The air inside the command outpost was oppressive, heavy with the taint of the Warp that saturated the world outside. Faint screams carried on the wind, their source indistinguishable from the countless horrors that had claimed Chimir Prime. No one in the room acknowledged them. They were just another sound, like the hum of the failing cogitators or the distant rumble of artillery fire that never ceased.

  Servius stood at the edge of the room, his augmented right arm resting on the table’s edge, its clawed fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the dented surface. A hololithic map of the battlefield hovered in flickering, ghostly green light above the table, the projection distorted by interference from the Warp storms that roiled across the planet. The officers and advisors around him were a motley collection of scarred veterans, weary specialists, and one or two individuals who still somehow looked fresh and clean in their uniforms—likely new arrivals who hadn’t yet seen the full weight of this campaign.

  At the head of the table, an Interrogator in dark, practical robes spoke, her tone sharp and precise. “Our objective is clear. The fortress must fall, and Anubis must be neutralized. Without him, the Warp storms enveloping this world will dissipate, and Chimir Prime will be reclaimed for the Imperium.”

  Servius tilted his head, his feline ears flicking slightly as he listened. “Neutralized,” he echoed, his voice smooth and measured, his accent carrying the faintest lilt from years of trading with various cultures aboard the Sullen Arrogance. “A polite euphemism for ‘shot, decapitated, and incinerated,’ I presume?”

  The Interrogator’s gaze shifted to him, her expression unreadable behind her rebreather mask. She didn’t respond immediately, clearly weighing whether to engage. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady. “Precisely. And I trust you’ll handle that with your usual… efficiency.”

  “I’ll be sure to make it look impressive,” Servius replied evenly, his tone giving nothing away. He straightened and gestured to the map, his clawed finger tracing the projected contours of the fortress. “But I imagine the challenge will be reaching him before we’re all buried under waves of daemons or shot to pieces by his cultists. The terrain alone is a nightmare, and that’s before factoring in the fact that this entire planet is alive.”

  “Which is why the combined forces of the Inquisition, the Astra Militarum, and the Astartes have been assembled here,” said a booming voice, calm and measured yet unyielding.

  Servius turned his head slightly to look at the speaker: a Solar Wolf Astartes. Clad in battle-scarred power armor the color of pale ivory and void black, the warrior stood with the restrained confidence of someone who had faced horrors far worse than this. Unlike many of his kin, the Solar Wolves bore an air of quiet empathy, though their presence was no less imposing.

  “The Astartes will ensure the vanguard breaches the outer defenses,” the warrior continued, his deep voice carrying the natural authority of his kind. “The Emperor’s light will guide us through this darkness, and Anubis will be brought to justice.”

  Servius gave a slight nod, his tone reserved but respectful. “I have no doubt of that. Though forgive me if I hope the Emperor’s light also shields the rest of us from the debris when the fortress inevitably collapses on our heads.”

  A faint chuckle came from one of the other officers—likely one of Servius’s own men, familiar with his dry wit. The Solar Wolf inclined his helmet slightly, his expression unreadable behind his visor, but there was no sign of irritation.

  Not everyone in the room, however, appreciated Servius’s tone.

  “Is this your idea of leadership, Major?” a harsh voice cut in, laden with disapproval. Servius turned to see the Deathwatch Astartes standing at the far side of the room, his black armor stark against the pale glow of the hololithic map. The Deathwatch warrior radiated tension, his movements sharp and deliberate.

  The massive figure took a step closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Do your men follow you because they trust your strength, or because they’ve become too numb to care if they live or die under your command?”

  Servius straightened, his tail flicking slightly as he regarded the Deathwatch with calm, calculating eyes. “Perhaps both, my lord,” he said, his tone polite but razor-sharp. “Though I prefer to think they follow because I’ve kept them alive longer than most officers in my position would have managed. Would you not agree that results speak louder than any sermon or speech I could give?”

  For a moment, there was silence in the room, the tension palpable. The Deathwatch warrior’s helmet turned slightly, as though he were reevaluating the Major.

  Before the exchange could escalate, the Interrogator interjected. “Enough,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the room. “This is neither the time nor the place for debates about command styles. We all serve the Emperor, and we will all do our duty—whatever it takes.”

  Servius inclined his head slightly, his tone measured. “As always.”

  The room fell quiet again as the Interrogator turned back to the map, continuing to outline the details of the assault. Servius listened with half an ear, his mind already drifting to the task ahead. His soldiers—those who had gotten this far—were waiting outside. He would lead them into the fire, because that was what was expected of him. That was what he was good at.

  As the briefing drew to a close, Servius turned to leave, his steps deliberate. He paused near the Solar Wolf, glancing up at the towering warrior. “Good luck with tanking all that fire,” he said quietly.

  The Solar Wolf turned his helmet slightly, his voice calm. “And good luck not getting blown to chunks.”

  Servius gave a faint, humorless smile. “Let’s hope we still fight well enough to get through this.”

  The Solar Wolf inclined his head. “We will.”

  Servius stepped out into the choking air of Chimir Prime, his claws flexing instinctively as he surveyed the grim scene outside the outpost. The soldiers of the 182nd were gathered in tight formations, their faces hardened by exhaustion and resolve. They would follow him into the abyss, just as they always had.

  He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting toward the distant fortress. Somewhere within, Anubis waited, likely smug in the knowledge that this was a battle he couldn’t lose.

  Servius felt the weight of inevitability settle on his shoulders. Perhaps this would be his final battle. Perhaps not. Either way, he intended to finish what had been started.

  With a curt nod to his men, he raised his voice, its smooth timbre carrying across the lines. “On your feet, 182nd. We have work to do.”

  The soldiers rose, their movements precise and determined. Servius turned toward the horizon, where the sky churned with blood-red storms. The path ahead was hell, but it was a hell he knew well.

  “Let’s get it over with,” he muttered to himself, stepping forward.

  The air outside the outpost was choking, a mixture of blood, ash, and something far worse. The wind carried with it whispers that wormed their way into the mind, fleeting murmurs of despair and temptation. Every soldier in the 182nd knew better than to listen, but that didn’t stop the whispers from pricking at the edges of their sanity. They gripped their weapons tighter, muttered prayers, or stared straight ahead, their gazes hard and unyielding.

  Servius stood at the front of the column, his rifle slung across his back, his twin pistols holstered at his hips, and his claws flexing idly. His tail flicked behind him in rhythmic, unconscious movements, betraying his inner tension as his sharp eyes scanned the blasted landscape ahead.

  Chimir Prime had once been a thriving world, a jewel of the Chimir system. Now it was a nightmare given form. The ground beneath their boots was cracked and bleeding, crimson ichor seeping from its wounds. Jagged spires of black stone jutted from the ground, their surfaces slick with a film of writhing, fleshy growths. The sky churned with crimson and violet storms, lightning flashing in jagged arcs that illuminated the monstrous forms moving in the distance.

  Behind him, the soldiers of the 182nd stood in tight formation, their expressions grim but focused. They were veterans, every one of them, survivors of battles that would have broken most mortals. They had followed Servius through the meat grinders of the Chimir campaign, through the slaughter of Chimir Secundus, the quagmire of Chimir IV, and the orbital purges above Chimir Tertius. Now, they stood on the brink of what they all knew was a suicide mission.

  Servius turned to face them, his voice cutting through the unnatural quiet that had fallen over the battlefield. “I’m not going to give you some grand speech,” he said, his tone sharp and matter-of-fact. “You already know what’s ahead of us. You’ve seen it on every other rock in this cursed system. This isn’t about glory, or heroism, or even survival. This is about doing our damn job and finishing this nightmare.”

  His feline eyes scanned their faces, lingering for a moment on each soldier. “Stick together. Watch your flanks. Keep your heads down and your weapons up. And if you see anything with more than one head or less than a face, shoot it until it stops moving.”

  A faint ripple of grim chuckles passed through the ranks, cutting through the tension like a blade. Servius allowed himself a small, wry smile. “And for Throne’s sake, if you see Anubis, leave him to me. He owes me a conversation, and I intend to collect.”

  The Solar Wolves stood nearby, their white-and-black power armor gleaming even under the sickly light of the Warp-tainted sky. Their leader, the same Astartes from the briefing, approached Servius, his helmet now clipped to his belt. His weathered, human face was calm and composed, a rare sight among the Space Marines of the Imperium.

  “We’ll cover the left flank,” the Solar Wolf said, his deep voice steady. “My brothers will clear the path to the fortress gates. Once you’re inside, you’ll be on your own.”

  “Nothing new there,” Servius replied with a faint smirk. He glanced at the Astartes. “Just don’t get yourselves killed out there. I’d hate to lose the only Astartes I’ve ever had a decent conversation with.”

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  The Solar Wolf chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Likewise, Major. Try to keep that tail of yours intact. It’d be a shame to lose such a unique tactical asset.”

  Servius snorted softly. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

  The exchange brought a faint smile to some of the soldiers nearby, though it quickly faded as the Astartes turned and gave the signal to advance. The Solar Wolves moved with mechanical precision, their massive forms casting long shadows over the ranks of the 182nd as they took their positions.

  Servius exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders. He turned back to his men, his voice sharp and commanding. “182nd, move out! Watch your spacing. This planet doesn’t need any help killing us.”

  The first few steps into the battlefield felt like walking into the maw of a great beast. The ground shifted beneath their boots, the writhing, fleshy growths pulling at their soles as if trying to drag them into the depths. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, slithering into the corners of their minds.

  Ahead of them, the fortress loomed—a massive, jagged structure that pulsed faintly with an inner, malevolent light. Its spires reached skyward like the claws of some great predator, and the air around it shimmered with raw Warp energy. The path leading to it was littered with the corpses of those who had come before—guardsmen, Astartes, and daemons alike. The air stank of ozone, blood, and decay.

  The first attack came without warning.

  From the shadows of the jagged spires, a tide of daemons surged forward. They were a writhing mass of teeth, claws, and unnatural forms, their shrieks and howls blending into a deafening cacophony. Bloodletters charged at the forefront, their crimson blades gleaming with unholy light, while lesser daemons swarmed behind them in a chaotic frenzy.

  “Contact!” one of the soldiers shouted, raising his hellgun and opening fire. The rest of the 182nd followed suit, the air filling with the crackling hiss of lasbolts and the deeper roar of flamers and heavy weapons.

  Servius raised his rifle, his sharp eyes locking onto a towering Bloodletter leading the charge. He exhaled slowly, his body steady as he pulled the trigger. The anti-material round thundered from the barrel, punching through the daemon’s chest and sending it sprawling to the ground in a spray of ichor. The soldiers around him cheered, their morale bolstered by the sight.

  But the daemons did not falter. They surged forward, their numbers seemingly endless, their forms twisting and warping as they moved. The soldiers of the 182nd held their ground, their disciplined fire cutting swathes through the horde, but the pressure was relentless.

  “Hold the line!” Servius barked, his voice carrying over the chaos. “Keep your sectors covered! Flamers, watch the flanks! Don’t let them circle us!”

  A daemon lunged at him from the side, its talons flashing toward his neck. Servius twisted, his knife slashing upward in a precise arc. The daemon screeched as its head was severed, its body dissolving into ash before it hit the ground. Servius didn’t pause, his bolt pistols snapping up to dispatch another foe that had broken through the line.

  He moved with lethal efficiency, his every action calculated and deliberate. He had been through battles like this before—battles where survival was measured in seconds, and every decision meant the difference between life and death. But as he fought, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was different. The weight of the Warp pressed down on him, heavier than ever, and the whispers at the edge of his mind seemed to know him, to speak to him directly.

  “Servius…” they hissed, their voices layered and mocking. “You fight so hard. But for what? For whom? The Emperor? Your men? Yourself? You know the truth, little feline. You fight because you’re afraid to stop.”

  Servius snarled, shaking the voices from his mind. He didn’t have time for doubt. Not now.

  “Major!” a voice called from the line. Servius turned to see one of his lieutenants pointing toward the fortress. “We’ve got movement near the gates!”

  Servius followed the gesture, his sharp eyes narrowing as he spotted a group of figures emerging from the fortress. They were massive, clad in blackened power armor adorned with the sigils of Chaos. At their center stood a figure wreathed in unholy energy, his staff crackling with Warp lightning.

  Anubis.

  Servius’s claws flexed, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the Chaos Sorcerer Lord. The battlefield seemed to fade around him, the noise and chaos dimming as his focus sharpened. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for.

  He raised his rifle, his voice low and cold. “There you are.”

  Amidst the cacophony of battle, the Cat crouched low on a shattered ridge of blackened stone, his sharp eyes narrowing as they locked onto the hulking, blasphemous figure in the distance. The Warp-tainted light of the battlefield danced across the jagged edges of his rifle as he rested its weight against his shoulder. The weapon felt solid, reassuring—a constant in a galaxy where constants were a rare luxury.

  The Sorcerer Lord loomed over his retinue of Black Legionnaires, his form cloaked in a living shroud of Warp energy. His staff, a twisted relic of blackened iron and crackling runes, pulsed with unholy power as he strode confidently through the slaughter. Around him, the elite Traitor Marines moved like a living wall, their black armor glinting with brass accents and adorned with trophies of the damned. Servius felt his claws twitch reflexively. This wasn’t a battlefield—it was a mockery of one, and Anubis reveled in it.

  The sniper exhaled slowly, his keen ears cutting through the din of the battlefield to focus on the sound of his own breathing. It was a technique he’d honed over years of war: the chaos around him faded into white noise as he zeroed in on his target. Anubis had slipped through his claws too many times before. Not this time.

  Not today.

  “Stormtroopers!” The Cat’s voice carried like a whip crack through the vox-net. “Concentrate fire on the Black Legionnaires. Keep them pinned. I don’t care what it takes—just buy me a clear shot.”

  A series of curt acknowledgments crackled through the vox as the soldiers of the 182nd—his soldiers—responded with crisp, military precision. They knew the stakes. There was no room for hesitation.

  The air screamed as lasfire erupted in coordinated volleys, the disciplined crack-crack-crack of hellguns cutting through the noise of daemon roars and bolter fire. A flurry of grenades arced overhead, detonating with sharp concussions that sent sprays of shrapnel and ichor into the air. The Stormtroopers of the 182nd were methodical, their movements clean and precise as they swept forward in tight formations, their armor gleaming under the sickly red sky.

  Servius’s ear flicked as the vox-line burst with life.

  “Major, we’ve got Bloodletters closing in on the left flank—Enclave squad is engaging.”

  “Jester reporting sustained contact! Grenades deployed!—”

  “Casualties on my right! Medicae team is pinned—requesting support!”

  The Major’s tail lashed once as he adjusted his position, flattening himself against the cragged outcrop of black stone. He couldn’t afford to micromanage the battlefield now. His men knew what to do, and he trusted them to do it.

  He adjusted his scope, the rifle’s lens aligning perfectly with his feline eye. The magnification brought Anubis into sharp focus. The Sorcerer Lord stood at the center of the carnage, his staff raised high as bolts of Warp lightning arced from its jagged tip, striking down scores of advancing Stormtroopers in bursts of violet fire. Servius growled low in his throat as the smell of charred flesh reached his nose even from this distance.

  “Damn it,” the sniper muttered, his voice a quiet snarl. He shifted his aim, steadying the rifle against the ridge. The high-calibre round chambered with a solid click.

  Servius didn’t rush. Patience was his ally. He tracked Anubis’s movements, waiting for the perfect moment. Around him, the battle raged—a swirling chaos of flesh, blood, and fire—but he tuned it out, his focus narrowing to a single point.

  Anubis turned, his baleful helm scanning the battlefield as if sensing the Cat’s gaze. The Sorcerer Lord extended his staff, the artifact’s energy swirling as it absorbed the ambient chaos of the battlefield. A moment later, with an almost casual gesture, Anubis unleashed a storm of violet fire toward a cluster of advancing Stormtroopers.

  “Brace!” came the shouted command, and the squad scattered, but not all of them were fast enough. Two troopers vanished in a torrent of Warp fire, their screams cutting short as their bodies were reduced to ash.

  Servius felt a sharp pang of guilt, followed quickly by anger. This monster wasn’t going to get away again. Not after this. Not after all the men and women the 182nd had bled for.

  Anubis turned again, and for a brief second, the Sorcerer Lord’s chestplate was exposed—unshielded, unprotected. That was all the Cat needed.

  Servius exhaled slowly, his finger tightening on the trigger. The recoil hit his shoulder like a battering ram as the rifle roared, its report cutting through the battlefield like a thunderclap. The 20mm round streaked toward Anubis, the air around it distorting as it tore through the space between them.

  The impact was immediate and brutal. The round struck Anubis dead-center, the force of the shot staggering the Chaos Sorcerer and sending him sprawling backward. His retinue of Black Legionnaires roared in anger, some rushing to shield their fallen lord while others turned their attention toward Servius’s position.

  “Hit confirmed,” Servius muttered under his breath, his claws flexing against the rifle’s grip. “But not enough to put you down, bastard.”

  The Sorcerer Lord rose slowly, his movements almost theatrical. Dark ichor dripped from the gaping wound in his chestplate, his ornate armor warped and scorched from the rifle’s impact. And yet, despite the obvious damage, Anubis laughed—a low, guttural sound that carried over the battlefield like the tolling of a funeral bell.

  The Sorcerer raised his staff, his free hand clutching the wound as if to channel the pain into raw power. The Warp responded to his call, the air around him crackling with malevolent energy as the daemons on the battlefield howled in unison.

  “You cannot kill what serves the Dark Gods, little creature!” Anubis bellowed, his voice amplified by the Warp. His helm turned directly toward Servius, as if the Sorcerer could see him even through the choking haze of the battlefield. “You may wound me, but I will endure. And you… you will learn what it means to face a true servant of Chaos!”

  Servius’s fur bristled as he felt the Sorcerer’s presence press against his mind. Anubis’s psychic influence was like a claw scraping against the inside of his skull, probing for weaknesses. Servius gritted his teeth and focused, shutting out the invasive thoughts with sheer force of will.

  “I’m not impressed, witch,” he growled under his breath, cycling another round into the rifle. “Let’s see how much more of that ‘endurance’ you’ve got.”

  But as he took aim again, the ground beneath him began to tremble. A deep, guttural roar echoed across the battlefield as the Warp itself answered Anubis’s fury. The ridge Servius was perched on cracked and buckled, sending shards of stone tumbling to the ground below.

  Servius barely had time to react before a vortex of violet light erupted beneath him, the force of it pulling at his body with an overwhelming gravity. He tried to scramble backward, his claws digging into the stone for purchase, but it was no use. The vortex’s pull was absolute.

  As the maelstrom consumed him, the Cat caught a final glimpse of the battlefield. The 182nd was still fighting, their disciplined lines holding firm even as the daemons closed in. The Solar Wolves were wading through the chaos like gods of war, their bolters roaring as they cut down scores of enemies. The fortress loomed in the distance, its spires glowing brighter as if feeding off the carnage.

  And then it was gone.

  Servius fell into the Abyss, the world around him dissolving into a swirling storm of color and madness. The last sound he heard before the void claimed him was Anubis’s laughter, echoing in his mind like the tolling of a death knell.