"It wasn't supposed to be like this... It wasn't supposed to be like this..."
Magnus exerted all his strength to snatch up the scraps, trying to piece them into new combinations of words, only to crush them again into even finer dust.
He was searching for, or trying to piece together, an answer—one that could re-ignite a spark in his soul and allow him to rediscover surprise and emotion once more.
Regrettably, fulfilling this simple request proved impossibly difficult.
As a Gene-Primarch—a miracle forged by the Emperor—his memory was far beyond the ordinary.
Any ritual or piece of lore, once seen a single time, would be permanently seared into the nearly infinite cerebral cortex of a Primarch.
In theory, given sufficient time, a Gene-Primarch could commit an absurd, unfathomable volume of knowledge to memory and master its application with fluid ease.
Yet in practice, it was virtually impossible.
Due to their inherent temperaments, Primarchs subconsciously overlooked many things; even if relevant knowledge existed in their memories, they rarely summoned it for processing.
Impulse and violence formed the foundational logic of a Primarch, while superhuman strength served as the sole fuel driving these living war machines.
They were specialized instruments of war; their superhuman physiques and supreme minds served the engine of battle, forcing them to focus far more heavily on military doctrine and strategy.
Hypothetically, if one stripped away the personality bestowed by the Emperor, a Gene-Primarch was merely a super-learning processing unit—one that, through endless learning and adaptation, would ultimately vanish into a hollow void.
Magnus's current state was the prelude to that very void.
Desperately trying to piece together a surprise beyond his imagination, he remained utterly incapable of deriving a single flutter of excitement from the emotional sparks of his past.
Watching his brother collapse onto the floor in a frenzy, Blazkowicz lowered his eyes, standing quietly without uttering a word.
Having discovered the corruption on Prospero, he had hastily swung his iron hammer, shattering Tzeentch's scheme and his brother's conviction to pieces.
Yet now that the immediate crisis had settled, he found himself at a loss as to how to repair the damage.
Facing a man whose core belief system had collapsed, he did not know how to offer comfort.
Every piece of logic he could offer was something Magnus already understood—and understood on a far deeper level.
Regrettably, the healer could not heal himself.
No one could offer guidance for the confusion and shattered psyche Magnus was experiencing, nor could anyone mend the cracks in his soul.
After an unknown stretch of time, the depths of the library gradually fell quiet; the sobbing and raspy roars ceased.
The red giant lowered his head, his shoulders slumped like a collapsed ridge, devoid of all support. His crimson hair resembled the fading rays of a dying sunset, reflecting a lifeless grey despair.
Between the library's bookshelves, no one dared to break the silence; only the faint, mechanical hum of servo-skulls resonated through the air.
Executing their programming, several servo-skulls hovered down before Magnus, their optical scanners glowing red.
"Damaged media detected. Initiating cleanup protocol. Re-forging damaged texts."
The servo-skulls hovered in midair, their jaws opening and closing rigidly as mechanical voices squeezed through the gaps of yellowed teeth.
In the dead silence, the mechanical announcements sounded jarringly abrupt, causing the red giant's body to quiver violently.
He erupted in a sudden fury. His right arm flexed and tore through the air, his palm creating a supersonic howl as it slammed brutally into a servo-skull.
The blow was vicious, struck without holding back a fraction of his strength.
The moment palm met servo-skull, the air was compressed frantically, instantly sparking a high-temperature flashpoint that triggered a micro-scale explosion.
A Primarch's enraged strike could knock back an Imperial Knight, let alone a tiny servo-skull!
It shattered in an instant, its wreckage reduced to a ball of plasma. The scalding fluid tore through layer after layer of bookshelves, setting half the library ablaze.
[High temperature detected. Activating fire suppression system!]
[High temperature detected. Activating fire suppression system!]
Urgent alarms blared, yet not a single soul moved.
Snakes of fire surged instantly, the oiled paper volumes bursting into roaring flames that filled the library with billowing plumes of thick smoke.
Deep within the bookshelves, dancing flames cast wildly swaying shadows, making the red giant resemble a monstrous demon straight from hell.
Blazkowicz took two steps forward, silently extending a hand.
The red giant's body swayed slightly as he raised his head, his face a picture of utter gauntness.
He looked like a man pushed to the absolute brink of frailty—sunken eye sockets, prominent cheekbones, dried, withered cheeks lined with deep furrows, his single crimson eye dim and lifeless.
The flames roared fiercely, yet they could not kindle the fire inside Magnus's heart.
At this very moment, the Gene-Primarch forged by the Emperor suffered a total collapse of inner conviction, his mind reduced to cold ash.
His mental realm was a barren wasteland; as this state manifested physically, several strands of white hair appeared in his cascading red locks.
"Brother..."
The battle-worn, fiendish entity opened his mouth, his jaw ligaments straining against his hollow cheeks, accentuating his emaciated state.
Shocked by the drastic transformation of his brother, Blazkowicz's pupils dilated slightly. The fingers of his extended hand curled inward, freezing in a strange rigidity.
He truly had not anticipated that the blow Magnus suffered would prove so devastatingly heavy.
Squelch~ Squelch~
The fire suppression system unleashed a downpour. As deluge-like rain cascaded down, the red fiend kneeling amid the damp, hot ash appeared all the more terrifying and gruesome.
"I..."
Magnus's eyes were lifeless, his throat bobbing as though the mere act of speaking drained every remaining ounce of his strength. "Where should I go from here?"
Blazkowicz's hand remained frozen in midair. Lowering his gaze, he saw his own reflection mirrored clearly in Magnus's lightless eye.
He knew with absolute clarity that his brother was begging for an answer: a reason to pick himself up once more.
Recognizing the vital importance of the response, Blazkowicz knit his brows tightly, carefully weighing how to answer.
If he answered poorly, Magnus might remain here forever, entombed within the pyramid like an ancient Pharaoh.
After long deliberation, amid the deafening roar of the fire suppression deluge, a heavy sigh echoed out: "I do not know."
Upon receiving this answer, the light in Magnus's eye dimmed rapidly, as if the final ember of his soul had been extinguished by the rain.
"But it is something you must grasp for yourself."
In the very next instant, a flicker of light flashed across the dead, crimson eye. A tight, unnatural smile was pulled across his gaunt face: "Your answer is quite sly... and deeply philosophical."
Blazkowicz curled his lips into a warm, genuine smile, extending his palm open in an inviting gesture.
He had given Magnus his answer.
"I do not know" was, in itself, a statement of the unknown—a faint candlelight guiding the direction of thought through the dark.
"It is something you must grasp for yourself" served as a conceptual compass, parting the mist and urging the truth-seeker forward to seize the unknown path ahead.
Given Magnus's vast storehouse of knowledge, he naturally discerned the goodwill embedded within Blazkowicz's words.
Furthermore, what he faced was indeed an unfathomable unknown.
In Magnus's worldview, if there was one thing he could never predict, it was the ultimate will of the Lord of Mankind.
He dared not foretell the Emperor's actions, nor did he dare presume to read the Imperial mind.
The unknown was a intoxicating drug to a seeker of truth; even if the unknown harbored unpredictable perils, they would partake of it willingly.
Recalling the Thousand Sons Legion to Terra might yield a grim outcome, yet the precise result remained suspended in a state of absolute uncertainty.
Thinking of the anxious future awaiting his Legion, a spark of curiosity was reignited within Magnus's heart—a desire to discover how the Emperor intended to dispose of his sons.
"Brother."
Magnus raised his hand and grasped Blazkowicz's palm. "Give me a hand..."
------------
The fleet of the Thousand Sons set sail.
They charted a course for Terra to report their situation directly to the Emperor, awaiting whatever punishment the Lord of Mankind saw fit to bestow upon them.
The widespread deployment of the Tutelaries, their subsequent revolt, the unrest across Prospero, and the catastrophic dangers of unbridled psychic abuse—every single event stood as damning evidence of dereliction and negligence, compiled into a formal record to be submitted to the Administratum for thorough review.
Magnus took the vast majority of his Legion with him, leaving behind only a single squad to garrison Prospero.
Carrying a mixture of trepidation and lingering anticipation, he returned to Terra. Before departing, he strictly instructed Ankhu Anen to record every detail of their history accurately, awaiting official Imperial inspection.
After the Thousand Sons fleet departed, the Doom Marines fleet did not leave immediately.
They waited until the Denurian resupply fleet arrived. Joining forces, the two fleets departed realspace, plunging into the Warp routes bound for the Segmentum Tempestus to rendezvous with the Iron Warriors Legion.
Prior to leaving Terra, Perturabo had extended an invitation to Blazkowicz, proposing a joint campaign to eradicate the Greenskin Orks surging out of the Segmentum Tempestus.
The Iron Warriors had set off first to track down the Orks' movements; the Doom Marines were to join them immediately after completing their visitation.
An Ork Waaagh! expedition was on the verge of sweeping across human-controlled sectors!
Within the treacherous, churning depths of the Warp, the stark white Denurian fleet sparkled like scattered starlight, standing out with dazzling brilliant contrast against the kaleidoscope of colors.
Two supply ships glided in parallel formation alongside the left and right flanks of the Majesty of Kings, connected to the flagship by pressurized gantry bridges to facilitate the rapid transfer of materiel.
Inside the armory of the Majesty of Kings, crate after crate of equipment was arranged in meticulous rows, reflecting a faint fluorescent glow off the polished floor tiles.
"My Lord."
As Blazkowicz and his entourage entered the armory, the Stone Man Musalla came jogging up to greet them, an oily smile spreading across his face: "Lady Sophia, Lord Grand Duke."
"No need for formal protocol." Blazkowicz extended a hand in a light, welcoming gesture. Beside him, Sophia and Astelan nodded in acknowledgment. "High Master Musalla."
"The cargo has arrived in full." The smile on Musalla's face was impossible to conceal, data streams flowing rapidly through his dark eyes. "I have anticipated this moment for a very long time."
"Right this way, please." Leading the way forward, he rubbed his thumb against the edge of his datapad as he walked up to the side of a reinforced weapon vault.
Musalla stepped forward and aligned his eye with the iris scanner to perform Stone Man verification.
Beep~ Beep~
The scanner emitted two crisp chimes before the second security protocol engaged.
A small hatch opened on the vault door, extending a fine, intricate probe that spun in place, awaiting authentication.
Musalla hastily raised his hand and pressed it down, allowing the probe to pierce his palm and read the genetic sequence unique to the Stone Men.
A second crisp chime rang out. The High Master unclasped a wedge-shaped master key from his chest and inserted it into the reader, undergoing a tedious, multi-tiered identity verification process.
Blazkowicz stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his arm as he waited patiently through layer upon layer of security. It was a mandatory protocol.
The cargo delivered from Argent was of astronomical value; two fully-fledged fleets had been deployed purely to escort it.
Hiss~~
With the final layer of verification passed, the heavy adamantium alloy doors slowly swung open, revealing the true face of the precious cargo inside—the next-generation power armor of the Doom Marines.
"Mm..."
Grand Duke Astelan let out a low, appreciative murmur. Even for a man who would not blink if the stars collapsed around him, a rare hint of marvel flickered across his steadfast face.
"High Master." Blazkowicz raised an eyebrow as well, his fingers ceasing their tapping. Lightly resting his hand against his arm, he looked upon the new armor and nodded: "Introduce these magnificent, lethal armaments."
"By your command." Musalla bowed respectfully. As he straightened his back, he declared with solemn pride: "Please allow me to present the crowning masterpiece forged by the Stone Artisan Guild."
Following the direction of his hand, three distinct sets of power armor and an eight-meter-tall mechanized platform were arrayed within the ten-cubic-meter standard weapons vault.
Aside from the power armor, an array of weapons was securely locked into wall mounts: blades, spears, swords, halberds, claws, whips, and axes—with countless specialized sub-variants categorized beneath each main class.
Directly opposite the melee weapons hung a vast array of ranged armaments.
Ranging from extreme-range electromagnetic sniper rifles to mid-range assault weaponry down to close-quarters sidearms, there were well over a hundred distinct models on display—surpassing even the melee arsenal in variety.
Musalla pressed a control button. Mechanical rails slid out smoothly, gliding the three sets of power armor out of the vault.
He pointed to the first set of armor, his voice carrying a smooth, oil-lubricated timbre: "This is the next-generation Universal Power Armor."
The power armor of the Doom Marines had originally been designed by the Emperor himself, with the technical schematics transferred to Argent for production and manufacturing.
The first-generation power armor shared a design ethos similar to that of the Adeptus Custodes—merely stripped of ornate embellishments and infused with a sharper, more aggressive edge.
The new armor the High Master was now introducing had largely abandoned the Emperor's original design. Compared to the first generation, its lines and angles were significantly sharper and more menacing.
While it still retained a shadow of Custodian armor, it presented an entirely distinct aesthetic of its own.
Musalla reached out to stroke the plating, his eyes growing somewhat distant as if caressing an invaluable relic. "The Universal Power Armor has discarded the pure auramite structure, integrating indestructible adamantium into its framework."
Blazkowicz gave a subtle nod. He understood a fair bit about the differences between auramite and adamantium.
Auramite was exceptionally rare and precious, naturally exhibiting a golden hue. Its molecular structure was extraordinarily stable, rendering it almost completely inert to psychic phenomena.
However, aside from its psychic resistance, auramite's basic structural hardness was roughly equivalent to plasteel, and applying coloration required molecular-level staining—making its daily maintenance delicate and exceedingly troublesome.
Adamantium, on the other hand, was entirely different. A metal found in vast quantities throughout the galaxy, its physical durability was mind-bogglingly immense.
It was primarily utilized in laying the keels of voidships, the core frameworks of orbital starports, and the structural spines of megastructures.
From a purely physical standpoint, adamantium was virtually indestructible; when STCs were excavated, it was often the adamantium outer shell that left technicians utterly powerless to penetrate them.
Merging the two materials into a complementary alloy would indeed drastically elevate its defensive capabilities.
Auramite to repel psychic forces, and adamantium to absorb physical trauma—ensuring optimal defense against both kinetic strikes and warp-based attacks.
"Beyond adamantium and auramite, the internal layers are packed with shock-absorbent fibers and nano-repair particles. The former dissipates kinetic impacts across the entire armor structure, while the latter actively restores damaged sections."
"Four distinct materials are woven into threads using atomic reconstructors, then crafted into composite armor through advanced nano-weaving techniques." The High Master ran his hand over the cold, hard armor plate, a flush of excitement coloring his cheeks. "Furthermore, the armor's surface features a picosecond-grade Denurian crystal coating. This allows the dimensional shield to adhere flawlessly to the suit's exterior, eliminating defense-bleed effects entirely."
As he spoke, Musalla rested his hand against the thigh guard, deftly detaching the outer plate to expose the layers of electro-muscular fiber beneath.
Bundles of electro-muscular fibers and circuitry were arranged in neat, orderly rows, exhibiting a deep matte hue that was infinitely more complex than human muscle tissue.
"This is the true core technology." Leaning closer, he retrieved a nano-needle from his tool pouch. His eyes expanded and focused as he stabilized his arm to pick at a single bundle of fibers. "During the Dark Age of Technology, the Argent D'nur star systems acquired this through an exchange with the Necromunda Federation."
"The Necromunda Federation." Sophia calmly raised her hand, projecting a holographic display as she nodded in explanation: "A once-glorious star system that lost contact during the long, dark Age of Strife."
"Their power armor manufacturing technology was supreme; they sold it across all of humanity, ultimately building their empire upon it."
"Correct." Musalla nodded, pulling up massive archives of data within his Stone Man neural array: "Necromunda's power armor technology far surpassed the galactic average of that era."
"We recovered the technological blueprints from Nur's data vaults and integrated them into this next-generation suit."
He lifted a strand of nano-wire—nearly invisible to the naked eye, yet undeniably real: "Inside the core system, I added Necromunda's Adaptive Evolution technology."
"Once a suit of power armor is bonded to its wearer, it will progressively record the user's combat habits over time, achieving flawless synchronization with its master. Not only that, but the evolutionary system accumulates combat data, executing structural reinforcements tailored specifically to the wearer's physical characteristics."
"Even during the Dark Age of Technology, such a feature was considered pinnacle engineering."
With that, Musalla put away the nano-needle, reassembling the electro-fibers and outer armor plate before looking up at the three-meter-tall suit with eyes full of affectionate pride.
"The Universal Power Armor is adapted for the vast majority of combat environments, serving a tactical role similar to the Mark series power armor used by other Space Marines."
The High Master pulled a high-intensity scanner from his belt and pressed it against the edge of the outer plate, illuminating the black armor with a blinding beam of light.
With his superhuman sight, Blazkowicz immediately noticed tiny Old Ancient runes surfacing across the light-soaked armor: "This is?"
"Every single suit of armor has had runes hand-engraved upon it by a master psychic artifice—blessing scripts granted directly by the Old Ancients."
Musalla's gaze drifted slightly, intoxicated by the synthesis of precision engineering and artisan craftsmanship. Running his fingertips across the cool metal, he savored every detail: "This is a work of art."
With lingering reluctance, he stepped away from the standard power armor and walked toward an exceptionally dense, heavy suit standing beside it: "The Doom Marines Terminator Armor has finally transitioned out of the prototype testing phase and entered full large-scale mass production."
"The core technology remains identical to the standard power armor, but the Terminator suit is far heavier—boosting power output and defensive capacity several times over, while mounting firepower far exceeding conventional standards."
When Musalla spoke of technological creations, his speech turned into a torrential flood of precise, intricate technical details: "The Terminator Power Armor may look heavy, but overall, its operational speed is only ten percent slower than that of the standard Power Armor."
"To achieve such performance, the artisans of Argent struck an extreme balance between capability and ergonomics."
He pointed to the shoulder cannons and continued: "The artisans have further enhanced the suppressive firepower of the Terminator suit. The composite shoulder cannons have been upgraded from three barrels to four, incorporating an additional arc cannon to bolster area-of-effect destruction."
"Furthermore, reserved interface ports have been integrated into both shoulders, allowing either to mount composite shoulder cannons or other specialized weapon modules. Hardpoints are also situated beneath the arms and along the outer thighs."
"The performance metrics of the Doom Marines Terminator Armor far exceed those of the Adeptus Custodes' Aquila-pattern Terminator suits. It is even equipped with dimensional displacement technology, allowing the wearer to slip into an alternate dimension to take refuge and survive direct orbital lance strikes!"
Blazkowicz nodded with deep satisfaction, giving the Stone Artisan a thumb-up, his expression filled with admiration.
With this new generation of advanced power armor, the Doom Marines would have far fewer worries when sweeping across the battlefield.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Grand Duke Astelan could not help but applaud, his eyes gleaming with sharp appreciation. His steadfast face was lit with a smile, unable to conceal his fond delight.
No warrior ever turned down a superior weapon—even a Doom Marine, whose pursuit of material goods was practically nonexistent.
"And then there is this one."
Musalla stepped away from the Terminator armor and walked up to the final display. "The Infiltrator Power Armor."
The suit the High Master pointed to appeared remarkably light and nimble. The thickness of its outer plating was only one-third that of standard power armor, while its inner layer required a mannequin frame to keep the woven, matte-black skin-tight liner from collapsing.
Rather than power armor, it resembled a skin-tight undersuit bearing a sparse, minimalist outer shell.
"Constrained by its sleek frame, the Infiltrator Power Armor relies on a compact cold fusion reactor mounted at the lower back for power, with only one-third of its energy output allocated to maintain basic armor operation."
"Per your instructions, this specialized armor was engineered for a very specific purpose," Musalla said, stepping around the display case to face Blazkowicz as he introduced the suit with absolute gravity. "The vast majority of the reactor's output is routed to auxiliary systems."
"This armor focuses exclusively on stealth and covert operations. It can lie in ambush inside dimensional pockets for extended periods, while its environmental simulation array allows it to melt seamlessly into its surroundings for silent insertion."
"Even at point-blank range, it is virtually impossible to detect."
"Excellent!" Blazkowicz commended. The inception of the Infiltrator Power Armor was a custom request he had submitted to Argent D'nur after witnessing the operational methods of the Imperial Officio Assassinorum, designed to support the Legion's covert warfare doctrine.
On certain occasions, a single lethal strike delivered from the shadows proved far more effective than a head-on clash upon the open battlefield.
"The defensive output of the Infiltrator Power Armor is modest, but its strength lies in superior agility. When worn by a warrior, its weight is virtually unnoticeable."
"Furthermore, its external modular equipment utilizes the absolute pinnacle of our technology, making its weapon suite the most extensive among all power armor variants."
The High Master pulled the sliding rail once more. As the adamantium wall glided open, entire rows of weaponry glinted with a cold metallic sheen under the overhead lights.
As his introduction progressed, the satisfied expression on Blazkowicz's face never faded.
Customized extreme-range sniper rifles, advanced optical targeting arrays, wide-spectrum sensor suites, and an array of concealed micro-weaponry.
The intrinsic value of these auxiliary systems alone far surpassed ordinary imagination.
In truth, the Infiltrator Power Armor suit itself was merely the most unassuming piece within the massive, custom-tailored equipment package.
"And finally, this!"
Musalla pressed a control button. The power armor displays and weapon racks retracted into the walls as the central rail of the vault slowly glided forward, delivering a massive heavy mech to the front.
"The Blazkowicz Knight Mech!"
As the rail came to a stop, high-strength composite cables swayed subtly. The suspended black mech stood seven meters tall, reflecting array upon array of dark, shimmering light.
"The Blazkowicz Knight Mech?"
Blazkowicz took several steps forward, carefully inspecting the mechanized suit that towered high above him.
The gigantic humanoid frame appeared exceptionally imposing and cold, exuding an aura of unrivaled mechanical violence.
Its massive right arm gripped a giant dimensional spear, while its twin shoulders mounted heavy cannons and missile pods. A sunfury ray projector was integrated beneath its left arm, and a massive physical broadsword hung behind its waist.
Beyond these primary armaments, additional weapon systems were integrated across various points of the chassis.
At a glance, the Blazkowicz Knight Mech was armed to the absolute teeth—its mounted firepower capable of leveling a small city on its own.
"Indeed," Musalla said, walking up to the mech and pressing the diagnostic button. The entire Blazkowicz Knight opened up into its maintenance stance.
Fully deployed, the internal cockpit of the Blazkowicz Knight offered a perfectly proportioned space, designed to accommodate a single Doom Marine wearing standard power armor.
It functioned as a far grander layer of "power armor"—worn outside standard power armor with its weaponry scaled up proportionally, looking extraordinarily majestic.
"The tactical role of the Blazkowicz Knight is to bridge the firepower gap between Iron Men and heavy infantry."
"Within the domain of the Nur Stars, Knight Houses are exceptionally rare, and most serve directly within the Stellar Fleet for the refined conquest of the Segmentum Obscurus, seldom participating in galactic expeditions."
"To fill that specific doctrine void, the Blazkowicz Knight was brought into existence."
Musalla raised his datapad, the smug pride on his oily face impossible to mask. "The Blazkowicz Knight boasts supreme performance metrics—imposing yet far from unwieldy."
"Built upon an adamantium skeleton, wired with a quantum sensor network for a nervous system, and driven by muscles woven from electro-muscular fiber bundles, its agility and tactical mobility defy conventional logic."
"Compared to most Imperial Knights, it holds an overwhelming, crushing advantage—akin to the gap between a mortal soldier and an Astartes."
Having finished his presentation, Musalla stood quietly to the side, awaiting further instructions.
"My Lord," Sophia's holographic projection stepped forward with graceful poise, her refined voice echoing softly: "The resupply fleet has delivered one thousand weapon vaults, each loaded with identical contents."
"It is more than sufficient to complete a full equipment refit for the Legion's current forces, while leaving ample spare parts for maintenance and field replacement."
"The Doom Marines resting within the Nur Stars will set sail on a new wave of conquest as soon as their equipment swap is complete."
"A separate transport fleet has also departed for Terra, delivering new gear directly into the hands of the initiates."
"Accompanying that fleet are specialized armor technicians, designated to provide technical support for gear operating outside the standard framework of the Imperium of Man."
"Outstanding!" Blazkowicz nodded with gratitude. Sophia's planning was meticulous to the finest detail, taking care of every logistical contingency.
This next generation of equipment was more than capable of supporting every form of warfare within their current horizon of knowledge.
Every warrior in the Legion would receive two full weapon vaults: two sets of Universal Armor, two sets of Terminator Armor, two sets of Infiltrator Armor, and two Blazkowicz Knight Mechs.
One set for operational deployment, and the second for rotation and maintenance.
With Argent's immense industrial capacity, supplying such a lavish standard of armament for the Legion was a mere drop in the bucket.
For the Doom Marines Legion, no equipment—no matter how luxurious—could ever match the value of a single legionary.
Even the most precious gear was merely an inanimate object. A Doom Marine was different; the birth of a single Space Marine often represented the quiet fading of tens of millions of living souls.
The fleet continued its voyage until it reached its destination.
The Doom Marines strike fleet translated back into realspace, arriving at the central zone of the Segmentum Tempestus—a desolate, quiet, and unexplored expanse untouched by the Imperium of Man.
As the fleet cut into the star system, there was no sign of the Iron Warriors fleet, and their own strength had diminished considerably compared to when they first set out.
The resupply fleet and escort ships had completed their mission and returned to the Nur Stars.
The strike fleet led by Blazkowicz comprised only eight battleships, eight supercarriers, and a contingent of cruisers, destroyers, and frigates.
[Location: Segmentum Tempestus]
[Geographical Coordinates: Central Region, Segmentum Tempestus]
[Designation: Unnamed System]
[Warning: Frequent cosmic hazards detected within the Segmentum Tempestus. All voidships are advised to raise electromagnetic barriers to isolate cosmic radiation.]
As the fleet glided through the void, search queries continuously populated the holographic display.
The star map expanded outward, the galaxy dragging its beautiful spiral arms as it rotated slowly in the holographic projection.
Wangliang II, the AI captain of the Majesty of Kings, shifted its metallic prism edges with flowing streams of light, cross-referencing surrounding constellations to confirm the strike fleet's current position.
The cursor swept rapidly across the star chart before locking onto the fleet's location.
This was the central region of the Segmentum Tempestus, a forgotten vault of space. From the fading twilight of the Dark Age of Technology to the rising tide of the Great Crusade, mankind had never set foot in this void.
The Segmentum Tempestus was the most disaster-prone domain among the five major territories of the Imperium of Man.
The sector was riddled with electromagnetic storms, unstable star systems, and clouds of gaseous cosmic dust.
Countless unstable factors rendered this vast domain exceptionally dangerous; yet it was precisely these unformed dust clouds and dense nebulae that made the Segmentum Tempestus rich in mineral resources.
The gravitational anchor of this system was a warm yellow star of medium mass, orbited by seven planets.
"Electromagnetic barrier raised. Outer void shields set to low-speed thresholds to intercept potential asteroid threats."
Wangliang II hovered in place, its synthesized mechanical voice calm yet warm as it dutifully executed its directives: "No vessel signatures of the Iron Warriors fleet detected."
"According to my calculations, our allies have not defaulted on their agreement. Due to temporal fluctuations within the Warp, we have arrived one day ahead of schedule."
As the calm mechanical voice fell silent, the star chart dissolved into points of starlight before reassembling into a real-time display of the local system.
"There is indeed a star system here; it did not escape the iron-clad calculations of the Lord of Iron."
Blazkowicz reclined on his command throne, turning his head toward the bridge's observation bay. The protective armored plates were slowly lowering, pulling back like a curtain to reveal the radiant starfield beyond.
Compared to lifelike holographic projections, Blazkowicz preferred observing the universe with his own eyes.
Beyond the viewports, the young, warm yellow star cast a soft, hazy halo, lighting a lonely candle in the pitch-black void.
This was the precise rendezvous point Perturabo had designated. Through rigorous calculations, he had mapped this unknown system out of a complex cosmic background.
The Iron Warriors had entered the Segmentum Tempestus over a month prior, sending out numerous fleets without finding any trace of the Orks.
Upon learning that Blazkowicz had concluded his task on Prospero, he selected an unknown system to rendezvous.
"Let us move deeper into the system."
As the command was issued, a subtle tremor rippled through the deck plates. Plasma engines propelled the iron leviathans forward in a short-distance jump.
[Beep~ Beep~]
A streak of vibrant crimson flashed across the holographic display. The targeting reticle moved rapidly, locking onto a planet previously obscured by the star's glare—now revealed as the fleet changed its viewing angle.
It occupied the fifth orbital track of the star system. Augur arrays detected artificial constructs in its exo-atmospheric space, alongside numerous life signals across the planet's surface.
A glint of curiosity flickered in Blazkowicz's eyes, his brow unfurling. Discovering life within the vast sea of stars—whether human or xenos—was a welcome development.
If they were human, they would be brought back into the embrace of the Imperium; if xenos, the iron hammer of annihilation would descend. Either way, the Imperium stood to gain a colony world.
From an outcome perspective, there were no downsides.
Looking at the artificial satellite magnified on the holographic projection, its design conforming to human aesthetics, a smile touched the corners of Blazkowicz's lips: "Order the fleet to close in."
"My brother's luck is good. The rendezvous point he selected harbors a world with life—a pleasant surprise on a tedious journey."
"Acknowledged," Captain Wangliang II confirmed, broadcasting electronic orders across the entire fleet.
Beyond the viewports, the starfield pivoted as a green navigation line materialized on the holographic array. Two hours later, the fleet entered the gravitational field of the inhabited world.
The supercarriers had already deployed unmanned reconnaissance drones ahead of the strike fleet to survey the unknown world.
The reconnaissance drones turned into void ghosts, vanishing from visual range and leaving a trail of communication beacons along their path.
On the bridge of the Majesty of Kings, incoming feeds from the forward drones caused Blazkowicz's brow to gradually furrow, his forehead creasing deeply.
The technological level of this inhabited planet was modest, barely reaching the early 2K era of human history, with visible large-scale nuclear fusion reactors.
This world ought to have been thriving, yet it lay unnaturally quiet.
Across its outer orbit, vast fields of artificial satellite debris floated aimlessly. Judging by the dispersion pattern, they had been brutally destroyed by an external force.
On the surface, sprawling cities stood as testament to past prosperity. Glitz and decadence filled the high-rises while heavy traffic surged through the thoroughfares.
Yet outside these prosperous cities stood vast, unbroken stretches of residential districts devoid of any wealth. They consisted of gloomy, cramped dwellings separated by high security walls and partitioned units.
The cities and the outskirts appeared as two entirely different worlds, forming a stark and chilling contrast.
Furthermore, detailed scans from the reconnaissance drones revealed very few active factories across the planet. It was not that industrial infrastructure had never been built, but rather that many industrial zones sat completely abandoned.
The few remaining facilities in operation produced only one commodity: food.
The entire planet was formatted like a giant livestock farm, its sole purpose being to keep eight billion slaughtered lambs fed.
As the intelligence grew increasingly detailed, the framework of a monstrous world took shape. Blazkowicz's expression turned grim, a cold, lethal aura radiating from him.
How could he fail to see it? This world had been emasculated and converted into a massive livestock pen.
And the livestock being farmed... were humans.
Eight billion human beings had been driven out of their original cities and forced into pigeonhole enclosures built specifically for cattle, living under rigid, centralized control.
The cities had become luxurious estates for the harvesters, filled with music and revelry as they consumed every resource extracted from their human cattle.
Society had regressed completely, with resources overwhelmingly skewed. Guns and artillery served as the new whips, enforcing order over the captive stock.
"Notify the fleet!" Blazkowicz's voice dropped, his gaze sharp as a blade, radiating an icy chill: "The strike fleet will assume planetary orbit and prepare drop pods for launch!"
"By your command!" Wangliang II's mechanical tone lost its usual calm, frosted over with anger.
Its logical core possessed free agency, and as an Iron Man, it could not tolerate humans being farmed like cattle.
Whoever was responsible would pay the price!
Battle alarms rang across the strike fleet. Doom Marines boarded drop pods while battle Iron Men activated their chassis and entered specialized launch conduits.
[Xenos lifeforms detected!]
On the holographic projection, fresh intelligence from the reconnaissance drones pointed directly to the city's high-rises.
[Multiple scans confirm xenos biological signatures. Unrecorded in existing databases; biological structure is extremely complex.]
High Gothic script populated the screen line by line, outlining a three-meter-tall humanoid shape. Its life signature burned with blinding intensity, its physical shell composed of millions of microscopic organisms merged into a single entity.
Blazkowicz rose from his throne, unfastening his black cloak and handing it to an attendant before marching toward the bridge doors. The Archon armor materialized out of green light, encapsulating his massive form.
Encountering no resistance, the fleet achieved geosynchronous orbit, adjusting position to aim their ventral bays directly at the most opulent city.
[Orbital drop initiated!]
The mechanical announcements vibrated with fury, raw steel venting icy wrath!
Hummm—
Inside the drop pods, intense acceleration forces mounted instantly as electromagnetic launch rails propelled the pods to maximum velocity, plunging toward the atmosphere with the full fury of humanity.
On the planetary surface, the city descended into utter chaos. The xenos and their local collaborators looked up at the deployment of landing forces, consumed by panic.
How could a civilization bound to nuclear-era technology resist an interstellar fleet?
Piercing air-defense sirens echoed across the land. Planetary forces mobilized rapidly, pulling every military asset toward the capital.
The voidships had launched drop pods. The newcomers bore ill intent and showed no desire for communication.
The entire planet fell into turmoil. Humans inside the crowded enclosures were jolted awake by the sirens, staring yearningly toward the sky through the narrow slits that served as their only windows.
Wooo—
The wind seemed to weep as descent speeds reaching Mach 30 tore through the atmosphere, descending with a screech of death!
[Incoming anti-air missiles detected]
Inside the drop pods, as the automated systems broadcasted cold updates, real-time telemetry projected directly onto the visors of the Doom Marines.
Drop pod kinetic shields engaged, and exterior missile bays snapped open, locking onto the defense forces scrambling below.
Primitive anti-air missiles proved useless against the drop pods. As the pods initiated counter-battery fire, a dense storm of missiles rained down like scattered petals across the sky!
Arrows of burning flame descended from the sky, a scene steeped in mythic splendor.
The planet's local defense forces watched the sky tear apart, their jaws clenched so hard their teeth nearly shattered, not daring to let their terror leak through the cracks.
The deep-seated instincts of soldiers roared madly within their hearts. Even as their calves twitched with fear and their fingers trembled uncontrollably against their triggers, they stood forced to confront the enemies falling from above.
"Counterattack by any means necessary!"
The command issued from headquarters was stark and direct.
There were no complex tactics or defensive contingencies—just six words that laid bare the most raw, unadulterated helplessness and despair.
Anyone with a shred of basic common sense understood a fundamental truth: for a species that had yet to step beyond its homeworld, any resistance against an enemy capable of traversing the sea of stars was entirely futile.
Furthermore, the invaders had uttered not a single word of empty banter, communicating their absolute stance through the brutal language of an orbital drop.
War! Invasion!
Missiles slamming into the earth proved far more eloquent than words. Airfield hangars and radar arrays were the very first targets to suffer incoming fire.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Deafening explosions whipped up waves of scorching heat as the God of War beat his war drums, painting the sky with soaring pillars of flame.
A continuous screeching whistled past their ears, the earth trembling violently as drop pods fell like plunging meteors!
Airfield runways, dispatch control towers, armored motor pools—the drop pods slammed down simultaneously, crashing directly into the most critical infrastructure across the military installation.
"Defend! Defend! Form a defensive line to contain the invaders!"
Commanders roared desperately, urging their troops to counter-encircle the landing zones and establish defensive perimeters.
It was the only course of action left to them.
They did not know who the enemy was, they did not know the specifics of their armament, and they did not even know what manner of creatures would walk out of those drop pods.
The high command of the planet had issued a single, absolute decree: attack the alien invaders at all costs.
Thump—!
A drop pod smashed straight through several meters of reinforced concrete, slamming heavily into the very center of the command hub. Panic and terrified screams erupted, throwing the entire headquarters into complete pandemonium.
Several spotlights snapped toward the pod, illuminating its pitch-black hull.
And then—a thunderous, enraged roar echoed outward, scaring everyone present into utter disarray: "A worthy death!"
That voice surged with suppressed fury, causing blood to race through the veins of all who heard it. The military commanders were horrified by the raw power contained in the roar, yet equally bewildered by why they could comprehend the language so effortlessly.
Furthermore, the pronunciation and vocalization of these invaders were identical to those of human beings.
Amid gaze-filled terror and bewildered scrutiny, the hatch of the drop pod hissed open, and a three-meter-tall humanoid shape stepped out into the open.
It was human!
That magnificent suit of power armor conformed perfectly to human aesthetic principles—tall stature, broad shoulders, a tapered waist, twin optical sensors set into the helmet visor, joints arranged identically to human anatomy, and a five-fingered hand gripping a massive spear.
Every characteristic combined to confirm a single truth: the invader descending from the heavens was human.
At the very first sight of the black-armored giant, everyone in the command center recognized the invader as a member of their own species.
"Garrison forces, push forward!!!"
Before the crowd could recover from their shock, a blood-curdling scream rang out. The base's supreme commander urged his men forward, ordering the garrison to open fire immediately.
Though filled with doubts, the garrison forces in the command center did not hesitate, decisively pulling their triggers.
Click~
The sound of triggers being pulled was nearly imperceptible—a detail a mortal would hardly register. Yet to the ears of a Doom Marine, it rang out with crystalline clarity.
In the very next instant, before the firing pins could strike the primers, the black figure vanished from his spot.
A blur flashed before the eyes of the mortal soldiers, a faint trail of azure light lingering on their retinas. Then, the world spun wildly—by the time their brains registered that something was wrong, their field of vision was already lying flat on the floor.
"Ahhh!!!"
The terrified screams of female personnel sounded exceptionally piercing, piercing through the brain like relentless steel needles.
The command room descended into total madness: gunfire, screams, and furious curses blended into a chaotic cacophony.
Amid it all swept a black phantom, wielding an azure-glowing spear as he slaughtered the garrison forces guarding the command center.
A single second was remarkably brief for a mortal—hardly enough time to complete a single motion.
Yet for a Doom Marine, it was vastly different. In a single second, he could cover a hundred meters, moving at velocities far beyond human visual tracking, leaving behind nothing but blurred trajectories.
Within that single second, dozens of mortals were sliced clean in two, dozens more were set ablaze by the muzzles of volkite shoulder cannons, and over a dozen were smashed directly into bloody debris.
From the moment he initiated movement to the moment he came to a complete halt, the Doom Marine used a mere three seconds. The command room had been thoroughly cleared.
Before the stench of blood could even spread through the air, over three hundred combatants were dead. Beneath the foot of the Son of Blazkowicz lay the supreme commander, pale and trembling in terror.
"Xenos scum!"
The Doom Marine spoke, his Low Gothic voice dripping with disgust. His cold armored boot exerted crushing pressure, collapsing the xenos collaborator's chest.
His helmet's optical scanners laid bare every secret, projecting the internal composition of the man beneath his foot in meticulous detail.
This mortal—the highest-ranking military officer of the human military base—harbored a parasitic worm within his brain.
"How... how do you know?!" The mortal commander vomited a mouthfulness of blood, his face consumed by utter terror as the last spark of hope in his eyes died completely.
He had intended to rely on his disguise to fool these warriors descended from the sky.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"Humans!" Realizing his disguise was useless, the xenos parasite abandoned all pretense. The human commander's face contorted violently into a mask of pure hatred, spitting out a venomous curse alongside a surge of blood: "You all deserve to die!"
The Doom Marine pressed his foot down hard, crushing the parasite's chest. The pommel of his spear descended from his grip, driving straight through the skull to destroy the worm squirming within.
His shoulder cannon pivoted as a beam of volkite fire discharged, incinerating the unholy vessel that had submitted to xenos influence.
The warrior glanced around the command room; every hostile had been executed. "Xenos slaves eliminated. Enemy command node fully neutralized."
With that, he walked over to a primitive computer terminal and began uploading a communications virus.
The virus was successfully injected, breaking through the firewall effortlessly and spreading along the local networks. Within two seconds, it had saturated the entire planet.
By the time he finished, the roars of battle across the military base had gradually subsided.
A mere one minute after a hundred Doom Marines made orbital landfall, the massive military base housing fifty thousand troops had completely lost all capacity for resistance.
The vast majority of stubborn combatants were dead, while the survivors knelt on the ground in surrender.
At the same time, the planetary capital had fallen completely, with only the final high-rise building putting up a desperate, isolated last stand.
Blazkowicz stood with his arms crossed below the tallest building on the planet, waiting quietly.
All surrounding mortal forces had been cleared away. Only the thousand-meter-tall skyscraper remained, harboring the xenos entities within its walls.
He looked up, the glass curtain walls reflecting the internal fires burning through the upper floors as his legionaries pushed aggressively upward.
Had Blazkowicz's physical frame not been too massive to traverse human architectural interiors with ease, he would have stormed the building himself to personally apprehend the xenos who dared to farm humanity like cattle.
Continuous explosions echoed from deep within the skyscraper. Astelan led several legionaries using jump packs to breach the upper levels, actively hunting down the fleeing xenos targets.
The xenos were cunning, using the complex layout of the building to conceal themselves and slither along the margins of danger.
"Block off their escape routes," Astelan barked into the comms channel.
Telemetry inside his helmet indicated that the xenos had slipped through a structural maintenance conduit, sliding like slick eels into the lower floors.
Receiving their orders, the legionaries smashed through the concrete floor slabs with bare fists, dropping down through the gaps to box in the fleeing xenos.
Deep within the skyscraper, several dark shadows fled in sheer panic.
Their forms were shrouded beneath cloaks and hoods, writhing rapidly without taking on any fixed shape.
As they fled, the outer carapaces of their bodies rubbed against each other, producing a rustling sound as though they were communicating in frantic urgency.
"Hurry!"
One of the monsters urged, prying open a ventilation duct and shoving inside a gnarled, willow-like staff that shimmered with a sickly green light.
The xenos entity, standing over three meters tall, suddenly collapsed its frame, squirming into the ventilation shaft like liquid mud.
The remaining xenos followed suit, wrapping their bodies tightly around their weaponry before sliding into the ventilation network.
In the very next instant, an azure cutting ray sliced through the structure, penetrating an untold number of rooms, only to yield no result.
"Grand Duke..."
Looking at the grate of the ventilation shaft, the warrior tasked with boxing them in turned pale, speaking into the comms channel: "My apologies. They have escaped us again."
Evidently, the word "again" in his report indicated that this was far from the first time this had occurred.
On the other end of the comms channel, Astelan remained silent for a moment before speaking in a somber tone: "Fall back and equip your jump packs. We are leaving the building first."
"Understood."
The warrior glanced at the ceiling above. Bending his knees slightly, he exerted explosive power through his legs; his muscular frame smashed through the concrete floor slabs as he returned to the rally point.
Collision impacts echoed continuously throughout the building as the decapitation strike team abandoned their pursuit, converging back toward the breach point.
"We leave the building first." Astelan lifted a jump pack, helping his legionary comrade strap it on before turning around to let another warrior secure his own unit. "If they wish to play hide-and-seek with us, then we shall simply destroy the venue!"
Click~
The jump packs locked into place, their flight control systems synchronizing with the power armor. Showing not a shred of reluctance, the squad smashed straight through the glass curtain walls and leapt from the top floor of the skyscraper!
Below the skyscraper, Blazkowicz watched as the decapitation team returned empty-handed, a subtle smile curling at the corners of his lips.
He took a few steps away from the main entrance and sat down beside a circular fountain, watching with keen interest to see what the Grand Duke's next move would be.
"They refuse to engage us in open combat, choosing instead to slip away through narrow conduits."
The moment Astelan touched the ground, he snapped open the tactical interface on his left arm. His tone was calm, yet the chill deep within his eyes had frozen into solid frost. "If they love hide-and-seek so much, they had better pray this building is truly indestructible!"
Blazkowicz held back a laugh and nodded, raising his hand in an inviting gesture—proceed with your performance.
A shuttle soon descended from above. Several humanoid frames remotely controlled by Iron Men stepped out, dragging several standard transportation vaults out of the cargo bay.
Accompanying the Iron Men was the Master of Interrogation, a reclusive figure who spent most of his time deep within the voidship.
He was clad in an ominous black robe, a skull mask embedded onto his face, with all manner of rusted torture implements hanging from his belt, clinking softly with every step.
The Master bowed respectfully to the warriors and their king before dragging out his specialized interrogation vaults.
Noticing the Master of Interrogation, Blazkowicz gave a polite nod of acknowledgment before resuming his watchful gaze. He knew the Grand Duke's wrath had been thoroughly stoked by these unknown xenos.
Soon, the operation proceeded with methodical precision.
Carrying the supply canisters, the Iron Man frames stepped into the interior of the skyscraper, overriding the atmospheric control system to pump massive quantities of volatile explosive dust directly into the ventilation network.
Astelan further deployed the Primarch's Honor Guard, surrounding the entire skyscraper so tightly that not even a drop of water could leak out.
As time ticked away, a sense of mounting dread saturated the interior of the building, driving large numbers of humans to flee frantically toward the exits.
The Nur Adamantium Guard showed not a shred of hesitation, opening fire with their electromagnetic rifles to cut them down.
The humans residing within these cities, along with their military forces, had long betrayed the human race—devolving into willing lapdogs of xenos masters to enslave their own kin.
Without their complicity, how could a mere handful of xenos possibly farm eight billion human souls?
Astelan stared intently at the holographic projection as the explosive dust trickled through the ventilation system, gradually saturating the entire skyscraper.
He had explicitly ordered the concentration of the dust to be strictly controlled, preventing a violent blast and instead aiming for a raging inferno that would turn the skyscraper into a towering torch reaching for the heavens.
"Ignite it!"
No hesitation, no mercy.
Upon receiving the order, the Iron Men used sparks to ignite the dust before rapidly retreating out of the building.
As a high-energy fuel, the dust ignited in an instant. The flames transformed into a blazing dragon, roaring along the ventilation conduits to consume the entire building!
The automated injection machinery remained active, continually pumping in more dust—akin to tossing endless fuel into a furnace.
"Ahhh!!!"
Agonizing screams echoed continuously. Human collaborators enveloped in flames smashed through the glass curtain walls, plummeting through the air like human meteors.
Due to the stack effect within the building's central core, the roaring flames spun into a terrifying fire tornado that wrapped tightly around the structure.
"Humans!"
A venomous curse rang out. Unable to endure the scorching heat any longer, a xenos entity draped in flames leapt from a height of three hundred meters.
"Cowardly creature!" Astelan barked in fury. Energizing his dimensional spear, he gestured to two of his comrades, surging forward toward the impact point with heavy, echoing footsteps.
Combat erupted in an instant. The dimensional power spear discharged an azure cutting ray, penetrating the xenos body in a heartbeat—its irresistible sharpness slicing through the shadow amid the flames.
Astelan's eyes narrowed slightly as he clearly saw the ray pass straight through the xenos frame as if slicing through thin air, failing to inflict a single scratch.
"Heh~ Heh~ Heh~ Heh~"
The xenos let out a disdainful, rasping sneer. The fire incoming from the other legionaries proved equally ineffective.
Showing no sign of weakness, the unknown xenos launched a brutal counterattack mid-air, sweeping its staff to unleash a wide spray of sickly green rays.
The Doom Marines dodged the attack with ease. The green rays struck the ground, corroding a rotting crater into the spot where they had stood moments before.
"Fire," Astelan commanded an elite warrior, directing him to shoot at the airborne target to expose the secret of the xenos' invulnerability.
The electromagnetic rifle hummed. Under the guidance of the targeting system, every electromagnetic needle scored a direct hit.
This time, Astelan saw it clearly.
The precise instant before impact, the writhing body of the xenos suddenly parted, opening up empty gaps in its frame to dodge the physical projectiles entirely.
"Hmph!" The Grand Duke snorted coldly. With a single thought, he adjusted the angle of his shoulder cannon and discharged a volley of volkite fire.
Bang~
An even more intense fireball detonated mid-air. The xenos shrieked piercingly, as if millions of insects were squirming and burning in the flames.
A rain fell from the sky as vast sheets of charred insects crashed to the ground, twisting and contorting in agony under the extreme heat.
"Capture it alive."
A deep, commanding voice resonated through the psychic link—the Gene-Primarch reiterating his absolute stance regarding these unknown xenos.
As the words faded, the xenos entity slammed hard onto the stone plaza before the skyscraper, flattening into a heap of black, squelching mud.
Just when it appeared to have been crushed to death, something beneath the black robes seemed to squirm like a vast army, coalescing once more into a three-meter-tall humanoid form.
Only now did the legionaries catch a clear view of the xenos' true face.
It was a writhing mass of living organisms composed of millions of finger-length, carapaced worms. Its shape shifted constantly; while maintaining a humanoid outline, it produced a continuous, sibilant chittering sound.
This worm-aggregate possessed no facial features, nor did individual worms have visible eyes or mouthparts—their rapid, writhing transformation enough to make anyone's scalp go numb.
Clad in a dark grey, mysterious hooded cloak and wielding a twisted green staff, its horrifying, densely packed form would serve as a lifelong nightmare seared into the soul of any ordinary mortal who laid eyes upon it.
"Humans..."
The aggregate's chest area suddenly constricted as the carapaces of the worms rubbed together, mimicking a rasping, sibilant human voice: "If you do not wish to suffer retaliation, grant us passage to leave."
"Heh." Astelan let out a contemptuous laugh. Flicking a piece of rubble with his boot, he sent it flying toward the aggregate.
The pebble turned into a grey streak, moving faster than an autogun round as it shot straight for the aggregate's shoulder.
Thousands of dark grey worms snapped inward instantly, collapsing the aggregate's shoulder into an empty hole that comfortably avoided the flying stone.
"Humans!" The sibilant voice rose sharply from a low rasp to a high pitch, betraying intense fury: "You dare provoke the Slauth—the Slaugth, the Shepherds of the Starry Sea!"