Could we promise them the Navigator Genome Selective Breeding tech within the next 5 years then? Kesar's known as a genius at both biology and Warptech after all, so the Voice of the Mechanicum could confirm it's within our ability.
Nick brought up a point, "That's more something Roboute or Euten might say" and I thought, "You know, it wouldn't out of character to have Kesar suggest this idea to her at the Consilium and let her bring it up. You know, just a little nudge.
That is something you could do, although do keep in mind the members of the Consilium are rather intelligent, and may see behind the curtain so to speak.
That is something you could do, although do keep in mind the members of the Consilium are rather intelligent, and may see behind the curtain so to speak.
Orbán's unique gift was a silent force within him, a reservoir of tranquility that shielded him from the chaos that typically accompanied military operations. While others succumbed to doubt and second-guessed every decision, Orbán exuded an unwavering calm, a confidence that everything was aligning according to his design.
In the unpredictable theater of war, where control was an elusive concept, commanders often misinterpreted the chaos as a reflection of their shortcomings. Orbán, however, perceived it differently—a mere inconvenience to his strategic prowess. Even the formidable task of landing an invasion force on the heavily guarded grounds of the Imperial Palace on Terra failed to ruffle his composure.
As the mission unfolded, Orbán's confidence remained unshaken, bolstered by the semblance of order amidst the setbacks. Eli's deviation from the plan to infiltrate a secure location and Soroya's clandestine plotting were minor disturbances on the grand chessboard of his strategy. Such disruptions were inconsequential; Orbán's focus remained resolutely on the ultimate goal of success.
The element of surprise, a crucial ally in his conquest, persisted despite the occasional hiccups. Even the looming threat of a coup from Van Sterk, should Orbán falter, failed to inject anxiety into his stoic demeanor. In Orbán's mind, success was not just an option but an inevitability, a predestined outcome that his calm, calculated demeanor projected onto the unfolding chaos.
As Orbán's calm radiated through the command center, his subordinates couldn't help but steal glances at him, who only really knew him as the enigmatic and infamous Skullface, who puffed on a cigar and savored a glass of scotch while scrutinizing the intricate details of the battle map, seemingly unworried about the battle ahead.
There had been plenty of rumors about Orbán around his abilities and demeanor, with some speculating that his calm but otherwise intimidating presence was a deliberate misdirection, a psychological ploy to motivate the troops. However, the truth was simpler—Orbán preferred a relaxed stance before battle extended to his closest confidant. The pain that often wracked Orbán's body left little room for unnecessary tension, and a final indulgence in a cigar and a drink seemed fitting before undertaking what amounted to an act of treason.
"Get me fleet-wide," Orbán directed the ship's executive officer on the Bladed Sojourner. The imminent assault on Terra was drawing near, and now, as they approached the crucial juncture, Orbán sensed it was time to address the troops. Less than a day away from Terra, the fleet was on the cusp of launching an assault on the Luna outposts and defense lines—an attack that would signal something was "wrong" to the garrison and local defenders.
"Is that a good idea, general?" One of his former apprentices, Colonel Helen Mckenzie, spoke up as she finished reviewing her part in this operation, "A vox transmission of that size will be noticed by the local defense forces."
Orbán scoffed, "By the time they hear it, our ships will already be firing on the defense platforms on Luna. It doesn't matter anymore." It was not like anyone hadn't noticed the size of his fleet already. He suspected a few were quietly raising alarms for all the good that did them.
After a brief wait, the XO reported that the transmission was ready to be sent out. In the tense moments before the storm, Orbán addressed the forces under his command, his voice cutting through the quiet anticipation. "Now hear this. This is Lord-Commander Orbán Vilmo speaking. As of two weeks ago, you have all received instructions and orders from your commanding officers regarding the nature of this mission. Some of you may still believe this is a training exercise. Unfortunately, I assure you that is not the case. Look out a window now, and you'll see where we are. This is not a drill or exercise. This is what you think it is."
Orbán paused to let that sink in, "Many of you will be asking yourself why we are doing this or are afraid that they will be labeled as traitors for this. I cannot in good conscience lie to you: unless we win here, we will all be branded as traitors. But I will gladly bear that title if it means stopping the Lord Millitant's plan being unleashed upon the Imperium."
"I have committed many evils in my time as a soldier." Orbán admitted, "Too many to count, and while I loath to cloak myself in righteousness, I shall not deny that to you all. Victory here puts a stop to a crisis in the making. A nightmare that this galaxy has not seen since the Age of Strife. What you do here today will preserve the lives and sanity of your loved ones, your worlds, and your dignity. And if we fail here…then we will not live to see this nightmare unfold. That is our only solace in defeat."
"Make no mistake, this will not be an easy battle. We are about to invade one of the important locations in the known galaxy. Yet you will stand shoulder to shoulder alongside men and women who are prepared to do what is just and right for those who shall never know your name but your deeds. Take solace in that."
"Good luck, and may the fates favor us all. I will see you all on the ground."
An hour after that little transmission, Orbán's fleet began their attack run on Luna. They quickly knocked out Somnus Citadel and much of the surrounding orbital defense grid. Even with an hour of preparation, the local defenders moved at a snail's pace. However, their failures were Orbán's gain in this instance.
A coded message reverberated through Terra and much of Sol: "Execute, execute, execute." The trigger had been pulled, and the coup unfolded in earnest. Within two hours, millions of transports and aircraft descended upon the Imperial Palace, a relentless tide that left no room for retreat. The die was cast, a reality that weighed heavily on Orbán's awareness.
"General, we have a transmission from the Imperial Palace." With a pensive look, Helen remarked, "Think they might be calling for a surrender?"
Orbán chuckled, dismissing the notion, "Hardly. Eli won't go down without a fight. That was something I taught all of you." Approaching the command console, he grabbed a comms headset.
"Let's see what he has to say." A nod to the communications operative signaled to put him through to the other side. Within seconds, a familiar voice echoed in his ear.
"Orbán,"
"Eli."
"Just what the hell are you doing?" Orbán could hear the anger in Eli's voice. He had been caught completely surprised by this invasion, no doubt.
"Stopping you from making a huge mistake," Orbán remarked as he looked over the battle map. The first wave of troop transports was already landing on the outer palisades of the palace, "This is the part where I make some great speech or some grandiose demand, but I won't bother and just be straightforward. Surrender yourself to my forces, and you will be treated fairly until a trial can be held."
Orbán thought he heard a strangled cough of disbelief before Eli's voice returned, "You are making such a mistake…"
"Perhaps." Orbán admitted as he looked at Helen, "But I'd be making a bigger one by not committing to this."
"Just tell me one thing. Were you already planning this even when we met at the sit-down?"
"Yes." Orbán answered without remorse or hesitation, "I went there to make you see reason, but you left me no choice."
"I thought it would be Van Sterk that would try her luck."
"She is, but also against me."
"Figures that traitors with no vision are the most short-sighted bunch, tch." Eli sounded disappointed, "We could have done great things, Orbán."
"It was never meant to be," Orbán remarked with finality.
There was another tense moment of silence, and for a second, Orbán thought the connection had been lost before Eli spoke again, "You'll hang for this, Orbán." His words weren't a threat but stating a fact. Treason was punishable by death, after all.
"If it comes to that, so be it," Orbán replied, acknowledging the gravity of his actions. "My offer still stands. If you decide to change your mind, you know how to contact me." He gestured for the comms officer to cut the line.
"No pithy remarks?" Helen asked, almost disappointed with the brevity of the exchange. "You didn't even attempt to convince him."
"I already tried that months ago," Orbán remarked, glancing at reports of the ongoing battle below. "The time for words has long since passed." Now, there was simply another war and enemy to contend with.
Lieutenant Thomas Corbin, a member of the Shanxi 76th Skyknives, had always been intrigued by the tales surrounding Mother Terra, the legendary homeworld of humanity. Stories of Terra were woven with threads of reverence and tragic melancholy, creating a tapestry that seemed lost in the chaos of the Age of Strife. With the foundation of the Imperium of Man and the realization that Terra was under their control, the hope arose that one day, descendants might return to relish its splendor. At least, that was Thomas's optimistic belief.
Unexpectedly, the opportunity presented itself when his regiment, alongside thousands of others, received orders for a mission to Sol. What initially seemed like a chance to reconnect with lost brethren took an unexpected turn when whispers circulated that they would occupy the Imperial Palace. Training simulations appeared to confirm this unsettling claim, and skepticism turned to stunned realization as commanders officially briefed the troops.
Confirmation came directly from the enigmatic Lord Commander Orbán Vilmo. Initially unsure how to process this development, Thomas awaited further clarification on the reasoning behind such a monumental directive. The details remained hazy, but the grim narrative painted by the Lord Commander hinted at a nightmare scenario for the Imperium. Thomas discovered that Shanxi, his home world, would bear the brunt of increased tax hikes and interest rates on crucial grain and mineral exports.
The realization that the Lord-Militant was sanctioning these measures on Shanxi and tens of thousands of other worlds left Thomas incredulous. How could such a situation be deemed acceptable? How could anyone, especially a revered leader, allow it to happen? Thomas considered himself a proud and loyal soldier of the Imperium and had never considered himself someone who questioned the established order. Soldiers obeyed their leaders. Yet, the situation's moral implications gnawed at him like many others. Was it right to commit what was tantamount to treason if it meant helping hundreds of trillions in the long run? The data seemed to think so.
But that was the thing. Data didn't replace honor and loyalty, but he cared enough about his fellow man to do this. Observing the expressions of his comrades as they piled into their Valkyrie, Thomas sensed a shared sentiment. Evidently, through agreement or self-conviction, they believed this was the right course of action. Perhaps, he mused, everyone yearned to be part of something beyond the routine of expanding the Imperium.
At least if Thomas and the others died, it would be here on Terra. He had seen a far worse place to fight and die on, and the Imperial Palace looked to be a mighty fine place to be buried if push came to shove.
"Stand by for drop. The air-picket has gone loud but no response from gun batteries. No ID of troop movements. Be ready to repulse defenders." The local command net had gone loud, and Thomas and his company were just about ready to deploy to section Alpha-09 as far as the rapid assault teams. They would either encounter no resistance or a lot of it.
"Alright, boys, lock and load." Thomas called as 50 others readied to jump, "Watch your spacing and check your targets. There are civilians everywhere, but they will be confused and scared once all the fighting starts." A series of confirmations were heard over the roar of the engines as the Valks bay doors slowly lowered.
Maybe Thomas didn't know if what they were doing here was justified, but he had to believe that, at the very least, they were fighting for something more than just some piece of alien land or reclaiming some misbegotten moon. They were fighting on Mother Terra for all mankind. That had to mean something.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, time for more coup related omakes.
Jenetia Krole, The First 'Soulless' To Survive The Sea of Souls.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake on Jenetia Krole, the Knight-Commander (i.e. leader) of the Sisters of Silence that Kesar Dorlin, by pure accident (i.e. a natural 1 on a D100), teleported into the Warp. Who then survived a horde of daemons and returned back after only four hours.
----- Jenetia Krole, The First 'Soulless' To Survive The Sea of Souls.
You are Jenetia Krole, Knight-Commander of the Silent Sisterhood and Chief Investigatus-Militant of the Divisio Astra Telepathica, and right now you are in the middle of absolute calamity.
It had started with the Eleventh Primarch, Kesar Dorlin of the Eternal Wardens, decided to do an experiment while his psychic teacher, Magnus the Red, was busy dealing with the aftermath of the Prospero-Eldar scandal and while the Emperor of Mankind and Malcador the Sigillite had left for their own duties.
Either because it was a golden opportunity, for there weren't many other duties your warriors were focused on at the moment, or simply the fact that he had nobody else to assist him in his projects, he had turned to the Sisters of Silence for help in some Warp-based research. A topic that you were very interested in, how the limits of teleportation functioned with those possessing the 'blank' gene.
The concept behind the question was simple enough, the problem during teleportation across the Warp was that it could flood through the brief Gellar-tunnel that was formed to make the 'bridge' that connected two spaces together. Then one potential solution to the problem was for a blank to traverse through the Immaterium instead, as their very presence would push against the Warp's tides and thus keep the 'bridge' more stable during the brief time it was active.
This also meant that, theoretically, less power would be needed to maintain the Gellar-tunnel than normal. Or that the range could be expanded due to the power of a blank's aura helping assist the stability of the journey. Or even both at once, if only there was somebody who was strong enough to attempt such a thing. More than that, it would be the perfect opportunity to test and thus expand the limits of safety.
You had volunteered yourself for a few simple teleporter experiments. Of all the Sisters of Silence, you were by far the most powerful as the 'Soulless Queen' and 'Witch-Bane' that so many psykers feared.
There were countless witches, cultists, xenos, rebels, daemons and other enemies that you had brought low either personally as warrior and assassin or by guiding your forces to victory as a leader. Your powers were enough that even the Legio Custodes faltered totally in perception and mental recollection. You had personally advised the Master of Mankind himself in battle, and been his left hand of oblivion.
You could even kill the Primarch that you cordially greeted, he who was the only one of his kind that could 'command' those of your order, awakened with the gift from the Emperor you both served. You did not want to such a thing, for various reasons. Despite the suspicions and understandable grievances that some possessed for his recent behaviour and actions, you didn't really see him as something like an enemy quite yet.
Him and his sons fought well against the Warp and the worst things that lurked within, from bringing true death to some of the greatest daemons to helping banish most of the Maelstrom to the strange new way he was mastering his own powers by emulating the power of blanks.
You could understand that drive and focus that Kesar Dorlin, Second Anathema, possessed.
Besides personal feelings or lack thereof, as well as simply keeping an eye on the somewhat eccentric Primarch, helping unlock the means of perfected teleportation would be tactically revolutionary. You understood the potential that these experiments could provide very well.
To risk one of your kind to the vagaries of the Sea of Souls, so eager to swallow and destroy everything it could reach, was something that could not be risked unless circumstances were truly dire. Pragmatically, pariahs were a rare resource that could not be squandered by mere cosmic chance. Emotionally, you didn't want to lose your Sisters to such a terrible fate.
On a larger scale, where thousands of Custodes or Astartes or Knights and Titans could suddenly emerge? Well… that would solve a lot of issues.
So you and many others of your Order had arrived to the Somnus Citadel on Luna, the former fortress of the Selenite gene-cults and current headquarters of the Silent Sisterhood, to partake or simply observe the experiments. You witnessed first-hand what some of your warriors, bodyguards that acted as 'pain relievers' to his agonising psychic awakening, had described as a manic energy.
He talked a lot. It was apparently a lot worse before, his mental filter being in tatters in the immediate aftermath of his 'gift', but there was a lot of talking that happened.
You could understand most of what he said as he described the his work in-person, in colossal detail. You had studied the Warp at length, having been taught much of it in order to properly understand and fight it. You knew deep secrets that you were certain that the Primarch before you did not yet know.
Still, it was impressive and somewhat confusing to see his meticulous calculations and personal studies onto the psychic realm. It was intellectually stimulating in a way that you rarely had a chance to study or question in current times.
More than that, which was surprisingly pleasant, he could see you and 'hear' you. Normally you would need to have an interpreter, normally a new recruit of the Silent Sisterhood who had not yet taken a vow of silence, but here you could just freely talk on your own. Your hands almost ached with the amount of Thoughtmark sign-language you did, gesturing a lot of words and concepts you almost never used for having no reason to discuss them, an unfamiliar sensation.
That was something you hadn't really thought about before. It wasn't the first time that you could 'talk' with somebody directly. The Emperor of Mankind talked at length with you for certain battles during the Unification Wars or for when he gave orders or structure to the Silent Sisterhood. Malcador the Sigillite had a plethora of secrets that he had shared with you, either in whole or in pieces, history and purpose intertwined.
Yet Kesar Dorlin just talked. Mostly about his research or anecdotes relating to it, as that was why you were all here, but there were a few other questions that were both unsurprising but rarely asked of you compared to another Sister. Then there were a few questions you were surprised by, such as 'What do you think about Luna?' or 'Why did you dye your hair red, out of curiosity?' which you didn't really have an eloquent response to.
As time passed as he set up everything while speaking, multitasking to a complex degree that you knew was so second-nature to the Emperor's sons, you had found surprising enjoyment at being able to just talk with somebody else and have them listen to you when you signed to them. Then there was the moment of truth, as the teleporter was active and waiting for its traveller.
There was the possibility that disaster could still have occurred, but you had seen and understood everything that Kesar Dorlin had passionately and carefully explained. The main problem being that the Warp could respond strangely against the presence of such a strong aura of a null, which had to be accounted for in the worst-case scenarios.
His caution was welcome, and you were grateful, but you understood it to be misguided after you saw the data yourself and considered the implications. You had ordered the void shields over the Citadel to be briefly taken down, understanding the risks of intermingling Warp-energies being 'pushed together' and causing a possible minor Warp rift to emerge within the fortress.
You took risks relating to the Immaterium very seriously, but with so many of your Order here as well as a Primarch's direct management to be considered, there just didn't seem to be a need for more concern.
Aside from a freak cascade failure with the void shields, an already unlikely possibility that was now non-existent, there was essentially no risk at all barring outside factors.
Outside factors had turned out to be a massive problem.
You see it go wrong the very instant that Kesar Dorlin presses the activation button, as you feel your self being delivered across space by the a tunnel across the Immaterium. There is the sound of explosions that loudly resonate across the Somnus Citadel, fired upon from orbit by attackers. The lights flickered in that moment, as the power grid was struck and cause fluctuations across the stronghold of your order.
The Primarch's face morphs in shock, quickly turning towards the endpoint that was within this research room, immediately understanding your fate while you still process things. You don't see the next few moments as the experiment you are locked in flows across your being, unable to move or escape.
You are teleported and, mid-way through, the power fluctuations collapse your tunnel and you are lost to the Warp.
You have faced the Immaterium and those whom used it before. You could never forget when you had first faced a psyker strong enough to be a threat, their powers withering by your presence as they died screaming, seeing from a distance the fire and lighting that was conjured from nothingness.
You had faced Chaos in its servants and living fragments, granting them death by the will of your Master. You had seen impossible sights wrought by those that mastered the Sea of Souls, both terrible and miraculous. You had seen the Warp as you passed through it in ships, voyaging across hell to reach stars new and old, in your hunt for witches and would-be gods and whatever else was commanded of you.
You had witnessed the grand plan of the Emperor, or at least one major part of it. The purpose behind the Golden Throne that took his focus like nothing else. That tunnel he painstakingly built that went deep down to the depths of the Immaterium, shielded with a complexity you weren't sure existed elsewhere, to the Labyrinth Dimension that the Aeldari used to make themselves rulers of the galaxy.
This is nothing like what you've experienced before.
You fall for what feels like minutes, hours, days. There is a writhing darkness that completely surrounds you. You are sinking in the waves of thought and emotion, a soulless being in the Sea of Souls. The realm twitches and shifts against your presence, forming masses of bruised colours and muted light that pushes against your essence.
Your blank aura is the only thing keeping you alive. The cursed power has transformed into an aegis, a blessing of continued life. It will not last forever, as even the largest bowls would eventually flood against an endless ocean.
Not that you were precisely 'empty' as many previously understood, blanks did have their own souls. Yours was so large, a giant sphere that was projected from your body, now finally seen as a grand silhouette that darkens the surrounding Immaterium. You had finally seen your own soul, as it pushed against the tides that once swallowed millions of worlds.
You fall in your own darkness, your soul, your thoughts.
Your mind burns as you consider what just happened, the worst possible scenario beyond opening up a rift that swallowed up the Citadel and everyone else inside. The timing and circumstances couldn't have been worse, the void shields were down on your Order's headquarters by your own command, and you knew that there was more than just Luna that would burn.
Terra itself was in jeopardy.
Assuming the worst case scenario, everyone and everything within the Somnus Citadel might be dead and destroyed. The Silent Sisterhood was decimated and unable to provide the extent of the support they should be able to bring, without your guidance as the Knight-Commander, most of their numbers lost. The Legio Custodes was similarly anaemic in numbers, most sent against the Orks and Eldar, although the Captain-General Constantin Valdor would doubtlessly survive and try to bring order.
The Emperor of Mankind was gone. Malcador the Sigillite was gone. So many assets, agents and armaments sent elsewhere.
Humanity's homeworld has never been more vulnerable.
Primarch Kesar Dorlin… there was some suspicions on his part in all of this. Things were too perfectly aligned to have caused this. If you had tried to plan your own demise or removal, or simply to weaken your Order during this conflict, then there were few ways better than something like this.
Yet the genuine shock on his face and prior concerns of safety, the details and timing of this disaster being too good for even a Primarch to have been planned for, as well as what you knew or was reported about his behaviour… that made you consider other options. Was he merely compromised? Who would have prepared to strike just as he did the experiment, knowing you'd order the shields down? Could this really have been unfortunate circumstances and timing, taken to lethal advantage?
Belatedly you consider that with his current condition and enough focused fire from surrounding ships that he might be dead. A Primarch taken down in the opening conflict, inciting a response that might be enough to bring centuries of work and countless lives down in flames. There were too many unknowns and startling possibilities surrounding this.
If great conflict was desired, a rebellion against the Master of Mankind's designs, then this would be the time to enact it.
For all you knew, as you descend through this timeless realm, the Imperium of Man could already be in the midst of an apocalyptic civil war.
You were falling through hell, an entire different reality to the one you belonged to, while all this happened.
You take a deep breath, stale and dead air of a hostile universe coming to your lungs, and you focus your powers and mind.
You are not going to die here.
The darkness grows around you, surging across this vast space of madness, the colours at the 'border' growing wilder as resistance redoubled but slowly flowed away from your might. There were sounds like crashing waves, as screaming beasts, of howling wind. Your fall gently slowed to a stop.
There was no solid ground beneath your feet. There was no 'ground' or 'beneath' at all. There was nothing that you could see, nothing that you could feel, nothing at all.
Yet you stood.
You are possibly the first blank in the history of humanity to have survived within the Warp with no additional support or power or technology whatsoever.
You raise Veracity, your executioner's greatsword that was bequeathed to you by the Emperor, and get ready to face down whatever is in your path. Your unsteadily move your foot forwards, feeling as though murky sludge was fighting against your movements, and you find stable 'ground' as you take a step forwards. Like water, like air, like empty space that you begin to slowly navigate.
You are the first of the Sisters of Silence to walk across the Warp.
Against the roiling waves that squirms against your presence, hateful sounds and shapes emerging across your soul-sphere, trying to keep you from moving. Your focus does not waver, your power does not falter, you gain speed and confidence as you do what you didn't think was possible as you journeyed across the psychic realm.
You then become the first of the Silent Sisterhood to run across the Immaterium.
As you see the Warp, in a way you have never done, you notice that amidst the scintillating colours that are muted against your darkness, there is an unchanging light. Something that shines brighter than the rest, a beacon in a constantly shifting sea, something you have known and fought with but never witnessed before. The Astronomican.
While the reality you are within was only loosely connected to the physical space of the reality you belonged to, proximity and locations did matter. Luna was not too far from Terra, and thus not too far from the physical structure that emanated the light that guided life across the galaxy with its grace. Which meant that it would lead to your freedom.
Normally, there was no way for one to return if they were truly lost to the Warp.
Almost nothing could rescue those lost and curses souls, almost no psyker could feasibly bring them back, almost no pathways existed for them to take.
But you knew that there was a way, one that lead directly to Terra at the heart of the Imperial Palace, and it was the gateway that the Emperor formed with the Golden Throne.
So you followed the golden light, what little of it you saw. Navigation across this accursed expanse had been dealt with, now came the hard part. You were not alone within the Warp.
You knew that they were swarming around you, despite unable to see beyond your veil of darkness. With blades and claws and terrible, impossible forms and weapons that were wholly unconstrained by the laws that governed the Materium. With a hunger that no living being could possess, a madness made of gestalt mind-poison, a hatred to your being that was beyond anything a living being could manifest.
An army of daemons surrounded you.
You still don't truly see them when they finally descend upon you. In hazy images like smoke from fire, wavering shadows, distorted hallucinations. You see blades that are there and not there, claws that bend and grow as they swipe at you, teeth that fill your vision by the absence of their shape. Was this what it was like to fight you?
What feels like days pass as you fight non-stop against the constant assault from this Chaos horde, surrounded on all sides including 'above' and 'below' to survive. Forced to strike and defend in three-dimensions while your enemies used all of them against you. Yet you are the one whom overpowers the army, bringing half of them to painful banishment and the other half to a final end by your hands.
One of the daemons managed to push past your aura, a charging warrior decked out in glimmering armour that nearly blinded you with its radiant flame, a jagged sword striking across your chest and spilling your blood. It was only by your skill and strength that the weapon did not cut your heart.
While immensely painful, the injury was more of a boon to you than this army of darkness. The armoured figure screamed with a deafening agony, as your blank-blood burned the essence of this creature into nothingness, the presence of your spilled ichor causing surrounding daemons to pull back in fear.
You hold one hand to your chest, putting pressure on the deep cut, ready to cast your own vital fluid upon these monsters if need be. Your wound might have galvanised them to a further frenzy, your death approaching with just another mortal strike to your relatively fragile mortal form, but your nature was too much for them to bear.
They were beings of flame, a raging inferno that threatened to burn down everything they could reach, and you were the chill of the void that smothered them into nothingness.
Time passes in battle and growing radiance. Your own sword is coated by your blood, having dripped down your hands from when you held your own wound, the large blade cutting down anything in your path as you chased the rays of gold. Until you finally see it, looming as a vast tower that reached up into heaven and down into hell.
The Webway Project, the Golden Throne's power, the Emperor's passage into a galactic masterpiece.
With a care that you considered as you faced mankind's salvation, as well as an urgency for the situation on Terra and the daemons you still fought against, you find the means to enter the grand tower without inflicting any damage or leaving any monsters to follow in your steps.
Agonising precision required, the careful use of your own power, the knowledge of what parts of the ritual network could serve your purpose of return. In an instant, timed just right, you pass through the barrier with absolute precision.
Within the gleaming tunnel, the keystone for the Master of Mankind's grand plan, you were free from the wider Immaterium's roiling madness, the armies of Chaos that you had fought through, and could quickly return to Terra.
Without more than a second to catch your laboured breaths, you turn your gaze towards Terra.
Whether you returned to war or ruin, the Imperium of Man still standing or utterly fallen, you would be coming back to deal with whatever had happened.
Now that I think about it, we might have enough info on Blank for some more Warp research. May be comparing how Durante and Vergil survived the warp compared to Krole. If she inclined to tell of course. I think she might be impressed by some of those who survived in the Warp and uncorrupted.
I am a Silent Sisterhood enthusiast, so any option other than siding with Sisters is unacceptable to me.
I pray to the RNG gods for low Sister casualties, regardless of which way the vote goes.
Also, if MC doesn't support Sisters he will be instantly added to my disliked protagonist list.
A distinct beeping pierced the monotony of the primary command console; signaling activity picked up on the long-range Auspex. According to protocol, the on-site technicians were tasked with reviewing and confirming whether it was a mere anomaly or if some unsuspecting flyer had lost its way. Imperial airspace, especially near the Palace, was off-limits without proper authorization.
Yet, like its counterparts in the Imperial Palace, this station was a bastion of boredom, often devoid of action. Routine air patrols or, in rare instances, flights of birds were the usual sightings. The initial vigilance and attention waned after the third or fourth week. The logic behind it seemed sound; no one in their right mind would dare to attack the Imperial Palace without triggering a general alert. So, when the console emitted its insistent beeping, it was met with apathy from the two technicians on duty: PFC Dante Hicks and PFC Randal Graves, known more for their lax approach than their soldierly diligence. After all, why assign the best soldiers to monitor duty when a pair of screw-ups would do?
"Ah, hell," Dante sighed, glancing up from his magazine. "Do you hear that?"
"Nope," Randal replied, chewing his gum and casually tossing a ball into the air. He laughed smugly, "Hey, did you know Veronica was looking for you last night?"
"Seriously?!" Dante exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the beeping console. "Why? What did she say?"
Randal tossed the ball toward a wall, expertly timing its bounce back into his hand. "Something about going on a date. I wasn't really paying attention." The banter continued, oblivious to the potential significance of the ignored alarm.
"Are you serious?" Dante's excitement was palpable. "She's been stonewalling me for a month now for a date; what the hell changed?"
"Heard she got dumped," Randal replied, increasing the rhythm of his tossing. "Tiff from dispatch told me."
Dante rolled his eyes, dismissing the gossip, "Tiff gossips like crazy, and I can't believe that Veronica got dumped, and it wasn't the other way around."
"I don't know…" Randal smirked, glancing at Dante, "A lot of guys she dated said that same thing. She might be something of a sex fiend."
"No way," Dante confidently refuted. "I never got that impression from her. She's not like Caitlyn." The beeping sound at the console grew more insistent, but Randal chuckled at his friend's remark.
"You are in such denial, my friend. Caitlyn broke your heart, but it seems she also broke your mind." The banter continued, oblivious to the urgency that the persistent beeping was trying to communicate. Both men continued to ignore it, at least for the moment.
"Speaking of Caitlyn, did you know she's getting married?" Dante brought up.
Randal paused in his tossing, "Yeah?"
Dante crossed his arms, revealing, "She wants to invite me to it."
His friend burst into laughter before resuming the ball tossing, "That's fucking rich. Hey, maybe you can bring Veronica. Introduce the ex to the girl you're sleeping with." The quip prompted a roll of Dante's eyes, finally drawing his attention to the beeping console.
"Looks like something got picked up on the scanner."
"Sounds like it." Randal tossed the ball casually. "Are we due for any flights?"
Dante shrugged, "Not that I can recall." He walked over to the console and noted something significantly out of place. "Huh. I'm seeing multiple blips. Like a lot."
"Yeah?" Randal's tone remained nonchalant, "Probably a patrol looking into something." The casual dismissal contrasted sharply with the growing urgency of the situation, although Dante seemed to be taking it a bit more seriously.
Dante took charge, seated at the console, running a general sweep of their section's Auspex net. "Can you get dispatch on the line? Probably should give them a heads up on this."
Randal kept tossing his ball, nonchalantly reaching out to grab a nearby phone. He paused a perplexed expression on his face, before setting the receiver down. "Phone's out."
"Seriously?" Dante shot a quizzical look at Randal. "Well, go down to dispatch."
"What? No way." Randal feigned disgust, "What if that weird lizard is hanging out by the door again? It creeps the shit out of me. Besides, everyone at dispatch is creepy." He resumed tossing his ball at the wall, a dismissive attitude evident. "Someone will probably come by to tell us this is a simulation or something."
A loud pounding on their door echoed through the room as if on cue, causing Randal to smirk. "See, what'd I tell ya? Gotta love the predictable nature of military bureaucracy." The smirk lingered, revealing a hint of amusement at the unfolding situation. Dante frowned as he got up to greet whoever was at the door.
Dante and Randal were greeted by a trio of unfamiliar faces—three men in Imperial Army uniforms, each donning fatigues and sporting blue armbands on their right biceps for easy identification. The display of sidearms, rather than the usual shock sticks, added an ominous touch to the encounter.
"Err, hello," Dante awkwardly greeted the men. "I didn't think dispatch would send three people to check out some faulty comm lines."
One of the men responded, "Yes, we'll be taking care of that, along with everything else here. You two are to return to your barracks until further notice."
"Sweet," Randal remarked enthusiastically, grabbing his gear. "We got the rest of the day to relax then."
"Hold on a minute," Dante interjected, trying to make sense of the situation. "We didn't get orders to leave our post. Besides, we must sign the log book and report what's happening here." He emphasized that they still had responsibilities.
"We'll handle that," another stranger assured him. "A live-fire drill started, so you two weren't supposed to be here. Sounds like a mix-up with command." The strangers' demeanor was a bit off-putting to Dante. All the while, the beeping sound on the console reminded him that there was still something going on.
Dante hesitated; he should have pushed back, but the sight of three armed men made him think twice about starting a confrontation over something as seemingly trivial as monitoring a supposed live-fire drill.
"Whatever," Dante waved off the situation. "Randal and I will sign the logbook and leave here." He sensed the disapproval from the armed men, but they allowed it nonetheless. It took only a minute, especially since Randal was eager to leave, driven more by the prospect of enjoying a free day than any concern for the peculiar circumstances.
Once outside, the door closed behind them, locking audibly. Dante's suspicion grew. "Did any of that make sense to you?" he asked Randal, idly tossing his ball up and down in his hands.
"Nope," Randal responded, seemingly unfazed. "If they want monitor duty, they're free to waste their time. I'm sure it'll look good on their status reports." Randal's nonchalant attitude did little to alleviate Dante's growing sense that something was indeed amiss.
"But don't you think-"
"Dude, when are you going to realize that crazy shit happens all the time, guys like us get caught in the middle of it, and we can't do anything but either go with it or keep our heads down," Randal remarked as the two started walking. "As far as I'm concerned, neither of us is paid enough to care."
When Randal put it like that, Dante couldn't help but acknowledge the truth in his friend's words. It wasn't like either could stop if they got caught up in something crazy. At least they were able to walk away from this. "Yeah, you're probably right. But I'm kind of getting a bad feeling about this."
"Could always go AWOL for a bit," Randal suggested with a knowing smirk.
Dante idly noticed a few more men walking around wearing those blue armbands. "Maybe we should." He and Randal might have been slackers, but they were also smart enough to recognize when something was about to go down. Judging by the look of things, that was looking to be happening now. The uneasy feeling in Dante's gut persisted, and he couldn't shake the sense that their decision to walk away might be the right idea.
Western Habitation Block Ida-11
Terra, Imperial Palace, 0750 Hours
Day 01 of the Coup
Today promised to be busy for Xin Liu as he concluded his breakfast—a simple yet satisfying meal of tea, toast, and strips of cooked grox meat. His agenda involved calibrating new power lines in the northern sector of the Lion's Gate, a region undergoing extensive construction. The ongoing projects translated to ample work, a prospect that particularly pleased Liu.
One of the perks of his job was the commission-based pay structure, rewarding his industrious efforts. Notably, substantial progress often warranted a bonus, a financial incentive that motivated Liu to excel. The Imperial Army had even elevated his security clearance, allowing him to contribute to more security-sensitive matters.
At 39 years old, the son of a modest electrician, Liu considered himself blessed. He envisioned retiring by fifty with sufficient savings to secure a house in a desirable location. Now, he only needed to find a wife to start a family, a significant reason for his move to the Imperial Palace.
The Imperium attracted individuals to the Imperial Palace by offering opportunities for meaningful work. However, the reality was that many found themselves in menial roles or joined the Imperial military, often obtaining positions similar to Liu's on their own merit.
Well, that last part wasn't entirely accurate. You see, making progress within the palace often required doing favors for influential figures and eliminating competitors, both of which Liu had undertaken to advance. While he never engaged in violence, he might have planted evidence or orchestrated the dismissal of problematic individuals, usually at the request of someone with vested interests.
Some unsavory actions were deemed necessary in the dog-eat-dog world of palace politics. Liu pledged to himself that, once he attained a position of power, he would strive to prevent such situations from befalling others. However, that vision lay years in the future and several thousand thrones away. Just had to keep grinding away.
As Liu finished putting away his dishes, he switched on his vox receiver, only to be disappointed as static filled the airwaves. Perplexed, he tried other stations, finding the same lack of transmission. "Don't tell me this thing broke?" he muttered with a sigh, attributing the issue to the questionable quality of technology from a reclimator.
The weather outside promised to be pleasant, and there were no scheduled announcements or drills. Like everyone else, Liu harbored disdain for emergency drills, viewing them as time-consuming interruptions to work. The silver lining was the opportunity for people to take breaks, chat, or review work plans. He even observed a few individuals seizing the chance to catch up on sleep. No one took these drills seriously.
Putting on his shoes, Liu was interrupted by a sudden and loud knocking on his door. Puzzled, he wondered who could be causing such a ruckus this early morning. Work-related issues would have warranted a prior call, and anything related to the hab would likely have involved the foreman bothering him the day before.
Opening the door, Liu found himself face to face with a pair of uniformed soldiers who wasted no time inspecting a dataslate. "Xin Liu?" The soldier who spoke looked up from the slate, undoubtedly bearing a picture of Liu.
"Yes?" Liu's unease grew. Having soldiers at his doorstep wasn't a good sign. Shouldn't it have been the Enforcers dealing with the matter? "Is there a problem?"
"We need you to come with us, sir," the lead trooper politely ordered, "There has been a development that requires us to secure all civilians that have had access to security systems."
"I…I just handle power relays and generators at Lion's Gate. I have clearance and was vetted, yes, but I don't know anything about the defense systems."
The trooper shook his head, "I'm sorry, sir. I have my orders, and we don't have time to argue. So please cooperate." Liu understood that this was his first and only warning. Whatever was happening here obviously concluded with him going with these men.
"Right, well, I suppose I have no choice." He turned to look over his shoulder, "I should probably grab my clearance card."
"No need, sir." As the trooper grabbed Liu's shoulder, he remarked, "We need to start moving right now." Now, urgency hung in the air, and that meant one wrong move could leave Liu with a broken nose or a black eye if he were lucky.
Finding little else he could do or say to argue, Liu simply followed the soldiers as they led him down the hall. A part of Liu feared judgment from his neighbors at the sight, but that concern faded as he observed dozens of troopers moving through the corridors. Sometimes, they escorted his neighbors. Other times merely conversed with some before moving on.
Reaching the bottom of his hab-complex, Liu encountered at least twenty more troopers, all armed with lasguns, directing people to return to their homes until further instructions were given. Liu was instructed to join a group of five other people, and as he looked around, he noticed a familiar face.
"Nancy!"
Nancy turned around, relieved to see a familiar face, "Liu. So they got you as well?"
"Guess so because I've worked on power relays and generators. You?" He didn't really know much about Nancy's profession.
"Water filtration systems." She rolled her eyes, "Glad to know that warrants an escort."
"Escort?" Liu figured they were being arrested for something. "I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not that this isn't a detainment."
Nancy didn't have the chance to explain further before a trooper carrying a lasgun approached their group and instructed everyone to follow him. In line with the obedience ingrained in the citizens of the Imperium, no one dared to ask questions or cause a ruckus. Liu, Nancy, and the others walked out of the hab and were directed to board an uncomfortable-looking armored truck.
Liu observed a flurry of activity unfolding around them. Hundreds of troopers marched in the streets, accompanied by numerous vehicles, gun servitors, servo-skulls, and what appeared to be cyber-mastiffs with their handlers. What the hell was going on?
As Liu and the others settled into the armored vehicle, they were told to strap in and converse amongst themselves. Nancy shook her head, "I don't think this is a combat drill or anything."
"You think so?" Liu was still processing the situation, "What else could this be?"
"I don't know. Nothing good. But at least we aren't going to be taken to be shot or anything. These troopers wouldn't have been so friendly otherwise." That was a rather dark thought, but it made sense as well. As the vehicle started moving, Liu, sitting close to the door, could glance out the small window.
As their ride passed several other hab complexes, he could see dozens of similar scenes playing out. It looked like people were being gathered. Liu saw men with laud-hailers directing traffic flow and groups of troopers patrolling the streets. It was like being in one of those film reels that the Rememberancers put out whenever the Imperium liberated a world.
Soldiers, vehicles, and fixed emplacements in the middle of the streets. It was one thing to see that in some strange world. It was another to see it happen in the center of the Imperial Palace. What was going on now, and where did Liu fit into this?
"It feels like they are getting everyone that knows something about the infrastructure and systems of the palace into one place. Sounds reasonable, right?" Nancy remarked to Liu, "Because if something happens, they can have the people that know how to fix, maintain, or shut them down on hand."
Liu realized the implication of that, "Wait, that means they probably aren't going to send us back home?!" What were these troopers expecting them to do the entire time? Just sit in some barracks or shelter?
"Sounds about right." Nancy remarked ominously, "Granted, if you notice everyone they took, it's a long of lonely people without family or spouses."
Just Liu's luck. "So the people that have no one expecting them are the ones that will be the most at risk. Talk about selective targeting."
"At least whoever is in charge of this whole thing isn't interested in traumatizing a bunch of children."
"Shit, I'm getting traumatized here." Liu quipped, which caused Nancy to laugh. A little bit of gallows humor didn't feel out of place here because Liu had no idea what would happen next. But surely they wouldn't be kept away from home for too long?
This had to be a temporary thing. Some response to an emergency. Nothing more than a blip, an abnormality. Because of how things were looking, it was like a war was coming to the Imperial Palace, but that was impossible.
Right?
Secundus Command Station
Terra, Imperial Palace, 0500 Hours
Day 01 of the Coup
Sometimes, you have to choose loyalty or dignity. Often, it was a difficult one. Other times, not so much.
For Colonel Chijioke Eze, it was an easy choice. He was a proud scion of Terra, hailed from a distinguished lineage tracing back to the illustrious days of the Federation of New Nri. His ancestors were renowned as valiant soldiers, warriors, and leaders of New Nri. The passage of time witnessed the transformation of their nation into a part of the Nordafrik Conclaves during the tumultuous Age of Strife and then becoming part of the Imperium after securing one of the few rare negotiated peace agreements with the Emperor of Man.
Chijioke embodied the virtues of honor and nobility that the Conclaves believed in, even if the leadership and citizens had forgotten it. The Imperium also did, but it sought to bring back those virtues. Chijioke dedicated his service to it, leading the 100th Nordafrik Infantry, known as the Sons of Red, throughout numerous compliances and wars. While his unwavering loyalty to the Imperium of Man was beyond question, no one had ever probed whether that allegiance ran deeper for humanity than the Imperium itself.
He had grown disillusioned with the Imperial Army, witnessing it transform into a tool of something far removed from valor and honor. The office of the Lord Militant had developed into becoming just a political position, losing touch with the virtues Chijioke deemed essential. The Imperial Army was becoming something cruel.
The notion of aligning himself with Orbán, the infamous Skullface, initially repulsed Chijioke. Such an alliance would have been a stain on his honor, potentially driving him to consider a shameful end to his own life. However, upon meeting Orbán, Chijioke discerned a glimmer of virtue and honor within the infamous figure. Orbán's desire to serve humanity surpassed even his darker inclinations.
Chijioke agreed to aid in this endeavor. If it meant dying. Some things were worth dying for, after all.
Motivated by the belief that aiding in Orbán's cause was a worthy sacrifice, Chijioke resolved to play his part. Some ideals were deemed more important than one's own life.
When the command code arrived, signaling the commencement of the coup, Chijioke swiftly mobilized his troopers. They prepared for a decapitation strike within the secondary command hub of the Imperial Palace's inner defenses. While Orbán engaged the Luna defenses, Chijioke and his forces were already making their moves while the commander on the ground tried to make sense of the alerts in orbit.
General Cavile was trying to instill some order inside a chaotic mess of a command center as alarms were screaming about approaching troop transports, saboteurs, and armed groups storming positions across the outer defenses.
General Cavile fought to instill order in the chaotic command center at the Secundus Command Station, where alarms blared about approaching troop transports, saboteurs, and armed groups breaching positions across the outer defenses.
Upon Colonel Chijioke's arrival, Cavile directed him urgently, "There you are, Colonel. Get your men into position across palisades six and nine. We don't have much time to establish a defensive line. I don't know what is happening, but it seems like the Lord Commander of the Segmentum has finally lost his mind."
Chijioke, observing his troops securing exits, countered, "No, I think he's just become aware of what has happened to this empire." He then raised a hellpistol at General Cavile's face, mirroring his troops, "General, I'm going to have to order you to hand me your sidearm."
Stunned silence permeated the command center as General Cavile drew it in response, refusing to surrender his sidearm. However, Chijioke acted swiftly, firing a crimson bolt that found its mark at Cavile's head. The more determined elements of Cavile's guard attempted to retaliate but were swiftly subdued by Chijioke's troops.
The remaining command staff wisely chose to surrender. It was an unfortunate event, but Cavile, as one of Eli's appointees, wouldn't be the first or last officer to meet this fate during the coup. For Chijioke, survival seemed unlikely, yet he embraced the inevitable, willing to die fighting for something greater than himself and with honor. In that, there was a certain significance.
[X] Plan Piłsudski: Find a means to get down to Terra (teleportation, shuttle, whatever) to apprehend Eli and Skullface and get them to air their grievances before the Consilium and get it to work out some arrangement to end this blasted coup while acting as a neutral arbitrator as much as possible.
[X] Plan Piłsudski: Find a means to get down to Terra (teleportation, shuttle, whatever) to apprehend Eli and Skullface and get them to air their grievances before the Consilium and get it to work out some arrangement to end this blasted coup while acting as a neutral arbitrator as much as possible.
By nature Blanks have a lot of the abilities of a lower level deamonsbane. Often bigger, and better versions if we're being honest. The problem is that since they're not able to be reinforced by the warp directly they don't create the feedback loop that leads to such things, or if they do it takes a lot more to get it going. Even if something like that could occur her nature as a Blank would likely override any specific daemonsbane traits.
In my mind, she'd be far more likely to gain traits for having walked the warp as a blank than for killing deamons.
The Imperial Palace, once a symbol of hope and strength, stood as a monument to Humanity's splendor atop the ruins of Old Earth. It was built upon the charred remains of destroyed nations and ideals, a beacon for the galaxy. Now, however, it had become another battlefield, marred by the chaos of firefights that erupted within the past 72 hours as coup forces engaged the defenders.
Despite this, significant portions of the palace were spared from the ongoing strife, thanks to coup forces' successful capture of secondary and tertiary objectives. With these areas secured, the coup-aligned troops could focus on the primary targets within the palace walls. However, this did not mean they weren't still engaged with the core defenders of the palace.
The Sisters of Silence remained entrenched in the guest quarters, putting up a formidable fight. The sisters proved resilient despite their containment and several failed breakout attempts, resulting in a stalemate. Unfortunately for them, the prolonged siege favored the Imperial Army elements, who entrenched themselves and utilized siege tanks to keep the Sisters pinned.
This was far from a comfortable situation for the attackers. The Sisters, highly trained and disciplined warriors, were determined to hold their ground. While the coup forces were formidable, they found it challenging to match the endurance and resilience of the Sisters. Most of the Black Brigades were focused on advancing toward Eli's primary lab or assisting in containing the Custodies.
Consequently, regular troops were tasked with manning the siege lines on the guest quarters—a challenging and unenviable duty. General Vilmo managed to rotate companies to provide relief, but this respite would soon end with increasing casualties and other regiments needing to tie up additional lines. Reinforcements also remained unknown at this time. For now, the situation resembled a prolonged siege, marked by the difficulties faced by both attackers and defenders.
Guest Quarter Siege Line Seven.
Terra, Imperial Palace.
Day 7, 1850 Hours.
During a siege, silence was a foreign concept. The constant barrage of gunfire, whether from massive bombardment cannons or the rhythmic chatter of heavy stubbers a few hundred meters down the line, created an unending cacophony. Private Rosyln Fouler of the 16th Ranfin Siege Infantry, the Rawhides, was intimately familiar with this relentless symphony.
Having endured four sieges—three against human enemies and one against the alien Agonox—Rosyln knew that sieges tested her mental resolve and physical fortitude. The draining nature of a siege couldn't be trained or drilled into a soldier; it had to be experienced.
When Rosyln enlisted in the Imperial Army, she hadn't planned on becoming a "Wall-Hugger." Fighting on Terra within the Imperial Palace was far from her expectations. Life, however, had taken unexpected turns. Yet, this war, if it could be labeled as such, felt different, and it wasn't solely because of the mutes.
The term "mutes" was the colloquial name given to those women in what appeared to be power armor, armed with formidable weapons. Rosyln had witnessed a pair captured only after an entire regiment fell in battle (or so the rumors went) capturing them. Being near these mute warriors sent a shiver down her spine, a sentiment shared by everyone else.
Engaging the sisters of silence in combat was an eerie experience, living up to their name by maintaining complete silence during the fight. Despite the Imperial Army's efforts, diminishing the mutes' morale proved futile. Command, however, acknowledged the army's superior defensive position and the feasibility of containing the mute threat.
The Rawhides and seventeen other regiments had engaged in a repetitive routine for the past four days: holding the mutes within the guest quarters, exchanging gunfire, and thwarting breakout attempts. The constant back-and-forth had become exhausting, although it still favored the human attackers. Rosyln could still enjoy some basic comforts like hot chow, resupply, six hours of sleep, and an occasional cold shower on lucky days.
However, the question lingered: how much longer could these comforts last? A significant offensive was likely on the horizon. While the defenders had the advantage of time for reinforcements to arrive, the prospect of being trapped in a siege weighed heavily on both attackers and defenders. Additionally, the looming fear of being perceived as cowardly or dishonorable for not sallying out to protect their lord's home.
Rosyln found this coup particularly peculiar. Fighting amidst the splendor and gilded halls of the Imperial Palace felt odd, and she didn't perceive this place as awe-inspiring as others claimed. Beyond the gold and treasures, it was just another building reminiscent of the noble estates or mansions she had heard about. While power and wealth adorned the palace, it failed to evoke a sense of wonder.
Yet, the palace also unnerved Rosyln. Witnessing servitors collecting the dead and transporting them to an unknown destination was more frightening than facing the mute warriors. While Rosyln didn't wish to die, she could accept the possibility, but the idea of her body being processed into corpse starch at some recycling facility was a chilling thought she couldn't easily dismiss. It reminded her too much of the stories she heard from other regiments that fought xeno species that would devour the dead or use them. In that sense, it made the palace so unsettling.
It was like being in a dream, or maybe more a nightmare. Rosyln was wide awake, though. She had to wonder if the rest of the palace was as well.
Inner Sanctum.
Terra, Imperial Palace.
Day 8, 2100 Hours.
Captain Horatio Manzanedo gripped the assault stubbers, feeling the satisfying rumble in his arms while expressing gratitude for the shock absorbers in his Kerberos Armor. He continued suppressing a group of GIs assaulting his squad's position again. Among the fallen were Tombs, Carly, and Thalia—comrades who had survived the Desolation only to meet their end within the Imperial Palace, combating the Lord Militant's scientific experiments.
General Vilmo had forewarned the assault teams about these "GIs," experimental bio-engineered soldiers intended to replace the Black Brigades. Despite the strategic insight, Horatio saw these creations as little more advanced murder servitors. Worse yet, they were "uncompleted," which meant the finished product would have been a nightmare to fight.
Most of these GIs were attacking heavily armed and entrenched squads with nothing more than gear that you'd find on a well-equipped trooper, but their skills and in-human coordination made them a force to be reckoned with. Horatio might have felt a spark of admiration and respect if these were to replace the Black Brigades eventually. Instead, these things were just causing unnecessary deaths and being just pains in the ass.
There had been over a dozen attempts to push through to the primary lab that the Lord-Militant was hunkered down in, and each assault had failed. The defenders had taken serious losses, though, leaving the coup forces the chance to push deeper and deeper down into the inner sanctum of the Imperial Palace.
No one wanted to be fighting down here. Something about this place unnerved even the blackest souls among the coup-aligned troops. Everyone had orders to ignore everything that wasn't part of their primary objective, which was something everyone could agree on. In some instances, fighting stopped when people got close to some sections that had clear warning signs and labels adorned all over them.
It was something else entirely. Horatio had seen a lot of crazy shit during the Desolation, and a few of his replacements were veterans of the war in the Maelstrom Region, but absolutely no one wanted anything to do down here because of this. Most were feeling a bit relieved whenever their opposition made an attempt. Battle was something that everyone understood.
But these blasted GIs changed the dynamic. It was like fighting Solar Auxilla, which had no discernable features, identities, or even a soul behind those eyes. The Lord-Militant must have been trying to get the formula right for these guys. If nothing else, Horatio suspected that if they never got any farther than this, the Imperium would at least have a new disposable soldier unit.
Maybe General Vilmo was on to something. If this was the future of the Imperial Army, then Horatio could only imagine that killing hundreds of trillions would be far easier with something like these GIs and any future Black Brigade companies at the Lord-Militants command. After all, an army of highly trained and capable killers was an effective force.
Horatio didn't care if they were here to stop Project GI or just kill the Lord-Militant. He didn't care if he lived or died now. All Horatio wanted was to die, knowing that Horatio did one decent thing in his career before whatever eternal torment claimed him for good. All those religious freaks talked about there being an afterlife, but he honestly just wanted to know if there was a hell.
Because if there was a hell, perhaps there was some justice in the galaxy. Horatio had seen enough to realize there weren't any, not for the common man, at least. If the gods were the type that distributed justice, they seemed fine with keeping it for themselves. No matter, humanity has a habit of creating its own solutions to life's problems.
As he pulled out another chain of bullets from his backpack ammo dispenser, Captain Manzanedo reloaded his stubbers even as another squad of GIs was taking potshots at his unit, forcing them into cover. He gestured to a pair of brigaders to fire off some rounds with their grenade launchers while another trio readied their chainweapons.
The GIs had the physical skills and better reaction times, but they seemed lacking when fighting in melee. It was almost like their minds were trying to devise the perfect counter, but they kept getting stuck at the worst possible moment. A strange flaw, but one that Horatio and others had to exploit if they wanted to make any progress.
Fabius Bile reveled in the chaos unfolding above the primary laboratory. The battle held little concern for him, and the opposition's focus on Eli rather than his research made the situation more tolerable. The clashes were, in essence, a manifestation of ego and sentimentality, a showdown between Eli and his former master.
Despite Fabius warning Eli about the hastiness of his actions, he couldn't help but admire Eli's unwavering confidence and determination. Eli's willingness to sacrifice for his dream resonated with Fabius, who found amusement in the man's audacity.
Eli had entrusted Fabius with the continuation of his work should he meet his demise, a request that Fabius intended to fulfill. However, his commitment to continuing the research stemmed not from sentimentality or friendship but from a pragmatic acknowledgment of the potential inherent in Eli's vision. Let it not be said that Fabius didn't want to let the work of another go to waste, especially if it was knowledge that held value to his own research.
Working with Eli had given Fabius many research, experimentation, and testing opportunities, and that alone was worth the time and effort of wasting his time on Terra. Considering he wasn't allowed into the true labs and workshops of the Imperial Palace, Fabius was left in what amounted to a "minor" facility that he and Eli shared.
Lilith called it "cozy," but his Anath compatriot was the sort to find the silver lining in everything. Where was he? Oh yes, the GIs. So far, their counter-attacks against the opposition have successfully stalled the enemy's advance. The combat data was extraordinary, to say the least, and also allowed Fabius to spot a significant flaw in the GIs.
Currently occupied with analyzing the GIs and their counter-attacks against the opposition, Fabius reveled in the extraordinary combat data. It also allowed him to identify a significant flaw in the GIs, a "logic flaw" apparent in close-quarters combat scenarios. While not rendering them incapable, Fabius observed instances of hesitation, decreased performance, and critical mistakes in interpreting enemy attack patterns. These observations indicated the need for further refinement in the GIs' development.
Fortunately, this was not Fabius's concern. In their collaborative arrangement, Eli and Fabius had divided the work to suit their respective strengths and preferences. With Eli focusing on the mental acuity and capabilities of the GIs, Fabius delved into the physiological aspects, reveling in the opportunity to enhance his knowledge and advance his experiments using the same resources allotted to Eli.
Underhanded, but Fabius told himself that it was part of the "payment" for his services rendered to the Lord-Militant. Their working relationship was starting to fray anyway, as Eli became increasingly preoccupied with his magnum opus and zealously involved in seeing it through to the end or ensuring the work continued in the worst case. Fabius suspected that the Emperor of Mankind was behind this, but whatever he told the normally unflappable and patient Eli took hold in the most unexpected ways.
Did that matter to Fabius? No. Well, not unless Eli told him what was said. Perhaps if the Lord-Militant got desperate enough, he would accidentally reveal the contents of the discussion to him. And considering the escalation of violence by General Vilmo's forces, that might happen soon.
In any case, the first batch of GIs had done their duty and died to the last. Eli wasn't happy, but Fabius convinced him that their sacrifice was necessary for the project's good as a whole and that the wealth of data more than made up for the loss. After all, sometimes you have to kill a herd or two to figure out the best way to produce more of them.
Lilith claimed that analogy didn't work, but Fabius wasn't a farmer, so what did it matter?
---
@Daemon Hunter This took way too long to finish and ate up more time for my other stuff, so I'm just putting it out now so it's out there.
In the 30th Millenia, the Imperium has been born. Under the watch of the Emperor of Man and his Primarchs, humanity is recovering from the Age of Strife. Follow one of the unknown Primarchs during the Great Crusade and see if you can make Warhammer a kinder setting.
forums.sufficientvelocity.com
'The Utopia of Murder', the Molek Hierarchy of the Remus Sector.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake on Horus Lupercal's biggest Great Crusade threat for the turn, the Sector-sized empire made up of four different red threats at once, as after learning about what they're like and workshopping how they worked on the Discord server, I just had to tackle them. Hope ya like it! (Destiny? Sword Logic? Never heard of it!)
----- 'The Utopia of Murder', the Molek Hierarchy of the Remus Sector.
Within the newly freed Remus Sector, one of the first regions of space to be inflicted by the storms that descended from the Age of Strife, death and destruction began to spread across the galaxy.
It came in fleets that brought fire that scoured entire planets of all that once resided there. Hive-cities were left as burning husks that had been carefully investigated for any survivors, ensuring that none would live. Kingdoms of sword were gunned down Tribes were dragged from forests, deserts, islands and caverns and executed one by one.
It came with weapons and methods of warfare that were designed, for thousands of years, to bring complete annihilation of anything. Countless different styles and doctrines of battle and the instruments used to wage it. From blades that were granted the cutting edge of power fields, firearms built for utter efficiency to wage unending war, voidships that would always be ready to lay waste to fleets and planets.
It came with soldiers that beheld a cold philosophy of might, proven in death and reified by all the victims and enemies they defeated. The murder tithes were paid without passion beyond their acts, almost utilitarian in how they filled their nebulous quotas, skill and knowledge shared in a way deeper than any mechanical network could ever provide.
Already three surrounding Sectors had been almost wiped completely of most if not all life. Worlds were found in still burning flames by travellers from afar. Civilisations that had lasted for thousands of years, or even longer, gone in months if not weeks or days. Technology and riches taken to fuel further annihilation across the stars.
This was how the Molek Hierarchy had functioned.
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Winding back across many millennia, before the Men of Iron rose up in their complex war that had decimated much of mankind, there was a Sector that had been more militant than most as it faced what would become one of the oldest enemies of humanity.
The hordes that came without number, that lived only to fight whatever they found, that could blossom into existential threats by a single unchecked spore that flew across the cosmic winds.
They were known as the Orks, the Greenskins, the Roaring Tide. Rarely as the Krork from those that knew their true history. To the Remus Sector, they were the greatest alien enemy and mystery that had ever been encountered.
In fleets of scrap that had been taken from various dead lifeforms, worlds that had taken billions of years to bring forth unique examples of intelligent life, victims of a race that was designed to thrive in wars that would utterly break most others. Ships that pulsed with grey-flesh, veins that coursed with living fuel. Space stations that were made of glass and crystal, cut by fractal saws and grown using chemical vats that were now all broken or repurposed to store fungal beer. Weapons of ornate design, broken into ramshackle boomsticks.
With all the resources and worlds to possess, examples of half-ruined technology to discover and unprecedentedly hostile life that took to diplomacy attempts as a hilarious and confusing comedy routine when not as a disappointment or an insult.
Thus did the region become a warzone that was waged by the Men of Iron and the human masters behind them, the entire Sector becoming contested between the Age of Technology and the Greenskin hordes that had ruled and fortified the area for countless years.
Experimental weapons and designs were utilised here in the perfect crucible to test them in live battle, the research and data provided by going against apocalyptic threats was an opportunity few would miss. Voidships across many human worlds had been altered, whether greatly or minorly, from the durability assessments from the Remus Sector's wars. It got to the point that many scientists and research-focused AI had come to witness everything first-hand, and to aid in the brutal conflicts and colonisation of the area.
Many of those that manifested psychic powers, especially those related to biology or the simple ability to visualise or otherwise feel Warp energy, had come due to the nature of the threat. This would forever change the fate of the Remus Sector's human populace over thousands of years.
It taken many millennia to fully remove the presence of Orks without fully destroying the worlds and moons they had inhabited. Legions of robotic warriors that challenged the greatest empires that laid within constant battlefields, utilising the most advanced weaponry they could use without total ruination being the end-result, calculating plans and formations and giant industrial processes with a speed that would outthink entire civilisations.
It had still taken so much time for two reasons.
A single spore. That was all it took to reignite a massive hazard that would take so much time, resources, effort and attention to fully remove once more. Flowing on cosmic winds, carried on debris from ships, floating in the air into caverns or dense jungles or the unseen wild plains until it was too late. A single spore could be enough to bring centuries of further conflict, or even longer.
It taught the people of the Remus Sector to be thorough in war. To burn their enemies with fire and plasma, until there was only ash. To strike decisively and ensure that there were no survivors, total victory. To destroy the hordes in a way that did not leave a trace of their existence, to bring death to those who had no fear of it.
It had been a time of celebration and relief when it was definitely proven that, indeed, the Remus Sector had won absolutely against the native Greenskins. Not a single spore was left.
The second reason was the sheer abilities that Orks possessed, what had soon become the top subject of research for those who came to the Remus Sector as time passed. Focus on weapons, armour, shield systems, durability and protection had slowly shifted into fascination with this enemy.
So much had been learned about the Greenskins and how, and much of it would become forgotten in the coming time of the Cybernetic Revolt and the time of Old Night.
Genetic analysis, which revealed work that baffled even the most advanced robotic intelligences the more the fractally layered structure functioned in impossible ways.
Cultural analysis, learning about the apparent twin gods that were worshipped and known for even 'newborn' Orks and the almost identical 'motifs' that manifested.
Technological analysis, for there was far more than just scrap and salvage that was used by these beasts as complex designs and energy were used with second-nature.
Yet that was all far from the greatest aspect of this enemy. It took an extreme amount of time to understand the most fundamental question that drove almost anything that first encountered the Orks, how did they really function? What was the psychic energy that Greenskins, and only Greenskins, seemed to possess and use? How did any of it manifest?
To determine the exact specifics had been something that had never been accomplished. Yet with the dedicated research teams and their later descendents, along with the key help that the many psykers had been for analysis, a reasonable hypothesis was made with a simple shift in perspective.
Orkoid lifeforms were fungal. Just as mushrooms were just the fruiting bodies of the fungal organism, so too were Orks, Gretchin, Snotlings and Squigs just the fruiting bodies of a greater whole.
The real source of strength for the Orks and their power laid within the fungus that bloomed at the beginning and end of their lifecycle. Beyond their calamitous reproductive capabilities, forming entire ecosystems to fuel the growing armies that would inevitably emerge, it was how the 'Waaagh' energies manifested for the Orkoid psychosphere.
It was one giant macro-soul within the fungus, all the fungus, that was dispersed and developed and refined and recycled across countless different minds and bodies.
The concept of a hive-mind was well known, having been considered since mankind knew of insect swarms as ants and bees, or in fictional stories with varying forms. Technological advancements had allowed a type of shared consciousness to be undergone, willingly or not depending on the specific designs. Some powerful psykers had possessed the affinity for the mind and the skill to bind others to themselves.
Orks were not a hive-mind, not in the sense that the Remus Sector researchers understood. This was a 'hive-soul', perhaps the first true example of such an concept that mankind had witnessed. This 'hive-soul' was how that which was known as 'Waaagh energy' functioned, why it was so similar yet distinct to normal Warp energy, and how only the Greenskins had possessed it for indeed only they had their own souls.
It explained much about how the Orks functioned. The more an Ork developed physically and perhaps mentally, the more that the wider 'soul' energy would be able to be infused into their being. This process happening more and more until they naturally channelled the 'Waaagh' concept either as the leader of massive group of Orks or as a prominent champion within such a group, which further let them 'grow' for all three aspects in a feedback loop of biological and spiritual growth akin to a growing fungal mass with sufficient food and space to keep growing.
It was also essentially a functioning means of immortality. Not of the precise individual, for biologically the Orks were already largely unable to naturally die of old age and had a heavily refined system of health and self-sufficient needs to survive.
The engineers known as 'Meks' and medics known as 'Doks' were not taught their craft, at least not directly by another individual. They simply possessed the knowledge, which mysteriously grew as said Orks physically and spiritually grew. The hive-soul allowed shared knowledge, 'saved' into the fungal network and then distributed into new bodies.
Culturally it was understood that Orks believed in reincarnation, of their souls going to the 'Great Green' until they would be brought back in new bodies and minds. If the 'gestalt-soul' theory was true, which most of the Remus Sector had come to believe after a lot of time and analysis, then it was indeed the case.
The Orks had weaponised reincarnation.
This aspect of how the Greenskins functioned had majorly shifted the purpose behind the question of 'how did Orks function?' from 'how to stop them?' into 'how can this be used for humanity?'.
If the Orkoid psychosphere was able to be replicated by any means, by any measure, onto mankind… it would be an answer to countless problems. A solution that inherently developed more solutions to any issue or limitation.
A human might be born with knowledge, that came to them so innately and naturally as they grew. As their body developed, their mind matured, their souls naturally burning brighter, so too could they be further enhanced by this spiritual nexus and vice versa. Refining each other, individual and network.
Languages would not really need to be taught with anywhere near the depth and time required, as evidenced by how rapidly and Orks learned the tongue of those they fought until it seemed to be innately imprinted to later generations. Technology would be easily understood, designs and functions imprinted from a collective connection. Combat would be performed far easier in all aspects, everything from martial arts and firearm capability to tactics and strategy becoming instinctual.
Countless skills and disciplines would be essentially programmed into a soul by a wider server that contained it all, the distilled and collated traits of exemplary figures into groups that then cycles into further capability and growth for the whole. A system that would bring inspiration, strength and knowledge to those within it. A way to unify mankind like nothing else, while keeping individuality and culture.
More than that, the souls of all those humans within the network would be spiritually protected from the Warp's malignant influence while alive or dead. An active psyker could have the power manipulate a person, or many individuals at once, but if a large group spiritually resisted together then the results could change. A deceased individual would not fade away in the Immaterium, they would be preserved in the network and come back to life one way or another. A man-made afterlife for the dead, a resource for the living, a network that protected both.
At its start, it was a means to advance and develop humanity like nothing before. At its apex, it was immortality and a form of preservation of everything that would ever be accomplished. At a level beyond, it would change reality itself as imagination was channelled as a tool.
Total replication would never come into fruition. Aside from the difficulties inherent in translating such a complex, powerful and alien design for humanity there was the fact that there simply wasn't enough time to fully delve into the topic. All the vast resources and technology available had either been destroyed, taken away or brought low by the calamites that almost all mankind had suffered.
The Remus Sector had managed to survive the Cybernetic Revolt better than most other areas, with all available weaponry once used against the Greenskins turned against the robotic legions that were there. Worlds still burned, cities were still crushed, but there was far more that had survived compared to total loss. Recovery was possible.
The Old Night had killed all hope of things turning back to anything resembling normalcy or peace. Warp storms had decimated countless systems across the galaxy, and the Remus Sector with its relatively large psyker population had been far from exempt of this disaster.
As a tide of psychic madness surrounded the entire region of space, separating it from any means of escape or later discovery, within the storm were rampant rivers and rifts that flowed from the Warp. Madness, opportunism, hard choices, bloodshed and cruelty began to emerge from this horrific era. Many psykers had burst into conduits of apocalypse. Entire planets were swallowed whole, never seen again in the physical realm.
The world that would become the capital of the Molek Hierarchy had been a world beset by terrible war. With minimal resources, especially means to create sustainable amounts of food and water, and vast armouries and laboratories full of scientific potential… man turned on man. Technobarbarians waged war for thousands of years against one another, warlords commanding soldiers wielded the remains of the past to annihilate the present, atrocities done by old research taken into new directions to take the lives of others.
Upon that planet, within a fortress-city that was more pristine and advanced than most, the descendents and inheritors of those who had tried to create this hive-soul nexus continued the work of the ancients with a renewed fervour. Enough surviving data, tested and dismissed theories, collections of related research and experiments, equipment and facilities had been present there.
The philosophy behind the idea and the process to achieve it had changed. Constraints that had hampered the research before, ethical concerns of needing so many human test subjects on such a scale and how they could be changed, were largely dismissed. Prisoners, enemies and fanatical volunteers were fed to a blood-stained process that took billions of lives to perfect. Old ideas seen with new eyes, to bring forth an answer.
With the technology that they had, the vision that they possessed and the sheer drive that pushed then forward, what would become the Molek Hierarchy began to dominate the war-torn planet that had once been a bastion of learning. Conflict had driven the research performed here since mankind came, it would continue by that same foundation.
More than humanity's way of life being able to be shifted on a fundamental level, granting benefits and potential on a scale difficult to fully comprehend, both mankind and the galaxy itself was in jeopardy. If another round of 'psychic awakening' overtook mankind, on all the worlds where remnants had survived, then the Warp could fully spread across the galaxy in a wildfire that would swallow everything.
If a terrible foe were to rise and bring armageddon again, from such familiar enemies as the Men of Iron or the Orks hordes, then mankind would also die or fall low enough that it would never rise again as it had before. Without being able to rely on artificial intelligence, with the severely magnified risks of the Immaterium and with humanity itself at strife in a now hostile galaxy… anything to bring salvation.
Technology and its myriad designs, critical skills, industrial expertise, language and culture, strength and skill, defence of souls against the Warp, channelling psykers to safety by grounding them to a collective. If a nexus could be made and provide the hypothesised benefits, then it would be the answer. The fate of everything could be shifted for a better future, no matter the cost.
Anything to save mankind.
Millenia passed again. So many had lost their lives, or suffered worst fates, to fuel the research into the hive-soul concept and ways to actually create one. Other weapons and defence had come through the experiments and resources used. More of the world was conquered, adding more resources and facilities and data. As well as test subjects.
Until a breakthrough was finally made. It was not a true replication of the miraculous ability that the Orks possessed, only able to affect a far smaller number of people at once, but it could be done and another nexus could be made afterwards. More and more to be made, forming a vast web of interconnected individuals. Knowledge, skill and mindsets shared together.
Each nexus just needed a power supply that could sustain it. While Orks could manage their Waaagh energy by any acts of fighting, being encoded in their psychosphere to the point that one would wither and die without battle, the pale imitation that the Hierarchy had created needed a far stronger means.
What better to protect and empower a soul, to act as fuel and bring structure, than the souls of others?
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Within the Remus Sector, as they internally preached salvation while coming against others with advanced weaponry and murderous intent, the Molek Hierarchy had truly arisen.
The world had been totally conquered by a rapid pace as numerous regiments of soldiers, more coordinated and skilled than even the most elite squads that previously existed, fought without mercy or hesitation. The most entrenched positions were taken. Fortresses were sieged and captured. Rival warlords and factions were either assimilated or annihilated.
With each death that had occurred, whether it was an act of killing or one of their own falling, it all seemed to invigourate the warriors and push them further into conflict. Shooting down anything deemed hostile, no matter the state it was in. No survivors beyond interrogation or to perform new tests. There was still so much to be done.
Morale had never been higher for those that fought for the Hierarchy. Discipline had reached tremendous heights, carefully enforced to ensure maximum capability. Battle had become something to look forward to, to fight and kill and grow stronger.
The offer of surrender was made more sparingly as time passed. There was a time where it was brought up to other nations that were deemed too small to be a threat or otherwise potentially useful, while others were killed en masse or burned to ashes. Then it was left unspoken, but still granted at times. Then it became a luxury when someone had something worthwhile to the Hierarchy, a treasure of resources or technology or unique expertise, and it would be otherwise lost.
Within a relatively short amount of time, the planet had been fully taken and the empire had fully established itself as the undisputed ruler. Now able to focus on more than just pure research and defence, the preservation of everything that it worked with for later generations. Now was the time for action.
Civilisation spread across the wastelands of the scarred world, peace inforced by the might of those that viewed death itself as a resource. Then as industry blossomed across the world, food and water made plentiful with less mouths to feed and collective focus, the rest of the system was viewed. Then the sub-sector. Then the entirety of the locked away Remus Sector.
Centuries of bloodshed pass, conquest across the shrouded stars. The progress of the devastation is limited only by the temporary restrictions of voidship construction, any naval vessels encountered were ordered to be boarded and captured than blown up from a distance, as well as the shifting whims of the Warp that still surged across. Any other worlds, moons or other places of humanity within the Remus Sector face the killing armies of Molek.
The Knight World of Chaion, a fortified realm that had weathered the brutal conflicts that had ravaged the Sector, had been destroyed by the Hierarchy soon after it began to properly voyage across the stars. An early victim that had valiantly fought with noble intentions, putting well-honed strength to use against the invaders, but they could not withstand the sheer amount of force that arrived.
The technology used to connect to the Knight frames, pilots being allowed to experience the ghost-memories of their encoded ancestors, had been torn out of the broken suits and taken back for study. The rest of the ruined weapons, armour and systems were taken back as the world was colonised as a strategic area of empire expansion to face more victims in the name of salvation.
The Second Technocracy of Orwick was a polity of several worlds that had proven to be more advanced than most other worlds encountered, possessing the naval industry and shipyards that the Molek Hierarchy had so desired, but had a critical weakness which was they tried to keep up old ways of morality and ethics. A useful tool to bring order and prosperity, which was abundant, but not to defend against a foe that could not be reasoned with.
It took a lot of time to take most of the planets, shifting tactics and strategies as much as possible to deal with such a large group of enemies, but the Hierarchy was far more experienced with waging war, had greater and crueller weapons, and were simply far more driven than their opponents. The empire that brought death to all had possessed far more soldiers that it could bring, and that was enough to spell doom for the Orwick Technocracy. A worthy opponent.
The greatest battle had been against the Eight-Path Ascendency, a system of five planets and four moons that had been devoted to Chaos. What they lacked in technology, they did not lack in psychic capability or an even greater willingness to kill and sacrifice themselves and others for power. The skies burned with scintillating flame. Veterans of brutal apocalypse, who had turned cities to dust and ash, were broken by pain and disease. It was a foe with weapons that could not be taken, could not be used and wielded madness as a resource as well as death and faith.
Then there were the entities beyond reality, the malignant spirits that stalked nightmares, the daemons. Warp xenos were the scientific designation, but the Molek Hierarchy knew them as monsters. The things they had done had made every atrocity performed or previously encountered, haunting sights that dwelled in fever dreams.
In the end, the planets and moons had all been set alight with phosphex launched by ships. Whether the native populace were already dealt with or not. Nothing would be allowed to remain of the twisted worlds. They still burned for ages and ages, almost as bright as stars when a ship entered the system.
The conflict had granted little more usable knowledge of the Warp, that which was safe enough in principle to understand, but the greatest element of this corrupted domain was the revelations it brought about daemons and the Dark Gods that they all served. The monsters that dwelled within the Warp and their true nature, devouring souls and emotion and everything they could reach, ruin and destruction personified in three major aspects and however many other minors ones that swarmed the Immaterium.
It had all become another means of justification to the slaughter.
There was more purpose to the constant death than just to feed the various soul-nexus that were made, as countless soldiers, assassins, pilots and other humans of the Hierarchy were integrated to. Through each act of killing, they grew stronger which thus made their nexus stronger. Through each soul taken, that was now a soul that would not be torn by the Warp or devoured by its daemons.
With how unprotected other humans were to the Warp and to daemons, even discounting psykers, and the critical mass of lifeforms compared to the severely weakened reality and storm-wracked galaxy… it was deemed to be better to kill them all, bring back stability and balance to the galaxy and humanity, with their souls used for a noble purpose than to dissipate or burn to the wild waves and Dark Gods in the Warp.
Then there was further improvement to consider. The nexus were a pale replication of what the Orks possessed, their network being far stronger in power and use, but it had better fitted humanity compared to the fungal superorganism that was the source of what the Greenskins possessed. The hypothesised heights of the human nexus concept that was first considered by the research teams of the old days were nowhere close to be attained, even with all the later research done and the sacrifices behind it, and yet…
As a nexus grew in power, the warriors connected becoming far more advanced than physically possible as their souls burned brightly by, then hypothetically the means to enhance to a next 'stage' of capability would be far easier than before, or even happen naturally without the need of artificial 'upgrading' by the nexus researchers of the Hierarchy. An afterlife, a means to shape reality, a way to ensure survival and victory against anything.
With nothing else that could resist them, the Molek Hierarchy had dominated the entirety of the Remus Sector. The rampant inner-storms had calmed as the empire grew, seen as evidence of their plans in restoring stability to the galaxy, but the outer-storm that blocked the galaxy had persistently remained as a total block. Researchers and psykers within the empire had shifted their attention to bringing it down, to find some means to expand outside their domain.
Most planet had become dedicated to prepare for the coming time of true salvation, to bring death and order and peace to the galaxy. Factories and fortresses were arisen, cities dedicated to produce more workers and soldiers, space stations to construct ships and maintain fleets. Mining as much as possible to feed it all, cargo transport fleets flying across the entire area. The ruins of less destroyed civilisations or already dead tombs were scavenged of technology and salvaged of all resources.
More regiments of soldiers were granted the nexus, expanding the numbers until the whole army was comprised of such fighters. There were examples of differences that became apparent in some of the older ones, the ones most well fed and comprised of the most experienced combatants, specialisation colouring the system.
War games were put into place. Regiments with the nexus against one another. A sport that was defined by bloodshed, death and growth and broadcasted for all to see. It was a rare occasion for one to wholly destroy another, but there was many a time where one group all but decimated another.
One growing greater, another left to start again, all waiting for the promised day. That was the philosophy that governed the nexus system. Warriors sharpening themselves, their very souls, to butcher others and prove themselves as the mightier ones. A feedback loop of battle, death, refinement and growth.
Time passes in advancement and galactic events. The birth of a new Chaos God was felt, noticed by how the galaxy seemed to clear of most of its Warp storms. Allowing free movement for others, for all the slowly or rapidly building disasters to flourish, but not for the Hierarchy. The outside was a mysterious place, with few knowing what to truly expect when it was finally faced, so close and so out of reach.
Until finally the storm around the Remus Sector had faded away, as the Maelstrom is banished into small remains and the Warp itself is pushed back in a way never before done by mankind, the actions of the Imperium allowing the Hierarchy to be unleashed.
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Almost in an instant, the very moment the great storm had dissipated, three surrounding Sectors were invaded by fleets that had patiently waited for thousands of years to exterminate everyone they could find.
No explanation is offered by the ships that almost immediately attack, after brief analysis is done to the victims. No word is spoken as screams erupt and are silenced, leaving a quiet emptiness behind for abandoned ruins. No mercy was offered, for it was was the will of the Hierarchy.
As the Extermination Fleets committed their work, leaving trails of destruction that spread from the Remus Sector, certain armies displayed greater success than their fellows. Archetypes of warfare, destruction and murder were mantled by those dedicated to expunging the galaxy of other life.
The 204th Molek Regiment, the 'Wildfire Corps', became renowned for their brutal efficiency as world after world fell by their flamers and plasma weaponry. Wearing bulky fire-resistant armour, masks to protect against smoke and fumes, they were fierce spectres to the people that they burned. Feral and Feudal planets were torched to cinders by the surprisingly quick incinerators, the warriors charging forward to ignite everything they could see.
Against greater foes, from those lead by psychic tyrants to those dominated by the Khrave, plasma was used more liberally alongside toxic-concoctions mixed with the promethium. Forests and jungles went up in giant infernos that could be seen from orbit, cities turned into burnt husks when they weren't taken by mistaken surrender, with phosphex used when everything else failed or was simply going too slowly.
The 503rd Molek Regiment, the 'Executioners Cohort', were a group that were dedicated to the art of melee and close-quarters combat. Shotguns were the main form of ranged weapon, the armaments full of armour-piercing rounds or flesh-shredding splinters, but blades either humming with power fields or roaring with teeth and chains were the main focus. Elites wore jump-packs to get them closer to their prey, while the rest wore light armour to help them rush forward.
To foes they had defeated, there was a ritual of mass-execution that was committed to all survivors. Wounded soldiers, civilians and anyone else that could be found were gathered together in chains and shackles. The blades went up, shining towards a bright future, and then the blades went down. In one last strike, a world was brought to an end.
The 31st Molek Regiment, the 'Molek Enforcers', were one of the first that were granted a nexus and to voyage into space after the capital world was conquered. Veterans of countless battles and war games, they were a vast group of specialists that worked together with absolute cohesion and efficiency. Sniper teams working with scouts, artillery working with pin-point accuracy, tanks following rapid infantry. Everything working together as one
Their first major target as the Remus Warp storm fell was a Forge World, the term not yet known to the newly freed empire but the potential treasures and industry were. Immensely fortified and protected by a zealous populace, full of technology both wondrous and eccentric, the Enforcers had descended with the intent to take the world as intact as possible. Waging a brutal conflict over a few months, decimating temples to the Machine God, everything of note taken or interrogated.
Within just five years of the Warp storm's dispersal, the three Sectors that surrounded the Remus were almost totally exterminated of all life by the hands of the Molek Hierarchy. Worlds were left ashen, still burning from the horrific weapons used upon them, or were left as ashes or ruins by the Extermination Fleets.
Trillions had perished in less than a decade, their souls fed to the nexus soldiers in great tithes of death, and the pace of destruction was not slowing. Yet a big element had become apparent as the warriors kept up their crusade of annihilation.
The Hierarchy had learned of another grand human empire, through some of the civilisations they had slaughtered or the hails from scout ships that they had broken into pieces. The Imperium of Mankind, sourced from humanity's homeworld of Terra and Mars for the Cult Mechanicum, possessing upwards of half a million planets.
If even the Imperium was even a quarter of the size it claimed to be, it was far bigger than the Hierarchy by several orders of magnitude. The technology they possessed seemed to be wildly disparate, with some of the feudal kingdoms or tribal worlds claimed to be a part of the Imperium, but the general force didn't seem that much inferior to what the Melok possessed.
Yet what they did not have in pure numbers, the Hierarchy had the zealous drive and multifaceted capability of their hive-soul system. Skill, strength and an edge in weaponry and armour would be their advantage against the Terran Empire. The more they killed, the stronger they would be. Spreading across the stars, bringing death and destruction to all around. Taking what resources, technology, ships, knowledge, worlds and lives needed to expand the Hierarchy across the stars. They would find victory, no matter the cost, as they had always done.
Even if it meant that most of them would die against vast hordes of Imperials, facing death to an unprecedented scale, the Molek Hierarchy would give everything they could for their ultimate goal. By the end, the Imperium would become the sharpening stone they needed to fully ascend their nexus to its final shape.
For the future of mankind, for the galaxy and reality itself, the Hierarchy would do anything in the name of salvation.
Alright, this whole series is taking longer than I liked. So I'm just finishing up what I have so I can move on to the last faction
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Red Trinity: The Stratios Expanse Nations (Part Two)
"People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own souls." - Carl Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul.
Death remains one of the most potent destroyers of nations under its various guises, such as war, famine, and disease. However, some saw it instead as a catalyst. A belief that these afflictions are tests of a civilization's resilience, where the outcome is stark: survival or demise. However, a rarer, more insidious form of decay exists—a decline that erodes culture, history, and ideology until they wither into oblivion.
Witnessing the unraveling of one's identity and values is a grim spectacle. It is the slow descent into barbarism, culminating in extinguishing a civilization's once-burning torch.
Some, characterized by ignorance, naivety, or lack of imagination, offer trite platitudes, attributing such decay to the inexorable life cycle—a force resisting the inevitable. To these individuals, decay is an abstract notion, a distant specter, and they hope it will spare them during their inconsequential lifetimes. Meanwhile, those with ambition or anxiety relentlessly seek solutions to postpone the inevitable.
Yet, even these individuals, driven by an unquenchable thirst for immortality, will ultimately meet their doom. The conquest of death is an endeavor that demands profound sacrifices, and the definition of "adequate" remains elusive. The eradication of life itself in pursuit of immortality is a fallacy that defies all rational metrics.
But can it be done? Can a nation truly overcome the specter of death in its many shapes and guises? Well, perhaps we should look at the Nekresethni and their answers to such question, and you, dear reader, will need to decide for yourself.
The annals of Nekresethni's history trace back to the ancestors of what would one day be the Talvarrians, but instead chose a path distinct from their kindred who journeyed to the promised land. Their destination: the enigmatic Stratios Expanse. Unbeknownst to them, the Expanse concealed perils of cosmic proportions. Undeterred, these valiant yet unknowing pioneers vowed to establish a new society under the guidance of their ship captains, resolute in their quest to unearth a new home.
Eight months were all it took for them to traverse the lightless void and breach the Stratios Expanse—a time they perceived as a blessing, destined to be their sole one. The immediate revelation awaiting them was far from auspicious. The initial system they encountered was barren, devoid of the resources necessary to sustain a colony. Even more disconcerting were the telltale signs of celestial conflict—alien hulks, decaying outposts on desolate moons, and the indelible scars of battle.
The early days were marked by an undying optimism that coursed through the ranks of both crews and captains. With most colonists still in cryosleep, panic remained a distant specter, and their stockpile of resources proved ample. This surplus emboldened them to tread carefully amid the unfamiliar celestial landscapes. However, this hope was destined to be short-lived, as the stark reality of their predicament soon dawned upon them.
It was crucial to remember that these vessels were not equipped with conventional Warp Drives but rather experimental sub-light engines. Time and distance evolved into relentless adversaries. For half a century, they traversed six-star systems, yet each one yielded naught to sustain human life, let alone the establishment of a colony.
Patience waned, giving way to concern, which transformed into frustration and anger. Suddenly, not everything had gone according to whatever vague plan they had in mind. As the fleet pressed on, new challenges materialized. The sleeper vessels, now ancient and battered from their lengthy journey, began to experience a gradual breakdown of components and systems. Time seemed to slip through their fingers, and an emergency meeting became inevitable as the situation grew increasingly dire.
The revelations unveiled during the discussion painted a bleak tableau. One of the colony ships teetered on the brink of disintegration, its engines on the verge of failure. Another vessel was grappling with a food crisis caused by contamination in its ration processors.
Furthermore, numerous crews had grown to unsustainable sizes, a testament to humanity's inexorable urge to reproduce, even in the bleakest circumstances. The proverbial clock was ticking relentlessly.
Because the next star system lay almost four decades away, while the previous one, though only fifteen years distant, bore the scars of fierce conflicts. Colonizing planets that had once seen intense battles posed grave risks. Besides, attempting to establish a colony on an inhospitable world bereft of ample resources would almost certainly spell doom for all involved.
At this grim juncture, Captain Simond Teaurelin, the visionary behind the initial departure from their sister fleets, proposed a dire necessity for the greater good of the expedition. He argued that returning the way they came would lead only to a slow and agonizing demise. Instead, they must forge ahead, even if it means making painful sacrifices, leaving some behind to secure the survival of the rest.
Captain Teaurelin invoked emergency powers under a naval code, presenting quite an inhuman proposal. He suggested that the two failing colony ships should be cannibalized for vital components, with all essential personnel absorbed into the remaining four vessels. Furthermore, colonists possessing skills crucial for any prospective colonial endeavor would be roused from cryosleep and integrated into the other ships. It was a truly harrowing proposition fraught with ethical dilemmas in any circumstances, yet not without a certain grim pragmatism.
Perhaps the most unsettling aspect was that all those present at this crucial juncture, including the captains of the two ill-fated vessels, consented to Captain Teaurelin's plan. Such a lack of empathy might be deemed monstrous in most other circumstances. However, these were desperate times, and many of these officers later admitted that they held little regard for the colonists in cryosleep.
A human saying encapsulates this mindset: "It's a dog-eat-dog world." I can attest that several species across the galaxy would hold this sentiment in high regard. In the relentless struggle for survival, one is often compelled to commit heinous acts. The galaxy, after all, bears witness to the ruination of entire civilizations on a scale that renders the fate of a few million individuals almost inconsequential.
Ultimately, the other captains concluded that Teaurelin's plan was the best option. It took five years to complete, albeit not without complications, as expected in such a dire situation. While most crews were willing to accept the severity of the measures required, dissent brewed among a few.
As the "fortunate" colonists were roused from their cryosleep, they soon grasped the stark reality: their continued survival depended on their usefulness to the remaining ships. This understanding led to further challenges, culminating in several on-board revolts sparked by the collective guilt over the slaughter of millions of people.
The on-board revolts persisted for six bloody months, during which Captain Teaurelin's ruthless character escalated to horrifying proportions. He resorted to venting the atmosphere of one of the vessels, effectively ending the rebellion but causing the loss of numerous loyalist crew members alongside the rebels. He threatened to repeat this tactic in a grim display of power on any ship that defied officer orders.
After the revolts were quelled, Captain Teaurelin surprisingly extended a blanket amnesty to all those who had participated in the rebellions, urging them to refocus their efforts on the mission ahead. It would be a long journey toward their potentially last chance of survival.
"Man's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions." - Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr, Personal Musings.
The course to the next system took 42 years and seven months. It was a long and exhausting journey; many among the crews were honestly quite happy to arrive until they saw what would become their new home. Their scanners and probes returned with information on a trinary star system, and once they took stock of their new home, they called it Nulithra, the "Desolate Fates."
Nulithra. I know of this place. Heard of it, even. It did not have a good reputation. I doubt it will have one even after I tell this tale. However, for these lost souls, it looked welcoming enough. Yet, the system is a harsh testament to the relentless indifference of the cosmos. It has borne witness to the silent toll that the universe exacts on those who sought to turn the Expanse into their own.
Among its three suns (Christened Auranthar, Solanis, and Vashura), a haunting dance of fire and light lies a collection of celestial bodies that defy hope and despair. Covered most by the light of the trinity are hundreds of ship graveyards that dot the void like ancient tombstones, harboring the wrecks and relics of countless species that once dared to fight and die, either in defense of this system or to take it. None have ever cleaned up the wreckage. Meanwhile, frozen in perpetual desolation, dead worlds hang as silent captives and watchers.
Yet before despair could set into the crews, the scans returned to report something amazing amidst this cosmic graveyard—an ember of life flickering in the frigid darkness of this place that once had a hundred names. The survivors called it Ostrvosylo, their home. It was a semi-habitable world that offered a glimpse of a second chance.
When the humans arrived at Ostrvosylo, they were dismayed to find that the planet was… bizarre, to say the least. Two foremost characteristic that defines Ostrvosylo. The first was a vast assortment of destroyed vessels, satellites, orbital super-structures, and general debris ranging from the asteroids to even a few captured comets. This resulted in the planet having an uncomfortable amount of space pollution, which the humans called Kessler syndrome.
The second was Ostrvosylo's captivating and surreal crystal fields, stretching approximately 60% of the planet's surface. These sprawling and imposing crystalline structures come in four distinct hues—red, blue, purple, and green—creating a breathtaking and multi-colored mosaic beneath the planet's ever-changing sky, thanks to the three stars of Nulithra. These transparent and opaque crystalline formations catch the light in a symphony of colors, casting an iridescent and mesmerizing aura across the landscape. To witness the crystal fields is to be transported to an otherworldly realm where the laws of nature appear to have taken a different form.
Amidst the radiant expanse of the crystal fields lies the 40% of Ostrvosylo's surface that allows for the fragile existence of human life. In these semi-habitable regions, the captivating colors of the crystals are somewhat less dominant, allowing for a more practical environment for human colonization. Yet among these crystal-free lands, the humans found even more graveyards of ancient outposts and crashed vessels.
Death was everywhere in this system. Yet the captains and crew had no choice. Ostrvosylo was to be their home. The journey to this strange planet was a perilous one. Navigating the system proved challenging as it was littered with the remnants of alien vessels and spacecraft graveyards haunting the void. These debris fields concealed hidden dangers, like void mines and rogue auto-turrets, still waiting to unleash their fury after who knows how many eons.
There were casualties during this leg of the journey. One of the sleeper ships fell victim to an enigmatic weapon, a catastrophic force that propagated entropy across nine decks, mercilessly extinguishing tens of thousands of lives. Miraculously, the ship survived the rest of the treacherous journey, its hull scarred, bearing silent witness to the cataclysm that had befallen its crew.
In the wake of this tragedy, Captain Teaurelin issued a solemn decree. The fallen souls received their last rites, were adorned with IFF tags, and consigned to the cold abyss of space behind the trailing vessel. Their sacrifice marked a path, paving the way for those who would follow.
"Even in death, they shall aid humanity," Captain Teaurelin intoned, a prophetic utterance that would resonate through the annals of history, though he would not live to witness the profound significance of his words. His tale would continue as he returned to the realm of the living some four millennia later. But let us not get ahead of the story.
Nearly a century had elapsed since they bid farewell to their brethren and almost six centuries since departing Terra. It was finally time for humanity to claim its place among these ancient alien stars. The colonists awoke to the breathtaking sight of three radiant suns and the crystalline mountains of Ostrvosylo. They had emerged from their slumber intact, eager to embrace the possibilities of their new world.
However, those who had slumbered through the ages were ignorant of the trials and tribulations their waking counterparts had endured. By the time they learned of the struggles and sacrifices that had paved their way, the governance of Ostrvosylo had already been established, with the Ostrvosylo Colonial Authority in firm control. No one could challenge or seek justice for the victims of the past revolts, their stories eclipsed by the undertaking before them. All sins were forgiven, in some sense.
If only that were true. Some sins run deep. Deeper than most can imagine.
"The past is never dead. It's not even past." - William Faulkner, Personal Musings.
Time moved forward on Ostrvosylo. We need not go over the finer details of the first two millennia, but a summary of events is in order. The first is that human society did indeed survive and begin to recover. It took a century to build the first cities and another to construct orbital infrastructure.
All colony ships were cannibalized for parts for the on-world colonies, dragged down onto the surface, and carved apart like an animal's carcass by scavengers. A necessary sacrifice and the last order that Captain Teaurelin gave before his passing. It would be long before any human on Ostrvosylo would venture back into the stars above. For now, all focus had to be on rebuilding their society under the "guidance" of colonial authority.
Perhaps one of the most tragic ironies of this world was that the people who escaped from the oppressive governments of Earth found themselves back under the same sort of leadership. Surviving a desperate journey to establish a new home among the stars led to the rise of an authoritarian regime in the form of the Ostrvosylo Colonial Authority. A return to normalcy would never occur. The growth of its population and the blossoming of industry and technologies allowed generations to bear witness to the steady erosion of individual freedoms and the consolidation of power within the planetary government.
Gradually, their society's collective focus shifted away from individual liberties as the government asserted control over various aspects of daily life. While Ostrvosylo continued to thrive in terms of technological advancements and economic success, the social fabric began to fray. Dissent and independent thought were discouraged, and civil liberties were curtailed. The authoritarian regime consolidated power through surveillance, censorship, and suppression of political opposition.
This dystopian transformation was characterized by a society that, on the surface, appeared prosperous and harmonious. Beneath the façade of success, however, individuals lived under the shadow of surveillance, conforming to a system that brooked no dissent. The Colonial Authority controlled the military, economy, and research divisions. This is why they were the only ones inclined to the secrets of the crystals on Ostrvosylo.
Throughout the two millennia since landing, research into the enigmatic crystals of Ostrvosylo has been a complex and multifaceted endeavor and one not without risk for humans. The unique properties of these crystals have both fascinated and terrified the planet's inhabitants, offering immense potential while carrying inherent dangers; alas, it took almost five centuries to develop the infrastructure and institutional knowledge to begin research.
One must remember that the early colonists faced the daunting challenge of developing the infrastructure and institutional knowledge required for comprehensive crystal research. In these initial years, the primary focus was survival, growth, and establishing the Colonial Authority's control over the population. At that time, the colony lacked many scientists capable of delving into more esoteric fields of study.
Nevertheless, research initiatives were finally set in motion after considerable effort and sacrifice. The early years of crystal research were marked by cautious optimism. Scientists began by examining the green crystals, the most abundant and accessible variety. It was discovered that these greens possessed a remarkable quality, capable of efficiently harnessing and storing energy with only a minimal 2% loss during transfer. These crystals could indefinitely retain the energy by simply supplying electricity or sunlight.
In contrast, the red crystals presented a completely distinct enigma. Rather than acting as energy stores, they exhibited catalytic properties. It took an entire century to unravel the scientific intricacies, but the researchers found that, when properly calibrated, these red crystals could release energy akin to a las-weapon. However, their properties were otherworldly, causing violent explosive reactions instead of burning their targets.
The blues and purples remained shrouded in mystery for an extended period, as a tragic event known as the Hetoh Incident resulted in the Colonial Authority suspending any attempts to comprehend their properties. An unfortunate discovery within a secured facility handling research into these crystals abruptly went dark and triggered an onsite atomic event. The Colonial Authority only received a disturbing and confusing message: "The crystals are home to two worlds. One living and one dead."
It wasn't until a subsequent century that the Colonial Authority researched the otherworldly nature of all crystals via a new private enterprise. However, this knowledge was closely guarded and kept hidden from the general population. After implementing enhanced security measures, research resumed, although not without eerie consequences.
Researchers in the latter stages of crystal exploration reported strange phenomena during experiments—unexplained apparitions, eerie whispers, and spectral occurrences. These crystals seemed to serve as conduits for eldritch energies that appeared to intersect with something involving the deceased. The notion of a connection between the crystals and a supposed afterlife raised unsettling questions, and this information was meticulously concealed by the Ostrvosylo government as the crystals' enigma deepened.
Nevertheless, research on the red and green crystals bore more productive and safe results. Once the technology reached a point of maturity, the Colonial Authority gave the go-ahead to start using the green and red crystals within their groundside industry. Using the green on Ostrvosylo power systems helped initiate an economic renaissance of unparalleled proportions as suddenly energy became increasingly stable and easy to harvest. With the red crystals at their disposal, Ostrvosylo's military capabilities experienced a seismic shift in killing potential. These crimson gems fueled the development of advanced weaponry with uniquely devastating properties. Las-weapon equivalents harnessed the crystals' destructive potential, rendering conventional arms obsolete and soon enough scaled for combat vehicles and someday even ships.
With the opportunities presented by these discoveries, the Colonial Authority needed to spend only twenty years constructing a starship that could move through the debris field littered across their system while research continued on the blue and purple crystals. Thus began the next century of "cleaning up" the hulks and debris from the orbit of Ostrvosylo and creating a new fleet of defense and salvage fleets.
Yet all the excitement of the next two centuries would be on Ostrvosylo. The Colonial Authority, well, authority, started to erode once more as the cities and settlements grew distant from the capital. The centuries of prosperity brought about by introducing the limitless energy of the green crystals meant that it was quite easy to go "off the grid" and allow new ideas to flourish unimpeded.
It should come as a surprise when an independence movement began, although many would have been surprised to see it was backed by the Ostrvosylo Aetherworks Consortium. The OAC or Consortium had grown considerably in the last two hundred years, effectively controlling the mining and refinement of crystal minerals, transportation, and research and development for the Colonial Authority. Their leadership under Director Laraio made the Consortium exceedingly wealthy and powerful.
But this wasn't enough for Director Laraio, who became exceedingly deranged and believed the crystals were talking to her. They were right to think so, as the Consortium's research into the purple crystals allowed them to learn of the true power of these eldritch substances, namely their influence over the dead.
"War is like a fire in the human community, one whose fuel is living men and whose ashes are the bodies of the dead." - Edith Sitwel, Personal Musings.
The Colonial Authority maintained an unyielding grip on Ostrvosylo for centuries, steering the planet toward prosperity and purpose. However, this ascendancy came at a steep cost – generations lived under the shadow of an authoritarian regime, their rights suppressed, and their lives subject to the perpetual state of "emergency rule." The dream of a society free from the iron-fisted governance of their forebears lingered in the hearts of Ostrvosylo's citizens, a dormant seed awaiting the right conditions for revolt.
As the 600th anniversary of Ostrvosylo's founding approached, the Free Shepherds, a rebel faction, decided the time was ripe for change. Coordinated bombings, acts of sabotage, and targeted assassinations erupted across every major city, transforming what could have been an isolated incident into a widespread rebellion.
Simultaneously, in the outer regions, various factions initiated their own uprisings, with militia units emerging from habs and factories, all secretly backed by the Ostrvosylo Aetherworks Consortium. A dozen declarations for independence were heard, and millions rose up.
Thus, the Ostrvosylo Civil War ignited a protracted and blood-soaked conflict that endured for nearly two decades, claiming the lives of almost a third of the human population. Unbeknownst to many, the OAC orchestrated and exploited the chaos to achieve its threefold objectives: undermine the control of the Colonial Authority, test enigmatic "purple" technologies, and disseminate the peculiar ideology of Aetherism. This belief system posited that death was not an end but a latent tool waiting to be fully harnessed by humanity.
When the dust of the Ostrvosylo Civil War finally settled, the Colonial Authority celebrated what appeared to be a victory. However, the jubilation proved short-lived as the extent of the devastation became apparent. While the Colonial Authority possessed orbital infrastructure, red-crystal weapons, and harnessed the industry fueled by green crystal energy, the violent population had been drastically reduced through brutal purges, and the use of chemical and biological weapons had left cities in ruin, farmlands devastated, and two-thirds of the workforce dead. The society that had claimed victory was, in truth, doomed.
Amidst this bleak outlook, the OAC emerged with an unexpected solution to the planet's myriad problems. A solution that promised to rejuvenate their society and repair the damages wrought by the civil war. The shock and terror of the populace were palpable as the mindless dead began to rise, transformed into cybernetically enhanced beings known as Aetherlings via purple-crystal technology known as a Harmonic Convergence Crown. These resurrected corpses, under the direct command of OAC handlers, embarked on a mission to rebuild alongside the surviving population.
The initial terror transformed into confusion and then a wave of disgust and fear among those who deemed the resurrection an affront to human dignity. After all, these were the bodies of people. Yet, a significant faction, particularly among the followers of Aetherism, hailed this phenomenon as a miracle orchestrated by the OAC. The undead became an invaluable resource capable of venturing into perilous regions laden with unexploded munitions, residual bio-weapons, and ruined cities deemed too hazardous for the living. Additionally, they could work the factories and farms endlessly, allowing the surviving humans to focus on repair and upkeep.
Efforts by the Colonial Authority to resist this unexpected turn of events proved futile. Their soldiers, worn down from the recent war and unwilling to confront armies of the undead, refused to fight against the Aetherlings. Forced to adapt to this new reality, the Colonial Authority could only feign ownership of the idea while the OAC quietly assumed control.
Within a year of the Day of the Dead, a term later coined to commemorate and celebrate this transformative event, the OAC officially declared that the Colonial Authority was now under "new and improved" management. Civil liberties, once suppressed under the iron fist of the Colonial Authority, were seemingly restored, prompting jubilation among the populace, who welcomed their new overlords with open arms. However, this collective joy masked the subtle shift in power dynamics, and the people remained blissfully unaware or indifferent that, in embracing this change, they unwittingly surrendered more than just their freedoms — they had effectively ceded their lives to a burgeoning corporate theocracy.
"Civilizations die from suicide, not by murder." - Arnold J. Toynbee, Personal Musings.
In my time, I've recognized a pattern among civilizations: if the cost for greatness can be made on the backs of others, then people can accept it in good measure. Keeping this in mind, it should come as no surprise that the advent of purple-crystal technologies, known now as Necrotech, became widespread as the benefits outweighed any ethical concern.
Within a decade, the damages from the civil war were seemingly erased as the Aetherlings worked tirelessly, wordlessly carrying out the most difficult, dangerous, and uncomfortable tasks and allowing humans to take a moment to appreciate the good they brought. Once true stability returned to Ostrvosylo, people silently questioned if they should let the dead rest.
The response was a resounding "No" by the population. And no, the OAC didn't need to do much to get this outcome. They merely allowed human nature to act out. No one wanted to return to the old ways, the backbreaking hours working the assembly lines, the mines, the farms, or a hundred other inglorious jobs that needed doing.
The prevailing sentiment echoed through Ostrvosylo: "It's not like the dead care, so why should we? Aetherism says this is good, and the results speak for themselves." It became the rallying cry against dissenters and skeptics. The populace found solace in the idea that the departed, now Aetherlings, had a newfound purpose. People were willing and eager to contribute their deceased loved ones to this societal transformation.
In the collective consciousness, embracing Necrotech was viewed as an opportunity for the departed to continue aiding their families, a comforting thought that assuaged any moral qualms. Justifications proliferated, and individuals convinced themselves that they were honoring their loved ones' memories by integrating them into the productive fabric of the Aetherling workforce. Whatever excuse could be made became a sufficient rationale for the widespread acceptance of this unprecedented integration of the living and the dead.
Can you imagine a civilization that embraced this? To see the dead as both a tool and resource in one? The society that began on Ostrvosylo had been dying since its inception, but the rot had finally taken hold and succumbed.
As centuries passed, Aetherlings were assigned menial tasks and handled increasingly complicated roles such as repairs and replacing machine parts. The living and the undead coexisted, or rather, the living thrived while the undead served. The OAC's control over Necrotech ensured their dominance and any dissent was quickly quashed. The society that emerged was one of apparent harmony, but beneath the surface, there lingered a sense of unease.
Prosperity and productivity soared. A golden age began, where the living became increasingly dependent on the dead. Yet the concept of human dignity eroded, replaced by a pragmatic acceptance of the benefits Necrotech bestowed upon them. You were born into this world, enjoyed its fruits and glories, and your body was part of the workforce when it came time for you to pass on.
The Aetherlings, devoid of will or consciousness, followed their directives tirelessly without question. They were not just mindless zombies; instead, they were programmable entities, efficiently executing their assigned tasks. The dead were now tools, extensions of the living's will. What cost was the population truly paying for their utopia? Was there a point where the line between life and death blurred and ethical boundaries crossed? These questions remained unspoken, drowned out by the hum of machinery, the obedient shuffling of Aetherlings, and the contented silence of a populace enjoying the fruits of Necrotech.
The fate of the OAC, the Colonial Authority, and those who once sought to distance themselves from the horrors of Ostrvosylo is a narrative void, cosmically insignificant in that sense. With time, they seamlessly integrated into the evolving society that unfolded on the planet—a society shaped by the culmination of Aetherism and the inexorable destiny that awaited them. The questions about the OAC's dissolution, the Colonial Authority's transformation, and the individuals caught amid this paradigm shift are inconsequential.
Upon this new millennia, the people of this world began to "evolve" into an unrecognizable society that embraced the power afforded to them via Necrotech and their dominion over the dead, which had brought them prosperity and a new destiny.
All of which began with the discovery of the Ostrvosylo Simulation.
"Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge." - Lord Byron, Personal Musings.
There are two worlds on Ostrvosylo. The living and the dead. Humanity has, in ages past, readily accepted this concept in its numerous forms and guises that once a living creature passes away, its soul will transcend to another plane of existence. A lofty idea that has merit in more primitive societies.
But on Ostrvosylo, this was real. The scientists at the Hetoh Facility discovered this truth centuries before the OAC that the crystals on this world were an extension of something that had grown within what they called a "world mind" and had been absorbing the dead after discovering an alien device called the Stygian Recorder.
This was a peculiar discovery, especially when examined within the greater context of Ostrvosylo. It was that a planet that clearly had been visited by several alien civilizations, as indicated by the ship graveyards above, was devoid of any ruins, let alone working alien technology. So, discovering the Stygian Recorder was considered a bit of a windfall.
And such a thing could not have been found during a more auspicious time. One might have wondered just how the Stygian Recorder, supposedly destroyed at the Heoth Facility, survived and ended up in the hands of the OAC. Perhaps through serendipity or by design. Did it matter now? As the OAC plotted their eventual domination over Ostrvosylo, the research into the world mind of their homeworld became paramount.
It took a few years to reactivate the Stygian Recorder and then restart research on the blue and purple crystals, but the OAC scientists only received what could only be described as garbled vox transmissions. It seemed like a failure until they determined there was a resonance frequency for the crystals. In fact, there appeared to be a frequency for all the crystals, which would be useful in the centuries to come. All that mattered was that they could finally hear the sounds of what they initially thought to be their own world, albeit distorted. That was until a few scientists thought they heard familiar voices of deceased loved ones, yet it was impossible to determine what words or tones were used.
That was until they heard the sounds of what they initially believed to be some sort of storm on the other end, followed by energy discharges and a host of otherworldly sounds. Whatever was happening in the world mind of Ostrvosylo, it didn't seem all that pleasant.
After deciphering the frequencies, the OAC attempted to communicate with the world mind. It took a century, but eventually, they sent a message: "Hello, can anyone hear us?" The ominous and concise response sent shivers through their collective being: "Send. More. Souls."
In the face of unearthly revelations, a more prudent mind might have buried such knowledge, hiding away the Stygian Recorder and avoiding mentioning the unsettling truth. However, the leaders of the OAC saw an opportunity to unravel the mysteries of the departed. Expanding their research program, by the time the Ostrvosylo civil war erupted, they had delved deep into the enigmatic realm of life and death.
Communication with the spirits dwelling in this otherworldly simulation was established, and the astonishing reality was unveiled through the spirit of Captain Simond Teaurelin. He disclosed that Ostrvosylo was not host to a world mind but rather a simulation of the afterlife, persistently running in the background of the local warp within and around Ostrvosylo, extending even across Nulithra.
Within this simulation, a war raged between myriad factions of specters, aliens, and horrors that sought dominion over Ostrvosylo throughout the eons. Teaurelin struggled to articulate the nature of the simulation, likening it to a pocket galaxy or dimension. More crucially, he held the key to escaping this ethereal realm and returning to the real world. Moreover, he could command the dead in the material world using the crystals as conduits and a network to the simulation.
The OAC's elation knew no bounds at this newfound knowledge. Operating under the assumption that the crystals were mere power sources, the revelation that they served as warp conduits for a complex simulation hinted at the OAC transcending humanity.
Armed with this knowledge, the OAC emerged triumphant in the civil war, heralding a new era and using Necrotech. Simultaneously, efforts to reclaim the departed commenced, albeit with a realization that a significant portion had to remain in the simulation for the stability of humanity. Accepting this trade, the OAC focused on retrieving individuals deemed useful to their cause.
Mastering the art of extracting a soul from the simulation took time, but once achieved, the process of inhabiting a body became surprisingly facile, even if it meant overriding the mind and soul of the previous owner. The experiments were a success. Captain Teaurelin was the first to return, as did Director Laraio, and the first of those called the Nekresethni.
The term "Nekresethni" emerged without a discernible origin, designating them as the people of the dead—reflecting the dead nations, the dead ethics, of an entire people. Quite appropriate, really. A civilization that had fought so hard to survive had "died" and returned stronger than before.
Yet, in the grand scheme of Ostrvosylo's history, its inception holds little relevance. There is only the Nekresethni in the present; in many ways, there had only ever been the Nekresethni on this world. In time, the old trappings of their world would become obsolete and replaced by the Ostrvosylo Congressional Republic. A carefully crafted illusion for the citizens and the final death keel of the Colonial Authority and OAC, both of which were merely tools of the true masters of this world and, like so many things, were forgotten soon enough to time and history, having now outlived their purpose and use. After all, why have a government, religion, and corporation separated from each other when they all served the same masters?
Everything on Ostrvosylo was now under the command of the unliving masters, while most living humans took control of everything else. Not that it mattered now. The humans came to see the Nekresethni as honored ancestors and shepherds of the dead. Aetherism became the state religion of Ostrvosylo, while the OAC and Colonial Authority were folded into the new congress and president's office. Little more than illusions of freedom and control, as such things often were.
And the true masters of Ostrvosylo did not cloak themselves in frivolous trappings or titles, for such things were ephemeral in their minds. One could argue there was a council of equals or a hidden leadership among the resurrected. It didn't matter. There was only the Nekresethni now.
And they soon had a new goal in mind.
"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." - Lord Acton, Personal Musings.
As the Age of the Nekresethni unfolded, the subsequent centuries heralded the onset of the Age of Strife. It was a time for the denizens of Ostrvosylo to venture once more into the cosmos, facilitated by the wonders of Necrotech.
The ravages of the Civil War had momentarily stifled space exploration, but now, with the might of thousands of deceased scientists, engineers, and visionaries at their disposal, the Nekresethni could propel themselves back into the stellar expanse. Some had even pilfered secrets from the otherworldly entities in the simulation, gained through the ceaseless conflicts within that forsaken realm.
Within a remarkably brief four years, the first true voidship was constructed. This feat was made possible by the remaining orbital infrastructure but also by innovative applications of Necrotech. Maintenance sprites and builder geists, manifestations of Aetherlings designed specifically for construction tasks, played pivotal roles in this endeavor, showcasing the versatility and potential of the Nekresethni's growing mastery over death.
However, the task of clearing their world orbit proved to be a Herculean endeavor, given the extensive ship graveyards scattered throughout the cosmos. The Nekresethni foresaw that centuries, if not millennia, would be required to forge a navigable path through this celestial graveyard. Recognizing the impracticality of removing every hulk, they devised an alternative strategy — recycling. The plan was to extract and repurpose as much material as possible to fuel the continuous construction of new voidships.
Even with the assistance of the departed, the project was not without its challenges. The inhabitants of Ostrvosylo had long forgotten the perils faced by their forebears when navigating through the graveyard. To confront the still-active defense systems lingering in the Nulithra expanse, the Nekresethni turned to the often-underutilized purple crystals.
Initially employed to create stabilized resonance for Aetherlings, the purples revealed an unexpected capability. Human scientists discovered that sufficiently large purple crystals could generate a distortion field akin to a bubble of Aether, effectively concealing a ship within it. This innovative technology, later known as the Ghost Shield, functioned as a primitive version of Aeldari holo-fields, requiring the infusion of a few thousand souls for power — a readily available resource within the simulation.
The Ghost Shield granted the Nekresethni a formidable advantage in stealth and infiltration. While their vessels lacked the elegance and swiftness of Aeldari ships, the Ghost Shield enabled them to dispatch Aetherling/Human crews to neutralize the ancient defense systems that guarded the Nulithra graveyards.
As the Age of Strife unfolded, the Nekresethni solidified their dominance over Nulithra. During their explorations, they chanced upon operational remnants of alien warp drives, unlocking the secrets of warp travel through meticulous study. With the galaxy once again accessible, the Nekresethni set their sights on expansion, although the formation of a formidable fleet remained a task for the future.
During this transitional period, the emergence of psykers marked a notable development in Ostrvosylo. While these individuals were notably weaker than psykers on countless other worlds experiencing psychic blooms, they possessed unique stability and sanity. Curiously, they demonstrated a profound connection with the crystals, indicating the simulation's influence on their souls.
Viewing this as an opportunity, the Nekresethni sought to cultivate a new type of controller for the Aetherlings and users of Necrotech. Thus, the first Necromancers were born, a term long forgotten by humanity. However, this was merely the beginning, as the Nekresethni harbored plans to extend the influence of the simulation to other worlds. Their rationale, though disturbing, was rooted in practicality: souls, the finite source of energy and matter for Necrotech, that being Aether, were now the lynchpin of their existence. While their civilization possessed millennia of Aether, the Nekresethni acknowledged its eventual depletion, prompting their quest for broader resources.
So began the era known as the Hidden Undertaking, the slow and gradual expansion and corruption of the Stratios Expanse, which would, in turn, lead the Nekresethni toward a confrontation with the other powers within it.
As previously noted, the Hidden Undertaking and the Age of the Nekresethni unfolded concurrently with the onset of the Age of Strife. Although the Nekresethni were characterized by a deliberate and cautious approach, delving into the intricate details of their methodology and the subsequent four thousand years of history would be an exercise in needless intricacy. A concise overview will better serve our purpose.
The gradual refinement of Necrotech marked a pivotal juncture for the Nekresethni, allowing them to methodically enhance their industries, sciences, military capabilities, and spacecraft. While their stature as a "powerful" local entity within the Stratios Expanse might be generously acknowledged, appearances could be deceiving.
As the Nekresethni encountered lesser races, endeavoring to subjugate them for servitude and fuel while extending the influence of the simulation, a stark realization emerged concerning Aetherlings: the majority proved to be rather ineffectual as soldiers. The undead, it appeared, did not fully align with the idealized visions of the Nekresethni. While Aetherlings exhibited fearlessness, an absence of morale, and an immunity to pain, thirst, and hunger, they were fundamentally walking corpses.
Recognizing the limitations of Aetherlings on the frontlines, the leadership of the Nekresethni opted to refrain from deploying their core of Necromancers, who were essentially spirits inhabiting ordinary bodies (albeit with accumulated centuries of experience). Consequently, they concluded that humans would have to constitute the primary fighting force despite the challenges posed by their more "cooperative" souls and the risk of losing them away from the simulation.
Unfortunately for the Nekresethni, they had no real choice in the matter. There was what the humans called a "silver lining" to all of this. As humans ventured beyond Ostrvosylo to colonize newly discovered or conquered worlds, their population grew. Thanks to the utilization of Aetherling workforces and Necrotech, these colonies flourished, albeit in limited numbers.
Compared to the Vagyr and Lost Tribes, the Nekresethni could claim control over at least a handful of worlds and moons, with over a hundred others repurposed into graveyard worlds. While the term might evoke thoughts of a solemn resting place for the deceased, these worlds were, in fact, used to source more corpses for transformation into Aetherlings. Simultaneously, they served as platforms to extend the simulation nodes, facilitating more crystals and Aether harvesting.
This process proved to be exceptionally time-consuming. Crystals didn't sprout like plants, and establishing a "connection" to the simulation was no overnight task. It took two millennia for the Nekresethni to witness the first instances of a connection, and centuries passed before the first crystals materialized—an ominous timeline, to say the least. The destruction of an ancient graveyard world would spell a disastrous setback. Fortunately, such locations were challenging to identify.
The Nekresethni understood that remaining hidden and elusive was their most potent defense, surpassing the might of any Aetherling army or a legion of Necromancers. While their technology was formidable and distinctive, it remained constrained in its reach. Their fleets excelled in stealth and devastation but faltered in prolonged engagements. Their tactics had to be more selective and subtle to survive as a civilization and species. A poisoned chalice and dagger in one.
A central tactic that emerged at the core of Nekresethni doctrine was the strategic deployment of meteors carrying crystal shards to inhabited planets. This approach had its merits, as species attempting to study Ostrvosylo crystals either recognized their vital usefulness or gradually succumbed to madness through their experiments. When the Nekresethni identified a planet that had traversed either path, they covertly initiated the civilization's corruption from within. The methods employed varied, occasionally becoming a game for the Nekresethni, but the outcomes were consistently grim for their victims.
The Nekresethni wreaked havoc upon almost a dozen species for the next three thousand years. Although only a few of these civilizations had reached a notable technological level that could actively resist, the results spoke for themselves. The Nekresethni had mastered the art of poisoning a world and dooming an entire civilization without engaging in conventional warfare. However, their hubris led them into a precarious position.
As the Nekresethni sought to create more Necromancers, their activities began to attract attention from entities within the warp. The first appearance of daemons on one of their colonies resulted in widespread carnage before the Nekresethni could repel the invaders. Just as victory seemed within reach, a Vagyr Purification fleet descended from orbit and cleansed the colony with fire and light. The Vagyr declared the Nekresethni an affront to the galaxy and labeled them "Shedul Aramon," or the corrupted dead.
However, the galaxy was not yet done, giving the Nekresethni trouble. By a stroke of luck, a deep recon ship from the Lost Tribes encountered a probe shot from a world that had fallen under the Nekresethni's influence some sixty years prior. The probe had been sent up as a last-ditch effort to warn others of the "walking dead," "glowing crystals," and humans who wielded power over the deceased.
When it came time for a Lost Tribe colony near the "Badlands" to be hit by a Nekresethni meteor, they were more than ready and tracked its point of origin, leading to the first skirmish between the two and the deaths of millions. It would most certainly not be the last battle. It also was something of a wake-up call to the Nekresethni.
They found their rivals within the Stratios Expanse and determined they could not win in any conventional sense, but the Nekresethni believed they could win through cunning, guile, and subterfuge. No one was exempt from the machinations of external or, more importantly, internal threats. The Nekresethni knew more than enough tricks to undermine the Lost Tribes and soon enough learned of the secret weakness of the Vagyr.
If a war were to come, it would not be one that would be won across great battlefields but within the fortresses and homes of their enemies. Why fight your enemy on their terms when you can subvert their populations, industries, and even their very souls?
A truly dishonorable and terrible way of thinking, but the Stratios Expanse had been a hard teacher for many. Perhaps, then, we shouldn't judge the Nekresethni too harshly. After all, they merely adapted to their environment as species inevitably do.
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@Daemon Hunter Okay, making progress on finishing the Unholy Trinity. One more to go now.
