The dim glow of the holographic star-map cast long, flickering shadows across the Praedyth’s bridge. Servius leaned back in his seat, his sharp green eyes flicking over the shifting waypoints on the display. Three possible destinations hovered before him, each one a risk in its own way.

  Sevathis Drift. A half-derelict station nestled in a pocket of stable Warp currents, crawling with smugglers, rogue psykers, and the desperate. It was easy to disappear there, but it was also the kind of place where someone was always watching. Then there was Khaldros Reach, a gas giant with hidden supply depots floating in its rings. Isolated, quiet—but the kind of place that raised suspicion if you weren’t part of the right circles. And lastly, the Grave of Saints. A ruined battlefield of lost warships and shattered hulls, drifting aimlessly through the tides of the Immaterium. It was fitting, in a way. But Servius had no interest in lingering among ghosts.

  His tail flicked once, lazily. None of them were particularly appealing, but the sooner he picked a course, the sooner he’d be gone. He was not running. That implied fear. This was calculated movement. A predator adjusting its position.

  Then, the Praedyth spoke.

  “Unidentified vessel detected.”

  Servius’s ears flicked toward the sound. He hadn’t given the order for a scan. His fingers curled slightly against the armrest as his eyes snapped to the tactical display.

  A red blip pulsed faintly at the outermost range of the sensors.

  It was moving.

  Straight toward him.

  His tail stilled.

  Something was wrong.

  Praedyth’s voice hummed again in his earpiece. “Vessel’s signature was previously undetected. Current trajectory suggests deliberate pursuit.”

  It hadn’t simply drifted into range. It had been waiting.

  Servius exhaled slowly, his claws tapping a silent rhythm against the console. That meant they had anticipated his movement. Not just that he was leaving Krelos, but precisely when and where he would exit into the deeper Warp tides. No accident. No coincidence. Someone had planned for this moment.

  His gaze flicked across the readout. The ship was sleek, angular, larger than a gunship but smaller than a true warship. Light armor, but fast. Its profile bristled with weapon mounts—turrets, missile pods, something that could pass for an energy projector.

  It wasn’t the mercenary shuttle from Krelos.

  This was something else.

  A ship like that wouldn’t last long in the Immaterium without guidance. Which meant it wasn’t wandering—it was following something. Following him.

  Servius didn’t react. Didn’t change course. Didn’t power weapons.

  Instead, he waited.

  The Praedyth’s engines hummed steadily beneath Servius’s boots as he leaned forward, eyes locked onto the glowing tactical display. The enemy ship maintained its approach, unwavering, cutting through the Warp’s swirling madness with unnatural precision. The distance between them continued to shrink, and that fact alone set Servius’s ears flicking in irritation. Even for a seasoned navigator, maintaining a straight course in the Immaterium was difficult. The currents of the Warp shifted unpredictably, warping time and space in ways no conventional vessel could counteract without a guiding force.

  Yet, the mercenary ship wasn’t drifting, wasn’t struggling against unseen tides. It was moving with purpose, slicing through the volatile realm as if it belonged here.

  Servius’s claws tapped lightly against the console, his sharp green eyes narrowing. How?

  “Praedyth,” he said, voice calm but edged with suspicion. “Assess their course stability. Any deviations?”

  A brief pause. Then, the ship responded in its usual cold, clinical tone. “Trajectory remains unnaturally consistent. No observable drift. No compensatory course corrections detected.”

  Servius exhaled slowly through his nose. That confirmed it. They weren’t just tracking him—they had a stable tether. Something was guiding them through the Warp with unnatural precision.

  That made things more complicated.

  He didn’t fear a fight. If anything, part of him welcomed it. The mercenaries had likely talked themselves into doing something stupid, and he was more than willing to punish them for it. But this? This wasn’t just a bunch of hired guns out for revenge. No mercenary ship should have this level of control in the Immaterium.

  This wasn’t a chase.

  It was an interception.

  Servius’s tail flicked behind him as he considered his options. If they wanted a fight, he could give them one—but he needed to see what they were capable of first. He wasn’t about to tip his hand too early.

  “Praedyth,” he murmured, claws tightening slightly on the controls. “Drop our energy signature. Passive scans only. Let’s see how bold they really are.”

  “Acknowledged,” the ship replied. The hum of the engines softened as the Praedyth adjusted its power output, slipping into a more subtle profile. To outside sensors, it would appear almost inert—a drifting vessel, a ghost among the currents of the Warp.

  Servius watched the tactical display with cold patience, waiting to see how the mercenary ship reacted. If they lost track of him, then they were relying on standard tracking methods—radar, heat signatures, predictable movement patterns. But if they kept coming without hesitation?

  Then he’d know they had something else. Something he’d need to rip out at the source.

  The Praedyth drifted in silence, its presence dimmed to a whisper in the Warp’s ever-shifting currents. Servius remained motionless, his sharp eyes fixed on the tactical display, waiting. If the mercenaries lost him, if their ship hesitated even for a moment, it would confirm they were relying on standard tracking methods. That would be simple to counter.

  But they didn’t hesitate.

  The ship continued its approach, completely unbothered by his sudden disappearance from conventional scans. No course corrections, no sweeping sensor pings. They moved as if they could still see him perfectly.

  Servius’s tail flicked sharply once. So. That’s how it is.

  They weren’t just chasing him. They had locked onto him with something precise, something that wasn’t relying on normal detection methods. This wasn’t a simple tracking beacon—he had checked for those. Whatever was guiding them was beyond the standard tools of mercenaries.

  “Praedyth,” he murmured. “Attempt full signal analysis. Find what they’re using to track us.”

  The ship responded immediately. “Running frequency scan. Analyzing all known tracking methods.” A pause. Then, “No active transmission detected.”

  Servius’s claws tapped against the console. No transmission meant no beacon, no signal. They weren’t tracking him in any conventional sense. That left two possibilities: either they had an advanced detection system beyond anything he’d encountered before, or—

  His eyes narrowed slightly. Or someone else was guiding them.

  That thought was more troubling. If this ship belonged to a larger faction, one with ties to a Chaos God, then it wasn’t just mercenaries after him—it was something worse.

  He exhaled slowly, leaning back. Fine. If they wanted to follow him, he’d let them—for now. But they wouldn’t get the fight they were expecting.

  “Praedyth,” he said, voice steady. “Prepare for high-speed maneuvering. No weapons yet. I want to see if they can keep up.”

  “Confirmed. Adjusting flight parameters.”

  The ship’s hum shifted subtly beneath him, the systems adapting to his command. Servius let a few more seconds pass, keeping his movements calm, unhurried. Then, without warning, he threw the ship into motion.

  The Praedyth shot forward, cutting through the Warp with unnatural grace, weaving through the shifting tides of the Immaterium with smooth, fluid adjustments. Servius’s hands remained steady on the controls, but even as he guided the ship, he could feel it reacting faster than it should. Anticipating the currents, adjusting before he even thought to correct course.

  It was responding to the Warp like it understood it.

  His ear flicked at the thought, but he shoved it aside. Focus.

  He checked the tactical display. The mercenary ship had accelerated in response, its engines burning hot as it surged after him. They were committed now.

  Servius guided the Praedyth deeper into the Warp’s shifting currents, weaving through the ever-shifting tides of unreality with a precision no ordinary vessel should possess. The ship responded seamlessly, its movements fluid, too fluid, like it wasn’t just obeying his commands—it was moving with him, as if it already knew the course he wanted to take before he even touched the controls.

  The mercenary vessel kept pace, its thrusters burning bright against the backdrop of swirling madness. They weren’t letting up, no hesitation in their pursuit. Whatever method they were using to track him, it wasn’t something simple like heat signatures or gravimetric locks.

  “Praedyth, maintain course adjustments at my mark,” Servius ordered, his voice calm. “Let’s see if they can match us turn for turn.”

  “Acknowledged,” the ship’s mechanical voice replied, its tone unchanged.

  He pushed the throttle forward, sending the Praedyth into a hard, spiraling ascent through the eddies of Warp turbulence. The vessel twisted and rolled, threading through jagged, shifting rifts of raw immaterial energy that should have torn lesser ships apart. Servius barely needed to compensate—the ship’s inertial dampeners adjusted almost instinctively, smoothing the transition before his own reflexes demanded an input.

  But the mercenary ship—it was struggling.

  Servius caught the slight lag in its response, the sluggish way its trajectory corrected after each sudden turn. Their pilots were skilled, but their ship wasn’t built for this kind of flying. Not like the Praedyth.

  A slow, satisfied exhale left Servius’s nose.

  They weren’t just chasing something faster. They were chasing something they didn’t understand.

  And that meant they were already losing.

  “Maintain current evasion pattern,” Servius said, eyes flicking across the tactical display. “Let’s bleed them out.”

  The Praedyth complied instantly, shifting its trajectory into a new sequence of unpredictable, high-G maneuvers, twisting through the Warp’s violent streams with eerie precision. The mercenary vessel attempted to mirror the course, but they were slipping. Each turn cost them ground, each correction widened the gap.

  Servius watched them falter, his expression unreadable. This was the moment that separated survivors from the dead—when hunters realized they weren’t the predator.

  And he could tell. They were beginning to realize it.

  He leaned forward slightly, his tail flicking against the back of his seat. “Praedyth,” he murmured, “open comms.”

  The ship obeyed. A moment later, static crackled through the bridge speakers, followed by a harsh, frustrated voice.

  “Enough running, you bastard,” the mercenary captain spat. “You’re not getting away.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Servius exhaled slowly through his nose. He let the silence hang, let them stew in their own words before finally answering, voice smooth, measured.

  “We shall see.”

  He cut the channel before they could respond.

  Outside, the mercenary ship burned harder, its engines flaring as they tried desperately to keep up. Servius smirked, fingers tapping idly against the controls.

  Now came the fun part.

  The mercenary ship wasn’t backing down. Despite falling behind, despite every maneuver that should have forced them to reconsider this chase, they were still burning hard after him. That meant they had an edge—something allowing them to stay locked onto the Praedyth’s position.

  Servius’s tail flicked once, irritated. "Praedyth, what are they using to track us?"

  There was a brief pause—longer than usual. Then the ship responded.

  "Analyzing enemy pursuit patterns... Data suggests non-optical tracking. No direct sensor locks detected. Adjusting evasive maneuvers for confirmation."

  Servius narrowed his eyes as the ship subtly altered course, shifting their trajectory by minuscule, erratic increments. On the surface, the adjustments were insignificant. But Servius had spent enough time in the Warp to recognize what the Praedyth was doing—it was testing.

  Seconds passed. Then Praedyth spoke again.

  "Enemy course deviation detected. Tracking delay: zero-point-eight seconds per vector shift. Conclusion: hostile vessel is following residual wake disturbances, not direct positioning."

  Servius exhaled slowly. That explained how they were keeping up. They weren’t tracking his ship—they were tracking the echoes it left behind in the Warp. That required specialized equipment, possibly gravitic sensors attuned to immaterial shifts. Not common gear for mercenaries.

  "How do we break it?" he asked.

  "Solution identified."

  The ship didn’t elaborate.

  Servius’s tail twitched. "Would you care to share with the pilot?"

  "Executing maneuver."

  Before Servius could respond, the ship cut its engines.

  The sudden loss of acceleration sent a strange sensation through the artificial gravity, inertia still carrying them forward, but now completely silent—no propulsion, no emissions, just a drifting mass swallowed by the roiling chaos of the Warp.

  Servius remained still, his sharp eyes locked on the tactical display as the mercenary ship surged ahead, unaware of the trap closing around it.

  They overshot.

  Just as Praedyth predicted, the enemy vessel had been locked onto the wake, not the ship itself. The moment the engines died, their target vanished from their crude tracking method. They hesitated—an error that lasted barely a second, but it was more than enough.

  Praedyth’s voice was eerily calm.

  "Hostile vessel now within optimal firing arc. Reacquiring targeting solutions."

  Servius smirked, his claws sliding over the weapons console. "Do it."

  The Praedyth’s targeting systems locked onto the mercenary vessel with mechanical precision. Servius watched the display shift, red indicators flickering across the enemy hull as the ship analyzed weak points in their armor.

  "Weapon selection?" he asked, already anticipating the response.

  "Primary armament: plasma disruptors. Recommended target: enemy propulsion systems. Disabling engines will neutralize pursuit capabilities."

  Servius’s tail flicked. "I’m not feeling charitable today."

  A pause. Then: "Acknowledged. Adjusting fire solutions."

  The ship had no hesitation. No morality. It simply adapted to his command.

  Servius leaned back slightly in his seat, claws resting on the controls. "Fire."

  The Praedyth obeyed.

  Twin lances of searing plasma erupted from the ship’s concealed weapon mounts, their unnatural blue-white glow cutting through the swirling madness of the Warp. The first shot struck true, melting through the mercenary ship’s starboard engine housing in an instant. A secondary detonation followed—something volatile igniting within their systems.

  The vessel lurched violently, its trajectory spiraling as emergency thrusters struggled to compensate. Servius watched as a ripple of flame and debris scattered into the void, chunks of ruined plating venting out into the Warp’s formless expanse.

  But the ship was still alive.

  "Enemy vessel sustaining critical damage," Praedyth reported. "However, structural integrity remains sufficient for continued engagement."

  Servius’s green eyes narrowed. They weren’t dead yet.

  And that was a problem.

  The mercenaries were either suicidal or desperate—maybe both. A crippled ship should have cut and run, but instead, they pushed forward, venting power from their remaining thrusters to stay in the fight. More worrying was the sudden spike in energy readings pulsing from within their hull.

  "Praedyth, report."

  "Unstable power surge detected within enemy vessel. Likely origin: experimental or jury-rigged warp-based technology."

  Warp-based tech.

  Servius exhaled slowly through his nose. That explained why they could track him. And if they were powering it up now, that meant they had one last gamble left.

  He hated desperate people. They always made things messier than they needed to be.

  "Identify potential function of enemy device," he ordered.

  "Insufficient data. Readings suggest high-energy displacement. Possibilities include teleportation, short-range warp translation, or catastrophic overload."

  Servius’s ears flicked forward. "Catastrophic overload?"

  "Likelihood: twenty-four percent. Enemy vessel may attempt a self-destructive detonation to eliminate pursuit."

  Servius’s claws flexed against the console. That was reckless, even for mercenaries. But he’d seen enough idiots throw themselves into death traps just to take their enemy with them. If these bastards thought they could ram him or detonate at close range—

  "Praedyth, full evasive thrust. Keep distance."

  The ship responded instantly, engines flaring back to life as the Praedyth vaulted away from the wreckage, gaining distance in the span of seconds. The mercenary vessel lurched, its remaining thrusters burning at full power, but they were too damaged to match his speed now.

  They were losing.

  And they knew it.

  Servius exhaled, watching the tactical display as their power readings fluctuated wildly. He had two options now. Let them burn out and drift into nothing—or end it properly.

  He tilted his head slightly. "Praedyth, prepare a precision strike. Target—"

  A sudden shift.

  The mercenary ship’s failing engines flared with unnatural brightness, twisting into a jagged pulse of Warp energy. Servius’s eyes sharpened as the ship’s form seemed to fracture at the edges, reality bending and distorting around it.

  They weren’t dying quietly.

  They were trying to do something.

  His tail lashed once. "Praedyth—what the hell are they doing?"

  The ship’s response was immediate.

  "Unstable warp translation detected. Enemy vessel initiating forced displacement."

  Servius watched the tactical display as their power readings spiked again, but this time, it wasn’t for an attack. The fluctuations weren’t from weapons—they were coming from their Warp drive.

  His tail flicked sharply. "Praedyth, report."

  "Unstable energy signatures detected. Enemy vessel is deliberately overloading its Warp engine."

  Servius’s sharp green eyes narrowed. That was madness.

  "Explain."

  "Drive destabilization will generate a localized rift disturbance. Probability of severe gravitational fluctuations: high. Probability of chaotic energy discharge: high." A pause. "Intent: uncertain."

  No, he understood the intent well enough.

  They couldn’t win the fight, so they were going to turn the battlefield into a hazard instead. If their ship was doomed, they would take everything nearby into the Warp’s teeth with them.

  A ship’s Warp drive wasn’t meant to be pushed like this—at best, it would tear a hole in reality and fling them into some uncharted abyss. At worst, it would collapse violently, creating a gravitational well that could crush anything too close.

  Including him.

  Servius exhaled slowly, claws flexing against the console.

  "Praedyth, full reverse burn. Now."

  The ship complied instantly, engines roaring back to full power as it vaulted away from the mercenary vessel. Servius watched as the enemy ship shuddered, its hull buckling as the unstable Warp energies inside it fought to break free.

  The space around it twisted, warping in unnatural ways, like something massive and unseen was pressing against reality from the other side.

  "Status?"

  "Rift destabilization imminent. Estimated collapse in—"

  The screen flared red.

  The mercenary ship fractured.

  Not from an explosion, but from the sheer force of the Warp tearing it apart from within. Its hull stretched, twisted, then collapsed inward, vanishing into a spiraling mass of unnatural energy that expanded outward in a shockwave.

  The pulse hit them in seconds.

  The Praedyth lurched, inertial dampeners compensating just fast enough to keep Servius from being thrown against the bulkhead. Gravitational anomalies flickered in its wake, distortions in the Warp’s currents that could have dragged him into the same abyss.

  But the ship held steady.

  The anomaly faded just as fast as it had appeared, the mercenary vessel reduced to nothing but void-scattered debris.

  A slow breath escaped Servius’s nose. His tail curled once before relaxing.

  "Status?"

  The ship responded instantly. "Minor trajectory deviation corrected. No significant structural damage sustained." A pause. "Enemy vessel: terminated."

  Servius sat back slightly, eyes narrowing at the tactical display where the mercenary ship had been.

  They had to know that was suicide.

  This wasn’t just a hired crew of killers after some cargo. These weren’t men looking to claim a bounty. They were willing to die just to stop him.

  And that meant the crate in his cargo hold was more than just valuable.

  It was worth dying for.

  His tail flicked once against the seat’s edge. "Praedyth, resume course."

  "Acknowledged."

  The ship adjusted smoothly, leaving the battlefield behind as if the fight had never happened. But Servius didn’t take his eyes off the void outside.

  The Cat watched the tactical display for another few seconds, waiting for any lingering threats, any trace of another pursuer. Nothing. The anomaly was gone, and so was the mercenary vessel. No distress signals, no debris fields big enough to hold survivors. Just emptiness.

  A slow exhale. His tail flicked once before curling idly around the base of his seat.

  "Praedyth, log the battle data. Then purge all tracking signatures from our wake."

  "Affirmative. Tracking signatures negated. Analyzing combat logs." A pause. "Damage assessment: negligible. Evasion efficiency: optimal. Weapon performance: sufficient."

  Servius smirked slightly. Sufficient. He had turned a fully armed ship into scattered atoms, and the Praedyth still sounded like it could have done better.

  His claws drummed once against the console. That fight had been too much effort for what should have been low-grade scavengers.

  A nameless band of mercenaries shouldn’t have had a ship that well-equipped, that willing to die for a job. They hadn’t even tried to bargain at the end.

  That meant one of two things.

  One: The crate was valuable enough that failure was unacceptable. They had no choice but to destroy him or die trying.

  Or…

  Two: They weren’t here for the payment.

  His tail flicked once against the seat’s edge.

  "Praedyth, where’s the nearest stable anchor?"

  "Anchor point designated. Estimated travel duration: 16.3 standard days at current velocity."

  Servius exhaled through his nose. Sixteen days in the Warp, alone with his thoughts. He’d have plenty of time to unravel this mess before reaching safe ground.

  Safe.

  He nearly laughed at the word.

  His sharp green eyes flicked toward the closed cargo hold, where the mysterious crate still sat, silent and undisturbed. The mercenaries had died for it. Whoever sent them had resources—a ship, trained men, and enough willpower to send them to their deaths.

  And yet whoever they were, they had underestimated him.

  That, Servius thought, was their real mistake.

  He leaned back in his seat, claws tapping idly against the armrest. The Praedyth sailed forward, cutting a path through the formless expanse of the Immaterium. Behind them, the wreckage of the mercenary ship faded into nothing.

  Servius closed his eyes briefly, letting the hum of the engines settle into his bones.