Even though all capital vessels carried detachments from the 10th Company—each led by a veteran squad from the 6th—many ships had still lost control of key sections. Boarding actions and internal sabotage had crippled parts of their systems, reducing their ability to fight at full capacity.
The result was clear across the battlegroup.
Coordination was beginning to strain.
"We have lost contact with Silver Shield!"
"Red Comet, you are drifting out of formation! Return to your combat vector immediately!"
Voices from the command officers—those serving as the vital link between the flagship and the rest of the fleet—echoed sharply across the bridge.
Hololithic displays flickered as signals dropped in and out. Some ships responded instantly, adjusting their headings. Others lagged. A few remained silent.
"Relay to all that still combat able vessels," Valeix said. "Continue with the original battle plan, focus fire on the traitor battleships, then we will focus on dealing with those boarders."
He paused, thinking.
For a moment, the noise of the bridge seemed to fade as he made his decision.
Then his eyes cleared.
"Permission to utilize Phosphex torpedeos is granted," he said, ignoring the side glances from his fellow Astartes and the pale expressions of the mortal officers.
Just as the name suggested, the torpedoes are build like the melta torpedo, just with the package they carry change to phosphex. While Nine have the ability to create more phosphex and create the torpedoes, due to the damage it can inflicted because of how much phosphex one carry and the unstable nature of it, Atharion have decreed that, while each companies will have a small stockpile of the torpedoes, they will only use it during special and desperate situation.
And by Valeix logic, this is one of those situation, especially when their home are threaten.
The officers moved quickly, relaying the order across the fleet. The command reached the other two battle barges, and aboard the Silver Gate, the torpedo control deck came alive with urgent activity.
"Sanction on phosphex torpedoes has been lifted," the torpedo officer announced, his voice steady despite a faint tremor. "Prepare all tubes for phosphex loading. Full spread authorization."
"Understood."
Two voices answered in unison.
One belonged to the Tech-Priest overseeing the munitions vaults, mechadendrites already moving as he began unlocking the sealed racks containing the forbidden warheads.
"Protocol PT engaged. Preparing to transfer phosphex payloads to launch systems."
The second voice came from the torpedo control officer.
"Loading crews, stand by. All tubes ready to receive."
Deep within the ship, armored bulkheads opened.
Servitors and adepts carefully moved the warheads into position, their movements precise, almost reverent. Warning runes flashed across every console as containment fields were checked and rechecked.
"Payloads secured," the Tech-Priest intoned. "Stability within acceptable parameters."
On the bridge, Valeix did not move.
"Begin launch sequence," he ordered.
Moments later, the three battle barges fired in perfect unison.
The first barrage roared into the void—melta torpedoes, with a small number of nuclear warheads mixed among them. Their engines flared bright as they surged toward the Plague Fleet.
Seconds after, a second wave followed—another spread of melta torpedoes, layered to strike overlapping points across the enemy formation.
They were meant to open way.
The torpedoes slammed into the corrupted vessels. Blinding detonations tore through void shields already weakened by earlier fire. Hulls split open under the intense thermal blasts, armor plates melting and peeling away.
Nuclear flashes followed—brief, contained suns that punched deeper into the diseased ships, ripping open internal compartments and venting atmosphere, rot, and bodies into the void.
Even the Terminus Est got hit by two melta and one nuclear torpedeos, thpugh due to its corrupt nature, the torpedoes only deal an insignifcant damage to its hull.
On the hololith, the Plague vessels lit up with damage markers.
"Multiple breaches confirmed," an officer reported. "Hull integrity compromised across all targeted ships."
Valeix watched, unmoving.
"Third barrage," he said.
A pause.
Then—
The final wave launched.
The phosphex torpedoes charge towards their target vessels with an increadible speed, quciker than almost any torpedoes that both Imperium and Chaos using.
Because of the torpedoes importance and the already expensive cost needed to build one, Nine include a more powerful thursters for the torpedoes and also added a powerful cogitator into it so that it able to follow it target while also evading defensive fire.
"All torpedoes hit their assigned target," the auspex officer shouted, happiness and relief in his voice. "All traitor capital vessels are burning from the phosphex." A chorus of cheers go through the bridge, especially when the Terminus Est, one of the most famous flagship that exist in the traitor legions is also hit with two of the phosphex torpedoes.
But Valeix did not cheer.
He leaned slightly forward, eyes fixed on the hololith.
"Magnify the Terminus Est."
The image shifted.
For a moment, the phosphex flames engulfed the traitor vessel, seeming ready to burn it out of existence.
Then, the Terminus Est began to shed.
The already corroded surface of the ship started to peel away in thick, rotting layers. Armor sloughed off like dead flesh, breaking apart and drifting into the void—still burning with unnatural green fire.
Beneath it, something worse was revealed.
A darker, swollen hull pulsed beneath the decay, as if alive. True to the name for any vessels that have corrupted by the Warp.
The cheers on the bridge began to fade as the truth became clear.
The Terminus Est still held together.
Around it, the other traitor ships—those struck by the torpedoes—were already breaking apart, their hulls collapsing and their fires spreading out of control, burning all.
"Its a shame that we unable to claim the honor of destroying the Terminus Est," Accolon, the Paladin and the Champion of the 6th company said.
"One can expected such result," Valeix said. "with the Traveler being the owner of the vessel, it will not destroyed so easily."
Then—
An unbelievable sight unfolded before them.
The Terminus Est continued to peel away.
Layer after layer tore free, drifting into the void. The vessel grew smaller… and smaller.
"What?" an officer gasped, dropping his datapad.
Valeix's hand tightened into a fist.
"We have been tricked," he said through clenched teeth, anger rising in his voice. "How dare he…?"
"HOW DARE HE!!"
Valeix slammed his power fist onto the hololithic table.
Sparks burst from the impact as the display flickered violently, runes distorting for a brief moment.
The Terminus Est, which all of them think is only a Hellbringer-class light cruiser.
"Emergency transmission from Avalon!" a messenger rushed toward Valeix, fear clear in his voice as he approached the raging master.
"What does it say?" Accolon asked quickly, stepping in. Not because Valeix could not answer—but because he feared what might happen to the young man if he did.
"Report from Avalon," the messenger began, his voice trembling. "The Death Guard—and an unknown number of traitor warbands from other legions—are attacking Camelarion from multiple vectors. Multiple systems have already been overrun."
He swallowed, then continued.
"Lord Xaxir orders us to finish what the plague fleet here —and immediately redeploy to reinforce the realm before the traitors can threaten any of the core worlds."
Valeix said nothing.
Slowly, he turned his gaze to the void—toward the Hellbringer being destroyed from two different barrage of strike cruisers.
A new voice cut into Valeix's vox-channel—more precisely, the private channel of the 6th Company.
"This is First Sergeant. We have purged the boarders from Silver Gate. The dead and all corrupted remains have been cleansed by the Sisters."
"Good," Valeix said, tension still in his voice. "Prepare the men. We will purge the remaining boarders."
The messenger opened his mouth, wanting to speak—but stopped when he saw Accolon's warning glance.
"I will lead my two Paladins and join the purge," Accolon said. "We need to end this quickly."
"You do not have to say it twice," Valeix replied as he turned and began walking toward the bridge exit.
"Relay my command," he said to his aide without slowing. "Inform the battlegroups that have not been boarded—or have already purged the boarders—to return to Bastion Albion and prepare for redeployment orders from Scapha Flux or Camelot."
"As you will, my lord," the aide replied, already moving.
Valeix did not look back.
The bridge doors parted before him with a hiss.
===
"Focus your fire on the transports! We must stop more of them from landing!"
"We have no more units to send! Hold your ground!"
"Sector G02 has been breached! The 434th Regiment has been routed! The 761st is to redeploy and halt the enemy advance!"
The command center was filled with chaos—voices overlapping, orders shouted, and desperate reports flooding in from the front lines.
Screens flickered with battlefield data. Icons blinked, then vanished.
"Status reports, now!" an officer demanded.
"At least three defensive lines have collapsed!"
"We are losing control of the outer districts!"
"Enemy forces are pushing toward the inner sectors!"
Amid the storm of voices, the High Colonel stood at the center, eyes fixed on the datapad in his hands, filled with rapidly changing battle data.
"How long until reinforcements arrive?" he asked, his tone tight but controlled.
His aide hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"According to Ebon, a detachment of two cruisers, five light cruisers, and five escort squadrons has been dispatched to regain orbital control," he said. "But… there is no confirmation of any ground forces being sent to reinforce us."
The High Colonel's jaw tightened.
"So we are on our own," he said quietly.
Another explosion shook the command center, dust falling from the ceiling.
"Enemy artillery fire!" someone shouted.
The High Colonel looked towards the holographic that displaying the whole battlefield.
"Then we hold," he said. "No matter what."
===
"Fire!"
The battle cannons of four Leman Russ tanks roared, shells tearing across the field.
Two Chaos Rhinos exploded.
A Chaos Predator followed, its hull torn open in fire.
"Great shot!" the lieutenant shouted from inside his tank. "We can fall back and regroup with the main—"
His words were cut short.
Two enemy Predators fired.
The lieutenant's Leman Russ vanished in a blast of fire and metal.
"Lieutenant is down!"
"Return fire! Return fire!"
Another Russ tried to turn its turret—
Too slow.
A second volley struck. The tank's side armor split open, flames bursting out.
"Fall back!" a commander shouted over the vox. "fall back now!"
But the a squad of Raptor already have their eyes the remaining two Leman Russ.
===
Further down the line—
"Hold your ground!"
An Auxilia infantry platoon fired in tight formation, lasguns flashing as waves of cultists rushed toward them.
"Keep firing!"
The front ranks of cultists fell, bodies piling up.
But more came.
Too many.
"They just keep coming!"
"Do not break!" the sergeant shouted. "Hold the line!"
Grenades went out.
Explosions tore gaps in the charging mass.
For a moment—
They held.
Then, from behind the cultists, the sound of chain weapons roared. Moments later, blood and torn bodies were thrown into the air.
Five figures burst through the mob.
Red armor. Chainaxes screaming.
World Eaters.
"Traitor Space Marines!" someone screamed.
"Brace—!"
They hit the line.
It was not a battle.
It was slaughter.
One soldier was split in half.
Another was torn apart before he could even raise his rifle.
The sergeant fired point blank—
A chainaxe cut him down.
Within seconds—
The platoon was gone.
Only bodies remained.
The Berserkers did not stop.
They ran forward, straight toward the next line, chainaxes dripping, their roars echoing across the battlefield.
Behind them, the cultists surged again.