As time ticks by, each moment stretching like an eternity as the occupants of the Thunderhawk clung to the thin line between life and oblivion. The distress beacon continued its halting, flickering call into the void, yet no answer had come. Brother Ambrosius and Brother Callex maintained their vigil, their faith unwavering yet tested, watching over the fearful civilians with the resolute calm only Astartes could muster.
Then, breaking the silence, a faint signal sparked through the vox.
Both Space Marines straightened, alert. The civilians looked up with weary hope as the marines tuned the vox controls, trying to strengthen the feeble transmission.
Finally, a voice emerged—a calm, detached tone with the odd hum of a mechanized filter beneath it. “This is A.R.K. Identify yourselves.”
Ambrosius exchanged a quick look with Callex before responding. “This is Brother Ambrosius of the Salamanders, and Brother Callex of the Ultramarines. We are in an emergency situation with twelve civilians onboard. Our vessel is damaged and life support systems are failing. We require immediate assistance.”
There was a brief silence on the other end. The voice replied, polite yet unerringly precise, as though observing a ritual. “It is understood A.R.K is on his way to your position.”
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As the vox fell silent again, an uneasy anticipation filled the cabin. The civilians murmured quietly, daring to hope. Callex tightened his grip on his bolter, scanning the darkness outside. Ambrosius muttered a prayer under his breath, the glow of his faith unbroken but his eyes sharp with vigilance.
Then, a strange ripple crossed the void outside their viewports.
Outside the Thunderhawk, the stars themselves seemed to distort, shifting and elongating as a strange light filled the darkness. A storm began to coalesce, a churning mass of dense clouds and electric-blue lightning, swirling as though the very fabric of reality were peeling open. In the eye of the storm, a massive form began to emerge, silhouetted against the swirling energies.
Slowly, with deliberate grace, a colossal ship materialized, casting a shadow that blotted out even the vastness of space around it. Its form was unlike any Imperial vessel the marines had seen—a sleek, angular behemoth that stretched on for kilometers, crowned with towering fins and shielded by thick, reinforced armor. The ship was massive—its length, according to the scanner, spanned nearly sixty kilometers.
Ambrosius stared, his voice filled with a mix of awe and caution. “By Vulkan’s forge… what manner of ship is this?”
Callex leaned closer to the viewport, eyes narrowed. “It is not of the Imperium,” he murmured. “No marks of allegiance to the Emperor… nor any sign of heretical corruption.”
The civilians pressed to the other viewports, staring wide-eyed at the leviathan that loomed before them. The sight was terrifying yet captivating, a revelation of power and control that was beyond even the might of the Imperium’s fleet.
Suddenly, the vox sparked to life again, and the same calm, mechanized voice spoke once more.
“A.R.K has arrived. Prepare for docking. You will be taken to Docking Bay 3.”