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A young lieutenant approached, holding a data-slate. “Casualty report, my Lord. The Righteous Wrath … all hands, twelve thousand souls.”

The gas giant, Praxis VI, had been ruptured, its core venting plasma that ignited into a permanent, hellish nebula. Within that crimson fog, daemon-ships prowled. Caspian ordered silent running. Engines to minimum, vox-beacons off. The fleet became ghosts, drifting through the asteroid debris of what used to be Periphery’s defense platform. battlefleet gothic armada pdf

The Chaos fleet paused, momentarily confused by the self-inflicted cataclysm. It was the opening Caspian needed. A young lieutenant approached, holding a data-slate

“Contact! Enemy squadrons altering course. They have us, my Lord,” voxed Commodore Vance, the fleet’s taciturn second. Within that crimson fog, daemon-ships prowled

The Valiant and the surviving frigates poured fire not at the Chaos ships, but at the unstable plasma eddies orbiting the dead planet. The chain reaction was immediate. A sheath of stellar fire erupted from the gas giant’s corpse, expanding outward at a million kilometers an hour.

The first wave was a frenzy of claws and torpedoes. Chaos Idolators, sleek and predatory, darted ahead, spewing swarms of boarding torpedoes. Caspian’s Sword frigates met them in a brutal knife-fight, their turrets vomiting tracers into the stygian dark. One Sword, the Viper , was caught amidships by a direct hit. It didn't explode. It screamed —a psychic death rattle that echoed through the fleet’s vox-net as its warp-drive imploded, pulling a chunk of reality into the Immaterium.