Apathy

by Throwaway1971

Not important please ignore

14. Entry 125-132

Escobar was just a little tired. Fighting was meant to just be moving your arms up and down, pulling the trigger and stuff. Yet this… it was so… tiring. Escobar wasn't sure why exactly but his body was just trying to collapse on itself it felt like. As if it wasn't sure it wanted to keep on living.

Escobar just wanted to lie down but he still needed to keep going. The Covenant hadn't been cleared out yet. If they didn't keep pushing them out then they were just going to end up wasting their time and dying. They needed to finish the fight.

Sergeant Lucius looked over the recruits with a worried expression on his face. They had been fighting for barely an hour and they were on the verge of passing out. Their physical fitness hadn't yet been fully pushed yet and their bodies were feeling the effects. The repeated adrenaline highs of being in combat and the constant crashes as they left it leaving its toll on their bodies.

Right now they were barely able to lift up their weapons or even stand upright. As it was he was more worried they might accidentally shoot him rather than anything else. Their weapons were wavering and it was currently far too dangerous to allow them to keep going.

At the same time the fight wasn't over. The Covenant had been fought back sure but they were also isolated from the rest of the UNSC. Without contact they wouldn't be able to call in support and the Covenant could keep attacking them without retaliation. Even with the Geth they were going to be worn down by sheer attrition. Right now the recruits were tired but what about the Instructors? They were going to be in the same state soon enough if the intensity of the fights were anything to go by.

Heavy thuds from behind told him that the Krogan were on their way. Why they were here in the first place was something above his paygrade but apparently it had something to do with the artifacts they had found below the base apparently but it wasn't even a proper system. Just a few fragments of pottery or some shit.

Then again it was above his paygrade for a reason, if he couldn't appreciate modern art then he wasn't the target audience or whatever.

The Krogan looked looked down at him as it neared. The eyes were those that Lucius was very familiar with. They were the eyes of a veteran appraising another veteran. The Krogan gave him a brief nod and he gave one in return. Looks like respect does go cross culture… or species. Heh, something he hadn't expected that was for sure. The Krogans lived for war if the rumours were correct, always ready and willing to go into the thick of it for what looked like the most minor rewards.

The Krogan headed across to meet with the facility Commander. They needed to hash out a plan of attack or they were going to die here, without anyone to care or even notice.

Lucius took the chance to just sit down. The facility had been cleared out and the Covenant wiped out. Only they were still trying to send their forces in the through the sole entrance that they had. They were very clearly not willing to give up over this tiny little base. Their pride was too strong he guessed. Either that or they were desperate for any kind of win, their forces clearly being demolished by the Caretakers and the UNSC. Heh, they were getting one over the Covenant, that was a first.

Lucius sat down and closed his eyes for a little bit. Maybe when he woke up the brass would have an idea of what to do. It was a 50/50 he figured.

When he had asked to have Command know what to do, Lucius hadn't expected them to go batshit insane. The idea was one that a Spartan might find fun for the normal mortals? It was suicide. Suicide by Covenant, heh, he wasn't expecting that to be how he was going to die. Not that there really were any other options, the Covenant had them sieged and their communications were shot.

The idea planned to solve that, they would hijack one of the dropships, make their way over to one of the Corvettes and jump it out use its own signals array to deliver a message for reinforcements to high command. It being a crazy mission the Krogan had of course volunteered themselves for it. Straight into the gaping maw of hell for them.

The Geth were heading over as well, the Krogans and the soldiers not able to interface with the Covenant computers. Some soldiers were going to have to go as well, bolster their numbers. While they certainly had the skill and power aspects covered, they also didn't have the numbers to fully cover their asses when they did go in. It wasn't helped that the Geth were planning to teleport directly in order that they not hold up the rest of them.

Lucia did see the merits of that argument, even if he didn't like it. After all since the Geth weren't in the push then there was a definite need for soldiers to go with. Ugh.

The Krogan were good but not look out the back of their heads good. They could still be overwhelmed by numbers, it was only because they had their backs covered by the soldiers and the Geth that they could have pushed the Air Filtration system in the first place.

Command was asking for volunteers and Lucia figured… why not? He figured it would make a good story and someone needed to do it. That and he was going to be doing the Marine's work for them. Heh.

"Go go go!" The Krogan shouted as the window of opportunity presented itself. The window in this case, being a Phantom that was disembarking a ground detachment. The general plan being that they would rush under the covering fire of the rest of the defenders. Along the way, they would carve out a path through the attackers, board the Phantom while it was still on the ground. Activate a Beacon calling in a Geth platform when they were on board and have it pilot the Phantom to the fleet while also having it spoof their IFF signals.

A simple plan. An insane plan.

Lucius checked his helmet, didn't want the thing to fall off while he was out there. Ran last second checks on his Lasgun, safety off, full lethal. Tapping the chest rig to check for ammunition and grenades. Rustle the armour plates, don't want one of those loose to flap around.

OK. Deep breathes.

As the soldier in front of him pushed off, Lucius leaned forward into his crouch began running a few seconds later. Stagger it so they don't all run out in a big clump begging for a grenade. There were chuckles as they realised exactly how insane the plan was when they looked at what much a significant chunk of the Covenant army in front of them. That and they were running directly at them.

Lucius kept his head down and kept running, their little group of 12 being bracketed by fire from behind. The Krogan up front having learnt the art of hipfire apparently as they cleared out the front. All Lucius needed to do was just make it out of this alive so he could do what he was meant to on the Corvette.

Explosions and splashes of shrapnel showered them as they ran. The Covenant being pinned down but still at the very least trying to hit them. Not very well mind you, the Brutes as their name implied sucked hard at anything to do with range. The Jackals with the snipers were being picked off as they appeared, leaving only a constant stream of inaccurate but annoying fire as they made their way across.

It clearly felt like several hours but in actual fact was probably closer to 10 seconds. Not that Lucius was counting, having the attention if this many Covenant was quite definitely not a life decision he was going to respect himself later for. The Phantom in question was still trying to disembark its troops but the Krogan out a stop to that. Bull rushing in and shoving the Brutes back before ending them with a certain visceral joy. Luckily the terrain was flat, there being no geological activity to make it otherwise, and the defence team could still clear out the Covenant to their flanks.

The small team made its way into the Phantom and the Krogan leader threw the beacon into the belly of the craft before personally killing the pilot. A hand around its neck and a squeeze.

The Geth appeared in a swirl of green. The legs appearing first then sweeping up to reveal the waist, torso then the head. It stepped forward and plunged its fist into the console of the Phantom. Lucius thought the thing had doomed them all before the Phantom shuddered and lifted off.

"What about the rest of them? Aren't they going to alert their ships about what's happening?" Asked one of the soldiers, Valdese if Lucius remembered correctly.

"Negative Human designated Valdese."

Just as Valdese was about to ask why the Krogan called Grunt put a finger to his lips (or somewhere close to it, they were wearing helmets after all) and pointed out the access ramp. Lucius craned his neck and his jaw dropped. The Phantoms and Spirits had gaping holes and were lying wrecked on the surface. One that was trying to lift off had a beam of eldritch green light burst from inside, further beams causing the craft to crash to the ground.

"Never gets old." Said the Krogan, his grin translating to his words.

Lucius grinned back, served the bastards right.

The Phantom made its way to the nearest corvette, guided by the deft electronic touches of the Geth.

The plan was for them to breach in somewhere close to the Bridge but not too close or else Slipspace would kill them anyway. Not too far or else they would be fighting through many more than was necessary and be wasting time. Time that those still on the planet didn't have.

The breach was rather simple now that Lucius thought about it. Just the Geth blasting a passage for them through the hull. It then proceeded to act as a rear guard by planting itself into the deck like a slightly maneuverable turret.

The rest of them kept pushing forward, the Geth having put one of its "processes" into their HUDs, marking the route they needed to take. They made their way across the ship, the Covenant clearly in the dark about their presence. Lucius lost count of the number of them that had popped out, doing some kind of duty only to be gunned down by the team. The Geth platform had locked down the ship, opening the doors they needed while locking all others. A highway to heaven.

When they finally reached the Bridge (actually more like 5 minutes), the Krogan leader threw out another beacon to call in more Geth. They would need multiple platforms for the computing power needed to work out the jump coordinates apparently.

The Bridge crew stared at them as they filed in, the door locking behind them. Heh, the Covenant were locked in here with them, this was going to be fun.

The Brute Chieftain in charge of the Corvette, displaying his extreme levels of intelligence and not trying to call in assistance or even let anyone else know that they had been boarded. Instead it grabbed its gravity hammer and rushed at them, intelligence they name is Brute.

Grunt gave a grunt before running up to meet the Brute. The Brute swung its gravity hammer in a horizontal arc at the Krogan but was foiled when the Krogan unleashed a Scatter laser burst at short range into its gut. The explosion of viscera was followed by more as the Krogan headbutted the alien.

"Don't bring a hammer to a gunfight you idiot." Grunt said, his face probably bared in a savage smile.

The Bridge froze at that, giving Lucius and Co all the time they needed to gun down the rest of the Covenant. The Geth appeared shortly after and hacked the ship much the same way they did the Phantom. By punching holes in it.

Lucius sat down, taking a breather. The next time they were here, they would be bringing back an entire Fleet with them. Fuck the Covenant.

The battle for Jachin Due is a tale that has been passed down through the Army for over 50 years. Its fame only eclipsed by the siege of Certh and the great rout of Pershing.

It began when the construction crew building the training facility for the Army on the planet found something. It turned out to be some fragmented Forerunner artifacts and was discarded. The fragments being forgotten in a sub-level basement by both the construction team and the personnel on the base itself.

These fragments were enough however to attract the attention of a Covenant exploratory fleet and when they discovered the Army presence sent word to the Prophets. The Prophets had been on the back foot of the war for a long time and needed something to boost morale back home. This in turn led to the dispatching of over 50 ships to secure the artifacts, each containing tens of thousands of Covenant, their equipment and vehicles.

They struck the second they dropped from Slipspace, the isolated facility had just finished construction and its defences hadn't yet had their foundations laid. The Covenant having a clear path directly into the facility. They took this chance and swiftly pushed into the training ground, taking and holding nearly half the facility. They were stopped at the Canteen by a combined force of Instructors and recruits.

The recruits had not yet been taught how to even hold their weapons properly, and yet managed to hold off the Covenant. From there with assistance from the Caretakers the Instructors and their recruits cleared the facility and drove the Covenant from it entirely.

However their work was not done as the fleet still hung in geostationary orbit and was constantly disgorging troops. They were only human and would eventually fall to exhaustion if nothing else and a plan was hatched while the troops were still fresh.

They would board a Covenant dropship, pilot it to a Covenant corvette and board that. Once they had control of the Corvette they would jump it to a UNSC system and call for reinforcements.

The plan went off without a hitch and when the Corvette returned, it did so at the head of a fleet of UNSC warships. The Covenant fleet was torn apart and the Instructors along with their recruits returned to Earth as heroes.

Military Calendar 2550 - Halo Universe

After Activation 0103 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 0064 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 077-3100 - 40k Universe

An excerpt ramble of the Initial Human Situation in the Halo Universe by the Minds

The war was over. The Covenant had been destroyed, their homeworlds burnt to glass in a scene of poetic retribution and their fleets crushed. It was not solely the result of the UNSC however, the Flood having a rather drastic impact as it spread rampantly through the Covenant fleet. The Elites not being there to enact the more "drastic" measures and the Brutes unwilling to fire on the ships that contained their pack mates. The Prophets had raved as they always did about the Great Journey and offered no clear solutions. That having been the realm of the Elites. With the Brutes in charge… well what was a minor outbreak following their retreat from the holy ring became an epidemic as it spread through the fleets and the Covenant worlds.

When the Brutes had understood the danger and began to glass the worlds and engage the Parasite ships on sight, it was too late. The Flood had grown too large and had even boarded and hijacked High Charity. The Prophets had of course forbidden that they fire on the ship, forcing the Covenant forces to fight a grueling war across its surface and inside its myriad of cramped corridors. A war they had no chance of winning from the start, the Brute tendency to charge headlong into melee combat seeing them literally feeding the Flood.

When it was clear they could not win, the Prophets ordered the destruction of High Charity but it was already too late. Enough bodies had been consumed to create a Gravemind which then led a campaign to destroy the Covenant while they were focused on attacking High Charity. A sucker punch from behind and suddenly the Covenant fleet was crippled as the majority of it was recalled to assist in the siege of High Charity. The Flood gained a new fleet with which they were prepared to wage war across the galaxy and consume all life when something happened that changed the game entirely.

The youngling species, the humans found the Flood as it was consolidating and began a merciless campaign against it. They who were of flesh could not stand up to laser systems designed to melt through the hardest metals available to the Covenant. Unbeknownst to the humans, the alien humans had managed to delay the UNSC fleet's arrival by plotting the wrong jumps until the time was right and the Covenant were subsumed. No need to fight a war on 2 fronts when you can do it on one.

The Flood had been focused on a single area and the UNSC took ruthless advantage. They formed a sphere of ships to surround the Covenant/Flood fleet and High Charity to catch any stragglers while smaller Frigates led Battle Groups inside the sphere on nip away at the Covenant. Unknown to both of them, the Caretakers had installed a Slipspace jammer that prevented the operation of the Slipspace drive inside of the sphere. It took a long time with many potential breakthroughs by the increasingly desperate Flood but in the end there was only High Charity. Several thousand ships fired on it at the same time for nearly a week before the moon sized installation was destroyed and the Flood threat ended. Temporarily that is.

[The other Halos and the Forerunner shield worlds still had Flood samples because the Forerunners are morons and those had to be cleared. Seriously, what did they think discovers of the new aliens species were going to do? Not study them? Fucking idiots all of them. Kill themselves and everyone else to starve the Flood, make the Flood as appealing as possible so new food will literally deliver itself to the Flood's doorstep. Good work Forerunners.

Just like everything else you did, it fucked up the universe.] - This does not represent the feelings of the publisher. It is solely the opinion of the author.

The Caretakers had spread out to encapsulate the galaxy and search for all the examples of the flood, finding them, destroying them and leaving everyone else none the wiser. The humans wouldn't have the temptation of the Composer technology, Prometheans and whatever else that was around and the Ur-Didact had his mind turned to ash while still inside that big sphere thing of his. The monitors had all suffered "failures" of some sort and turned to goop, they would not be doing stupid things like directing the humans to finding any more super weapons.

The Librarian however had been rescued, the Minds figuring that a Mother figure might help temper the excesses of the Kanmusu. Having that much power only limited by conscience and the possibility of annoying the Commander, maybe obeying their orders as well… Having someone to relate to them perhaps could curb them a little bit. The Minds were not sure as to why exactly but Voice had planted the idea in their little heads and they might as well obey. It was not as if there was any real losses that could be incurred. At the same time they fixed it so she could regrow a soul, the imprint that was her functioning much like a Necrontyr Engram, personality but no soul. Giving her a soul would allow her to enter the Soulscape where the Kanmusu did their… Kanmusu-ing. [Maybe now they would be taught that giving psykic wedgies to the Minds was not only impossible and painful but also rude.] - Again the opinion of the author. We of the Publishing House enjoy the attention of the emissaries of the Commander.

Get rid of the issues before they crop up and things generally work out nicely. Generally.

The aliens wouldn't know what they were missing out on and that was OK, not everything needed to be discovered and not everything needed to be investigated. Indeed it was better to leave some things alone. The UNSC driven by a need for revenge yet tempered by their human nature of being idiots and merciful let the Covenant remnants live on. The Prophets were all hunted down and publically executed, their lies broadcast to the wider public via the recorded communications with Mendicant Bias that were recovered from the senior Prophets hoverchairs that had been recovered.

These were enough to condemn the Prophets to the most painful punishments possible, millions upon millions of the client races being sent to their deaths on false pretenses. Watching the few that had escaped the UNSC being lynched was a very enjoyable pastime for all races. The instigators of the war that had seen worlds glassed being torn apart, very worth it. Unless one counted the billions of innocent people that died, then it was just a footnote to a war of no purpose.

The loose ends had been tied up and now there was nothing but time as they celebrated. The populations of the UNSC free of the looming threat over their heads and the Covenant free of being sent to die by military leaders who honestly didn't know how to lead. While reconciliation would be difficult, it was still possible. The Brutes had been wiped out to a man, their race not comprehending the idea of surrendering to aliens and their inability to comprehend basic tactics saw them charging at the humans and dying in droves. Those that were left would not be able to repopulate their species. The Covenant Grunts and Jackals did not appreciate being led by such incompetent commanders and had killed the rest of them. Rendering the question of species repopulation a moot one.

The humans after all had not wiped them out and pursued a war of genocide on religious grounds.

Lord Terrence Hood, Fleet Admiral of the UNSC and a very satisfied man sat back in his recliner as he looked at the celebrations occurring in New Washington. The signing of the peace declaration had been livestreamed and now the people of the UNSC knew that the war was over and they could relax. They mourned the loss of the Outer Colonies and many of the Inner ones but humanity had persevered and would continue strong after adversity as they always did.

They would pick themselves up as they always had done and continue moving forward. Maybe now that humanity knew they were not the biggest dogs in space that they would be more ready to cooperate with one another. If the enemies came for them then a divided humanity would be one that invited nothing but death. They had barely repelled the Covenant due to the intervention of the Caretakers, next time they might not be so lucky.

Still that was a matter for future Lord Terrence Hood, right now Terrence just wanted to sit down and relax. He had a glass of bourbon at his side, roughly poured to maybe 2 fingers and he was ready to sit and relax. The problems of the future were for the future.

The Leader of the UNSC as a whole took a sip and settled himself deeper into the chair. Sometimes he felt, being able to close his eyes and know that the next time he opened them at there wasn't going to be another massive problem to solve was a good feeling. The Covenant were ruined, their entire motivation for waging war in the first place in shambles and the Flood as that AI had called them were gone for good.

The battle had not been anywhere near as wide ranging in terms of scope but the scale had been much higher. The potential that a galaxy devouring virus that required the purging of all intelligent life in the galaxy in the first instance escaping the cordon had been too high to contemplate. Sure humanity might have been destroyed when engaging the Covenant but the Flood threatened the universe.

Terrence remembered when the exact capabilities of the Flood had been explained from data gleaned from the Forerunner databanks. Things… had been silent for a while until the shouting started. Finding out that the entire galaxy had been put in danger by the stupidity of the Covenant had really been unbearable.

Thankfully the Caretakers had experience fighting things like the Flood and helped design the UNSC's own countermeasures. Without them who knew how many lives would have been lost?

As it was they lost thousands as the ships then sent into combat the Flood had been boarded and their crews forced to self destruct when things were looking increasingly desperate. Redesigning the protocols had been needed and lives were.saved following it. After that it was just a matter of being careful and slowly whittling the Flood down, playing it safe.

Terrence heard footsteps behind him. The sound that the wooden veranda terrace made indicating it wasn't Power Armoured in nature. An aide perhaps?

"I thought I said I wasn't to be disturbed tonight unless its a code red" he said. Not wanting the bother of work on a night like tonight.

"Oh? Perhaps I should take his bottle of 2142 Bourbon aged in New Australia on the East Coast away with me." A familiar voice, several decades of serving alongside one another having made their relationship one of… friendliness. As friendly as the head of the UNSC could get with an alien that is. John Shepard as he was called, spokesman of the Caretakers who had met them all those years ago above Harvest. More importantly that Bourbon, there was only one kind that had been made on the East Coast of New Australia in 2200s, the legendary Golden Slake. Terrence didn't care how he got it, that was something even rarer than finding a Brute and an Elite locking lips in something that wasn't a fight to the death. Then again with both species you never knew what was romance and what was a duel of honour… or both.

"No, dammit. You bring that bottle right here and uncap the thing. I want to taste it before I die." He said.

"You, die? Not going to happen Admiral. Those wrinkles of yours look like permanent fixtures at this point."

"Ha. I'm old, 60 years old at this moment in time. I'm reaching the end Shepard."

"The end? There's no end for people like us Hood. Even when we die they are going to make us work. Homework if nothing else."

Terrence gave a brief chuckle at that. It sounded too true to be anything else. Now that he thought about it, he was the leader of the UNSC when it finally defeated the Covenant wasn't he? Those history books were going to be written about him and they were all going to be lies. Well, at least he could say he had left his mark on history.

"So, where are you going from here Shepard? The Covenant have been defeated, peace achieved and the Flood eradicated."

"Honestly? We don't know. The Minds sent us here to solve the problems they were seeing and now… well we wait and see what they want from us. We are the frontline infantry Hood, just point us at the target and we'll handle the rest."

Terrence breathed in deeply, the 2142 Golden Slake filling his nostrils and giving him a brief glimpse of what heaven must feel like. A sip confirmed it. The feeling as it glowed in the back of his throat, the teasing of the tongue, the kick as it made it mas way down. Yes. This was what he was looking for.

"So you're leaving then?" ONI wouldn't be too happy about that, even after so many years they hadn't managed to crack Caretaker security. An endless game of cat and mouse where somehow the Caretakers knew where all the safe places were. It infuriated them and amused Terrence, keep them on their toes and not complacent.

"Yes, when the celebrations are done we head back to the ships and from there back to Origin. New orders are probably writing themselves as we speak." There it was again, Origin. Their homeworld, home system, home galaxy? Everytime they mentioned Origin it was in the context of a home, but what exactly it was eluded all of the UNSC.

"You have the thanks of the UNSC Shepard, don't know what would have happened without you and your Caretakers."

Shepard chuckled again, one of those chuckles that said he knew something everyone else didn't.

"No need to lay it on that thick Hood, you would have been fine."

"You have more faith than I do Shepard."

And from there they fell into silence and small talk. The Golden Slake deserved to be drunk in an atmosphere where people could enjoy it, not a heavy one with implications in every word.

The next morning when Lord Terrence Hood woke up with a hangover, something he hadn't felt in 20 years, the Caretakers were gone. Quietly slipping away in the night, they boarded their ships across the galaxy and left. Not even leaving slipspace signatures behind. Leaving before the ceremony that would honour them even.

Leaving just like they arrived, without notice and without fanfare.

Just like them.

From the future.

Exploration logs of 213-224-121 in Galaxy 299-112-009 of Quadrant 99201, condensed for easier viewing by the general public.

Log 422

I have found worlds that appear to have suffered deliberate attacks to render them uninhabitable. High intensity heat weapons that have molten much of the surface of these worlds. Evidence on the surface that has survived indicate that a species lived here that possessed the ability to produce armour if the remnants are any indication. Their general dimensions appear to be like ours, two arms set just beneath the neck, two legs at the end of a tubular torso and a head set upright.

Currently I have found multiple different types of armour however and while they all resemble our general shape, they also display different dimensions and design aesthetics that may indicate multiple races.

Log 426

I have found more worlds that have been rendered molten. The further I go, the more likely it is to me that this was a deliberate act by multiple aliens against a single. The more geometric ones with their penchant for geometric designs appear to have been arrayed against at least 6 different species all with different design aesthetics and shapes. Many of the surviving areas show what appear to be residential and civilian designs. The single aliens clearly attempting to defend against the other if the destruction exhibited is any indication. All of it pointing inward.

A war of eradication perhaps? To delve so deeply and viciously into population centers?

Log 432

I have found what appears to be the remains of the vessels belonging to both sides of the conflict mentioned previously. Massive vessels stretching into the horizon, some appear to be curved and sleek while others look like elongated hexagonal ships. They litter the surfaces of the many worlds in this part of the galaxy, clearly engaged in a life and death struggle. The Hexagonal ships have what look to be plasma damage, the high heat melting their superstructure in that distinctive way that plasma projectiles do. The sleek, curved ships displaying projectile damage, puncture wounds throughout the superstructure, carrying through into the innards themselves. There is a large amount of spalling evident, the jagged edges of molten fragments peppering the interiors.

Yet why both of these are present I don't know. Usually if a war is fought, there would be salvage operations carried out to secure materials. Yet here both sides have left tonnes of valuable salvage behind, the engines of the ships still intact. Unless it was perhaps by civilizations with such an abundance of resources that they didn't need to salvage? The lack of molten rock indicates that the second race was not successful in their campaign to destroy the world yet why are the ships of the geometric race still present?

The world appeared to be a garden world however. The verdant vegetation and wildlife belaying my previous statement. Why would they not attempt a salvage when it impacts the living space available on such a world? There are no evidence of slums inside the vessels themselves, no indication that there was a prolonged presence of people inside. The world itself possesses many habitation areas, all seemingly abandoned. It has been long enough that any traces of them organically has been lost.

I am working from traces, trying to piece together what they may have been.

Log 438

I have found yet another world with yet more ship carcasses lying on its surface. It puzzled me for a time until inspiration struck. Upon reviewing the footage of my exploration of the ships on the previous world, I had found that there appeared to be a 3rd faction perhaps involved.

Weapons damage of what appeared to be a molecular stripper of sorts evident on both the geometric ships and the sleek ones. Damage that was prevalent throughout their interiors. Judging from the pieces of armour recovered it was not of plasma origin as the weapons systems of the sleek species, neither was it of ballistic origin as the geometric species. A new weapons type altogether engaging both factions.

The moment of inspiration came when I found wounds on the sides of the ship's that were not present in the earlier graveyard. Massive holes that displayed the same molecular flaying as that on the armour. The same weapons types perhaps?

If there is a third faction it implies that they were powerful enough to drive back both of the previous factions on its own. Yet they seem to have no discernable goals, the damages shown previously indicated that the sleek faction wanted to eradicate the first, even attacking their civilians and destroying their worlds. The conflict itself made sense in a way, one side fighting for survival and the other seeking destruction.

Yet here we were, looking at a third faction that attacked both of them. There appeared to be no habitations that would indicate a third faction, no ships, no structures, nothing. An unprovoked attack on another world? How very peculiar.

Log 442

We have come across yet another planet where both sides have engaged in combat. This is an ice world however, different from those previous. The survey teams have managed to find and excavate multiple different body types. By examining the gases that had been trapped with the bodies, the team has come to the conclusion that they were lost here approximately 50 thousand years ago. Remarkably well preserved given the timeframes.

The bodies were as hypothesized in an earlier log. There were at least 5 distinct different types of physiques. One that was hairless with rounded heads and balanced musculature while coming in several distinctive colours. We had originally thought they were of different species but Genetic scanning has shown us that they all share a common origin. These are the ones that utilized the geometric designs in their ships and structures, their armour and weaponry following the same design patterns. Indeed some of their weapons still had the ballistic ammunition inside as the X-Rays showed, the boxes closed from age. Some of the damages done to their bodies indicates extremely high heat, supporting the idea that the opposing side was using plasma weaponry.

Indeed the other bodies we found possessed plasma weaponry. The races here very distinct. We found a very large species over 3 Ktun tall covered in hair and extremely dense musculature. Their armour very minimalist and barely covered their vitals for most of them. What I presume are more higher ranking soldiers had more ornate armour but for the majority of them there was very little at all. Their facial structures and teeth give way to the idea that they were a carnivorous society.

Next were what appeared to be very lanky yet shorter aliens. Barely a Ktun tall with dark skin and no armour at all. Some of them appeared to have wrist mounted devices, maybe weapons? While others had long weapons, perhaps rifles. A crest above the head and elongated features. Not very remarkable compared to the next specimen.

It is a very short creature yet with a very distinctive hump on the back that turned out to be an artificial tank. Very stumpy legs with a tiny, rounded head and very short arms. All of them wore respirators and scans have indicated that the humps are storage devices for ammonia. The aliens clearly needing a different chemical composition to respirate, intriguing. Their weapons appear to be very small or very large. There looked to be no middle ground.

The next distinct species was a very large one, even larger than the hairy ones. Their forms reaching 4 Ktun high and appear to be made of what looked like vast ecosystems of long tubular sections. Further scans have indicated that there is no central nervous system or anything of the sort, dissections have shown that the creature is actually made up of multiple smaller creatures. The larger one a community of sorts for the tubular aliens to reside in. The armour merely being the casing that held them together. Remarkable.

The last encountered species appeared to be that of a very large insect. Its weaponry like that of the smaller ones that the Ammonia breathers possessed. Its wings indicate that it is capable of flight yet the wings themselves appear to be more vestigial than anything else. Further examination saw the emergence of what looked like anti-gravity devices to assist them in travel. The largeness is said because they are 2 Ktun high, much larger than an insect should be. Examination shows that it is merely the exo-skeleton that makes them resemble insects with their organs being distinctly animal like.

Log 443

All of the aliens except the first display Plasma technology on further analysis. There are some ballistics as well but the majority of it is plasma in origin. Yet their armour indicates that they are not prepared to face being attacked by plasma weaponry at all. An extremely unified coalition of species perhaps? No threats of civil war?

There were energy shields among them, what we hypothesize to be their leaders, restricted solely to the large, hairy race mentioned previously. Perhaps it was a dictatorship that forced the other races to obey and serve them? Using their brute strength to press the other races into line? Indeed unlike the other races, the 2nd one mentioned had different and more ornate body armour amongst its members, ranks perhaps? The others did not, all of them using a uniform type of armour if they wore any at all.

Still it was clear what 2 factions there were now, the geometrics with their ballistics weaponry and more primitive understandings of technology and the sleek ones whose understandings of material and energy technology vastly outstripped that of the first. Yet they appear to have fought multiple ground wars. It made very little sense to be honest, if they were so dominant technologically, what use have they of a ground war? Perhaps they were searching for something? Our surveys of the entire world indicated that the number of casualties on the side of the second faction were exponentially higher than that of the first, despite their inferior technology. Perhaps the first managed to escort their wounded and dead away? Yet the second appear to have done the same, the number of wounded being extremely low battles of this scale.

Indeed the ships we have found indicate that the berths for the wounded are not as large as that of the second race. Another indication that perhaps the first while technologically inferior, had the upper hand in tactics?

Log 444

There is not enough for us to paint a complete picture but the third race has appeared here as well. Their distinctive weapons marking many of the bodies and ships, shots directly to what we have identified as vital organs or sensitive equipment. An extremely efficient race if the damage to the environment is any indication, very few if any misfires from what we can discover. The marks of their passing being very obvious in hindsight, lack of burns or any collateral damage should have given it away.

We have begun deciphering the language of both races. The intact ships and the preserved records kept by both races due to the cold have survived and we are carefully thawing out the physical copies as I speak. The other, more… digital copies unfortunately being much more difficult to revive, the data being fragmented and disjointed. As if there was an AI that had gone rampant over the years and began pulling and twisting data as it tried to define itself.

We are slowly uncovering the language and hopefully we will be able to tell exactly what is going on in this galaxy. A war this large must have a story to it.

We have set up base on this world, the excavation efforts and language decoding having top priority. Secondary priority is being given to putting back together the digital data, a task made difficult by our lack of understanding of the protocols and language that the programming is written in. Indeed the written language of the sleek aliens appears to be multiple different kinds and the programming language different again. Its reliance on what we have identified as hard light technology does not help either when we do not know the frequencies that they operated at.

It is headache inducing and has been relegated to secondary. The geometric race's digital information has proven more accessible but even then it is difficult to parse through, the previously mentioned rampancy theory having an effect as none of the information is intact. Indeed all of the ships have hard wiped their data in certain areas, we will not be able to retrieve the information, that is for certain. What is left will be enough to satiate our curiosity… for now.

But we persevere, who knows what tomorrow might bring.

Log 465

We have found a data core containing a recording of what was known as "Battle of Reach". It details combat between the first 2 factions and that of the third as it intruded through the climax of the battle. The datacore was hidden in what appeared to be a medical facility of some kind that survived relatively intact. The other datacores had much less footage on them in comparison to the one we have found.

It begins with the viewpoint of the Camera's user (it being mounted on a body part), someone we have identified as being in a position of authority.

Wooshing noise, transition into headset with shaky cam footage.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The Covenant were attacking Reach, the biggest outpost they had besides Earth and they were hitting it with everything they had. Fuck.

The rest of the fleet was still outside of the combat zone and they wouldn't be making it back anytime soon. By the time they could return, the Covenant would probably have glassed the place.

Anerdson ducked behind a low wall as the Covenant infantry let loose plasma bolts at him. They were slow sure but in the numbers that were coming, if he didn't find cover then he was going to get hit. All it took was for 1 shot and he would at the very least lose a limb.

A smattering of plasma splashed against the wall, it wouldn't be able to hold up for very long. Then again it didn't need to. Anerdson wasn't a Spartan by any means, just a Marine who's served too long and knew his way around a rifle. In this case, the M392 DMR being his weapon of choice.

Anerdson popped his eye above the wall to get a quick check on the composition of and locations of the Covenant firing on him before committing it to memory. Next was a quick calculation on what order to engage them and where to target. A little trick that his Sergeant had taught him when he was just a green Private deployed to Harvest.

Visualize engaging the enemy, pretend that it's a simulation and get your body to simulate the movements. Then when you actually go to do it, your body already remembers what it needs to do and it just follows through. In this case, he would hit the Grunts first, 15 shots, 8 Grunts, 4 shield Jackals, 3 Brutes. Easy enough.

Headshots on the Grunts, hit the Jackal's arms to take their hands off then aim for the Brute's eyes. Have to do it quickly or they will move to flank and be out of position.

Ok. Let's go.

Anerdson popped over the wall and started a left to right movement, his upper body rotating like a turret. The DMR fired, once, twice, three times. Each round hitting the head of a Grunt, their little bodies dropping like ragdolls as their brainmatter exploded out the back of their skulls. Once the first sweep was over, Anerdson swept right to left, this time aiming for the Jackals, targeting their hands. One shot, two shots, three shots, four. The little gaps in their shields where they would stick their plasma pistols also being little gaps where bullets could come through. Little explosions of purple mist told him all he needed to know, the Jackals screaming and dropping as their forearms were shredded by the high-velocity bullets.

He swept right again, this time aiming for the Brutes. They were rushing forward, never trying to dodge. It made the next part easy. He pulled the trigger once, twice and thrice. The only indication that anything happened was the Brutes faceplanting as their momentum carried them forward.

The Jackals continued to scream but Anerdson ignored them, they would bleed out in a few minutes, no need to waste any more ammunition than was necessary.

He gave a quick glance behind him and sighed softly. The recruits that had been assigned to him were all dead. Dammit. They didn't have the experience to be dropped into the deep end like this, they had been assigned to Reach for a reason. Take it easy, learn what they need to learn before being shipped out again. Dropping recruits straight into battle only ended up with them getting killed and the line folding.

Fucking Covenant, something else to blame them for.

Still, he had to get to the nearest outpost, join up with whoever was still alive and see what they could do. Evacuating the civilians, holding the line against the Covenant, running recon and assisting ODSTs, you name it, Marines did it. They weren't as flashy as the big boys or even as fast, strong or smart. But the Marines did the work that was put before them and they did it with typical Marine grit. If you couldn't do it, you weren't trying hard enough.

Anerdson shook his head and moved over to the bodies. His chestplate had taken a glancing hit and was pretty much useless, used up all his grenades and his bandolier had seen better days. He requisitioned some equipment off the dead recruits, they weren't going to need these where they were going.

He replaced his kit and stuffed his essentials in the new pouches he found. One of the kids had decided to go full tacti-cool and stick himself with so many pieces of miscellaneous kit that Anerdson for a second there thought he was wearing double armour. He did a last check that he had everything before grabbing their dog tags and leaving, at the very least they would have closure.

The jog to the nearest rendezvous point was a relatively uneventful one. The Covenant evidently had cleared the area and moved on. The number of civilian casualties… Anerdson didn't want to think about it. Too many worlds, too many dead innocents… he was getting numb to it all and that scared him.

As he neared the point, he could hear plasma fire and that irritating little chittering sounds the Grunts made. Looked like there were more survivors. Anerdson picked up the pace but tried to keep a low profile. He didn't want to run into any of the Covenant reinforcements. Not that it would be hard to avoid them, Brutes… weren't subtle, that was for sure.

Leaning his head to peek out from behind the wall, Anerdson looked down the street. A left turn down to the rendezvous and a left turn straight into a Covenant platoon from the looks of it. They had a Wraith and 8 Brutes in the intersection, likely Grunts and Jackals up front to soak up the damage. Looking at the windows behind the Intersection, he could see the barrels of Covenant marksman rifles pointing outside.

The idiots didn't even know the basics of how to use a sniper rifle, never stick the barrel out the window, the enemy can see it and avoid it. Then again they were Covenant, when did they ever use tactics.

Anerdson shook his head and crossed the road, crawling to make sure the Brutes wouldn't catch sight of him. It wasn't difficult particularly but he wanted to be safe, the Brutes being predators meant they have very powerful but very focused eyes, peripheral vision suffering accordingly.

After he crossed the street, Anerdson made his way up to the rooftops and headed over to where the Jackal snipers were. It was taking a while but if he rushed and died that would be equally as pointless.

He dropped down onto the fire escape leading up to the second story of the room where the Jackals were firing from. Knife in his right hand, Anerdson eased his way into the room. His kit had been dropped outside so there wouldn't be any noise. His armour as well, the hissing noise as cloth slid against metal would do nothing but give him away.

Crouch-walking with exaggerated slowness, Anerdson approached the first of the two snipers. The other being in the room next door. He flipped his Sykes knife so that his index finger pointed along the blade in a loose grip. The Jackals had body armour so he couldn't slip the knife into the ribs for something quiet and clean. He was going to have to go quiet and messy then.

Anerdson slipped up behind the Jackal and in a quick motion had his left hand reach up and grab its beak in an upward motion, the force slamming it shut and allowing his fingers to reach up and keep the entire thing closed. Its mouth hinged downward, making it easier to shut it up then to shut it down. His right hand in the meantime went straight into its neck, the knife plunging into the side, just in front of its spine and pushed forward.

During this Anerdson had leaned forwards so that the Jackal's neck was facing downward, wouldn't want what happened next to catch the attention of the Brutes outside. The knife having inserted itself behind the Jackal's carotid arteries, running along the sides of the neck proceeded to rip them out along with a hunk of the thing's throat when Anerdson pushed forward.

The blood spraying out and splashing the floor. The knife then reversed and he shifted his grip so that it was pointed downward towards his pinky, the hilt above his thumb. It dropped down straight into the golden triangle where the collarbones and the neck met, straight into the thing's trachea and further down into its heart. He kept his hand on its beak for another moment as the Jackal thrashed in his arms as its nerves fired wildly before it died.

Anerdson nodded to himself before moving onward to the next Jackal, repeating the process. With both dead, he could not focus on what was happening outside. It looked like the Covenant were trying to push down the street into a fortified apartment complex, using the Wraith as a battering ram. Couldn't have that.

Anerdson piled up the equipment he got from the Jackals, 3 Plasma grenades, 2 needler snipers and assorted ammunition. Hmmm

He could work with that.

He would first take out the Wraith, the Brute Chieftain with his Gravity Hammer and the one with the grenade launcher. That should piss them off enough for them to go berserk and charge him down. Grenades with tripwires on the stairs leading up will do the trick, elevator is dead regardless. From there just wait for the survivors to make their way up into the room and just shoot their eyes out. Take shots of opportunity where possible.

A semi-pro cricket player before he joined the Marines, Anerdson proceeded to bowl better than he ever had in his life. A plasma grenade into the Wraith's gun, another into the neck of the Chieftain, and the last into the Brute with the grenade launcher. Their sticky properties and slow trajectory allowing them to pass through the shields and stick directly to fur and metal. The screams of the Brutes as their flesh burned before exploding alerted the rest of them. The sizzling blue balls telling them exactly where the grenades had come from.

A wave from the window just pissed them off. The remaining Brutes roared and dropped their weapons, ready to charge up at him before the Wraith itself, the weapon sparking wildly from its gun being destroyed, exploded in turn. The Brutes all being too close were caught in the explosions and found themselves vaporized by the expanding wave of plasma.

Huh. That wasn't meant to happen.

Anerdson shook his head and ducked down. The plan was wildly successful and it looked like the rest of the Covenant force hadn't noticed that it was someone behind them that had taken down the Brutes. They probably assumed that it was the Marines ahead of them that did it. Heh.

He picked up one of the Needler snipers and sighted down, the different finger configurations made it a bit uncomfortable but not unworkable. He would work his way through the Jackals first, shots into the back of the skull, all that was needed really. Without their shields, the rest of the Covenant would have a much harder time of it and could be picked off by the Marines being sieged.

Secondary targets would be the Brutes, leaving the Grunts leaderless.

Then the Grunts themselves, particularly those with the Fuel Rod launchers and the pistols, it wouldn't do to have them blow up more of the building.

Anerdson shook off the building fatigue and got to work.

He was a Marine and he wasn't dead yet.

An Elder of the Shining Palace Sect sat down in front of the disciples in front of his. His legs casually crossed. The Elder was nearly 400 years old and one of the Protectors of the Sect, those powerful and dedicated enough that they served to protect the Sect, trusted with the lives of thousands of disciples. It was in the safety of their shadows that the Sect would be able to grow at all.

As such the disciples of the sect that were about to begin their journey to the Senti Kingdom as part of the yearly openings of the Hidden Realms were listening very carefully to what he was about to say. He had lived through most of what they were going to experience and so he was going to impart upon them knowledge in that they would not make the same mistakes as he did.

Whether or not they took to heart what he had to teach was up to them, but he sorely hoped that they would. Things were simply far too dangerous in the Senti Kingdom for them to act as wildly as they did here. Most of them would not listen, that was a given. Cultivation itself was an act that defied the heavens, to do the impossible and bring the body to a state that broke the boundaries of reality. It was through Cultivation that the individual surpassed themselves and shattered preconceptions.

The disciples before him were all those that deserved to be considered the "elite", part of the Inner Sect. Whereas 95% of disciples were in the Outer Sect, their teaching being as part of large groups as well as doing the chores and running the businesses that kept the Sect solvent. The Inner Sect was filled with those that would be mentored individually and given the maximum amount of resources possible to draw out their talents, so that they might Cultivate and become a powerhouse that the Sect could shade under.

It was for this reason that he was talking to them right now, ready to take time out of his own Cultivation that they might advance theirs. The Hidden Realm being simply far too attractive to the Sect, something that gave resources without end. Even if the dangers were ten times what they were currently, the Sect would still send out its disciples and Elders to gain as much as they could.

The Elder was known simply as Second Protection Elder, him being in this position for so long that some had forgotten his name. He had been part of many an expedition into the Hidden Realms, the dangers there being just barely what he could handle. He had faced many different enemies, both Cultivator and Beast alike, the first seeking to steal and kill, the second to simply kill and feast. The first he killed without qualm.

After all it was the world of Cultivation, if one was not prepared to die then one should not steal. The beasts were also killed but for different reasons, their bodies being valuable ingredients to assist in refining and Cultivation. The mere act of fighting being something that could improve his own strength.

It was known that when one fought in life or death situations, one's cultivation improved immeasurably as a result, the act bringing the individual closer to their boundaries and with effort they would be able to break through and advance.

However, there were limits, there were barriers which could not be broken and attempting to try would result in nothing but pain and suffering. He touched the side of his face, it was unblemished, crows feet around his eyes being the only indication of his age. Yet he could feel it as if it were yesterday, the splash of blood and the loss of one of the most powerful Cultivators on the continent.

The Cultivator had come to the defence of one of his own, an Inner Sect disciple of the Yun Che Clan. The Demigod Cultivator confident in his strength, the Inner Sect disciple arrogant. He had killed another Cultivator over some ingredients, confident that the Demigod would be able to protect him. Admittedly it was an ingredient that wars had been fought over before, 100,000 year old Golden Stalk grass, something that when properly refined would allow a 4th stage Cultivator to break into the 5th stage without preparation. The 5th stage was the a middling level to be sure but the Disciple had reached it at the age of 15. The likelihood of him advancing even further at the same speed was very high, his potential amongst the best on the Continent. For someone from a Sect that was a first class power, it was high praise indeed. The Inner Sect disciple in future would very likely become a powerhouse that could support the Sect like roots that tapped into the waterbasin. Possibly even reaching the rank of Demigod and advancing to the next realm.

However unlike what he was expecting the Demigod was destroyed, his soul annihilated by the Justicars and the Inner Sect disciple as well. The Yun Che clan losing an enormous backer and declining as a result, one of their most promising disciples dead, their Chief Protector as well.

The Second Protection Elder was there, the splash of blood from the Demigod coating the left side of his body. The man being a Demigod, had a ridiculous amount of vitality and the fountain of blood that came after demonstrated that.

He gave a brief sigh, the Justicar hadn't even displayed any sign of effort. The killing of a Demigod apparently on the same level as that of killing a 4th level Cultivator, no sign of sweat or exertion. It had inspired fear in all who had been present and word of the event had spread throughout the continent within days. What was worse was the Justicar didn't even display any sign of being a Cultivator herself, the mere act of running toward the disturbance tiring her enough to have her panting for breath.

It was following that event that it finally hammered home exactly how serious the Senti Kingdom was in regards to keeping the peace. Ready to kill and destroy Demigods in accordance to their laws. It was then that the Clans and Sects had met in a massive conference, the first in recorded history, all 28 million years of it.

It was there that they had laid down the rules of how they would interact whilst inside the Senti Kingdom. There would be peace, no warring within as to minimize their losses. There would be no provocations to have one side strike first, and so much more. It had been condensed to simply be expressed in 2 phrases.

Do nothing to break the Law Codes or Offence Codes of the Senti Kingdom.

Do nothing to provoke others to break the Law Codes or Offence Codes of the Senti Kingdom.

To do so would invite the wrath of all who were gathered, the risks of more Demigods dying being too high. They would lose face if they could not defend their own disciples yet if they died then the actual cost to the Sect or Clan would be an order of magnitude higher. Face could be earned but life was permanent.

The Second Protection Elder looked down at the disciples and opened his mouth.

"You have been chosen to journey to the Hidden Realms within the Senti Kingdom. You are the face of the Sect and you are the hope of the next generation. You represent the seeds which will grow into the trees that will both shelter your juniors and the roots that will anchor the Sect."

Their faces glowed, the praise going to their heads. Bring them up then knock them down, classic.

"That is why what I am about to tell you is ironclad, should you break the rules that are going to be laid down, then you will be punished and demoted to being an Outer Sect disciple. There will be no second chances. Even if you are the child of the Sect Master himself there will be no second chances. Listen well for I will only say this once."

Their faces fell as he spoke, his tone conveying exactly how serious he was.

"When you are inside the Senti Kingdom you will obey the Law Code, you will do nothing to circumvent the Law Code nor will you provoke others to break the Law Code. Any of you caught attempting to do so will have your Cultivation crippled if the offence is great enough and imprisoned if you were caught early enough."

The horror on their faces being something he relished. They were still in disbelief of course, they who were the darlings of the Sect, who had never faced denial before not understanding the concept of it.

He pointed at the 5th ranked disciple, "Speak", he said.

"But Second Protection Elder, they are but a small Kingdom, why must we bow to their laws? Do we not have the strength to make Empires bow? Why does a Kingdom warrant such caution?"

He nodded in approval, the child was indeed worthy of being in the top 10.

"We are, however the Senti Kingdom is not an ordinary Kingdom. The Yun Che clan that ruled the Darkmoon Empire was destroyed when their Demigod Cultivator died in the Senti Kingdom. He thought himself above the Law Code and their enforcers, he died in a single exchange and wasn't able to fight back."

Their faces were blank, trying to calculate exactly how strong someone had to be in order to kill a Demigod Cultivator in a single exchange. It was a complete suppression!

"It was not even an act by a full enforcer, it was one of their apprentices. We believe they have the ability to share their strength but we are not sure. Regardless they have the power to back up their words and you are not to provoke them. The Sect will abandon you to your fate should you disobey, regardless of who you are."

Their rapid nods telling him that they understood the implications.

"Now, if you are the target of a provocation or are being held by their enforcers then you must heed my words."

They angled closer, some of them clearly about to take mental notes.

"It will begin with the Justicar as they call themselves calling for you to stop and wait judgement. You will stop and you will wait. Do not continue whatever you are doing, do not speak, do not even move. You will wait for the Justicar even if the other side were to try to attack you. You will not die and if you are injured the Justicars will do whatever they can to heal you, even using divine herbs.

"What will happen next is that the Justicar will call for what they call a Law Field, it will suppress you entirely and while inside any lies you speak will be known instantly. You will be unable to use Cultivation techniques, Physique techniques or Mental techniques, you will be nothing more than an ordinary mortal while inside a Law Field. Do not resist.

"The Justicar will then question you, do not lie. No matter what do not lie. If you are in the wrong and have broken a Law Code do not lie. If you are in the right and are sure that the Justicar will rule in your favour, do not lie. Do not give into the urge to make it so that the punishment is worse. They can tell and if you lie your punishment will be worse than almost anything. At the same time you will not obfuscate, always tell the absolute truth and you will at the very least keep your life.

"Do not kill, even if you are on the verge of dying, do not kill. You will not be granted a trial and will have your soul destroyed on the spot. It matters not who you kill, a citizen or a rogue Cultivator, do not kill.

"When you are being judged do not resist. Even if it is 15 years of hard labour do not resist. You will not die and will be taken care of. If you do resist then you will be sentenced to immediate death, regardless of the severity of your crime.

"Always cooperate, no matter what happens, always cooperate. It will at least ensure you receive the smallest punishment. Be uncooperative and you will have further punishments added.

"Again. Do not lie, do not resist, cooperate. Should you do so you will come out the other side alive and well. Should you fail then there is nothing we can do to help you.

"Is that understood?"

A few nods greeted him but many looked unwilling. Still, he had said what he needed to and they would find out first hand regardless. There were always those that didn't listen and felt the need to prove themselves, the Justicars would make examples of them and the smart ones would listen. Those that did not would have brought trouble to the Sect regardless.

On the way the Elders would hammer the points home as well, hopefully it would convince more than a few.

Continuation of Log 465 transcript

Anerdson looked at the Marines in front of him, they looked exhausted, probably fighting through the night like he had. They knew it was a losing battle but they gave it their all regardless, the number of Marines left however… well, there weren't going good to be enough for anything serious.

The majority of them were recruits, the barracks being only a 5 minute walk from here. They had rushed when the invasion started to the outpost to grab what weapons they could, not much different from Anerdson really. The few veterans had guided them in setting up a defensive perimeter as they waited for the inevitable decapitation strike that the Covenant always launched. It had come and the attack had lasted through the until midday, they hadn't brought in the Wraith until it was clear the Marines weren't going to be giving up the position.

The casualties started to really mount up at that point. Luckily Anerdson had arrived and taken out the Wraith. If he had been later they might have crumbled, the Covenant overrunning their position.

Still they had to decide what to do from here. The area was pretty much clear of civilians, the Covenant either killing them all or they had arrived at the outpost and were waiting for the Marines to escort them to an evacuation point. Things weren't exactly looking good right now and the Marines weren't exactly sure on what their objective should be going forward.

It took a while but eventually the decision came down to getting the civilians to the nearest evacuation point and linking up with a larger contingent of Marines and going from there.

Not exactly the best plan but it was the only plan.

The Marines headed off, a Lieutenant leading the way while Anerdson and a few others took up a rearguard position. If the Covenant came from behind, they would have to go through Anerdson and his Marines.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Anerdson cursed his optimism as plasma fire splattered the concrete in front of him. The squad was currently being engaged by the Covenant as they tried to hunt down the civilians. The Marines weren't going to let that happen but at the same time that meant they were going to be putting themselves right in the line of fire to buy time.

Not exactly the most comfortable place to be in, that was for sure, but at least they weren't being hit from the air. The Covenant air forces being occupied or something.

Anerdson flinched as another volley of plasma impacted the corner of the building he was taking cover behind. They were really going all out today from the looks of it.

Still, he couldn't just wait for them to come to him, there lay the road to death. Best to go and check pop his head around the corner and get a bead on the Covenant, take a few out if possible. Sadly the bloody things kept coming, no matter how many of them were killed.

Made sense though, the Covenant had unlimited personnel and the Marines had no reinforcements at all right now. Even if it was 20 to 1, that was still favourable odds for the aliens.

Which led to the situation that Anerdson was currently facing, the Covenant coming down from the end of the street trying to at least touch a Marine so make it easier for the ones behind them could maybe kill the poor sod. Even if they traded atrociously they would come out on top.

He sighed as he angled the DMR around the corner and pulled the trigger, once, twice, thrice and thrice plus once. 4 bullets spinning out of the barrel, each straight into the heads of a Covenant. 2 Grunts with needlers, a Jackal that was supporting a forward creep, that idiot of a Brute that stood in the open. Or rather… lay in the open, its brain matter leaking from its remaining eye. Hah.

Anerdson leaned back behind the corner as plasma splashed in response. Hah. Slooow.

Idiots couldn't design weapons that broke the sound barrier.

Anerdson leaned back out to take out the rest of the Covenant, the rest of the squad poking their arms up to engage as well. The Grunts and Jackals falling under the combined fire of the 6 survivors. At least this time they hadn't lost anyone.

"Fall in, grab what you can off the Covenant and booby trap the rest. You know the drill. Don't take too long though, the rest of the group is up ahead and they aren't going to wait." He called out, shouldering the rifle and jogging down the road to rifle through the bodies. A few plasma grenades set up in the right way could ruin the days of anyone who thought about trying to recover the bodies. The Brutes especially with their whole "clan" thing, taking the bodies for burial and whatnot. Heh.

Sure it was a war crime but it was the Covenant, they were the definition of war crimes.

The squad worked industriously for a few minutes before packing up and jogging up the road to catch up with the main contingent. The bodies stripped and booby trapped, ready for any Covenant to do something stupid, like recover the bodies.

The journey to rejoin the rest of the contingent was rather quiet. No sudden surprises in the vein of a an ambush (not that the Covenant knew how to set one up) or airdrops on their location or Seraphs trying to engage them or anything of the like. It was just like a jog on a normal day down the road, if one ignored the dead civilians that littered the ground. Or rather lay on the ground, not littered, that was a bad choice of words.

Anerdson shook his head lightly before continuing, the moments in between firefights tended to be the most surreal. Where you didn't know if you were going to survive the next one but had enough time to think about the implications. The Twilight of Death he considered it. Where anything was possible and only the blackest of jokes could lift its veil over reality.

Then his but those clenched. One of the squad members was looking up at the sky and saw them arrive. The Men of Iron… their crescent shaped ships clear against the blue backdrop of the sky. Fuck.

"Go go go! There's no time for lollygagging ladies, we need to get those civilians off world now!" he shouted, breaking into a run.

The Men of Iron were unstoppable, they just kept coming. No matter the casualties they took they never moved faster or slower, always at the same pace. When a contingent of them fell? There would be a brief moment of reprieve before another group teleported itself into the battlefield, right where the last of the previous wave had fallen and continue their dread march. Their Flayers just went through anything they had to offer, no matter how strong it was it went through all the same. The best they could do was layer on as much as possible to slow down the penetration but that became infeasible considering how much was necessary.

They didn't care if it was civilian or military, anything in front of them died. Tank or aircraft, everything took a single Flayer strike of that green flow to bring down. They had lost millions the first time they had appeared, the UNSC not ready for an enemy that was even worse than the Covenant.

Anerdson could handle the Covenant, they were at least an enemy he could face and know that he could come out on top 90% of the time on an even playing field. The other 10% was him being a cripple before the fight. The Men of Iron however? It was just so damn creepy. The way they kept moving forward, silently even if they were missing arms and legs. The green glow of the sigils on their chests, foreheads and their weapons being the only colour they had. That shaped head that looked like a skull.

Fuck, it was creepy as shit.

They didn't make sounds when they died like the Covenant. At least you knew you had a chance with them, their screams of terror as you destroyed them bringing up the morale. The Men of Iron on the other hand just kept creeping ever forward, like they were going to win and everything else was a formality.

Fuck.

Anerdson shook his head as they reached the contingent, the Marines here knowing the full extent of what was going to come judging from their expressions. Some of them would have to be left behind to guard the shuttles. Those Marines wouldn't be getting off this planet, alive or dead.

Damn.

Still, it gave them a little bit of hope, the Covenant air support would be pre-occupied with trying to shoot down the Men of Iron ships (because the Covenant were stupid) and that gave them a window to get the shuttles out.

A final stand… heh.

The shuttles had been filled and were lifting off now. It had been rather quiet but that was going to change once the Covenant saw the distinctive shuttle shape and the exhaust as they rose into the sky. It was a beacon that would tell every Covenant inside the city that the humans were trying to escape.

Anerdson took a deep breathe and rechecked his DMR. For something he had just picked up yesterday, it looked rather worn down. Heh, it looked like he felt.

Loud chanting took his attention from his musings. Looks like the Brutes were coming. The idiots never could keep quiet.

Anerdson glanced over at the rest of the Marines, most of the veterans electing to stay behind. The recruits had more life in them and years for that matter. They were all dead men walking anyway, too many years on the front line. If they managed to get back, and maybe even win the war, there wasn't going to be a life waiting for them. They knew that.

The fighting had reached a lull, Anerdson peeking over the parapet of the 2 storey structure he was holed up in saw that the Brutes were being distracted by something. Maybe new orders? They looked like they were distracted that was for sure. Not that it mattered.

Anerdson ducked back down, visualized his attack routine for a second before popping back out. Only to stop.

Oh. That was why the Brutes looked distracted.

"We got Iron Men coming down the road! Get those fucking civilians out of here!" Came the shout over the comnet.

Well, it looked like they were definitely not getting out of this one.

Anerdson looked over to his right where there was another Marine with a Sniper Rifle. They gave themselves commiserating nods before turning back to the matter at hand. The Men of Iron were slowly walking down the road, Their Flayers arcing out to hit the buildings around them, taking out the supports. The Flayers had a range of about 200 meters the intel guys had figured. Since that was the case, it made sense that they would tear down the buildings around them so they didn't have to walk through sniper fire. Only in practice it looked rather terrifying.

Logic taken to its extreme seemed more like insanity.

The Men of Iron had reached the range of their weapons, 800 meters out and Anerdson began to fire on them. The bastards kept coming of course but they were slowly being whittled down. One at a time.

Nothing catastrophic, just keeping it simple really. A shot to the knees would see them fall over, crawl for a little bit before teleporting out. It was the best option they had available to them, even if it felt anemic. Trying to put one of them down permanently was impossible without heavy weapons, something they didn't have against the Covenant let alone the Men of Iron.

Fighting against the Men of Iron was more like a chore than actual battle for the most part. Just keep firing, reloading, firing, reloading and trying to do as much as possible to delay them. The Covenant by this time had decided that it would be good to ignore the humans and focus on the much more present threat and started attacking the Men of Iron. It was just too bad that their plasma weapons were ineffective, clearly the melting point of their bodies was much higher than that of the Covenant weapons.

They died as they lived... stupidly. Heh.

Even with the entire group of the Marines and Covenant firing at them, the Men of Iron kept coming. Just a slow inexorable tide of glowing green death. They were breaching the lines, green beams of death tearing their way through the Covenant first. Their gibbering screams a little satisfying in all honesty. The problem was what came next, even with the wall of fire they were unleashing, it wasn't enough, the Men of Iron kept advancing and eventually got into range to engage the Marines. Their screams were not as satisfying. Their bodies were punched through, limbs missing, gaping holes where there used to be chest cavities. The Marines tried to initiate a fighting retreat but the Men of Iron never tired, immune to suppression. They were being pushed back but as the roar of an engine igniting came from behind, Anerdson gave a sigh of relief.

The last shuttle was leaving, their job done.

Anerdson kept at it, even when he ran out of ammunition he resorted to his pistol. When suddenly he felt a rumbling from behind and turned quickly. A Brute had decided to keep attacking the humans and had rushed up the stairs to kill the two marksmen. The fuck?

It stood much higher than him and roared, its spittle hosing him down. Anerdson dropped into a crouch, he knew the next moment was what was going to see if he made it out of this one. The Brute roared again and rushed at the two of them, the sniper struggling to bring his weapon to bear considering how heavy and long the thing was. From there it felt like time slowed down for Anerdson as his adrenaline spiked. His pistol was still in his hand when the Brute swung its arms down at him like a gorilla.

The shot flashing upwards from his hip into its face, startling it and causing it to jerk back slightly.

That was all he needed as he quickly grabbed one of the Brute's hands, leveraged its arm over his forearm and proceeded to pull the elbow inwards, dislocating it in the few moments the Brute had closed its eyes. The thing roared again and swung its remaining arm in a sideways motion, crumpling Anerdson's chestplate and sending him flying across the rooftop.

A loud BANG came through his ears, the sniper finally getting a bead and shooting the damn thing. Heh.

As Anerdson's consciousness began to fade as his heart struggled to work, what with a rib going through it. His last sensations were that of him being dragged.

It's about time were his last thoughts, peace finally claiming him.

The geometric alien was dragged to a medical center where it was evidently pronounced dead by the attending physician. From there the datacore was stripped from the body and placed in storage where we found it millennia later.

We have seen a glimpse of the third faction and they are indeed fascinating and a little bit terrifying. While we do not understand their words, we do understand their terror.

Log 458

A new and rather unsettling discovery today. We have managed to dissect the genome of the geometric aliens and have discovered that they are identical to us. Or rather identical to us of the Expansionist Era when genetic modification was banned. Their DNA matches with our own to an almost disturbing degree except for some areas of cosmetic change that dictate external appearances.

In short… they are our ancestors.

It is rather shocking truth be told, the entire research team has temporarily halted work to pay our respects to our ancestors. At least what are very likely to be our ancestors.

It makes so much sense though, the primitive religions that our own elders used to worship, all of them speaking of a great journey to seek a promised land free of the Great War. Our aversion even now to the colour green, of the tales of unseeing armies of undead, weapons that can pierce through mountains. Our religious traditions which had been put aside previously for being "unscientific" have been given a dusting.

While it is clouded in religious language, what we previously thought of as euphemism or allegory may actually be the truth. What was fiction may actually be detailed after action reports of battles of enormous scale.

It offers so much, this revelation does. An explanation perhaps into why our language is such a disjointed mess, full of phrases that make no sense.

Or on a more practical note, the possible effectiveness of these "Men of Iron" as described in the religious texts and what to do when we meet them. If we meet them.

The possibility of our survival in which case seems to be rather low which is why this record will be will be launched towards the Homeworlds in the hope that if we do die, someone will at least be able to find and spread the information. Our ancestors have been found and our origins have been uncovered.

We will continue on, the camp will break on the morrow and we travel deeper. It is the hope that there will be more answers the deeper we go. I hope that it is true and whatever forced our ancestors to flee is not still present in this galaxy.

Primitive as our ancestors were, it does not mean that we could survive a weapon that strips molecules from our flesh. I'm not sure we even have a means of hiding from it in the first place.

Log 461

The language has been deciphered, or rather the language of our ancestors has been recovered. It uses characters and nuances from all of our own languages, clearly a mother tongue of sorts. The examples of language that we have access to are limited to reports about what appear to be mundane factors. Signing for ammunition, records of wounded, requisition forms and the like. Things that need a physical record is my guess. Why they simply did not use a digital means is unknown.

Log 465

We have discovered an ancestor ship, it has within it databanks that are intact. Not subject to the same wiping procedures that the rest of their equipment was subjected to. Perhaps the crew was killed before they could initiate the procedures? We have found biological remnants in the dust filters, the decay of whatever was on board having occurred long ago.

The data also displays coherency, the ship clearly not being part of an AI network as it has avoided the issue that rampancy brings to data stores.

Our previous attempts to bring out data failed, the degradation being too far gone. Here at least we are to find an intact system.

Log 468

The information is hidden behind protocols that we simply cannot breach. We do not dare a forced entry since the ancestors were clearly worried about information leakages and likely have contingencies planned. Ones that will likely include the destruction of the information we are seeking.

As it is we are forced to try and decipher the interfaces of these craft, clearly it is based off the language if our ancestors but exactly how it is used is unknown.

Log 470

By fortuitous encounter we have solved the issue pertaining to our inability to interface with the data storage system. One of the researchers was searching through the vessel and found a physical copy of the manual used to operate these devices.

"Programming for Dummies" it is called. An interesting title but its contents will be fed to the ship's core for analysis and perhaps on the morrow we will be able to access what has been out of our reach for so long.

Log 463

The core took longer to develop an interface mesh to communicate with the ancestor's technology than we thought. What was predicted to take a few hours became a task spanning days due to the archaic and contradictory way the ancestors coded their devices.

However we have completed it and… it does not look good. The ancestors were defending themselves against an enemy they called the "Covenant" who were persecuting a religious war against our ancestors for the crime of merely existing. For over 3 decades the ancestors held the line but they were being pushed back, the enemy being superior to them both technologically and numerically. Something we can corroborate with analysis of their technology.

The Captain's log that we have drawn the experiences from continues on to detail the desperate fight that consumes their culture, leading to actions of extreme cruelty in an attempt to find more weapons to use against the aliens. Turning their own peoples into suicide weapons to delay the Covenant if only for another day.

Their final bastions were being overrun and the ancestors had finally found something that could perhaps give them the edge to win the war. When the Men of Iron came.

They came from what was estimated to be the Covenant worlds but at a slight offset. Originally they were thought to be more Covenant designs but when they started to kill indiscriminately, the ancestors classified them as a third faction. Any attempts at diplomacy were ignored, their envoys killed.

Any attempts at dialog were met with silence, only slow inexorable death awaited the ancestors if they tried to fight back. Their weapons were more devastating than anything the ancestors or the Covenant managed to field. Beams of crackling green light that flayed anything caught in their dreadful embrace.

They did not have fast attack units, infiltrators or anything of note beside their basic infantry and their ships. They would continue marching forward no matter the casualties or damage taken, minor damage being "regrown" while those destroyed were "phased" out. Becoming more and more insubstantial until they vanished altogether. Their most basic and only type of weapons capable of tearing through the hulls of starships, their ability to exist without atmosphere allowing them to march on.

Their ships display a disturbing ability to phase as well, allowing attacks to simply go through them as they march ever onwards until they were in range to use their own enlarged versions of the infantry weapons.

The tide of iron swept over entire worlds, leaving none behind, Covenant or our ancestors.

Beyond that were charts of the various worlds that our ancestors colonized, their military structure and so forth. An entire history here for our exploration.

Yet the thought still niggles in the back of my mind. If what is said about the Men of Iron is true… what awaits us as we head to the next world on the star charts?

Log 473

More worlds gone. Entire fleets just hang in orbit, dead. Time has not ravaged their bodies, the corpses still float here. The ancestors and the Covenant likely too hard pressed to recover them like before.

Underneath that we have found more evidence that the third faction pursued them here. The distinctive circular holes bored in hull and flesh alike telling us all we need to know. We have become numb at this point, the number of dead now registering as a statistic.

Dozens of ships, all locked dead in the depths of space or drifting. Our calculations having given us the approximate locations of dead ships from the logs of other ships that had not been set adrift.

We have anchored them together, vast mausoleums of our ancestors and their enemies.

Log 469

We have found bodies that look like that of our ancestors and the Covenant but they are side by side rather than arrayed against each other. The casualties showing some of them dragging the other faction somewhere even in the grips of death. We hypothesize that the Covenant and our ancestors somehow reconciled in the face of a greater threat.

The big hairy ones were not present however, rather some tall lanky ones with 4 mouthpart mandibles on their faces. They are hairless and… heavily resemble the second race that exists alongside us. We had not managed to get a complete specimen until today but the resemblance is uncanny. They look remarkably like the Sangheili do except more lithe and fragile.

It is rather obvious in hindsight, the Sangheili have been a part of our society since the earliest records we possess, they must have somehow escaped this universe alongside our own ancestors. Mutual ancestors.

Some of the research team are decidedly anxious over the idea that their ancestors were prosecuting a religious war against our ancestors. It runs counter to everything they stand for as a society. Perhaps the conflict opened their minds to what was occurring and they renounced religion in the wake of the atrocities they committed in the name of religion?

We have no choice but to delve deeper if we wish for answers.

Log 490

We have found it. The homeworld of homeworlds. What the ancestors called Earth.

It is a world covered in structures of a bygone era. A world that has been worn away by the sands of time but from what is still left we can conclude that it was beautiful.

Even here we have found evidence that the Men of Iron arrived before us and reaped their toll. What we thought were wells or other such structures turning out to be the flayer weapons fired from extreme altitude. The damages lasting through the millennia, carving their way through kilometers of bedrock.

Here we have reached the last destination of our search… no.

Our pilgrimage.

A journey to see and experience the final desperate months of our ancestors as they fought against a menace that could not be reasoned with or even opposed. All that could be done was buy time for those behind the stalwart defenders to flee.

We have found the only currently functioning electronic device on the planet. We will attempt to open it and see what remains of our ancestors. It functions by using solar power, its long survival ensured by its presence in the middle of what we have identified as the Pacific Ocean.

It was likely left here on purpose, a message to those that would come after them.

It may give us the closure that we need.

Log 491

The device was nothing more than a means to pass a message. Its meaning however, was so much more.

I will describe what was shown and leave the audio below, unedited for those that wish to hear the last words of our ancestors.

It begins with an ancestor, or rather a human standing beside a Sangheili, their bodies rigid and straight. Both are wearing clothes or armour that show their ranks to be that of Fleet Admiral and Arbiter respectively.

The human speaks while the Sangheili communicates with body cues, as in the background vast ships take off from the water's surface. Their conversation concludes and the message concludes. The presentation is not amazing but the content is.

I am Lord Terrence Hood, Fleet Admiral and the acting leader of the UNSC. I am here with the Arbiter, leader of the the Sangheili remnants who have joined us in our last gambit. We who were attacked by the Covenant are no strangers to war but our mutual enemy now does not wage war. It merely kills all those who stand against it, no dialogue, no negotiation, no reason. The Men of Iron do not stop and we cannot hold, I will not hide the truth from you.

Even now the soldiers of the UNSC army, navy, marines and airforce are putting their lives on the line to hold the Men of Iron back long enough for the colony ships to leave. They each carry hundreds of thousands of our people, all on a journey across the universe. They will carry humanity to the stars and perhaps to new worlds free from this new menace. Their delaying actions in the stars are actions they will not return from but they do so regardless. Their names are engraved upon the very ships they are defending, their memories will live on through their descendents.

The Sangheili are joining us on this, their homeworlds are nothing more than ruin, their peoples dead. Their Prophets, their leaders have lied to them and when the choice came, decided to allow them to keep fighting against us when they could have been fighting for their homeworlds.

In response the Sangheili have defected from the Covenant and joined us, seeking to make amends before the end arrives. What little is left of their peoples have also joined us, we met as enemies but perhaps those that come after us will be friends.

The rest of the Covenant even now attempt to fight the Men of Iron, their fleets cut off from ours a month ago by the enemy. If they are trying to escape we do not know but it is unlikely.

For us, we will stay on Earth, we will hold the line and try to convince the Men of Iron that all of humanity has been destroyed. We will be the bait and hopefully they will take it. Our people will have a second chance and we will give it to them. There is not much more to say, this record is being left for those of our descendents that seek answers to their past.

For the aliens who have come across this record please leave it behind for our descendents.

What we have to say means very little we know, the hope will be carried by those on the ships, we are merely the the old guard to stay behind and ensure that the hope will keep living. For those of our descendents who have found this, please find your brothers and sisters, reunite them across the stars.

Do not try and avenge us, too much blood has been shed already. Go and live your lives and be harmonious, we have put our own people through so much. No, let us leave it at that, there is time for regrets and it is not now.

For all who are watching this we have one last request.

Witness Us.

A secondary clip was included, it being a graphic rendition of the last moments of the ancestor and the Sangheili as they held the line before unceremoniously dying. As they requested we have seen the end of our ancestors, the last of their peoples dying to allow ours to flourish.

It has brought closure and answered many questions.

Regarding the Men of Iron, we do not know, perhaps they are still in the stars ready to reap more lives.

After Activation 0119 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 0080 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 093-3100 - 40k Universe

-E Solution: Answer with witty rejoinder about the inevitability of her failure E-

-C Solution: Answer with sympathy, reinforce inevitability of her decision C-

-A Both solutions are terrible. Consider the charge's emotional state and try again A-

-E Solution: Console using standard option 448, reassure and deflect E-

-C Solution: Console using standard option 555, acknowledge problem, reassure that future is uncertain C-

-A Solution: Long term emotional stability priority, proceeding with standard option 555 A-

The deliberation had gone so fast that time itself bowed over (bent at 90 degrees for those that did not understand the joke. Bad joke, leaving it in anyway).

"Young human designated Xue Feng Tao, do not feel anxious about your position, you are serving a higher purpose and will bring justice to the universe!" the voice inside her head intoned.

Or rather voices.

Xue Feng frowned, she had not been aware that when signing up to be a Justicar she would have implanted inside her head a Conclave of Minds. They assisted by drawing out the Law Code and providing the power for the Law Fields yet they were also insane. They were also insane.

Not an adorable elder who is out of touch with the world insane but elder who has never gone outside ever insane. Their suggestions for her to "couple" with one of the opposite gender still ringing in her head. She got that they hadn't been able to get outside and experience the real world since they were… disembodied spirits, but they also lacked basic common sense. They had power and unlimited processing capabilities to be sure, but everything else was lacking in the extreme.

Even the Arbitrative Mind that was meant to balance out the two more extreme Minds often pulled solutions that were insane from nowhere. It was frustrating but also kind of endearing… if she was feeling charitable. Listening to them bicker as they tried to decide on whether or not to order a lemon or an orange sweet was adorable. They, of course, being able to experience what she did as they rode her brain and siphoned off some of the signals that stimulated certain areas. They, in essence, had a copy of her brain somewhere that they jacked into, to feel what she felt, using her to experience the world.

She also felt, in a non-physical way rather disturbed by that, but then again they were Minds and they were universally disturbing. At least her ones… hmmm… didn't make fart jokes? Shing Tan's ones made several variations of fart jokes for a month before they got bored. The poor guy couldn't even take it out on criminals.

The Minds were hers though, through bad advice and even badder advice. Now and pretty much forever she was sure, taking them out would be… difficult. Given they were quite literally welded to her soul at this point.

Speaking of criminals… Xue Feng reluctantly got back to the point of her angst. She felt that the Justicar Xue Feng and normal Xue Feng were different people. Normal Xue Feng enjoyed playing around with her friends, chatting about the latest news and being an 18 year old woman.

Justicar Xue Feng was perfectly fine with sentencing people to destruction and not caring about the families they would leave behind. In fact, Justicar Xue Feng seemed to have no emotions at all, just a need to punish those that broke the law.

Xue Feng wasn't sure why that was, her first Judgement had been after she graduated the academy. Everything prior to that was a testing phase they called it, where she would learn the laws, how to apply them and how to be impartial. But for some reason, it seemed that she became an entirely different person when she put on the Justicar mask and she wasn't sure she liked that person.

It had been many years since her first Judgement but it was still hard to reconcile the two different halves of herself.

She had asked the Minds, or rather 01-0483 why that was but their answers had been all over the place. She would have better luck catching some dust on the wind than getting a coherent answer. Yes, the Minds were useless and they could not even give a single answer. Very useless, so very…

-E Hey! We aren't useless! We are the best things to have ever happened to you. Do you comprehend how much other people would like to have their own personal Minds? The power of the universe at your fingertips missy! E-

Ha! Power of the universe at her fingertips but being able to actually use that power in a way that was useful… ha!

-C We are capable of tearing apart the fabric of space and time, we can bring into being new worlds, we can in a single moment change the laws of reality. We hold the power of the universe, we just do not use it C-

Because they were useless, no fine control, no real understanding of anything around them. Hah!

-E Oh yeah? Any question and we'll answer it! E-

Why does Xue Feng lose her emotions and become Judicator Xue Feng?

-E Oh that's easy, its because the Law Field makes the Judicator part of it and emotions allow for biased judging so it's banned. See? Easy! E-

Oh… that was not perhaps the answer she was looking for. She had hoped it was the mask or something but the fact that it was the Law Field that did it… there was no way to escape it.

She… was not prepared for that answer.

She was going to have to think this over, to be able to reconcile what had become a part of her at the intrinsic level. The Minds really didn't think through the Judicator training did they…

Still, getting to grips with the fact that she was an emotionless and ruthless killing machine when she was doing her duty.

-E It's ok! We are with you! Ooooh, did you see those candies back there 22.3 steps previously that you skipped over despite the incredibly delicious smell? Your nose hairs are tingling and clenching with desire to consume them. Go Go Go Go! E-

-C Yes, focus on the candies. It's just people, it doesn't matter if one or a million of them are killed, you can always make more. Yes. What if you make a child for every criminal you kill. Giving back to the universe C-

Or not. Her roommates were going to be keeping her company it looks like.

Sojourner Space Marine Mitchelli steadied the Penetrator. It had been dubbed as such due to the fact that it could go straight through a Dreadnought's frontal armour at a distance of 2 kilometers with ease. The Penetrator was a rather simple design really, a single shot rifle in its most basic form. Only in detail it was rather more complicated and rather brutal, the Sojourners had thought.

The basic level of its design was the shell, a Heavy Bolter shell, only heavily modified. The Shell had been redesigned, the only thing remaining of its original form being the caliber of the shell. Its head still retained the Diamite tip (only this one exploded) but the warhead had been changed to that of a HEAT version that fired a molten jet of plasteel into the hole created by the Diamite tip. The spalling created by its entry as well as the molten jet itself was able to render anything biological on the other side of its armour cooked beyond well done.

For more heavily armoured targets a shell had been designed with a SABOT core, capable of penetrating the frontal armour of a Dreadnought let alone a Rhino or a Terminator. Various different shells were available but the primary 2 were capable of ending everything they had come up against so far.

Shared amongst all the shells was the design that had its propellant increased twice, the gyro-jet fuel thrice. Each shell was the size of a Space Marine's hand and a half, more like an autocannon round than anything else. The kick that firing something that had twice the kick of a Heavy Bolter tended to break shoulders of any normal humans that attempted to fire the shell, the shattering of the sound barrier as the Gyrojets activated making the stationary sniper a very dead sniper.

The Penetrator itself was a single loaded rifled design, the actual weapon itself nothing more than a tube, bolt and a firing pin. Everything was loaded one at a time but the damage that a single shell caused more than made up for the cumbersome nature of the process. This was the first time the Penetrator would be deployed in a combat environment and she was meant to give feedback based on its results.

Right now Mitchelli was using the Auspex linked to her helmet to line up a shot on a Traitor Marine. Apparently he was unsatisfied with his treatment, demanding to be considered a Lord and denouncing the High Lords of Terra for their stupidly or something equally stupid. In short the guy was an idiot and needed to be ended.

The only problem being that he was also a Chaos Champion and had quite a few demons and lesser Cultists surrounding him as he shouted at the crowd before him. Not that they really cared about it, being cultists and all. The whole Slaaneshi licking yourself and casual torture part of their philosophy clearly occupying the majority of their minds.

"In position Sister", came the voice over her vox. Theodfore and Maximusius had taken up position much closer to the screaming lunatic. The fact that it was an agriworld made that slightly more complicated but then again finding a 5 story house was not particularly difficult. Anything to give a wider arc of fire to better tear apart the Cultists was a good thing.

Barnabery had been stationed on the opposite side of Mitchelli at about the same distance, ready to pick off any who might try to run away and escape their doom.

Mitchelli clicked her tongue in acknowledgement and squeezed the trigger.

BOOM

And at this distance, barely a kilometer away… the Screaming Traitor Marine was no longer screaming. Or a Traitor Marine. Or anything resembling a living being actually. There were a few stumps that were probably where the legs used to be but other than that… well, maybe next time she would put in less propellant. The shell had gone through the Space Marine, tore him apart from the force, sprayed his organs and viscera over everyone behind him then detonated amongst the cultists and spraying their organs and viscera over everyone else. She also loaded a fragmentation shell instead of a HEAT one… woops.

Space Marine Kill: 5000 XP

4x Crazed Cultist Kill: 25 XP x 4 = 100 XP

Double Kill: 50 XP

Triple Kill: 100 XP

Quadruple Kill: 200 XP

Multi-Kill 5x: 400 XP

Two for One Medal earned: 500 XP

Bring 'em Down Medal earned: 500 XP

First Blood Medal earned: 200 XP

Mitchelli glanced down at the bottom right corner of her vision. The log of her achievements running down as it listed off the various XP earnings that came from the single shot.

Still, the biggest threat was gone, now to clean up. Mitchelli stood up and unholstered the Bolter clipped on her back, the belt fed beast ready to go. No point using dainty little magazines when you know exactly how you are going to be using it. When one was a Sojourner with the RPG system with a maxed out small arms: Firearms skill… well belt fed Bolters were just part of the perks.

Mitchelli held down the trigger and the fully automatic Bolter jerked in her hands as she held made minute adjustments to put a single bolt into a single head for every single shot. There were no misses and the constant stream of XP announcements made it abundantly clear that they were dying.

Crazed Cultist Killed

Daemonette Killed

Crazed Cultist Killed

Crazed Cultists Killed

Crazed Cultist Killed

And so on. After this was over she might be able to go and get another upgrade. Anyone in the main square was pretty much dead at this point, Theodfore and Maximusius doing their work well while Barnabery managed to get a few himself.

Yes, it was good to be back.

The whole having your soul being prodded thing got old fast, especially the excruciating agony part of it. She was going to make the most of being outside before she was sent back in for further "emotional adjustments."

After Activation 0119 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 0080 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 093-3100 - 40k Universe

Theodfore brought down his hammer, a dull ring as it smashed into the mass of slowly hardening molten ingot. His dark body gleaming with sweat. Each blow smashing into the mass, sending sparks arcing through the air and bringing the impurities to the surface. The dark, grey substance flaking off the glowing orange ingot below it.

His breath came in hard and fast, even for one such as him. His superhuman physique meaning nothing when one was lifting a hammer over one hundred kilograms in mass. Up and down, in a repetitive motion as his left hand gripping pliers over 2 meters long shifted the ingot to and fro under his experienced guidance. Each strike of the hammer being in a different location. It would not do to have the impurities pushed out to different sections of the ingot, instead it was best if one did it evenly in order to have a piece that was of even strength throughout.

This piece would be placed deep within the Virgo, his personal Mobile Suit. Handcrafted by his own hands. It would be his legacy, to leave behind to his Chapter and their successors. When he fell in battle, it would continue to fight, allowing him to serve the Imperium even after death.

Theodfore put down the hammer to his side and took the chance to wipe the sweat on his brow. The ingot, back into the forge to be reheated. Giving him the time he needed to take a break. Theodfore shook his head slightly as one of the ports on his back, an opening of the Black Carapace took in some water greedily to hydrate him. The forge room's cogitators clearly thinking that he needed the water.

While the Black Carapace certainly did very little to enhance his naturally terrible "beauty", it did help a great deal when it came to automating his living. It would take waste and incinerate it, automatically feed him the supplements he needed to maintain his physique as well as delivering critical chemicals when his body needed them. It was not easy monitoring the body of a Space Marine and delivering supplements like Ceramite to ensure his bones maintained their strength or the cocktail of chemicals needed to ensure his gene-seed remained stable.

What the Power Armour did up close, the Forge Room could do remotely.

"Thank you," he said, the room didn't reply, couldn't reply but it made him feel better.

The metal bar came out of the forge, once again blindingly bright and Theodfore returned to his work once again. His mighty muscles creaking as his arm lifted the mighty hammer and brought it down again on the ingot, a mighty clang sounding throughout the room. Again and again, he brought it down, the hunk of metal the size of his torso slowly being forced into shape.

When he was done, this would be part of the head apparatus, the top-cap that would be screwed in to secure the "helmet". Right now it barely resembled the mastercrafted piece of technology that it was going to, merely a slab of metal to be worked according to his will.

The process was reaching the point where his arms on the pliers would no longer be enough for the delicate work that he needed. The next phase of the forging process was coming up. The basic impurities had been worked out and more importantly he had imparted his essence into the metal. If a psyker could look upon the Mobile Suit when it was completed, they would see his soul spread throughout the machine. His own machine spirit as it were.

Allowing him better control over the machine while also allowing his descendants to be able to control the device more easily than if it had been crafted in the forges of Mars. It would be a singular masterpiece, several dozen years in the making. His legacy would be a glorious one, he would make sure of that.

Theodfore carried over the roughly shaped metal to what would be the next phase. It was placed onto a larger anvil, one that had a much larger and mechanical plier set offset to the left and a large piston driven hammer in the center. To begin, he sat in a throne-like apparatus where his left arm fit into a glove slaved to the pliers while his right sat on a knob to control the speed of the hammer itself.

He nodded and began the second phase, the massive hammer, larger than he was side came crashing down with enough force to crush Power Armour. The large pliers shifting the slowly flattening ingot around so that each section received the pounding force. When it became too flat, Theodfore pressed down a pedal underneath which revealed what looked like a sharp edge of a sword in the center of the anvil in the center. It rose up and when the hammer came down on the ingot again, the wedge split apart the ingot slightly.

Again and again, it smashed down until there was nothing left but a tiny sliver of metal connecting the two. It was then folded with the use of the pliers and the wedge withdrawn. The 2 layered piece of metal was then coated with straw ash, water and clay in a sticky mixture before being pushed directly into the forge again. It would burn and melt, drawing out the impurities within the metal.

With the quality of metal that Theodfore had, the process itself was unnecessary. However, it was a symbolic gesture that served to strengthen the presence of his soul within the metal. By driving out the impurities both physical and spiritual, it allowed his own to imbue itself within the metal without competition. The process would be completed another 15 times, beating, folding and consolidating the ingot. In the end, it would be purified and fit for the next phase.

Indeed the ore itself had been mined by Theodfore himself with his own hands and then purified by his own hands. Every single step of creating the Mobile Suit was done personally, his spirit created through every single drop of sweat, melding with the Mobile Suit. It was only half complete at this point, its original form having been scrapped by Theodfore after learning about the importance of doing it personally.

Mitchelli telling him that if he laboured over each and every piece personally, it would result in a Mobile Suit that was both faster and stronger than one crafted by mechanical and impersonal means. Doing it coldly, requisitioning the metal, casting it into molds then assembling it… would do nothing but produce a Mobile Suit exactly the same as one produced from a Hive World.

No, he needed to do it personally if he wanted it to reciprocate the trust he would place in it to protect him in battle.

So he had learnt how to turn ore into metal, how to turn metal into usable metal and from usable metal into a weapon of war. From one of the worlds liberated by the Salamanders, he had worked to mine the ore. Without Power Armour, his own flesh and will carving out the unseeming rocks that would be smelted down into alloy. For over a month he had toiled away with as little sleep as possible to gather enough materials for the Mobile Suit before returning to Themis, the Sanctuary city on Nocturne itself. Protected by vast Void Shields, adamantium and ceramite walls and more technologies brought by the Emperor when he first arrived and met with the Primarch Vulkan. Themis itself was one of the great succor points where the Time of Trial could be hidden from until it was time to go out and reap the bounties that it brought.

It was from Themis that Theodfore had been recruited, the great clan that was also the great Company that he belonged calling it home. The Company Captain serving as both leader of one of the greatest forces available to the Imperium of Man and the tribal leader of the city itself.

It was here that Theodfore returned with his ores, a bulk lander needed to carry them all down to the planet's surface and further into the forges of Themis. He had been questioned by his Brothers as to why he needed to mine the ores himself, why the ores provided by the foundries of Prometheus were not suitable. His reply, one educated by the Caretaker of his Sojourner team had stunned them.

They would not have believed it, but the fact that it came from a Sojourner, one who could quite literally see the souls of those around them, forced them to consider its validity. If she had said that in crafting the Mobile Suits from scratch was the manner in which to imbue it with the soul of the forger, then it was the truth. It had been a shocking turn of events for the Salamanders as a whole, Theodfore for all his intelligence had been too focused on crafting his own Mobile Suit to consider the ramifications of the knowledge he had gained.

He had smelted the ore and began the process of rebuilding his Mobile Suit from scratch. It was a long process and many a time he had failed, minute imperfections forming that ruined months of labour. Regardless he would not allow anything but perfection and melted down the offenders, ready to begin again. He would not cease until it was completed and without flaw. That was his promise to the Chapter.

The information that Theodfore had brought back was not a mere passing fancy, indeed it had resulted in what could be considered a complete change in the Salamanders as a whole, as they no longer created their weapons and armour from the materials forged from the impersonal directions of the forgemasters, but instead took it upon themselves to start the process as Theodfore had done, from scratch. The Salamander's unique culture of being from the same clans coming to the surface as they worked to assist each other. If one soul could be imbued into a single piece of metal, what about the souls of the Company? Each Battle-Brother would march to war protected by his Brothers in both the physical and spiritual senses. Their hands would craft the armour, their souls would protect the spirit.

Each and every Battle-Brother from that moment onward understood that the forge was the heart of their Chapter. It had been elevated beyond where it had been previously, where it was a symbol of what their Chapter represented, now it was the source of a bond that linked all of them together. Vulkan himself proclaiming a new decree that each Battle-Brother would all contribute a single piece of their greatest work upon becoming a full Space Marine.

Whereas a neophyte they would prove their martial prowess by hunting a great beast with their bare hands, as a Space Marine they would prove their diligence by providing a set of armour by which to protect. No longer was metal cast, it was now forged with mighty hammers as each strike imparted a bit of soul, each forge weld bringing it together and every piece would be unified and strong.

That is not to say all of it was communal, the Salamanders had picked up another tradition alongside that of crafting their own weapons, armour, and vehicles from scratch (some of them were even thinking of constructing their own strike cruiser). The one that Vulkan and a select few from the Great Crusade had been doing in private up until this point in time.

Crafting their own Mobile Suit.

This would be an intensely personal affair, the Mobile Suit representing the peak of their physical ability, their mental fortitude, and their undying will. Each would be the epitome of the Salamander's life, a gift to the Chapter that would see their souls live on even in death. When they were returned to Mount Deathfire, their ashes would release their souls and hopefully, they would find a place within the Mobile Suits they had crafted in life. In the event that one did not complete theirs, it would not be finished by other hands. Rather it would be interred in the great halls of the Reliquary of Fire, recently constructed on Vulkan's orders on the moon of Prometheus.

They would not be sullied by any hands except that of the Master Crafter, the Forgefather and of course Vulkan himself. Only he would be allowed to complete the Mobile Suits of the dead, his hands deft and quick. He would learn to craft as personally and impersonally as possible as to not evict the souls of his deceased brethren but instead craft a complete and whole Mobile Suit as for the souls to inhabit the whole. Once they are deemed to have been completed, it would be shown to a Caretaker who would decide if the process was correct and the soul spread throughout.

Upon words of acknowledgement, the Suit would be taken out of the Reliquary of Fire and placed within the Chapter Armoury.

They would be allowed to serve in death, their souls keeping a constant watch over their Brethren. Indeed if a Mobile Suit was to be disabled in combat, they would rather destroy it than let it fall into enemy hands. The Brother would not be allowed to face the cruelty of fighting against his Brethren by the enemy.

The tradition had been set down by Vulkan and it would continue forever more.

After Activation 0119 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 0080 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 093-3100 - 40k Universe

Maximusius crept along the gantries high above in the Manufactorum. His Power Armour having been switched instead for a set of Carapace Armour. While it was not as powerful, it was much more quiet. The Heresy Set that he usually wore making infiltration extremely difficult given the sound of its gears and movements. That and it weighed enough to make his footsteps extremely obvious, when infiltrating, after all, one needed to be able to be quiet.

To that end he was wearing some conforming footwear that allowed him to shift his foot as needed to distribute his weight across the soles evenly. No sudden movements, no sudden increases that would alert someone at the other end. There wasn't anyone on his integrated Auspex but relying on one's equipment could result in his death. No, he would be doing this quietly, better to be safe than to be dead.

One foot slowly crossed the other as he slowly made his way through the Manufactorum. The other Raven Guard that had come along were either waiting in the rendezvous area or in sub-orbit in Thunderhawks as reinforcements. The rest were infiltrating alongside Maximusius but along different vectors, they were here searching for a Mechanicus traitor. The exact details were unknown but the fact that some of the Servitors coming from this Manufactorum had collapsed and expired after being in close proximity to a Sojourner had rung some very loud alarm bells.

The risk that he could possibly infect other Mechanicus members had been too high to bring it to the attention of the Adeptus Mechanicus itself, better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Neither could the Inquisition march in and demand him to be extradited for trial, they needed clear proof, not supposition.

To that end the investigation had proceeded, led by the Sojourners and the Raven Guard, they would seek proof and attempt to uncover exactly what was happening. In this manner the investigation had made its way through the various products of the Manufactorum and found that a disturbing number of the Servitors had been tainted. Thankfully each had a tracking number and they could all be dealt with by a Sojourner detachment which made sure to destroy it soul and body. It had been caught early enough that they had been able to shut down the infection before it could spread.

The Servitors themselves were programmed to create sigils of Chaos wherever they were. These sigils would according to the Sojourners, draw in the emotions of those around them, particularly strong emotions. If enough Sigils were placed and enough emotion was drawn, then it would create a portal by which the forces of Chaos could invade the world.

The entire world had been scoured by both the Inquisition and the Sojourners, searching for the Sigils. It was due to luck they supposed that the Magos had not included pathway erasure logarithms in the Servitors cerebral-cortex. They had been able to track exactly where each had gone making the task one of extreme ease as opposed to extreme difficulty.

With the Servitors taken down as soon as they left the facility, they were free to begin formulating a plan to find the Magos and destroy him if it was indeed him that was creating the Servitors in the first place. The answer was unclear as the Magos had not left the Manufactorum since beyond the first time that one of the tainted servitors was created but rather holed himself up inside. A sign of guilt in anyone but an Adept of the Mechanicus, was nothing but an eccentricity or even normalcy, some Adepts never leaving the Manufactorums they had been assigned to.

So here Maximusius was now, infiltrating the facility in search of the Magos and any heretical engines. He had been here for nearly a week now, the facility itself being the size of a small city, housing millions. It was for that reason they could not afford to send in a kill team, the sheer size of the facility meaning that it would be impossible to find the Magos should he run. Given the age of the facility it was no doubt either that there were uncountable numbers of weapons from the Dark Age of Technology ready to destroy and mutilate all who might seek to breach its walls.

No, they would do this the hard and long but safe way.

And so Maximusius made his way over yet another warehouse with yet more boxes. The Auspex mounted on his waist as still and silent as it had been when he entered. The device being a Sojourner creation that could detect undulations in the Warp and direct the user to them. It was with this they were expected to seek and find the Magos yet so far there was nothing but silence. The facility seemingly being empty of heretical influence.

Indeed Maximusius couldn't even tell where the tainted servitors came from, they at the front gates of the Manufactorum in nondescript boxes to be shipped out but exactly where those boxes came from was a mystery. He gave a slight sigh as he continued to move along, this warehouse was a bust and it was time to move onto the next.

Another week later and Maximusius was just slightly closer to his goal. The device had detected Warp activity ahead, somewhere to the East of the core of the Manufactorum. He had called it in by setting a low-light flare on the top of the facility with a predetermined code before making his way back down.

From above the Thunderhawks would be ready to pounce in the event that the infiltrators were discovered before they could personally verify what was happening.

His Brothers on the ground would be able to detect the beacon that was placed alongside the flare, its regular pulses being a code that only the Raven Guard knew. They would know to head to a certain direction as per the Beacon and hopefully meet up with Maximusius before he entered what was likely a den of chaos. Not the most cheerful prospect but it could be worse… like… hmmm… not coming up with anything.

Still, he was Space Marine and he had a job to do.

Getting inside the den of defilement had been more difficult than he had expected mused Maximusius. The sentry Servitors as well as the various devices that no doubt would activate further devices, devices of an archeotech origin that soul eviscerate him in Power Armour let alone his Carapace Armour. No, Maximusius knew the tropes of this kind of situation and made very sure to crawl his way through the entrance. Each slow push forward with his knees, each slow movement of his arms, each shifting of his center of mass was preceded by minutes if not hours of probing.

Every nook and cranny of the passage had been looked over in excruciating detail, in order that he not overlook a crucial bit of information and doom himself to an ignoble death. No doubt any Space Marines of another chapter would have found themselves dead already, too impatient to do the work necessary. It felt like he was a Neophyte all over again. Not a bad feeling mind you, the tactile nature of the experience of being in Carapace Armour unmatched.

Sure Power Armour was more protective and increased one's strength, but it also cut the user off from the world, forced to rely on the autosensors from the in built Auspex. It was… detached. Impersonal and frankly not that great a feeling. But for the work they did it was necessary. The extra protection being vital when facing against Orks in hand to hand combat or navigating through the labyrinthine passageways of a Hiveworld, each step bringing one into a potential ambush.

It was for that reason that Maximusius and the other Raven Guard wore their Power Armour, despite the stifling of their senses.

It was for that reason that Maximusius was relishing the experience of being outside the Power Armour. Being able to feel every single thread that made up his fatigues. To see the individual motes of dust floating through the air. To touch and feel the plasteel of the gantry. So much he had been missing out on given back to him.

Maximusius took a moment to relish the feeling of being freed from the confines of the Power Armour and took a deep breath. He was on the other side of the passageway, deep in the Manufactorum in a passage or hallway that had very clearly seen better days. Its delipidated status showing that whatever was beyond this, was something that only a very select few knew about. Cleaning servitors not included.

He crept along the passage, his left hand distributing his weight as he shuffled along in a crawling motion. His right held a Stalker Pattern Bolt Pistol with an integrated silencer. Slightly larger than an ordinary Bolt Pistol, the Tizarn variant allowed for swift and silent death while also disguising the true nature of the weapon from prying eyes. A gift from Mitchellii that he cherished.

Maximusius continued his trek through what was an increasingly disturbing tableau of flesh and metal. If there was a question of of the Magos' loyalty before, it was being severely tested now. Only a blind and deaf Magos would be able to miss something of this magnitude inside their own Manufactorum. Then again they were Magos, more machine than man so they didn't even have that excuse.

Maximusius continued through the passageway, all the while keeping his senses on full alert. There was too much here for some of it not to be hostile. Undulating tendrils of flesh weaved their ways around the metal pipes in the upper corners. Down below there were stalagmites its of flesh and steel spiraling their way up to a nebulous point below the ceiling.

The ceiling itself was a mat of flesh, dripping something that was not quite blood, not quite holy transmission fluid… an abominable melding of both. The smell was foul and the sensation it evoked on the skin even more so. Maximusius reminded himself to book a mind scrubbing session when this was over.

As his fingers slowly submerged itself into some kind of mucus like fluid, he looked down and wished he hadn't. His hand had landed on an eyelid initially, only for it to open and reveal the massive eye the size of his head. An eye that tracked to his face and began to ooze… tears from ducts to the side. His hand being submerged to the wrist as he stared.

It stared back.

Maximusius was the first to turn away, a strange feeling of defeat permeated his body but he didn't dare think twice on it.

He increased his pace infinitesimally nonetheless.

The Magos was in the center of a vast cavern of steel, bone and flesh. All of it writhing to an unheard soundtrack as it pulsed in a rhythmic tune. Maximusius could only stare in disgust as he waited for his Brothers to arrive. How this managed to go unnoticed was beyond his comprehension.

As he waited, a Beacon had been placed on the wall behind, it's tiny feet digging into the flesh for a foothold. It would anchor itself and send a regular pulse back to the Strike Cruiser in orbit. Should the situation prove untenable, the pulse would change its rhythm and indicate that an orbital strike was necessary. The enemy below clearly being beyond what they could handle with Bolter and blade. They would perish as well of course, but it would be worth it. After all what Space Marine ever died of old age?

From across the way Maximusius spied more of his Brothers coming in, their bodies shrouded so that only a faint shimmering could be seen. Too small for others to see but for he who had trained with the the shimmer cloaks, it was enough to give them away.

There were now enough of them to begin the operation. The Magos was there and open… too open. No, it must be a decoy of some kind. Nobody could be stupid enough to wait in the center of a room of flesh. Then again he didn't know they were coming, their entrance had been silent.

…

Maybe they were too good and the Magos was actually there? Doing whatever he was with the body on the slab?

They waited further, another day of waiting.

…

He gave the signal and lowered his Stalker Bolter to aim at the Magos' center mass. The other Raven Guards did the same and when he gave the signal again, the soft coughs of the subsonic munitions sounded out. The sound absorbed by the flesh walls, not that it mattered as the Magos disintegrated into his component parts. Withered flesh joining fragments of his artificial body spraying throughout the cavern.

They waited with bated breath… waiting and ready for the real body to spring up and begin unleashing doom on them. Only for there to be nothing. Perhaps that had been the real one?

They waited some more.

After the 6th hour of the 6th day, Maximusius gave the signal to the cordon team to begin tightening in while the drop teams could begin securing the facility around the Beacon. A Sojourner would be on station to confirm that it was indeed the real body they killed before it would be declared safe.

From there the Mechanicus would be alerted and they would be allowed to clean their own facility.

Maximusius sighed, another day at work it seemed.