This Is Our Warhammer Journey

Room after room, one twisted, deformed creation after another, similar to the distortion and fragmentation of the warp, appeared.

They resembled monstrous beasts, yet still bore the outer shell of the material world. Some were like machines, beginning to proliferate flesh after losing their restraints, while others were purely humanoid, rapidly mutating at visible speed once they were freed from their bindings.

“Rameses truly lives up to his medical background.”

Even knowing that creating soulless shells through materialization abilities for experiments was just as commonplace as dissecting lab rats back in his previous life’s medical school, it was still hard to ignore how absurdly dark and twisted the setting in Warhammer 40K was.

But Arthur still felt a degree of physical discomfort.

Those bodies, created by the materialization ability, now occupied by demons, had a real uncanny valley effect.

And this was clearly a sacred act of research, where they were offering their souls to be the teachers of human progress.

Yet, in the end, it became a twisted laboratory for chaos-fueled mad scientists.

Indeed, anything that touches chaos becomes warped.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, a series of experimental projects flashing through his mind.

Rameses had managed to conduct research under such conditions without changing color, having completed so much in less than fifteen days. It truly wasn’t something just anyone could accomplish in med school.

*Zzzzzap—*

The Black Sword glowed with a brilliant blue force field, obliterating the nearest chaos creation.

Arthur sifted through his memories, methodically erasing traces within the area.

Research into chaos and contact with demons were unforgivable crimes in any era of the Imperium.

This was the secret they had to protect.

On the **Nikol** ship, Tyberos and the squad leaders of the battle company surrounded a massive holographic sand table.

At this moment, everyone's gaze was fixed on the edge of the sand table, where a warrior, wearing a skull mask and clutching a long, golden staff, stood.

Teh'kahulangi, the library director of the Devouring Sharks, an ancient warrior who had served the chapter for over a thousand years.

After ending this unusual communication, the team, full of doubt, was forced to seek the necessary help from this librarian, who had led them through countless threats.

The extent of his knowledge was terrifying. Not only did he know the name of the chapter leader, but he was also aware of the title that had never been publicly disclosed.

It seemed he was familiar with their methods as well.

“I was drifting through the warp when I glimpsed what lay ahead—a blank mist. There were no figures in the void, only fragments of death scattered around, with a heavy concentration of fear, disbelief, and the despair of impending death.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Captain Akia muttered, gazing at the two ships embedded into the sand table.

Due to the untraceable fury in his bloodline, Akia wasn’t one for deep contemplation, but even so, he could sense the danger.

This was not a good omen.

“But I also saw a glimmer of hope, an intense gathering of emotions. It was a kind of uplifting mood, with an invisible bond pulling souls that should have perished out from the abyss of death. The gaze of the Void Father was once cast here.”

“How did you see such contradictory visions?” Tyberos, who had worked with Teh'kahulangi for a long time, spoke in surprise.

For someone skilled in prophecy like Teh'kahulangi, he usually didn’t need to use cryptic words like other psykers. He could directly describe snippets of past and future, but not like now.

“Is it because of the unseen force?”

“Mm, it seems the enemy’s library techniques are quite refined, blocking my scrying.”

Teh'kahulangi replied honestly, as he really couldn’t fathom how such a vast blank space appeared in his vision.

Surely, those people couldn’t have no warp projections, right?

“So, what’s our answer?”

Through the porthole, Tyberos could see the flashing lights from the battered strike cruiser.

It was an invitation.

“The answer remains the same.”

Teh'kahulangi opened his eyes.

“We’ll return with full cargo.”

“That’s enough.”

Ignoring the murmurs of the others, Tyberos’ hunger and slaughtering desire shone brightly. He immediately issued his orders.

“Prepare the shuttle. First company stays behind on the flagship. Third company, come with me.”

Tyberos didn’t give up on the idea of squeezing more out of them. At most, if they had difficulties, he would take a little less.

He knew every choice carried its risks, but the Devouring Sharks' fate was always this way. Even if they were in conflict, they had to tear a piece of flesh from their enemies.

Because they never knew when the next piece of flesh would come.

The sharks knew the world wasn’t friendly—heretics, xenos, even the Imperium they protected would never give them a warm welcome.

So they could only fight, only take, discarding honor and reputation to become the most despised raiders in the eyes of others.

Inside the shuttle, all the Devouring Sharks maintained an eerie silence, gripping their broken chainsaw axes and pressing explosive rounds into gun chambers nearly ground flat.

If a challenge was coming, let it come.

But when the shuttle's melta beams tore through the still-closing isolation doors, and the silent warriors rushed down the ramp, they were stunned by the sight before them.

In front of them stood a squadron of fully armored Ironclad Terminators in neat rows. The walls ahead were illuminated by the lights of several massive vehicles, revealing one ancient, powerful war machine after another.

The smell in the air didn’t carry danger—only the scent of food.

Was this what the transmission had referred to as the battered survivors needing rescue?

Something wasn’t right.

“...”

Looking at the mortal soldiers who had lost their balance due to the broken isolation pod, protected by over a dozen Ironclad Terminators, Tyberos expressionlessly retracted his lightning claws.

“Teh'kahulangi!”

His voice carried a tone of complaint.

“I only said we would return with full cargo.”

As if naturally shifting the blame, Teh'kahulangi looked at the dazzling array of vehicles in the hangar, raised his long staff to stabilize the shuttle that was about to charge, and slowly moved in, using his psychic powers to seal the leaking isolation pod.

A look of awe appeared in his gaze as he regarded the Deathwatch Librarian's profound techniques.

Even now, he couldn’t see the slightest glimpse of these warriors' future.

“?”

Rameses, still lost in thought about his research projects, noticed the gaze directed at him, tilting his head in confusion.

“Welcome, brothers of the Devouring Sharks. I am Romulus, the leader of the Deathwatch's kill-team.”

Releasing his grip on Colonel Kovek to maintain balance, Romulus casually introduced himself in fluent High Gothic, seemingly unbothered by the aggressive aura of the Devouring Sharks.

And just like that, the once intimidating Devouring Sharks became visibly more restrained.

“...Hello.”

Looking at Romulus, who, like him, stood unusually tall, Tyberos felt a mix of emotions—like trying to rob a fallen fool, only to end up grabbing the armored car's front end by mistake.

This was a bad turn of events.