“Get to the Thunderhawk! Quickly!” bellowed Brother Ambrosius of the Salamanders, his massive form armored in green power armor that bore the scars of countless battles. He towered over the panicked civilians, his presence both a beacon of hope and a constant reminder of the battle raging around them.
Brother-Callex of the Ultramarines strode behind him, motioning to the terrified civilians as they hurried onto the gunship. “Your duty to the Emperor is not yet over, people of Melthis V! This is a temporary reprieve—beyond these doors lies the Emperor’s protection!”
The Thunderhawk’s engines roared to life as they boarded, the pilot frantically preparing for takeoff while chaos erupted outside. The two Space Marines loaded last, their boltguns poised as they scanned for any lingering threat. They stood side by side, giants clad in ceramite, as the gunship’s doors hissed shut and lifted off.
“Pilot,” Callex intoned, his voice steady and calm, “how far to the nearest capital ship?”
“Three minutes until we’re in range for the Trinity of Vengeance,” the pilot replied, his face pale but resolved. “Long enough, Emperor willing.”
But as the Thunderhawk ascended, a warp storm brewed on the horizon. The clouds turned a sickly, churning purple, and lightning rippled through the skies in unnatural arcs. The landscape below warped and twisted, corrupted by the touch of the Dark Gods.
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Suddenly, the Thunderhawk was engulfed by the warp storm, tossed as if it were nothing more than a leaf in a hurricane. The lights flickered, and the hull groaned under the unnatural pressure.
“Hold on!” shouted the pilot as they were swept away.
Purple lightning flashed past the window, the world outside was a riot of red, purple and black, a flash of lightning hit the outside of the ship causing it to shake violently, an explosion echoed through the hull of the ship and then left the ship in darkness.
The Storm lasted seconds—or perhaps hours—before it spat them back out into realspace, damaged and listing. The Thunderhawk trembled, its energy reserves all but spent.
“Status!” Ambrosius roared, gripping one of the handle next to the door, his voice barely carrying over the blaring klaxons.
“We... we’re alive,” the pilot stammered, his voice shaken. “But barely. Power’s low, and… the distress beacon’s damaged. I can only get it to emit intermittently.”
“What of our location?” asked Callex, his gaze unwavering.
“Unknown, my lord. There are no familiar star patterns in sight.”
The silence that followed was thick. The civilians, still strapped in their seats, looked at each other with a mixture of fear and confusion.
Ambrosius glanced toward them, his tone softer but commanding.“Fear not, citizens. The Emperor protects, and so long as we stand, you shall come to no harm.”
“Do we… have any chance of getting home?” a man finally dared to ask.
Callex’s steely gaze fixed on him. “Do not lose faith. This is but another trial of the Emperor, a test of our endurance and will. We will be found. You need only trust in our strength and His guidance.”
The pilot looked grim. “My Lord's, with power dwindling, we only have life support for maybe a few days. We’ve lost control over engines and can’t even adjust our trajectory. We’re adrift.”