The sky of Amarah Prime was now completely obscured by a torrent of steel. The massive fleet of the Ultramarines Chapter hung in orbit like shifting mountain ranges, their shadows casting an even deeper gloom over the already somber Hive World sky. Hundreds of landing craft poured from the ships' bellies like swarms of bees, piercing the atmosphere with deafening roars as they dove toward the massive, cleared landing platforms.
Amidst the earth-shaking thunder, the largest landing craft—adorned with the blue-and-gold "U" insignia—descended slowly.
The hatch hissed open, and a tall, majestic figure stepped out.
It was him, Marneus Calgar.
However, as Calgar scanned the welcoming party, he couldn't help but freeze for a moment. Aside from the Chapter Master of the Revenant Angels, Lufgt Huron of the Astral Claws, and the Helldivers—who all wore gas masks—there were no other greeters. No local nobles, no representatives of the Hive Governor, not even a handful of low-ranking officials.
"What is happening?" Calgar's brow furrowed slightly. He had expected the nobles of this planet to maintain at least a facade of respect when facing the supreme commander of the Crusade. This scene felt as if the Lord of Macragge was being ignored entirely. "Where are the nobles of this planet?"
The Chapter Master of the Revenant Angels and Lufgt Huron turned their gaze toward Ghostface almost simultaneously. This synchronized reaction immediately sparked a suspicion in Calgar's mind.
He had heard rumors of the Helldivers' ruthless methods during the Damocles Crusade. Even if he hadn't known before, he would have certainly made it a point to study this newly risen Legion after the Battle of Prandium.
"They are mostly dead," Ghostface's answer was exactly as Calgar had guessed. "A few stragglers remain; they are currently handling the necessary handovers."
Calgar listened and remarked, "You should have at least folded them into Penal Battalions to let them seek redemption on the battlefield. Do you realize how many enemies such blatant actions will create for you?"
Ghostface remained indifferent. He looked Calgar straight in the eye, his voice firm: "Friends aren't something you just make with anyone. For the Helldivers, having the Space Marines as friends is enough."
To any other mortal, this sentence might have sounded like an attempt to shift the blame onto the Space Marines—making it seem as though the Helldivers had purged the nobility on behalf of their allies.
But to Calgar's ears, it sounded like this powerful legion was pinning its fate entirely to his chariot! It was a declaration of the purest loyalty and trust toward the Ultramarines and Calgar himself. Had the Space Wolves of Fenris been there, they would have found the Helldivers incredibly spirited; this straightforward style was perfectly aligned with their own.
Calgar let out a deep, powerful laugh that echoed across the empty landing platform. He did not bring up the matter again, clearly satisfied with Ghostface's "handling" of the situation.
Afterward, Calgar exchanged brief pleasantries and tactical views with the other two Chapter Masters before they parted ways. The Revenant Angels and Astral Claws had their own mission sectors and command centers. Accompanied by Ghostface, Calgar headed toward the designated headquarters for the Crusade on Amara Prime.
They entered a requisitioned administrative building. Once inside the spacious command center, Ghostface drew a data slate from the void and respectfully handed it to Calgar.
Calgar took the slate and activated it; his attention was immediately gripped by the content. The data slate contained everything one could ask for: Hive population statistics, factory outputs, and defense force distributions, all in exhaustive detail.
What amazed him more was how explicit the data was—every project's progress was clearly marked without a hint of ambiguity, vague "overviews," or "estimates."
"This—" Calgar's eyebrows shot up. He marveled at the screen, a flash of disbelief in his eyes. "Is there no error in this data?"
Ghostface glanced at his own system panel—a virtual interface only he could see. Various mission statistics were updating in real-time. These were live displays reflecting the tasks he had issued. For instance, regarding the fortifications in the Old Industrial District, the panel showed exactly which areas had reached which stage.
The report he handed to Calgar was simply a curated, organized, and transcribed version of the data on his panel. Naturally, there would be no errors.
He replied calmly, "As long as it is marked, there is no error. At most, some figures might fluctuate slightly compared to the summary due to real-time changes. We used the newly discovered Holy Excell after all."
"I did not expect," Calgar shook his head, his face full of wonder, "that your Helldivers would be as skilled in administration as you are in war."
"Administration?" Ghostface shook his head slightly in disagreement. "How can this be called administration? We are merely controlling the Middle and Upper Hives through war-style mission directives.
This is an expediency—a temporary military martial law. In a mission, there is only success or failure; in war, only victory or death; on the battlefield, only friend or foe. But administration is different.
It is far more complex. It requires balancing the interests of various parties, long-term planning, and consideration for livelihoods, culture, trade, and even the intangible social atmosphere."
He continued with a hint of self-deprecation, "Take Perditia, for example. If we were truly skilled in administration, why would we need aid from Ultramar? All we can do is eliminate threats and stabilize order. Administrative affairs must be left to more professional hands."
"Even if you say that," Calgar gestured with the data slate, emphasizing his point, "this report isn't something just anyone can produce. The accuracy of the data alone exceeds the capabilities of most Imperial administrative bodies."
Ghostface nodded, accepting the praise, but his tone quickly shifted to a serious one: "The report is actually incomplete. Our manpower is only sufficient to control down to the Middle Hive. We are completely powerless regarding the Underhive. In other words, the current situation in the Underhive is a total blackout to us."
He pointed to the hive hologram on the slate. The Upper and Middle Hive regions were clearly delineated, but below them was a blurred, unknown zone covered by a black mist. "Chaos is hiding very deep. Even after taking the Middle Hive, we have only found vague, ambiguous clues. Nothing points to the true lair of Chaos."
At this point, Ghostface's voice grew heavier: "I suspect they must be hiding in the Underhive, the Sump, or even the wastes outside the Hive, plotting their foul deeds.
The environment in the Underhive and Lower Hive is extremely harsh, riddled with gangs and lawlessness. It is the most difficult area for the Imperium to penetrate, and the most perfect breeding ground for Chaos."
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Go watch Sentenced to be a Hero