"So at last we come to my unfortunate conclusion. I have decided to do what has damned many of my predecessors, I will hereby disobey the rule of the inferior. For it is the will of the Machine God that we employ all facets of their creation, and it is the will of mortal fools that we ignore the majority of what was to be our next evolution. Our salvation from the mistakes of the Dark Age of Technology will come, I will be the herald of such evolutions. The Xenarites have begun to understand, yet they are not progressing fast enough."
From, De rebus machinis et xenaritis. Written by Archmagos Battista Albrecht Ghetaldi, 348.M36
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573.M40
Bustling streets broke apart like a sea for the passing march for a Planetary Defense Force, people were forced aside either by voices or by an impatient shove with the side of a lasgun. The crowd was assembled for an appearance from the governor, an event they were at minimum excited for just for the opportunity to get out of a shift at the factories or shipping yards. That was at least why Quill was so excited to be in the crowd. Though the majority were trying to get to the assembly point, Quill was going perpendicular to the crowd.
He coughed violently, which no one batted an eye at seeing as how it was more normal to die of lung damage than it was to die of old age. Though Quill took no comfort in that fact as he pulled his fist away from his mouth and saw it was coated in sickly viscous blood. Damned smog, he thought to himself. Damned mines, damned factory, damned planet. It wasn't enough that he was working himself to death, now he was breathing himself to death.
It would all be worth it, in the end, if he could just get past this congregation of thick headed morons clamoring to see a man too fat to see his own toes speak about how great he was. He'd snagged documents that would get him on board a transport to an agri-world. It would be grueling back breaking labor, but that's what he was used to. Clean air, now that's what he wanted. Of course, he could lie to himself that that was all he wanted but as he glanced aside and saw numerous gang members with rudimentary slug throwers he was quickly reminded of another impending threat to his life.
It was too late, into this maintenance hatch and he was officially out of there. He chuckled to himself, and coughed up some more blood. Which was a very rapid way to kill anyone's good mood, a worse way to kill anyone's good mood was running face first into the wall of muscle, scrap armor, and empty thoughts named "Klunk". Klunk grabbed Quill with both hands, and lifted him up. The Ogryn stared at Quill for a long while, likely trying to remember what Quill looked like… Or remember his name, or his orders, or to blink. Klunk blinked slowly, yes it was definitely him remembering to blink.
"Boss… Said grab… Tahr uh… uh…" Quill blinked.
"Tahr'kull?"
"Who?"
Quill sighed, he didn't bother to try and fight the Ogryn's grip. Throne, had he seen the giant idiot there he'd have been able to dodge around him or convince him that he was someone else. Anything other than run headlong into the blasted creature.
"Look, follow me very carefully. Ok, Klunk?"
Klunk nodded like he understood, he did… But only barely.
"Tell Cassian- still with me?" Klunk nodded again while a thin line of drool flowed from the corner of his mouth, "Tell Cassian that Quill is coming with his missing goods. Can you do that for me, Klunk? … You're Klunk, just to make sure you remember that."
Klunk thought really hard for several moments, too many moments. Quill could do nothing but look around awkwardly for any way out of this. Eventually recognition crossed the abhuman's face.
"You not try to trick Klunk! Klunk not dumb!"
"You managed a full sentence that time."
Klunk grunted angrily and began walking off with Quill still in tow. The smuggler could do nothing but sigh and try to enjoy the ride while ignoring the occasional coughing. Soon, he was carried into an unassuming ruin deep within a slum. The outside was normal looking but the inside was significantly better furnished than the rest of the hive city's buildings. It wasn't the Governor's palace, but it was nice. Two guards in flak gear and salvaged arbites shotguns stood guard and quickly waved the lumbering beast in.
Inside, Klunk unceremoniously slammed Quill into a chair before a desk. The impact was hard enough to likely bruise his tailbone. Across from him sat a man in foreman's gear, casually smoking a lho-stick, his gaze piercing through Quill's very soul. The silence was oppressive, and Quill cleared his throat, letting out an awkward chuckle to break the tension.
"Figured you'd uh… Be at the assembly, Cassian."
Cassian put a hand up, and turned to the side. "You lost the right to call me Cassian when you lost what wasn't yours to lose. That shipment was worth more than your life, and you got it confiscated by the PDF. For your sake, I hope you have enough on you to pay it back, Quill."
"Well, Cass-," Quill was interrupted not by sound but by Cassian glaring furiously at him, "Mr. Voltair, as it so happens I was actually on my way to a cache that another client left me. Got your repayment hidden there, in full with no delays."
Cassian was silent for a moment, and soon started laughing while snuffing out his lho-stick. As he started laughing, Klunk started laughing like an idiot. "See, Klunk? What did I tell you?!"
"Boss told Klunk, Tahr … uh… Skull was gonna pay or see the mines from that other side, what's not the outside but it's the uh… in…. Uh…"
"Inside." Cassian said.
"That boss. That."
"See, Quill?" Cassian leaned forward, "Things go so much easier when you work with me. That's how this works, you do the work befitting a lowly rat like you and I make sure you stay alive long enough to get a standard of living just a bit higher than the dregs around you. Klunk! Take him to this cache of his and take the boys outside with you, I want you to either come back with Quill's money or Quill's spine."
It was a slow walk, every once in a while Quill had to spend tens of minutes trying to explain to Klunk which way this mythical "West" was. A concept that was clearly only fit for the greatest scribes and scholars of holy terra if Klunk's difficulty with the idea was anything to go by. That was, contrary to how Quill felt every time he had to explain basic directions, the easy part. The hard part was approaching rapidly as they made a final turn down an alleyway. A disposal unit was there, and true to Quill's word a package full of Gelt sat hidden behind it.
He, of course, had no intentions of giving it to Klunk or the two guards or Cassian. He needed to pick it up before he departed on a shuttle anyways, all he had to do to get back on track was make his escape. Then, he felt a cough coming on. Normally this irritated him, but now it was going to give him an opportunity.
He stumbled, and began to cough up more blood. He held up a hand to Klunk and the guards, "Stay back! I'm contagious, better to not start a plague, right?"
The two guards looked at each other and took a step back, Klunk stared at him and scratched his balding head. "Klunk dunno what big word means."
Quill's coughing intensified, and he collapsed to his knees. 'Klunk, help me up.' The Ogryn nodded and approached, the guards either unconcerned about the risk of contagion or confident in Klunk's resilience.
"Psst… Hey… Klunk," Quill whispered, "Gotta tell you a secret."
"No secrets, no tricks, boss said Quill bad man." For some reason, Klunk was whispering just like Quill but it was completely unnecessary.
"If I were a bad man, would I have brought you here without even trying to trick you?" Klunk stared vacantly for several seconds, "Think really hard Klunk. A bad man would try to trick you, but you're too smart for that. It didn't work the first time, would it work the second time?" Again, Klunk kept staring at him trying desperately to reach a conclusion beyond two words.
"Alright Klunk, I didn't want to say this with those two standing there but … The reason I hid the money here is I heard them talking about making off with this cache for themselves."
"You did?" Klunk asked, and Quill nodded.
"If I'm a bad man, like the boss said, then I know other bad men. It's only rational… You get them, I'll get the cache and you can take it back to Cassian."
Realization slowly crossed Klunk's face, and he nodded. The Ogryn bellowed furiously at the guards, who were caught off guard by a wall of pure muscle and no brains charging at them screaming how they were bad men. One of the guards was slammed against a wall by a backhanded swing, the other guard backstepped the next swing.
"You lumbering idiot, look!" The guard pointed at the nearest turn, which Klunk turned towards just in time to see Quill sprinting away.
"Uh oh… Boss not gonna be happy…"
"Get him you giant moron!" While the guard helped his partner to their feet and found their weapons, Klunk took off after Quill. The Ogryn wasn't exactly fast, but Quill was suffering from very rapidly approaching lung failure. Every time Quill made any actual distance, he ended up leaning against a wall hacking up his lungs and leaking blood from the corner of his mouth. His condition was worsening faster than he thought, and this desperate chase wasn't helping. To make his situation worse, he heard two more armored sets of footsteps join Klunk's lumbering charge. Those two would be much faster than him, he had to find somewhere to hide or go somewhere they wouldn't go. He burst through a maintenance hatch back to the streets, and took off for the first building he saw. Unfortunately, it was a forge temple.
Quill desperately ran down the walkway, passing servitors and beating grinding machines belching black smog into the air. He glanced backwards and the three were still pursuing him, but they weren't shooting. Initially he suspected they wanted him alive so he could show them where some nonexistent cache of gelt was, but seeing the servo skulls hovering above watching them made him second guess his assessment.
He forced open the grand doors to the antechamber and slammed them shut with all his might. Pain shot through his arms as the heat of the metal door seared his skin, leaving angry red burns from his wrists to the sleeves of his worn-out uniform. He swore loudly for a solid minute at the immense pain before it began to fade.
"Throne damn it all to the warp! Right… Now to find some sorta rear exit."
Outside, the guards looked at Klunk and attempted at minimum to shove him towards the doors. "You let him get away, you go in there and get him!" Klunk rapidly shook his head, and looked to be on the verge of tears. "Nuh uh, the nice man in the Empruh's temple said not to go here. Klunk don't like the fiery smokey cog place."
Exasperated, one of the guards motioned for their partner to go in instead. They immediately shook their head and stood back, "Throne no! I'm not setting foot in a hive of Cog Worshipper freaks! Klunk, you go search the area below for the payment. We'll stay here and catch Tahr'kull." Klunk eagerly nodded and sprinted away from the forge temple as fast as his lumbering legs could carry him.
Inside, Quill looked around for anything recognizable. Every sign was a mess of code, ones and zeroes, and an unreadable language that was somewhat similar to Low Gothic but just different enough to be incomprehensible. As he searched, a pair of blue lenses pierced a shadowy corridor to his immediate left, Quill was barely able to utter the word "shite" before he was leapt upon by two other Skitarii that he hadn't seen creeping up on him. For the life of him, he never did figure out how those cyborgs moved so quietly.
They seemed to be shouting orders at him, or threats he couldn't actually tell what they were saying. He did know their tone seemed furious, he could guess why but he hadn't done anything. Right? They seemed to disagree, as one of them raised a glowing rectangular pistol arcing with electricity to his face. Many would cower in the face of death, and a few months earlier Quill would have as well. But being told you were going to die drowning in diseased lung fluid within a year gave one a lot of time to come to terms with dying. So he simply closed his eyes.
A shrieking binharic voice cut through the idle sounds of rhythmic Omnissian hymns, buzzing machines, and a charging Arc Pistol.
"Release him!" A robed figure said harshly from behind the Skitarii. Immediately, almost like automata, they let go and fell into a line standing at attention. The Magos walked forward, accompanied by two Servo-skulls. Quill recognized one of them as having Metal stained black, an arc welding claw, and gold decorations. The same one he saw outside.
"Defaulting to inferior data transference methodology. I am Archmagos Anaxagoras Kai'sothus, you are intruding on the territory of the Adeptus Mechanicus. If your causation does not meet my expectations or standards there will be retribution for this transgression."
Quill got back to his feet, "Sorry about that, Magos. See, I was uh… Running from some bad sorts and-"
"They are dead."
"Wait, all of them? Already?"
Anaxagoras shook his head, "No. The Ogryn left the temple grounds and is therefore no longer our concern. I imagine the inferior being will forget why he was here or that he was here."
"Well I uh," Quill looked around awkwardly, "I guess I'll be leaving. Again, Throne knows I meant nothing by it." Quill tried to sound genuine, but it was hard to do when he was still suffering from coughing attacks. One of the Servo-skulls got face to face with him, and scanned the smuggler.
"Designation. The Menial is called Quill Tahr'kull. Wanted by Arbites forces. Smuggler. Evasion of arrest on three worlds." Quill stared at the skull for a moment, and broke to run again but was cut off by a particularly bad bout of coughing. Leaving him doubled over on the ground. Anaxagoras approached, looking him over.
"You are dying, menial."
"Yes, someone beat you to that conclusion."
"All baseline humans are, at various rates. I pity you, suffering from the failures of the flesh." Quill stabilized himself and sat up with his back to a pillar of copper. It was likely a very bad idea given how pervasive the static was here. Even he could feel it, and he had no idea how intense it got when there were more of these cyborgs around.
"Guess that's it then. Thought I had a few more months." Anaxagoras sat on a pew in front of Quill, setting his axe aside. "So often, my kind forget who and what we were. In our interactions with each other, this is fine. We who try to be as the machine are used to it, you are fortunate."
"Yeah? The fact it's painful and difficult to breathe right now says otherwise."
"Fortunate to encounter me and not one of my less human brethren." Anaxagoras pointed a metal finger at a small spatter of blood beside Quill. "Does it not prove we are right? Your current affliction."
"I don't follow," Quill said, "I know you cog boys die too, the Astartes die, the arbites die, the miners die, the underworld criminals die. Fact of life."
"Incorrect statement, it is the end of life. Such a foregone conclusion defies available data. You are no more than three decades of age," Anaxagoras leaned forward, and Quill could swear there was an element of enthusiasm behind his almost entirely augmented face. "I am beyond two millennia." Quill struggled to sit up a bit straighter and forced a laugh, accompanied by a small spew of the infectious sickly exudate currently filling his lungs.
"I hope you won't servitorize me for saying this, Magos… But that's bollocks." Anaxagoras sat back, and motioned with his hand for Quill to explain himself.
"Over two-thousand years old? That's absurd. Even for the Mechanicus."
"Alternative proposition, perhaps I'm just very good at what I do."
"That being what, exactly?"
Anaxagoras stood, and retrieved his power axe with a servo arm. "I wander the stars, I stand at the head of a fleet of hunters and scholars. We seek the secrets of our heritage as members of mankind. And, though it draws much ire from other archmagi, I collect doomed souls with potential that would be wasted by the festering rot of decay."
"Yeah? Well, sorry to waste your time but some backwater smuggler's not someone you want."
"Present baseline human outran two stimmed guards with stolen arbites gear and an Ogryn. While dying. Analysis of that data proves at minimum your spirit is strong enough to deny death as long as possible. The Omnissiah gifts some people with exceptional souls, souls strong enough to become one with the machine. Stand."
Quill looked confused, but the priest just stared at him. Waiting. So Quill shakily forced himself up, he felt faint.
"Follow." The tech-priest ordered.
"Where are we going?"
Anaxagoras led Quill further into the Forge Temple, "We have much to discuss, in service to the Omnissiah will you find your salvation and in that salvation will we save you from the festering decay that dwells within all humans."
"You can save me? Wait, you can cure me?!"
"Your lungs fail you, what we provide will be superior in all aspects."
"... What's the catch?"
"A question to be answered later, first you must be stabilized and saved from your death that will occur in twenty-one minutes, fifteen seconds, and thirty-two microseconds. Per my most rapid calculations and analysis. Once that is done, I would like you to meet someone visiting this temple while my fleet is replenishing our base necessities. Archmagos Ghetaldi's emotions vaults will likely return humor at this whole situation."
027.M42
A guard in black robes with blood crimson and very faded cog pattern trim patrolled a catwalk overseeing a factory. Heat from the forge's fires were the closest thing to life this planet held, a thrumming heartbeat just like that of the forge temples of their loyalist brethren. Arrogant fools they were, they believed themselves to be the sole inheritors of the will of the Omnissiah. How could they not see the being they worshipped as the Machine God's flesh form was a rotting carcass on life support? They knew the truth here, the gods of the warp were heretical monsters all the same, but the Emperor was a false god not worthy of the worship the Adpetus Mechanicus lauded him with.
Here, they were neither Dark Mechanicum nor Adeptus Mechanicus. They were an ancient body, the last remnants of the true children of the Omnissiah. They were the Cult Mechanicum, and their master's plans were coming to quick fruition. Centuries of planning culminated here, though oddly every time this Skitarius tried to think of what that plan even was, the memory seemed to be a blank spot in his mind. He was sure there was a plan, he just couldn't remember what the plan was.
He'd followed his programming, executing those of the Dark Mechanicum that would follow chaos over his master, splinter the Alpha Legion, bring Deception's Venom here, and await the arrival of the other half of their infiltration group. But why did they need Deception's Venom? Come to think of it, why did they need loyalist Mechanicus here? They had the witch, they had the sorcerer, the rest would be carcasses soon and they likely could have taken them aboard Obsidian Whisper instead of bringing an entire warband down upon them.
As he was about to turn, a taser goad's bar fell across his neck and yanked him backward with a fierce grip. There was no attempt at strangulation; the snap of his neck was swift and final. For good measure, Vetra electrocuted the body just to be certain the enemy Skitarius was truly dead. The small group passed over the body with little care for what they'd just done. For all Epsilon's ground team knew, this was a Dark Mechanicum stronghold and everyone here was a traitor.
"Arrival at next dataport imminent, High Marshal."
"Good," Epsilon said curtly, "I feel something is not right here. This is too easy, all we've faced for resistance is a few scattered guards and the fight in the repair bay, where is the supposed surveillance Magos Tahr'kull warned us of?"
"Axiom of old terra comes to mind," Vetra said robotically as she interfaced with the dataport, "Dataset partial, failure to recall to memory. Recollection retains something about horses and their mouths."
"I know the saying. However, it is best we remain cautious and expect the worst." Vetra sent an acknowledgement code and pulled her dataspike back, "Two more, High Marshal. I would prefer to finish this mission quickly, I share your concerns that this has been too easy as of late." Around when she finished her sentence, the catwalk shifted with a creaking metal groan. A yawning whine, then a snap, then two more snaps. The platform pitched down, making them all fall off balance slightly. Epsilon's gaze fell upon the cables holding up the elevated platform, the cables were fraying.
"This platform will collapse under the weight of six Skitarii any second now. Do not move." The other fives' minds were all locked to his machine commands, and their muscles froze. Epsilon's servo skull flew to the cables where they were weakest and sent chittering signals back to the Marshal. Lines and beads of data entered his vision, the cables showed no signs of aging. No wear and no reason they would snap randomly, if anything they were actively kept in good condition to provide easy access to larger siege automata.
A shadow dashed out of Epsilon's view, a figure in black with gleaming augmetics and two antique servo-skulls accompanying them. They were out of sight in the blink of the eyes, if he could blink rather. The figure leapt up into the shadows of the cavernous ceiling above them, then as they fell they twisted in the air. In one fluid motion, they landed without even shaking the unstable platform.
Epsilon had no idea what or who this was, and with no active Noospheric link to Magos Ceth at that moment he had no one to search their databases. He attempted to scan her, and at that exact moment his ocular augmetics were shorted out, sending glitches through his vision and pain responses through his nervous system. His mind was hit with a wave of hostile kill codes, he attempted to swing out with his Relic Blade but the figure slammed her foot into the catwalk and threw him off balance again.
Epsilon was certain, she'd sabotaged this platform to gain an obvious advantage over them. His vision was blurred, but returning just in time to see her approach with a retractable blade emerging from her wrist. He began to lash out with his blade again, and she stomped to shake the platform. But this time, Epsilon stabilized his leg augmetics. While depending on his enhanced computerized mind, he drew his mechanicus pistol. In an instant the calculations for a perfect shot were performed, and his arm moved independent of his will. Sending a shot through another cable, but not the weakest one.
The catwalk groaned and swung out, the weaker cables snapped and sent them hurtling to the ground below. For baseline humans, it may have proved deadly, the Skitarii meanwhile hit the ground with varying timing. Echoing metal clanging bounced around the walls of the dimly lit manufactorum. Driven forward by their augmented bodies, the Skitarii were up in moments. Fast enough to see the figure pursuing them leap down at them. A single command hit the squad, as they aimed weapons and fired. Their shots were slightly off, their targeting systems were being diverted by an invisible force of immense disruption. Epsilon watched their shots as the figure strode forward, uncaring about the hail of energy weapon fire being thrown at them. She was sure of her absolute safety.
Until Epsilon altered their targeting parameters by a few degrees, then a shot flew a bit too close for comfort. That minor distraction was enough for the melta Skitarii to land a shot on the assassin. Her movements were as fast as electricity and the melta did little more than score her Synskin, though it was enough to get her to back off and reassess the group. She glanced backwards, and all but vanished back into the shadows of this seemingly abandoned section of the Manufactorum. The Skitarii didn't have time to relax yet, the sounds of approaching machines meant there was more danger at hand.
Epsilon wasn't sure he wanted to find out what was making those sounds, much less the sounds of furiously arcing energy saws, so he sent a full retreat order and they sprinted back into the dark hallways. Behind them in the room they just ran from, a thin wall was turned to rubble before the crushing weight of two Castellax. Energized blades spinning and thirsting to tear apart their new designated targets. The automata stomped forwards by the orders of The Noospheric Gheist and authority of their lord. The intruders would be destroyed.
Epsilon continued sprinting until the sound could no longer reach them. They took cover and held sentry positions at the end of a narrow hallway, expecting at any point to see more attackers coming for them. But none came, unknown to them The Infocyte had decided to retreat and analyze the bizarre Skitarii Marshal.
"Squad. Damage reports, send diagnostics." One by one signals came in, nothing major but a couple Skitarii had minor structural damage to their upper bodies, Vetra was worse off. Her surgery was too fresh, and the surgical bays of Praeco Voltaic weren't able to speed up a body's natural acclimation to new augmetics. She was dealing with numerous malfunctions, some internal bleeding, and a few broken bones. Those were all fixable, if they were back on the ship.
"Alpha Unit, request for estimated combat efficiency."
"Combat efficiency at Sixty-two point Four percent, High Marshal. Combat efficiency is dropping slowly, further damage will cause additional loss of efficiency."
"Mission status is halfway complete, we have to push forward and complete our objective. I will attempt to hail the Magos Manipulus." Desperate Noospheric emissions returned to Magos Ceth, it took a while but eventually there was a response. It was abnormally distressed, distracted and nowhere near the same level of focus Arkhite Ceth normally held.
"Receiving your signal, High Marshal. I must apologize for my absence, the situation with Magos Van'thauss has me… Distracted, it is unbecoming of me."
"Mission complications have arisen here as well, an unknown assailant attacked us and has set automata after us. We do not know what they are, it appears to be a human woman with ample augmetics and disruptor fields. Uploading data to you now."
"Receiving now. I… Oh, Ave Deus Mechanicus. That is a member of the Assassinorum! Not one of the more common varieties, though common in terms of the Assassinorum is still rare, this is a member of the Vanus Temple."
"Why would one of their kind attack us?"
"That is what we must answer, if we can't your mission will be significantly more difficult. I think the situation has progressed to a point where we must establish a foothold on the planet sooner rather than later. I will discuss the next steps with Magos Tahr'kull, I will have to leave you on your own once more. Do be careful down there, may the blessed machines guide you to deliverance."
The Noospheric link ended, Epsilon had to look over the next target's location. Looked to be in a room next to a sanctum, in the Forge Temple. That was easy enough to get to, and provided enough side pathways to keep them hidden.
"Vetra, do you believe you can continue?"
"Affirmative, High Marshal. These minor injuries will not stop me."
Epsilon nodded and they began the journey again, through winding hallways full of the corpses of once vibrant machines. They'd been deactivated for centuries it seemed, the Dark Mechanicum were either new to this world, or they hadn't bothered to do anything here. Either way, Epsilon made a note of it as a potential infiltration point, possibly worth boring in with drill servitors later.
His thoughts were interrupted by a growing sound of chanting in binharic, but it was off. Subtly, the machine language was twisted and perverted into something horrible. Something that made his head hurt, he could tell by their noospheric emissions it made the others uncomfortable as well. The squad crept up to a wall overlooking the main temple chamber. Heretek littered the room, glowing experiments of wretched twisted science and warpcraft marred these robed heathens' bodies. A far cry from the clean and precise augmetics of the cohort.
Among these chanting traitors, were unaugmented humans holding icons of devotion to the Dark Gods. Icons that the Dark Mechanicum was busy burning in a ritualistic manner. Odd, Epsilon thought, wouldn't this make the Dark Gods less likely to favor the hereteks? For all his knowledge and access to the Mechanicus databanks, he was woefully unaware of how heretical rituals normally went. His preference was to murder heretics, though he couldn't place his finger on why seeing these rituals overloaded his emotion vaults with unending hatred.
"High Marshal," Vetra asked in a binharic whisper, "Requesting next directives." Epsilon was about to respond when he felt Ceth's noospheric link reestablished itself.
"Well, this is certainly not what I anticipated. Though I cannot be too surprised." Magos Ceth said as he viewed the scene through Vetra's eyes. Vetra's motions were mechanical, robotic, indicative of the overrides being used to house the consciousness of the Manipulus. Vetra's actions were not her own, but instead his as Ceth crept up to the wall and peered over through her.
"It is written that one of the great charges of ours is to destroy those that would pervert the gifts of the Machine God. We must take swift action, but not careless action."
"What did the Magos Dominus say about establishing a foothold on the planet's surface?"
"Magos Tahr'kull believes we need more intel before we send any significant force down. If we are improperly prepared, any counterattacks would be disastrous for our forces."
"I cannot refute the logic of that statement, but we are being pursued still. We will need additional assistance and oversight to complete the mission. How are things back on board?"
"Questionable, there are numerous problems we must face now. Magos Tahr'kull is handling the hunt for our intruders, but I fear traitors are in our midst still. I must check on Magos Van'thauss soon but I have calculated the optimal route that will keep you hidden the best."
Epsilon reviewed the inloaded data, and prepared to move on until the cultists below them shifted. They all moved to preset positions, acting like normal Skitarii or servitors more than a group of cultists with no direction. They stood like a procession, their voices going from chaotic rabble to harmonious binharic song much like that of the cohort itself. Four servo-automata of ancient make entered from a room in the back, and following them was a tech-priest in black robes with blood red trim. He held an older style of Omnissian power axe and a long mechanical apparatus protruded from their obscured face, appearing like a beard of linked machinery. He was a hunched figure, and appeared to be mostly machinery with little left of his flesh body.
Green glowing eyes peered from out of their sunken sockets, but there was little else visible of their face. A half cog emblem in gold was affixed to the top of their hood. An antiquated symbol of the old Mechanicum.
Vetra's body was released from the override and she sank down to a crouch, "Magos, request for information, noospheric emissions appear distressed."
"It… It can't be…" Magos Ceth said, and Epsilon saw that Vetra was right. These data threads were nothing like the usually pristine and precise Arkhite Ceth.
"It cannot be what? Magos." Epsilon asked.
"That tech-priest… It's… It's Archmagos Battista Ghetaldi."