As the teeth-grinding roar of the warp engines gradually subsided, the curtain of realspace was torn asunder in a violent tremor.
Like a titan breaking free from a nightmare, the Chaos Combined Fleet surged out of the Mandeville Point in a threatening display, trailing warp frost and the twisted aftermath of psychic energy.
Grendel stood on the bridge of the Iron Rancor, arms crossed, prepared to savor the pathetic sight of the Badab defenders scrambling in a panic from the surprise assault.
However, the moment the auspex's holographic projection stabilized, the sneer on Grendel's face froze.
There was no panic, no chaos, not even a single patrol vessel attempting evasive maneuvers.
What greeted them was a dense, impenetrable web of death that had been laid out long ago.
"Alert! High-energy signatures detected!"
"Massive minefield array detected! Extremely high density!"
"Multiple capital ship signals identified in the forward sector! Astral Claws, Mantis Warriors, Executioners—damn it, they are all here! Fire-control radar has locked onto us!"
Piercing alarms blared madly across the bridge, and red warning runes flooded the screens like a waterfall. On the display, the blips representing the Imperial fleet had already formed a perfect "crossing the T" formation, as if they had been waiting there for a long time, having calculated exactly from which angle and at which second they would emerge.
Grendel's mind went blank for half a second before being filled with an overwhelming, volcanic rage.
A traitor! There was absolutely a traitor in their ranks!
This wasn't something that could be achieved through luck or reconnaissance; this was a complete and utter intelligence leak!
Grendel whipped his head around, his eyes burning with fury, locking onto the Dark Mechanicum magos busy at the console.
Those half-mechanical monsters, draped in red robes and riddled with tubes, were still reporting data in their monotonous, synthesized electronic voices.
If news had been leaked by some tiny scout craft, it would have been impossible to achieve such precision without the cooperation of these "oil-heads" responsible for communications and the auspex arrays to mask or encrypt the signals.
"These two-faced piles of scrap—" Grendel's fingers crunched against the gauntlet of his power armor.
He did not believe that these Dark Mechanicum tech-priests had suddenly found a conscience and returned to the embrace of the Emperor; that was even more ridiculous than Khorne sitting down to do needlepoint.
The only explanation was that Huron had bought the intelligence. That damn tyrant of Badab must have bribed them with some technology or resource these greedy mechanical monsters couldn't refuse, getting them to betray their own allies.
At that moment, Grendel wanted to draw his bolter and blast the head of the responsible magos into pieces.
But he restrained himself.
Opening fire now would only paralyze the flagship and cause the entire fleet's command system to collapse. Huron had undoubtedly counted on this—purging technical staff in the middle of a battle was suicidal.
Not to mention, if the Iron Warriors and the Dark Mechanicum were to suddenly turn on each other, the outcome of such a clash would be anyone's guess.
"Fine, you wait and see," Grendel muttered, swallowing his fury, vowing to himself, "As long as I survive this battle, none of you traitors will live. I will tear you apart into spare parts and throw you into the furnace as fuel!"
"Open fire! All fleets, fire at will!"
Almost the moment Grendel roared his order, the Imperial Navy's line had already unleashed tongues of death. Countless lance beams pierced the void, and macro-cannon shells poured down like a torrential rain.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"
The World Eaters warband at the front didn't care about traps. Faced with the sky-filling barrage, these lunatics didn't dodge; instead, they pushed their engines to an overload state.
Their communication channels were filled with bestial howls, and those ships painted in blood-red rammed straight into the wall of fire formed by the Imperial fleet, their void shields sparking from overload.
The battle instantly escalated into white-hot intensity.
However, courage could not compensate for an absolute tactical disadvantage.
This was a one-sided slaughter. The Imperial fleet occupied the best firing positions, waiting in comfort for the enemy.
Dense arrays of mines exploded within the Chaos fleet's formation, tearing through shields and paralyzing engines. The World Eaters' vanguard suffered heavy losses in an instant, turning into balls of burning wreckage.
The Thousand Sons, Emperor's Children, and Death Guard fleets in the center and flanks were also suppressed and unable to lift their heads.
Although the precise and cold enforcement fire from the Iron Warriors in the rear forced them to return fire, in this pre-calculated "pocket" formation, Chaos ships were exploding every second.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all!"
Watching the kill-death ratio skyrocket, Grendel slammed his fist onto the console. If this continued, they would be wiped out before they even reached the Badab primary world.
He grabbed the comms-link, connecting directly to the Thousand Sons' flagship.
"Izkala! You blowhard mystic!" Grendel roared. "Didn't you claim to be the 'tide of variables'? Didn't you boast about your supreme wisdom? If you have any plan in that head of yours to reverse the tide of battle, you'd better spit it out now! Otherwise, when the World Eaters are dead, you'll be next!"
The voice of the Thousand Sons sorcerer came through, sounding somewhat rushed—it was clear that the situation on his end was not optimistic, with the background filled with explosions and psychic chanting.
"Shut up, you crude blacksmith! I am calculating!" Izkala's voice sounded flustered. "I did prepare a large-scale ritual—it is a forbidden spell capable of ignoring void shields and physical distance to perform a warp-jump transmission for a strike cruiser!"
"Then do it! What are you waiting for?!" Grendel yelled. "Transmit your ship next to their flagship, board them! Decapitate them! Anything!"
"That is the problem!" Izkala's voice became troubled, even carrying a hint of embarrassment. "This spell was originally intended to raid the Palace of Thorns or directly board the Astral Claws' flagship to confront Huron himself and perform a decapitation strike. It requires extremely precise psychic targeting—"
"But—" the sorcerer paused. "I cannot find him. In my psychic vision, the entire Badab system is filled with interference. I cannot find where Huron's flagship is at all!"
Grendel froze.
Couldn't find the enemy's flagship? Huron had hidden his own flagship?
At this life-or-death juncture, the enemy commander had vanished like a ghost, leaving behind only this sky-filling fire and a desperate trap.
"HUROOON!"