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Day 33, Continued

Jal had served in the Janus PDF for five years, ever since he'd survived to reach his teens. Through it all, his service had been quiet, uneventful. Then the Orks had come. And then Janus and four other hives had rebelled.

"FORWARD! FORWARD, YOU WRETCHES!" Shouted Preacher Moradash, leaping onto the barricade in defiance of the enemy's fire. "FIGHT AGAINST THESE BLASPHEM-hurk!"

The foolish preacher was shoved off his feet, a splatter of blood coating the greasy ground. Emperor's shits, Jal swore as the man didn't get back up. He crawled over to the immobile preacher, checking his wounds. The hel? The man had only taken a shot in the leg, so why was he unconscious? Had he hit his head?

He'd never liked the man, who had always spoke of the great changes that were to come with their inevitable victoriy, but Jal still moved to check the preacher's head, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him as Glaia shoved his autogun back into his hands.

"Forget him!" She shouted over the echoing roar of battle. "Get on the line!"

She was the same rank as him, but he obeyed nonetheless, finding a hole in their defenses, little more than a hastily constructed wall made of scrap that had barely managed to hold the preacher's weight, nestling his gun into place.

The enemy rushed at them with inhuman fearlessness, not even bothering to take cover as they rushed down the long corridor, illuminated only by the steady stream of muzzle flashes, which made them cast strange shadows and seem almost monstrous. Jal had gotten quite good at headshots, but for every Malumite whose skull exploded in a shower of brains and bone, another ten seemed to take their place.

Jal had heard the enemy were supposed to be outnumbered, ill-equipped, and poorly trained, driven only by their fear of the Sisters of Battle… Jal had never imagined fighting against the Order of the Cleansing Rains, quite the opposite, having dreamed of serving alongside them in valiant battles against xenos. But, the Order had betrayed the God-Emperor and the Imperium, or so his superiors said.

Closer and closer, inexhaustible and unbreakable, the enemy came at them endlessly. Each step nearer grew the dread in his heart and Jal sent prayers to the God-Emperor, who almost certainly wasn't listening, to see him through this.

He heard a cry of pain to his left and glanced over, seeing Glaia falling backwards, blood spouting from her shoulder. She should have been back up in a moment, but she fell still, just as the preacher had. What was going o-?!

Jal felt something like a fiery brand being pressed into his shoulder, felt his shoulder snap. For a single, excruciating moment, his world was focused on that pain and he lurched back, a scream on his lips. Then, in a second, the pain was gone and he felt incredibly drowsy.

Glancing down, he saw what at first he thought was his own bones sticking out of his flesh. However, even in his addled state, he realized that wasn't quite right. The bone-like substance was carved like a bullet, partially embedded into his shoulder. Then, right before his eyes, the bone dissolved into him and the drowsiness rushed up all around him.

The last thing he saw was the Malumites leaping over the barricade with unnatural strength, not stopping to so much as glance down at him in their rush.

Three power-armored warriors stood in the middle of a vast throne room. Two were sorcerers, one was a dust-filled automaton from an age before either of them had even been born. In the shadows of the hall, daemon-possessed flesh writhed and twisted in complex and strange patterns, while a dim blue light flickered between the sorcerers, forming the structures of Janus.

"Kalak's horde is broken," Uirus spoke first, his arms crossed. The words should have brought him at least some satisfaction, for the bull-headed monster to have had his followers broken and slaughtered. Unfortunately, that small victory was far outweighed by his next remark. "We are likely going to lose Janus."

"They've been sieging the city for how long?" Ahsael asked, though it was clear he didn't expect an answer. "A week? Even if every officer we had was either incompetent or a traitor we could not have lost so much ground against an ordinary enemy in just a scant few days."

Uirus wasn't sure if Ahsael was calling him incompetent or a traitor or just the mortals under his command. Uirus had no illusions about the willingness of Ahsael to kill him if he failed too many times, brother or not. Janus had been a horrific loss, but it did not seem Ahsael blamed him specifically for it, even if the hive city was placed under his command.

"Where is Kalak himself?" Ahsael asked as he magnified the view of Janus to the battlelines, which could be seen to shift in real time as they were steadily pushed back by an implacable foe. The updates to the map was a combination of reports from the front made by spies both mortal and otherwise as well as through Ahsael's own powerful sorceries.

"Still fighting, I believe," Uirus said. He pointed to a part of the map, where the lines of the enemy were strong but unmoving. "This is him, I believe, and what remains of his beastmen."

The lines of the enemy could be seen to grow wider and wider, clearly preparing to wrap around and encircle the one area of stalwart resistance. Further past that, the rest of the enemy line was already bypassing the area being defended. Uirus held back a snort at the futile and pointless nature of Kalak's last stand. How very like the beastman.

"And the rest of our forces?"

"Around a quarter have been positioned in static defenses to try and slow down the enemy. I've promised them reinforcements will arrive soon," Uirus said, manipulating the map so it went to the other side of the hive city. "The rest of the troops are being withdrawn to Dolus."

"The defenders are entirely made up of the uninitiated?"

"Yes. Around two thirds of those being withdrawn are as well, but I've prioritized-."

"Leave them."

Uirus blinked. "My lord?" He asked, not sure he had heard correctly.

"They failed to hold Janus for more than a quarter of a month. The cultists can be retrieved. Send the rest to die. Let their souls feed the local daemons, we may gain an advantage that way."

Uirus almost spoke back. After all, there were nearly twenty regiments that could defend Dolus ready to be withdrawn from Janus. Forces that were more reliable than hungry daemons, who might not even see the surplus of souls as anything more than tribute, not something to be repaid. However, whether it was his training, his loyalty, or his fear of Ahsael's reprisal that drove him, he simply nodded.

"Yes, my lord."

He could only trust the older and more powerful sorcerer knew what he was doing, that-

"My Lords-!" The outcry was cut off by the sound of a windpipe being closed as Ahsael whipped around, hand extended, sorcerous power circling the throat of the mortal who had dared to barge into their proceedings. The daemonic entities that swarmed the shadows drew closer to the intruder, before drawing back.

Uirus took a moment to study the man. He was one of the initiated, a worshipper of Tzeentch if his robes were anything to go by. Quite a high-ranking one, it seemed too, since he was vaguely familiar to Uirus, and the space marine rarely dealt with anyone but the upper echelons of the cults and his robes were finely made, with patterns of silver running throughout them.

"I gave orders not to be disturbed," Ahsael stated icily as the mortal floated towards them, held aloft by an invisible hand around his throat. The mortal's eyes bulged. "I should feed you to these daemons for retribution."

The look of terror on the mortal's face seemed to delight Ahsael for a moment, until the sorcerer relaxed his power and the mortal dropped to his knees, wheezing and gasping for breath.

"F-forgive me, my lord!" The mortal begged.

"Then tell me what was so important that you would defy my command," Ahsael stated.

"The scriers, my lord!" The mortal explained quickly. "They saw something from afar!"

"That is their job," Ahsael said drily, sorcerous power weaving around his fingers. "Perhaps you would care to explain what it is that they saw?"

"I… I don't know how, my lord," The mortal said, pressing his head to the ground. "I have never seen anything like it! It was like… starlight given form!"

"Well, I suppose we shall just have to go see for ourselves," Ahsael said, turning towards the exit and walking off, Uirus following. The mortal slumped forward as if in relief. Once Ahsael and Uirus had both passed through the great doors of the hall, they slammed shut behind them and the screams of the mortal as daemons suddenly descended upon him began.

Selvik did not often sully himself by travelling below the clouds of Monstrum, having only seen the surface of the world he ruled twice in several centuries of life, both times being exceptional circumstances. Yet, neither occasion had been as exceptional as this.

"You are certain they are from Malum?" He asked for what must have been the fourth time from the aid, staring very hard at his own shoes. "Not another hive?"

"Yes, your excellency," The aid said, his eyes never once looking up. Such lower beings were not permitted to look at him. Normally, they would not have even been allowed within thirty paces, but it would be difficult for the aid to provide updates from outside his private shuttle currently dipping below the black clouds of Monstrum.

"Why was I not told of their arrival sooner?" Selvik hissed and the aid wisely remained silent, though whether the man's shaking was caused by his fear or the turbulence of their transport was anyone's guess. Selvik knew exactly why he wasn't told, he had been partaking in a party with his court and left orders not to be disturbed. Thus, learning that Malum's regiments had not only managed to make it to the other side of the Burning Lands and reached the outskirts of the capital in a mere two days, in complete defiance of how swiftly an army could have been ready to move out. While Magos Zalum had said that such a speed could technically be achieved, if an army started from Malum immediately and taken the trains that connected the various hives at their top speeds, such a thing was impossible without an army of trained Tech-Priests to ensure the machine spirits of the trains were in working order. Something Malum decidedly did not have.

Then again, Selvik had been quite certain Malum didn't have forty-eight regiments or even more than twenty. And yet, the reports had stated that not only had eight been sent west with the Sisters, but indeed the fifteen regiments sent by tired old Coris had arrived on the promised date.

It was impossible and Selvik could not believe it until he saw it with his own eyes.

Their journey was a short one, little more than an angled descent down onto Monstrum's surface. Selvik was aware of the risk he was taking by moving in the open like this, even if there were over a dozen Eagle Shuttles providing an escort, each filled with the best Arbites in Deimos. However, some things could not be helped.

Finally, his shuttle came to land in a hastily cleared landing zone, though not before half the Arbites had landed and set up a perimeter around the site. Personal bodyguards rushed down the ramp, lasguns at the ready for any sign of danger. Only after several minutes, when it was determined to be safe, did Selvik finally stalk down the landing ramp, followed by the aid unfortunate enough to be the bearer of bad news, who swiftly resumed the thirty-paces rule.

Selvik's eye twitched at what he saw.

Rows upon rows, columns upon columns, rank upon rank of men and women, dressed in Malum PDF uniforms, autoguns held at rest. Fifteen regiments, seven and a half million troops, just as promised.

And, at the head of the army was the rude colonel himself, the man whose name he still didn't know, striding towards Selvik without an ounce of fear or nervousness. As if that wasn't strange enough, the Arbites did not even seem to notice him, allowing him past their encirclement without so much as a sideways glance.

Selvik brought himself up to his full height as the man approached. The governor was quite tall, if thin, towering over the colonel, who was quite short by comparison, though looked quite a bit stronger than Selvik.

"Colonel Marcus Agrippa," The man said with a salute and a wry smile that made Selvik want to order him shot.

"Your rudeness is as apparent in person as it is over hololith, colonel," Selvik sneered. "Perhaps you should mind your tongue in the presence of your betters, lest you lose it and your head."

"Indeed, governor," Agrippa said, never losing the smile.

"I will overlook your repeated lapses in protocol," Selvik said, an insincere smile on his own face to match the colonel's. "And I will even grant you a special honor. You will lead the vanguard of our force when we march against Whiro."

"Oh, I believe you're operating under a misunderstanding, governor," Agrippa said, suddenly producing a paper. "I will be commanding the vanguard… Along with the rest of the army too."

"What?!" Rage boiled his blood and Selvik snatched the paper from Agrippa with claw-like fingers. Only then did he notice the seal pressed into its bottom, a seal he had grown all too familiar with in recent months. The Inquisitorial Rosette.

So, that woman had finally come out of her hole. If this wasn't faked. Selvik handed it off to an aid that came forward with a flick of a wrist, allowing them to determine its veracity. Throughout the wait, the colonel never lost that damned smile. It was several minutes before the aid held up the scroll, an almost reverent and terrified look on his face.

"It is verified, your excellency," the aid said, seeming desperate to be rid of the document as though it might detect some small heresy within him. "Acolyte Purilla provided the necessary authentication codes."

Selvik bit back a swear and snatched the document again, the aid fleeing from his presence. Indeed, the document did command that Agrippa be given command and Selvik, for all his attempts to seal Catherine Ellen within her chambers, could not disobey… At least not openly and certainly not in front of a fully armed army that almost certainly would side with Agrippa and the Inquisitor over him. Hel, his own Arbites might not obey him over an Inquisitorial order…

"By all means, colonel," Selvik hissed. He doubted the Imperial Guard would accept being commanded by a PDF colonel. And, even then, there were other means of ensuring his own name returned to command over the army.

"Excellent, we'll be heading out then," The colonel said, rounding on his heel immediately. Selvik blinked at that.

"Wait… what do you mean?"

The colonel turned, his smile widening. "I'm taking the assembled troops to Whiro, immediately. The rest of the army you've so helpfully gathered will catch up once they're ready, assuming we aren't finished by that point."

The man was insane, Selvik realized. Completely insane. Selvik didn't need to do anything, the man would be ripped apart by the defenses of a hive city. Just like the army Coris claimed to be sending against Limos in the south would be. Selvik almost grinned at the thought.

Almost.

Because… even though it was impossible… Malum had already wrought the impossible into reality.

Selvik returned to his shuttle, unwilling to imagine such a thing any longer.

Aliciel waded through the water, feeling the sand between her toes, the chill of the waves contrasted against the warmth of the sun. She breathed in and smelled the salt of the ocean, felt the brush of wind against her hair.

As always, he did not so much appear in her senses as much as he emerged from all around her, like the ocean itself extended into a new shape, simply a wave of a different sort. He was behind her and she could see his reflection in the shimmering waves, feel the ripples his movement sent through them.

"I felt something, the other night," She said after he did not speak first.

You were not the only one. Your Sisters, both here and outside this place felt it, along with many others.

"What was it?"

The birth of something new and wonderful.

She looked down and saw new reflections in the water. The sun had set at some point and the stars had come out, but they were not the usual stars. Instead, what looked like bridges or a spider web of starlight connected the countless distant suns. Not something that existed now, she realized, but something that one day could.

"My… sisters, you said." She looked away and back into the sky, which had returned to the time of early morning, the sun hanging low on the horizon. "Are they really my sisters?"

Do you not consider them as such?

Aliciel was quiet at that for a time.

"I do," She finally admitted. "But I don't think I should."

Why?

"They're…" Aliciel sat down in the water, feeling the waves rising up to her neck. She stared up at the sky, filled with clouds moving slowly across it. "We have committed such horrors. Killed so many, destroyed so many lives simply because we thought it just. Righteous."

Yes, you did.

Aliciel almost flinched at that, wrapping her arms around her knees. But he wasn't finished.

And you all will have the chance to be better.

Oddly, she felt some semblance of relief at that. Was it odd though? While none of the Order of the Cleansing Rains had been among the Sisters she had been trained alongside, they were nonetheless women she had fought alongside, bled alongside. Women she had called friends, mentors, and more, who she, not too long ago, would have gladly died to protect. Would still die to protect.

And therein lied the problem.

"How can I feel… at peace when I know that I would defend people who would… who would…"

I understand.

She glanced back at him and, for the first time, saw his face. It was… strange to look at, solid, but also not. It was like staring at the edge of an event horizon, a glimpse of something strange enough to know it was not normal yet still something real. She couldn't describe or really determine his exact features, or even if he was really a man, a woman, or something else. The only thing she could tell was what expression he had on his face. It was a sad smile that conveyed far more meaning than could be spoken, but she felt as though she was only able to parse a fraction of it.

I help those who could rightly be called monsters to try and be better. Even as I look at what they've done and see how little it weighs upon some of them.

"So… why bother?" Aliciel did not need to be told that she was among those monsters. Her own past was far from pure, as laughable as such a term seemed now. She look away from him and up at the sky. "Why not just… kill us?"

Let me ask you something. What purpose would your death serve?

She turned around, opening her mouth to answer, but he had disappeared or, rather, receded. He was still present all around her, but the conversation was over.

In the tallest spire of Malum, within the palace of the elderly governor Coris, several men occupied not the throne room but a far smaller chamber adjacent to it, sat around a grand table that could easily seat dozens and had as many chairs. Only four were in attendance for now, if you didn't count the dozen scribes sat directly behind them, as this was an official Administratum matter, a meeting called out of necessity and, most alienly to such figures, urgency. The first three, each the highest ranking official of the Adeptus Administratum located in Malum, were Ordinate Hilnat Ros, Ordinate Gallius Domor, and Ordinate Mirnew Vengun, each with backs permanently curled forwards from decades of sitting hunched over their papers. The fourth was the governor himself, sitting in the largest chair at the head of the table, as was only right, and sleeping just as soundly.

Such a meeting had not been called in living memory, perhaps not ever in all the Imperium's history, if only for the speed at which it had assembled, save perhaps during the days of the Great Crusade when the God-Emperor still walked His most blessed realm.

"Mortality rate in the lower levels has dropped to almost nothing in the last few weeks," Hilnat spoke first for this specially called meeting, not having had to wait more than a few moments before the governor's eyes had shut and his soft snoring had begun. His voice was scratchy, almost like static thanks to the mechanical device that had replaced his rotting vocal chords some decades prior. "Absolute zero in the case of infant mortality."

"Down from what?" It was Mirnew that asked the question. Of the three, he was by far the youngest, barely a decade over three hundred. The youngest Ordinate in several millennia, as it happened, perhaps the youngest ever. Either no one had bother checking back further or the documents containing that information had been lost. Likely both.

"In the case of those labor-worthy… Daily? Point-oh-oh-five percent," Hilnat replied. "If the trend continues across the entire year at the present rate… One-point-eight percent of the population, give or take."

Gallius let out a low whistle at that or tried in any case. His lips and mouth were drier than the papers spread before him, and the sound was more like a dying breath. "Not including those under the age of labor?"

"Not one reported in this last week," Hilnat shook his head dismissively, thin strands of ancient white hair waving gently from the motion. "Down from fifty percent of those under the age of eight years."

"Work-related incidents are down, particularly lethal ones?" Mirnew noted, gesturing to a stack of papers nearly as thick as a fist.

"Indeed," Hilnat nodded.

"That's not all," Gallius said, gesturing to a stack before himself. "Food-related protests have all but disappeared entirely. Crime is down across the board. There are whole barracks of Arbites who haven't had any serious work to do in days other than patrols."

"They're just sitting there, twiddling their power mauls?" Hilnat asked in amazement.

"Well, they still have their quotas to fill," Gallius replied with a shrug, an odd motion for his hunched over frame to perform. "But they normally exceed them by large margins."

"There's more," Mirnew said, referring now to his own pile of documents. "Sickness and disease appears to have been eradicated."

"What?" Hilnat asked, blinking with a look of incomprehension on his face. Gallius scoffed, though it could have just as easily been a dry cough.

"Not one person in this entire hive has so much as a cold, as far as the reports I've received go," Mirnew confirmed.

"But that's impossible."

"Have a look yourself," Mirnew said, pushing the pile over to Hilnat, sat directly next to him. Hilnat spent the next several minutes flipping through the summary at the top, a mere thirty pages efficiently condensing thousands. Through it all, the old eyes of the Ordinate grew wider and more disbelieving.

"Were these things all from only one department, I would assume supreme incompetence or even sabotage to be at fault," Hilnat finally declared after reaching the end of the summary. "On the part of the lower orders, of course. However, if all three of our departments have such irregularities… then could this really be true?"

The three looked up from their papers at what they could only assume to be the root cause of these sudden changes. Sitting prettily on the table before them was a single, bright red fruit. The thing had appeared on their scopes only a day ago, but the trio suspected it had been around longer than that. How else did one explain all these sudden changes? They couldn't have happened overnight, regardless of what their reports claimed. Clearly these fruits had been growing in the lower levels for years, perhaps even decades.

None of them could possibly know, or even believe, that the fruits had been around for less than a week and the very changes before them were not years old, but in fact less than a month.

"It's a disaster." Hilnat said.

"A calamity." Gallius agreed.

"A catastrophe." Mirnew nodded.

"We have to nip this in the bud," Gallius began. "The rations we provide the laborers were carefully portioned to ensure they accomplished their workload. These… fruits places that equation in danger."

"They'll get lazy if they don't have to work for their food," Hilnat added. "And this sudden drop in the mortality rate… Terrible. They already breed like vermin down there just to replace the dead. We can hardly afford more of them. We'd practically have an infestation on our hands, sucking up all our resources. And then what happens?"

"Social disorder," Gallius added, shuddering at the thought. "If they're fed, they might start to get ideas above their station."

"Any ideas are above their station," Mirnew pointed out and the other two Ordinates nodded sagely.

"Our prisons will also suffer," Gallius continued. "The quota of arrests for each Arbites will have to be increased, otherwise we won't have anyone to… Well, whatever it is the criminal rabble does in service to the God-Emperor's people as payment for their sins."

"I think some are given to the Mechanicus to be made into servitors," Hilnat said ponderously, though he wasn't sure.

"Unimportant. What is important is that we need to ensure the supply of new prisoners does not diminish," Gallius said.

"Well, we at least shall not lack for recruits," Mirnew said. "For either the prisons or the defense forces. Have you heard our regiments have more than doubled?"

"Preposterous!" Hilnat probably had meant to shout, but his voice box seemed to not be set to such a volume, fortunately for the peace of a certain sleeping governor. "We barely had enough uniforms for twenty regiments. How are we supplying forty?"

"Forty-eight, as I recall from the most recent report," Mirnew corrected.

"There are too many irregularities for it to be coincidence," Gallius said. "We must deal with this before this storm subsides and we are next expected to report to the sub-sector Administratum. Otherwise, it may look like we are fiddling with the figures."

"We always fiddle with the figures," Mirnew said, receiving a glare from Gallius.

"Yes, but it must not look like we are!" Gallius said

"Then shall we just do that?" Mirnew suggested, but Hilnat shook his head.

"I have no doubt the other hives will hear of this disastrous turn of events soon enough," He said. "The other Ordinates will most likely inform at least the Lord Palatine in Deimos."

"We can't allow that," Gallius said, pounding his fist against the table, though given his withered bones it was more of a soft tap made to prove a point. "We'd appear incompetent to have allowed such things to occur in our hive city."

"Well… It might not necessarily be determined to be our fault," Mirnew suggested, glancing pointedly at the sleeping Coris.

"Nonetheless, we have to do something to rectify…" Hilnat reached out with a long, claw-like finger and poked the fruit, causing it to rock back and forth on the table. He almost seemed to flinch at the reaction. "This."

"I know how we can do that and fill our Arbites quotas," Gallius suddenly spoke up, a glint of brilliance in his eyes. "Make it illegal to possess or consume these fruits, punishable by either life imprisonment or death. The Arbites can imprison those that they need to meet their quotas and help to ensure the population does not grow too quickly."

"We can hardly expect the Arbites to single-handedly return the mortality rate to a more acceptable level," Mirnew pointed out. "They could go around all day smashing skulls with their power mauls and they wouldn't accomplish more than… a tenth of the proper number, if even that."

"Less, I'd imagine," Hilnat agreed. "We should have asked the Monitor Malevolus to be here, perhaps he could provide some kind of techno-sorcerous solution."

Both Mirnew and Gallius looked at him, aghast. "Bring a member of the Mechanicus in on this disaster?!" Gallius almost cried out in disbelief.

"Besides, Sathar would not likely accept such a summons," Mirnew said dismissively. "I hear he cried out in the middle of court just a few days ago and then locked himself in his laboratorium. Hasn't come out since."

"Priests," Gallius and Halnit said in unison, shaking their heads.

"Even as Logis go, he's an odd one," Mirnew agreed.

"Still, getting a tech-priest to conjure up some trick would be a decent solution," Gallius said, rubbing his chin. "Perhaps have one set off some kind of gas weapon in the lower levels? Do we have such devices?"

"Not as far as I'm aware." Mirnew shrugged. Then, a small smile crept across his face, usually fixed in a permanent frown. "I suppose we could always have the defense forces shoot a few tens of thousands every day. Put those additional regiments to good use."

The three ordinates laughed at that, Gallius devolving into a fit of dry wheezes. Then, slowly, they stopped laughing as they actually began to consider the idea.

"… I don't think we could do that," Halnit finally said, after nearly a minute.

"No, no, you're quite right," Gallius agreed.

"Yes, far too risky," Mirnew added. "We only have ten of those forty-eight regiments here with us, after all. The rest have been sent to fight in this ludicrous war of Selvik's in the east. Well, besides those the Cleansing Rains took west."

"Not nearly enough to deal with the protests that would result," Gallius said.

"And even then, we might lose productivity," Halnit added and the other two Ordinates shivered at the thought.

"The one thing keeping us above the water and our necks from that Inquisitor's power sword," Mirnew said, before turning around to the scribes hurriedly scribbling on their sheets of paper, hissing at them. "Don't write that down, you fools!"

Quickly, the scribes scratched out the last sentence, under the watchful eyes of all three Ordinates.

"Well, as a stopgap measure, let's go with your plan to deal with it," Halnit said, nodding at Gallius. At a gesture, three servoskulls each with an autoquill attachment hovered down from the dark ceiling, moving to blank scrolls brought over by scribes. Over the course of a few minutes, Halnit dictated the necessary words permitting Ordinate Gallius the authority to institute expanded quotas or, at least, to implement the necessary changes to policy. Then, gathering the scrolls and placing them in front of the sleeping Coris, Halnit gingerly picked up the limp governor's hand whose middle finger held the hive governor's signet ring

As Gallius closed the scrolls and carefully bled wax on them, Halnit pressed the signet ring into the wax on each of them before the Ordinate returned the hand to its resting place on the arm of the chair, the governor asleep through it all.

Day 34

Above the hive city of Enyo, the black clouds hung as they always did, their thick, sensor-confusing shadow impossible to see through. Normally, few paid the sky any mind. Why look at such a dour sight, after all, when there was labor to be done? Even the coming of the Brood Mind, the coming of the Four-Armed Emperor, had not changed that aspect of the lives of Enyo's people, even if every other part of them had been robbed, butchered, or changed into perfect servants.

However, since the attack on Limos, the sky had been watched vigilantly, autocannons and even flamer and chemical weapons readied at all times. Insects and other creatures that usually were just a part of life in the hives had been descended upon with a vengeance, nests of such creatures exterminated with brutal prejudice. Never had there been such a campaign against pests conducted on Monstrum in living memory, let alone one done with such obvious glee as maddened cultists descended upon the critters with all the zeal of a Sister of Battle butchering heretics.

So it was that the hive city was unusually quiet in many dark places, the buzzing and skittering creatures that had once swarmed now only a trickle, having learned quickly to remain hidden. All the while, the genestealers that had spent the past days slaughtering them turned their gazes upwards, with every ripple of the clouds watched carefully. Every augur in the hive city had been turned towards the interior of the clouds surrounding the hive spires, though this had little effect because of the obscuring ash.

Thus, they were blind to the ocean that flowed towards them across the ashen soil. Tens of billions of black-carapaced beetles scurried swiftly across the ground. Atop each of their backs was an eye with a solid black pupil, trained upon the hive city and its walls. Occasionally, someone would appear atop those walls, looking across the ash ocean, and it was at these times that the entire swarm would halt as one, appearing as nothing to the poor eyes of humanity all while the sentry was closely watched by the gaze of the beetles, both countless and singular. Only once the watcher had turned their gaze elsewhere did the swarm resume its silent approach. Often times, huge sections of the swarm would be moving only in the periphery of a sentry's sight, like a shadow that flicked out of sight the moment it was focused upon.

Soon, the first beetles had reached the foot of the walls, where they could move freely unless a sentry craned their necks far over the top of the walls and looked directly down. The swarm spread out along the base of the walls, forming mounds of millions of scrambling beetles every few meters.

It was hours after the first beetle had reached the wall that the last had made it to its position. Only then did the next stage begin. As one, the beetles changed, their hard carapaces transforming into something softer that reached out and connected to the beetles around them. Guided by an unseen will, tens of billions of beetles became tens of thousands of giant, spider-like creatures.

Each one had eight legs that possessed thin tubes that ran the length of the limb and connected to a special sac within their bodies. These creatures were very wide and flat with no eyes, rather having the sensor stalks common in Flood forms flicking and twitching. Their bodies were a dull grey, a perfect match for the rockrete wall before them. When the first one reached out and touched the wall with a clawed limb, a small amount of webbing shot out and stuck to the wall, giving it a perfect hand grip. Carefully, the creature tested the strength of the grip, lifting its entire body up off the ground, bringing its legs in close to its body so it hung entirely upon the webbing.

Nothing broke.

As one, the creatures began their ascent. They moved slowly, carefully, as the predator stalking its prey did. When possible, they used natural crevices and gaps in the rockrete of the wall to move upwards, saving precious biomass, though they never dared use one that looked even slightly unstable.

If one were to look onto Enyo from afar, they would see nothing out of the ordinary. A particularly eagle-eyed viewer might think they saw movement, but only someone with truly extraordinary or unnatural sight would see the truth.

It was an hour before the beasts began to near the top of the wall and their pace slowed to a crawl as they sacrificed speed for stealth.

As if hatching from them, each creature produced a smaller beast, also spider-like, that crawled silently ahead of their larger parents. The tiny critters rounded the top of the wall and took in the sight of Enyo and the sentries on the wall, most with necks craned up.

But not all. A cultist swore an oath, though it was more a cry of praise for the Four-Armed Emperor, and reached out, swatting the spider he had noticed, splattering it against the rockrete fortifaction.

And, with that, the battle began.

It was a moment later that the sentry responsible shouted in alarm as a tube-like tendril extended upwards and seemed almost to look at him. In an instant, a spike of bone shot out like a bullet and took the sentry in the throat.

As powerful as the Brood Mind's control over the minds of its drones were, powerful enough instincts were too deeply engraved and the sentry fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding throat rather than attacking, as the Brood Mind commanded.

He tried to wrench the spike out, but it seemed to melt in his grasp and he suddenly felt very tired. The last thing he saw and the last thing the Brood Mind saw through him was the sight of a strange creature that looked like a bundle of dozens of tendrils similar to the one that had shot him. As it scurried towards the rest of the servants of the Four-Armed Emperor, the drone collapsed to the ground as the Brood Mind abandoned this body and the man that had once inhabited it came rushing back.

It was only an instant until he died, not even enough time to put his thoughts into words. Not enough time to understand what had happened or what was happening. However, it was enough to feel. And, in that instant, he felt grateful.

"What in the name of all the gods is that."

It took Uirus a moment to realize the question had been spoken by himself, so stunned he was at the sight of… well, whatever that thing was.

"We were routinely checking the other hives for major developments, my lords," One of the cultists said both to Uirus and a silent Ahsael. The two Space Marines stood beside a bowl of poisonous blood, sorcerous illusions granting sight of faraway places. Within the bowl, a serpentine shape crafted of pure starlight danced around the height of a hive spire. The cultists that had scried the image traded furtive glances, shifting uneasily, while the one who spoke maintained a steady gaze with all nine of his eyes boring holes into his own boots, clawed hands clasped in front of him. "The… ah, the genestealers are, uh…"

Uirus normally would have told the mortal to spit it out already, but the sight of something entirely unknown to him was rather distracting.

Was it some kind of genestealer creation? He had never heard of them creating anything like this. If the Warp Storm was interfering with their connection to the hive mind, had the genestealers channeled that psychic energy into some kind of weapon? Or was this entirely unrelated to them, perhaps some kind of Warp entity that had manifested unbeknownst to even him? The number of local daemons unaligned to the Four had steadily been increasing, so had one of them somehow entered reality?

He realized that the cultist had said something, but he'd been so distracted he hadn't heard. "What did you say?" He demanded, as though he thought whatever had been said was unbelievable, rather than simply a lapse in his attention. The cultist flinched at his tone, but quickly repeated the words.

"The genestealers are gone, my lords." Ahsael, as if drawn from a stupor, turned to look at the cultist, who seemed as though he might wither under the intense gazes of two transhuman, Warp-enhanced beings. Given their status as sorcerers, that was a distinct possibility.

"Explain." There was very little patience in Ahsael's tone.

"We… checked the city, we found no sign of the genestealers. Just strange flesh constructs operating machinery and a great number of strange vines, covering everything."

"Show me," Ahsael ordered and the cultists obeyed. Sorcerous power snaked through the air and the images contained within the bowl changed to an area within the hive city, a sort of market square that was empty of all life. Or, rather, almost all.

Spread across the rockrete ground, snaking through piles of ash, was a thick tangle of vines, each of which looked diseased, almost decaying. Sprouting from them in clusters every three or four meters were flower-like red stalks that twitched and swayed in a breezeless wind.

Uirus' jaw tightened and he fought to keep his hands from clenching into fists. Had the Nurglites somehow spread to Limos without his notice? They had been slaughtered, but had that merely been a ruse? Realizing the growing fury within himself, Uirus rose to the first of the enumerations, meditations created by Magnus the Red before even the days of the Great Crusade to aid those with the Gift. Slowly, the anger ebbed and he studied the vines with unbiased eyes.

"Show me these… constructs," Ahsael said, his voice perfectly even. The cultists obeyed once again and the image changed. At the term of flesh construct, Uirus had imagined something akin to a servitor, but he now saw just how mistaken he had been.

The internals of one of countless factories in Limos was not quiet despite the absence of genestealers. Instead, it was busier than ever as limbs crafted from tendrils assembled the components of lasguns, operated the machinery and, in some cases, outright replaced it. Uirus felt his focus waiver and redoubled his efforts to maintain his calm, rising higher through the enumerations.

"Where are the bodies of the genestealers?" Ahsael asked.

"We have not been able to locate them, my lord," The cultist said fearfully. "Nor any Orks or uninfected humans."

"And these… things are operating every factory?"

"Every factory we have looked into, my lord," The cultist said, bowing.

Ahsael was silent for a moment. At so near a range, Uirus could have reached out with his mind and spoken to him silently, but Uirus kept quiet. Ahsael likely shared his suspicions about just who was responsible for this. The manipulation of flesh and the creation of such bio-machine hybrids on such a scale was not something followers of Nurgle were well-known for, certainly none of the cults that had formed around the late doctor Ferrik. Most of all, however, had been that strange, starlit construct. It stood out in his mind as something not quite real. Daemons sometimes took strange shapes like that, pretending to be angels or other divine creatures, but this felt… different.

"Leave us," Ahsael commanded. In a matter of moments, the assembled cultists all but fled from the chamber, leaving only Ahsael, Uirus, and the ever-silent Rubric Marine alone. The sorcerous images began to fade without power to fuel them, but blazed back to life as Ahsael extended his own hand out and fed it with his might. "We must see how far this rot has spread. Whiro shall be first."

As he spoke the name of the city, it appeared in the bowl. The image sped past the tower and through the black clouds of Monstrum, down into the city itself. With a god's eye of the battlefield Uirus used his enhanced perception to study the goings on of the hive even more closely.

Armies of genestealer cultists scurried throughout the hive, some rushing to the walls, but most seemed to be moving in the same direction. They were running to what Uirus realized was the southern wall, to the tunnel that connected Whiro to Enyo through the Barren Lands. Ahsael noticed it too and flicked the view over to it.

Uirus' eyes widened a fraction of a centimeter at what he saw. Countless infected, hyrbids, and even purestrains were fortifying their end of the tunnel, laying explosive charges, wielding chemical and flamer weapons, some standard others horribly improvised. Genestealers always moved swiftly and efficiently when they needed to, but Uirus almost thought there was something… desperate about how they were acting.

"Why are they only fortifying the tunnel?" He asked aloud, crossing his plated arms.

"Because it's the only direction they can come from," Ahsael said.

"There are other threats on Monstrum. The Imperium in the north-."

"Is clearly not as pressing as whatever is in the south. With us."

"Still, they have Enyo, right?"

"Do they?" Ahsael asked and the image changed once more, this time rushing towards Enyo. And it was at this point that Uirus fell from the enumerations entirely.

The monster roared as it charged towards the cluster of genestealers, using its oversized arms to carry it across the ground like some extinct primate of Terra. Its claws dug into the rockrete, leaving gouges to mark its path. Its head was practically a stump, a hollow tube out of which half-a-dozen red stalks emerged, flicking and twitching.

The hive city of Enyo was a bloody hellscape, but there was a strange lack of corpses. What looked like thick, black raindrops fell from the sky, illuminated by the flash of skyfire cannons. Rather than rain, however, these were tiny flies with sharp mandibles that began to swarm. They were too small to hit easily and too many to reduce their numbers with anything short of explosions and flame weapons. However, what had caught the bulk of the attention of the genestealer defenders were the monsters that crashed through their fortifications.

The cultists opened fire upon the monster before them with over a dozen autorifles, a flurry of solid-slugs taking it in the chest. Rather than putting it down, as it would have for a human, or even slowed its charge, as such an effort would a Space Marine, the slugs just shot straight through the creature, as though its internal organs either weren't there… or were entirely optional to its continued survival.

The monster was upon the cultists in a moment and the carnage began. It lashed out with one of its arms, each of which were thicker than any the cultists were wide. Like a power hammer, it slammed into one cultist and kept going, taking him clear off his feet and slamming him into another, and then another, sending them all through the air, tangles of blood and broken limbs.

The fourth and final cultist grabbed a fragmentation grenade and made to pull the pin, the zeal for his alien god driving him to suicidal sacrifice, only for the creature to reach out and slash the man's arms with one of its claws, causing both his hands to simply drop to the ground, the grenade bouncing away harmlessly, pin left unpulled. There was a moment where the drone simply stared uncomprehendingly as he tried to pull the pin from where the grenade had been moments before, only for the creature to impale him upon another claw through the stomach, dropping him to the ground a moment later.

Despite the seemingly non-lethal wound, the monster moved onwards, searching for its next group of foes. And then, something that could be seen as either miraculous or horrific occurred.

The drone stood up, its wound closing. Similarly, the three cultists who had been slammed away began to twitch and wrench their own bones back into place. One, whose skull had been smashed against the rockrete, his brains scattered across the ground, stood despite his caved in head.

Erupting from their bodies, strange mutations took hold of these living corpses. Arms exploded into tentacles, fingers extended into claws the length of a forearm, heads wrenched backwards or had their jaws ripped apart to make room for the same red stalks as the creature from before had possessed, that grew like flowers from clay pots.

Then, what had once been cultists rushed away, following the wake of the creature. They came before one genestealer hybrid that wielded a staff and dressed in strange robes. She barked a command that sent ripples through the illusory image as psychic power was called upon with a shrill screech that belonged more to an animal than a human. The original monster, large and strong, seemed to ripple for a moment and then exploded in a shower of viscous yellow liquid and tattered green flesh.

The hybrid, a Magus of the cult, was joined by a dozen cultists that rushed forward, their eyes wild with feral rage, driven forward by unnatural zeal and alien strength, equipped with cutting tools ranging from a functional chainblade to the knives of a chef. Their fallen allies, twisted by whatever the monster had been, roared in reply and met the charge with unrestrained fury.

Two cultists fell immediately, impaled by the claws and collapsing to the ground like sandbags. One of the creatures remained in the back of the fight, rapidly mutating. Its torso seemed to crackle and swell like a balloon. It almost seemed translucent.

With a running start, the monster leapt through the air with strength far greater than any mortal, clear over the heads of the cultists, still steadily falling to the claws and tentacles of their former comrades. The Magus seemed surprised, but reacted with the speed of a warrior, looking up. There was another tremble of psychic might and the mutated cultist exploded just as the first monster had. Only, rather than splattering the ground with that liquid, it was like a gas grenade exploded. Thick, greenish-yellow clouds covered the cultists and the Magus, who were hidden from sight by the clouds… only to emerge only seconds later, just as mutated as their comrades had been.

Scenes like this played out again and again throughout Enyo. Every moment, thousands of cultists perished, stood back up, then changed, mutated into things just as monstrous as what was killing them, seeking to further the spread. Faster and faster, one became ten, became a hundred, more and more.

Even more terrifyingly, each time a creature passed a corpse they would take a moment to scratch it. Nothing more, just a scratch, perhaps as deep as a papercut in the flesh. And, seconds later, the corpse would rise to its feet and change just as the rest had, no matter how long it had been dead. Ork, genestealer, human, it didn't matter. All joined the horde.

Ahsael fought hard to keep the abject horror and fear from his face. He had seen many things in his centuries of life, fought and bound many horrors of the Great Ocean. But he had never seen something like this.

They watched for hours. And that was how long it took for Enyo to fall. For the genestealers to die and return as something else, something strange and monstrous.

Hours.

The realization he made at that moment likely caused the most dread he had ever felt in the entirety of his life. This nameless foe they faced, the ones who masqueraded as PDF from Malum…

"They… they have been holding back against us."

Uirus stared down upon the hive city, now filled with the dead returned and given new purpose. It was not his first encounter with the dead being brought back and twisted. Besides servitors, the monstrosities of Nurgle often had such powers over life, death, and undeath. However, such twisted beasts were little more than animated corpses, suffused with sorcerous energy to grant them a dark spark of false-life that drove them to spread and slaughter the Plague Lord's enemies.

This was something else entirely.

He watched as what had once been the bodies of humans, orks, genestealer hybrids and purestrains seemed to turn a viscous, diseased green and melt into puddles of mutable flesh, that spread, thinned, connected, and then… transformed. It was a matter of seconds as what must have been tens of billions of corpses became what looked to be nothing more than vines.

Dark gods, Uirus thought with a start. If this thing grew through the dead, then the army they had decided to throw away in Janus…

"Brother-!" Uirus began, turning sharply towards Ahsael, only for his fellow Space Marine to hold up a hand.

"They are lost already, if our foe decides speed would be preferable over stealth," Ahsael replied. His gaze upon the illusory reflection was unshakeable. "Did you see how swiftly it spread? Even united, it would take days for an army of daemons and other conjured horrors of the Warp to take a hive city… And months at the very soonest for mortal armies with the blessing of the gods."

"Brother, we have to…" Uirus stopped, unsure of what to say. What could they do about this threat? The genestealers hadn't been all but defenseless against this threat. Their own cultists and mortal armies were not able to withstand even what Ahsael himself admitted was an enemy restraining itself. They had a small army of daemonhosts they could unleash… but even if each monster could take out a thousand of these foes before falling, with the city of Enyo alone, this threat had an army greater than anything on this planet. Greater than most sub-sectors, in truth.

And it had Limos as well. How far had these… things spread? Malum, certainly. Their mimicry of the PDF from that hive city, the deception towards the Order of the Cleansing Rains, clearly implied a high level of intelligence. If they could mimic people… Had they infiltrated the other hives controlled by the Imperium?

Had they infiltrated the cults? Uirus wondered with growing dread. How could they tell if someone was one of these mimics? The sheer control and coordination implied a central mind controlling or, at least, guiding them all. Uirus had only recognized something being off with the PDF because of tiny details, things ordinary mortals would never have a hope of noticing, and he had only learned of their true nature because of the incident with that burned Sister of Battle.

"Brother?" Uirus was shaken from his revelations by Ahsael's curious voice. His brother was still staring down at the illusion.

"Apologies, my lord, I was… distracted." Ahsael merely shook his head without his eyes wavering from the images. The vines seemed to be redistributing themselves, heading towards the factories. The genestealers had abandoned their work when the attack had started, yet now it was being resumed by new flesh constructs just like those in Limos.

"I asked, what do you think its plans are? It is re-manning the industrial districts with its own forms. And… look. Do you see what it is doing?"

Uirus glanced back at the illusion and watched as the vines moved like tendrils, swiftly and efficiently taking apart a factory machine with the speed and grace of a team of mind-linked Mechanicus priests, minus their prayers and sacraments. Some components were taken away by other vines, some were replaced with fleshy counterparts, others replaced by different ones seemingly brought from elsewhere.

"It is… repairing the old machinery?"

"It is doing more than that," Ahsael said. "It is reconfiguring these factories to produce… something else. What would take a team of Enginseers and serfs days to accomplish, it is doing in hours and minutes."

Uirus was not surprised to hear the curiosity in his brother's voice… but he was slightly concerned by the small amount of admiration it was mixed in with.

"What is it trying to get the factory to produce?" Uirus asked, trying to change the subject.

"I am not sure," Ahsael said. "Weapons, perhaps? To arm more of its mimic-soldiers."

"I don't understand why it bothers," Uirus said, crossing his arms. "Why the façade? This world is isolated by the storm. It could easily slaughter the Sisters of Battle and then do to our own hives what its done in the east."

"Indeed… if it were simply a feral beast, that is likely what it would do," Ahsael replied. "It could need the corpse-worshippers for some purpose its own mimics cannot accomplish."

"Some greater plan?" Uirus suggested. "When the Warp Storm subsides, the Sisters vouching for the ferocity and capability of the mimic soldiers could provide it a means of leaving this planet. A way to spread to other worlds."

"That is one possibility." Ahsael nodded. "We do not know enough about the way its mind functions to make such predictions, however…"

"Do you intend to…" Uirus paused, suddenly unsure if this was the right way to phrase his question. When Ahsael remained transfixed by the illusion, he pushed on anyways. "Do you intend to study this creature?"

Ahsael tilted his head as he stroked his chin, deep in thought.

"… Yes," He finally said after a long while. "But not here and not now. We do not currently have the means to conduct such a study, nor are we safe enough to do so. We will require… assistance."

"Do you mean… the legion?" Uirus wanted to shift his weight between his feet, wanted to fidget. He stopped himself from doing so. Such things were mortal qualities, unbefitting of a Space Marine.

"Yesss," Ahsael breathed through his teeth like a hiss. "Ready the Gallow's Eye for detachment and departure."

"We are…" Uirus caught himself before he said the word 'running'. "… leaving Monstrum?"

"This world's value is no longer as a land for me to rule," Ahsael said, banishing the image simply by retracting his might, the swirling waters of the bowl slowly stilling. "But a place where a great power now dwells. A power that I will either have to destroy… or learn to wield for myself."

"What of the ork space hulk? It could-."

"It is either empty or been rendered inoperable. Why else would it remain silent, hanging above our heads like some misshapen moon?"

"If…" Uirus paused, but Ahsael's look towards him compelled him forwards. "If this threat is left unwatched, unhindered, it may grow out of any hopes of control or destruction."

"Indeed." Ahsael nodded. "Which is why I want you to ensure the weapons systems of the Gallow's Eye are checked and rechecked. If we cannot have these hive cities for ourselves… then this foe may not have them either."