-Space, Orbit of Turakion, Adeptus Mechanicus Observation, Monitoring and Research Station of Hidrus-
A small space station, by Imperium standards, orbited a tiny green planet on its eternal voyage, as it had for the past few decades, midst the cold, dark embrace of the void and the twinkling of distant stars.
Like a ship, it diligently ferried its crew of Tech-Priests, Tech-Adepts, Servo Skulls, Tech-Thralls, and Servitors, in the name of the Ominissia and the Machine God.
Its massive circular form, painted in gold, grey, and scarlet, adorned with intricate patterns, domes, spires, cathedrals, chambers, towers, and pristine, labyrinthine shrines, served many purposes, the study of the savage Xenos of the planet below being main one.
Probes transmitted live the self-named Snakebites Ork Klan, whose tribes fought with low-tech weaponry, killing and dying uselessly in an endless cycle.
An offensive sight to the lenses of the various Tech-Priests monitoring the creatures of such reduced intelligence, but they would continue their duty for the good of the Imperium and the Adeptus Mechanicus, as the greenskins were ancient enemies, killing and plundering, especially the valuable and sacred Forge Worlds.
Their barbarity, savagery, and bloodlust remained a mystery that should be discovered in search of the best method to eliminate them, and all the knowledge acquired was sent to the Magos Biologis on the first planet of the system.
Through the blessed corridors, adorned in reddish fabrics, stained glass windows representing sacred scenes, scented with incense and filled with prayers from Servitors created specifically for these glorious functions, several samples of living and dead specimens were studied.
Orks and other such organisms crossed the passages now tainted with their presence, kicking and screaming in their raw, guttural language until they reached the cold lower levels, the laboratories where they were uselessly interrogated but usefully dissected and vivisected, their strangely efficient functioning bringing revealing discoveries of how they could be fought.
Their limits were tested cruelly, if not for their existence as filthy Xenos and plague that ravaged the galaxy, forced to run until their hearts stopped, lift weights until their bones and muscles gave way, endure cold and heat, agonizing shocks, deep cuts, and deadly impacts.
Nothing was left out or ignored, any event that tested their boundaries was approved.
It did not matter if their heads were split open and their brains poked with electrified needles, discovering the function and reaction of each part, or their bellies and torsos cut open, having the workings of their interiors closely analyzed.
The Mechanicus acted with their usual logical coldness, uttering prayers and orations as they operated their complex machinery, or reporting the progress of their experiments and discoveries to the various Servo Skulls who recorded and photographed.
A normal person would see this as disturbing, but the Tech-Adepts did not care for such useless concepts from the clearly imperfect and irritatingly emotional organics, whose weak minds lived illusions that blinded them to reality, foolish and limiting things like morals and ethics.
Their operating tables rose, lowered, and tilted with the pressing of pedals at their base, the ceiling opened, revealing several mechanical arms that moved with millimetric precision and well-oiled joints, resembling a robotic spider.
Needles injected or extracted fluids, blinding lights flashed and flickered, scalpels and saws cut and mutilated, and claws pulled and ripped. The gagged Orks screamed and thrashed in maddening pain, electrocuted with absurd voltages that fried their nerves as their tormentors tired of their futile attempts of freedom.
The red-robed figures returned to their work when their prisoners fell silent and the grating noises ceased, leaving the burned bodies with melted eyes to breathe slowly and weakly, or to be discarded when their weak flesh failed to withstand such insignificant damage to those blessed with bionic parts.
The number of failures was disregarded, Orks and the uncontrolled way in which they reproduced were worthy of praise, however disgusting it might be to admit it.
There would be no shortage of test subjects, and no one would miss or pity the Xenos, so they pressed on, ignoring the torture, death, and agony, the limbs and bodies convulsing in disturbing displays of light and shadow, and the blood running in rivers down drains or mopped up by parched, muttering Servitors.
INTRUDER ALERT!
INTRUDER ALERT!
UNIDENTIFIED INDIVIDUALS DETECTED!
The partially artificial voices of the monitoring Servitors echoed through the station's levels, along with a shrill siren and flashing red lights. The Tech-Adepts ceased their operations one by one, displaying varying and unusual levels of surprise, ranging from mild interest to outrage.
How dare someone defile a sacred site with their unknown and unauthorized presence?!
The impossibility did not go unnoticed as they eliminated their specimens and scheduled their experiments for a later date.
How had the station been invaded?!
The sensors, scanners, and probes would warn in advance if anything approached through the void, but the shields and measures against conventional teleportation still remained.
How did unknown elements enter the facilities? A stealth ship? No! They would have to take down the shields to approach, revealing their position and a boarding team would take time to melt a hole in the hull.
Countless assumptions and possibilities ran through their processors, calculating the probabilities of the correct option, but in the end, the elimination of the invaders was a fact, and the countermeasures to prevent the situation from repeating would be implemented after their interrogation and torture.
The elevators left their occupants in the upper-level, who murmured a prayer and thanks in binary to the Machine Spirit, and found themselves in the middle of an ongoing combat.
Individuals wearing gear reminiscent of the Imperial Guard left multicolored portals in droves, taking up positions and opening fire with their Lasguns, but the station's inhabitants fought bravely, despite this not being their specialty.
Armed Servitors acted as living shields and mobile turrets, firing volleys at targets detected by their optical sensors.
Guardian-model Servo Skulls assisted their masters with accurate shots from Las Carbines or Autoguns, or closed the distance towards their enemies, dissecting them with their Chain Knives or Electro-Flails.
Tech-Thralls equipped with Shotguns, Las-Locks and Mitralocks tore their targets apart in a mixture of lead and boiling lasers.
Finally, the Tech-Adepts commanded their forces, carrying Las and Bolt Pistols, divided into small groups composed of the aforementioned combatants, citing prayers and combat protocols, formulating complex strategies driven by their faith in the Machine God.
However, their resistance slowly fell due to the enemy attack's intensity, whose forces penetrated several points, aided by enormous mutant beasts and heavy weaponry.
The Tech-Priests in the monitoring and in the Central Cogitator rooms ordered them to retreat to the inner section where they would reorganize while the distress signal traveled to the Forge World.
And so they did, escaping through large metal doors that slowly closed midst the fire of the automatic defenses, however, a heavy banging shook the Command Bridge with a thunderous sound.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
The crew exchanged tense glances, at least those who still had eyes for such action, and began a long conversation in binary that lasted a few seconds from the point of view of a non-augmented organic.
The Servitors present assumed firing positions and turrets descended from the ceiling while their masters worked on the Central Cogitator, beginning its blocking and locking process.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CRASH!
The door gave away with a final impact, falling with a thud and allowing those on the other side to enter the chamber.
"GREETINGS!" An armored woman raised her arms dramatically.
BANG!
BANG!
BRRR!
Now being greeted by a wall of bullets of varying calibers that never hit their target due to the psychic barrier in their path, courtesy of the armored figure accompanying her.
Her face contorted in indignation at the rude reception and the people in red robes completely ignoring her, vigorously operating the focus of their attention.
Then, she breathed deeply, pulling in air, her chest and neck swelled, her eyes widened and her cheeks puffed out until she opened her mouth to an inhuman level, leaned forward and…
"SSSCCCRRREEE!"
…Released a deafening, high-pitched screech, similar to a bird of prey. The air moved visibly with the sound wave, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake until it reached the Servitors whose organic parts exploded in a shower of flesh and bones.
The turrets on the ceiling met the same fate, becoming balls of crushed metal while a hole in the upper levels remained in its previous location. Finally, she released a third attack aimed at the feet of the bionic figures operating the Central Cogitator.
A large dent appeared in the machine and its screens shattered in a shower of glass, as did the various optical lenses of its operators that now remained scattered throughout the chamber, a result of the shock wave that left a crater in the floor.
The first Tech-Priest to stand up shakily, bleeding oil, sparking, and seeing static, drew a Plasma Pistol, trying to lock on the figure in front of him, encountering an uncommon display as wings sprouted from her back and the woman closed the distance, severing his arm with the swing of her Power Sword.
Sparks rained and the limb flew away, landing with a metallic creak, leaving a stump of sparking snapped wires and gushing tubes of fluid as the sword flashed with arcs of energy.
He showed no pain in the few organic parts that remained of his face and swung his Ominissia Axe as the various secondary weapons on his back prepared to fire with several clicks, however, he found himself unable to act as he looked into his enemy's eyes, finding them extremely attractive and mesmerizing.
He felt something he thought he had destroyed by modifying his body after decades of dedication to the teachings of the Adeptus Mechanicus, a weakness that should have been removed and that now burned like a small flame in the depths of his being.
What was this? Desire? Love? Lust? All? None?
His mechanical parts had no such impediment and continued with their combat orders, however, it only took a word from the woman for him to cancel his commands.
The remaining individuals were not graced with the chance to fight, the armored figure raised his trembling hand, hesitating briefly, and immaterial shackles bound their basic and additional limbs before floating them in line in the center of the room, receiving the same gaze that stole their brother's will to fight.
His damaged lenses glowed a sickly pink and his efforts ceased, feeling only adoration and admiration for the one who watched them with satisfaction, smiling widely as she analyzed them.
"Hello, boys, a friend of mine told me that you discovered something interesting on the little planet below, something about lost greenskin technology to be recovered and a set of ancient ruins. Would you kindly tell me more, please?"
It took no more than a blink of anything but innocent eyes and clasped hands in front of a demonically angelic face for them to tell everything like a group of lovelorn fools.
-Surface of Turakion, Territory of the Tribe of Gargro Thog-
A large fortification of wood, rock and other materials taken from nature rose among the orange vegetation of the planet's jungles, a wall of gray logs stuck into the ground and tied with vines, and a double gate of equal size.
The red dirt remained on the other side, with streets that spread out like the threads of a spider's web, occupied by rustic buildings made of wood, stone, and leaves roughly positioned.
Their floors varied and their occupants walked the streets, filling them with life, wearing clothes made of leather, skins, and animal bones, attached to their bodies with straps and ropes, as well as their rudimentary but useful weapons.
They went about their daily lives, fighting, drinking, eating, and killing in no particular order.
The Herdaz captured, raised, and trained ferocious Squigs of the most diverse types, perfect for combat and emergency food.
The Trappaz skulked through the jungles, setting traps, scouting the area for enemy attacks, and hunting prey, bringing food to the settlement.
The Junkaz scavenged for abandoned vehicles, repairing them with the help of Pigdokz, a strange mixture between a Painboy and a Mekboy.
The Boarboyz rode their War Boars, wild beasts covered in brown fur and protected by metal armor, and patrolled the streets and the outer outskirts.
Other than that, there were those performing simple tasks, forging weapons and armor, cooking food, expanding the settlement, treating the wounded, trading, and much more, with the Grots being forced to do the worst of it all, making them 'Orribles Gits.
The little green ones did not complain or fear like other Grots, the rough life of the Snakebite Klan hardened and made them fierce, muscular, scarred, and strangely proud of their role.
However, a commotion happened in the fortress in the center of the settlement, a colossal construction similar to a medieval castle, the only one made entirely of stone and metal.
There, several Orks gathered in a large hall lit by torches, roaring and swinging their weapons, but never attacking without the order of their Boss, for the strangers who appeared in the center of the room had something that interested him.
Gargro Thog readjusted himself on his throne carved from the skull of a huge beast he had killed long ago, what had once been a voracious amphibian had become the material for his seat, as well as his white armor tribally painted in green, yellow, and gray that covered his entire body, with some pieces of fabric and leather adorning it.
The large Ork also carried a metal spear adorned with bones, feathers, animal fangs, and ancient glyphs, and a shield with the Klan symbol painted on its front, all forged for a being of his size.
There was also a Slugga hanging from his waist, and as much as he hated using something that was not made to cut, crush, or pierce at close range, he recognized the importance of being prepared.
His experienced eyes analyzed the newcomers who dared to appear suddenly without his permission, pondering whether he should kill them as an example to the others or not.
They brought praise, complicated words, and exaggerated gestures that he barely paid attention to, calling him bigger and stronger, glorifying his name and deeds, but he did not fall for such a cheap trick, anyone could do that.
However, they were well informed, knowing that his tribe was the most powerful and what his plan was.
They talked about something interesting, something that could help him unify all the tribes that were once one and leave this planet where their ancestors fell, an ancient weapon and a powerful enemy.
The weapon would keep everyone under control and the enemy would serve as proof that he was the greatest and strongest on the entire planet, making him the Chief of all, a Warboss.
Then, he moved his scarred body and slammed the butt of his spear on the floor, shaking the room and silencing his war band.
"Yer are very bold ta invade ma home like dis, showz me where 'da weapon an' 'da enemy are an' I will not krush yer."
The armored woman nodded, approaching him with skipping steps, foolish if it were not for the sliced and burned corpses around her, those who attacked and met their end as soon as she and her gray follower appeared.
Gargro Thog prepared himself for a fight in case this was nothing more than an assassination attempt, but the lack of attack and the Data Slate held in front of his face indicated otherwise, however, there was a problem, he couldn't understand anything that was written.
"How about ya tell me instead?! I don't 'ave time ta read all dis nonsense!" He roared, trying to hide the truth behind his reaction.
The woman's cheerful expression trembled slightly, taking on a murderous look for less than a second before returning to normal, explaining in detail everything he wanted to hear, what the weapon was, its location, how to make it work, where the enemy was and what he was capable of.
He couldn't help but nod at each word, feeling his chest burn in anticipation, however, a doubt arose in his mind:
"Wot do yer an yer friend gain from all dis?" Gargro Thog frowned in distrust, snorting at the face of the one in front of him.
"The satisfaction of seeing our enemy despair." She replied through clenched teeth and face painfully stretched, hiding her hatred.
"Hump! At least we agree on wun fing." The Ork smiled arrogantly.
With the negotiations done, the Boss slammed his spear into the ground again and spoke in a booming voice, agitating his war band with promises of plunder, glory, renown, riches, and a good fight, of course.
The Orks present went into a frenzy, shouting and shaking their weapons in anticipation of the battle that awaited them, leaving the throne room and spreading the good news to all.
A war horn echoed through the settlement, calling all members of the tribe to battle, filling the streets with war songs and hurried steps. Armor and weapons were forged and donned, Shootas were reloaded, Choppas were sharpened, Squigs and War Boars were fed and armored.
The war preparations proceeded apace, as Gargro Thog widened his eyes upon realizing the absence of his guests, leaving behind the scorched ground where they had appeared.
It didn't matter, he knew where to go, and if the strangers' words were nothing more than lies, then he would hunt them down across the galaxy and make them pay.
Unknown to the great Ork, those who convinced him to act were not so far away, suddenly appearing at the tent of Ruknatz Wur's tribe, receiving shouts and insults from the Orks in question, killing all who dared attack until they convinced the Boss to listen to what they had to say.
They made the same proposal with a few changes, for, according to them, the weapon to unify all the tribes was in the ruins, and whoever obtained it would become the Warboss, something too valuable to refuse.
So, they set off again, going from tribe to tribe. Murlakk Skar, Badchewa, Buz Bludshredda, one by one, all the tribes on the planet, large and small, were guided to the same place, except for the first of all, which headed towards a distant mountain.
With that done, the pair stepped into another portal, leaving the planet behind, preparing to enact their plans on the next. However, the gray figure stopped, looking back, hearing someone calling him and briefly glimpsing a massive figure disappearing.
Their gazes met for a second, and an ocean of pity and shame weighed on his shoulders like a child being stared at by a disappointed parent.
"It's not too late to stop…"
A voice whispered in his ear, and no matter how much he increased the acoustic protection of his helmet, he could still hear it, the sorrow, the regret, and, strangely, the hope.
-XXXXXX-
A cluster of ancient ruins had lain undisturbed for countless eons, untouched by the foul hands of primitive mortals, its construction, now wrapped in vines, grass, moss, and foliage, stood in the center of the dense jungle, indistinguishable from other hills except for the soft greenish glow that emanated from beneath.
If one were to approach, one would see the dark material that composed such vast constructions hidden by time, a majestic pyramid in the center of a courtyard, with four worn and cracked roads, one on each side, stretching for kilometers, surrounded by tilted and fallen pillars, engraved with indecipherable ancient hieroglyphs that glowed with dormant power.
Few would imagine that this was only the tip of something greater, the entrance to a massive underground complex, a tomb where beings older than the greatest civilizations slept in their deep slumber.
Unfortunately, their rest would be ended by uninvited visitors, what should have been a future expedition of those who inhabited the Space Station that orbited the planet, due to the strange energetic signature that the ruins emitted, became a tremor that shook the world.
The vegetation stirred in the distance, frightened animals darted through the trees or took off, fleeing from something larger and stronger, something that made their instincts scream.
The earth shook rhythmically, accompanied by a muffled noise that gradually increased, deep voices sounded in the distance, uttering songs and war cries, horns blew and drums thundered, steel, wood, and metal cracked, and the footsteps of countless warriors approached the sleeping ruins.
However, their advance did not continue unnoticed, for the guardians of the ruins had remained awake since time immemorial, tirelessly protecting and caring for their masters' dwelling and studying their enemies.
Wraiths entered and left reality, blending into the trees and reporting their discoveries to the Tomb Mind, which performed calculations would destroy mortal minds, using forgotten or never-discovered knowledge that would challenge the views of other species in the material world.
HOSTILE SPECIES DETECTED.
IDENTIFYING…
SPECIES IDENTIFIED.
NOMENCLATURE: ORKS.
KLAN: SNAKE BITES.
SUBCULTURES PRESENT: BEAST SNAGGAS, FERAL ORKS.
ARMAMENTS: PROJECTILE LAUNCHERS, COMBAT BEASTS, BLADES, EXPLOSIVES, ARMOR, AND CRUDE VEHICLES.
SPACE FLEET PRESENT?
SCANNING…
NEGATIVE.
SUPPLY LINES PRESENT?
SCANNING…
NEGATIVE.
LEVEL OF ORGANIZATION?
SCANNING…
PRECARIOUS, CENTERED AROUND SINGLE POWERFUL FIGURES.
PROCEDURE?
ELIMINATE CENTRAL FIGURES AND DISORDER ENEMY FORCES, FACILITATING TOTAL ELIMINATION.
THREAT LEVEL?
LOW.
STARTING COUNTERMEASURES.
AWAKENING WARRIORS…
WARRIORS AWAKENED.
OPENING GATE OF ETERNITY…
GATE OPENED.
STARTING MARCH…
MARCH STARTED.
ASSUMING COMBAT POSITIONS…
COMBAT POSITIONS ASSUMED.
ANALYZING ENEMY NUMBERS…
ANALYZING…
ANALYZING…
NUMBERS ANALYZED.
QUANTITY: 100….
ERROR!
REASSESSING…
QUANTITY: 1000…
THREAT LEVEL: LOW.
ERROR!
REASSESSING…
QUANTITY: 10,000…
THREAT LEVEL: LOW.
ERROR!
REASSESSING…
QUANTITY: 100,000… 1,000,000…
THREAT LEVEL: LOW… LOW…
ALERT!
ENEMY FORCES APPROACHING FROM THE SOUTH!
ALERT!
ENEMY FORCES APPROACHING FROM THE NORTH!
ALERT!
ENEMY FORCES APPROACHING FROM THE WEST!
ALERT!
ENEMY FORCES APPROACHING FROM THE EAST!
REASSESSING…
QUANTITY: 10,000,000… 100,000,000…
THREAT LEVEL: MEDIUM… HIGH.
COUNTERMEASURES?
TOTAL AWAKENING.
NEGATIVE! THE SITUATION DOES NOT ALLOW THE TIME NECESSARY FOR THE PROCEDURE!
COUNTERMEASURES?
PARTAL AWAKENING: WAR ENGINES, IMMORTALS, CRYPTEKS, AND LORD.
AFFIRMATIVE!
INITIATING COUNTERMEASURES…
1%…
5%…
INITIATING PARTIAL AWAKENING…
15%…
ASSESSING IMMORTALS AND CRYPTEKS…
30%…
50%…
ACCEPTABLE CANDIDATES FOUND.
60%…
STARTING DATA UPLOAD…
65%…
AWAKENING IMMORTAL RAKSZUT…
70%…
AWAKENING CRYPTEK R'ZHEHK…
80%…
AWAKENING IMMORTAL…
90%…
AWAKENING CRYPTEK…
100%
UPLOAD COMPLETE.
IMMORTALS AND CRYPTEKS AWAKENED.
STARTING MARCH…
MARCH STARTED…
ASSUMING COMBAT POSITIONS…
COMBAT POSITIONS ASSUMED.
AWAKENING LORD KEPIR AROPHAKH…
1%…
2%…
3%…
WARNING! AWAKENING PROCEDURE WILL NOT COMPLETE BEFORE COMBAT!
CONTINUE?
Y/N?
>Y
AFFIRMATIVE.
CONTINUING AWAKENING…
4%…
5%…
ENEMY FORCES ENTERING PERIMETER.
ENGAGING ENEMY FORCES…
ENEMY FORCES ENGAGED…
INITIATING COMBAT…
COMBAT INITIATED.
-Space, Turakion Outskirts, Necron Fleet, Akatosahk Ulthagakh Flagship-
"…And as a final item of business for our meeting, I would like to present a Tomb World classification system that I have developed, allowing us to assess the risk each one faces and how we will proceed, now that there is an opposing force daring to confront us." Haratek typed something on a holographic screen, causing a complexly schematic graph to float in the center of the meeting table, but in short, the information was as follows:
Level 1 – Unknown: Can awaken without being discovered, all of this level must be activated.
Level 2 – Undiscovered, but awakening will pose a risk of discovery: must wait until the tomb is accessible, secure, and capable of providing and receiving support before being awakened.
Level 3 – Discovered but ignored: Awakening will cause action to be taken against the tomb, must wait for Level 1 and Level 2 procedures to be completed before awakening.
Level 4 – Discovered and being explored, but intact enough to be awakened and potentially drive off invaders: possible use of self-destruct if recovery proves unworthy of the resources expended. Can be awakened in conjunction with an invasion force to dispatch defensive resources.
Level 5 – Discovered and looted beyond recovery: must remain dormant to be recovered using external forces or trigger self-destruct. If possible, can be used to lure enemies before triggering self-destruct.
Once again, Haratek proved to be my favorite Necron due to his hard work, not that I would say that out loud, others would be jealous, well, those with enough awareness to care.
The list is clear, simple, and objective, and can be updated with what we find on our journey, but I worry that self-destruction is a valid and suggested option. Necrons from all over the galaxy will want my head on a spike if they discover that I destroyed one of their priceless tombs, condemning countless members of their race.
I brought my thumb towards my mouth as my heart sank slightly as the various possibilities ran through my mind, the trials, the executions, the fates worse than death that I would suffer.
However, it all disappeared as quickly as it began, when I realized the lack of real sensation. Fear and worry disappeared accompanied by an indication of my systems cooling after a high temperature spike.
My mouth did not move, for I did not have one, no teeth, tongue, or flesh, I felt no taste or saliva, and although I had fingers, they had no flesh or nails, I had no touch or skin to feel.
My breathing and heartbeat accelerated, or so I thought, as I soon remembered that I was incapable of performing such actions. However, my systems alerted me to another high-temperature spike in my processors.
NO! NO! NO! NOT HERE! NOT NOW IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!
My right hand trembled, slowly approaching my neck, but I held it with my remaining one, stabilizing and lowering it. I had an image to maintain, I could not show weakness in front of the Nobles, that would encourage them to act against me.
I immediately slowed down my perception of time, causing the world to enter super slow motion from my point of view, and analyzed those present. Some watched me, but it was impossible to know with what intentions, while others remained in their isolated conversations, ignorant of my situation.
I used my altered temporal perception to calm myself down, and by that I mean I had another panic attack, where I screamed and struggled internally for what seemed like hours.
My voice wouldn't leave my nonexistent lips, my invisible fingers scratched my immaterial face, and my fleshless fists pounded the metal prison that was my mind.
I screamed and screamed and screamed because when nothing was demanding my full attention, I remembered that my existence was a blessing and a curse, a walking prison.
I still remembered what it was like to feel heat and cold, sunlight on my face, wind in my hair, the different flavors of food, the pain of getting hurt, and I knew I would never feel them again.
This was my life now, this little hell I never wanted to be in. I wanted to escape, open my chest, and let it all out, feel something, even if it was the cold of space before my death, but it was impossible.
I don't know how much time passed, but I calmed down eventually.
Alerts indicated the temperature dropping and my systems stabilizing, then, with a metaphorical snap of my fingers, everything returned to normal, and looking at my internal clock, I realized that my crisis and monologue had lasted three seconds.
"I am grateful for your efforts, Haratek, they please me, now I would like to ask if there is anything else that any of you would like to discuss?" I acted as if nothing had happened, assuming my commanding voice and majestic pose, burying my problems deep within my systems.
*Mental note: Find several hobbies to avoid going crazy.*
The Cryptek bowed and exclaimed an exaggerated thanks, as the nobles did not wish for anything that could not be resolved with a quick conversation and commands, annoying politics, as always.
"Lord Akatosahk, we have reached our destination, the planet known as Turakion can be sighted." Sire Aetir's voice echoed through the meeting room, and with a nod and thanks, we headed toward the ship's bridge, listening to the report from its Deep Spirit.
The rest of my court awaited us there, so I repeated the same show as before, climbing the stairs to my throne guarded by Lychguards and Royal Wardens and giving another glamorous, pompous, and improvised speech.
*Mental note: Write a book of speeches for various occasions before I run out of ideas.*
"MY HONORED COURT, WE APPROACH THE NEXT WORLD WHERE OUR BROTHERS REST, BUT I FEAR OUR ENEMY HAS BEGUN ITS PLANS, FOR A MASSIVE FORCE OF ORKS IS HEADING TOWARDS THE GLORIOUS SLEEPING TOMB, STAINING IT WITH THEIR PRESENCE. FORTUNATELY, THE DIMINISHED IMPERIAL PRESENCE ALLOWS US TO DEPLOY OUR FORCES AS WE WISH. IN OTHER WORDS, YOU ARE FREE TO FIGHT THE ORKS AS YOU DESIRE, APPLY AS MUCH FORCE AS YOU DEEM NECESSARY, JUST DO NOT DESTROY THE PLANET!"
Giving the Nobles more freedom was perhaps the right thing to do, for I received approving nods, and happy "smiles" and "looks." Some even whispered about a little competition to be won by the one who killed the biggest Ork.
I hope this will earn me some points with the extremist faction and calm them down, but leaving the theater aside, it was time to prepare for combat. Sire scanned the planet, detecting the number of enemies, which, to our concern, kept rising.
The AI reported what happened on the surface in real-time, revealing to us a detailed holographic map with the hidden tomb surrounded by countless red dots that kept multiplying and closing the distance.
Every Ork on the planet headed to the same place, crossing jungles, mountains, and seas. Fortunately, they did not have advanced technology or ships, so an orbital bombardment would reduce their numbers, which I ordered to be prepared.
Now, only the Space Station remained. We could take it down, but I wanted to avoid something so extreme, so I commanded a Wraith to cross its defenses and enter its interiors.
I saw several members of the Adeptus Mechanicus through its eyes, but there was something wrong, their actions were robotic, too robotic even for individuals like them.
Some spoke in binary, but their words were nothing more than gibberish, others repeated the same action, like tightening the same screw, pressing the same button, or saying the same prayer.
It was as if someone tried to imitate how they acted, but possessing only the basic knowledge about them.
I watched this display until I reached the Central Cogitator's room, where its occupants pressed the same keys and did not acknowledge the Wraith, whose legs sank into the great machine, breaking its protections and downloading its data.
Suddenly, I saw a blinding light and…
-XXXXXX-
BOOM!
I retreated on my throne, holding my forehead as I felt something that should have been a headache, but was nothing more than reports from my systems initiated by the sudden interruption of the connection.
I ignored the worried exclamations of my guard and court and watched the station disintegrate into a ball of fire that extinguished itself as all the air burned or leaked into space.
Its fragments, large and small, collided with the planet, igniting a meteor shower. I ordered the ships to open fire and destroy as much debris as possible, not wanting to risk any of it hitting the tomb.
Hm… So they are adapting to my ways. Someone learned from what I did on Hidrus Quartus, but was that the work of our favorite couple or someone else? Well, I hope they are on the planet because I am about to do here what the Emperor did to Monarchia.
"INITIATE ORBITAL BOMBARDMENT!"
END OF CHAPTER