Chapter 10

  Rage was a fire in Mikael Fabian’s soul. The cold, precise logic of the Codex Astartes was burned away, replaced by a singular, burning need for vengeance. He was no longer a Captain of the Ultramarines; he was an executioner. Every parry, every shot, every swing of his humming power sword was an act of pure, undiluted fury.

  He carved a path of blue and crimson through the green tide, his movements a blur of hyper-violent grace. Orks fell before him, bisected, decapitated, their bodies exploding under the impact of his bolt shells. He ignored the choppas that glanced off his ceramite, the bullets that sparked against his pauldrons. His entire being was focused on the retreating form of the Warboss, a distant figure of mockery who had cost him everything. He would reach him. He would cut the beast’s head from its shoulders, even if it was the last act of his life.

  His honour guard was gone, swallowed by the horde. He was an island of fury in a sea of snarling xenos. He drove a Nob to its knees, severed its head, and kicked the body aside, his gaze locked forward. He was getting closer.

  Then, a new voice on his private vox channel, bypassing the battlefield chatter. It was thin, laced with static and pure, undiluted panic. It was not from the surface.

  “–tain Fabian! This is Brother-Lexicanum Thale from the Strike Cruiser ‘Blade of Vengeance’! Do you read me?”

  Fabian ignored it, sidestepping a charging Ork and ramming his sword through its chest. Ground interference. Nothing more.

  “Captain, you must hear me! The fleet is under attack! Ork vessels, they appeared from nowhere… crude, but so many…”

  The voice cracked with strain. Fabian faltered, the fire in his veins turning to ice. He blasted an Ork that got too close, his mind struggling to process the words.

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  “…they launched boarding torpedoes, crude things, little more than drills with rockets strapped to them! They’ve breached the ‘Valour’s Shield’! They are on the bridge! Emperor’s mercy, the ‘Valour’s Shield’ is venting atmosphere… it’s… it's moving under its own power! It’s not our command!”

  The world stopped. The roar of the Waaagh!, the crack of bolters, the scream of chainswords—it all faded into a dull, distant hum.

  The ‘Valour’s Shield’. A Gladius-class frigate. Stolen.

  Fabian stood frozen amidst the swirling battle, the sheer, breathtaking audacity of the Ork's plan crashing down on him. The ground war. The ambushes. The grinding attrition. The baiting of his command staff. Cassian’s death. His own rage-fueled, reckless charge. It was all a diversion. A magnificent, perfectly executed diversion on a planetary scale.

  Warboss hadn't been trying to win a battle for his world. He had been buying time. He had pinned the 3rd Company, the famed "Scourge of the Xenos," the most experienced anti-Ork force in the sector, on the ground while he stole a warship from right under their noses.

  He looked up from the slaughter, his eyes finding the Warboss, who had paused on a distant ridge. The Ork leader wasn't laughing. He simply stood there, watching, as if to ensure his opponent understood the depth of his humiliation. He had not just been defeated; he had been comprehensively out-thought.

  The fire of vengeance was gone, scoured from him and replaced by the bitter, metallic taste of absolute defeat. His duty was clear. His personal desire for revenge was a luxury he, and his company, could no longer afford.

  With a voice that felt like broken glass in his throat, he activated the company-wide command channel.

  “All units. Disengage. Disengage immediately. Execute tactical retreat, heading 2-7-5. Make for the Thunderhawks.” His words were clipped, brutal. “The objective is no longer viable. I repeat, all units, withdraw. We are leaving this world. Now.”

  A stunned silence met his order, broken only by a few questioning clicks over the vox. Then, discipline took over. The blue line began to pull back, fighting for every inch, turning from a spearhead into a shield.

  Fabian turned his back on the Warboss. He turned his back on the body of his fallen sergeant. He began the long, bloody fight back through the horde, no longer as a vengeful demigod, but as a humbled captain trying to save his men from a trap of his own making. The planet was lost. Their honour was stained. And they were now, potentially, stranded.