Chapter 69: Not a Single Poet

Chapter 69: Not a Single Poet

The entire Upper Hive descended into a brief period of chaos. In an instant, the infected and the Genestealers were thrown into a hysterical frenzy.

"No, what is this? What have I become?"

"My child, where is my child? No, the meat, retch, that meat—"

The less-infected individuals, their illusions shattered, fell into complete madness. The highly mutated aberrants, after a moment of confusion, began to scatter and flee for their lives.

The Carcharodons began the cleanup of the routed remnants.

Arthur flicked the tissue from his blade, completely disengaged his jump pack, and made his way to the still-undamaged Cardinal's Sanctum.

[740.M41-P | AM 11:42 | Location: Pierdra Prime - Upper Hive Administratum Hall]

[Mission: Hunt and kill psychic node-creature. (Complete)]

"Master Arthur's handling of psychic units is truly brutal," Ramesses remarked from the Mechanicus Temple, standing amidst a pile of cooked Genestealers. He had been watching both Arthur and Karna's progress. "That psychic resistance is on another level. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was a Blank."

"I told you not to worry," he said to Romulus at his side, casually dispelling the faint green glow in his hand. "When you throw those two into a pile of enemies, you should be worried about the enemy. My own psychic runes haven't even activated yet."

The Purestrain's psychic spells were quite useful, especially when used on the Genestealers themselves. They could spread through the cult's own psychic network, and a single cast could give all non-node Genestealers within a few kilometers a live performance of "barbecued brains."

He then tested it on the daemons in his "park" in the Warp, the ones still transcribing various bits of arcane knowledge for him.

Aaaargh—

Ripples spread through the shadow-shrouded section of the Warp. A few Pink Horrors were baptized by the searing power. After screaming, they began to write even more diligently, adding the note, "Other daemons are wrong."

Damn it, the nine daemons are all writing different things.

Ramesses narrowed his eyes, immediately planning to have a few of his more well-behaved Nurgle daemons "educate" these liars.

"Impressive confidence. Keep it up," Romulus said, not wanting to be a wet blanket. Just like when they used to play games and he was the "armchair general," when your teammates played well, you just had to cheer them on. An after-action review wasn't something you brought up right after a victory.

"All units, report your status," he broadcasted over the command channel. He would have to wait for the plasma-smoke to clear before he could contact Arthur. The fact that the four of them could communicate without a medium was another secret.

"Area clear," Orlando was the first to reply, his voice filled with awe as he looked at the silent veterans at his side. Their marksmanship was so precise, their reactions so swift... besides year after year of arduous training and accumulated battlefield experience, Orlando couldn't imagine how one could forge such a firepower-delivery capability.

After Orlando, reports from the other sectors came in one after another.

Having lost the psychic link of the Purestrain, the xenos had lost their combat effectiveness in an exaggerated fashion. Many of them even displayed contradictory movements, as if their consciousness had only just been matched to their bodies.

Thinking of the desperate expressions on the faces of those tragic beings who had thought themselves human as their illusions shattered, Romulus sighed softly and marked the Genestealer threat level as "red" in the archive. Once genetically contaminated, there was no saving them. Even if the influence was temporarily broken, the subsequent mutations would completely alter the infected's way of thinking. After a Purestrain emerged, these infected individuals became the deadliest threat to the normal humans around them. The most terrifying part was that this population could seamlessly interbreed with normal humans, completely changing the demographics of an area in just a few generations.

"What is our next move?" Romulus was the first to state his thoughts. "I am inclined to prioritize establishing a stable environment in the Spire, rallying the Imperial resistance forces, and then investigating the source of the Chaos corruption and dealing with the Word Bearer threat. This way, whether we decide to reclaim this planet or withdraw after completing our mission, we can handle it with composure."

"I will dispatch agents to investigate the Chaos corruption. I will require the assistance of you, my Lords, during this period," Aglaia said quickly and concisely. Her objective was direct: to kill that old man who dared to deal with daemons.

"I need to access the information within the Temple. It is relevant to whether I can obtain what I seek on this planet," Cawl stated. "I will deploy my automata and Skitarii to defend the Temple. You may all establish a stable base of operations around the Mechanicus Temple."

"We will follow your lead, my Lord!" Orlando shouted back, completely forgetting that they were here because of a deal with the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Chaplain's hand twitched, bitterly regretting that he hadn't covered his Marshal's mouth in time. Marshal, there's a reason you were kicked out of the Sword Brethren twice.

"Excellent. Then we will prioritize clearing the Mechanicus Temple area, establishing a base there, and sending reconnaissance forces to the Forge-World sector. The Inquisition will be responsible for that," Romulus said in agreement.

They had all reached a consensus. Until they had a clear picture of the situation in the underhive and the Forge-World, they were not going in. If they just blindly charged in, ten more Chapters wouldn't be enough to fill the meat-grinder.

"Romulus." Arthur's voice came through. The comms were back online. "I think you need to see this."

In the solemn marble hall of the Administratum, a metal finger smelling of sacred unguents inserted the data-plugin Cawl had provided into a cogitator interface.

With a hum of data-flow, images intercepted from the Imperium's lifeblood were transformed into holographic projections, displayed on the retinas of the allied commanders. It was a surveillance matrix, buried deep beneath the Imperial Administratum. Those Genestealers had been resourceful. When the core of the Munitorum had been turned to ash by the Word Bearers' fires, they had managed to reconstruct a similar surveillance network in the ruins of the Administratum. Many areas had been destroyed by the shockwaves, but the nodes that had survived on physical landlines were still faithfully transmitting the planet's fading pulse to the cogitator.

The images now flickering on the light-screen were enough to render even the most experienced warrior speechless.

The surveillance feeds showed a few scattered, empty areas, but mostly, they were silhouettes of a battlefield that tore the horizon asunder. Plasma fire licked at gothic spires. The wreckage of auto-turrets floated in the storm of countless explosions. Corpses in different uniforms were scattered like dolls torn apart by a child at the feet of once-sacred statues of the Emperor.

On one side were Beastmen, mutants, and a smattering of daemon-sorcerers. All Chaos.

On the other side were humanoid creatures with pinkish skin, an abnormal number of limbs, and, at the very least, gleaming bald heads. All Genestealers.

They were fighting in the Upper Hive, the Lower Hive, and the wastes outside the hive.

Cannon fire shook the heavens. Blood rained down.

And not a single one of them was human.

(End of Chapter)