The *GrimOne* surged into the Throne of Galat system, its massive form tearing out of the Warp like a leviathan breaking through darkened waters. The void stretched before it, an endless expanse of stars and swirling debris, but something was wrong. Alarms blared across the battle barge’s control decks, red lights flashing in rapid succession. In an instant, the calm was shattered as a dozen klaxons screamed their warnings. The fleet was not alone.

“Void shields breached!” a deck serf cried out; his voice panicked. “Unknown signatures closing fast! Impact imminent!”

Fleet Commander Brother Lysandros stood at the command dais, his power-armored frame dwarfing the mortals who scrambled at their stations below. He had sensed it the moment they dropped into real space—something foul, something brutal, and nothing like what they had been told to expect.

“The Tyranids,” Lysandros muttered under his breath, but his eyes narrowed. The swarm didn’t use tactics like this. It didn’t rely on ambushes in the void. This wasn’t their way.

And then the transmission crackled over the vox. Harsh, guttural, like a feral beast roaring through a broken mouthpiece. “*WAAAAAAGH!*” the sound echoed across the ship's communication system, filled with raw, primal rage.

Lysandros’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t the Tyranids. It was the Orks.

“Orks!” Lysandros bellowed, his voice booming across the command deck. “We’ve been deceived! Prepare all batteries and launch interceptors! All hands, brace for combat!”

The void outside the *GrimOne* was suddenly alive with movement. Massive hulks of crude Ork warships cobbled together from scrap and debris, thundered toward the Cardinal Phoenix's fleet, belching smoke and fire. Their ships were monstrous, hideous things—a mockery of Imperial design, all jagged edges, and crude metal, spewing out countless smaller craft like a swarm of angry hornets. The Orks were here for a fight, and they had lured the Cardinal Phoenixes into their trap.

“Enemy craft inbound!” another serf called out. “Fighters, gunships—dozens of them!”

Lysandros slammed his fist down onto the control console, activating the ship-wide vox. His voice was steady and unwavering, but filled with the raw command of one who had seen countless battles. “All Cardinal vessels, engage immediately. Focus fire on their capital ships—take out their leadership, and the rest will fall into disarray. No quarter!”

The crew responded with discipline, rushing to their stations. Servitors fed ammunition into the massive cannons lining the hull of the *GrimOne*, while Techmarines barked orders to ready the ship’s lance batteries. The ship’s escorts, frigates, and destroyers moved into formation, preparing to defend the battle barge from the inevitable storm of Ork boarding craft.

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Suddenly, the *GrimOne* shook violently, a series of deafening explosions rocking its starboard side. The Ork ships had opened fire with their crude but devastating weaponry—massive guns that hurled entire chunks of scrap metal and asteroids at the Imperial fleet.

“Starboard shields down to thirty percent!” one of the Techmarines called out, his voice strained. “Hull breaches on multiple decks! Boarding pods inbound!”

Lysandros’s jaw clenched. The Orks were coming. And they were bringing their madness with them.

“Deploy all interceptors!” Lysandros ordered. “I want those boarding craft obliterated before they hit us. Launch Thunderhawks and prepare the 5th and 10th companies for counter-boarding actions.”

As the orders rang out, the *GrimOne*’s massive launch bays opened, spewing forth wave after wave of sleek Imperial fighters and bombers. Thunderhawks screamed into the void, their engines roaring as they engaged the Ork attack craft head-on. The space between the two fleets was filled with fiery explosions, the debris of destroyed ships and fighters scattering across the battlefield.

Yet despite the chaos, the Orks pressed on. Their ships were battered, and torn apart by Imperial fire, but they didn’t care. They thrived on the madness of battle, reveling in the carnage. Ork vessels rammed into Imperial ships with reckless abandon, tearing through armor and shields with sheer brute force. Boarding pods crashed into the hull of the *GrimOne*, spilling hordes of Ork warriors into the ship's lower decks.

Lysandros’s eyes narrowed as he saw the battle unfold on the hololithic display before him. His forces were holding—for now—but the Orks’ relentless advance was taking its toll.

“Commander,” one of the junior officers shouted, “the *GrimOne* is taking heavy damage! If we don’t get past their fleet, we’ll be torn apart before we even reach the planet!”

Lysandros turned to his Techmarine, his voice grim. “Focus all power to the forward shields. We’re breaking through.”

The Techmarine nodded, his mechanical appendages clicking as he redirected the ship’s power systems. “Understood, Commander. Shields at maximum. All power to forward batteries.”

The *GrimOne* surged forward, its prow aimed directly at the largest of the Ork ships—a massive, lumbering hulk, bristling with weapons and crude towers. Lysandros knew that if they could break through the Ork flagship, the rest of the greenskin fleet would collapse into infighting. It was their only chance.

“Fire the lance batteries!” Lysandros ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos of the command deck.

With a deafening roar, the *GrimOne’s* main cannons fired, sending streams of white-hot energy lancing through the void. The beams slammed into the Ork flagship, tearing through its hull and igniting massive explosions across its surface. The Ork ship shuddered but continued its charge.

The *GrimOne* shook again, this time harder, as the Ork flagship returned fire. Entire sections of the battle barge’s outer hull were torn away, the void shields flickering dangerously low.

“We’re not going to last much longer,” one of the Techmarines muttered grimly.

Lysandros clenched his fist, his mind racing. They were running out of time. The Orks were overwhelming them, and the planet, *Throne of Galat*, loomed just beyond. If they didn’t break through soon, the fleet would be lost.

“Prepare for ramming speed,” Lysandros growled, a fierce determination in his eyes. “We’re going to carve a path through these Xenos ourselves.”

The Techmarines hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Aye, Commander. Preparing for ramming speed.”

The ship surged forward, its prow aimed directly at the heart of the Ork fleet.