Day 30


"Our world is besieged, but through my leadership, with the approval of the God-Emperor, He Who Rests On Terra, it shall be led out of the darkness and into His light! For too long, Monstrum has been afflicted with the disease of the unfaithful, those that would spurn the God-Emperor's gifts! Sons and Daughters of Monstrum, follow me and we shall cleanse our world of the xenos! The mutant! And the heretic!"

With that ending, the speech from Governor Selvik, broadcast over numerous vox-casters, came to an end. Corren cheered, like every other man that had been assembled outside the city's walls, in the ruined fields of broken Ork warmachines and rotting corpses. The stench was horrific and Corren had seen more than a few of the PDF assembled alongside the remaining regiments of Imperial Guard lose their breakfast from the stench alone.

It wasn't exactly the most scenic place to hear a speech or spend three hours standing at attention, but Corren and the rest of them didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. As the assembly dissolved, returning to the camps that had been set up, Corren found himself surrounded, not by enemies, but allies, though he might have preferred if it had been the former.

PDF troopers, six in total, blocked his path to his tent, though their intentions were anything but hostile. He'd seen the looks on their faces before, several times now, since the Imperial Guard had started to mingle more with Deimos' PDF. Unabashed admiration and even hero-worship. It wasn't because of any actions on his own part, though some had heard of his exploits in the battle, but because he was a Guardsman.

"You're corporal Corren, right?" The oldest looking of the PDF, a boy who couldn't be past seventeen, asked, openly staring at Corren's newly mechanical arm. "The one who killed the greenskin commander?"

"I didn't kill any commander," Corren replied, annoyed that that particular rumor hadn't been squashed already. Between him and the Inquisitor in full power armor, he knew who was more likely to have killed the beast, but for some reason people kept saying he either had more of a hand in it than he did, if not outright slain the beast in some kind of glorious duel. "But I am Corren."

The troopers whispered to one another excitedly, when one suddenly saluted and the other five followed suit. "Thank you for your service, sir!" The boy shouted, followed by a similar chorus of 'thank you' and 'its an honor'. Corren gave them a thin smile, but wasn't interested in dealing with the group, so he returned the salute, nodded, and then left, hoping to lie down after spending three hours standing straight.

And the little bastards followed.

He groaned inwardly and could see the looks on other Guardsmen, ranging from the sympathetic to amusement to scorn. The troopers behind him were blissfully unaware, instead focused on pestering him with as many questions as they could think of.

"Sir, what was the battle like?"

"Sir, how many greenskins did you kill?"

"Sir, is it true you beat a greenskin to death with your arm after it got cut off?"

"Intense, I don't remember the exact number, and what?" Corren glanced incredulously at the last trooper to speak, who rightfully looked embarrassed.

"I heard it from someone who-,"

"Heard it from someone else, right. Rumors," Corren shook his head slightly in exasperation. They passed by a tech-priest carrying a smoking censer and the troopers went quiet for a moment. Once the tech-priest was out of earshot, or at least what the troopers thought would be out of earshot, the first one spoke up again.

"I heard the Mechanicus leaders of all the hives are sending their own soldiers to join us," The boy said, perhaps thinking for some reason that the mentioning of rumors meant he should bring more up. "I've heard they have some kind of new weapon to beat the genestealers."

"I heard they're being sent by the Inquisition," Another trooper said, receiving an elbow from one of his fellows for bringing up the organization. "What? Everyone knows an Inquisitor is here."

"That doesn't mean you should go around talking about it, idiot!" The oldest hissed.

Corren wondered if they were right. He hadn't seen Belleric, the Tempestus Scion, since the awards ceremony held by the governor. If anyone knew the plans of an Inquisitor, it would be one of their personal guards, right?

"So, how many regiments from the other hives do you think will come?" Another trooper asked, as much to Corren as to the rest of the group. "Now that Selvik's put out the call?"

"He said ten from every hive, right?"

"Did he? I stopped paying attention after the first ten minutes."

Corren almost stumbled at that brazen admission of a lack of discipline from one of the troopers, who spoke as if it was a joke, let alone the snickers it elicited from the others. It hadn't been all that long ago that he'd been just a PDF trooper, but it was still surprising to hear something that would have had a commissar have him whipped for speaking.

"Do you really think the other hives will send that many?"

"Why not, Deimos is sending fifteen, plus the Guard!"

Corren was a little bit offended at that. The Guard were drawn from the best of almost every hive city on the planet, they weren't forces from Deimos. Corren himself was from Lamashtu originally and had served in its PDF for years before being selected to become a Guardsman.

"Do you think the Sisters will come back to help?"

"I doubt it, I heard they're busy with Janus."

"Malum's supposed to be sending regiments, right? Maybe a few Sisters will come as well!"

"I hear those Malumites are as tough as the Guard!"

The one who said that last bit received another elbow for his trouble about the comparison, but Corren was barely paying attention. He would be surprised if Malum sent anyone, given they were likely just as busy dealing with Janus as the Sisters were, if not more so. Personally, he thought it was a bad idea for any forces to be drawn from the south given it was their last bastion in that hemisphere, but he wasn't trained to disagree. Whether Malum's governor would willingly part with five million soldiers when he was beset on two sides by enemies was another story.

If every hive city sent their required regiments, they'd have at least fifty-five PDF regiments, plus the six Guard regiments still left. Over thirty million men, an unstoppable force…

Unless those PDF, like most of the regiments departing Deimos, were raw recruits like the one's currently following him like lost children. The guardsmen he'd served alongside were some of the most highly trained and best-equipped soldiers he'd ever met. And they'd been little more than fresh meat for the Ork hordes. While the greenskins were broken, he knew there were still pockets of them out there, in the wastes.

Heretics and mutants aside, at least the enemies they would be facing in the east would be regular humans, Corren assured himself.

"Sir, have you fought alongside any Malumites?" One of the troopers asked, breaking him from his thoughts. The other troopers all groaned.

"Hm? Yeah, a few," Corren replied.

"What are they like?" The boy asked.

"Uh, normal?" Corren answered, not sure how to respond. Plenty of the men in the Guard were originally from Malum. Corren hadn't noticed any differences. "Why?"

"Because they're incredible!" The trooper, who seemed even more energetic than the rest, nearly shouted. "They fought off an invasion by heretics and greenskins! They're retaking the south all on their own!"

One boy snorted at that. "Hardly on their own. They've got the Cleansing Rains."

"Okay, but they're still amazing!"

"Flin, you never shut up about them," Another trooper said. "I heard a bunch of Guardsmen got sent down to Malum a while back, before the greenskins came. Between the Hammer of the Imperium and the Sisters of Battle, do you really think Malum's PDF needs to do anything?"

"They're probably lazing around, letting the Sisters do all the heavy lifting," One trooper added.

Personally, Corren agreed more with this 'Flin' than the others. He'd also heard about a few battalions being sent to the hive city for mysterious reasons, supposedly it had been an order from the Inquisitor herself. However, he also knew that even if a regiment had been sent, the hive wouldn't have been able to withstand an attack even a fraction of the size of the greenskins that the Guard had fought outside Deimos.

The troopers chattered on about anything and everything and Corren was only barely aware of it. Once he reached his tent, they seemed to finally catch the hint and dispersed, letting him finally all but crumble onto his sleeping mat, his one organic hand massing his sore legs.

I see you have finished the armor.

Vidriov paused in his work, his mechadendrites whirring as they withdrew from the internals of one of many side projects he had begun.

"I am afraid not," Vidriov said, turning his gaze over to the armor.

The set of altered power armor now, at least, appeared like what he had seen from the vision granted to him by Tide and the Machine God, albeit with certain… changes. While the armor itself had been remolded to the shape of the 'Mjolnir' armor he had seen, something that had increased its flexibility albeit at the cost of some protection, the symbols were different from what had adorned either the vision he had seen or the original armor he had taken from the inquisitor.

Instead of green, the paint was Mechanicus red with silver trim. Even the visor's color had been altered to silver. Furthermore, whereas the original armor possessed many adornments, they had been dedicated to the Imperium and the God-Emperor. Purity seals, the Aquila, and other markings of that false religion. Those had been stripped away, their precious metals rendered into new markings. Now, the symbol of the Mechancius was emblazoned upon the Mjolnir armor's chestplate and shoulder pads, in honor of the Machine God that had granted him the vision. He'd made the alterations mostly for sheer practicality. The armor would be seen as far less out of place provided it was properly adorned.

"While it is structurally complete, it lacks many of the additional systems you told me true Mjolnir armor possessed," Vidriov said. "The refractor field is similar to the shields you described, but the device's reliability is not perfect, nor does it recharge very swiftly. Many of the systems are like this. It is a lesser armor than what it should be, held back by my limited knowledge."

Your knowledge is what produced such an incredible set of armor, in spite of the limitations placed upon you, Tide reassured him. The armor is beautiful work. One I hope to replicate in my foundries.

"It is beautiful," Vidriov agreed. If he still had lips, a small smile would have crossed his face. Throughout the process of crafting the power armor, he'd felt a sort of joy he'd thought had been lost to him. Some tech-priests saw emotions as weaknesses and, indeed, Vidriov saw the irrationality of those controlled by their emotions as weak as well. However, this had been a pure feeling, a simple pleasure found in the act of creation. He shook his head. "I know for certain this artifice could be improved, however."

All things can, Tide replied. But I don't think that's what you wish to say.

"I believe you should reach out to the rest of the Mechanicus on Monstrum," Vidriov stated. "Not only would you gain them as allies, they could also be set to work on developing and improving certain technologies as you have had me do."

I am disinclined towards doing so, Tide admitted. Not all would be as willing to work with me as you have.

"Many of my fellow priests are devout servants of the Machine God, as I am," Vidriov insisted. "They would recognize your holy aura, as I have."

I am not so certain about that.

"I am. They will follow you, if you only reach out your hand." Vidriov paused. "You possess great insight into the minds of those you have altered, no? I can only assume you foresaw how I would react when you reached out. Select those who you are certain would accept you. If possible, start with my subordinates, here in Deimos. I could use their aid in further refining the armor."

Tide was quiet for a time, considerate. Vidriov could almost feel the Machine God's agent weighing the choices, the potential benefits vs the costs.

Very well. I already know of several in your staff who have been altered who would be willing to join us. I shall bring them into the fold.

"This knowledge is most… concerning," Ahsael said, stroking his chin. He sat upon his throne, a rare moment of relaxation between his rituals. Despite his best efforts, he had gained no more answers from the Warp's denizens regarding the meaning about the number four. He was not sure if Uirus' most recent discovery had anything to do with it, but for such a strangeness to occur… "You are certain of what you saw?"

"It was with my own two eyes, brother," Uirus confirmed. "They may appear human, the forces that oppose us in Janus are anything but. I cannot say if all the Sororitas are the same, but I am certain Malum's PDF are all like the… things I witnessed."

"And you are certain these mutations did not originate from the Warp? That they were entirely material in nature?"

"I felt nothing from them, no trace of power, sorcerous or otherwise." Uirus paused. "As for if they are material… I cannot say for certain. The Ghoul Stars are a strange place. Much of what I once thought was true has been challenged since we came here."

"Indeed," Ahsael agreed.

"Could they be genestealers of a new breed?" Uirus posited. "Some kind of new infiltration unit?"

"That is one possibility," Ahsael confirmed. "But if such is the case, why did they rebuff the attacks of the genestealers in the East?"

"Perhaps to hide this new weapon of theirs," Uirus offered. "A deception. It seems to have worked on the Sororitas."

"Hm," Ahsael said nothing, steepling his fingers, eyes shut. What Uirus was saying could be the case… But this was outside the realm of anything the genestealer had ever done to Ahsael's knowledge. Perhaps they had a better chance of creating some weapon like this than the Orks or the Imperium did, but that didn't mean they had. In all his centuries serving Tzeentch, he had found the answers to such questions were rarely simple. "Were you discovered?"

"I don't believe so."

"Then we should operate on the belief that our foe is not aware we know of their true nature," Ahsael stated. "From what you have seen, they appear to have the ability to shift their forms with ease and great finesse. How far that ability goes is difficult to say, but I think you'll agree that our enemy is not fighting as hard as they otherwise could."

Uirus nodded grimly. "They've been pushing our forces in Janus back with each passing day, but I haven't received any reports indicating such oddness as I saw among our enemy's ranks. At most, I would say they fight about as well as Imperial Guardsmen, though I recall several reports that claim an almost suicidal fervor to them."

"I can certainly see why you would assume them to be so." Ahsael paused. "Tell me, did you notice any numerical signs from them?"

"The god numbers?" Uirus seemed surprised by the question. "I doubt it was a plot of Nurgle."

"I never said I thought so either," Ahsael replied. "Tell me, did you notice any?"

"Nothing comes to mind," Uirus shrugged. "Well, there was a moment that, I suppose, could indicate Khorne's involvement, but these hardly seem the type of followers he prefers."

"Explain." Ahsael's tone left no room for argument.

"In the service duct, I counted the battalion I'd followed had groups, the members of which all moved in lockstep with one another, I'd assumed it to be because each were under the control of a-."

"Your speculations are not relevant, tell me the number," Ahsael interrupted, his voice cold.

"Sixteen, two groups of eight. As I said, I doubt it has anything to do with Khorne, as I would expect eight groups of eight, not-,"

"It is not two groups of eight, Uirus," Ahsael interrupted again, quietly, a growing pit in his stomach. "It is four groups of four."

Uirus' head tilted in confusion. "That is not a number associated with any god."

"Not one we know the name of," Ahsael replied, rising from his seat and striding towards the antechamber where he'd delved into the Warp. "Leave me. Return to Janus, deal with this threat as best you can, but do not reveal what we have learned, not through words or through actions, do you understand?"

"Yes, brother, but-," Uirus turned to watch him go past. "What do you mean about a god we don't know the name of? What are you saying?"

Ahsael paused. He turned and looked back at his brother.

"I am saying we may have made a mistake in coming to the Ghoul Stars."

"How long has it been?"

Purilla turned, eyes wide, as Catherine Ellen sat up in her bed. She recovered quickly, answering. "This is the seventh day since the battle."

Ellen closed her eyes, her fists bundling up the sheets. She looked like she wanted to tear them apart.

She's angry. Not at you, at herself, Tide said.

"You… took care of me? Throughout that time?" Ellen asked, sounding almost surprised.

"It was my duty," Purilla lied, finding it surprisingly, almost sickeningly, easy to bow her head in deference again.

"… Indeed." Ellen said after a time. "It was your duty."

Ellen pulled away the blanket and sheet covering her, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. She didn't try to get up, just resting there.

"Do you require anything?" Purilla asked. Ellen looked at her strangely.

"How… how many died?" She asked. "I know it was close to half, but… do we have a number?"

"I… never asked," Purilla answered truthfully. Ellen stared down at the floor.

"I… need the room to myself," Ellen said. Purilla nodded and was about to turn and leave, when Tide's voice, more urgent than she'd ever heard from him before, spoke.

Do not leave.

It was a request, but one that sent a shiver down her spine for the implications. There was only one reason he would take that tone in this moment. She froze.

Ellen looked up at her, a hint of anger on her face, but mostly confusion. "I said leave."

"No."

"What?"

"I won't leave you."

Purilla reached out and brushed Ellen's mind and felt a burst of fury, but it was an empty rage born of practice rather than true emotion. She wasn't really angry, she'd just been taught to be angry in the face of insubordination, and now it seemed so… pointless. The anger died pitifully without fuel to burn and Ellen just gave a hollow laugh.

"So, I can't even control my own witch," Ellen said with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Ah, what a failure of an inquisitor I am."

"Inquisitor…" Purilla repeated the word. She walked over and took a seat next to Ellen, feeling the surprise as much as seeing it on her face with the audacious act. "Ellen, are you happy?"

Ellen stared at her as though she were an idiot. It was a pretty foolish question to ask, Purilla supposed.

"Let me rephrase," Purilla continued. "Have you ever been happy? As an Inquisitor, I mean?"

"What does that have to do with… anything?" Ellen asked, sounding more confused than she'd ever seen from the woman. She'd seen a lot of new sides to her former master in the last week.

"Everything," Purilla answered. She reached out to Tide and felt gentle approval. "Have you, ever, been truly happy as an inquisitor?"

"Happiness has no value to an inquisitor, we are content with our duty," Ellen said, but the words sounded more like they came from training rather than the heart.

"They teach much the same to psykers," Purilla nodded sadly. How many of her brothers and sisters were killing themselves slowly for the sake of an Imperium that cared nothing for them. "Our existence is seen as a vile wickedness, but also a necessary one. We are tools, to be used and discarded when no longer worth the risk of our existence. Inquisitors are much the same."

Had she said such words to the old Catherine Ellen, Purilla would have already had her head blown off by the Inquisitor's hellpistol. However, there was no hellpistol in this room, and this was not the old Ellen. Or, at least, Purilla hoped she wasn't.

"… What are you saying?" Ellen finally asked with weak suspicion.

"That we deserve more than what we're told to accept," Purilla replied and she saw the suspicion solidify into accusation.

"You're a heretic," Ellen said, more for her own benefit than Purilla's.

"Yes." Purilla nodded after a moment. "I suppose I am, even though I hold nothing but hatred and scorn for the machinations of Chaos."

It was a wonder that Ellen didn't attack her, weapon or no. A self-admitted heretic, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a member of the God-Emperor's Inquisition. She was quiet for a long time, before breaking her gaze away from Purilla and returning it to the floor. "Truly, no Inquisitor in the galaxy has performed worse in her duty than I. A traitor, right under my nose. A traitor who took care of me, while I wallowed in my own self-pity."

"You needed time," Purilla corrected. "You broke and you needed time to put yourself back together."

"A broken, worthless Inquisitor," Ellen said. "Kill me then, heretic, and be done with it."

"I'm not going to do that."

"You would be doing the Imperium a great service by doing so."

"I'm not inclined towards helping the Imperium anymore," Purilla said with a small, sad smile. "But that doesn't mean I'm an enemy of humanity. Or of you."

"You wish to corrupt me." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm sure the Inquisition would see it that way," Purilla said as she laid her back across the bed, staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped behind her head. It was a vulnerable position, but she had no fear. "Though, I guess I wouldn't be doing the corrupting."

"You have some daemon master, then?" Ellen asked, almost laughing. "Or perhaps a xenos?"

"Not sure what he is, but he's not anyone's master," Purilla said. "Would you like to meet him?"

"Why not!" Ellen said, suddenly springing to her feet, a look of hysteria on her face. Purilla leaned back up into a sitting position as Ellen turned to face her. "Why not indeed! I'm already an even greater heretic than you are through my actions, so why not meet this vile being! This lord of lords, this god of gods that has twisted your mind away from the glory of the God-Emperor!"

As you wish.

Ellen's entire body tensed and Purilla could feel the fear and shock that travelled through the woman's entire being as she felt something vaster than an ocean speak to her, not from outside her mind as a telepath might, but from within it. Under any defenses she might have constructed, behind any walls she had built, from the core of her own brain.

Hello, Catherine. This conversation is long overdue.