Into the wolf's jaws
Inefficiency. The most blatant victory of Entropy over Purpose, as Archmagos Pasqal Haneumann often put it.
The war council was supposed to be in progress. Magos Opticon-22 had arrived timely. As expected from a representative of the Cognisance Fleet. But the Space Wolves were missing. The current situation was analogous to an assembly line: the end product moved at the pace of the slowest output. And Space Marines were always the most inefficient part of these processes.
Low numbers. Slow to replicate. Resource intensive to maintain. Non-standard patterns for combat equipment. Dedicated production lines. Specialized machinery with high operative costs. Insignificant strategic value due to inherent military/political fragmentation: a Forge World could produce an equivalent force for a fraction of the cost.
Adeptus Astartes. What a waste of computational cycles.
"Unit Opticon-22. Status report."
"Unknown fleet approaching the rendezvous point, Archmagos. Identification protocols compliant with ID tags of known Astartes vessels. Sphere formation has been disengaged to grant passage to the incoming ships."
"Good. Once rendezvous has been accomplished, transmit the following order, then wait for further instructions. The message is as follows: the Cognisance Fleet is to return to its original sphere formation. End of message."
"Acknowledged. Propagation in progress."
Pasqal had barely resumed his calculations on the input to output ratio of the Space Marines, when Opticon-22 interrupted his ruminations by opening a communication channel on the local noosphere.
"Archmagos, status update from Vox Master Vigdis."
"Elaborate."
"Unit Beauty has been located in the lower levels, and is being escorted to the command bridge."
For once, Yrliet Lanaevyss was no longer the tallest being in the room.
That honor went to a mountain of muscles that was breathing hot air right upon the back of her neck. The Elantach's prized pet. Beauty, as the Faceless had named her. She had chosen well. For despite her untamed appearance, this Lacerax was a highly social companion.
A lesser being would have wavered at the thought of being in close proximity to such intimidating company, but Yrliet knew she was in no danger of harm. The beast considered her as a member of the Elantach's pack. Beauty would never attack her, unless she felt mistreated or threatened.
Not that there was no reason to be on edge, though. As soon as she had felt the smell of anticipation that lingered on the command bridge, instinct compelled Beauty to act in accordance with the strict rules of hierarchy. She briskly marched past the terrified officers, which scattered in fear of becoming her next meal, and sat at her master's side. Right where she belonged. Truly an incredibly intelligent animal.
The full retinue had already gathered around the Elantach well before then. With the recent arrival of the cultists of the Grand Diagram, the war council was almost complete. Only the Incarnations of Death were missing.
But not for long.
At first came the herald. "Men of the Expanse! Hear me! When the Master calls, His loyal Wolves answer! All hail Lord Thorbald Ironhide, of the blessed Adeptus Astartes!" he announced. "All hail His Angels of Death!" the crew answered duly. But a title makes not the man. The Elantach officially acknowledged the coming of his guest, and ordered the exchange of formal gifts. His task concluded, the herald bowed and stood aside.
Beauty grew more restless.
Then came the noise. Yrliet had become used to the noise. The ship was flooded by it. But there were rooms where, on a quiet day, there could still be silence. The command bridge was not one of those rooms. Yet even the usual cacophony had subsided, only to be replaced by alien thumps of heavy machinery. Rhythmic thumps. And they were getting closer.
When the doors opened, Beauty deafened half of the retinue in her roar of challenge at the interloper. But a temporary loss of hearing was a minor discomfort, when compared to the setback they were now facing. All their carefully crafted scenarios had just turned into stardust.
"Holy shit! And there's more like HIM?!"
The Faceless found herself unprepared. She could not have been. Her mask of bravado slipped. Behind it, there was only a woman. Alone. Afraid. She would have likely prostrated herself alongside the rest of the crew, had the Castigator not used his witchcraft to lock her into place.
An appropriate reaction, for Yrliet too had felt the chilling touch of the oldest emotion in the galaxy. Fear of Death, and of the promise of suffering beyond Death. Fear of daemons that walked on the mortal plane, but also left footprints beyond this realm. Fear the likes of which Yrliet had not felt since their miraculous escape from Commoragh.
The Castigator had been right in his assessment. These Incarnations of Death were truly beings that defied reason. But a daughter of Asuryan is more than a warrior. Yrliet did not kill just because she could. Her kin acknowledged war as a regrettable necessity, but also as the most demeaning craft one could practice.
In a sense, she pitied these giants bred only for murder. But she also doubted that they would return the favor.
Thorbald Ironhide entered the command bridge with all the eagerness of a man who'd rather be done with it already.
Yet, reluctant as he might have been, Thorbald had not come unprepared to the war council. From the top of his throne in the mead hall, he had listened to his thralls as they narrated the deeds of the other participants, some of which were already in front of him.
The latest scion of the Von Valancious dynasty. Calcazar's lapdog, Henrix van Calox. Abelard Werserian, an unremarkable man that he once met while Thorbald was exacting tribute from Kiava Gamma. Cassia Orselio, one of those mutants who could dunk their heads in the turbulent well of the Warp without drowning in it. Pasqal Haneumann, an infernal contraption who was said to speak with the voice of six or seven. Or something like that. Even his wisest savants couldn't make any sense of it.
Those were all the notables his thralls had told him about. As for the others...well, he had not yet met most of them, but he would be a fool to underestimate them.
Idira Tlass. A sorceress who had once come to bother him alongside Werserian. A second woman in power armor, with all the markings of a Sister of Battle belonging to an obscure Order. Yet another woman, this one with more jewels than guts. Henrix's concubine, Thorbald surmised, given how tightly she was clinging to his arm.
Then there were the domestic animals: beasts with an instinctual hatred of other apex predators, and whose aggressiveness was only tempered by the hand of a weak master that vaunted himself a Rogue Trader.
Exotic garb. Inhuman features. Unnaturally curvy weaponry that couldn't be wielded by human hands. Not a mutant. Something worse. A Xeno. And the other one. Flaring nostrils as large as his fist. Screeching talons that left deep marks on the metal floor. No outright aggression, but an unmistakable warning nonetheless: Thorbald had just trespassed into its territory. And he was not welcome. Fair enough, at least the Lacerax was being honest with her intentions.
The Space Marine concluded his threat assessment shortly after entering the bridge. Four humans with various degrees of augmentation. Three of those damned Warp-meddlers. One techno-sorcerer of some kind. An insidious alien known for being dangerously cunning, and an Eldar.
A colorful bunch indeed. All of them remarkably well armed, to boot. Reinforced armors. Concealed weapons inside jewelry. Liquid lightning that arched through Warp-tainted fingers. A tamed Lacerax, all too eager to pounce. What was this? A fool's attempt to perform some sort of intimidation tactics?
But above all: why were they looking at him as if he had just shat on a carpet?
"Oi! I sense hostility instead of deference!" Thorbald boomed "Von Valancius, what gives?"
"Ah, you must forgive my associates, Captain Ironhide." the Rogue Trader said, with a blatantly fake smile "Their only experience with ceramite clad giants was less that pleasurable."
Ah. Yes. The incident on Rykad Minoris. The presence of traitor Astartes was always a source of concern. And questions.
"Aye. I heard about Aurora. And that makes me wonder: how come that some sticks like you lot have managed to put down such a rabid dog?"
"Why, we used the same tactics as one would use against a dangerous predator!" Von Valancius answered cheerfully, as if that explained anything "He died simply because he was not as strong as he thought."
Figures. This pup got lucky once, and now he considered himself some sort of master tactician. Oh, well. With some fortune his arrogance was going to get him killed.
"That's it?" Thorbald asked, with a mixture of skepticism and suspicion in his voice "Some of those bastards are dangerous even for us, and you expect me to believe that you merrily strolled towards Aurora, met no opposition whatsoever, and offed him as if he were a lame cub?"
"I too was surprised at how quickly an arrogant Space Marine could be humbled! Despite an overwhelming first impression, when he came at us on our terms, he proved himself mostly fangless."
Wait. Was that a backhanded insult? To an Astarte? Did this man had a death wish?
"Perhaps he simply lacked the Allfather's blessing!"
"That much is certain. But even if he had brought more of his kin, I do not believe the end result would have been much different."
Liar. There's no way he hadn't had his ass handed to him by Aurora. And yet he survived. But how?
"Then you have never seen a true Space Marine in battle."
"I am certain he considered himself as such. But, you see, we did not kill him because we were stronger. In fact, we were counting on him being confident in his strength. Aurora waded through scores of my men because we were smart enough to not appear as an immediate threat. Dismissing seemingly irrelevant enemies in favor of the obvious targets is a dangerous assumption that kills men. Even ships, at times."
It was then that Thorbald connected the dots. Aurora had not been the only one to walk straight into a wolf's lair. He suddenly remembered an odd detail, which had seemed insignificant at the time. The Rogue Trader's flagship was encircled by a sphere of other ships, both from his dynasty, and from his Mechanicus allies. They had respectfully moved aside to let Thorbald's flotilla pass, but now that same circle had closed. And the Space Wolves were right in the middle of it.
Left with no other option, Thorbald pointed an accusatory finger at the Rogue Trader's chest, but refrained from touching the treacherous bastard who could kill his entire Company.
"You're a clever one."
"I'm glad we could come to an understanding. Now come, there's a war to be won."