POV: Lord of Change, Skra'kalichaust the Schemer
He ripped his way through the Empyrean and stepped into the realm around Mordian, currently under the domain of M'Kachen, Lord of the Changehost. His massive true form left a trail of ripples through the warp. Reality convulsed in his wake, the Immaterium folding and refolding like a wounded thought trying to remember its own shape. Currents of unreality spiraled outward from his passage, fracturing into prismatic aftershocks where futures were rewritten mid-pulse and discarded like molted skin as he stepped into the local warp of Mordian.
"Lord M'Kachen, I have come for what is mine," he hissed into the void, his voice crackling with power and an inscrutable smugness that was inherent to his very being.
The other Lord of Change flickered into being across from him with a deep scowl plastered on his beak, his many eyes glaring at him with unrestrained venom.
Skra'kalichaust tilted his head in amusement and wondered what he could have done to vex M'Kachen so. He responded to the glare with a mocking smile and flared his scintillating wings as he bowed with a dramatic flourish.
"Schemer," M'Kachen spat, his talons flexed around his staff, arcane power rippling along the length of the weapon as its structure remained in a constant state of flux.
"My minions, if you please?" He inquired, arching a few eyebrows that momentarily grew above his eyes at his fellow lord.
He felt the ripple of divination radiate from M'Kachen, and he easily diverted the focus away from himself, which only further vexed the other Lord.
"What game are you playing, Schemer?" He demanded like a petulant child. "You shroud your moves and the strings of your fate from my divining eyes. Why so much effort for such useless mortal drivel? Tell me!"
"Deliver them unto me, and I shall deign to enlighten you," he replied with a throaty purr.
With a snap of his fingers, M'Kachen summoned them, and Skra'kalichaust quickly snatched them up, examining his mortals and clicking his tongue at the state they had been left in from M'Kachen's investigations.
"I believe I requested them whole; such invasive probing was unnecessary," He stated, shaking his head as he spirited them away into a pocket dimension he had prepared for them.
"Spare me your drivel and your insidious whispers, Schemer. Now I am owed a favor, and thus you shall reveal their purposes to me!" M'Kachen snarled in annoyance.
"Oh? You would redeem your owed favor so soon? You wish to know that badly?" He laughed mockingly at M'Kachen. "I accept! Their purpose that you sought has already been revealed! They were merely for my amusement. They have no part to play in the Great Game! They have no grand fate! I made no deception with my prose." He smiled, showing far too many teeth. "None at all! The best and boldest lie, the utter, naked truth!"
M'Kachen's face contorted, and his form roiled waves of emotion crashing through the Empyrean sea at that admission. The Lord of the Changehost was absolutely livid yet vindicated, and just eliciting that reaction made the energy and effort expended to come here in person worth it.
Laughing, Skra'kalichaust deflected a bolt of warpfire as the other Lord attacked him as their spells clashed, and the daemons dwelling within the shallows scattered in terror. The Lords of Change dueled, fighting as only they could as peers, all the while, Skra'kalichaust never stopped cackling as he retreated.
Their duel was finally interrupted when a massive hole was torn asunder, revealing realspace beyond, and several battered voidships tumbled through the portal.
"What is the meaning of this!?" M'Kachen screeched as he recognized the vessels from his siege fleet. The fuming Lord of Change failed to react to the stray melta torpedo, nudged with a deft flick of telekinesis from Skra'kalichaust, in time, and his massive form was struck in the chest, setting his feathers alight and drawing an incensed, furious scream from the Lord of the Changehost.
Skra'kalichaust used the distraction to slip away just as a second tear sucked in several more vessels, and what daemons bold enough to try slipped through the temporary portals to wreak indiscriminate havoc on Mordian and amongst the siege fleet.
—------------------------------------------------
POV: Reaver Pirate Captain, Forta Slayther
Slayther sat in his command throne on the bridge of his personal Hades-class Heavy Cruiser, the Harpooner. The siege was boring, but that was by no means a bad thing for his forces. Boring meant slow, boring meant methodical, boring meant safe, and they were getting paid by the Tzeentch boys to sit on their asses.
They had been slightly worried about the Rogue Trader fleet causing trouble, but they had stayed clear of the siege, avoiding the other planets in the system, and had departed the system a few hours ago.
They broke the siege of Vander's Landing and kept there, and the Astartes that returned were weirdly quiet about the whole thing.
Still, he was content to loiter at the edge of the formation.
One of his oldest bridge crew, a twitchy man everyone called 'Tweaker', spoke with a voice raspy from decades of chem and loh stick use, "Sir, unknown metallic objects approaching at speed bearing 160."
Slayther frowned. There was nothing in that direction but open space - no planets or space stations he knew of. Still, he was the Captain for a reason. "Prime the point defenses. Auspex, get a fix on and identify those objects!" He commanded.
One of the deck hands flipped a switch, only for an adjacent console to erupt in a shower of sparks as power surged. "Shit!" Cried one of the officers. "Point defenses are offline! Void shields are offline!" came the panicked voice of another.
"Those are torpedoes, damn it! Someone warn the rest of the ships before they…" He was cut off as the ship closest to the salvo was suddenly struck hard by an explosion that slammed into her hull. "Frak! Brace!"
He watched dead ahead as a Corrupted Falcheon-class frigate ate two plasma torpedoes that crippled her instantly, one hitting her just above the engine deck and the other striking her right in the magazine. Thankfully, she didn't blow, but she was left a drifting hulk as she went dark and started to vent atmosphere.
Moments later, a melta torpedo slammed into them amidships, broiling crew, melting bulkheads and setting the corridors on fire, and the impact sent the Harpooner listing off course. That actually saved their lives as he watched one of the torpedos deflect off one of the armour plates just in front of the bridge. For a brief moment, it was close enough for him to see the rivets before the rest of the salvo flew past them.
"Someone get the pyromancers and fire teams down there now!" He screamed over the blaring alarms.
He felt a moment of relief before he remembered just what was sitting in space to their port side, less than two VUs away. The torpedoes flew true, heading straight for the vulnerable fuel transport.
The transport went up immediately, and her plasma drive followed mere moments after the initial impact. The massive explosion flung chunks of debris in all directions, knocking out void shields and peppering the weaker escorts.
Various markers on the tactical map flashed orange then red as ships were either crippled by the torpedoes or by the follow-up debris strikes.
A pair of Light Cruisers were knocked out; one was burned while its twin vented its atmosphere.
He could only watch as another wave of torpedoes flew right towards one of the largest ships in the fleet, a Cronus-class Battlecruiser. Five of the six melta torpedoes struck home with one deflecting away, and the ship erupted into a conflagration that was visible even in space. Slayther winced as he helplessly watched the fire ravage the majestic ship, explosions chaining and spreading the devouring death across her decks faster than the crew aboard could hope to react to. She burned until she could burn no more.
His eyes strayed towards that sixth torpedo headed right into the engines of an Apostate-class Raider. "Oh, fracking hell," he managed to curse before the torpedo hit, and moments later, the Raider's warp drive detonated into a many-coloured hue, tearing a massive hole into the Empyrean.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------
POV: Lord Inquisitor Mylack of the Ordo Malleus
The fleet of warships ripped their way into realspace in the Mordian system with his personal flagship, the Judicium Aeternum, a retrofitted Emperor class battleship turned Black Ship, at its head.
The relief fleet Inquisitor Mylack was commanding had passed over the Rogue Trader fleet a scant few hours ago. The relief fleet had taken a shallower portion of the warp route for their journey, while the Trader fleet had braved the deeper and faster eddies. Still, they had been close enough to transmit an update on the Mordian situation, which he appreciated.
Mylack looked over the report and snorted. He didn't anticipate much coming from the long-range torpedo barrage, even if it was a sneak attack.
So when they came to, and the auspex readings returned showing a dozen vessels from the siege fleet limping towards the forge world with damage and a few others towing heavily damaged vessels, he couldn't help but smile.
The number of enemy vessels seemed noticeably lower than what the Rogue Trader had reported. One of the largest towed vessels was still actively burning.
"What a delightful surprise. Admiral… put the Rogue Trader down for a commendation. He's made our lives significantly easier. Extermination of the enemy fleet is our priority. Taking back the fallen worlds will come after. Now do your duty, in the name of the Emperor, and remove these heretics from my sight."
"It will be done, Lord Inquisitor," the Admiral replied as the massive fleet moved forward.
Mylack was curious to find out just how accurate Lord Striker's mysterious information truly was.
—--------
Mylack watched coldly as the faster elements of their battlegroup picked apart the wounded convoy. Cutting off those that tried to flee from the siege fleet and surrounding them for the inexorable approach of their capital ships.
Imperial frigates and destroyers surged ahead on pillars of blue-white flame, their drives flaring. They threaded through drifting debris like hunting dogs, slipping between the scattered traitor vessels before the enemy could even comprehend the danger. Vox signals spiked across Mylack's command display – confused orders, overlapping distress calls, frantic attempts to reestablish formation between the core Tzeentch elements, Astartes, and the hired pirates as the forces around Mordian frantically tried to turn and face the new threat.
None of it mattered. They were caught mid-stagger. The vessels wounded by the Rogue Trader's torpedo salvo methodically hunted down and overwhelmed.
"Vanguard, execute encirclement pattern: Theta," Mylack ordered.
The vanguard obeyed, and three Imperial battlecruisers advanced in unison – one crippled cruiser attempted to form a rally point, broadcasting desperate commands and activating what remained of its shields. Three Imperial battlecruisers advanced in perfect alignment, lance batteries charging in silent tandem, targeting various escorts. Then the void ignited. The enemy cruiser folded inwards upon itself before detonating, scattering molten fragments across a swath of empty space.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"Hostile ship rendered nonfunctional," a servitor intoned flatly.
Mylack ignored the servitor as he had more pressing matters at hand; leading the systematic slaughter of the enemy fleet around Mordian, the battle was accelerating.
Destroyer packs ran down any ship that attempted to flee, overwhelming them with methodical bursts of plasma and autocannon fire. Bombers launched from the carriers plunged into defensive fire with fanatical discipline, releasing torpedoes into exposed hangar bays and ruptured armor seams. Entire sections of enemy vessels vanished in expanding spheres of white-hot annihilation, while others were left as lifeless, drifting hulks in the cold void of space.
Mylack observed the engagement through layered tactical overlays and magnification feeds. Each enemy contact winked out in sequence; red runes turning gray, then vanishing entirely. What had been a scattered convoy only moments before was being reduced to wreckage at an impressive pace.
"Maintain pursuit," he commanded with a level voice. "No regrouping. No consolidation. Kill them all."
The order was relayed without delay. The fleet became a moving execution line. The capital ships advanced steadily behind the faster support elements, their broadsides roaring in continuous thunder. Every wounded target that drifted out of formation was immediately bracketed and obliterated. Damaged vessels that attempted emergency repairs were destroyed before their crews could seal a single breach.
Fragments of vox-traffic filtered through the command deck – warped prayers, broken battle-cant, hysterical appeals to false gods. Some voices begged the Imperium for mercy. Others cursed it with their last breath.
Mylack ignored them all. His eyes kept a lookout for the interference he anticipated.
From his command throne, he saw a chunk of the enemy fleet collapse. Silence followed. Then a spike in warp energies as they enacted a desperate ritual. One of his protective relics started to glow; he scowled. A greater daemon was present and no doubt leading the ritual. Unfortunately, there was little they could do to stop the ritual. What remained of the heretic fleet fled into the Warp, and he clicked his tongue in distaste. "Damned sorcery."
Where the enemy column had once stretched around Mordian, there was now only drifting debris, expanding vapor clouds, and the fading ghosts of reactor flares. It was a one-sided massacre in the Imperium's favor.
Mylack exhaled slowly. "Begin post-engagement scans," he ordered. "Confirm total destruction. No survivors. Send troops to reinforce Mordian and prepare to retake the system."
The Admiral inclined his head. "At once, Lord Inquisitor."
—-------------------------------------------------------------
POV: Akellonon Doll, Archmagos Fabricator
A few hours after they were underway with no further pending complications for their multi-week trip to Cypra Mundi, he reached out to Gertrude. There was no longer a need to hesitate.
"It. Is. Time."
"The Vat is prepared for you, Archmagos. The surgical suite is on standby with all the parts for your new body," Gertrude replied, a hint of her emotions, anticipation, concern, and nervousness leeched into the message. "I note you have not informed Nicole of this procedure."
"I intended to surprise her, though she produced several of the internal components for me to an exemplary standard. The girl has a talent for metallurgy. She may have inklings of my intention for a full rebuild." Doll replied candidly. "Summon the Magi for my disassembly. Several materials from my old body will require immediate disposal, and at least one fuel rod is showing signs of instability and will need immediate purging or stasis. Ensure my brain and neural network are fully regenerated before you install the special implant. We'll only have one attempt. The majority of the secrets behind its construction are still beyond me."
"I will not question where you located such a relic. I do question the timing.," Gertrude admitted.
"I originally intended to pass it down. The implant requires an intact brain, and mine has degenerated somewhat over the past few centuries. The regenerative vats have offered another opportunity to be… selfish," Doll mused wistfully.
Gertrude scoffed, "I believe I speak for all of us when I say that you could afford to be a little more selfish, Archmagos."
"I trust you all will see to my treatment and upgrades with all due care," Doll replied warmly.
"I have the data, and I know that the vats function on individuals with less biological material than you. However, my implants cannot fully repress my concerns. You risk implant rejection if we mistime your removal," Gertrude pointed out.
"You won't. I have faith in you and faith in the Machine God," Doll spoke with conviction.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------
Location: Cypra Mundi
POV: Forge Master, Gerontius Zulu-9
Forge Master Gerontius Zulu-9 was old; his familial lineage could be traced back to the founding of the forge temple and had proudly served within for millennia.
His hunched, heavily augmented form shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his Omnissian Axe as he went to greet his three curious guests.
Inquisitor Solenne Arc-Ferrum of the Ordo Machinum, his peer High Council member, Techno Magos Prime Autokratoris, Helix Dravane, and last and least of the trio, Legio Orbitalis Legate: Tyrel Ozkan.
He bowed low, his aging steel knees creaking. "Inquisitor, My Lords, welcome to our temple. How may I serve?" he canted in wheezing binaric while making the sign of the cog.
Legate Ozkan returned the sign and spoke up, "Forge Master. They wish to see the Thronus Iudicii Machina Aeterna. I was once told that out of all the forge keepers and historians, you know the most about this location's history. Could we trouble you to impart your wisdom?"
"Oh. I see… come along then. We must descend. This temple has grown over the millennia, expanded since its inception." He waved them onward as he turned and shuffled down the corridor. "For reasons you will soon see. We believe it may have originally been an Engine forge. The Engine has many secrets, most of them beyond our means to replicate."
"How long has the engine been present?" The Inquisitor inquired.
"Since before the Temple was founded. Our records are unfortunately incomplete. We lost a number of the older documents in the 865.M41 attacks." He shook his head ruefully as he led them to an ancient lift buried in the depths of the cathedral.
The lift shuddered and began to descend. "What about this Thronus Iudicii Machina Aeterna?"
"Ah. The Engine possesses a unique command throne. The Thronus Iudicii Machina Aeterna. We believe it is a relic of the Dark Age. The machine spirit within has… mmm… strict requirements. Thus far, not a single princeps has been able to meet. It was discovered several millennia ago… that should a tainted Princeps sit upon the throne… It will kill them," he explained.
The Inquisitor seemed very interested in that little nugget of knowledge. "This response was verified?"
"Oh yessss…" He hissed, his mechanical eyes narrowing with eerie delight. "Extensively. The data does not lie… Every soul purged by the throne in this way was later discovered to be tainted… Though the throne also kills anyone bold enough to attempt using more than a single primary umbilical linkage. It has multiple for whatever reason. That is an entirely different metric."
He ignored the concerned looks the two VIPs gave him as he continued to guide the lift lower, into the very foundations of the temple.
"What is the status of the Engine?" Asked Magos Prime Dravane.
"Well…" He hesitated. "According to our records. It was completed or nearly so at one point ages ago. One of the arms is not occupied, we possess the part; however, it requires a specific biometric key to open the trapped container, and attempting to force it open… well, the previous attempt resulted in the chamber flooding with chlorine trifluoride." Everyone winced upon hearing that. "Ahem. Sometime later, a few of the weapon systems were… borrowed. By the Legio. They were never returned, but my predecessor's predecessor's predecessor was somewhat of a genius; some also thought he was mad and had him tried for tech-heresy. He made some… unique… adjustments to the Engine. The calculations he derived remain, and they still check out, but… well… you'll see."
When the lift finally stopped, they stepped out onto a balcony that allowed the trio to peer out into the dark, cavernous chamber within which resided the ancient Engine.
"What in the name of the Omnissiah is that!?" Dravane exclaimed as he glared at what his traditional mindset deemed at best to be a defilement of a sacred God Engine.
"That is the Engine within which resides the Thronus Iudicii Machina Aeterna," He replied calmly.
"Ignoring the… unusual modifications. We have a problem," the Inquisitor hissed. "There is no door."
"Door?" He asked in a confused voice.
"Forge Master. This Engine's owner is on her way to collect it. It will walk," the Legate informed him.
Master Dravane looked around his Auspex pinging as he confirmed it. "You built… the third largest forge temple on Cypra Mundi on top of an ancient Titan production facility… and you removed the exits!?"
"Oh… yes, we did, a few millennia ago," he admitted as if the idea that the Engine would leave had never crossed his mind.
"Rust and stripped gear teeth," Dravane hissed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Okay. We need to delegate. One team focuses on deriving a means for extraction. While the other focuses on inventory and what critical components are missing from the receipt, and if we can retrieve them," the Inquisitor said firmly.
"You… have a list of the original requested parts?" Gerontius asked the Inquisitor with a mix of shock and awe.
"We do, and we need to find as many of them as we can before they arrive," she hissed. "Dravane, you handle extraction. I'll handle retrieval."
"Oh… Oh dear," he said as he looked out towards the Engine for a long moment. "Is this a poor time to mention the previous arm-mounted plasma weapon the Legio… borrowed… was lost to engine destruction? We replaced the arm and balanced the weight distribution! The claw is just as good."
The Inquisitor took a deep breath feeling a headache coming on before she muttered, "Frak."
