Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

- Your Holiness. – Stas was examining the dozen women who had dropped to their knees before him with a strange expression on his face. As soon as they saw Ordyntsev's wings, they froze, staring at him with wide eyes. 

The scene was taking place in his residence, so the area was respectfully guarded by an honor guard of Blood Angels. Their Captain, Anderson Cole, had won the underground power struggle against other contenders, which was why only his fighters were assigned to guard Stas. This, of course, infuriated the other factions of the Crusade. 

Ordyntsev himself couldn't care less about who was hanging around him. The only thing that slightly concerned him was the aesthetic aspect, and the imposing armor of the Angels was to his liking. 

Right now, another group of hopefuls had come to pay their respects to Stanislav, eager to join his doomed march to death. 

Looking at the Battle Sisters, who had been sent by the Ecclesiarchy to join the Crusade, Stas couldn't help but think: *"They looked better in the pictures."* 

No, logically, Ordyntsev understood perfectly well that women and girls who had undergone the most brutal training, hardened by dozens, if not hundreds of wars, wouldn't look like top models from magazine covers. 

It was also obvious that the beauties he had seen back on Earth wouldn't be able to instill the fear of the Emperor into the troops of heretics and mutants with just their appearance. 

He knew that the artists who created Warhammer "art" wouldn't depict the true appearance of the Battle Sisters, so as not to traumatize their audience. 

However, knowing something and seeing it with your own eyes were two different things. 

Stas coughed and adjusted his collar, feeling the last remnants of his rose-tinted glasses being mercilessly crushed. 

To the Sisters' credit, it wasn't that they were ugly. After all, medicine in Warhammer was quite advanced, even at the field level. 

But they couldn't be called beautiful either—unless, of course, you were a fan of scars, broken, healed, and re-broken noses, short hair, square jaws, and icy, piercing eyes. 

Though the latter certainly didn't apply to Stas himself. 

At this moment, Ordyntsev was being devoured by the adoring gazes of ten muscular, hard-as-nails women. Despite their heavy power armor and the numerous pages of Church texts detailing their heroic deeds, these women looked like children who had just entered a toy store and seen the best toy of their lives. 

Stas's feelings at that moment were indescribable. 

- Ahem. – Stas coughed loudly, as the awkward silence dragged on for too long. – I'm glad to welcome you as well. 

- Ah! – The Canoness leading the delegation had a spark of realization in her eyes, quickly replaced by embarrassment. 

In one swift motion, she jumped to her feet and stood at attention in front of Stas. Behind her, the other nine Battle Sisters did the same. 

- I beg your forgiveness, Your Holiness, for my behavior! I do not deserve forgiveness, but seeing you here, on Holy Terra, is so pleasant and joyful that I completely lost myself in my thoughts! 

- It's nothing, – Stas forced a smile, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under the intense gazes of ten female versions of Arnold Schwarzenegger from his Terminator days. – I assume you have something to say to me? 

- Indeed! I am Canoness Victoria Lester of the Order of the Burning Chalice. And our Order is ready to follow you, Holy One, wherever you go, to spread HIS word to all! 

Ordyntsev suppressed his first instinctive urge to massage the bridge of his nose. 

- The path with me is not an easy one, – Stas squinted, giving the women a piercing look. – I would even say that following me is the same as marching to your death. You might be destroyed in the first battle, or you might survive until the second. Anyone who wishes to follow me must be prepared to die. These are not pretty words, but a fact.

- We are ready! – roared the Canoness, filled with inspiration by the Saint's words. – It is the greatest honor to die in the name of the Emperor! What is the point of living without a purpose if you can die for one! It is an honor to follow you. 

- Command will be solely mine or those I appoint, – Stas made one last, desperate attempt. – The wishes of the Ecclesiarchy will have no bearing on this Crusade. You will do as you are told. 

- We are ready. – repeated the two-meter-tall Canoness, her gaze devouring him, and Ordyntsev finally surrendered, realizing he had lost. 

***** 

Somewhere in the backwaters of the galaxy, in the Warp.

- How could this be?! – The black-and-white space was torn apart by an explosion of unprecedented power, then crumpled like a sheet and thrown aside. – Am I some kind of joke to you?! 

In the center of the black void floated something. It was an incredibly angry mass of pure contradictions, embodying Chaos's desire for its own destruction. 

A living, yet not living paradox, whose sole purpose was to destroy the other Chaos Gods, his brothers. 

And now he had learned that one of them was dead. Most importantly, without any involvement on his part! 

Reality shuddered once more. 

The fifth, now fourth, Chaos God, Malal, was in a state of depression. 

At the same time, Malal was terrified that this damned human might kill the other Gods while he wasn't looking! 

Making a deal with that human had been the worst decision of his entire existence! 

***** 

- Your Holiness, the fleet is ready to jump. – Admiral Russell Hardy, who was standing next to Stas, addressed him politely. He had been appointed to command the vast array of ships that made up the fleet of the new Crusade. 

- Begin preparations for the jump. Destination – Armageddon. – The calm, melancholic voice of the Saint made Russell grin predatorily. As he had heard, Armageddon would provide reinforcements, further increasing their combat capability. 

Even now, their fleet was a terrifying sight. The Imperium hadn't assembled such a powerful and numerous fleet in a long time. And if they added the ships stationed at Armageddon, Hardy would practically become the admiral of the most dangerous fleet in the entire Imperium! 

Could someone like him have ever dreamed of such a thing? 

Russell Hardy had needed only one audience with the Saint to realize with relief that Saint Stanislav, unlike many other high-ranking idiots, wouldn't interfere with his work unnecessarily. 

Russell, having risen to the highest echelons of the Admiralty from the very bottom, had a very, very long experience dealing with superior idiots. In a way, Hardy was an example of how anyone could rise to any position in the Imperial Army. 

And theoretically, this was true. Yes, you could do it if you were simultaneously a genius, as lucky as anyone could be, and lost about half of your body, replaced with mechanical parts. 

Russell tapped his steel feet and looked at the steel nails of his expertly crafted prosthetic hand. 

Hardy had been very surprised when he was chosen for such an important and prestigious position. Yes, theoretically, he had the rank of admiral and commanded a small, but still a fleet. 

However, his fleet was in the ass-end of the galaxy, and he had no prospects of getting even one new ship for his "collection." All his vessels were ancient and heavily battered by wars with damned pirates. 

And though Russell knew it was useless, he spitefully sent his own candidacy to Terra. 

What was his surprise when, a couple of months later, he received a positive response?! 

As he later found out, all twenty-three candidates for admiral who had been ahead of him had suddenly and unanimously refused for various reasons. Some had their brain implants fail, others had rebellions on their own ships, and others simply disappeared. 

Needless to say, after Hardy learned more about who he was to serve, Russell became the epitome of the best fleet commander in the entire Imperium. He devoted all of his time to organizing the fleet and running it.

After all, he really didn't want to become the twenty-fourth "dropout" admiral. Besides, his soul was warmed by the thought that he had been chosen for such an important task. 

Russell Hardy once again glanced at his new flagship, an Apocalypse-class battleship. 

Hardy's vision darkened at the realization that this embodiment of total war was now entirely at his disposal, ready to do whatever he commanded. 

The Apocalypse belonged to the type of ancient ships whose construction technology had been lost during the Horus Heresy. Because of this, each of these ships was priceless to the Imperium, as they were irreplaceable if lost. 

Russell was afraid to even imagine what kind of influence one had to have to get even one such ship in their fleet. 

Funny enough, the lords rushing to kick the Saint off Terra as quickly as possible couldn't find a suitable flagship in a short time, so they gave up and used the nearest suitable battleship. 

Of course, the Fabricator-General wasn't very happy with this approach, but he still handed over one of the specified battleships. 

The admiral barely restrained himself from once again stroking the flagship's control panel. 

The Apocalypse-class battleship was essentially a "battleship killer." That is, a ship whose purpose was to hunt and destroy the most dangerous, durable, and heavily armed ships in the entire galaxy. 

The main armament of the Apocalypse was rows of terrifying lance batteries installed along both sides of the battleship. These were energy cannons of incredible power, capable of easily piercing even the thick armor of a warship and causing severe damage, or tearing an unshielded escort ship to shreds with a single hit. 

But if the lance batteries were a flaming rapier, striking precisely at the joints of the armor, then the four macro-cannon batteries were an all-crushing hammer, capable of smashing and destroying anyone who dared to duel the Apocalypse. 

And the cherry on top of Admiral Hardy's celebratory cake was, of course, the Nova Cannon, rightfully considered one of the most powerful weapons in the entire Imperial Navy. 

It was mounted under the protected bow and required a certain skill from the captain to aim. There was no weapon comparable to the Nova in power—this high-tech marvel could clear vast volumes of space and hit multiple targets with one precise shot. 

Another "feature" and reason for the love of the Nova was its ability to use various types of ammunition. 

The Nova could fire a whole series of shells, such as plasma shells, warp shells, EM shells, gravity shells, and Doppler shells. 

To summarize everything said earlier, one Apocalypse battleship in skilled hands was easily worth an entire fleet. As part of a full-fledged armada, it was something you never wanted to encounter in space. 

Meanwhile, the preparations for the jump were finally completed, as reported by numerous reports from other ships. 

- Your Holiness? 

- Let's go. 

With a proud smile, Admiral Russell Hardy gave the order, and the fleet of the new Crusade set off to the enthusiastic cries of the inhabitants of Terra.

The rotting, decaying giant corpse of the Imperium shuddered and stirred, alarming all other players. Yes, perhaps the cause was the accumulated gases inside the corpse. 

But what if it wasn't? 

***** 

A full year had passed since the savior of Armageddon had left for Holy Terra, but every inhabitant of the planet knew that sooner or later their savior would return. 

This was further reinforced by the fact that the Saint's army, which had arrived, hadn't gone anywhere, remaining unattended on Armageddon. 

Perhaps someone else, having lost their leadership, would have immediately fallen into disarray and gone off the rails, but the command of the so-called Minor Crusade fervently believed in the return of their master. 

They refused to listen to any attempts to convince them of the leader's death, and such attempts had been made repeatedly. The aristocrats, who knew of the Inquisitor's arrival, had already written off Saint Stas's life, but Ordyntsev's inner circle only laughed at their words. 

While Stas was making the journey to Terra and while he was in stasis under the Inquisitor's residence, each of the Saint's officers did everything in their power to strengthen and expand their master's army. 

Walter Fischer had established connections with every major gang in every hive on Armageddon, recruiting people almost by the regiment. He didn't hesitate to paint a picture of "rivers of milk and banks of jelly," motivating the thugs and cutthroats to join their Crusade. However, as soon as the naive scum, tempted by the loot and money, signed up, he immediately showed them how wrong they were. 

In this endeavor, he was assisted by Father Konstantin. The former, now active priest had captivated the entire planet with his fiery speeches, reaching even the hearts of human scum like murderers and bandits. 

As a result, even if someone wanted to betray Fischer, they would be turned in by their own, who believed Father Konstantin's words about their new, blessed path to the stars. 

Decius Numenorius didn't lag behind his comrades either. Although he had been ousted from the position of Lord-Constable, his tenure had given the general an excellent understanding of politics, which he used to navigate among aristocrats and industrialists, securing tanks and other equipment for the Crusade. 

As a result, a contradictory situation arose where there were two centers of power on the planet. And there would have been big trouble if, after some time, they hadn't received new news. 

"Saint Stas has been fully acquitted and recognized by the Ecclesiarchy as a full-fledged living Saint!" – After this news, the entire planet literally went crazy. 

Despite the fact that most Armageddonians had never seen the Saint in person, somehow they already considered him almost their own. After all, the emergence of a Saint from their homeworld gave planets significant advantages on the political stage. So they could be understood. 

From that day on, much had changed. If the aristocrats had still harbored some hope of victory before, now they were forced to submit and do as they were told. This was finally confirmed with the arrival on Armageddon of all those who hadn't been allowed on Terra but wished to join the new Crusade. 

Moreover, many of these hopefuls had something to offer each other, creating a trading hub that attracted even more ships. 

And now, a year later, they were all preparing to meet the one who had united them all. The one whose desire had changed the fate of many billions, if not trillions, of people. 

The moment the Saint's fleet set off from Terra, preparations began on Armageddon. 

To accommodate all the arrivals, a special, gigantic parade ground and hundreds of roads leading to it had been built. Some of the arrivals had even built small settlements near the parade ground to be the first to arrive. 

And here it was, the result. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and adventurers stood on the endless parade ground, holding their breath and looking up at the black-and-gray, poisoned sky of Armageddon. Far behind them, multi-tiered stands had been erected, filled with thousands of ordinary inhabitants who also wanted to witness the Saint's arrival. 

Hundreds of thousands of gas masks hissed every second, purifying the air and providing the much-needed oxygen. 

A deep, bone-chilling sound echoed across the sprawling concrete monstrosity. 

Everyone knew what it meant: "HE has finally arrived!" 

And indeed. 

Breaking through the heavens, hundreds of Lightning strike fighters of the Imperial Navy descended in precise formations. 

Forming four lines, they activated their smoke dispensers, painting a multicolored "ceiling" in the air above the troops. 

Their arrival was met with the sound of musical trumpets and the united, roaring cheer of the crowd, which quickly fell silent under the commands of the officers. 

As the fighters flew away, the slowly descending dropships appeared. Among them were both regular Aquilas and Thunderhawks, which, as everyone knew, were primarily used by the Adeptus Astartes. 

The ships headed for a specially designated landing zone, and thousands of people craned their necks, eager to fully capture the legendary sight. 

I for my part fulfilled the conditions 3 chapters were released