Sidestory - The Rebel


Velthur shivered, despite the heat of dozens of bodies massed in his cell. Fear, after all, was a far more powerful stimulus than any physical affliction.

They had captured him, at last, after nearly two months of hiding and escaping in the underhive. Nearly two months since the Wound tore the sky apart, and darkness fell on Dromoros.

In those first days, riots and hysteria had plagued the lower levels of Maltax, the sole hive city of the planet, and its subterranean slums. While a few of those might have certainly been caused by the malevolent influence of the Wound – which made the people of Dromoros learn quickly to never gaze at it when it appeared at night –, the majority of the tumults were caused by simple anarchy unopposed by the Arbites, strangely absent at the time.

Then, the authorities of the upper hive descended on them, and blood began to flow on the streets. Platoons of arbitrators, PDF soldiers, and even guardsmen of the Imperial Guard regiments stationed here swiftly ended the uncoordinated violence.

Then, with equal rage and religious fervor, they turned their attention to the populace. Preachers always accompanied them, exhorting them to become the vessels of the Emperor's wrath with litanies and chants of hatred. The words differed, but the essence of their messages was the same.

"The sky bleeds, and the light of the God-Emperor has disappeared. He has abandoned us because of our sins! We let the impure fester in our world, poisoning our devotion with the corruption sprung from their deformed bodies and their tainted souls. If we want His forgiveness, we must excise the cancer that plagues our people!"

And thus, the Cleansing of Dromoros began.

At first, the targets of this religious fury were the genetic deviants, secluded in the outskirts of Maltax's society, who up until that moment were mistreated but still barely tolerated. There was no distinction between mutants or officially sanctioned abhumans: every sign of divergence from the "sacred human form" was enough to instigate persecution. Massive arrests were perpetrated, followed by public executions and burnings.

As the days passed, this mayhem did not abate. Rather, it only seemed to grow in intensity. The mutants were hunted down, and yet the light of the Emperor still did not illuminate the darkness. The criteria to establish who was "tainted" became more and more blurred and ill-defined. People began to accuse one another, sometimes out of true belief in the priest's sermons, other times out of fear for their own safety. Even the smallest hint of impurity, in aspect or actions, real or alleged, was enough to incite acts of great ferocity as a response.

It was in this climate of fear and hatred that Velthur, twelve standard Terran years, one of the countless orphans left to fend for themselves, had survived for a while, hiding from all the witch hunts and public lynchings. It had been easier in the beginning, with the attention focused on the more obvious and eye-catching "divergents". But that was not going to last.

Food and water, already precious things in the underhive before, had become increasingly more difficult to come by. Weakened and emaciated, he soon found himself unable to escape from his countless persecutors, whose fanatism in the meantime had grown more and more unconditional.

He could never forget the look of pure disgust and hatred the soldiers of the Dromoros militia gave him when they captured him from his latest hiding spot. They would have executed him on the spot, had it not been for the preacher accompanying them, who wanted to make an example of him.

"Bring them to the others. The death of this filthy sinner, whose impurity of the soul is reflected in his aberrant body, should be an example for all to see! We will show the God-Emperor His loyal servants still carry out His will, by eradicating everything that threatens the perfect design He set for Mankind!"

'I'm not a sinner! I believe in the God-Emperor with all my heart and I would never betray him.
What am I guilty of? What physical deformity do I have that attests to the corruption of my soul?
My ashen white, cracked skin?! My red eyes?! The wheezing sound in my breath?! This proves that I live here, far from sunlight and clean air, surrounded by filth and disease, not that I'm a traitor!'

He wanted to shout these things and more, proving he didn't deserve the excruciating death they were promising him. He wanted to oppose the fate that was becoming more and more certain with every passing second. Yet, fear froze every muscle in his body. Pain from the beatings they inflicted on him shattered his resolve, leaving only a dulling sense of resignation.

They brought him to a bleak building – a precinct of the Arbites, he assumed – and shoved him in a space turned into a makeshift dungeon.

The cell he was in was dark and cramped. They were all so tightly packed, with dozens of people shoved in a few meters' squares of confined space. A couple of lumens shone from cages out of reach, giving just enough light to see by. Hundreds of captured "deviants" filled ten cubicles, chained and arranged only with the maximum utilization of hold space in mind, and no consideration for human basic needs.

The soon-to-be executed experienced misery and pain in their own individual ways, isolated emotionally even as their bodies pressed on one another. Many, him included, sat or squatted spiritlessly, staring with empty eyes at the space between their feet. Others wept without end, like the hideously disfigured woman near him, crying less for her fate and more for the one of her infant son, ripped away from her arms during her capture.

A lot of the present were imprisoned because their bodies were plagued by diseases, and so sickness was rife in these dark cells. Death was common, as well. The corpses of those who succumbed to their injuries and ailments laid next to the living, no one bothering to dispose of them.

That is how Velthur lived what he thought were the last moments of his short life.

It was the sudden clamour of an explosion, followed by weapon fire growing closer, that woke him from his stupor. Through the thick metal walls, they all heard the banging of guns and the shrieks of combatants from opposite sides. More explosions sounded, closer now, and closer.

The gunfire reached a climax. Velthur waited; everyone in his cell held out their breath, letting it out in a shriek when the door opened and an injured Arbitrator entered, boltgun pointed at them. He shouted at the cowering prisoners with scornful hatred, though the tone of his voice betrayed a hint of desperation and panic.

"Damn you scum and your heretic allies!"

Just before he could pull the trigger, a silhouette leapt straight towards their executioner. It was so nimble its exact features were lost to the tired eyes of the boy. It must have been too fast for the Arbitrator as well: before he could even turn his gaze on the upcoming threat, he had already been disarmed with remarkable ease and subsequently hurled at the wall, the impact knocking him out.

After the initial shock of seeing an enforcer so easily defeated, Velthur took a closer look at their "saviour".

She was the most stunning woman he had ever seen, her beauty stood out by the contrast of her long, black hair with her fair skin. For all he knew, she could have been a noble from the upper hive, had it not been for some details that pointed to a more humble origin.

Her dark hair was wavy from lack of proper care; her white and purple tailcoat was shabby, displaying evident signs of damage from prolonged use in extreme conditions. But all these hints were eclipsed by the pair of feline ears on the top of her head, cementing her belonging to a different variant of the human race.

An aura of disdain and cold fury, towards the man she had incapacitated and what he represented, permeated her features. As she lowered her right leg with which she had kicked the enforcer and turned on them, however, Velthur saw only concern for their well-being in her eyes.

"We're getting you out of here. You'll be safe, I promise."

Then she looked at the open door and yelled: "We have others over here! Take off their chains and help them to the escape tunnel! Hurk and I will cover you!"

And with that she rushed outside, disappearing in the tumult of combat. In her place, a bunch of armed people, wearing various kinds of combat gear - makeshift in some cases -, entered inside and began freeing them, using either stolen keys or their own weapons.

Their provenance was just as disparate.

One was a standard human, wearing the ragged uniform of the PDF, with every symbol of allegiance to the planet authorities ripped away, though the Imperial Aquila was still displayed. The other three, on the other hand, were showing clear signs of mutations. One had grey quills stippling her skin; another had brownish scales all over his body, save from his face, which had extensive burn scars; the third was a tall, thin male with his arms peculiarly distorted by bone and gristle.

Soon enough, they were all free. Their liberators urged them outside to follow them, while they helped those too weak to move. Right outside, Velthur was submerged in the cacophony of battle. He saw a mountain of fat and muscle, firing a shotgun that was almost as big as he was.

The ogryn – or fats, as they were called in the underhive – looked for an instant away from the enemy, straight at him, and gave him a smile. Velthur assumed that the abhuman was trying to be genuinely friendly, though a grin with missing teeth coming from an imposing giant like him came as unsettling and a bit terrifying.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the black-haired woman fighting, as he ran in the opposite direction with the others, escorted by their rescuers.

She was swift and precise, like nothing he had ever seen. She pirouetted as she sprinted, somersaulting high before crashing into the wave of zealots and enforcers. The oversized cleaver she carried whistled, hacking several weapons apart before she was in close, kicking out, jabbing, cutting, and severing.

No one seemed able to hit her: when an armoured arbitrator reached out to grasp her in its shock gloves, she darted inside its reach, angled her blade up horizontally and pushed upwards, sending the tip up through his helmet lenses and blinding him with shards of glass.

Then, a shotgun round seemed to hit her straight in the chest, and Velthur held his breath, realizing he may have witnessed his saviour's demise. Yet, instead of a bloodied corpse falling on the floor, her body dissipated into thin air, as if she had not been there at all. She then suddenly was behind the one who shot her, easily disposing of him. The boy gasped at the sight of that otherworldly power, immediately realizing in that moment her identity.

The prisoners ran outside the building, their numbers swelled by freed people from other cells. The one who saved them protected them with fiery determination, with their leader and the giant ogryn holding most of the enemy in the rear guard. It was evident that they were running out of time, with the loud sirens and alarms signaling the arrival of reinforcements, which were already increasing the number of the planet's troops opposing their escape.

One of them came out of nowhere from behind the corner of a gate, just as Velthur and the others were passing through to get outside. He grabbed the boy by the throat, easily lifting up his slender, undernourished frame.

"You are not going anywhere, you disgusting, heretic freaks!" the brute yelled with ferocious loathing, as he swung his maul to anyone in his reach, choking the boy with his free hand as he did. Velthur felt the life rapidly slipping away from him as he gasped in vain for air, his body having no strength to fight back. He realized that no one would come to save him, too busy either running away and saving themselves, or fighting the ever-growing enemies.

Suddenly, he heard a shriek of pain from his assailant, the pressure on his neck instantly receding. With his sight refocusing thanks to the influx of air filling his lungs once more, he saw that the black-haired abhuman had severed the limb of the soldier that was choking him, and then quickly caught him in her arm before he fell on the ground.

She then moved on immediately, still carrying him, completely ignoring the imprecations of the injured fanatic. Those didn't last for long, as he was trampled over and squashed to death by the charging ogryn, who seemed to follow the young woman everywhere.

"It's okay. I got you." The woman told him, her sweet tone of voice a striking contrast to the brutality all around them. She was still carrying him and keeping him from harm's way while she ran with the others, leading her strength and fighting in the most critical moments.

Now that Velthur was close to her, he was sure of who she was.

The Black Gyrinx. The Shadow Witch.

During the months of hiding and escaping from the purges, he had heard rumors, sporadic at first, that grew in intensity with each day. Voices of a mysterious woman, attacking the authorities on the sites of their sting operations, before vanishing as swiftly as she arrived with the ones who were deemed "guilty".

The opinions about her – as well as the nicknames she was known as - differed greatly, depending on who was expressing them.

The priests and the instigators of this planet-wide hunt, both the official and the unsanctioned ones, depicted her in an extremely negative light, deeming her the ultimate epitome of the perversive cancer that afflicted the population of Dromoros. She was a heretic, a foul witch, sometimes even a straight-up daemon, who rallied the twisted mutants and sinners to do her bidding, while she hindered the just actions of the Emperor's loyal servants, endangering both the safety of their bodies and souls.

To the oppressed and persecuted, however, she was a saviour, a protector, someone who could rescue them from an unfair and undeserving demise. Even those who didn't believe she really existed, still let the rumors about her roam undisputed, realizing her value as a symbol of hope, if nothing else.

A few of them, particularly in some mutant and abhuman groups, had even begun changing their view of her to a more mystical and religious line, seeing her as some sort of saint or messianic figure.

Now that he was in her arms, seeing her up close as she protected him while moving in the crossfire, trying to ease his worry with kind words, he was certain of this: the words of the authorities about her were all a bunch of groxshit, like everything else they have been spewing lately.

Not long after, they were out of the precinct, performing a fighting withdrawal against ever-increasing troops following them. The Witch and her men used the city environment to their advantage: they lost the enemy on narrow alleys, or led them near buildings where their hidden allies, held in reserve, could ambush the unaware pursuers while covering the others' escape.

They reached the entrance of a tunnel leading underground, guarded by other followers of her saviour, who initiated some suppressive fire. It must have been an old entry point of the abandoned underground grav-train, whose tunnels ran deep in the hidden alcoves of the underhive.

As they ran inside, the Witch handed Velthur to the muscular ogryn, who treated him with surprising care for someone so intimidating. He then saw her move towards a couple of teens: one female and one male, they were only a couple of years older than him, and they must have been related, judging by how similar they looked.

"Ilva, Venel, when everyone is inside, bring it down."

The two siblings nodded to her, before she moved on to coordinate the retreat and help who was in most need of assistance. A couple of minutes later, when the abhuman carrying him was already descending, Velthur saw, from behind his back, what happened when everyone was inside.

The two young teens, holding each other's hand, extended their free palms towards the ingress. A sudden pressure seemed to escape from them, making the walls and frame of the entrance shake and crumble. After a few moments, exposed to such force, the ceiling crumbled ruinously, burying alive a few unfortunate enforcers who were crossing the threshold in that instant.

The ones outside could do nothing as they saw the passage completely sealed, their quarry vanishing in the dark bowels of the earth.

"I am weak. He is strength. In Him, I am strong."

Governor Avile VII welcomed gladly the pain of the electric current cursing through his body. Ever since the Night began, he always accompanied his prayers with the purifying suffering inflicted by his implanted auto-flaggelator.

He needed the reassurance that penance and prayer gave him, especially after reading the latest reports he received.

They were still unable to establish any contact with the Imperial worlds outside of this system, no matter how close they should have been. The warp was at the mercy of dark storms that precluded any possibility of ships traveling in and out of the system. Even the major warp lane, linking the Thaxaril system – and consequently the rest of the Chalnath Expanse – with the Segmentum Fortress of Kar Duniash, which had made this system's fortune by virtue of passing through it, had been completely disrupted.

Dromoros was completely isolated, and the reason for this was simple.

The Astronomican was gone. The Emperor's light, from which the survival of the Imperium and mankind depended, was still missing. It was instead replaced by the hideous scar in the sky, that monstrous window to the nightmares that lurked beyond.

The same nightmares that had descended on the high spires of Dromoros when the sky first bled.

"I am imperfect. He is perfect. In Him, I am perfected."

Avile kept praying, hoping those words of faith and penance would erase the memory of those horrors. And yet, whenever he closed his eyes, he could still see and hear them, clear as day.
Those fangs and talons... Howls, shrieks, and laughter, coming through unnatural throats...

The worst thing, however, was the horrific scream of those unfortunate enough to fall prey to them: he never expected a human being to shrill so keenly when grasped in the claws of such intense agony and torment...

No troop at the planet's disposal had been able to oppose them. They would have all been slaughtered, or worse, had it not been for the sisters of battle. A battered commandery of Adepta Sororitas, from the Order of the Valorous Heart, arrived on Dromoros just a couple of weeks prior to resupply, had been present when the daemons manifested.

They had been able to not only resist the onslaught of these monsters, but also drive them back to the hell that spawned them. He himself witnessed some of their actions, which could only be described as miracles.

Daemons recoiled upon hearing their prayers and hymns, and in some instances were banished altogether by those words honoring Him on Earth. Grievous wounds inflicted by those immaterial beings, which would have felled lesser and greater warriors, were miraculously healed, allowing these holy women to carry on fighting in the harshest and bloodier engagements.

It was only thanks to their actions that the incursion was repelled, stopping it from spreading to the entire world.

Seeing their unshakeable and unwavering faith, as well as their indisputable purity, made Avile realize how inadequate his own religious zeal and fervor were. And considering his position as governor, his failings were reflected on the entire society and population he was tasked to oversee and rule.

They were all imperfect, and sinful. That was why they were so easily preyed on by the nightmares of the warp. Only the perfect, immortal God-Emperor could absolve them from their errors and, as the sisters preached and practiced, there is only one path to atonement: pain. No amount of suffering is too great when endured in pursuit of penance and the Emperor's forgiveness.

That is how the Cleansing began.

Despite their righteous actions, however, the light of the Emperor was nowhere to be seen. Was this not enough? Did the Master of Mankind believe their penitence was still insufficient for their past mistakes?

"I am sinful. He is pure. Through Him, I am cleansed."

A second voice recited the last passage of the prayer. Recognizing immediately to whom it belonged, Avile raised his head, bowed in prayer, and opened his eyes, welcoming the sight of the holy woman entering his personal office chamber.

Canoness Commander Serena Domitia.

She was an imposing and terrifying figure, with her black power armour and the immense, two-handed eviscerator chainsword she had clamped to her back. Fear should have struck Avile upon seeing her, but instead, he experienced a feeling close to rapture: she was the perfect embodiment of the Emperor's wrath and power.

A helmet with white-crested visors was clamped on her waist, a fact that the governor was glad of, as part of him longed to see her face. She was pale as marble, as beautiful as an angelic sculpture, despite the dark fissure running down one side of her face. Her right side bore the tattoo of a single red drop, an icon of the Order of the Valorous Heart.

Her eyes were vivid blue and heavy-lidden, creating an unreadable gaze of disdain. Avile had heard tales that the sisters of this particular order, known for the paranoid nature of their zealotry, could literally see sin radiating like an aura from the weak and the faithless. Whenever Sister Serena stared at him with those eyes, he certainly believed them.

"You are a heartening sight for an unworthy soul, blessed Canoness." Avile said while he kneeled in front of her, as if waiting for her benediction.

"There is no need for you to kneel, governor," Serena replied. Her expression remained glacial, though a flicker of warmth could be detected in the tone of her voice. "We are both penitent servants, equal in His eyes. Only the almighty God-Emperor, Master of Mankind, deserves your reverence."

Urged by her words, Avile rose to his feet. Even so, the woman towered over him, thanks to a mix of her armour and a natural superior build.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I heard you received the report of our current status. I wished to speak with you about the latest developments."

"As you can see, the Wound plagues our sky still. The remaining members of the astropathic choir, the few who have survived the madness, cannot establish any type of contact with the rest of the Imperium. The holy Light of our Lord is nowhere to be seen. We are alone in the dark."

Flashes of those nightmares relived inside Avile's mind, plaguing him as he spoke those words. If those moments were tormenting Serena too, she didn't show it: just like her name suggested, the canoness remained completely unfazed.

"The Emperor has decreed we face the greatest challenge of our lives, so that we can become worthy of Him. In His praise, we shall raise to the test." She then looked directly at him with those bone-chilling eyes. "As dire as that situation is, it is not the reason I wished to speak with you.

I heard another precinct has been raided, the third in less than a week. The Cleansing has ground to a halt."

The governor began to stutter, fearing the conversation would lead in that direction.

"Unfortunately, yes. The followers of the so-called Shadow Witch are growing in number with every passing day. They are more coordinated than we had anticipated, and have become bolder in their actions, attacking our troops openly with their hit-and-run tactics even in the main areas of the underhive."

As he continued speaking, he offered with trembling hands a data-slate, whose data were scanned by Serena with rapacious attention.

"They have better knowledge of the underground routes of Maltax than us. Even our superior number becomes irrelevant in that kind of environment. We could send there our entire force, and I fear it won't be enough."

"What about the leader of these heretics, this witch?"

"Despite being seemingly at the front of any of their major actions, she remains an elusive figure. We have attempted to assassinate her several times, but we failed each time, no matter how well-trained and armed the strike force was. This only seemed to reinforce the conviction of those around her, galvanizing them more with each of their leader's victories."

The canoness remained silent when Avile finished to speak, before raising her head high at the ceiling with her eyes closed, looking as if in prayer.

"Governor, it appears that the vermin infesting this portion of the Emperor's domain are quite skilled at hiding themselves. Perhaps it would be better to draw them out of their hideouts, pushing them towards us, instead of wasting time searching for them." She then opened her eyes and looked at him once more. "We should enact the Onyx protocol."

"Millions will perish, many of which are still faithful and loyal." There was no objection in the words of the governor; they were simply stated in a straightforward way, like when declaring an objective fact.

"Put aside such thoughts. We are at war with forces too terrible to comprehend. We cannot afford mercy, for it will sap our resolve for the long battle ahead. The almighty God-Emperor, in his infinite wisdom, will sort out the pure and faithful from the heretics, too weak to follow His teachings, and He will welcome them at His side as holy martyrs. Will you question His will?"

"I question nothing, Canoness," he asserted with newfound conviction. "I only serve."

The governor moved to the vox-link at his desk, ready to enact the new directives. As he did so, Serena remained still, examining something in the data-slate.

It was a blurry pict, portraying what appeared like a young woman in mid-combat, her mutation and diabolical powers evident despite the low quality of the image. And in that moment, looking at the picture of the Shadow Witch, Serena swore an oath to her god.

She would kill this heretical mutant with her own two hands.

Blake walked one of the damp, poorly-illuminated tunnels of the abandoned underground hub of Sanctus-Beta. The intermitting light was enough to show the myriad of people sitting on its walls. Despite the fact that Sanctus-Beta was one of the biggest hideouts currently utilized, it was still so cramped that they had been forced to accommodate people in the numerous corridors.

Still, even if the lodging wasn't the best, Blake and the others had done what they could to give everyone food, blankets, and any other basic necessity good. A fact that everyone had been grateful for, judging from the thankful looks they gave her when she was passing by.

People with various degrees of mutation and alteration, ranging from regular humans afflicted only by famine and disease, to people with deformities so striking that they gave even the Faunus some pause, showered her with words of thanks and praise when she walked near them. Some even touched her hands or clothes with tears in their eyes, showing a reverence bordering on religious.

Blake found all this attention, particularly the more fervent kind, to be a bit off-putting. She found even more baffling how some of them invoked and thanked this so-called Emperor of Mankind for bringing her to them, even after all the oppression they suffered, all done in His name.

Despite all this pressure, she forced herself to not show them her discomfort. She offered a smile, a nod, a few kind words accompanied by a handshake. They were simple gestures, which would have been taken for granted in other circumstances, but here they seemed all the more precious.

As she turned on one of the numerous junctions, a mountain of muscles loomed over her.

"Hey Boss, I've found a big box full of blankies. Did I do gud?"

Blake raised her head to see Hurk looking at her with anticipation. The ogryn was giggling as it carried a big crate filled with blankets and other pieces of fabric. He was easily carrying it on one shoulder, keeping it in place with a single arm, despite being a metal container heavy enough to require several men to lift it.

"Yes, Hurk. You did good." Blake replied to the massive abhuman. She couldn't help but smile as she did so: his naïve, yet pure, desire to help and do good in everything he did, which made a distinctive contrast with his imposing and sometimes unsettling appearance, was a much-needed breath of fresh air for the weary and lonely Faunus.

"You're the best. Now go to the big place so you can give the blankets to everyone." Over the weeks she had known him, Blake had learned to use simple words and instructions when speaking with her big new friend.
Hurk nodded vigorously before he began walking, eager to fulfill his new objective. Blake heard the giant giggling to himself as he did, repeating the same words to himself over and over.

"I did gud. I'm helpin'…"

Watching him go, Blake thought about how Hurk, despite his mental limitations, had been an incredible help to her and the others. Not just for his physical strength – though that had helped them greatly, as well -, but also his good spirit, which helped raise everyone's morale: she directly saw a lot of people, even some who were afraid of him initially, warming up to the gentle giant.

As one of her cat ears twitched, she felt herself being watched, and she knew immediately who they were.

"I know you're there, Ilva, Venel." Blake exclaimed, as she turned to look at a dark corner of an inconspicuous recess in the corridor. From there, prompted by her words, came out two young twins, a boy and a girl.

"How did you find us?" said Ilva, the girl.

"We were pretty sure we moved and hid perfectly, this time!" continued Venel, the boy.

"Guess you need to train harder then," Blake replied, not bothering to hide the smirk forming on her lips, which made the two youngsters groan.

"Before that, though, can you two do me a favour? Look after Hurk. He's going to the main hall, but I don't want him to get lost like last time. I would do it myself, but I have a meeting with Ramutha and the others."

The two siblings looked at each other, before nodding to Blake.

"Of course, Master." The two said in perfect unison, before running to where the Ogryn was going, never straying far from each other.

As she watched them leave, Blake realized how much the two had grown since she had first met them. When she had rescued them, almost a month prior, from the lynching of an angry mob, the two had almost no control of their telekinetic powers, which made them a danger to themselves and those around them.

Their abilities were so different compared to any Aura skill, with the exception of Professor Goodwitch's Semblance, so she wasn't sure what to do. Still, she had been determined to help them in any way she could. As such, she taught them all the breathing and meditation techniques she had learned when first learning to use her Aura. She had been relieved when she realized they were working, despite her initial doubts: their self-control greatly improved, along with their skill.

Later, the two would follow her whenever they could, pleading her to let them join in the rescue missions. Blake had been reluctant, at first, but then she had to concede when she saw how useful they could be.

'After all, who are you to judge? You were younger than them when you joined the White Fang.'

The thought of the White Fang stirred memories of her previous life inside the young woman, followed by the realization of how those past experiences influenced her action in this dark, oppressive world.

When she had awoken, alone, in this mysterious place, following the battle with Cinder, the first people she met were fanatics hunting down and hurting a defenseless man for the simple crime of looking "non-human"; a horrifying and extreme display of that discrimination and hatred Blake had always feared and despised. Without the slightest hesitation, she had saved him, only to realize this was far from an isolated case.

In the spur of the moment and in defiance of all that hate, she had rescued another, and another, and another. Soon, she had hundreds of people around her, depending on her for safety and guidance. All the knowledge and experience she had acquired during her years with the Fang suddenly helped her and those she had rescued: management of supply and logistics; guerilla tactics; evasion and concealment maneuvers, and so on.

It wasn't long until an organization had formed around her, gathering those persecuted and any person with a similar mindset to hers, spreading to multiple cells and secret bases, capable of operating both independently and in coordination with each other. And she had unwittingly become their leader, whather she liked it or not.

Boss. Master. Commander. So many titles, from a lot of people relying on her for guidance.

'How did you do it, Ruby?'

Thinking about her younger teammate brought back to her mind the worry she had about her friends' fate, both the ones left behind and those who fell alongside her.
Weiss. Ruby. Yang...

She dreaded to imagine them in such a horrific place. She had sent people searching for them, but to no avail. No one matching their description seemed to be present in this world. Part of her was grateful for it, though a new concern began to plague her as a consequence: where were they now?

As she turned into a corner to an isolated corridor, Blake finally let that masque of confidence drop, letting out a weary sigh.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

Blake followed the sound of the familiar voice, to see a figure leaning on the wall, looking at her. There was a very short, old-looking man, with a white beard and an orange hood on his bald head. He wore a similarly coloured cloak, covering a very sturdy body, as well as what looked like very sophisticated armour plates.

"Is our young leader feeling a bit down?" the dwarf, not bothering to hide the smirk in the corner of his lips. Blake's response to that was to stare at him, with cocked brows and pupils pushed upwards.

"Not you too, Ynnôk. At least you, don't call me that, please." the Faunus pleaded him as she rolled her eyes, causing the diminutive abhuman to burst out laughing.

"I'm kidding, lass." As his laughter subsided, his tone become a bit more serious. "The others are waiting for you." Blake simply nodded, all previous levity vanished, and the two began walking together.

Ynnôk had been her most valuable ally ever since she had awoken on Dromoros. He was one of the few who didn't put her on a pedestal, which was something she was glad about. However, the knowledge he had provided her, and still did, was the aspect she was most grateful for. He answered any questions she had, about this world and its society, including the ones that sounded so trivial that, if asked to anybody else, would have raised some suspicious eyebrows.

It was thanks to him that she learned the name of the planet she was on, as well as the organization it was part of.

The Imperium of Man.

This interstellar human empire, ruled by the most abominable theocratic-totalitarian regime she could have ever imagined. Whenever she thought about this nightmarish place she had been sent to, like the protagonists of some fantasy light novels she used to read, her mind recalled the numerous propaganda speeches of Adam, regarding the heinous nature and actions of humans: it scared her to the core that those words, full of hate and spite, at the time so hyperbolic that they sounded improbable, were proving correct in this reality.

Ynnôk explained every doubt she had about the Imperium in a clear and impartial manner, without trying to sugarcoat it. It was clear to her that he didn't consider himself to be part of this dystopic empire, though he never explicitly stated where he came from. Ynnôk certainly sympathized with her current condition, saying that he too had been separated from his "Kindred" by the warp storms spreading across the stars.

Despite the good relationship the two had, her new, short friend was a pretty reserved person in regard to his personal life, which was something Blake didn't fault him for. She only knew he was some sort of explorer, judging by the massive curiosity he displayed those few times the Faunus briefly mentioned Remnant and her home, as well as that one time she showed him one of the Dust cartridges she still had with her.

Soon enough, the two reached a particular chamber, which had been repurposed as the command center of Sanctus-Beta. Two guards – one "regular" man, wearing worn-out PDF equipment, the other a woman with tentacles for fingers - standing in front of the door immediately saluted the young woman and proceeded to let her in. They were greeted by the voices of two people in a deep discussion.

"-and ya sure about this?"

"I was there when they briefed us about it. I recognize the signs. They started the Onyx protocol. We must-"

The two suddenly stopped upon seeing Blake enter, a mix of worry and expectation in their looks.

"Commander." the first one saluted, with the formality typical of one who had served in the military. Her name was Captain Ramutha. Once member of the Planetary Defence Force, part of the very same group that had hunted down the people Blake was trying to save, she and her men deserted after they had refused to burn down an entire building that contained more than sixty children, hiding from the atrocities surrounding them, who were judged guilty of some alleged impurity. The scar running diagonally across her face was proof of the escape battle following that decision.

The young Faunus greatly appreciated her help. Her logistical and military expertise, as well as her knowledge in regard to Dromoros' forces, was sorely needed.

"Chief." The second voice, far more guttural, came from the fanged mouth of Izmande. He was a hulking man, with dark brown fur covering his muscled arms and hoofed feet. Two big buffalo-like horns sprouted from the sides of his skull.

Blake had learned that he belonged to the category the Imperials called Beastmen. Even the term sickened the woman. It was a word that encapsulated a hatred and scorn millennia old.

'If a man is called and treated as a beast, then he becomes a beast...'

When she had arrived on Dromoros, she had learned quickly that there were no Faunus in this world, no matter her searches and inquiries with Ynnôk. Of the different "abhuman" strains present here, Izmande and his people were the ones that came close, though Blake knew there were differences: the number of animal traits they possessed, as well as the effect of said traits on their personality and behaviour, exceeded that of most Faunus, barring a few outliers.

Despite that, she had their well-being close to her heart, just like with everyone else she had helped. In response, Izmande and his tribe considered her their chieftain, because of both her superior strength and the care she had for them.

"I'm glad to see you're safe, guys, considering how much the situation has deteriorated in the last few days. I know we're all exhausted, but unfortunately this can't wait. So, tell me what you found."

Prompted by her words, the two lieutenants began to relay their discoveries. Ramutha spoke for the most part, with Izmande only interjecting here and there to add a few details. Thanks to the captain's military mindset, the report was brief but thorough, lasting roughly five minutes. However, to the Faunus, they felt like endless hours, due to the bleak picture they were portraying.

"-all main transit roadways, leading to the upper spires of the hive, have been damaged irremediably-"

"-the food warehouses of the eastern quadrants are either empty or have been burned down-"

"-worst thing was the sabotage of the Thetean water deposit, which sustains the need of more than 80% of Maltax. A chemical compound was mixed into the water, making it highly toxic and completely unusable. There is no mistaking it. These are the signs of the Onyx protocol."

Blake digested all those information with grim silence. She realized full well the consequences of these actions, but it was Ynnôk who voiced them, as he watched the holo-map at the center of the table.

"Even a child would see what they are trying to do here. They cannot find us and kill us directly, so instead they try to starve us to death," the Squat said, while stroking his grizzled beard.

"Cowards!" Izmande growled, evidently more displeased by the method the Imperials were using to kill them, rather than the fact that they were attempting to take his life in the first place.

"The Dromoros authority is not affected by any of this," Ramutha added, "since all the planet's water intake, including the one which fills the Thetean deposit, comes from ice harvesting of asteroids and comets in the Metellus Belt, which they have direct access to through the spaceports of the upper hive. The same reasoning goes for food, which they acquire from the small agri-world of Firima, the only other inhabited planet of the system. This allows them to completely lock themselves behind their walls and void shields which, coupled with the PDF, Astra Militarum and Sororitas forces stationed there, turn their spires and territories into a formidable fortress."

"All the people in the underhive... They're dooming all these people, their people, to certain death, just to kill us..."

Blake muttered those words in a faint voice, so shocked she was by the callousness and cruelty in front of her.

"You should know, by now, that they simply don't care. The people here are completely expendable." Ynnôk answered to the Faunus quietly, being perhaps the only one to have realized how different her values were from the ones held in this place. "By the Votann, they may even hope the denizens of the slums turn against us, blaming us for their imminent demise."

"We're faced with two options in front of these new developments," the captain continued, "both equally disastrous. First one: we do nothing, which will result in a slow but inevitable death by starvation for all of us. We have stored enough food to last weeks, but the main problem is water: even with rigorous rationing, we have barely enough for a week, without considering the massive influx of desperate people who will certainly come to us.

The alternative is that we storm the upper levels of Maltax, trying to break the lockdown and hoping to put an end to all this. In our current state, this will result in a massacre for our men: not only are the governor's forces holding an enviable defensive position, but they are better armed and trained than most of us. And that's without taking into account the Sisters…"

"So, we either die with empty stomachs or gunned down and burnt to a cinder by a bunch of fanatics. Delightful." Ynnôk exclaimed with deadpan sarcasm.

Izmande was already putting his hands on his weapons' holsters, which was a clear sign of what course of action he wished to adopt. Captain Ramutha remained silent, her eyes fixed on Blake, soon followed by the gazes of the two abhumans. All three awaited the Faunus' decision: regardless of their preferences, they all would follow the one who had protected and guided them in those difficult times.

Blake, for her part, felt crushed, as if stomped by an Alpha Megoliath, by both their expectation and the hopelessness of the situation she found herself in.

'They're basically asking me how they should die! What am I supposed to tell them?!'

She screamed inside her head those words, venting all the frustration she felt inwardly, as to not burden her companions further with her worries. Soon enough, her mind searched for refuge in the memory of her friends, whose fate she still didn't know: were they alright? What would they do in this situation?

"I…"

Blake was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, followed by one of Ramutha's men rushing inside, still panting heavily from strain.

"I apologize for the interruption, ma'am, but there is something urgent that requires your attention!"

"What is it?" Blake replied, a part of her glad for the moment of respite, while another dreaded what new problem might have appeared.

"Someone approached the borders of one of our bases, asking to speak with our leaders. With you, ma'am. He stated he came in peace and appeared unarmed after a careful search, but we still took him into custody while we awaited your orders."

"Is he one of the governor's men? Did you keep our locations hidden as you apprehended him? It could be a spy!" Ramutha interjected after hearing her soldier's report, worry gripping every word she uttered.

"There was no need, captain, because he is not one of Avile's subjects. He..." And here Blake hear titubation in the men's voice, while fear and revulsion were clearly displayed on his face. "He... he is a xenos."

Xenos. Blake had learned what the term meant: alien.
It was astonishing how a single word elicited such a diverse variety of reactions. She saw caution mixed with distrust in Ramutha's expression and aggression in Izmande, while her short companion Ynnôk seemed more driven by curiosity and interest in this new development. And she found herself leaning more toward the latter approach.

"Let's meet him, and see what he has to say."

The soldier, after a moment of hesitation, as if he wasn't sure he had heard that right, quickly bowed his head and excused himself, in order to carry out her order. When he left, Blake could feel the looks of disbelief and objections from the two ex-Imperials leaders from behind her back, which she tried to reassure with a bit of humour.

"Come on guys. According to this world's authorities, we're already criminals and monsters of the worst kind, facing our inevitable death. Speaking to a lone, unarmed alien isn't gonna make things any worse, at this point."

Long minutes stretched out as they waited, examining the situation in the hive, though Blake's mind was drawn by the prospect of this upcoming, unexpected meeting. At last, the door opened once again welcoming the soldier from before, alongside a couple of his comrades and abhuman militiamen. Regardless of their different background, they were all tense and nervous, and that was because of who they were escorting.

For the Faunus, the most striking thing about the cuffed alien was the colour of his skin, which was a light, yet vibrant pale blue. It had a humanoid shape, with long spindly limbs and pigeon chest over which its lime green and black robes hung loosely. It was difficult for her to read his facial features, but from his body posture, he seems relaxed, as if the fact of being handcuffed didn't inconvenience him.

A quick glance at her companions made her realize that Ramutha and Izmande, despite the inculcated hatred for the alien, had never seen anyone like their guest. On Ynnôk, on the other hand, she saw recognition, though it was mixed with confusion, as if he was seeing something he knew in a place where it shouldn't be. Before she could ask him about it, however, her attention was drawn back to the alien, who had begone to speak.

"I bear greetings to you, Lady Belladonna, and to your people, in the name of the T'au Empire", the blue-skinned alien announced, as he bowed in front of Blake. He looked at her with black, oval eyes, which glimmered in the stark white illumination of the chamber. He spoke in perfect Low Gothic, with a soothing baritone that inspired friendliness.

"I am Por'el Fe'saan Adibh, first emissary of the fifth branch of the Wordstream Harmony, entrusted with first contact with the inhabitants of the ninety-two parallel of the Chalnath Expanse, named the Dromoros system.

My people have learned of your struggle with the Imperium of Man. We share your ideals of commonality, hope, progress and betterment for all. Your purpose resonates with our own.

That is why I present myself in front of you: to offer our aid and our support.

For the Greater Good."