The Warp didn’t shift seamlessly into new horrors. It announced them with a slow, creeping dread, like the sharp inhale before a scream. The first signs of the battlefield were subtle—faint whispers on the wind, carried along with the tang of scorched metal and burnt flesh. The air grew heavier, pressing against Servius’s chest like an invisible hand. Every step felt slower, his boots sinking slightly into the terrain as though the Warp itself wanted him to stop.

  It wasn’t the rhythmic hum of the Nexus anymore. This was something else entirely.

  The ground beneath Servius’s feet had turned dark, pockmarked with craters and fissures that oozed a faint, noxious mist. Scattered across the terrain were charred remnants of machines—pieces of tanks and walkers twisted into unnatural angles, as if something massive had picked them up and bent them like paper. Nearby, the shattered remains of a voidship’s prow jutted out of the earth like a rusted tombstone, its Imperial Aquila defaced and partially melted.

  Servius crouched behind a shattered section of what might’ve once been a vehicle’s hull, his green eyes narrowing as they swept across the landscape ahead. Smoke choked the sky, swirling with sickly hues of green and orange, and the faint outlines of distant figures moved through the haze. He couldn’t tell whether they were human, daemon, or something in between, but they were moving with purpose—patrolling, hunting, or searching.

  A battlefield. And from the looks of it, one that had been fought over long enough to lose any sense of sides.

  The distant cries of the damned reached his ears as Servius took stock of the situation. He tilted his head slightly, his ears twitching at the faint echoes—shrieks that wavered between human and something far worse. He could feel the desperation in those cries, the raw anguish that clung to the air like static electricity.

  The terrain ahead offered little cover. It was an open expanse of cracked, uneven ground littered with the remains of those who had fought and fallen here. Bodies—some burned to cinders, others twisted into grotesque shapes by the Warp’s touch—lay scattered across the battlefield like discarded refuse. Their armor bore no consistent insignias or marks of allegiance. Some bore the faded remains of Imperial livery, others the sigils of Chaos, while others looked like scavengers who’d had the misfortune of wandering into something far beyond their ability to handle.

  Servius moved cautiously, keeping low as he slipped between the jagged remains of a shredded tank and the ruins of a structure whose purpose had long since been forgotten. His tail flicked sharply behind him, a subconscious display of his agitation. This wasn’t just a battlefield—it was a graveyard, and the Warp had left its mark on every inch of it.

  His claws tightened briefly around the hilt of his combat knife as his keen eyes scanned the shifting horizon. The figures moving in the distance were growing clearer now, and he could see their erratic, shuddering movements. Some of them moved on two legs, others crawled like animals, and a few floated unnervingly above the ground. Servius stayed crouched, his fur bristling slightly as he focused on their shapes.

  “Not human anymore,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but steady. “Not entirely, at least.”

  He shifted his position slightly, pressing his back against a fractured wall that was slick with ichor. His ears twitched at the sound of heavy footfalls nearby—slow, deliberate, and far too heavy to be human.

  Carefully, he risked a glance around the edge of his cover. A massive figure was trudging through the battlefield, its bulk cloaked in a mishmash of armor that had been warped into jagged, unnatural shapes. The creature’s helmet was elongated, its faceplate stretched into a grotesque grin, its edges dripping with a faint, glowing slime. Its movements were slow and deliberate, as though it was savoring every step.

  Behind it, two smaller figures trailed in its wake—slender, hunched things whose spindly limbs twitched and jerked like puppets on tangled strings. Their heads were featureless, save for faintly glowing slits that might’ve once been eyes. They carried long, barbed weapons that pulsed faintly with inner light, and their heads twitched sharply as though scanning the air for movement.

  Servius felt his muscles coil instinctively, his body pressing further into the shadows. Whatever these things were, they weren’t here by chance. They were patrolling—or hunting. And from the way their heads moved, scanning the horizon like predators, Servius suspected they’d caught wind of something nearby.

  Not me. Not yet.

  The longer Servius lingered, the more he could feel the tension in the air. The battlefield wasn’t just a place—it was alive with memory. Every shard of twisted metal, every shattered bone, every drop of ichor seemed to hum faintly with the echoes of what had come before. He could feel it pressing against his senses, whispering to him in fragmented impressions of violence and despair.

  His gaze scanned the ruins again, this time noting the faint shimmer of something on the ground nearby. He moved cautiously, keeping low as he approached. It was a broken blade, its edge chipped and corroded, but it shimmered faintly with a pale, inner light. Servius crouched over it, his claws brushing against the hilt as he picked it up.

  For a moment, the battlefield fell away, and a vision burned into his mind: the blade held high in the hand of a soldier clad in gleaming ceramite, their voice roaring over the clash of battle. The figure stood atop a pile of corpses, their righteous fury cutting through the chaos like a beacon. But then the light dimmed, and the vision twisted—the figure’s armor blackened, their flesh warped and twisted, and the blade in their hand turned on their own comrades, striking them down with savage glee.

  Servius snapped back to the present, his chest heaving as he dropped the blade. The pale light within it flickered and died, leaving it as nothing more than a broken relic. He stared at it for a moment, his tail flicking sharply behind him.

  “Not worth it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  The faint sound of the patrolling figures’ footsteps jolted him back into motion. He slipped into the shadows, his claws clicking softly against the uneven ground as he made his way toward the next piece of cover. Whatever had happened here, the Warp had claimed it all. This wasn’t a place to linger—it was a place to escape.

  But the deeper he moved into the battlefield, the more the feeling of being watched grew unbearable. It wasn’t the figures he’d seen earlier—they were predators, yes, but their focus was elsewhere, scanning the broken terrain for easier prey. No, this was something larger, more deliberate. A weight pressed down on Servius, settling in his chest like a stone.

  His green eyes darted toward the distant haze, narrowing as he caught faint glimpses of movement that didn’t belong to the patrols. Something shifted at the edges of his vision, always just out of sight. His ears twitched at the faintest sound—a distant rumble, low and guttural, like the growl of a great beast barely restrained.

  It was still out there. The creature that had been following him since he’d left the Nexus. Whatever it was, it wasn’t in any hurry. It was pacing him, studying him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  Servius’s claws flexed absently, the sharp tips brushing against the worn fabric of his gloves. The tension in his muscles coiled tighter with every step, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t afford to stop, couldn’t afford to let the thing think it had him cornered.

  “Just keep watching,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and grim. “I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

  Ahead, the terrain shifted again, the broken landscape giving way to a more open expanse. The craters were deeper here, their jagged edges blackened as if scorched by some unholy fire. Smoke curled upward from fissures in the ground, carrying with it the acrid stench of sulfur and burnt flesh.

  Servius moved carefully, his sharp senses on high alert. He skirted the edges of a massive crater, its depths glowing faintly with an unnatural light that made his fur bristle. As he descended a shallow incline, the weight of that unseen gaze bore down on him again, stronger this time, almost palpable.

  He stopped, his tail flicking sharply as his ears swiveled to catch the faintest sounds around him. The patrols were distant now, their distorted forms little more than smudges against the haze. But the thing that followed him was closer—too close.

  Servius turned his head slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the ruins behind him. At first, there was nothing—just the endless sprawl of shattered terrain and flickering shadows. But then, in the far distance, he saw it: a shape moving through the haze, massive and deliberate.

  The creature was a silhouette against the smoke, its form unnervingly fluid yet undeniably powerful. It moved with a predatory grace, its limbs too long, its body too angular to be mistaken for anything natural. The air around it seemed to ripple faintly, as though the Warp itself recoiled from its presence.

  Servius felt a low growl rumble in his throat, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his combat knife. The creature didn’t charge. It didn’t even seem to be in a hurry. It just… watched. Its presence filled the air like a storm cloud, oppressive and inescapable.

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  “Alright,” Servius muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s see how long you can wait.”

  He turned sharply, moving toward the next ridge with deliberate speed. The creature didn’t follow immediately, but he could feel its gaze burning into his back, a promise of violence that hung heavy in the air.

  The ridge was steep, its jagged surface marked by deep gouges that might’ve been claw marks—or something far worse. Servius scrambled over the loose rock, his claws digging into the ground for purchase as he ascended. The faint rumble of the creature’s presence followed him, always at the edge of his senses, but it hadn’t attacked. Not yet.

  Reaching the top of the ridge, Servius paused to catch his breath. The landscape below spread out before him, a vast expanse of chaos and ruin. But something stood out—something different.

  Among the craters and shattered debris, he could see faint trails of movement, the kind that only survivors would leave behind. A discarded ration pack, its contents spilled out and half-buried in the dirt. Boot prints, uneven and hurried, leading toward a cluster of ruins further ahead. And there—just barely audible over the distant groan of the battlefield—he heard it.

  A faint crackle of Vox static.

  Servius’s ears perked, his sharp senses honing in on the sound. It was distant, intermittent, like a signal struggling to push through interference. But it was there. And where there was a signal, there might be people.

  He crouched low, his tail flicking as he scanned the terrain ahead. The ruins were clustered together in a way that suggested some form of shelter, their jagged edges forming a crude barrier against the chaos beyond. The Vox signal was coming from somewhere within, though it was impossible to tell if it was automated or actively being used.

  Servius adjusted his stance, his sharp eyes narrowing as he planned his approach. The ruins were exposed, with little cover leading up to them. If anyone—or anything—was watching, he’d be in plain view.

  But staying out in the open wasn’t an option either. Not with that creature still stalking him.

  He moved quickly, his boots crunching softly against the uneven ground as he descended the ridge. His hand rested lightly on the grip of his bolt pistol, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. The Vox signal grew louder as he approached, the faint bursts of static resolving into fragmented words that he couldn’t quite make out.

  The ruins loomed closer now, their jagged walls casting long shadows across the ground. Servius slipped into the shade, his sharp ears twitching as he listened for any signs of movement. The air here felt heavier, charged with the faint hum of lingering Warp energy.

  He edged closer to the source of the signal, his claws flexing absently as his instincts screamed at him to be ready. Whatever was here—be it survivors or something else entirely—it wouldn’t be simple. Nothing ever was in this realm.

  The faint scent of blood reached his nose, sharp and metallic, mingling with the acrid tang of burnt metal. His tail flicked once behind him, a sharp, restless motion as he pressed against the side of a fractured wall. Peering around the edge, he caught sight of a crude Vox unit resting atop a pile of rubble.

  It was battered, its casing cracked and smeared with blood, but it was still active, its faint light blinking steadily. The signal it emitted was weak but consistent, a lifeline cast into the void.

  But there was something else.

  A shadow moved near the Vox unit, shifting faintly in the haze. Servius’s claws tightened around the hilt of his knife as he strained to make out the figure. It wasn’t one of the twisted patrols from earlier, nor was it the creature that had been stalking him.

  It was humanoid.

  Servius stayed low, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the figure. They were crouched over the Vox unit, their movements quick and deliberate as they worked to adjust the device. Their armor was battered and scorched, but it was unmistakably Imperial in design.

  A survivor.

  Servius’s jaw tightened as he weighed his options. He could approach—cautiously—and see if they were friend or foe. But the Warp had a way of twisting even the most human-looking things into monsters.

  And then there was the creature. It was still out there, still watching. And if he wasn’t careful, it would make its move soon.

  With a deep breath, Servius pressed forward, his movements silent and deliberate as he closed the distance to the ruins. Whatever came next, he was ready. Or at least, he hoped he was.

  Servius slipped between the jagged edges of the ruined walls, each step precise and measured. His claws barely scraped the stone as he closed in on the figure hunched over the Vox unit. The hum of the battlefield was muted here, drowned out by the persistent static crackle of the device and the shallow breathing of the survivor. His sharp instincts urged caution, but his focus was split—half on the unknown figure before him, half on the heavy presence that still lingered in the distance.

  The survivor’s armor was a patchwork of Imperial Guard design—battered flak plates strapped over fatigues smeared with ash and ichor. The markings of their regiment were long since scoured away, and any indication of loyalty to the Emperor was obscured by grime. They muttered under their breath as they worked the Vox unit, their fingers trembling slightly as they twisted knobs and adjusted dials.

  Servius watched for a long moment, his green eyes narrowed as he tried to gauge the survivor’s intent. There was no sign of immediate corruption—no signs of Chaos-tainted mutations or the fevered ramblings of the damned. They looked tired, desperate even, but not... broken. Yet.

  Still, the Warp had its tricks. He knew better than to trust appearances.

  “Having trouble with that thing?” he called out, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

  The survivor froze, their head snapping up in alarm. They turned sharply, a battered lasgun in their hands, its muzzle wavering as they aimed it in his direction. Servius stepped into the open slowly, his hands raised just enough to show he wasn’t an immediate threat. His bolt pistol remained holstered, though his muscles were coiled, ready to act if necessary.

  “Who the hell are you?” the survivor demanded, their voice hoarse and raw. Their helmet’s visor was cracked, revealing bloodshot eyes that darted between Servius’s face and the knife at his belt.

  “Relax,” Servius said, his tail flicking once behind him. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.”

  The survivor’s grip on the lasgun didn’t relax, but their aim wavered slightly. They squinted at him, their eyes narrowing as they took in his feline features, his worn gear, and the rifle slung across his back. “You’re not with them,” they said slowly, though their tone made it clear they weren’t entirely convinced.

  “No,” Servius said flatly. “I’m not with anyone. Just passing through.”

  The survivor let out a bitter laugh, the sound cracked and hollow. “Nobody’s ‘just passing through’ this place. You’re either running from something or heading toward it.”

  Servius’s ears twitched at the faintest sound in the distance—a low, resonant rumble that made the ground beneath his feet tremble slightly. He didn’t turn his head, but he felt the creature’s presence growing closer, its patience wearing thin.

  “Speaking of running,” he said, his tone sharpening, “we’re not alone out here. Something’s been tracking me since I left the Nexus, and it’s getting closer. If you want to live, we need to move. Now.”

  The survivor’s eyes widened slightly, and they glanced toward the distant haze, their grip tightening on the lasgun. “You mean the Beast,” they said, their voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve been keeping clear of it for days. Thought we’d lost it when we reached the spires.”

  “Is that what it’s called? You didn’t,” Servius said bluntly. He stepped closer, his movements calm but deliberate, until he was just a few paces away. “Now, are you coming with me, or are you planning to sit here and wait for it to find us?”

  The survivor hesitated, their eyes darting to the Vox unit. “I’m trying to reach my squad,” they said. “There are others—maybe a few dozen of us, holed up in the wreckage of an old ship. If I can boost the signal—”

  “You’ll bring that thing right to them,” Servius cut in, his voice cold. “Whatever this Beast is, it’s not wandering aimlessly. It’s hunting. You start broadcasting your position, and you’ll lead it straight to your squad. Is that what you want?”

  The survivor flinched, their shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of his words sank in. They lowered the lasgun, their trembling hands falling to their sides. “Damn it,” they muttered, their voice cracking with frustration. “Damn it all.”

  Servius stepped past them, his sharp gaze sweeping the ruins for any sign of movement. The Beast’s presence was palpable now, a crushing weight that pressed against his senses like a rising tide. The shadows around the fissures seemed darker, deeper, as though the Warp itself was holding its breath.

  “Where’s this ship?” he asked, his tone clipped. “If your squad’s still alive, we’ll need to get to them before that thing does.”

  The survivor hesitated, then nodded toward the horizon. “Northwest. Maybe two klicks from here. The ship’s wrecked, but it’s stable enough to hold off the patrols.”

  “Good,” Servius said, his tail flicking sharply. “Then let’s move.”

  He turned without waiting for a response, his steps deliberate but swift as he began to weave through the ruins. The survivor followed a moment later, their footsteps hurried as they struggled to keep up. The faint crackle of the Vox unit faded into silence behind them, swallowed by the oppressive weight of the battlefield.

  But the Beast wasn’t far behind. Servius could feel it now, its presence like a shadow stretching across the valley. It wasn’t just following—it was closing in, drawn by the scent of prey.

  The next encounter wouldn’t be a matter of stealth. It would be a fight. And Servius knew, deep down, that this battlefield wasn’t big enough for all of them to walk away.