Staring at the vessel's overflowing cargo holds and a glut of advanced wargear beyond the wildest imaginings of the Space Wolves, almost everyone present had lapsed into a state of stunned numbness.
The Ultramarines are the most numerous Chapter in the Imperium, and the Macragge's Honour served as the reliquary for the very essence of their martial excellence. For a standard company of Space Wolves, this was not merely a surprise; it was a cause for trepidation.
For the Tech-Priests, long accustomed to the decaying corridors of standard Imperial vessels, the ship was a revelation, a concentrated bastion of ancient, forbidden knowledge. Their fervor for the Iron Man who had reconstructed such a relic bordered on the fanatical.
Axion remained unaware of the cataclysmic ripples his actions were poised to send through the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Under normal protocols, a vessel of this magnitude required a crew of at least twenty thousand to maintain even basic flight operations. In their current predicament, they were forced to press the Astra Militarum survivors into service as makeshift ratings.
Surviving voidsmen guided the former guardsmen in the operation of the ship's systems, while simultaneously attempting to familiarize themselves with equipment that felt utterly alien. Compared to the standard Imperial transports and battle barges they knew, the technological sophistication of this vessel was incomprehensible.
Finally, with the assistance of swarms of servo-skulls and Imperial servitors, the Great Ship drifted slowly away from the docking cradle.
Once it was clear the Imperials had secured control of the vessel, an industrial tender drifted toward the now-vacant platform. Nanomachines flowed like a silver tide, devouring the entire structure in seconds and funneling the reclaimed matter into the tender's holds as refined ingots.
A surviving Navy petty officer, appointed as the temporary captain, looked blankly across the sprawling expanse of the command bridge before turning to the Wolf Lord behind him.
"My Lord... what is our heading?"
"First, we return to Fenris," the Wolf Lord replied. "I must seek an audience with Great Wolf Logan Grimnar at the Fang."
The unreality of the situation weighed heavily on them all. Despite his rank, the Wolf Lord dared not make any lasting decisions; neither this ship nor the treasures within were his to claim.
"Understood, my lord! Destination: Fenris."
The massive engines let out a predatory roar as the ship began to accelerate. The Navigator, rescued from the wreckage of an Imperial transport, stood upon a high dais twice the size of any he had ever seen, charting a course using the galactic core maps provided by the Iron Man.
As the veil of the Warp was torn asunder, the Gloriana-class battleship vanished from realspace.
…
Axion cared little for the destination of his Imperial "allies." He had come to a realization.
The "Shorts" of the Leagues of Votann knew his objective and had already begun relocating their Ancestor Cores. Continued searching was an exercise in futility. The optimal strategy now was to encircle the entire territory of the Leagues of Votann, squeezing them until they were forced to surrender the Cores themselves.
The Kin did not yet realize that their attempt to safeguard the Ancestor Cores would bring their race to the precipice of extinction, an act for which every Votann soul would eventually grieve.
Having solidified his new tactical doctrine, Axion recalled all ground forces. Within hours, the fleet vanished into the void once more.
For the next three months, the Kin attempted to play a game of cat-and-mouse with Axion. However, Axion did not chase their fleets. Instead, he systematically ravaged their mining worlds.
Rumors of the "Silver Death" spread like a contagion through the Leagues of Votann. Legends spoke of strange machines appearing in blotting numbers, driven by a genocidal bloodlust. All who resisted were liquidated. They were a gluttonous calamity, devouring every mineral in their path.
Soon, the crisis escalated.
Initially, Votann fleets encountering the silver armadas would withdraw, returning later to rescue survivors. But after the loss of the fortieth mining world, the Kin were horrified to find that the Silver Death remained in-system long after the initial assault.
Scout flotillas could not approach the terrifying machine-ships; they could only watch from the extreme periphery. After a full week of observation, the scouts confirmed the departure of the enemy, and the Votann fleet moved in.
The scene that greeted them defied all comprehension.
The mining world was gone. In the coordinates where a planet once hung, there remained only a shattered fragment of dead earth. Survivors were left clinging to this floating tomb, struggling to endure.
More mining worlds began to vanish in rapid succession. Eventually, the Kin obtained a critical piece of hololith data from a survivor.
A colossal machine, the size of a continent, had plummeted from the heavens onto the planet. The world began to shudder with rhythmic tremors as titanic fissures tore through the crust. Survivors fled in terror as the massive construct bored into the planetary core, siphoning away the superheated magma.
Useful matter was filtered; useless soil and stone were spewed from the machine's flanks, accumulating into a new, artificial landmass. The survivors, watching their world crumble beneath them, had no choice but to flee to this island of silt and rock.
Once the planet had been thoroughly filtered through the metallic maw of the construct, the machine, escorted by its silver fleet, would vanish into deep space. Behind it, it left only a valueless chunk of debris drifting in the void. These remnants were devoid of even the most basic useful elements, a total, unexploitable wasteland.
…
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the Fenris system, a massive Warp rift tore open.
Arcing energy flickered across the Geller Field of a gargantuan vessel. Imperial monitoring stations on the surrounding moons immediately detected the intruder, but their alarms fell silent as the ship's identification codes were processed.
At the highest peak of the Asaheim mountain range, a Navigator of House Belisarius, guided by a Wolf Guard commander, strode into the great hall of the Fang.
The hall was a testament to the feral culture of the Rout, draped in furs and decorated with the bones of great beasts. At the central long table sat several figures. Beside Great Wolf Logan Grimnar, Wolf Lords Berek Thunderfist and Gunnar Redmoon were deep in council with their retainers.
"Great Wolf, my Lords," the Navigator began, bowing low. "While performing my Warp-sight exercises, I detected a massive shadow transitioning into realspace near Fenris. I came specifically to—"
BAM!
The heavy doors of the hall were flung open before the Navigator could finish. A panicked guard rushed in, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
"Report! A gargantuan warship has appeared in Fenris's upper atmosphere! Its profile matches known Imperial designs, but its scale is unprecedented. Initial scans identify it as... the Macragge's Honour."
Logan Grimnar rose, his brow furrowing as he slammed a fist onto the table.
"Why does the Macragge's Honour appear over Fenris unannounced? This is no way to play the guest. Guilliman's whelps had best have a damn good explanation. This is Fenris, not Macragge. In my domain, uninvited guests should consider the weight of their welcome."