Warhammer 40000

Hi all!

I am translating a very unusual novel into English. The action takes place in the wh40k universe, but the plot is conspiracy theological. Anyone interested in this topic, please rate how readable my English is.

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One-One, the First Captain of the First Company of the XII Legion, heeded the latest order from the Primarch, bowing before his majestic hologram. The image was transmitted by the hololithic axis of the flagship's basilica, making Angron as towering as the interior space of the ten-mile-long "Eisenwolf." He stood tall like the gods of a bygone era, for he was almost a god himself.

The right gauntlet of the First Captain rested against his breastplate, tightly pressed against the area of his main heart, while the left gauntlet gripped the command crozius on his thigh, like on the hilt of a sword. Kneeling on one knee, One-One seemed petrified, resembling the great heroes of ancient sculptures, reflecting the grim history of the Legion, standing in prayer niches and reliefs of the basilica.

The armor of the heroes recreated in stone was black, symbolizing the completion of honorable service, while the armor of the First Captain in hololithic light turned bright red. It was so old that it remembered the times when armor was made to last forever, and reflecting an ancient technological era, the ceramite plates were covered in the toughest red enamel. Worn by holy oils and incense, the enamel gleamed crimson, as if blood freshly shed by the Planetary Lords had just permeated it.

In exposed areas, the surface was chipped, the ceramite covered in a network of cracks, and the metal beneath them was dented from point-blank shots. The pauldrons and equally massive knee pads were a field of scratches, their edges polished to a shine by war and time.

The technological lamellae on the armor segments, small and rounded, shimmered particularly. During ceremonies of homage to the tech-priests, the holy screws had to be twisted many times, unlocking the pneumatic locks and allowing access to the local altars to perform the necessary rites and masses. After thousands of rituals of devout reverence, the sacred lamellar steel gleamed like chrome. It was adorned with forbidden ancient symbols, the meanings of which no one remembered anymore.

The hololithic image of the Primarch, transmitted by hololiths, rose in the central nave of the assault cruiser like a fiery monument, casting its radiance upon the columns, walls, and deck of the basilica, wrought from iron blacker than anthracite. Angron was clad in dark attire, loosely draped over his armor, and the hood of a wide cloak pulled over his eyes concealed his face, resembling a monk's cowl. The Primarch SPOKE:

...Bound by the hidden chain, the Ancient Great One slumbers in his Starry Abode, dreaming of what will inevitably come to pass when He awakens. He is bound in this very long slumber by those who hold the space woven by the evil gods of hell - an invisible web from which their immortality is spun.

But one day, the walls of this space will crumble, and the sealed gates will swing open. This will happen when the Dark Stars mark the time of His arrival, when their life lines intersect. Then He must fully awaken.

He will make the foundations of star systems tremble, for they cannot withstand His overwhelming power. Armed with vengeful claws, He will vanquish the feeble gods. And then their suns will dim, and the space they built will crumble, plunging billions of worlds into darkness....

At the moment of the transmission of the message from the flagship of the XII, the command battleship of Angron was in the deepest depths of the Abyss of Terror, in a well of Nothingness where squadrons of ships and fleets were drawn like leaves caught in the whirlwinds of a mighty storm. There, the hands of time were confined, and not even the lightest breeze dared whisper.

The message traversed the Warp for more than ten thousand years, and the hologram rippled with interference, causing the entire space of the cruiser's axial cathedral to shudder under the thunderous voice of Angron. The miles-long steel deck, rows of iron columns, and hidden transepts shrouded in shadow trembled and vibrated with each word of Angron, as if under the onslaught of the pounding waves from cannon shots:

....The galaxy is inhabited by the headless, and for this, it will mourn its fate, while the abode of the gods on Terra will be utterly desolate. The Ancient Great One will strip the serpent skin from Earth, and the flesh and souls of the servants of the cast-off gods will be cast into the abyss of perdition, where eternal life awaits them in the scalding pitch pits.

So bow your heads before those who speak to you in the tongues of the Dark World, for the world of light is cursed and enslaved by the gods for eternity. The favorites of the Great Ancient have long lived among you, and He will summon them with the voice of a thousand thunders.

Opening the eyes in the darkness to everyone who has eyes, He will appear fearsome and merciless, desiring to kill His captors, the puny creatures, as much as possible....

Projected by hololiths, Angron looked upon the One-One as if from the heavens, causing the entire axial cathedral, stretching through half the length of the ten-mile-long "Steel Wolf," to vibrate. At least, that's what was written on the ship's boards.

The hypnotic implantation endowed the XII Legion with mastery of many languages common in the galaxy, yet nothing could rid the legionnaires of the Visigoth accent, let alone make them abandon many familiar words. Therefore, for all the legionnaires of the XII, the “Steel Wolf” was “Eisenwolf”, carrying this glorious name from
the long-gone shipyards that built it.

For the past ten millennia, it had also borne the Word of Angron, rolling through the entire galaxy with epic thunder. In every sector, near every visited world of the Imperial realm, the "Eisenwolf" became the epicenter and primary source of terrifying events, subjugating the chosen system to Angron's will.

Ten millennia ago, the Primarch devised this plan, which the Grand Captain of the Expeditionary Legion fully executed. But now, instead of the Primarch solemnly greeting his "Steel Wolf," Angron appeared on the "Eisenwolf" only as a holographic projection, and there were no further news of him.

As asserted by the First Magos of the Machine God, the message itself had been wandering in the depths of the Warp for almost ten thousand years, traversing unimaginable wave corridors, and now the One-One had no idea what it all meant and what to do with it.

Interpreting the unusual message-order from the Primarch required guidance, perhaps even advice. And aboard the "Eisenwolf," there was only one person who could provide that advice.

About 20 chapters are freely available at the link.

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