POV: Magos Dominus Vitruvius

Vitruvius stared at the data cache from the Skitarii Vanguard Terminus squad. It had been steadily forwarded up the chain before being flagged for his attention.

He checked the timestamp on the cache and authenticated the footage; it was taken less than eight standard hours ago. It was not the only report regarding unusual Tyranid bioforms in the warzone to be flagged for his attention, but it was by far the most coherent and detailed, and it had happened right at the border of his operational area.

“Marshal, mark the location from this file; send a squad to verify how much of the specimen survived intact and retrieve it,” he ordered the Caustica Mortis Skitarii Marshal. “If your troops encounter such a beast in the areas you have elected to saturate, no matter how corroded or burnt, retrieve the corpses if possible and take samples if not.”

The Marshal hissed an affirmative through his vox grille, forwarding the order to the Caustica Mortis.

The Skitarii formation was unsettlingly well equipped for subterranean warfare. They were methodical, vicious, and thorough in a way that made even the standard Skitarii seem docile in comparison. Encounter an enemy fortification? Flood the entire section with one of Archmagos Korr’s lethal chemical compounds. Allow sufficient time for the agents to do their work. Survivors? Incinerate the section and everything in it. Then send in the heavy troops to clear the remains, confirm the kill, and advance to the next objective.

They had pushed halfway into the second level, but the resistance and number of traps had grown worse the deeper they went. This level of resistance was not isolated to his portion of the warfront either; it was true for every subterranean front across the southern continent.

The large Bioforms represented an unknown variable and confirmed that the Genestealers had some source of Tyranids on Cypra Mundi. Though there were a number of concerning abnormalities with them. Those abnormalities fell outside his area of expertise.

“Send it up the chain,” he muttered to himself.

Vitruvius collected the various reports, the data retrieved from the lost squads, and collated it all. Forwarding copies to Archmagos Korr, Magos Dominus Ryex-Epsilon, and the Imperial Ordo Xenos.

It would take a few hours, but he planned to preemptively collect as many physical samples of the Tyranids to send up for examination. The more they knew, the more efficiently he could kill them.

Vitruvius turned back to his command table and began issuing orders as he tapped back into the battlespace datafeed. “Get the Hellbores set up in quadrant 325. I want them to dive along this seam of shale into 225. Tell the Astartes requesting to travel through quadrant 380 that it was flooded with acidic compounds, and while the compounds have gone inert, the various support structures within should be considered compromised for heavy power armour. Permission granted to blow the mega-lift in quadrant 343; bring it down. Send Servo-skulls down the mineshaft in sector 317; I want to know where that goes.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Nicole

It is next to impossible for me to ignore the absolutely massive amounts of data flying around in the Noosphere with my level of clearance, and even only giving it a sliver of my attention grants me a breadth of insight into the ongoing war.

The cult, for whatever reason, has elected to slug it out with the Mechanicus of Cypra Mundi. Lines have been drawn in the sand, and things have devolved into open warfare, with the strongest Genestealer presence below the southern continent; those tunnels are turning into a veritable meat grinder for both sides.

Elsewhere on the planet, the cult is using its traditional hit-and-run terror tactics. With some large concentrations holed up in captured fortresses, forges, or arms depots.

The forces fighting on the side of the cult are surprisingly diverse. There is the normal spread of hybrids and various Genestealer generations, but along with those are normal humans, mutants, servitors, stolen automata, and cybernetically augmented individuals.

I muse as I make my way into the facility assigned to the Engines of Tempestus. The cadets are all doing fine, if a little frazzled from their encounter, but seeing the enemy up close is a valuable lesson in itself. I’ll need to find some manner of minor reward for Nyanko, perhaps a custom implant or a sidearm.

Lupus Fidei, our Warbringer Nemesis, is undergoing a full refit and refurbishment. The Melta Cannon will be swapped for a Volcano Cannon. The Quake Cannon also requires several parts, and while my Technomancy repaired much of the Engine, there were a few minor faults deep within from either previous repairs or the original chassis that the Magi of Cypra Mundi are ready and willing to rectify. This does mean Lupus Fidei is out of action for at least another month.

If Clypeus Obscurus takes my offer – as I predict they will – I am willing to lend them a full maniple, perhaps an extra Dire Wolf or Warhound or two if they ask properly. Despite the rest of the Legio being ready to walk, there is one Reaver and one Dire Wolf I will not be lending out to anyone outside of Tempestus due to their rare loadouts and Machine Spirits.

I make my way to Kiryu, who stands silently in his berth. A handful of Tech Priests scurry around his glorious chassis, studying his various upgrades and Archeotech parts with one of the local Magi.

“Warning: I will be rousing and interfacing with Kiryu. We will not leave the berth. Remain wary of the exhaust ports and war horns,” I transmit as I ascend the main gantry.

“Acknowledged, Senioris Cavalerio,” the Magos replies, guiding his flock of eager Tech Priests to a safer distance.

Victoria is the first from my retinue to ask, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “My Lady, could you please clarify what exactly you are doing?”

I smile. “I have been asked to avoid all of the warfronts. I will abide by that request. That does not mean I will not contribute. Master Doll has requested my assistance in producing more scanners aboard the Argent Drake, but before we return to orbit, I have an… experiment to run in the Noosphere. Kiryu and AME are going to help me with it. If you’d like, Vicky, you can also participate, though my presence when linked with Kiryu may be a bit overwhelming.”

“Kiryu doesn’t have a direct Noospheric connection,” Vicky observes, her tone curious.

“That is correct.” I reply as Kiryu’s Spirit rouses groggily, “No Titan does, and for good reason; the ego bleed-through, if they did it directly, would overwhelm everyone nearby. I will act as the living filter and firewall, and Kiryu will provide me with his processing power and mighty presence. This is only possible thanks to my implants and the fact that my affinity with Kiryu is perfect, and he will not fight me for control like most Titan Machine Spirits do with their Princeps,” I explain as we enter Kiryu.

“That sounds dangerous, My Lady,” Vicky says disapprovingly.

I hum and wave my hand dismissively. “I can assure you, Vicky, the danger to me is minimal. The danger to some of our enemies should this prove viable is… considerable. I need to make the most out of the initial strike; the enemy will likely adapt their defenses or sever their connections to the Noosphere soon after.” I smile sharply. “Which is why I intend to use Kiryu’s aid.”

“Victoria, would you mind lighting a stick of incense?” I ask as we reach the cockpit.

“Of course, My Lady,” Vicky replies, heading to one of the incense burners.

I am in no rush, so I take things slow. There is no reason not to stack things as far in my favor as I can. I begin the first set of Mechanicus rituals. Starting with the Rite of Clear Thought, I pair it with one of my psychic meditation techniques. Only once my mind is clear and focused do I proceed to the Rite of Awakening.

“AME, I will inform you when you can link to me. Only do so after Kiryu is fully settled; use one of my secondary spinal ports,” I tell her as I insert the main umbilical.

“Affirmative!” She chirps excitedly, floating around my head as I settle onto the throne.

Kiryu’s spirit rouses gently. His spirit cracks open a massive eye to peer down at me curiously. I boop him on the snoot. “Hey, big guy, we’re not going for a walk just yet.” I gently chide him when he grumbles and sulks at me like a pouting child. “Hey! I know that’s not the best, but I wanted to see if you might be inclined to help me kill a bunch of the enemy?”

Kiryu’s attention is piqued, and he rumbles an affirmative. A wave of his bloodlust washes over me as I roll my eyes. “Calm down, I need to do one more ritual, and then we can prepare for the digital attack, and AME is going to help us too, so be nice.”

He gives his grudging acceptance, and I pull back from our connection slightly, leaving his digital space but maintaining the link as I fully power up his core internal systems.

“Alright, AME, link in as I complete the Ritual of Becoming. You are only to help me, not try anything on your own,” I tell her firmly before I start the ritual to better center myself in the Noosphere.

By the Sacred Circuit, I am connected.
By the Blessed Interface, I am admitted.
By the Holy Noosphere, I am received.

I speak, and the Machine hears.
I listen, and the Machine speaks.
The Machine remembers, and I am the bridge.
One Cog within the Divine Engine.

I close my eyes and subsume myself into the Noosphere far more deeply than usual.

I open the eyes of my Noospheric Avatar; the immense digital representations of the networks of Cypra Mundi stretch out before me. Millions of various data streams crisscross through the digital sky.

My avatar shimmers as Kiryu’s presence adds an immense crushing weight on top of my already distinct presence, looming behind me like a shadow.

I sigh as AME links in with me; the extra processing power is quite comfortable. Her avatar is a tiny squid that pops into being on my shoulder.

Vicky’s Avatar is nearby, and she is forced to retreat to a safe distance as she feels the pressure I am exerting. Her avatar is interesting, humanoid but faceless, clad in a robe constructed from translucent streams of data. She gives off the feeling of both a sheathed blade and a clerical index.

I spread my awareness outward slowly; several other Tech Priests are unfortunately accessing the Noosphere and are close enough that they also experience the immense pressure of Kiryu’s presence. Most retreat swiftly; one unfortunate individual faints.

Thankfully, I can suppress Kiryu’s shadow and Ego from bleeding through for the most part. Only things I focus on intently will bear the full brunt of our attention.

There are numerous potent Noosperic presences off in the distance; several are familiar. It occurs to me that I have not heard of the Genestealers employing scrap code in their attacks, and I quickly learn that it is not because they aren’t trying to use scrap code, but because Cypra Mundi’s response to such attacks is absolutely vicious.

No less than three different Archmagi, two who are not known to me and one who is, are keeping vigil. Archmagos Nocta Seraphex-9’s avatar acknowledges my presence with a polite and respectful but brief nod before his avatar reaches out and his attack engrams, shaped into digital claws, shred through a sliver of scrap code that was attempting to infiltrate a communications line. Behind each of the Archmagi, hundreds, if not thousands, of Magi and Tech Priests are performing the Rites of Purification in sync to ensure the networks of Cypra Mundi remain untainted.

I turn my attention away from the digital guardians, and my avatar slips through the Noosphere, moving towards the area where a great number of signals and digital presences are clashing.

The presences are surrounding one of the enemy strongholds in the Western continent: a captured fortress and armoury. The Servitors and Skitarii feel diminutive compared to my own, and at first it’s a little difficult to discern which is loyal and which is an enemy. Their IFF codes are all jumbled together in their own little networks and constantly shifting around. The workaround for this is a relatively simple one. I just look for the tainted Machine spirits. I catalogue the tainted individuals, keeping my touch as light as possible while still getting a feel for each unit's defenses and following their network connections to the rest of their allies and repeating the process.

I can only identify individuals with enough implants to link to the Noosphere, but the enemy has a surprising number of traitor Skitarii, corrupted servitors, and traitor Tech Priests. I trace a thin data tether into being, marking the enemies and forming a line between each target. Only the Tech Priests and Magi have any digital defenses worth anything against me, and I offload identifying weaknesses in their protections to AME. At the same time, I work to mark as many targets as I can before I am discovered.

I manage to tag a considerable number of enemies before one of the enemy Magi takes notice. The moment he starts to probe at the data tether, I drop all subtlety. My Avatar surges with power, and I feel various presences take notice.

P.R.I.N.C.E.S.S. Offensive modules engaged.
Executing Response: Dispensation of Edict
Edict Selected: Rebuke
Preparing Rebuke
External Aid Registered: Throne of Dominus Machina: Kiryu
Empowering Rebuke: Grand Rebuke.

The Data Djinn flickers into being inside the Noosphere; the normally tiny construct balloons as Kiryu infuses it with his power and viciousness while AME feeds Rebuke all the vulnerabilities and workarounds for the defenses she probed.

“Grand Rebuke. Attack mode. Destroy my marked enemies,” I command as I feed the end of the data tether to the Grand Rebuke. The tether acts like a lit fuse; the Grand Rebuke follows it to the first target, one of the weakest, a simple corrupted servitor. Rebuke overloads and shuts down the unit with trivial ease, but just before full shutdown occurs, copies of Rebuke race along every other tether connected to that servitor, repeating the process anew.

The Grand Rebuke has no trouble pushing through the digital defenses of the first enemy Skitarii in the chain, following the trace back to their commanders. The first enemy Tech Priest takes the Grand Rebuke a moment; a shield appears around the heretek’s avatar, and the Grand Rebuke opens its fanged maw and latches on. Grand Rebuke is forced to chew through their defenses, and while they only hold for a moment or two, the delay gives some of the wiser enemies a chance to react.

A few of the marked enemy magi and Tech Priests vanish as they cut all external connections. They will be the only survivors; the rest muster defenses, and some even try to attack Rebuke with various data constructs.

It is an exercise in futility. None last more than a few scant moments, and none survive having their critical implants shut down or having their Potentia Coils overloaded.

Once the last enemy falls, Rebuke immediately returns to me, and I give the wyvern’s data construct a generous scritching. “Who’s a good Djinn? You are!”

I feel Fabricator Locum Korr’s avatar appears nearby. He looks at me, at Rebuke, then casts his attention out to the legions of dead enemies. He looks grateful, mildly impressed, and incredibly exasperated. “Magos Dominus Cavalerio.”

“Fabricator Locum. I’m inside my Engine, several kilometers away from the nearest warfront within the Orbitalis Citadel.” I say preemptively.

His avatar flickers for a brief moment. “Your contribution to the war effort is noted and appreciated. However, I must ask that you refrain from unleashing your Data Djinn over the open network again for the sake of network stability and integrity. That… attack… strained it considerably, and it is needed to coordinate our war efforts.”

“Oh. I am sorry about that. I had not factored network strain into my considerations.” I give a small bow of my head, “I only intended to do it once, maybe twice if the enemy was foolish enough to remain on the network. Unfortunately, the attack only affected individuals with extensive augmentation, which only make up a fraction of the enemy's total forces.” I admit as Rebuke shrinks back down to his default size and rests in my palm. “But the traitors to the Omnissiah needed to be punished for their insolence.”

“Indeed.” Korr looks me up and down. “It is good that you are well. We will have to reschedule your remaining exams once this war has been resolved.”

“I shall look forward to qualifying for Magos Errant then,” I say confidently.

Korr buzzes in faint amusement. “Imperial High Command is requesting as many scanners as you and Archmagos Doll can produce within the next week while Cypra Mundi is still working on producing stable production lines. If you require raw materials, we shall endeavor to provide them.”

I purse my lips and sigh. “I mean… It won’t be a lot, but I do have some stockpiled. I will discuss how many we can produce and are willing to part with, with Master Doll.”

Korr nods, and his avatar vanishes. I start the process of disconnecting myself from AME and Kiryu while also leaving the Noosphere.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Sandra Dune of Legio Clypeus Obscurus

Sandra stood at the end of the table in front of the near entirety of Legio Clypeus Obscurus. She had been standing silently for several minutes after presenting them with Lady Cavalerio’s offer. A few of their Princeps locked within their amniotic caskets were attending remotely.

Senioris Vespasian Caesaris sat at the head of the table, with a stormy expression.

Her grandmother was seated not too far from this end of the table, her expression placid and neutral.

Orsini Zheng, the head of the Zheng family, was paying keen attention to the proceedings.

Varus Caesaris, favored son of Vespasian, broke the silence: “This is absurd! How can we even be considering this… this farce!?”

“Varus.” Vespasian’s ice-cold voice cut in. “Be. Silent. If you speak out of turn again, I will have you flogged.” Sandra felt a shiver run down her spine.

Varus looked stunned but wisely shut his mouth.

Vespasian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How many can walk immediately?”

“Nineteen… Including yourself, Senioris,” came the immediate reply from their Legio’s Legate, Acastian Vorn.

“Can we not find the Engines to fill five maniples? How many are in for repair?” Vespasian asked, his head bowed.

“Twenty-two Engines are down for major repairs.” Acastian pulled up the deployment information on his dataslate. “Orbitalis is committing slightly more than half their forces: eleven maniples. Bastionis is committing a majority of their Engines: eight full maniples,” He said softly.

“Can we not petition Orbitalis for the use of their Engines? I don’t see why we would use the Engines of some outsider,” Rufus Caesaris, one of Vespasian’s grandchildren, remarked.

Vespasian’s harsh stare snapped to the young man. “You would have us, have me, beg for such a favor from Khouri? During this critical time on our very homeworld? You would see me supplicate myself to his mercy like some lesser?”

Sandra winced; the rivalry between the three Legios of Cypra Mundi was well known locally. Vespasian was an intensely proud man; he needed to be to pilot his Warmonger, but his beloved Warmonger wasn’t even here; it had been lost somewhere in the Warp during transit. Vespasian was currently commanding his old Warmaster.

“N-no, Senioris,” Rufus quickly backpedaled.

Vespasian shook his head, and his eyes shifted; he looked across the table straight at her. “Sit down, girl.” She sat as he stood.

“Some of you,” he began, “seem to believe this war is merely another like the many before it. It is not. There is a full-scale war on our home planet. Our Legio has been grievously wounded. Our God-Engines are few. Only our crews remain undiminished; Our coffers are taxed, our allies uncertain, and there are those beyond these walls who have already begun discussing what shall become of Clypeus Obscurus if we cannot recover.”

His expression hardened. “They are waiting for us to fail.” He looked down at the offer. “This war is our opportunity to remind them why we exist. To prove ourselves worthy of our name, and the support of Cypra Mundi.”

“In order to prove ourselves, we are not merely going to destroy the enemy. We are going to demonstrate that Legio Clypeus Obscurus remains a Legio worthy of its name. Every Engine that walks onto that battlefield will be watched. Every engagement will be recorded. Every victory will be counted. This will be one of the most visible conflicts we will have ever participated in.” His voice became colder. “And every failure will be remembered.”

He began to pace at the head of the table. “I will make this perfectly clear. There will be no timid advance. No wasteful heroics. No Princeps seeking glory at the expense of the Legio. You will fight intelligently. You will fight aggressively. You will fight as though the survival of every God-Engine in this Legio depends upon what you accomplish on that field.” He paused and swept his gaze across the chamber. “Because it does.”

“If we perform well, this campaign may be the beginning of our recovery. New contracts, new Engines, and restoration of our privileges. Perhaps, in time, the return of those resources that have been lost.”

His eyes narrowed. “But if we embarrass ourselves?” He gave a humorless smile and chuckled darkly. “Then understand what follows.”

He turned and looked out the massive window behind him, arms clasped behind his back. “Logisticians will call our losses unacceptable. The Mechanicus will call our performance substandard. Our rivals and other Legios will call us obsolete or perhaps call for our demotion to a demi-Legio. And the next time the Forge world has an Engine to spare, they will hesitate to grant it to us.” His gaze hardened. “And eventually, someone will suggest that the Clypeus no longer has use as a shield.”

“I will not allow such a future to come to pass, not as long as I am Senioris. If that means some of our crews must go to another Legio, then at least they go to one with a storied history, not either of our local rivals. I intend to accept Lady Cavalerio’s offer… but the question remains who shall pilot the Engines of Tempestus and likely leave us with them after their return.” He looked across the table straight at Sandra.

“If Sandra goes. I am going with her,” her grandmother declared, eliciting a few gasps from the assembly.

Vespasian looked towards her grandmother with a pensive expression. “You are certain of this course, Helena?”

“As certain as I ever was as your navigator, Vesper.” Her grandmother smiled sharply.

Vespasian sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “So be it, Sandra and Helena Dune. For the sake of the Legio, you and your crew will pilot an Engine of Tempestus in our name and, should they wish for it, claim your service.”

Sandra was both relieved and terrified; she looked at her grandmother questioningly, but her grandmother had pulled up the list of Tempestus Engines and mouthed the word ‘Reaver?’ at her.

Sandra gave a hesitant nod. She could handle a Reaver… probably, and if her grandmother was helping her, then almost certainly.

Orsini Zheng, Shen Zheng, and Lia Zheng shared a look. The pair gave a discreet, encouraging nod toward Orsini, who spoke, “Senioris Vespasian, the Zheng clan would volunteer themselves for consideration.”

Vespasian did not look surprised, though the rest of the table certainly seemed caught off guard. Vespasian held up a hand, forestalling any arguments. “Before we commit any more of our forces. Let us call Senioris Cavalerio and clarify what she is willing to lend.”

Vespasian tapped the holotable and the call connected in moments. Lady Cavalerio’s face appeared. “Senioris Caesaris, and Legio Clypeus Obscurus,” she spoke with a polite incline of her head.

“We would like to take you up on your offer, Senioris Cavalerio,” Vespasian began. “All three Reavers.”

Lady Cavalerio held up her hand. “One moment, Senioris Caesaris. I should make you aware that Lupus Fidei, my Warbringer Nemesis, is down for refit and will not be ready for more than a month; Eternal Howl, one of the Reavers, is not for loan due to the nature of one of its weapon systems; only individuals who have earned my trust are allowed to pilot that Engine, and I am hesitant to loan out all three Dire Wolves at once.”

Vespasian nodded. “I see, and there is no issue with the two Warhounds?”

“None. Ashpaw and Iron Fang are ready to walk. As are both Lupus Velox and Lupus Dominus, though Dominus no longer has its Volcano Cannon; it has a Melta Cannon in its place.”

“That leaves the Dire Wolves. I would prefer Dire Alpha and Canis Magna if possible,” Vespasian explained calmly.

“Two of the three I have no problem with lending out. Six Engines total. That is no small number of talented crew you stand to lose if they impress me,” she said critically.

“Lady Cavalerio, forgive my interruption. Would you perhaps be willing to lend Eternal Howl if my granddaughter and I were to operate it?” Her grandmother inquired politely.

“Moderatus Dune?” The girl tilted her head and nodded slowly. “If you would be the ones operating it, given your impressive service record, then yes. I would be willing to lend my third Reaver. Just know that the loss of its carapace weapon is not acceptable.”

“Thank you, Senioris Cavalerio.” Her grandmother bowed, looking oddly smug about something.

“Seven Engines for the duration of the conflict under the terms provided in your offer. Three Reavers, Two Dire Wolves, Two Warhounds,” Vespasian listed as he signed the document.

“Agreed. Good hunting to you and your Legio Senioris Caesaris.” Lady Cavalerio made the sign of the cog before ending the call.

Vespasian turned back to the Zheng clan. “Are there two worthy of a Reaver amongst you?”

Orsini smiled. “You know there are Senioris. We stand ready to serve.”

“So be it,” Vespasian declared, “We won’t have time to repaint them; someone gather enough Clypeus Obscurus banners for seven Engines. Prepare the crews for each and submit them to me for final approval. Just over five maniples is enough for a respectful showing. Clypeus Obscurus will walk!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Nicole

Returning to the Argent Drake is a relief; the ship just feels like coming home after the past few months.

Argent herself seems dismissive of the war going on below her. Content to sit in her berth, lording over her new flock of voidships, getting to know their various spirits and establishing the clear hierarchy. Which goes Argent, Cobalt Coatl, then Durindana, Blades of Glory, and Tithe of Blood, with Cry Havoc falling somewhere in that latter range but remaining distinctly separate. Then generally down the list based on tonnage for the rest.

“Cobalt, please refrain from undue interference in the war,” I say politely over a secure Vox channel.

“They delayed my tour. I was looking forward to that.” Cobalt flicked out her forked tongue. “These Xenos are causing large amounts of harm to the general populace. A few orbital strikes could easily accelerate some of the containment efforts.”

“Please refrain from firing your weapons at the planet. If you want to comb through the available data to try and locate the enemy Patriarch, then by all means you are free to do so, but I highly doubt the Mechanicus will approve of glassing parts of the Forge World.” I say, shaking my head ruefully.

Cobalt gives me an odd look, tilting her head and humming but otherwise remaining quiet. “Fine, but once this mess is over, I want to reschedule the tour. My decks are immaculate.” She said, preening.

“I am sure they are; now I need to meet up with Master Doll and make some more scanners for the nice Lord Admiral. Play nice with the other new ships.” I say, noting how the spirits of the Clever Current, Vicious Voltage, and Agile Amperage seem rather infatuated with Cobalt.

—----------

“So they’ve agreed to provide the raw materials?” I ask Master Doll, peering around him to watch as he works at one of his forge benches.

“Indeed. How many units do you think you could produce in a week if the rare materials were not a consideration?” He asks me curiously as he shapes the internal reinforced skeleton for what looks like a cybernetic arm. “I also noticed you promised the Fabricator Locum a reserve stockpile that does not currently exist.”

“Well… It will exist. If I have to make them here a dozen or two… If you let me work privately… a few hundred?” I say, coughing into one hand and averting my eyes.

Master Doll sighs loudly, “Nicole, you using your little Xenotech mater fabricator constructs is not even on my first page of considerations. Despite the interruption, your High Magos Xenologis rank has gone through, and these… Scarabs… were on the list of items the Ordo Xenos approved of you retaining.”

He raises one mechanical arm and brings his hand down gently on top of my head in a chastizing chopping motion. “Produce as many as you can do feasibly. We can worry about numbers delivered at the end of the week.”

“Yes, Master!” I say cheerfully.

“Where are you off to now?” He inquires, turning back to his work.

“The Armoury and then my personal vault. I have a critical adjustment to make to the contents of my Tesseract.”

“Ah, yes, the Skitarii informed me of your issue with ammunition during the ambush. A lesson best learned now rather than later.” His eyes drift to the cube at my belt, and he shakes his head in amusement.

“Don’t worry, next time we loot a Tomb World, I’ll find you one, Master,” I promise him, earning me another exasperated look.

As I turn to leave, he speaks up once more, “Ah! Nicole, it’s not a pressing issue given the war, but Archmagos Croft should have a pending offer for you regarding the navigational data and a transport.”

“Noted, I will look it over,” I say as I scamper off.

A quick trip to check on my Scarabs, and they get to work producing the scanners. With Cypra Mundi providing the few rare materials in bulk, it’s even easier for them since they don’t have to generate the highly dense or complex materials from nothing.

—------

“Sergeant Su!” I call out with a small wave.

He turns and bows. “Lady Cavalerio, I have your order here. Five pallets of ammunition. Las packs, Human Bolt rounds, Astartes Bolt rounds, Plasma Flasks, Melta canisters, and one empty weapon rack.” He said, tapping his dataslate.

“Toss in a mixed crate of grenades and a few tanks of flamer-grade promethium?” I said, thinking of what else I might want.

He nods. “I’ll add a box of emergency advanced medical kits too.” Pulling out the crate and the box of supplies in short order and adds them to the pile.

“That should be enough. I don’t have a ton of space to play around with given everything currently inside,” I admit with a small shrug as I wave the Tesseract Labyrinth and the pallets vanish into its confines.

Sergeant Su just shakes his head, having seen it in action already.

I notice something metal pinned to his chest that wasn’t there before and frown. “What’s that?”

“A medal, ma’am,” he speaks with a highly amused expression, “Came with a pay bump.”

“A medal for what?” I ask, feeling confused when I fail to recognize the medal right away.

“It’s a medal for successfully defending a VIP in an ambush against near-overwhelming odds. Near-overwhelming was clarified as being outnumbered at least five hundred to one against an armed hostile enemy force. Lord Drakios insisted.” Su says proudly.

“I was not informed of this, but that’s… great?” I say with a stiff smile.

“The name for it is still pending; I suggest the Calamitous Cavalerio Cross! But Felixis suggested the Silver Shield, which has quite a few votes too, and it’s contending with the Argent Aegis. It’s made of silver, but the Venerable volunteered some enemy skull fragments if we wanted them,” Su said dramatically.

I sputter a little, “It wasn’t that bad!”

He looks at me and gives me a flat stare. “The Dreadnought ran out of ammunition. The Squad of Sisters of Battle ran out of ammunition from killing so many Genestealers. We had to be saved by a concerning amount of Astartes. Ma’am, with all due respect… you have a really skewed view of ‘not that bad’”

I hold up a finger to rebuke that statement, but the words don’t materialize. I may be a bit biased from hanging out with the Astartes. “Ahem. Well… congratulations. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Sergeant Su, the smarmy roughneck, loudly snaps to attention, which of course makes all the other voidsmen nearby do so. “Yes, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Inquisitor Delacoi of the Ordo Xenos

It had taken Inquisitor Delacoi the better part of a week to arrange transport back into orbit. The ongoing war against the Genestealer infestation had thrown planetary traffic into disarray, and securing passage through the chaos had proven considerably more difficult than she had anticipated. Unlike her peer, Van Vuygens, she had been forced to remain planetside.

The delay had not been entirely wasted. She had taken the opportunity to personally oversee the collection and transport of numerous biological specimens recovered from the warfront, ensuring that a substantial assortment of the enemy’s bioforms would reach the Ordo Xenos for proper study.

She was not surprised to find Van Vuygens waiting for her as soon as she exited her shuttle at the docks.

Two individuals in Mechanicus robes stood behind him along with a handful of guards. One Magos was marked with the sigil of the Inquisition alongside the red robes of Mars, clearly a Biologis of some sort attached to the Ordo Xenos. The other bore the more conventional trappings of the Adeptus Mechanicus, though Delacoi suspected there was little conventional about either of them.

“You managed to find a Genetor after all, Van?” She asked, glancing over the pair of Magi.

“Yes, yes! Vitae-42 has been seconded by the Mechanicus to assist with our analysis, and I managed to locate Helix-8 as well.” Van waved a dismissive hand, already craning his neck to peer past her retinue. “But never mind that. The samples! Where are the samples?! We must get them to the fortress at once! There is an extraordinary amount of work to be done, and I would rather like to begin the dissection before anything else demands my attention!”

Delacoi sighed and snapped her fingers. Her Tempestus Scions moved at once, retrieving the sealed crates from the shuttle's hold. Most were manageable enough for a pair of soldiers to carry, but one particularly large steel container required two hulking industrial servitors to haul it onto their reinforced limbs.

Van's attention followed the crates with the fervent intensity of a man obsessed.

She could only hope he would display the same level of enthusiasm when it came time to write his reports.

The journey through the Inquisitorial fortress was uneventful. They descended through successive security checkpoints, passing armoured doors and ident-locked bulkheads before arriving at one of the facility's secured biological laboratories. The room beyond was a sterile expanse of metal and reinforced plasteel, its examination tables surrounded by instrument racks, containment equipment, and the cold white glare of the overhead lumen strips.

As the crates were deposited around the laboratory, with the largest going on the central exam table, Delacoi turned her attention back to her fellow Inquisitor.

“Van, my long-range vox was damaged at some point during the fighting, and the connection has been unreliable ever since. Have there been any significant developments since my last report?” She inquired as her dataslate linked into the local network and began feeding her updates.

“Mmm.” Van barely glanced up from the crates. “According to the latest reports, a majority of the enemy's corrupted servitors and traitor Skitarii were eliminated in a single engagement after asset Magos Cavalerio deployed her personal Data Djinn.”

Delacoi raised an eyebrow at that. She made a mental note to request the engagement report later. Anything capable of dismantling that much enemy infrastructure in a single strike warranted closer scrutiny, but then again anything involving Magos Cavalerio was a touchy subject within the Inquisition at the moment.

“The bioform sightings continue to increase as our forces push deeper into the tunnel networks,” Van continued, “Caustica Mortis reported at least one encounter with a Pyrovore and what they believe may have been a Toxicrene. Other organisms continue to appear at irregular intervals: Lictors, Termagants, Hormagaunts, Gargoyles, and Raveners.” He patted the largest of the containers with something approaching fondness. “Such as this delightful specimen. It exhibited several unusual characteristics and was recovered mostly intact, with only mild irradiation damage. I insisted it be brought here as quickly as possible so I could examine it personally.”

Delacoi watched as Van donned a splash guard and a pair of protective gloves. The mechanical dendrites extending from his back shifted and rotated, their tool attachments retracting before being replaced with an assortment of surgical instruments and cutting implements.

The two Magi followed suit, preparing their own equipment before gathering around the largest case.

Delacoi stepped away from the workbench, taking up a position along the edge of the laboratory with several of her guards. She had little desire to crowd the Magi while they worked, and even less inclination to stand within reach of an unidentified Tyranid organism. "No luck in identifying the Patriarch's location?”

“Not as of yet, no.” Van's attention remained fixed on the case as he began releasing its locking mechanisms. “We have a Deathwatch kill team on standby. Lord Shadow has an Eversor Assassin he is willing to commit should the situation warrant it, and the Astartes have floated the possibility of deploying a joint Terminator unit.” He paused, considering the final point. “The Mechanicus, for its part, is contemplating rather more drastic measures, depending on where the Patriarch is eventually located.”

Delacoi frowned. “Drastic in what sense?”

“Oh, you know how they are.” Van gave her a dismissive wave with one hand. “Anything from subterranean sterilisation to the application of sufficiently overwhelming firepower. I suspect they would prefer to avoid damaging the more valuable infrastructure, but that consideration has its limits. They mentioned possibly using… Titans?”

Before she could press him further, the last of the locks disengaged with a heavy metallic clunk, and the lid was raised with a hiss; a cloud of cold escaping gases rushed out as the preserved corpse was revealed. Inside lay the massive corpse of a Ravener, its serpentine body tightly coiled within the confines of the steel container. Its chitinous plates were scarred and discoloured in places, but otherwise remarkably intact. Multiple limbs lay folded against its body, each ending in a wickedly curved blade. Its elongated skull bore the unmistakable profile of a Tyranid bioform, though there was something unsettling about the proportions.

Van leaned closer, his smile slightly manic. “What a fascinating specimen!”

The creature was carefully uncoiled, its immense body drawn out across the examination table. The Magi worked together to position its limbs, securing them with heavy fasteners while Van's dendrites hovered over the corpse, instruments poised to begin their work.

Delacoi studied the thing from a safe distance. The Ravener's bladed limbs alone were longer than a man's torso. Its armour was thick enough to turn aside small-arms fire, and the sheer mass of its body suggested a vicious ambush predator capable of tearing through packed ranks of infantry with horrifying ease.

She had seen enough Tyranid monstrosities to know that appearances could be deceiving. Still, there was little to admire in this particular specimen in her opinion. “It's hideous,” she remarked.

Van Vuygens did not even look up. “Yes! Isn't it wonderful?” Van Vuygens barely acknowledged her presence. His attention had already returned to the specimen, his mechanical dendrites arching over his shoulders had begun to twitch with barely restrained anticipation. “Now, let us see what secrets you have been keeping,” he whispered as the laser scalpel in his hand thrummed to life.

The first incision was made along the creature's ventral plates. The implement hissed as it passed through the chitin, exposing layers of fibrous tissue and dark, viscous fluids. One of the Magi positioned a collection vessel beneath the opening while another adjusted the laboratory's auspex array, its display filling with streams of biological data.

For several minutes, the only sounds were the hum of machinery, the soft clatter of instruments, and Van's occasional murmurs of satisfaction.

Then Vitae-42 stopped working. “Curious.”

Van glanced up, clearly interested. “What have you found?”

The Genetor had extracted a small section of tissue from the exposed musculature. It laid beneath a magnification lens, its cells displayed across a nearby hololithic screen. Several layers of genetic analysis scrolled alongside the image, comparing the sample against established Tyranid biological templates.

“The cellular differentiation is incorrect,” Vitae-42 said, “These tissues should be uniform in their specialisation. Instead, there are inconsistencies in the expression of several genetic sequences. Some cells are behaving as though they have received contradictory instructions.”

“Mutation?” Van asked, already shuffling closer.

“Possibly? But the pattern is not consistent with ordinary environmental adaptation.” Vitae-42 adjusted the magnification. “Look here, and here.”

Several sections of the display were highlighted in amber.

“Errors in the genetic code – not just isolated mutations, either. Multiple defects are distributed throughout the sample, including sequences that appear to have been damaged and subsequently copied into the daughter cells.”

Helix-8 had begun examining a separate section of the Ravener's internal organs. A moment later, their own instruments emitted a series of warning chimes.

“I am detecting extensive cellular proliferation in the adjacent tissue. Abnormal growths, distributed across multiple organs.” Helix-8 rotated the display towards the others. “These masses are not functioning tissue. They are disorganized, invasive, and consuming resources from their surroundings.”

“Neoplastic growths?” Van asked, tilting his head for a moment.

“Cancerous, by every applicable measure. Several are actively disrupting the structures around them. One has grown into the surrounding vascular system; another appears to have replaced a substantial portion of what should be functional organ tissue.”

Van frowned as he reached for another instrument, directing one of his dendrites to extract a sample from deeper within the Ravener's torso. A thin probe slid between the exposed tissues, collecting a minute portion of a discoloured growth. “Impossible,” he muttered. “The Hive Mind's genetic oversight should prevent this degree of cellular instability; Tyranid bioforms are not supposed to suffer from such pervasive failures. Even where mutations occur, they should be incorporated into a viable biological structure, or the aberrant organism should be recycled.”

“Unless the errors occurred after the organism was separated from the greater synaptic network,” Vitae-42 suggested.

“An interesting hypothesis. Not one that explains the distribution of the damage, however,” Van dismissed.

“Nor the growths,” Helix-8 added. “These are not the result of a single defective organ or a localized injury. They are appearing in unrelated tissues throughout the body. Some are relatively recent growths while others have been developing for considerably longer.”

Delacoi watched the three men compare their findings. Their earlier excitement had given way to concentrated scrutiny, each now examining a different aspect of the same disturbing problem. “What does that all mean?” she finally asked.

Van did not answer immediately; he brought up a second hololithic display overlaying the Ravener's genetic sequences with the results of the tissue examination. His expression soured as he expanded the analysis and the inconsistencies multiplied. “It means that this creature was already sick when it reached the battlefield and perhaps long before it arrived.”

“Could it have been deliberately infected?” She inquired.

“Perhaps? A pathogen, a mutagenic agent, some form of biological warfare. But the damage is too widespread for me to conclude without further analysis.” His dendrites resumed their work, collecting additional samples from the exposed tissues. “There is also the possibility of a failure in the creature's own genetic template, though I cannot yet explain how such a failure could persist within the Tyranid biological system.”

Vitae-42 turned from the display. “If this specimen is representative of all the organisms encountered in the tunnels, we may be looking at a systemic defect rather than an isolated anomaly.”

“Or an environmental factor affecting them all,” Helix-8 added. “We should compare these results against specimens recovered from other locations. We will also need to establish whether the abnormalities are present in all tissue types, assuming they remain sufficiently intact to be examined.”

So they did precisely that.

One by one, the sealed sample cases were opened, their contents transferred to examination tables, and their respective specimens subjected to the same battery of tests. Termagants, Hormagaunts, a Lictor, and several other recovered bioforms were dissected, sampled, and compared against the Ravener's results.

The findings were frustratingly consistent.

Every specimen exhibited genetic abnormalities. The specific defects varied between organisms, as did their severity, but the underlying pattern remained remarkably similar. Damaged sequences, irregular gene expression, cellular instability, and cancerous growths appeared across multiple bioforms, affecting tissues that should have been genetically stable.

Vitae-42 eventually set down his instruments. “There is…” The Genetor hesitated, his vox-grille clicking softly. “There is another possibility.”

Van glanced up impatiently. “Then please enlighten us.”

“These errors and mutations are frequently observed in large-scale cloning operations: specimens that should be genetically identical develop deviations over successive generations, particularly when the cloning process is performed under imperfect conditions or without adequate correction of replication errors. This type of widespread cancerous growth is often a byproduct when using contaminated or improperly processed biomass.”

The laboratory fell silent.

Van stared at him. “All records indicate that the Hive Mind's oversight should account for and correct such things!” he shouted. “Tyranid bioforms are not vat-grown servitors! They are extensions of a collective biological intelligence. Their genetic templates are refined, tested, and reproduced with a degree of precision that renders such rampant degradation absurd!”

“Assuming the Hive Mind is involved,” Delacoi interjected.

Van turned towards her, his curiosity piqued.

She folded her arms, allowing their attention to settle on her before continuing. “One of the most prominent traitors in recent memory was a Biologis Magos, along with his entire faction. If these creatures are the product of his work, why should we assume the Hive Mind has anything to do with them?”

Vitae-42 inclined his head slightly. “Indeed. I did remark that several of the observed errors resemble those encountered in human cloning processes. The mechanisms are not identical, naturally, but the similarities are difficult to dismiss.”

“Our records indicate that attempts have previously been made to clone Tyranid organisms for study,” Delacoi spoke, “Such experiments are dangerous, expensive, and frequently prohibited. But they are not unprecedented. Is it truly such a stretch to suggest that a sufficiently ambitious Heretek might attempt the same thing on an industrial scale?”

The three researchers went quiet again mulling over their discovery.

Van's mechanical dendrites slowly retracted towards his back as he considered the proposition. Helix-8 turned back to the displays, comparing the genetic profiles once more, while Vitae-42 began pulling up records of known cloning failures.

“If so…” Van murmured. “They possess a genetic codex, or something approximating one, and are producing bioforms from it without the Hive Mind's direct oversight.”

“Potentially,” Vitae-42 replied, “The genetic templates would need to be sufficiently complete to produce viable organisms. But if the replication process is imperfect, or the templates themselves have degraded, the resulting specimens could accumulate errors over successive generations.”

“And the cancerous growths?” Helix-8 asked.

“An inevitable possibility if the cellular regulatory mechanisms are compromised. Particularly if they are attempting to produce organisms at a rate that exceeds their ability to maintain genetic integrity or simply from the use of contaminated biomass,” Vitae-42 reiterated.

Delacoi studied the hololithic displays with a critical eye. The explanation seemed plausible to her, perhaps she might even call it compelling, but something about it still troubled her. “We haven't encountered a synapse creature yet,” she said.

Van's head snapped towards her.

“Not one,” she continued. “No Warriors, no Zoanthropes, no Hive Tyrants. Nothing that would suggest a functioning synaptic command structure. If these organisms are truly of Hive Fleet Behemoth's strain, which does match our records, where are all the Behemoths?”

Helix-8 gave a dismissive scoff. “Replicating Tyranid organisms on this scale would require a truly titanic quantity of biomass. Even if the process was possible, the logistical requirements would be extraordinary; nutrients, growth chambers, waste disposal, atmospheric controls-”

He stopped mid-sentence; Vitae-42 had gone completely still and knocked one of his tools off the table.

The Genetor's optics narrowed but remained fixed on the examination table. Then, with a suddenness that made one of his colleagues recoil, he turned and hurried towards a nearby cogitator station.

“Oh no.” His fingers moved frantically across the interface. “Oh, no…”

A series of data windows appeared above the console. Vitae-42 dismissed them, calling up planetary infrastructure records, waste-management schematics, and subterranean geological surveys. The display shifted to a detailed map of Cypra Mundi's southern continent.

Then the projection tilted, and the surface topography receded as the hololith rendered the immense layers of infrastructure beneath it: industrial districts, mining shafts, subterranean transit routes, manufactoria, and the vast network of drainage and waste-processing systems that sustained the continent's population.

Vitae-42 began marking locations across the map. Circles appeared around major industrial centers, linked by lines that traced the flow of subterranean waste channels. More routes appeared, converging from across the continent. Every glowing line led downwards; they sank deeper and then deeper still into the projection until they all finally terminated at a single point near the lowest mapped layer: MBRR-S-001. Vitae-42 stared at the designation. Then he added an overlay showing the points of highest Genestealer resistance that mirrored his lines. “Oh, no. Oh no. OH NO!”

“Vitae-42!” Van barked, “What is MBRR-S-001?”

The Genetor swallowed. For the first time since Delacoi had met him, he seemed genuinely frightened. “Mass Biomass Runoff Reservoir,” he whispered.

He enlarged the display, bringing up the facility's original specifications and the records of its construction. “All excess viable waste generated across the southern continent is eventually channeled there; organic refuse, biological waste, industrial by-products suitable for reclamation. Anything that can be processed into usable biomass rather than discarded through conventional means.”

Helix-8 slowly turned away from the examination tables. “An industrial reclamation facility?”

“An experimental cost-cutting measure,” Vitae-42 elaborated, “The original proposal was intended to reduce the expense of transporting and processing viable waste across the continent. Rather than maintain hundreds of independent reclamation facilities, the waste was channeled through the existing subterranean infrastructure and collected in one central reservoir.”

His voice grew quieter. “The reservoir was designed to accumulate and store the material until it could be processed in bulk. Though, it was for the most part forgotten about when the newer levels were constructed.”

Delacoi looked at the converging lines on the hololith. An entire continent's worth of biological and industrial waste, funneled into a single underground collection point.

“How much?” she asked.

Vitae-42 did not answer immediately. He opened another file, then another, cross-referencing the reservoir's projected capacity against its operational records. “I… I would need to review the most recent figures to give you an accurate estimate, but the facility was designed to service the entire southern continent. A... few hundred billion tons, maybe more?”

Van stared at the map, his earlier outrage forgotten. “That is a considerable amount of mass... and if someone has repurposed it…”

“They would have a near-continuous supply and massive reserve of raw biomass,” Helix-8 finished. “A supply that would require no obvious external shipments, provided the existing waste network remained functional.”

“And a facility buried beneath kilometers of well-defended and shielded infrastructure,” Delacoi added, “At a depth where they could conduct their work without attracting undue attention... it’s even registered to the traitor Magos's faction!”

No one spoke.

She looked again at the genetic abnormalities displayed across the laboratory's many screens. The defective bioforms, the absence of synapse creatures, the apparent lack of any coherent Hive Fleet command structure… Perhaps they were not witnessing a Tyranid invasion in the conventional sense.

What if the cult was trying to manufacture one?

“Vitae-42,” she said, her voice hardening. “I want every bit of data the Mechanicus has on that reservoir. Now.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Vitae-42 wheezed. “I will request the files immediately.”

“Helix-8, determine whether the biomass recorded as entering the facility corresponds with the biomass recorded as leaving it. I want every discrepancy identified, no matter how insignificant it appears. If they’re really cloning, there should be a large chunk of missing material.”

“Understood, Inquisitor.” Helix-8 bowed.

Delacoi turned to Van Vuygens. “And you will continue examining those specimens. I want to know whether their genetic templates share a common source, whether the defects accumulate between generations, and whether any of them exhibit signs of deliberate modification.”

Van Vuygens's gaze remained fixed on the hololith. He reached out a finger, tracing a series of massive ramps leading away from the lake; they led a somewhat winding path all the way up through kilometers of rock and infrastructure to level 3. "This might be a problem.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Lord High Admiral Spire

Spire stared at the display in utter disbelief as the Ordo Xenos concluded their presentation.

He glanced around the room, and judging by the expressions of the key personnel present in the chamber, he was not the only one struggling to comprehend the scale of what they had just been told. Horror, disbelief, and outright consternation were written across the faces of the assembled representatives. Even some of the Mechanicus appeared visibly unsettled.

“Let me see if I have this right,” Spire began as he raised both hands to rub at his temples. “You believe the Genestealers have established a secret cloning facility deep beneath the southern continent, built around an entire lake of reclaimed biomass. A facility operated by a Genestealer Heretek Biologis and his entire faction, which is somehow producing Tyranid bioforms.”

“That is correct, Lord High Admiral,” Inquisitor Delacoi replied.

“Point of correction: It is an artificial reservoir, not a lake,” Genetor Vitae-42 interjected from just behind her.

Spire slowly lowered his hands. “A reservoir the size of a large lake?”

“Yes,” the Magos chirped in reply.

“That’s insane,” one of the Imperial Generals muttered.

“Genestealers are not known for their sanity, General,” Inquisitor Van Vuygens replied with a shrug, “If their Patriarch convinces them that something is in their best interests, they will go to extraordinary lengths to accomplish it. Even if the task would seem utterly irrational to an outside observer.”

“That is a rather generous interpretation of madness,” Cardinal Octavian Malchior said with a chuckle.

“Fabricator Locum, your thoughts?” Spire asked, turning his attention to the projection of Archmagos Rhydan Korr.

“The evidence supports their hypothesis,” Korr spoke in an unsettling monotone. “The data provided by the Ordo Xenos is consistent with our own findings. Further analysis of samples recovered from the battlefield supports their conclusions.” The holotable display shifted, highlighting a sprawling network of subterranean structures beneath the southern continent. “Zygor Gravox, the traitor Heretek Biologis, and his faction possess the knowledge and technical capabilities necessary to establish such an operation. Their sustained efforts to secure the reservoir and its surrounding facilities throughout his tenure as Magos Biologis are particularly telling. As is the concentration of hostile forces in that region.”

Spire looked back at the map. The reservoir lay buried beneath layer upon layer of ancient infrastructure, its precise location marked by a pulsing red indicator. The current offensive lines were still near the bottom of the second layer. “At our current rate of progress, how long would it take to reach the reservoir?”

“Six weeks,” Magos Dominus Ryex-Epsilon hissed, “Assuming resistance does not intensify as we advance.”

“Six weeks?” Spire repeated.

The words sounded absurd even as he spoke them. Six weeks of fighting through a subterranean warzone, against an enemy that had apparently been breeding its own reinforcements beneath their feet. Six weeks in which every additional metre gained might cost thousands of lives, hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition, and risk irreplaceable war materiel.

“What about an orbital strike?” he asked. “Can we destroy the facility from above?”

“The reservoir is six stratified layers down from the surface,” Ryex-Epsilon replied, “Each layer is separated by more than a kilometer of dense infrastructure, bedrock, and accumulated structural debris. Furthermore, our deep Auspex readings suggest that the lower layers may retain – or have reactivated – their city-scale void-shielding stations. These installations were originally constructed when those layers formed the planet’s uppermost inhabited levels, before subsequent construction and geological subsidence buried them.”

Spire stared at him calculatingly. “So even if we could locate the reservoir precisely, we might not be able to reach it with conventional bombardment.”

“That is correct,” the Dominus replied.

“Wonderful,” Spire muttered before he could stop himself.

Korr continued studying the map. His optics lingered on the network of tunnels connecting the lower levels to the surface.

“The major excavation tunnels constructed by Gravox’s forces ascend to the bottom of the third layer. The reservoir and its associated tunnels lie directly beneath Ferrus-9.” The Fabricator Locum tilted his head as he considered something.

“Explain the situation on the ground, if you don’t mind,” Spire said firmly.

Ryex-Epsilon inclined his head. “The Genestealer uprising is losing ground across almost the entirety of Cypra Mundi. Mechanicus forces are steadily reclaiming the major population centers, industrial zones, and strategic installations. However, resistance remains particularly severe across the southern continent, where the fighting has become concentrated in the first and second subterranean layers.” The display shifted again, showing the contested areas in the region in red. “The confined spaces severely limit the deployment of our heavier vehicles and supporting assets. Enemy forces have prepared extensive defensive emplacements, booby traps, and ambush points. They exploit their familiarity with the local infrastructure to isolate our units and force them into prolonged engagements. The cultists themselves are numerous, well-armed, and increasingly supported by the Xenos organisms.”

“In practice,” Ryex-Epsilon continued, “this has reduced much of the offensive to infantry engagements against entrenched enemy hordes. Our superior firepower and armour are of limited utility when we cannot bring them to bear effectively.”

“Nor are the smaller tunnels suitable for sustained mechanized or Astartes operations,” Captain Erod of the Brazen Claws added with a low grunt. “Many have been neglected for centuries. Some are barely stable enough to support their own weight, let alone the passage of armoured vehicles. We’ve already been forced to recall equipment and personnel due to collapses caused by our own advances.”

“If we continue pushing through them?” Spire asked.

“We will suffer further casualties. Progress will remain slow, and every advance risks triggering additional structural failures. The enemy knows the terrain better than we do, and they have every incentive to prolong the fighting,” Erod admitted with a shrug.

Spire looked again at the map and grimaced; six whole weeks with an enemy breeding ground operating at full capacity below the surface was not a pleasant idea. Every day they spent fighting their way through the tunnels was another day the cloning facility might continue producing whatever Tyranid horrors Gravox or the cult had devised.

Spire was not certain what the best course of action was here. This was not a naval engagement; this was Cypra Mundi’s war. The Mechanicus were at the forefront of this conflict, with Imperial forces providing support.

“Fabricator Locum,” Spire began carefully, “What would you recommend?”

Korr turned his head towards him. “Three days.”

Spire blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Three days to withdraw all forces from the area in and around Ferrus-9. We will extract as much personnel, equipment, and infrastructure as can reasonably be recovered within that timeframe.” Korr stated calmly as he adjusted the display. It zoomed in on the forge city. Marking its industrial districts, transport arteries, and surrounding defensive positions and highlighting them in turn, then overlaid with a blast radius marker.

“After our troops are clear, we will bombard the site from orbit. Once the surface has been sufficiently reduced, we will employ continuous lance strikes to breach the underlying layers and excavate a direct route to the reservoir, or barring that, the major tunnels leading to the reservoir.”

Spire looked at the projected city. “What of Ferrus-9?”

Korr’s hologram leaned forward, his voice cold. “Ferrus-9 will be destroyed. A new Forge will be rebuilt over the ashes.”

The chamber fell silent at the declaration.

“The facility beneath it represents an unacceptable strategic and biological threat to Cypra Mundi. Its continued existence cannot and will not be tolerated. We will eliminate the reservoir, the Heretek, and every organism or remnant of his operation that can be reached. In the name of the Omnissiah!” Korr asserted as he shook his head.

He glanced at the map projection one last time. “We will wipe this stain from Cypra Mundi's surface and cleanse the threat as soon as possible.” His eyes flashed. “It will be… efficient.”