Kratos5627
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Into the Unknown
🕑 Added 2025-03-20 03:30:01 +0000 UTC---
The viewing deck was silent.
The ship drifted through the void, silent save for the distant hum of its engines and the faint, almost imperceptible vibrations beneath the deck. Cassian stood among the crowd, his gaze locked on the massive viewport. Through the reinforced glass, the planet hung against the darkness of space, a once-familiar silhouette now twisted into something unrecognizable.
The surface churned with malevolent colors — deep reds and sickly purples swirling like bruises across the atmosphere. Black veins of corruption snaked across the continents, splitting open the crust like festering wounds. Even from orbit, he could see the flickering lights of fires still raging across the hives, consuming everything. This wasn’t the world he’d grown up in. It was something else now. A Chaos World.
People whispered around him, voices hushed and trembling. Some wept quietly. Others simply stood, frozen in shock, eyes hollow. Every face was painted with the same expression — grief, disbelief, and the kind of numbness that only came when everything you’d known was gone. Cassian could feel it too, gnawing at his chest, a cold weight pressing down on his lungs. He was alive, but what did that mean when there was nothing left behind him but ruin?
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push the thoughts away. But they came anyway. The faces of those he’d left behind. The ones who had died so he could make it this far.
Joran. The smuggler with a crooked grin and a talent for getting in over his head. He’d bled out on a dirty floor, buying Cassian precious seconds.
Old Varen. The grizzled ex-Arbite who had given him his first real taste of combat. Had he made it? Or was he down there now, lost amidst the madness?
Even the nameless workers he’d toiled alongside, sweating through shifts in the manufactorums, or trading hushed words in the black markets. They were all gone.
Cassian clenched his jaw, fingers curling into fists. He shouldn’t care. He’d told himself that more times than he could count. Warhammer wasn’t a story anymore. It was real. People died. Worlds burned. He’d known that the moment he arrived.
And yet…
He opened his eyes. The planet still spun below, distant and cold. He hated it. Hated the Hive, the endless work, the fear, the starvation. Every single day had been a fight to survive. But it was still his fight. His hell. And now even that was gone.
A soft thud sounded beside him. Cassian turned, catching a glimpse of an older woman pressing her palm against the glass, tears streaming silently down her face. A young boy clung to her leg, his own eyes wide, uncomprehending. They had nothing now. None of them did.
The ship rumbled softly, its engines shifting course. Cassian heard someone sob quietly behind him. Others muttered prayers. The Emperor. The Omnissiah. Anyone who might listen.
He scoffed under his breath. As if gods had ever listened.
Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The ship drifted further into the void, and the planet grew smaller. Fires burned like pinpricks of light across its surface. The once-familiar continents twisted, reshaped by the Warp’s touch. Soon, there’d be nothing left of what it once was. Just another nightmare among countless others.
Cassian exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. He should feel relieved. He’d escaped. Survived. But all he felt was empty.
He turned away from the viewport. There was nothing left to see.
Tomorrow, he would keep moving. He would learn.
But tonight, he would mourn.
For the first time since coming to this hell, Cassian allowed himself to grieve.
And for a while, that was enough.
---
Captain Dialis Corwin stood at the head of the strategium table, the dim glow of the hololithic display casting sharp shadows across his stern features. Around him, his senior officers sat in silence, the weight of their situation pressing heavily upon them. The ship's recent escape from the chaos-consumed planet had been harrowing, but their current predicament offered little solace.
"Let's review our status," Corwin began, his voice steady but laced with underlying tension. "Astropathic communication is compromised, and warp travel is currently deemed too hazardous. Our supplies are limited, and we lack a clear destination. I need options, gentlemen."
Lieutenant Commander Renauld, the ship's Master of Ordnance, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Captain, without the ability to enter the warp, our range is severely restricted. The nearest known Imperial world, Voss Prime, is several months away at sub-light speeds, assuming it's still under Imperial control."
"That's a significant assumption," interjected Navigator Halbrecht, his pale eyes reflecting the ethereal light of the display. "The warp is in turmoil. Even if we could chart a course, there's no guarantee we'd arrive safely or in a timely manner."
Chief Chirurgeon Elara Varin, her medical robes still stained from the recent influx of wounded, spoke up next. "Our medical supplies are dwindling. We can manage for now, but any unforeseen circumstances could tip us into a crisis."
Corwin nodded, absorbing the information. "What about our current position? Are there any resources within reach?"
Lieutenant Sorin, the ship's Chief Vox Officer, adjusted his headset, scanning through frequencies. "Captain, we've been monitoring local signals. There's a faint distress beacon emanating from the Derelict Station Omega-12, an old mining outpost abandoned decades ago. It's approximately two weeks away at our current speed."
"An abandoned station?" Renauld's skepticism was evident. "It could be a trap or worse—a beacon for scavengers and pirates."
"Or it could be a lifeline," Varin countered. "If the station's life support systems are functional, we could replenish our oxygen supplies. There might also be medical stores left behind."
Navigator Halbrecht stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Accessing the station's logs could provide us with valuable information about the surrounding systems, perhaps even chart a safer route."
Corwin weighed the options, his gaze fixed on the rotating holographic representation of their ship. "What do we know about Omega-12?"
Sorin tapped a few commands into his console, bringing up fragmented data. "It was decommissioned due to depleted resources and structural instabilities. However, there's no record of it being dismantled or repurposed."
"Captain," Renauld interjected, "if we divert to this station, we risk precious time and resources. If it's compromised or beyond repair, we gain nothing and lose valuable momentum."
Varin's eyes flashed with determination. "But if it's operational, even partially, it could mean the difference between survival and demise. We owe it to the crew and passengers to investigate every potential refuge."
The room fell silent, all eyes on Captain Corwin as he deliberated. The weight of command pressed heavily upon him, each decision a potential pivot between life and death.
"Set a course for Omega-12," he ordered finally. "Maintain heightened alertness and prepare for all contingencies. We move with caution but also with purpose."
The officers nodded, each understanding the gravity of the decision. As they dispersed to relay orders and make preparations, Corwin remained, staring at the holographic display. The vastness of space loomed around them, filled with unknown perils and slim hopes.
"Emperor protect us," he murmured, the solitary whisper swallowed by the hum of the ship's systems.
---
The Imperator Bellum drifted silently through the void, the bulk of Omega-12 growing larger in the viewing ports as the ship approached. Captain Dialis Corwin stood at the head of the strategium, his eyes locked on the flickering holo-display of the derelict station. The officers around him shifted uneasily in their seats, the silence stretching too long. No one wanted to speak first. No one wanted to admit what they were all thinking — that they were adrift in a dead cluster, and no one was coming to save them.
Corwin broke the silence. "Status report."
Lieutenant Sorin, the ship’s Chief Vox Officer, cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. "Omega-12 is minimally powered, Captain. Life support is running, barely. No active life signs. No signals aside from the distress beacon we picked up earlier."
"And the station's structural integrity?" Corwin asked.
Lieutenant Commander Renauld, Master of Ordnance, shifted forward, tapping the display. "Scans show the station’s hull is intact. We can dock manually, but the mag-locks are shot. We’ll have to secure a tether and send a team over in void suits."
"Timeframe?"
"Docking will take two hours. Exploratory sweep? Half a day, if we’re careful."
Corwin nodded. "Do it. We’ll dock and send a team to sweep the station for supplies and data. Be thorough but quick."
Renauld hesitated. "Captain, with respect… We don’t know what’s in there. It’s been abandoned for decades. It could be a trap. Pirates, scavengers… or worse."
Corwin’s gaze hardened. "We don’t have the luxury of caution, Lieutenant Commander. We’re running low on food, water, and air. Unless you know of another friendly port in this cursed cluster, Omega-12 is our best shot."
Renauld pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod. "Aye, Captain."
Corwin swept his eyes across the room. "You all know our situation. Warp travel is off the table — the currents are too violent, the Gellar Field too unstable. We’re stuck crawling through the void on sub-light engines, and every hour we drift is another hour closer to starvation. Omega-12 is the only lead we’ve got. We make it count."
The officers exchanged grim looks but gave their assent.
"Dismissed," Corwin ordered. "Renauld, get your team ready."
---
The station was quiet. Too quiet. The sound of boots against metal grated against the silence as Renauld's team swept through the darkened corridors. Their helmet lamps sliced through the shadows, illuminating rusted bulkheads and faded warning signs.
"Air's stale, but breathable," reported Varin, the ship’s Chief Chirurgeon, her voice crackling through the vox. "Life support must be running on emergency power."
Renauld pressed ahead, his lasgun held at the ready. "Stay sharp. I don’t like this."
They moved deeper into the station, past abandoned workstations and rusted machinery. The place felt wrong — not in the way of lurking enemies, but in the weight of its silence. Like the station itself had been forgotten by time.
"Command center ahead," Sorin called, his light falling on a massive blast door.
"Let’s get it open."
After some coaxing, the door groaned open, revealing the darkened control room beyond. Consoles flickered dimly, their displays filled with garbled data. Renauld approached the main console, wiping away a layer of dust before activating the system. The screen flickered to life, lines of code scrolling past before settling on a simple prompt:
ACCESS LOGS?
"Captain," Renauld voxed, "we’re in. Accessing station logs now."
—-
Corwin stood in the strategium once more, his officers gathered around the holo-display. Renauld’s team had returned, empty-handed save for a single data-slate pulled from the station’s logs.
"No supplies," Renauld reported, his jaw tight with frustration. "The station was stripped clean before it was abandoned. What little remained was either spoiled or unusable."
Murmurs of dismay rippled through the officers. Corwin silenced them with a glance. "And the data?"
Sorin slid the slate across the table. "We found a reference to a planet. Kara-Varn. It was once a minor civilized World before the cluster fell into chaos. The station’s logs mention a supply cache hidden beneath its surface — munitions, rations, possibly fuel."
"Kara-Varn…" Corwin frowned, searching his memory. "I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it deep in the cluster?"
Sorin nodded grimly. "Yes, sir. And there’s no telling what we’ll find there. The last recorded transmission from the planet was nearly two decades ago, and it wasn’t good. The logs mention civil unrest, cult activity… and worse."
"How far?" Corwin asked quietly.
"Three weeks at our current speed. Maybe more, depending on the condition of the sub-light engines."
The room fell silent once more. Three weeks adrift in the void, with no guarantee that Kara-Varn would offer anything more than a slow death.
Corwin closed his eyes, weighing their options. There weren’t many.
"We set course for Kara-Varn," he ordered finally. "It’s a gamble, but it’s the only lead we’ve got. We’ll travel dark, avoid attention. I want all departments running double shifts to conserve resources. Every ounce of energy counts."
Renauld hesitated. "Sir… and if we get there and find nothing?"
Corwin’s gaze hardened. "Then we die. But at least we’ll die trying."
No one spoke after that. Orders were given. The ship shifted course. The engines rumbled beneath their feet, pushing them further into the unknown.
He turned away. There was no salvation to be found behind them. Only death.
Ahead… perhaps the same.
Volume End.
—
Comments
Kratos5628
Well it was a forced evacuation. So, the crew is reduced, ship is damaged which makes it unlike other you read. It is not the warships that imperial navy uses. It is in smaller side as well.
SwiftFate
What kind of ship is this? Seems a bit too.. normal sci-fi for Warhammer. Cassian is just chilling with a bunch of civvies, freeloading? I guess I'm used to 40k ships basically being entire moving cities for the most part, almost like mini hives with their own underhive elements, mutants and mutant catchers etc. Temples, neglected and abandoned areas of the ship, the works hahaha. Assuming this is more of a smaller planetary ship, but then it has also been mentioned to be warp capable, which would infer a Navigator spire and navigator right? So bit confused. Not really enough details to go on
Kratos5628
It is currently chapter 34. 35th will be starting from next Tuesday.
IgnisPrimus
Hey. When do we get a look at his status? Is this not chapter 35? Or am I completely wrong
