ships vanished into the Warp, dragged into its depths by the terrible tempest.

The disaster came too quickly for anyone to anticipate. Neither the Astartes, the Adeptus Mechanicus, nor Celestine could respond in time. The Warp revealed its horror to the invaders who had dared hold it in contempt.

Crew members screamed and groaned beneath its crushing pressure. Even their Gellar fields could not keep its power from reaching them. Dreadful whispers filled their ears, and nightmares began to torment them.

Storms of unimaginable scale made communication between ships almost impossible. Worse, the Emperor's beacon began to flicker, then vanished altogether. Without the Astronomican, the lost fleet could no longer locate the boundary between the Warp and reality. They could not escape.

The Eye of Terror was unlike ordinary Warp space. Here, the material universe had been drawn into the immaterial, creating a region where reality and unreality coexisted. Without the Emperor's beacon, they could not leave the Eye. They could only wander this terrifying ocean of souls.

Even Cawl's latest equipment could not establish their position. Before, they had maintained silence to keep Guilliman's fleet from finding them. Now they wanted to contact him and could not. The Warp's terrible power distorted both physical equipment and psychic communications. Celestine's fleet was utterly isolated.

She drew her weapon, ready for the battle to come. But the enemy was more cunning than she had expected. No assault followed. Instead, the storms continued to tear the fleet apart. Imperial ships disappeared one after another.

The soldiers lived in constant tension. Danger pressed upon them from every direction until they could scarcely breathe. They knew the enemy was watching, but their instruments detected no approaching foe. The waiting made them increasingly restless.

The entire fleet remained at its highest state of alert, ready for an attack at any moment. Soldiers drilled in the cramped spaces of their warships, patrolled, searched, and waited with every nerve taut. Weeks passed. Nothing happened.