Day 14
Two weeks.
That was all it had taken for Tide to go from less than a hundred humans in biomass to nearly four million. And the vast majority of that biomass was gained passively, just from waiting for people to die.
Hive cities were insane, but the Flood was even crazier.
Around half of that biomass was combined into a single Gravemind. And there were more arriving all the time. While he took no joy from letting so many people die, he couldn't help but feel a sense of giddiness at the sheer rate of growth.
There was so much, yet it was not overwhelming to him in the slightest. His mind's growing power was more than equal to the task of managing the rest of his Flood forms.
And, his growth had not remained confined within Malum. A day prior, Tide had recognized the telltale feeling of Flood spores growing in an area outside of his single hive. The city of Dolus, one of the three cities connected to Malum via transit systems. The fragmented knowledge he had stolen from Vra'kzil had confirmed a PDF trooper had been kidnapped and taken by the cultists for the purposes of the soul reading, though the methods they used to enter the hive weren't something the daemon cared enough about to know. The fact that the cultists had apparently slipped past the Imperium's wardens was not surprising, but Tide had not noticed their operations within his city either.
Fortunately, he'd likely have the knowledge of those cultists responsible, as they had been among the first infected by their kidnappee.
In the meantime, his growing biomass allowed him to spread himself further than ever before, even ignoring his Gravemind's continuous journey into the depths of the hive. His deepest tendrils had found ancient secrets of Malum. Geothermal generators, easily millennia old. Massive pieces of industrial equipment, old yet mostly intact. And, perhaps most astonishing of all, factories that were designed with some actual thought given towards work safety standards.
That last one gave him a very good idea of the age of this section of the hive. Much of the equipment was rusted and falling apart, but the intact pieces were even more advanced than what was used above. Some were so strange that, even with the knowledge of those Mechancius members he'd acquired, he had no idea what they were. Such things could just as easily be the equivalent of a futuristic plasma screen tv as it could be a part of some kind of black hole generator or something. He simply didn't have the needed knowledge to even guess at their functions, especially as damaged as they were.
For the most part, he left such parts of the hive undisturbed, in case one of the scrapheaps was a forgotten black hole generator. The factories though, the factories he could use.
His shifters and tendrils scoured and cleared away the debris and broken detritus that filled the assembly lines. Specially crafted shifters took the place of assembly arms, wound the gears by hand and made almost everything move. Not every task could be performed by Flood forms, however. For those cases, power lines from broken down generators were diverted to the facilities, their energy sources repaired with what could be scavenged. Corners were cut, places where flesh could replace machine were altered accordingly, and all of it was carefully monitored by a portion of his intelligence.
If a Tech-Priest had seen what Tide was doing, they'd have cried, though it would be a toss-up if they were tears of joy or horror.
A dozen such factories were repaired in such a way, machines that had lain undisturbed for centuries grinding into motion, forges that had not burned in thousands of years igniting as promethium was poured into them. There were mistakes, of course. Some machines had not survived the years as well as he'd thought and had to be repaired or replaced, some gears had chipped or broken and gone unnoticed during his first look around. And, for whatever reason, some machines just wouldn't start, no matter how he tried to fix them and had to be outright replaced.
Regardless of the setbacks, he was able to coordinate the reconstruction perfectly and he had a vast area to scavenge for spare parts, allowing him to never run low on resources. When the work was finally completed, twelve ancient factories were operational once more.
For now, the factories would be dedicated towards building autoguns, their ammunition, and basic sets of flak armor for his Puppets. While there were issues with autoguns, especially in terms of logistics when it came to having enough ammunition while lightyears away from the nearest factory, he would not have to deal with those any time soon. They were cheap and effective and only needed common materials to manufacture. The weapons would be mimicries of those commonly utilized by the PDF and the flak armor would be similar as well. If he needed to have his forces move in the open, and he likely would in the near future, he'd rather they appeared to be normal planetary forces over monstrous pure forms.
Combined and running at full tilt, the factories would produce enough equipment to kit out a few thousand Puppets each day as long as they had the scrap to break down and use. A relatively small number given he had over a million that needed such equipment, but he would not be restraining himself to these twelve facilities. Already, he was searching out others to expand his industrial base. While he doubted he would be able to produce enough to match his biomass growth rate, he could damn well try.
In time, he'd likely alter the manufacturing to other weapons. Las-weaponry was effective and ubiquitous, it wouldn't be too difficult to produce them in large numbers once he had more plants that could be dedicated to things like refining crystals for the focus lenses required for the weapon's construction. He was limited in what he could produce for the moment, however, by lack of the needed industry, knowledge, and resources.
Hopefully, time would be able to solve all these issues.
Wyll screamed devoted words of praise to the Four-Armed Emperor as his butcher's knife tore through the stomach of the non-believer, cackling as he reached through the folds of shredded skin and took hold of the man's stomach, pulling it free with mad glee. He held the gruesome trophy above his head, blood and viscera staining his rags and skin.
Tossing the guts and his knife aside, he reached down and ripped free the autogun from the dead PDF trooper's twitching fingers, ignoring the slickness of the blood that covered it. The moment his knife clattered to the ground, another of the faithful, one with no weapon of their own, plucked it up and charged forward, screaming similar prayers.
Wyll raised the autogun and unleashed a hail of slugs into the melee that had formed from the charge, not caring if he hit friend or foe. Others who had acquired similar weapons to him did the same. Screams of pain were intermixed with the cries of adulation for the Four-Armed Emperor and the markedly quieter prayers to the so-called God-Emperor. Wyll fired more slugs in the direction of wherever he heard such blasphemies.
He felt the approach of the Blessed Ones before he heard or saw them, the feeling of zeal within him building to a frothing madness. Their bestial screeches were glorious war cries to his ears, their claws scratching against metal and rockcrete the holy sound of death approaching. They arrived, scrabbling across the ground or along the walls on all six of their limbs. They leapt with greater strength than any mortal could possess, each of the Pure a comet that struck like a sacred smiting. With the glinting flash of each of their claws, armor and flesh was shredded in equal measure, the blood forming pools at their taloned feet.
Wyll and the rest of the cultists armed with autoguns did not dare fire, could not dare risk harming one of these beautiful servants of the Sky Gods as they performed the work of the Four-Armed Emperor. In a matter of moments, the chokepoint that they had sent body after body into was taken, its defenders butchered.
Already, the Blessed Ones were moving on, onwards to the next battle, to the next line that they would break. Wyll felt the call of the Four-Armed Emperor, felt it demand his service and he gave it gladly. He had not slept in two days, had not eaten in three and had not even seen a drop of water in four. The Four-Armed Emperor understood that the mortals who worshipped them were not perfect beings like it. It permitted them a shadow of the glory that would come with the descent of the Sky Gods, a feast that would empower them.
The cultists descended upon the dead and dying with the same zealous fervor with which they had fought the living, tearing apart friend and foe with rabid ferocity. They devoured flesh, drank blood, and took whatever provisions their defeated enemy had possessed.
In minutes, the dead were stripped clean of flesh and armor, meat and ammunition, organs and equipment. The call came and – joyous day! They were even to be given time to rest after feeding! Truly, theirs was a merciful Emperor!
Wyll collapsed where he stood in freshly acquired flak armor, still slick with the blood of its previous owner. His eyes shut and the exhaustion set in within moments, sending him into a deep sleep.
He would awake when the Four-Armed Emperor called to him and the others.
Purilla sat in her room, kneeling before her idol of the God-Emperor, hands clasped together. She uttered prayers, as she did every night before resting, asking the God-Emperor to forgive her for her mutation, her sickness, her weakness. For Him to give her His strength and provide His protection from the Ruinous Powers. Yet, for the first time she could remember, she did not mean a word of it. For the first time, as her body performed the rites and her lips mouthed the words with a performance born from decades of practice, her mind went elsewhere. It went to the Tide. It went to its words.
Breathe deep and we will speak more.
The words remained so clear in her memory it was as though she was hearing them for the first time every time she recalled them. A single, simple directive. Inhale Organism-04. She could not say how the organism was connected to the Tide, if it was some kind of psychic marker or a part of that strange entity. Regardless, she had to do it.
No, not had to. She was choosing to do this. Choosing to take that step. It was the first real choice she had made in a long time. The thought both invigorated her… and terrified her.
The issue was that getting access to such spores was easier said than done. Regardless of what Purilla or Vidriov said or how harmless and even beneficial Organism-04 appeared, Ellen would never allow it to 'infect' her. And Purilla could not simply volunteer, not without drawing questions and suspicion, especially given her recent psychic contact with the mind of one infected.
She knew she was under surveillance. It was never said, but she knew Ellen well enough that it was obvious that she was being watched. Ellen likely wasn't even slightly suspicious that Purilla had been corrupted in some way, just performing what she thought was her duty.
She forced her face to not twitch in amusement at the idea. If the Inquisitor only knew, Ellen would likely say she had been corrupted by the psychic contact. In a way, it was even true.
Even if she wasn't under constant watch, she couldn't simply walk into Vidriov's laboratory and borrow a vial of Organism-04 or pop inside one of the cells where his experiments rested.
She could kill them. The thought was unbidden, but she did not dismiss it as quickly as she once would have. She'd considered Ellen and Vidriov, not as friends, but as something close to it once. Yet now, the thought of simply ending their lives was difficult to ignore, not that she really tried.
It would be relatively easy. They met quite frequently and usually it was only the three of them. She could end them both with a thought, build pressure in their skulls until they exploded. If they weren't expecting it, she'd manage it without much difficulty.
Could she fight through the Tempestus Scions that were never far from the Inquisitor? Maybe. Certainly, she could kill any of the so-called guards the planetary governor kept around, if they even tried to stop her. But then there would be the other tech-priests in Vidriov's laboratory, who could be as dangerous as the Scions if they wished, more even. Not to mention whatever forces they brought in. The chapel of the Sisters of the Cleansing Rains was not far from the governor's palace.
No, she could not manage that much. She was strong, but her talents did not lie in combat as much as they did in her ability to read a person. She could not overcome so many arrayed against her, even with the element of surprise.
Could she construct a situation where she became infected 'accidentally'? A cracked vial, a broken seal in a breathing filter? She was known to occasionally frequent Vidriov's labs, so it wouldn't be out of place for her to happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In such a situation, she'd almost certainly be detained. Depending on how big of a security risk Ellen thought she was, Purilla might even be executed. Was the risk worth it?
Yes, she decided immediately. Absolutely. Freedom was worth any price.
But was there another way? If she died, what use would she be to the Tide? To the universe? There had to be a way. She wished she could speak to it again, ask its advice on this matter.
Perhaps there was a way? If she could read another of those changed by Organism-04, perhaps she could find her way into the Tide's realm once more. However, doing that would require her entering the Warp again. Once had been risky enough, a second time might very well be the damnation of her. And, if daemons were to read her mind, she might reveal the Tide, might reveal its plan to save and protect the universe.
Such a thing could not be allowed to happen!
But what other ways were there?
Purilla thought long into the night. When her prayers were finished, she entered her bed, but her mind was not at rest. Questions lingered on. What could she do?
She had no answer by the time sleep finally took her.
Ellen studied the map of Enyo, but her glare did not change the facts. They were losing. Badly.
The PDF of Enyo was clearly not as competent as Malum's. The Guard regiments she was deploying there were still in preparation. She'd thought she could rely on the local troopers to defend the hive city for at least a few days!
The Genestealers clearly already had a presence in Enyo before their attack. There were too many coincidences, too many areas of sabotaged equipment, too many missing officers. These were the clear indications of either massive incompetence or infiltration. She suspected a mix of both, much to her fury.
She knew what the southern nobles whispered. That she was a parasite, stealing away their forces at a time where they were desperately needed elsewhere. Those arrayed against her would only take the loss of Enyo as proof. No mention would be made that the force she'd taken were also desperately needed elsewhere in the Imperium. More specifically, at Evrak.
She couldn't afford a two-fronted war against Genestealers and rebels. Ten million guardsmen were not enough to hold a hive world.
Perhaps if she were to utilize Organism-04… No. She could not. Would not. There were too many risks. In defeating one foe, she might be giving the reigns of power over all Monstrum to another hidden enemy.
But if the alternative was giving it to the genestealers…
She shook her head free of the thoughts, focusing once more on the holoprojection before her. The reported numbers of Genestealer forces varied wildly and she suspected the cowards of the local PDF had inflated the numbers to explain why they constantly made 'strategic withdrawals'. If she had a proper force of Commissars…
The Genestealers had taken the outer city with a vicious assault that had wiped away the paltry defense of the local PDF, which had still been moving into defended positions when the first hordes had arrived. Crazed cultists, armed with nothing but pieces of scrap and scavenged weapons, who had thrown themselves in a heretical rage at Enyo's defenders and on the populous as well.
The mutants had come next, breaking any areas of resistance not swept away by the initial tidal wave of bodies with shock tactics, slaughtering millions within hours. After the outer edges were the spires, which had been given more time to raise their defenses. The spires were not so easily taken and had stood for more than a day so far, but she was not able to get a clear picture of how long such a defense would stand. The PDF was not as coordinated as the guard, nor did it have the same communication capabilities.
Still, the best she could hope for was a few weeks before the hive was taken. In the meantime, she'd already ordered the defenders of Whiro, the city directly north of Enyo that connected to it across the Barren Lands, to begin building up their defenses around their transit stations. With luck, she could have eight regiments of the Guard deployed there soon to either guard Whiro and the northern hives against the Genestealers or even push them out of Enyo altogether. With Malum being the only other city they could reach from their transit systems, she could turn Organism-04 into an anvil and make the Hammer of the Imperium live up to its name.
That is, if nothing else came up.
