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.
The Blade of Antwyr tried to turn. Its immense, corrupted mass was too slow. The plasma wave washed over it. For an instant, its warp-field fought the raw physics of a dying star. Reality won. The Despoiler-class battleship’s hull buckled, its daemon-forged spine snapping with a psychic scream that killed every astropath within a hundred thousand kilometers. battlefleet gothic armada pdf
The lieutenant hesitated. “But my Lord, we fired the—” The gas giant, Praxis VI, had been ruptured,
“All ahead flank. Form Line of Battle. Gunnery: load void-shield-penetrator shells. Launch fighters,” Caspian ordered, his voice a flat, iron monotone. The silent hunt was over. Now came the slaughter. Engines to minimum, vox-beacons off
Caspian turned to the viewport. Outside, the repair gantries were already swarming over the Dominus Bellorum . But all he could see was the white, silent flower of the Nova Cannon’s mercy.
“My Lord,” Vance said, his voice tight. “The Righteous Wrath is requesting fire support. They are overrun. Captain Sulla reports… the boarders are using the crew’s own bones as ramming spikes.”
Caspian took the slate. He did not look at it. “List them as ‘Lost in the line of duty. Ship destroyed by enemy action.’ Understood?”