40 Thousand Reasons

I admit, I was never interested in prayer, mostly because in my first life it's wouldn't do anything, and here it would also do jack. Blanks were immune to the Warp, so even if some godling wanted to listen I would be exempt.

But glancing at my mangled wrist, I took a leap of faith and decided to listen to the nice Sister.

'Hey Emperor, Pef here. Send a minion and fix my hand, will you? I promise I'll return the favor.' I mumbled in my head, while wishing someone would turn off the damn blinding light.

A golden hand lifted me up in the air, and the pain vanished. So I opened my mouth to say thanks, only to stare at the same Angel from before, now looking rather frayed and full of holes. Must have been a tough fight down there.

His other hand held my wrist in confusion, possibly wondering why the healing wouldn't work.

Of course, as a Warp construct, the Sanguinor was just as powerless as the sorcerer from before. Immune meant immune.

His head turned towards Ludvaius, eye blank and empty, but he could use some kind of mind-link to speak to the Blood Angel anyway.

My Astartes friend rushed to obey, slicing open his palm and offering a blood tribute.

Then that blood swirled and glowed with energy in mid-air, before falling on my left hand like a golden mist.

And then it hurt, for a second.

I must have fainted, because I woke up in a hospital bed, with the Sister from before holding my hand in her own hands, and murmuring a lullaby of some kind. Involving murdering heretics and burning mutants alive.

Very comforting, for someone who was both of those.

"Hello, Sister. Did the angel listen, after all?" I ask curious and retract my hand to examine it.

Although it looks intact now, it also feels foreign and strange. Stronger too, I know that for certain. Must be the glowing veins under the skin.

"What do you mean Captain?" she answers with a frown.

"The wounded ward." I explain politely.

She forms the sign of Aquila with her fingers and nods. "Yes, Lord Pef. All the burned guardsmen have been healed. The ones with mangled limbs were only stabilized and the bleeding stopped by miracle. Your tech-priests told us that bionic limbs will be provided freely to every one of them, as a sign of respect for the angel's deed."

I nod and sigh inward. So even the Sanguinor had limits. Or perhaps he was too tired.

Then I lean on the pillow and focus inward, checking the remembrancer implant for a more accurate recall of those events. However, the angel itself doesn't appear in the recordings. Was a mere a mind alteration?

I'll have to check Canticle's logs and find out.

"Do I still need bed rest?" I wonder out loud. I feel rather great right now.

"... Well, our Curia Advance wants to examine you before you are released. I believe she wants to record your testimony and take samples from the miracle hand." the woman pleaded in a wary voice.

Ludvaius snorts from the side of my bed, seeming amused. "Let's not do that, Captain Pef. You have enough women after you."

It seems funny, but the Sisters of Battle number in the millions. I'd rather not have them following me around like a saint or something.

Thus, I stand up and look around for my clothes, only to find them missing. Classic hospital tactics, but this is my ship. I wrap the bed sheets around me like a toga and walk away, ignoring the outraged look on the Sister's face.

Soon enough, I enter my apartments and embrace my family, who seemed quite relieved to see me. They all check my balls again, for signs of metallic transmutation.

"What were you thinking, my dear husband?" Decima chides me and clenched her fist rather painfully.

I kiss her cheek and nod inward. That stunt was rather foolish. I mean, if there was only the sorcerer it would have work superbly. That brainless Astartes was way too fast and strong for me.

"Lord Pef kicked that traitor in the balls, Lady Decima. Fortunately, that saved his life, because that World_Eater was too shocked at our Lord' balls." Ludvaius explains with an encouraging thumb up.

"... But Astartes don't have balls, right?" my wife asks in confusion.

The veteran Astartes just chuckles and sits on his plasteel chair, his bolter casually pointed at the apartment's door.

My Rose and a single Deathwatch enter, and the Inquisitor runs to check my body for damage, tearing away the modesty sheet. "Lucky bastard." she murmurs as she hugs me tight.

Her own armor is cold and smells of death, but I ignore that. "Decima, please wait outside." I ask in a mild voice.

Rose doesn't wait long to undress and start riding me as fast as she can, releasing tension and making both of us a bit happier.

Sometime later, she draws my chin towards her. "We both lost much and it won't get better, my love. Only the Captain survived from those Scythe guards, and only him from my retinue." she explained pointing her finger towards the door where her own black armored Astartes stood guard.

I feel my heart skip a beat. "Everyone?" I ask in a whisper.

"However, their sacrifice was not in vain. The serpent is dead and the tech-priests have melted the corpse into a vat of boiling adamantium. I aided them with purity seals and so did a few sisters from the Adepta Sororitas. The daemon prince should be contained now." she adds in a grave voice.

I curse out loud and stand up. "Justine, my mother?" I shout in anger.

She just shakes her head.

Damn it! I knew her job was dangerous, but she had escorts and that force field.

"Fleet situation?" I ask as I swallow my pain for later.

"Total naval loses, about 25 percent. On the ground, it's 45 percent loses. Used to be more, but about 5 percent have recovered and are returning to the regiments. Nearly 10 percent injured guardsmen await bionic limb and organ replacements." Rose says in a dispassionate tone.

Good enough, some might say. I mean, it's the worst campaign on my record, but even so it makes me look like a genius compared to the Army's glory hounds or suicidal Admirals.

My guts yearn for revenge though. In a minute, I find a backup uniform and head towards the bridge.

While I was resting, the fleet has resupplied and rearmed the consumables, the shields have been restored and the fighter pilots got to rest as well.

Victor pats my shoulder for comfort as I sit in the Captain chair. "Avenge her, dad." he whispers in a grieving voice.

Don't worry son.

I check with the Canticle's Machine Spirit for an update on the system's map, and begin setting new targets. There are 3 Chaos battleships left, and 11 battlecruisers. I still have 3 vortex torpedoes and 23 vortex missiles. More than enough.

Once the heavy ships are gone, Estaban and its allies will have a field day with the remaining traitors.

"Form up, Lancefire ships! Pattern Delta, and don't be frugal with munitions. Let's send these bastards back to Hell!" I proclaim on our fleet wide vox channel.

In an hour, the special munitions are prepared, and 30 corvettes in bad shape are diverted towards Estaban. It's true that Warp-capable ships cannot land or even maintain bombardment altitude for more than a minute.

But corvettes are also cheap and expendable.

We depart from our hidden position behind the moon and accelerate, our vector taking us towards the right flank of the Chaos fleet, and slightly below their orbital plane, just enough to avoid the firing arcs of their main batteries.

Instead, all our batteries can fire without obstruction, in a similar method once used by German fighters attacking bomber formations.

It is total surprise for the Enemy, as they maintained a battle line to confront the defenders and their orbital forts.

One by one, Chaos escorts and cruisers blow up under concentrated barrages of torpedoes, lance batteries or macrocannons. Then a chaos battlecruiser start turning its broadside towards us, a bit too late. A vortex missile detonates its warhead just under the ship's engine, shearing them off and exposing its unarmored backside to the Mechanicus fleet and the Astartes Barges.

A thousand lances strike the warp rift and the battlecruiser and boom it goes.

My fleet passes under and keeps firing, forcing more and more Chaos ships to turn and engage us. But one of five traitor ships cannot keep up with hundreds of corvettes and my other ships.

Like a forest fire, we scour and purge the heretics with our thrice-blessed weapons, til we encounter another battlecruiser which we also slice in two with a vortex missile.

These Warp rift weapons are truly fantastic, though much too rare to be used often. I heard the Mechanicus somehow siphons the warp energy from dying stars to make these expensive weapons.

We lose some space fighters, but we keep going.

Another battlecruiser blows up, and we reach the big uglies, the 3 battleships that hold the center, and 9 battlecruisers escorting them. Well, 8 such ships now.

The Chaos battleships are not exactly maneuverable, and cannot stop the vortex torpedoes that I fire before I turn our fleet away and start accelerating.

Back on the ground, 30 hardened positions with Void shield deflectors and Chaos Titans get a surprise orbital drop, each receiving a warm salute from our plunging corvettes.

They could have lasted years of bombardment from a corvette's meager weapons, but mass is mass. The Void shields are powerless to stop our sacrificial ships and pop like balloons.

In a meteor-like impacts those 30 traitor armor regiments including the Titans are vaporized in cataclysmic explosions, just as in orbit 3 battleships suffer a catastrophic reality check with my vortex torpedoes.

"Estaban, my fleet will be re-arming and coming about for another run." I explain politely as the defense fleet struggles to contain the Warp rifts and close them, before all the Immaterium arrives at the party.

"...Err. I think you did enough, Lord Pef. Leave us something to do, and not involving vortex warheads." the Fabricator General answers in a slightly horrified voice.

Okay then. No more nice warheads. At least not today.