High above the orbital grid of Dorido, the battle had finally ground to a definitive close.
This brutal slaughter had raged continuously for three days and three nights. The void of space was now a graveyard, littered with the drifting, shattered hulls of countless Ork warships and the decaying, mutated carcases of warp-born abominations. While the Ork vessels were ramshackle and crudely put together, the raw, roaring amplification of the Waaagh!
field had catalyzed an astonishing level of combat effectiveness. They had barreled through the fray, using the jagged, reinforced rams on their prows to crack the space hulks wide open while their heavy macro-cannons blew the teeming waves of plague monsters to pieces.
Though the monsters pouring from Nurgle's space hulks were endless, they lacked tactical cohesion and intellect, throwing themselves forward entirely on a viral instinct to butcher life. To an Ork, this made them the perfect prey—no complex maneuvers to decipher, no ambushes to fear; all that was required was to sprint forward and hack them apart.
Ragnar had charged at the absolute vanguard of the counter-offensive. Operating his personal battle barge, he slammed directly through the structural bulkheads of a space hulk, leading his boyz in a massive, sweeping boarding action. As the Waaagh! field scaled rapidly with every minute of fresh slaughter, his physical frame underwent an accelerated regeneration. Three days ago, he had shrunk to a meager three meters in height; now, he had grown back to four meters. While his abdomen had not yet expanded back to its peak, bloated density, he knew that a few hearty meals and a week of rest would see him completely restored.
More importantly, this sudden conflict had completely reignited the fighting spirit of the Orks. The Waaagh! field, which had bottomed out following the humiliating disaster at Karl II, recombined into a dense, crackling mass over the three days of slaughter. A vibrant green aura blanketed the entire flotilla, growing brighter by the hour until it recovered nearly half of its peak strength. The Ork Boyz roared at the top of their lungs, expending all their frustration and pent-up resentment on the plague monsters, growing more ferocious with every strike.
When the last surviving space hulk was blown into a spectacular, expanding fireball by Ork macro-artillery, the entire fleet erupted into a deafening, unified cheer.
"WAAAAAAAUGH!"
"Da Boss is back! Da Boss is strong!"
"Cuttin' up dat rotten meat was proper fun!"
Ragnar raised his massive, pus-stained choppa high into the air, basking in the roaring adulation of his boyz. A satisfied grin broke across his green face, and the giant maw on his stomach split open, letting out a low, guttural, rumbling laugh.
"Good job, ya gits!" Ragnar's voice boomed like thunder across the deck. "Back to Dorido! I'm cookin' up a massive pot of savory stuffing to celebrate da win!"
No matter how many setbacks had come before, an Ork victory was still a victory!
"Right away, Boss!"
On Brevis, inside the highest tier of Castle Saint Gallus.
Solene sat behind her massive mahogany desk, the golden mask covering the right side of her face reflecting a cold, surreal gleam under the dancing candlelight. Intricate, microscopic runes were carved along the edges of the mask; as the candle flames flickered, the sigils seemed to come alive, swirling slowly across the metallic surface. Her fingers gently traced the curvature of a crystal ball sitting on the desk, within which the orbital battle over Dorido was being clearly and vividly mirrored.
A deep blue light pulsed within her eyes as she watched the flashes of macro-artillery explosions and splattering chunks of mutated flesh, yet the graphic display failed to stir a single ripple of emotion across her face. When the final plague hulk exploded into a brilliant fireball under the Ork barrage, Solene's fingertips paused. The kinetic display within the sphere instantly dissolved, leaving behind nothing but a swirling eddy of blue mist.
"Nurgle's vanguard has broken against the Orks," she murmured. Her voice sounded like a winter wind sweeping across a frozen lake, devoid of any discernable sentiment.
A week ago, when the Lord of Change had seen fit to discipline her, a vision had been bestowed upon her mind. The revelation had been blurred and fragmented, but she had clearly seen a tide of rot creeping toward Brevis—a wave of chaos that would tear away the peaceful facade of the sector. It was meant to be the exact catalyst she required to rewrite her destiny. She had already made exhaustive preparations based on that prophecy, mobilizing her underground networks and embedding hidden agents at every critical junction. They had been waiting for that "tide of rot" to arrive.
Yet now, the anticipated opening move of the campaign had been inexplicably blocked by a horde of muscle-bound xenos.
The sorcerer standing behind her bowed low, asking in a hesitant tone, "My Regent, do we proceed with our current deployments?" His voice carried a tremor of genuine anxiety.
Everyone in the inner circle knew that ever since Solene had awoken from her recent coma, she had transformed into an entirely different person. Her previous petulance and rashness had vanished, replaced by a cold, introverted composure—but she had also become vastly more ruthless. In her obsession to weave a grand strategy capable of reshaping the entire sector, she tolerated zero deviations. Consequently, an untold number of her fellow conspirators had already been warped into mindless Chaos Spawns for the slightest failure.
Solene did not answer immediately. She rose from her seat and walked slowly to the open window. The night wind rushed through the frame, brushing against her features. However, that half of her face could no longer feel the cool, gentle embrace of the wind; only a lingering, phantom sensation of burning remained etched into her skin.
After a long silence, she finally spoke, her tone perfectly level. "There is no need to adjust the deployments."
"But..." The sorcerer raised his head, his eyes clouding with confusion. "Nurgle's vanguard has been wiped out. The chaos we were waiting for will not manifest. If we strike now, we do not possess the necessary leverage to destabilize Raynor's governance."
"Chaos is never absent; it is merely delayed," Solene interrupted him, a complex, unreadable light flashing within her dark blue eyes. "Change is the only absolute truth in this universe. Nothing ever progresses entirely along a predicted trajectory, and a true master of the game will always find their opportunity within the shifting variables."
She reached out a hand, attempting to grasp the passing breeze.
"Raynor is far too cautious," she said slowly. "I suspect his Swarm has already saturated every hidden corner around Brevis. The slightest anomalous fluctuation would fail to escape his eyes. If Nurgle's space hulks had arrived on schedule, he would have instantly detected the signature of Chaos and mobilized his entire military grid to seal the world. Had that happened, we would have found ourselves facing a fully prepared defense."
"But things are different now." The corners of her mouth curled upward, forming a very faint, sinister smile. "The Orks destroyed those plague hulks. Because of that, he will fixate his entire attention on the Ork presence on Dorido. He will mass his armies, perfect his siege plans, and exhaust his mental faculties preparing for the massive conventional war ahead."
"Consequently, he will lower his guard on the home front."
"And that is more than enough for us."
The sorcerer fell silent. He still failed to grasp the full scope of Solene's design, but he could feel that her intellect was becoming increasingly impossible to fathom. "Your servant understands. What are your orders for now?"
"Do absolutely nothing," Solene said, turning around to walk back to her desk. "Continue to monitor the movements of both Raynor and the Orks on Dorido. Do not make a single premature move, and leave absolutely no trail."
Her fingers brushed against the crystal ball once more. This time, the sphere did not manifest any light, remaining completely shrouded in a deep, fathomless darkness.
"We wait."
"We wait, as we always do, for the next tide to roll in."
"Understood, Lady Regent."
The sorcerer turned and exited the chamber, the heavy reinforced door closing behind him with a dull, echoing thud. The room plunged back into a profound silence.
Solene sat quietly behind her desk, staring into the dark sphere. The candle flames danced across her golden mask, completely concealing her expression, leaving only a single dark blue eye glittering in the shadows.
"Everything proceeds exactly according to design..."