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Day 29, Continued

Aliciel was floating, adrift on soft currents. Her face, which had been charred and melted by the scorching heat of plasma, felt the wind and the spray of seawater . Her eyes, which had melted and fused shut in their sockets, opened and she looked up into a beautiful, blue sky, clouds of pure white lazily drifting across it. Her hair that had been singed to its roots clumped together in the water, the locks occasionally brushing up against her neck and shoulders. The scent of the ocean, salt and sand, was heavy. She flexed her fingers, all ten when there should have been only five, feeling the sea itself.

She stayed like that for a long time, not thinking about anything, just… existing. Experiencing a simple bliss that she had been denied years ago. She knew these waters, knew them quite well. They were those of the Caldian Gulf on the ocean-dominated world of Gulrac. A small, unimportant world populated by small, unimportant people. Like her, before she had been given the chance to be more. Given a chance to serve the God-Emperor.

And yet… even after her training, even after her indoctrination into the ways of the Sisterhood, she had never forgotten the simple pleasure of the Gulf's waters, its ever-calm waves. Gulrac was far from paradise, with its many leviathans and sea monsters, but the Gulf was safe. Peaceful. Home.

I miss my home too.

She became aware of someone floating in the water next to her, almost close enough for her limbs to brush up against theirs. She didn't turn her head. She wasn't curious about who it was. She already knew.

"It must have been divine," she said and was stricken by how… out of place her voice sounded. Wrong and ugly, a missed stroke in the canvas of a painting, an octave off in a song. She immediately felt guilty for even daring to speak, for causing such a… infraction upon this realm of perfection. She realized that her very presence was a mistake, a trespass in a place she was unworthy of being. The Caldian Gulf, a place she should have forgotten, should not have made herself remember, a precious and guilty secret exposed…

You feel guilty for not forgetting. For daring to exist.

The day's light faded away, the clouds clearing from the sky with it, and the night's beauty descended. Familiar constellations appeared and three moons hung low in the sky. Starlight illuminated the silver sea. Yet, something was wrong. A star was out of place. Moving, not as quickly as a meteor, burning a trail of orange across the sky and growing larger.

Her eyes widened in recognition of the engine trails of a gunship. Of the gunship.

She remembered this night. Her last night on Gulrac.

"Please, no." She whispered, speaking before she even realized she wanted to speak.

And like that, the gunship froze and faded away. The moons sunk below the horizon and night was lit by an unseen sun, bringing with it the blue sky and clouds.

As you wish. Until you are ready to remember, rest.

Aliciel closed her eyes and felt the world around her.

Elsewhere, Aliciel's body, barely still alive, was dragged deeper into a hidden antechamber by nineteen Sisters that moved, but truly rested just as she did, floating in their own memories, safe and free for truly the first time in their lives.

Uirus strode into what had once been the base camp of Janus' PDF, a vast market square whose many stalls and statues and fountains had been smashed to ruins, broken to make room for equipment, tanks, and hundreds of thousands of tents. A million men milled about, though not one of them saw him as he passed, sorcerous power ensuring none could perceive him with mortal senses. The sight of an Astartes would surely have given these wretched mortals a morale boost, but it would also cause questions to be asked. The Inquisitor had not made any obvious moves, one of a number of concerns that grew with each passing day.

The core of his concerns were brought about by this siege. Janus' defenders, the ones dedicated to defending and pushing back this siege, were eight million strong, along with Kalak's horde that was hundreds of thousands strong at least, although nowhere to be seen on the surface among the regular, unenlightened troops. By comparison, their enemies were less than half that with fewer than a thousand Sisters. Janus' defenses were not so strong as to make the hive city a fortress, but they were strong enough that many more mortals should have been required to besiege the city to make any progress.

And yet, day by day, reports came in that his forces were being pushed back, tunnel by tunnel, block by block. There were victories, of course, especially now that he had released Kalak and the rest of the beastmen to fight as they pleased. While casualties among his own forces conspicuously spiked every time the Bronze-Blood's berserkers joined a fight, their enemies had it worse. So, why were they still losing?

Their enemy had the Sisters, but even the power of those zealots to build fires within the hearts of the blind should not have allowed for such rapid progress. Uirus had fought Sisters before, slaughtered many, yet the Order of the Cleansing Rains was not like the others he had encountered it seemed. They were cautious, methodical in a way he could almost respect. The Sisters he'd fought were battle-crazed, keener on martyring themselves than they were in actually winning the battle. While the reports indicated the Sisters sent into the fray were just as fanatical as he'd come to expect, it seemed their leaders were not so glory-hungry.

Good leadership went a long way in ensuring the success of an army, but it wasn't everything. Certainly, PDF were little more than chaff, yet some of the reports from the frontline combatants he had seen spoke of these Malum troops strangely. It had gotten to the point that Uirus suspected the Imperium had somehow swapped eight regiments of PDF with eight regiments of their most fanatical guardsmen.

Uirus cast his gaze around, studying the mortals around him. While it had been some time since he'd had any similarities that could allow him to relate to these lesser beings, he could see they were tired, worn. Laughter was rare and usually hollow.

Ahsael likely wouldn't have cared about the morale of these mortals, having spent too much time among daemons and other beings that were just as far removed from the Materium. Uirus knew that it was these men, not the Neverborn, that would win them this world. Perhaps he should reveal himself to them, he considered.

Regardless, it was something he would think more of later. He had reached the other side of the square and entered one of a number of tunnels. He moved past layers of defenses, through barricades and machine gun nests, floating over razorwire, sliding by the treads of tanks, unseen even by the most alert sentries.

Deeper into the tunnels he went and he did not have to wait long to find signs of battle. It was obvious to see the work of Kalak and his lot. Ankle-deep pools of blood, some still fresh, toppled piles of skulls. Bodies that had been mutilated and desecrated. There were also plenty of areas the beastmen had not touched as well.

However, Uirus began to notice something off about the bodies. A pattern that took him a moment to recognize. Their uniforms, at least those still recognizable, were all Janus PDF. There were no Malum PDF bodies from what he could tell. They had taken the time to retrieve their dead? It was an odd practice to have in the middle of a siege.

He travelled further and soon found the enemy's front line. He strode fearlessly up to the sentries and walked by them, their gazes never wavering from the tunnel in front of them.

He paused. He took a step back and studied one of the PDF sentries more closely. A small feeling of concern blossomed in his gut.

The man wasn't moving. He breathed and the pupils of his eyes dilated, Uirus could see the slight tremor caused by the beating of his heart… But the micro expressions that all mortal humans had, the twitches of the face and body, the shifting of the weight to maintain imperfect balance… There was none of that.

Uirus's eyes turned to the rest of the sentries. All of them were the same. Like machines of flesh, frozen in their duties, doing the bare minimum to maintain their own existences until given a command.

Where had the Sisters found these mortals? Even servitors were not so… statuesque. He had only seen such command of one's own body in fellow Astartes and a very small number of exceptional mortals.

A part of him warned him, told him he should depart and speak to Ahsael of this discovery as soon as possible… But Uirus was one of the Thousand Sons and curiosity was their creed. There was more to learn and he might uncover more about just what these PDF troops really were, for they could not have been ordinary humans.

He travelled quickly forwards, studying the mortals as he passed by. They performed their duties silently, efficiently. Too efficiently. They did not seem to even need commands, their officers utterly silent. Were it not for the thrum of machinery, the distant echoes of fighting, and their own breathing, the tunnel would have been empty of sound. Some kind of psychic commands? He did not sense anything. Perhaps they were modified with some kind of machinery like the Skitarii of the Mechanicus, but he saw no signs of augmentation on any of them.

It was hours before he reached the outskirts of Janus and it was here he stopped. He had managed to make it this far because Malum's PDF had no counters to his psychic abilities, but that was not the case for the Sisters of the Cleansing Rain. If he traveled further he would almost certainly reach their base camp and be discovered and swiftly killed.

It was fine with him to stop, since he could still study the base from afar and it was here that he discovered something else of interest. He watched an interaction between one of the PDF and a Sister, conversing with speech. He couldn't make out their words, but they seemed to be joking with each other, laughing about something. A significant difference from what he had seen of the PDF at the front lines.

Other PDF were acting similarly, like normal humans. While it was difficult to read their micro expressions from so far away, he could see them shift. And yet, there were patterns here as well, like they were all going through similar motions.

Were they hiding their true nature from the Sisters? Interesting. Very interesting.

Uirus almost wanted to risk going in further, consequences be damned, to get a closer look. However, something else drew his attention. A group, a battalion of PDF around a thousand strong, marching out through a section of the base of Janus' wall. They were not headed towards the tunnels being fought over, but another entrance, a service duct Uirus had ensured was heavily defended by a large force of trusted cultists to ambush anyone attempting to use it. They had already killed a small group of Sisters attempting to infiltrate the hive. Now, it seemed, their enemies were interested in sending a larger force.

Something marked this battalion as different, Uirus noticed as he closed the distance with them, his gait letting him easily catch up to them. Their uniforms had been marked with three letters in Low Gothic, spelling out 'ONI' in grey paint. It seemed to be a recent addition, the paint was still fresh, and he wondered what it meant as he had not seen anything like it among the rest of the Imperial forces present.

For a time, these PDF were like the ones he'd seen in the camp. In fact, they seemed even more alive, more raucous than the others had been, joking with one another, playfully pushing and jostling their comrades, as a proper army would. However, he soon saw the pattern was merely different, not gone, and as they lost sight of the base camp, the battalion fell into the same silent, inhuman state he had seen from those on the front line.

They were hiding it. Had the Mechanicus of this world created an army of hidden Skitarii with no one the wiser? Uirus wasn't sure if he should be enraged that such a thing had occurred without his knowledge or applaud the scheme for its audacity and success.

He followed the battalion, passing by the garrison posted to guard the Imperium's side of the service duct. He had considered sending Kalak and the rest through the tunnel in a flanking attack, but he doubted the beastmen would agree to such a plan, if they could even understand it. While Khorne took all sorts so long as they committed to the letting of blood in his name, Kalak's lot were the sort to eschew such dishonorable things like ranged weaponry and any tactics more complicated than a headlong charge into the enemy's lines. It had proven a useful tool and kept their numbers reduced, even as others were drawn to the scent of carnage to replenish the horde's strength.

Had Kalak had a mind beneath all that brawn, had any of the beastmen, perhaps it would not be Tzeentch who would control this world when this war came to an end. Fortunately, strategists among Khorne's sort were few and far, far between.

The pace of these 'ONI' forces increased as they filed into the tunnel, nearly filling its width at thirty men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, going from a standard march to a jog and then a full-blown run. Uirus matched their stride easily enough, his heavy steps making no sound as he followed them from behind, taking care to study these slaves of the Mechanicus closely. The ceiling was just barely high enough that he could walk without scraping his helmeted head along the rockrete.

They did not show signs of tiring, not even sweating or breathing more heavily. They didn't move quite in time with one another, he noticed, but they also did in a way. He picked out sixteen groups, each around sixty men strong spread across the entire force who moved in lockstep with one another, but differently from the other groups. Was it to hide their true nature? To reduce the noise caused by their footfalls? Or, perhaps, were the groups each controlled by separate tech-priests? There were other patterns he noted as well, some rather obvious, others so well-hidden he couldn't be sure they were intentional.

They kept running for nearly an hour, at a pace that few mortals could have managed for themselves, let alone simple soldiers. Uirus knew they were nearing the areas where his cultists had been reinforced by several battalions of Janus PDF who had been subtly converted in recent days.

How would these PDF fight, Uirus wondered. His cultists had reported the sisters sent into the duct were all dead, so there was nothing preventing these troops from displaying their full might. Would they fight as well as the Skitarii did? They did not have any obvious augments, no integrated weapons systems, so he doubted it, but they could still be dangerous.

They were picking up speed, Uirus realized. They had entered into a full sprint, a pace no guardsman or PDF trooper should have been capable of maintaining for such a long period, and they were still getting faster. He was forced to break out into a run of his own just to keep up with them.

Ahsael would be interested by this new threat, Uirus knew. He wanted, he needed to see them fight. They would be coming up on his defensive positions soon enough. At their pace, less than five minutes, he estimated.

Four minutes later, the battalion came to a dead halt, well outside of sight and weapons range of his forces. Uirus wondered why, until he saw the reason.

Several Sisters of Battle emerged from a hidden alcove in the wall, moving silently, stripped of their power armor. They didn't acknowledge the PDF, only filed past them one-by-one.

Uirus' eyes narrowed. It seemed his cultists had misreported the situation in the hopes their failure to capture or kill the Sisters would not be discovered. He'd have to have a word with any of the survivors later. His eyes widened as another Sister emerged, held carefully between two of her fellow zealots.

She was covered in burns that no mortal being could have survived, her flesh charred and cracked, one of her hands a ruined stump ending in a shard of bone. Her face looked half-melted, almost fused shut, yet she somehow still breathed, the rise and fall of her chest steady and strong. She should not have been conscious, let alone capable of doing anything more than writhing in pain, yet one of her legs covered in less burns assisted the two sisters in carrying her along.

One of the PDF stepped toward the Sister that should have been dead, a man of considerable bulk, though it was obviously all muscle. His uniform didn't seem to fit quite right, seeming too small for his frame. The man rolled up the sleeve of his uniform, revealing an arm and Uirus studied it in puzzlement as the flesh seemed to writhe.

His eyes snapped open in shock as the man ripped off his own arm with not even a moment's hesitation or a cry of pain. Yet, that was not the end of the strangeness. No blood spouted from the wound and the arm kept moving even after being detached, the flesh slowly starting to crawl towards itself, the bones seemingly melting, if they ever existed to begin with. In a matter of seconds, the arm had transformed, mutated into an amorphous blob of flesh.

That alone was not so terrifying. Uirus had seen such mutations take place often among Chaos worshippers, particularly among Tzeentch's followers. However, such events always had powerful psychic emanations, emanations that he could feel. He felt nothing of the sort from whatever had just happened now.

A cold pit grew in his stomach as the blob crawled along the ground and latched onto the Sister, rolling itself up and along her legs, stomach, arms, and head, covering her entirely like some kind of second skin. It writhed, seemed to tighten around her, then settled.

Uirus watched in astonishment as a face emerged- no, grew from the second skin, eyes, a mouth, a nose, even eyebrows formed from the raw biomass. Gone were the grotesque wounds, replaced by a flawless picture of humanity. Then, even that picture changed, flesh that looked like it was scarred appearing from nothing. The rest of the Sister's body was similarly healed, repaired, by the biomass. Even a full head of hair, colored white like many Sisters possessed but certainly not dyed by any usual methods, sprouted.

Meanwhile, the man, if he could even be called a man, with the ill fitting uniform began to shift and change as well. His body seemed to shrink, but soon Uirus realized his empty sleeve, hanging loose at his side without an arm inside of it, was starting to fill out. In seconds, the one-armed man was two-armed again, his uniform fitting him perfectly.

The Sister, fully healed, was released by the others of her Order and joined the rest of them departing back towards the Imperium's lines. They passed by Uirus, who watched them go, incomprehension in his unseen eyes.

Ahsael needs to know. Ahsael needs to know now.

His plans of following these creatures forgotten, Uirus turned and sprinted back down the service duct. It was not fear that drove him, he told himselDay 30

"Our world is besieged, but through my leadership, with the approval of the God-Emperor, He Who Rests On Terra, it shall be led out of the darkness and into His light! For too long, Monstrum has been afflicted with the disease of the unfaithful, those that would spurn the God-Emperor's gifts! Sons and Daughters of Monstrum, follow me and we shall cleanse our world of the xenos! The mutant! And the heretic!"

With that ending, the speech from Governor Selvik, broadcast over numerous vox-casters, came to an end. Corren cheered, like every other man that had been assembled outside the city's walls, in the ruined fields of broken Ork warmachines and rotting corpses. The stench was horrific and Corren had seen more than a few of the PDF assembled alongside the remaining regiments of Imperial Guard lose their breakfast from the stench alone.

It wasn't exactly the most scenic place to hear a speech or spend three hours standing at attention, but Corren and the rest of them didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. As the assembly dissolved, returning to the camps that had been set up, Corren found himself surrounded, not by enemies, but allies, though he might have preferred if it had been the former.

PDF troopers, six in total, blocked his path to his tent, though their intentions were anything but hostile. He'd seen the looks on their faces before, several times now, since the Imperial Guard had started to mingle more with Deimos' PDF. Unabashed admiration and even hero-worship. It wasn't because of any actions on his own part, though some had heard of his exploits in the battle, but because he was a Guardsman.

"You're corporal Corren, right?" The oldest looking of the PDF, a boy who couldn't be past seventeen, asked, openly staring at Corren's newly mechanical arm. "The one who killed the greenskin commander?"

"I didn't kill any commander," Corren replied, annoyed that that particular rumor hadn't been squashed already. Between him and the Inquisitor in full power armor, he knew who was more likely to have killed the beast, but for some reason people kept saying he either had more of a hand in it than he did, if not outright slain the beast in some kind of glorious duel. "But I am Corren."

The troopers whispered to one another excitedly, when one suddenly saluted and the other five followed suit. "Thank you for your service, sir!" The boy shouted, followed by a similar chorus of 'thank you' and 'its an honor'. Corren gave them a thin smile, but wasn't interested in dealing with the group, so he returned the salute, nodded, and then left, hoping to lie down after spending three hours standing straight.

And the little bastards followed.

He groaned inwardly and could see the looks on other Guardsmen, ranging from the sympathetic to amusement to scorn. The troopers behind him were blissfully unaware, instead focused on pestering him with as many questions as they could think of.

"Sir, what was the battle like?"

"Sir, how many greenskins did you kill?"

"Sir, is it true you beat a greenskin to death with your arm after it got cut off?"

"Intense, I don't remember the exact number, and what?" Corren glanced incredulously at the last trooper to speak, who rightfully looked embarrassed.

"I heard it from someone who-,"

"Heard it from someone else, right. Rumors," Corren shook his head slightly in exasperation. They passed by a tech-priest carrying a smoking censer and the troopers went quiet for a moment. Once the tech-priest was out of earshot, or at least what the troopers thought would be out of earshot, the first one spoke up again.

"I heard the Mechanicus leaders of all the hives are sending their own soldiers to join us," The boy said, perhaps thinking for some reason that the mentioning of rumors meant he should bring more up. "I've heard they have some kind of new weapon to beat the genestealers."

"I heard they're being sent by the Inquisition," Another trooper said, receiving an elbow from one of his fellows for bringing up the organization. "What? Everyone knows an Inquisitor is here."

"That doesn't mean you should go around talking about it, idiot!" The oldest hissed.

Corren wondered if they were right. He hadn't seen Belleric, the Tempestus Scion, since the awards ceremony held by the governor. If anyone knew the plans of an Inquisitor, it would be one of their personal guards, right?

"So, how many regiments from the other hives do you think will come?" Another trooper asked, as much to Corren as to the rest of the group. "Now that Selvik's put out the call?"

"He said ten from every hive, right?"

"Did he? I stopped paying attention after the first ten minutes."

Corren almost stumbled at that brazen admission of a lack of discipline from one of the troopers, who spoke as if it was a joke, let alone the snickers it elicited from the others. It hadn't been all that long ago that he'd been just a PDF trooper, but it was still surprising to hear something that would have had a commissar have him whipped for speaking.

"Do you really think the other hives will send that many?"

"Why not, Deimos is sending fifteen, plus the Guard!"

Corren was a little bit offended at that. The Guard were drawn from the best of almost every hive city on the planet, they weren't forces from Deimos. Corren himself was from Lamashtu originally and had served in its PDF for years before being selected to become a Guardsman.

"Do you think the Sisters will come back to help?"

"I doubt it, I heard they're busy with Janus."

"Malum's supposed to be sending regiments, right? Maybe a few Sisters will come as well!"

"I hear those Malumites are as tough as the Guard!"

The one who said that last bit received another elbow for his trouble about the comparison, but Corren was barely paying attention. He would be surprised if Malum sent anyone, given they were likely just as busy dealing with Janus as the Sisters were, if not more so. Personally, he thought it was a bad idea for any forces to be drawn from the south given it was their last bastion in that hemisphere, but he wasn't trained to disagree. Whether Malum's governor would willingly part with five million soldiers when he was beset on two sides by enemies was another story.

If every hive city sent their required regiments, they'd have at least fifty-five PDF regiments, plus the six Guard regiments still left. Over thirty million men, an unstoppable force…

Unless those PDF, like most of the regiments departing Deimos, were raw recruits like the one's currently following him like lost children. The guardsmen he'd served alongside were some of the most highly trained and best-equipped soldiers he'd ever met. And they'd been little more than fresh meat for the Ork hordes. While the greenskins were broken, he knew there were still pockets of them out there, in the wastes.

Heretics and mutants aside, at least the enemies they would be facing in the east would be regular humans, Corren assured himself.

"Sir, have you fought alongside any Malumites?" One of the troopers asked, breaking him from his thoughts. The other troopers all groaned.

"Hm? Yeah, a few," Corren replied.

"What are they like?" The boy asked.

"Uh, normal?" Corren answered, not sure how to respond. Plenty of the men in the Guard were originally from Malum. Corren hadn't noticed any differences. "Why?"

"Because they're incredible!" The trooper, who seemed even more energetic than the rest, nearly shouted. "They fought off an invasion by heretics and greenskins! They're retaking the south all on their own!"

One boy snorted at that. "Hardly on their own. They've got the Cleansing Rains."

"Okay, but they're still amazing!"

"Flin, you never shut up about them," Another trooper said. "I heard a bunch of Guardsmen got sent down to Malum a while back, before the greenskins came. Between the Hammer of the Imperium and the Sisters of Battle, do you really think Malum's PDF needs to do anything?"

"They're probably lazing around, letting the Sisters do all the heavy lifting," One trooper added.

Personally, Corren agreed more with this 'Flin' than the others. He'd also heard about a few battalions being sent to the hive city for mysterious reasons, supposedly it had been an order from the Inquisitor herself. However, he also knew that even if a regiment had been sent, the hive wouldn't have been able to withstand an attack even a fraction of the size of the greenskins that the Guard had fought outside Deimos.

The troopers chattered on about anything and everything and Corren was only barely aware of it. Once he reached his tent, they seemed to finally catch the hint and dispersed, letting him finally all but crumble onto his sleeping mat, his one organic hand massing his sore legs.

I see you have finished the armor.

Vidriov paused in his work, his mechadendrites whirring as they withdrew from the internals of one of many side projects he had begun.

"I am afraid not," Vidriov said, turning his gaze over to the armor.

The set of altered power armor now, at least, appeared like what he had seen from the vision granted to him by Tide and the Machine God, albeit with certain… changes. While the armor itself had been remolded to the shape of the 'Mjolnir' armor he had seen, something that had increased its flexibility albeit at the cost of some protection, the symbols were different from what had adorned either the vision he had seen or the original armor he had taken from the inquisitor.

Instead of green, the paint was Mechanicus red with silver trim. Even the visor's color had been altered to silver. Furthermore, whereas the original armor possessed many adornments, they had been dedicated to the Imperium and the God-Emperor. Purity seals, the Aquila, and other markings of that false religion. Those had been stripped away, their precious metals rendered into new markings. Now, the symbol of the Mechancius was emblazoned upon the Mjolnir armor's chestplate and shoulder pads, in honor of the Machine God that had granted him the vision. He'd made the alterations mostly for sheer practicality. The armor would be seen as far less out of place provided it was properly adorned.

"While it is structurally complete, it lacks many of the additional systems you told me true Mjolnir armor possessed," Vidriov said. "The refractor field is similar to the shields you described, but the device's reliability is not perfect, nor does it recharge very swiftly. Many of the systems are like this. It is a lesser armor than what it should be, held back by my limited knowledge."

Your knowledge is what produced such an incredible set of armor, in spite of the limitations placed upon you, Tide reassured him. The armor is beautiful work. One I hope to replicate in my foundries.

"It is beautiful," Vidriov agreed. If he still had lips, a small smile would have crossed his face. Throughout the process of crafting the power armor, he'd felt a sort of joy he'd thought had been lost to him. Some tech-priests saw emotions as weaknesses and, indeed, Vidriov saw the irrationality of those controlled by their emotions as weak as well. However, this had been a pure feeling, a simple pleasure found in the act of creation. He shook his head. "I know for certain this artifice could be improved, however."

All things can, Tide replied. But I don't think that's what you wish to say.

"I believe you should reach out to the rest of the Mechanicus on Monstrum," Vidriov stated. "Not only would you gain them as allies, they could also be set to work on developing and improving certain technologies as you have had me do."

I am disinclined towards doing so, Tide admitted. Not all would be as willing to work with me as you have.

"Many of my fellow priests are devout servants of the Machine God, as I am," Vidriov insisted. "They would recognize your holy aura, as I have."

I am not so certain about that.

"I am. They will follow you, if you only reach out your hand." Vidriov paused. "You possess great insight into the minds of those you have altered, no? I can only assume you foresaw how I would react when you reached out. Select those who you are certain would accept you. If possible, start with my subordinates, here in Deimos. I could use their aid in further refining the armor."

Tide was quiet for a time, considerate. Vidriov could almost feel the Machine God's agent weighing the choices, the potential benefits vs the costs.

Very well. I already know of several in your staff who have been altered who would be willing to join us. I shall bring them into the fold.

"This knowledge is most… concerning," Ahsael said, stroking his chin. He sat upon his throne, a rare moment of relaxation between his rituals. Despite his best efforts, he had gained no more answers from the Warp's denizens regarding the meaning about the number four. He was not sure if Uirus' most recent discovery had anything to do with it, but for such a strangeness to occur… "You are certain of what you saw?"

"It was with my own two eyes, brother," Uirus confirmed. "They may appear human, the forces that oppose us in Janus are anything but. I cannot say if all the Sororitas are the same, but I am certain Malum's PDF are all like the… things I witnessed."

"And you are certain these mutations did not originate from the Warp? That they were entirely material in nature?"

"I felt nothing from them, no trace of power, sorcerous or otherwise." Uirus paused. "As for if they are material… I cannot say for certain. The Ghoul Stars are a strange place. Much of what I once thought was true has been challenged since we came here."

"Indeed," Ahsael agreed.

"Could they be genestealers of a new breed?" Uirus posited. "Some kind of new infiltration unit?"

"That is one possibility," Ahsael confirmed. "But if such is the case, why did they rebuff the attacks of the genestealers in the East?"

"Perhaps to hide this new weapon of theirs," Uirus offered. "A deception. It seems to have worked on the Sororitas."

"Hm," Ahsael said nothing, steepling his fingers, eyes shut. What Uirus was saying could be the case… But this was outside the realm of anything the genestealer had ever done to Ahsael's knowledge. Perhaps they had a better chance of creating some weapon like this than the Orks or the Imperium did, but that didn't mean they had. In all his centuries serving Tzeentch, he had found the answers to such questions were rarely simple. "Were you discovered?"

"I don't believe so."

"Then we should operate on the belief that our foe is not aware we know of their true nature," Ahsael stated. "From what you have seen, they appear to have the ability to shift their forms with ease and great finesse. How far that ability goes is difficult to say, but I think you'll agree that our enemy is not fighting as hard as they otherwise could."

Uirus nodded grimly. "They've been pushing our forces in Janus back with each passing day, but I haven't received any reports indicating such oddness as I saw among our enemy's ranks. At most, I would say they fight about as well as Imperial Guardsmen, though I recall several reports that claim an almost suicidal fervor to them."

"I can certainly see why you would assume them to be so." Ahsael paused. "Tell me, did you notice any numerical signs from them?"

"The god numbers?" Uirus seemed surprised by the question. "I doubt it was a plot of Nurgle."

"I never said I thought so either," Ahsael replied. "Tell me, did you notice any?"

"Nothing comes to mind," Uirus shrugged. "Well, there was a moment that, I suppose, could indicate Khorne's involvement, but these hardly seem the type of followers he prefers."

"Explain." Ahsael's tone left no room for argument.

"In the service duct, I counted the battalion I'd followed had groups, the members of which all moved in lockstep with one another, I'd assumed it to be because each were under the control of a-."

"Your speculations are not relevant, tell me the number," Ahsael interrupted, his voice cold.

"Sixteen, two groups of eight. As I said, I doubt it has anything to do with Khorne, as I would expect eight groups of eight, not-,"

"It is not two groups of eight, Uirus," Ahsael interrupted again, quietly, a growing pit in his stomach. "It is four groups of four."

Uirus' head tilted in confusion. "That is not a number associated with any god."

"Not one we know the name of," Ahsael replied, rising from his seat and striding towards the antechamber where he'd delved into the Warp. "Leave me. Return to Janus, deal with this threat as best you can, but do not reveal what we have learned, not through words or through actions, do you understand?"

"Yes, brother, but-," Uirus turned to watch him go past. "What do you mean about a god we don't know the name of? What are you saying?"

Ahsael paused. He turned and looked back at his brother.

"I am saying we may have made a mistake in coming to the Ghoul Stars."

"How long has it been?"

Purilla turned, eyes wide, as Catherine Ellen sat up in her bed. She recovered quickly, answering. "This is the seventh day since the battle."

Ellen closed her eyes, her fists bundling up the sheets. She looked like she wanted to tear them apart.

She's angry. Not at you, at herself, Tide said.

"You… took care of me? Throughout that time?" Ellen asked, sounding almost surprised.

"It was my duty," Purilla lied, finding it surprisingly, almost sickeningly, easy to bow her head in deference again.

"… Indeed." Ellen said after a time. "It was your duty."

Ellen pulled away the blanket and sheet covering her, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. She didn't try to get up, just resting there.

"Do you require anything?" Purilla asked. Ellen looked at her strangely.

"How… how many died?" She asked. "I know it was close to half, but… do we have a number?"

"I… never asked," Purilla answered truthfully. Ellen stared down at the floor.

"I… need the room to myself," Ellen said. Purilla nodded and was about to turn and leave, when Tide's voice, more urgent than she'd ever heard from him before, spoke.

Do not leave.

It was a request, but one that sent a shiver down her spine for the implications. There was only one reason he would take that tone in this moment. She froze.

Ellen looked up at her, a hint of anger on her face, but mostly confusion. "I said leave."

"No."

"What?"

"I won't leave you."

Purilla reached out and brushed Ellen's mind and felt a burst of fury, but it was an empty rage born of practice rather than true emotion. She wasn't really angry, she'd just been taught to be angry in the face of insubordination, and now it seemed so… pointless. The anger died pitifully without fuel to burn and Ellen just gave a hollow laugh.

"So, I can't even control my own witch," Ellen said with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Ah, what a failure of an inquisitor I am."

"Inquisitor…" Purilla repeated the word. She walked over and took a seat next to Ellen, feeling the surprise as much as seeing it on her face with the audacious act. "Ellen, are you happy?"

Ellen stared at her as though she were an idiot. It was a pretty foolish question to ask, Purilla supposed.

"Let me rephrase," Purilla continued. "Have you ever been happy? As an Inquisitor, I mean?"

"What does that have to do with… anything?" Ellen asked, sounding more confused than she'd ever seen from the woman. She'd seen a lot of new sides to her former master in the last week.

"Everything," Purilla answered. She reached out to Tide and felt gentle approval. "Have you, ever, been truly happy as an inquisitor?"

"Happiness has no value to an inquisitor, we are content with our duty," Ellen said, but the words sounded more like they came from training rather than the heart.

"They teach much the same to psykers," Purilla nodded sadly. How many of her brothers and sisters were killing themselves slowly for the sake of an Imperium that cared nothing for them. "Our existence is seen as a vile wickedness, but also a necessary one. We are tools, to be used and discarded when no longer worth the risk of our existence. Inquisitors are much the same."

Had she said such words to the old Catherine Ellen, Purilla would have already had her head blown off by the Inquisitor's hellpistol. However, there was no hellpistol in this room, and this was not the old Ellen. Or, at least, Purilla hoped she wasn't.

"… What are you saying?" Ellen finally asked with weak suspicion.

"That we deserve more than what we're told to accept," Purilla replied and she saw the suspicion solidify into accusation.

"You're a heretic," Ellen said, more for her own benefit than Purilla's.

"Yes." Purilla nodded after a moment. "I suppose I am, even though I hold nothing but hatred and scorn for the machinations of Chaos."

It was a wonder that Ellen didn't attack her, weapon or no. A self-admitted heretic, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a member of the God-Emperor's Inquisition. She was quiet for a long time, before breaking her gaze away from Purilla and returning it to the floor. "Truly, no Inquisitor in the galaxy has performed worse in her duty than I. A traitor, right under my nose. A traitor who took care of me, while I wallowed in my own self-pity."

"You needed time," Purilla corrected. "You broke and you needed time to put yourself back together."

"A broken, worthless Inquisitor," Ellen said. "Kill me then, heretic, and be done with it."

"I'm not going to do that."

"You would be doing the Imperium a great service by doing so."

"I'm not inclined towards helping the Imperium anymore," Purilla said with a small, sad smile. "But that doesn't mean I'm an enemy of humanity. Or of you."

"You wish to corrupt me." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm sure the Inquisition would see it that way," Purilla said as she laid her back across the bed, staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped behind her head. It was a vulnerable position, but she had no fear. "Though, I guess I wouldn't be doing the corrupting."

"You have some daemon master, then?" Ellen asked, almost laughing. "Or perhaps a xenos?"

"Not sure what he is, but he's not anyone's master," Purilla said. "Would you like to meet him?"

"Why not!" Ellen said, suddenly springing to her feet, a look of hysteria on her face. Purilla leaned back up into a sitting position as Ellen turned to face her. "Why not indeed! I'm already an even greater heretic than you are through my actions, so why not meet this vile being! This lord of lords, this god of gods that has twisted your mind away from the glory of the God-Emperor!"

As you wish.

Ellen's entire body tensed and Purilla could feel the fear and shock that travelled through the woman's entire being as she felt something vaster than an ocean speak to her, not from outside her mind as a telepath might, but from within it. Under any defenses she might have constructed, behind any walls she had built, from the core of her own brain.

Hello, Catherine. This conversation is long overdue.f. He was a Space Marine, after all. They knew no fear.

Nonetheless, he did not slow down all the way back to his palace.

Day 30, Continued

Catherine was falling. Wind rushed past her, quietly whistling in her ears. She looked down and saw clouds, not like those that covered Monstrum, dark and totally obscuring, but like ones that might be found on an Agri-world, colored all the shades of dawn, drifting lazily past. Orange, red, pink, purple, light cast by a sun that hung low in the sky. Below her, an ocean that shone and reflected the world above that never seemed to draw closer no matter how long she fell.

Despite the air striking her face, her eyes did not go bleary or feel any discomfort, nor did any other part of her. The air was warm and dry, more comfortable to her than Monstrum's humid corridors.

She recognized this place or, rather, knew a place like it. Charnos IV had been a Shrine World dedicated to Saint Erellia the Pure… and her home. It had been a beautiful world, not just because of the grand cathedrals unrivalled in the entire sector, but also its lush forests and thriving oceans that were abundant with all manner of exotic life, whether it was small fish the size of fingernails that could leap out of the waters and use their fins as wings to hover or leviathans as large as void attack craft that could swim with shocking speed through open waters and emerge to crawl across the land.

Then, the xenos came.

Catherine saw the lights of the clouds and sky darken, the ocean growing dim. She flipped her body around and looked up to see them.

They descended like a torrent of rain, as unstoppable as they were unending. Drop pods made of organic chitin screamed like meteors through the air, their flaming bodies rushing past her to strike at the world below. Skyfire cannons and countless other orbital defenses should have opened fire, should have protected them, even if only for a moment… but Charnos IV's weapons remained silent.

She was no longer falling through the skies, but on the streets of her home city, whose name she had forgotten. This night, however, she remembered all too well.

She was tiny, perhaps no older than five or six, carried in the arms of a man who might have been her father or simply someone who was unwilling to abandon a lost child to her fate. The man rushed down the streets, along the shadows and alleyways, avoiding the sounds of autogun fire and screaming. She sobbed into his shoulder and he hugged her tighter.

'It will be okay,' he had said. 'It will be okay.' He might have been trying to convince himself as much as her.

Through her tears, she saw only fragments, but even that was enough. They went down an alleyway, only for the man to suddenly halt, turn, and sprint away. Unfortunately, she was well-positioned to see just what they were running from.

A four-limbed monster, covered in chitinous plates and bristling with claws and fangs that left gouges in the rockrete as it ran towards them, each bound bringing it closer and closer, closer and closer.

She might have screamed, she probably had. However, the thing she remembered most were the beast's eyes. They were a glowing yellow, sickly, and utterly inhuman. Whatever emotions, whatever desires drove that creature, she had no chance of comprehending.

The creature leapt towards her, a claw outstretched, seeking to slice through her eyes, only for a rush of dark green to slam into the beast with a great roar, sending the monster flying through the air before it crashed to the ground. The man had barely taken another step before the monster was back up and facing this new threat.

The guardsman stood in proud defiance of the creature, brandishing a combat knife slick with purple blood. Further back in the alley, she saw dozens more of creatures just like the monster rushing forwards. The guardsman strode forward, swinging his knife with the strength of the God-Emperor, bellowing a wordless war cry as he fought off the monsters.

The man never stopped running. Her last glimpse of the valiant Guardsman was as a dozen or more monsters descended upon him from all sides. Then, the man rounded a corner and she saw nothing more.

She wasn't sure how long the man ran or how far, but his pace never faltered, though she remembered how slick with sweat the neck she had clung onto for dear life had felt. She remembered seeing more like the monsters and other things as well. She saw mutants and humans fighting just as rabidly as the creature that had tried to leap upon her. She also saw those who opposed them.

Guardsmen, Planetary Defense Forces, even ordinary citizens clad in nothing more than the clothes upon their backs that had picked up weapons from the fallen. They rallied around the man carrying her even as more of the monsters closed in. She watched as they bled and died under the talons of enemy, heard their screams as they were ripped apart.

At some point, the man carrying her fell. Perhaps he was overcome with exhaustion. Perhaps he'd been wounded. Perhaps his body had simply given out. She fell with him, but he managed to twist around just enough that she did not strike the ground, but he took the brunt of the collapse.

She tried shaking him, asking a question she couldn't remember the words of. He hadn't responded, his eyes simply staring up into a sky that had darkened, though not by night.

She remembered being wrapped up by a new pair of arms, being torn away from the man as she tried to shake him awake. She never saw the face of the person who took her, only remembering the green combat vest they'd worn.

She was rushed behind hastily thrown up lines of defenses, past camps filled more with the dead than the wounded, and along open streets rather than shadows and alleyways. She was brought to a large, open area. A spaceport, or something that had been turned into one out of need. A single shuttle waited, surrounded by a crowd of civilians that wept and screamed and shouted and demanded and threatened and begged, held back by guardsmen.

She was let through, possibly because of who brought her, passed off to another on the other side of the line keeping others from rushing the shuttle, already filled nearly to the brim. She was bundled away in a corner of the shuttle, filled with holy men, priests, who looked just as terrified as those outside.

The shuttle lifted off and she remembered finding a viewport, watching as swarms of monsters rushed across the spaceport, slaughtering the crowd and the guardsmen alike. She looked up and saw the dark sky of writhing horrors, the horrors they were rushing towards. She saw brief points of light erupt in that canopy of darkness, flickering into life one moment and dying the next, and thought the stars themselves were being devoured, one-by-one.

She saw a new sun be born before her eyes, a fireball that lit up the form of a monster of a size that it could have devoured her entire city whole. The beast fell to the world below, the cracking of its chitinous armor like peals of thunder.

They passed through the hole made in the beast by the short-lived sun and she saw its insides, filled with massive intestines and internal organs, but most disturbingly other monsters like those on the ground and even more varied and horrible in appearance, that scurried like a nest of angered insects across the corpse even as it fell.

They passed through the cloud and into the starlit void and Catherine saw the true scale of the terror they faced. The whole of Charnos IV was shrouded by hundreds of thousands monsters just as large as the one killed by the newborn sun if not bigger. They writhed and reacted like the waves of an ocean, moving together as one.

She saw other stars be born, but no matter how many monsters were consumed by the burning flames, endless numbers more remained. One broke off from the group and came closer, so close she could see the glint of its teeth, see that even the smallest of them was a greater size than the land-crawling leviathans of her world's oceans.

Its maw opened, revealing many more teeth and waterfalls of a green fluid spewing from the fleshy insides of its mouth. It was faster than their shuttle and moved nearer and nearer. She remembered the screams of the holy men, the begging for their own lives to be spared.

She remembered when the cruiser burned into view, its golden Imperial Eagle-shaped prow glinting in the starlight. The beak of the eagle was like a spear tip as it rushed headlong into the open mouth of the monster, piercing straight through the lining of its mouth and into where a normal creature's brain would have been. The great beast was shoved away by the force of the cruiser's blow, allowing the shuttle that carried her to escape… but the cruiser was lost and disappeared from view as the monster's great maw closed around it.

At some point, they reached a larger ship, a battleship she would later be told. One part of a great fleet that had been deployed to see off the threat of the creatures, the Tyranids. One part of a great fleet that had been sent to exterminatus Charnos IV once the Tyranids were invested there. One part of a great fleet that had evacuated only a fraction of the planet's population when the Tyranids arrived in system.

Catherine fell into the ocean.

Are you ready to talk now?

What… was that?

Memories. Some buried, others relived countless times.

Ellen shook her head. She floated in an ocean of endless black, her own form the only thing illuminated within it, though she couldn't say by what light. She wore simple plainclothes, like those that might have been owned by any peasant of a shrine world. Her body was not what it should have been. She knew she was powerfully built, a woman who had remained in her prime for longer than most humans lived naturally. Yet, here, she was a child, small, weak.

Innocent.

The realization that… whatever it was that spoke could read her thoughts was unnerving.

I choose what form you take here, as I control everything in this place. However, the forms I give are determined by the person in question. For Purilla, she came to me as your tool, a prisoner who did not realize what bonds held her. For Vidriov, he came as a man, a student of his order, one I hoped to teach.

And her?

You come at my invitation. The voice surrounded her, echoed through her, like the vibrations of a starship's engines. I find you and the Imperium you serve… Horrifying.

In a flash, her mind was bombarded with thoughts and images. She saw the common citizens of the Imperium slaving away in the factories of the hive cities. She saw mutants being beaten and abused and murdered. She saw the nobility the Imperium permitted hording wealth, gathering trinkets while their people suffered for their gain.

She had seen such things before and worse, but she had never gotten a look into the minds of those who were worked and abused. She heard them now. She heard the citizens and the horrific deadness of their minds, empty of thoughts and wishes and dreams and desires, as rote and mechanical as a servitor. There was no faith there, no love or respect for the Imperium, no sense of duty. Only mindless obedience.

She heard the cries and pains of the mutants, the disgust leveled at them by others and by themselves, heard their screams as they had their bodies broken. She watched in horror as she was forced to learn that it was not their mutations that drove them down the path of damnation, but the hate and scorn that fueled them, that made them into the very monsters the Imperium claimed them to be by birth.

She felt it. All of it. She was forced to feel everything the Imperium had wrought, everything she had proclaimed as being good and right.

Life is as much about suffering and pain as joy and happiness… But there is neither in these cities. Your Imperium has taught its people only to die, not to live. The only emotion left to them is hatred of those deemed unworthy of even that much.

Life… was duty. Catherine fell into the mantras she had been taught, trying to ignore the pain, the gnawing at her soul. An Inquisitor must be strong, must make the hard decisions. The people of the Imperium worked for the defense of all humanity.

Yes, that they do… And the Imperium squanders their devotion with pettiness, hate, and practices just as vile as those used by its enemies. How many worlds die for vendettas? How many devoted servants of your God-Emperor are killed for the sake of convenience? Humanity is dying, your Imperium is dying, as much because of its own actions as all the efforts of its enemies combined.

The universe was dark and cruel, it was only the God-Emperor's light that kept humanity afloat and it was the Inquisitors who embodied that light. She could not falter, could not let her fury dim. Through hardship, the people were made stronger to better serve the Emperor.

How hollow those words sounded to her now.

You aren't fighting me, Catherine Ellen, you're fighting the truth. You think your hate has kept you alive, your fury, your Emperor.

She was dragged through the black waters… No, she was carried through them. She felt her arms wrap around the neck of someone running, clinging tightly to them as she was delivered to safety.

You are wrong. The Imperium is not the reason humanity survives. Nor is your Emperor. Not the Inquisition, not the Space Marines, not the Ecclesiarchy, nor any organization. Humanity endures because of men and women like the ones who saved you from your home. The ones who saw a scared child… and helped her.

Ludicrous. She shook her head, releasing her grip upon the man, only to find herself sinking through the water once more. This time, however, she was no longer in the body of a child but an adult.

Kindness like what they had done was weakness. She should never have been brought aboard that shuttle. It was meant for priests, not children. She could have been infected, could have been a spy or an infiltrator.

You could have been, yes… But they helped you anyways. And not just those who carried you. Tell me, Inquisitor, why was a fleet conducting a rescue in a system that contained a Tyranid hive fleet? Do you think anyone on your planet would be worth risking so many ships, worth sacrificing a cruiser for, in the eyes of your Imperium?

The entity already knew the answer and so did she.

I thought not. The admiral of that fleet disobeyed orders to save as many as he could. Tell me, how does the Imperium reward those who not only successfully rescue tens of thousands of innocents, but also evade a Tyranid hive fleet?

She still remembered the admiral's screams as his flaying was broadcast across the entire fleet. Whoever had been in charge of deciding the execution for his treason that day must have been feeling… vindictive. It had been deserved, she told herself. He wasted resources.

Your Imperium is cruel. Sometimes, cruelty is needed… But all your kind accomplishes with the horrors you inflict is feeding the very things you so vehemently oppose.

She felt those horrors all around her, just out of sight in the darkness. The water shifted with their passing, shook with their laughing whispers. She thought she saw shapes, incomprehensible forms moving in the black, no more tangible than shades.

They're hungry and they know you all. They have fed well because of the Inquisition and its atrocities.

She was not… The Inquisition was not the problem! The impure, the unclean, were. Only through purification could the galaxy be made whole again!

You can lie to yourself all you wish, but you can never lie to me. You don't believe your own thoughts. You act, you pretend, you hide from your own potential. You think the questions that rise in your mind, the doubts you have, are weaknesses, are things that must not merely be crushed, but must never arise in the first place.

An Inquisitor held no doubt!

But you do. You are a poor Inquisitor, Catherine Ellen. And that is why there is still hope for you.

Purilla watched as Catherine's eyes opened and she rose into a seated position.

"Are you with us?" Purilla asked.

"Leave, heretic," Catherine whispered, sounding as disgusted with herself as with Purilla. Purilla tilted her head, more confused than upset. If anyone could have gotten through to someone as hardheaded as Ellen, it had to be Tide, right?

She is on the path, but the journey is a long one.

Should I leave? Purilla asked, uncertain. Before, when Catherine had demanded she do so, Tide had stopped her since Catherine might have tried to harm herself is she thought she was alone. Now, however…

If you wish. You have done more for her than anyone could have expected from you. I will watch over her now.

Purilla nodded, more to Tide than to Catherine, and departed. She wasn't entirely sure what she should do now. For someone who had always been expected to follow commands, it was as liberating as it was daunting.

"Governor Selvik, to what do we owe the honor?"

Selvik's eyes narrowed. The man who appeared, displayed via holo, was not the governor of Malum, but a younger man. Judging by the uniform, he was some high-ranking officer of the hive's PDF, a colonel.

"Who is this?" He demanded. "Where is governor Coris?"

"I am afraid he is indisposed at the moment," The colonel answered. Selvik waited for more, but the colonel remained silent.

"Then go and get him," Selvik huffed finally. "I must speak to him about his refusal to send me the reinforcements I ordered."

The colonel cocked his head. "As I recall, governor, your orders were for ten regiments to be sent to aid in your eastern campaign."

"I am not discussing this with you!" Selvik was outraged. How dare he? "Bring me Coris. Now!" He'd have to talk to Coris about the sheer level of impropriety in his subordinates.

"As I said, sir, he is indisposed at the moment," The colonel said in reply. Selvik was starting to lose his temper.

"I don't care if he's in the middle of a rejuvenat treatment, go and get him!" Selvik demanded.

"He's-," The man started, but Sevik cut him off.

"NOW!"

The colonel sighed, sighed. At him! Forget mere impropriety, this colonel needed to be made an example of!

"Yes, sir," The colonel said, before disappearing. Selvik waited another two minutes, before the withered, holographic form of governor Coris appeared before him.

"Finally," Selvik said, his frustration ebbing slightly. "You need to have that colonel of yours executed. He's exceedingly rude."

"He is effective at his duties," Coris said, before bowing his head. "I apologize for my delay, I was indisposed."

Selvik arched an eyebrow. "Doing what exactly?"

"I am sure you can well imagine," Coris replied and Selvik suppressed a shudder. The old man was well over four hundred years old and, despite having access to some of the best rejuvenat treatments on the planet, it showed. Selvik would rather not imagine just what Coris may have been getting up to. "Now, the colonel tells me you are displeased with my contribution to your campaign?"

"More with the lack of contribution, governor," Selvik said icily. "I am told that no forces are departing from Malum to join us in the north?"

"That is correct."

"Then how exactly are you 'contributing' anything?" Selvik sighed. "I understand you may be pushed thin in the southso perhaps I can reduce the regiments required from you, but the other hive governors are already displeased. I would have liked for you to at least speak with me before deciding to not send anything."

"I am sending ten regiments," Coris replied. "They simply won't be travelling north."

Selvik blinked. "What?" He couldn't mean-

"They will be heading east from Malum," Coris stated. "While your forces engage these mutant cultists in the north, mine shall strike from the south."

"Ten regiments cannot take a hive city," Selvik said, incredulous. "Your forces would be better served joining up with mine."

"If you wish, I will send you an additional ten regiments to join you in the north," Coris shrugged. Selvik's mouth fell open slightly.

"You… You're joking?" Selvik wasn't sure. Coris had always been a strange one, but then every hive governor was.

"Not at all."

"That would leave Malum practically defenseless," Selvik reminded him. Was the man's mind going?

Coris laughed. "Not at all! We have forty regiments raised, trained, and equipped at the moment."

"Forty?" That was impossible. There had been a mere twenty regiments in Malum less than a month ago. Conscription could allow for massive numbers of troops to be gathered, yes, but it would take time for them to be trained and equipped. Malum, as far as Selvik knew, had not even begun conscription. Coris had clearly lost his mind.

"Yes, I suppose that does make it sound as though we are being rather greedy," Coris said, completely missing why Selvik was shocked. "Very well, we'll send another five to you in the north and, why not, another five to the east from Malum. There, thirty regiments contributed to your campaign."

"Governor Coris, would you be so kind as to put the colonel from before back on?" Selvik requested. Coris, looking surprised, nodded.

"But of course!" Coris stepped away and there was a moment's pause as the colonel stepped forward. He must not have been very far.

"Colonel," Selvik bit down his frustration with the man. "May I ask if you are alone?"

The colonel looked at something out of view, then nodded. "Yes, sir. The governor just returned. I assume to-"

"I do not need to know. What is the matter with governor Coris?"

The colonel tilted his head. "Wrong, sir?"

"Why is he talking madness?!" Selvik nearly shrieked.

"He's not, sir. We have forty regiments presently ready for war within Malum, in addition to the eight deployed in the west." Selvik stared at the man. He had to be insane too. That had to be it.

"You cannot expect me to believe Malum has more than doubled its military forces in a month without instituting conscription."

"We have had a large number of volunteers recently, sir," The colonel shrugged, making Selvik's eye twitch at the slight. "I assume because of the attacks."

"And these are troops that have been fully trained and equipped?" Selvik asked skeptically. "In… what? Two weeks? Three?"

"They'll perform as required, sir," The colonel replied. "And, yes, fully equipped."

"If this is some kind of elaborate joke by governor Coris, know that I am not a man known for his sense of humor," Selvik growled. The colonel just grinned.

"The governor has decreed that fifteen regiments will come to your aid in the north," He said. "If you wish to inspect the veracity of our claims, they should arrive in two days."

"Two days!" Selvik laughed. It would be at least four before any of the other hives in the north were ready to send their troops, not to mention the day's travel it would take for them to arrive.

"Two days, sir," The colonel repeated with a smile.