"It is a strange thing to know that my father is not human..."

"My suspicions began very early, when I was but a child, short and little; I saw my father easily lifting things that should've been physically impossible for any human – enhanced or otherwise. I saw him lift boulders the size of hills and mountains, and break iron stone with his bare hands as though it was nothing, as though the hardest geological material did not at all matter to him. I believe my father did not try to hide it from me then, because he thought that I was just an infant, incapable of properly perceiving, understanding, and remembering the world around me. He was wrong."

Jadan raised a brow.

What?

Lift boulders the size of hills? How was such a thing even possible? It was almost too fantastical, but then why would High Chancellor Argall lie about such a thing? What would he gain from such outlandish claims? The answer was, well, nothing. First and foremost, this was a classified file, one that no one else had ever bothered reviewing, it seemed. Secondly, well... High Chancellor Argall was already the most powerful man in the Hyperborean Collective; there was nothing to gain from spinning an outlandish tale about his childhood or about his father. Therefore, the only conclusion she could possibly reach was that High Chancellor Argall was, in fact, not lying.

"I looked, I listened, and I remembered. Mother had him build our garden, using solid blocks of marble, each weighing several tons. Father did so without breaking a sweat, without a single hint of effort. He even made it look beautiful, just for her; they painted the rocks together – mother used tools and father used his finger. I, perhaps, could've done the same, but with great difficulty. Mother knew his secret, of course. She was the only one he told – at the time. My sister held no doubts or suspicions. And then, I saw my father fly. Unassisted. Even now, I struggle to make sense of it. How did he fly? What were the mechanics of his flight? He'd worn nothing more than a shirt and a pair of pants at the time; so, it could not have been technology. Father was flying when he first found me in that metal capsule; he'd flown through a mountain, through solid rock, to pull me from beneath the soil."

That would've been interesting to see, Jadan mused. As far as she was aware, the only way to achieve flight without technology was through the use of psychic abilities, which High Chancellor Argall surely would've recognized in his father if-

Jadan's eyes narrowed. But he would not have recognized it, would he? His superhuman genetic modification killed any chance of psykers being born. Not a single person within the Hyperborean Collective, save perhaps the nomads who roamed the open steppes, had the slightest chance at developing psychic abilities. Jadan wasn't sure how she felt about that, considering such knowledge was discovered not by Hyperborean Scientists, but by her people, in the early days since their induction into the Hyperborean Collective. Argall's genetic modification made it so that anyone he modified would have zero chance of becoming psychic or developing any form of psychic ability, which is rare enough as it is. No wonder Argall hadn't thought of it with regards to his father; he was probably not even aware of its existence.

She definitely wasn't sure of that. Her people were generally distrustful of psychic powers and the Volimar Republic, more often than not, sought to keep these psychics away from the general populace, simply due to the danger they posed to every single person around them, which most often included themselves. Of course, only the lesser psychics were captured. The really powerful ones were too dangerous and, more often than not, High Command had them killed. Their families, assuming they had any, would be compensated, of course.

Jadan herself hated it, but there was no denying its necessity.

The Hyperborean Collective would never have to suffer through psychic outbreaks or whatever arcane phenomena her people suffered through. Good. The galaxy was better off without psychics.

She continued the clip.

"When I grew old enough to appear identical to a human toddler, certainly old enough – in my father's eyes, at least – to perceive and remember the world around me, he stopped displaying his power. He steered clear of danger, of dangerous things. It was only when the Rangdan invaded our world and... only when my mother died that my father finally revealed his true powers once more. He called himself a Viltrumite, a race of warriors from the world of Viltrum. My father claimed that all the members of his race were much like himself, capable of inhuman feats of strength. We hadn't the time to speak of it much."

Jadan's eyes widened. A whole race of... entities like Argall's adoptive father... such a thing was terrifying to imagine. They've must've been hailed and worshiped as a race of living gods if

"Many do not know this and many more assume that it was the work of the Necrons, the Iron Men, but no... that night... it was my father – and my father alone – who destroyed the Rangdan Fleet that would've shattered our world into ruin. I'm still not entirely sure how he did such a thing. The Necron Cryptek, Lord Jzan, claimed that my father flew through the fleet and destroyed all their ships, but I struggle to comprehend such a thing."

Oh, she remembered this bit about Hyperborean history, where they awakened the "Iron Men" from their slumber in a desperate move to save themselves. "Necron Cryptek" was the first she'd ever heard of these supposed race of sapient machines. Lord Jzan... interesting. She would've loved to learn more of these Iron Men, who slumbered beneath the planet but any information on them was kept under lock and key, and High Chancellor Argall alone held the key.

It was a mystery, to be sure, but Jadan had long since learned to not question the reasoning of her superiors – at least, not too much. After all, some things were better left buried and forgotten. Such things were to be expected.

High Chancellor Argall's eyes grew sad for a moment as he looked away, the video feed briefly buffering, before it continued. "That night, my father left our world to pursue the Rangdan to... wherever it is those creatures made their nests. He pursued them to avenge my mother and to keep our people safe. It has been... several decades since he disappeared. I know my father is alive. I can feel his presence still lingering about in the galaxy. He is alive and I know it. I assume it is a simple matter of time dilation, but it could be any number of possibilities. My sister still holds out hope that our father will return to us, one day. But, I hope he returns soon, for her sake; unlike me, my sister is aging like an overripe fruit- hey, I'm recording here, you raisin!"

The recording ended with Lady Syreen, a remnant of the Old World and High Chancellor Argall's sister, appearing on screen and shutting down the video. Jadan chuckled and shook her head. But her amusement quickly faded, replaced by... something akin to confusion. So, the High Chancellor's adoptive father was... some kind of human-like alien. No odd physical descriptions were given, which meant that – for all intents and purposes – Argall's father looked identical to a human being, which was both interesting and worrying.

Jadan shook her head, ending the video feed. There was nothing more to see and, if she was being honest with herself, nothing more to learn. It was... interesting, however. All things considered, there were... plenty of revelations there and Jadan found herself at a loss for what to think or believe.

And then, just like that, their leisure time was over and the council was reconvened.

High Chancellor Argall was there, this time, likely because he wished to examine the effectiveness of the Hyperions, his personal project. Before them was a large screen, which relayed real-time data from the Hyperions themselves. The council members all sat and watched.

Twenty of the superhuman warriors were sent aboard a stealth ship – not heavily-armed or powered, like the other Hyperborean Vessels, but certainly capable of punching far above its weight class, due to the exotic light weapon it made use of.

Jadan breathed in.

The darkness was suffocating, a thick blanket of shadow that seemed to swallow the corridors whole. The emergency lights, barely functional, cast flickering, weak red glows that did nothing to dispel the overwhelming blackness. Junior Researcher Rosen Harthland, apprentice to Doctor Helmut of the Imperial Science Division, pressed herself against the cold metal wall, her breathing shallow, trying to steady the frantic beating of her heart. She was alone now. Everyone else had been taken. She didn't know how many there were, but the whispers in the dark, the low hum of distant machinery, and the soft, almost inaudible footsteps told her that the monsters were still hunting.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the terror gnawing at her insides. Rosen had always been a rational person, a scientist who dealt in data, facts, and calculations. But this… this was beyond anything she'd ever known. The monsters had cut the power, plunging the entire vessel into this oppressive darkness. They moved like wraiths, shadows within shadows, unseen but ever-present. She had heard the others screaming, their pleas for mercy cut short by something far too swift and brutal to comprehend.

A cold sweat dripped down her brow as she gripped the small, outdated plasma pistol she'd found in one of the maintenance lockers. It was all she had, and she knew it wouldn't be enough. The weapon felt heavy in her hand, a false sense of security that did nothing to calm her nerves. She had seen what they were capable of through the surveillance feed before it had gone dark, watched in horror as they tore through the ship's defenses with almost mechanical precision, incapacitated their accompanying Astartes with laughable ease, and then moved onward.

Her mind raced, trying to think, trying to plan. She couldn't stay here; they would find her eventually. But where could she go? The corridors all led to dead ends, blocked off by heavy bulkheads or other security measures she could no longer override. Every step she took could be her last, every corner she turned could reveal one of them, waiting in the shadows.

The faint sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the corridor, a distant noise that sent a jolt of fear through her. They were close. Too close. She needed to move. Now.

Rosen forced herself away from the wall, her movements slow, deliberate, trying not to make any noise. Each step was agony, the fear of being heard, of being caught, twisting her insides. She couldn't go far, not with the entire ship locked down, but maybe… just maybe, she could find a place to hide, to wait them out until… until what? Until they decided to leave? Or until she died of dehydration, alone in the dark?

She pushed the thought from her mind, focusing instead on survival. She turned a corner, her eyes straining to see through the gloom. There, at the far end of the corridor, was the door to the research labs. The labs! Of course! There were storage compartments, maintenance ducts, places she could hide, places they might overlook in their sweep.

Rosen quickened her pace, her heart pounding louder than the distant footfalls that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. The door to the lab loomed ahead, a monolith in the dark. She reached it, fumbling with the keypad, her fingers trembling as she entered the access code. The door hissed open, revealing the familiar, sterile environment of the lab, now a twisted mockery of what it once was. Equipment lay scattered, tables overturned, screens smashed. Whatever had happened here had been quick and violent.

She stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft click. The silence was almost unbearable, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. Rosen scanned the room, looking for a place to hide. The storage cabinets were too obvious, the maintenance ducts too small. Her eyes landed on the large, reinforced containment unit at the back of the lab. It was designed to hold volatile materials, secure against all external threats. If she could get inside, maybe she'd have a chance.

She crossed the room quickly, her footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the stillness. The containment unit was open, its interior dark and foreboding, but it was her only option. Rosen climbed inside, pulling the door shut behind her, sealing herself in the pitch-black space. She could hear her own breathing, harsh and ragged, the sound amplified by the close quarters. She pressed her back against the cold metal, gripping the plasma pistol tightly in both hands.

And then… silence. Complete and utter silence.

Time seemed to stretch, minutes feeling like hours as she waited, every second a test of her sanity. She could hear nothing outside the containment unit, no footsteps, no sounds of pursuit. Had she lost them? Was it possible?

A faint sound reached her ears, barely audible through the thick walls of the unit. A soft, almost rhythmic tapping, like something lightly striking the outside of the containment unit. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was slow, methodical, deliberate.

She held her breath, her heart nearly stopping as the tapping continued. And then, it stopped. The silence returned, oppressive and suffocating. Rosen felt a surge of hope, a desperate belief that maybe… just maybe… they had given up.

A sharp metallic clang shattered the silence, a deafening noise that reverberated through the containment unit. Rosen screamed, her voice a raw, primal sound of terror as the monsters in the shape of men pried open the door, their faces obscured by shadow, their eyes glinting with a cold, predatory light. They reached for her, their movements swift and inescapable.

"No! No! No! No! No!" The last thing Rosen saw before darkness claimed her was a pair of inhumanly strong hands pulling her out of her hiding place, her screams echoing into the void.

Argall smiled and was the first to clap. "Mission success."