Axion could not comprehend why the loyalist Primarchs of the Imperium had suddenly arrived as a collective delegation. Yet he had absolutely no intention of denying them entry.
Upon receiving his authorization to board, several Thunderhawk gunships detached from the Imperial armada. The physical dimensions of the Primarchs were so immense that the standard Aquila landers commonly favored by the high authorities of the Adeptus Terra were entirely incapable of transport.
The only unfortunate souls in the contingent were the two Inquisitors. They had been forced to don power armor specifically modified for mortals simply to augment their bulk, allowing them to fit into the stabilization harnesses designed for Space Marines.
As the Thunderhawks drew closer, Lion El'Jonson narrowed his eyes, meticulously analyzing the staggering scale of the starship. Beside him, Jaghatai Khan openly marvelled at the sight.
Though it was the first time either Primarch had laid eyes upon a vessel of this classification, their responses were fundamentally distinct. The Lion's mind immediately cross-referenced everything within his Legion's ancient armories; at first glance, he had already cataloged these metallic monstrosities as potential adversaries, calculating the strategic paradigms required to achieve victory should open warfare erupt.
The Khagan, by contrast, harbored no such overt hostility.
As for Roboute Guilliman and Vulkan, they could only look upon the structure with quiet reverence. No matter how many times one bore witness to such a cyclopean mega-structure, its grandeur remained utterly breathtaking. The two Inquisitors, meanwhile, were gripped by a profound sense of paralysis.
The Thunderhawks touched down within a colossal hangar bay that could easily have swallowed an Imperial Battleship whole. From the assault ramps stepped the four Primarchs, each accompanied by two of their gene-sons. The Inquisitors trailed closely behind Guilliman.
These Space Marines comprised the Primarchs' personal honor guards, and it was they who had piloted the gunships. Yet whether they belonged to the Ultramarines' Victrix Guard, the Dark Angels' Deathwing, or the White Scars' Keshig, they all appeared noticeably diminished when standing beside Vulkan's Pyre Guard.
The sons of Vulkan, already naturally broader and taller than their genetic cousins across the other Legions, had undergone the absolute, flawless revitalization of the Panacea alongside a flawless, absolute success rate in their Primaris augmentations. Their physical proportions had expanded to an astonishing degree. These elite guardians of Nocturne stood so imposing that they were a mere half-head shorter than the other Primarchs themselves.
Beholding these two titanic Salamanders, Guilliman, the Khan, and the Lion were temporarily rendered speechless.
Though they had received battlefield reports from their own sons who had fought alongside the Salamanders, detailing the dramatic physiological transformation of Vulkan's lineage, they had not anticipated it to be this drastic. Even Guilliman, who had interacted with Vulkan more than any other brother since his return, was caught off guard, for Vulkan had not brought his honor guard down to the Senatorum Imperialis on Terra.
Vulkan, naturally sensing his brothers' intense curiosity regarding his sons, let out a warm, resonant smile.
"They are the first of the Cleansed."
"The Cleansed?" the Khan asked, his brow furrowing.
Vulkan nodded, then cast a puzzled look at the Khagan. "If my memory serves, did you not request the Panacea STC from the Iron Man as well? Did he deny you?"
Guilliman and the Lion simultaneously shifted their gazes toward Jaghatai.
The Khagan merely reached up and scratched the back of his head. "He granted it. But what does that have to do with the Panacea?"
It was true that after Jubal had been administered the Panacea, his constitution had grown significantly more robust, with his physical strength and reflex metrics noticeably elevated. Yet the sons of the Khan had experienced no such radical expansion in physical bulk. The sheer, suffocating pressure radiated by the guardians standing behind Vulkan was enough to draw the serious attention of every Primarch present.
The Lion, however, cut straight to what he perceived as the core issue.
"I did not realize," the Lord of the First said, his aged countenance hardening as his eyes narrowed into cold slits, "that you had all been conducting transactions with this Abominable Intelligence."
Vulkan was the first to counter. "Transactions? This is no transaction, Lion."
"What are you implying, Vulkan?"
Though the long march of millennia had left its physical mark upon the Lion, his core temperament remained utterly unchanged. That unyielding, absolute stubbornness was etched into the very fabric of his soul.
"This is a gift," Vulkan stated firmly. "An inheritance from our ancient human ancestors. While I share your deep concerns regarding these Iron Men, it is undeniable that we have all benefited from the fruits of ancient human enlightenment."
"Vulkan speaks the truth, Lion," Guilliman interjected, a complex look in his eyes. "I, too, have received this generosity. While it did not come entirely without conditions, it remains an act of staggering, unprecedented benevolence."
The Khan looked between them, clearly astonished. "A gift? Are you suggesting the Iron Man simply handed the Panacea to you without demand?"
Seeing both of his brothers nod, Guilliman suddenly felt a quiet wave of dejection wash over him. Vulkan, attuned to his brother's shifting moods, immediately noticed.
"What troubles you, Roboute? I swear upon our Father's name, I speak no falsehood."
Guilliman hesitated for a moment before answering. "I do not doubt your words, brother. The Iron Man is indeed remarkably unbound by greed. To my knowledge, he has gifted immense stores of wargear to numerous factions across the Imperium, and even went so far as to replicate my own Legion flagship, Macragge's Honour, to bestow upon the Space Wolves. Yet... it appears I have never been the recipient of this specific generosity."
The Lion stared at Guilliman in flat disbelief. "Guilliman, does the entirety of this mechanical host not operate under your direct strategic command?"
Guilliman offered a weary, exasperated look to his unyielding brother. "What do you take me for, Lion? According to our compiled intelligence, the genesis of this entire force traces back to a single, ancient unit that designates itself as Axion. Their maneuvers across the galaxy are not executed by my decree; the Iron Man is simply honoring our pact through his own autonomous methodology."
Hiss.
Before the Lion could press the matter further, the mechanical decompression of a nearby bulkhead brought their dialogue to a sudden halt. The two Inquisitors stood by with highly conflicted expressions; this was a conversation entirely beyond their station to overhear, yet the instinctual habits of their office were impossible to suppress.
A heavy blast door parted, and an automaton fashioned in the likeness of a formal attendant stepped into the hangar bay. This was a domestic-model machine whose blueprints Axion had recovered from the databanks of a warp-energy research facility. Compared to the vast phalanxes of industrialized military patterns, this was the sole service-oriented design within the fleet.
"Salutations, honored visitors. Pray, declare your parameters of interest."
In stark contrast to the hollow, lobotomized groans of Imperial servitors, the machine's vocal synthesizer carried a distinct inflection of refined courtesy, its tone smooth, measured, and entirely devoid of robotic rigidity.
"Take us to see these Astartes you have engineered," the Lion commanded, completely bypassing any formal pleasantries. He stated their objective with absolute military bluntness.
The automaton's optical sensors flickered momentarily before it executed a precise bow. "Authorization verified. Please follow my guidance."
After navigating a succession of sweeping corridors, the group was brought before an immense anti-gravitic transport platform. Its massive proportions were engineered to comfortably accommodate the entire delegation, allowing even the gargantuan frames of the Primarchs to sit unhindered.
The scale of the Void Sword was simply too vast; traversing its interior infrastructure via baseline foot travel was a logistical absurdity. The hangar bay they had arrived in was located a significant distance from the primary containment decks. Had Guilliman's fleet bypassed the external hangars and berthed their vessels directly within the ship's internal orbital docks, the transit to the research zones would have been considerably shorter.
The anti-gravitic platform swept through a vast lattice of structural ironwork and yawning access tunnels. Soon, they bypassed an immense, simulated biosphere suspended within the ship's interior.
It featured artificial mountain ranges, cascading river systems, and a perfectly regulated cycle of the four seasons. Utilizing their enhanced post-human vision, the Primarchs could clearly discern a vast population of baseline humans thriving within the enclave.
"Why is there a population of baseline mortals dwelling within this vessel?" the Lion demanded, his suspicion mirroring the confusion of the rest of the group.
In response, the automaton raised an arm, projecting a localized hololith in the air. The display detailed the official treaty established between the Iron Men and the Inquisition's tithe-fleets.
"These citizens hail from diverse sectors across the Imperium. They constitute material compensation provided by your authorities."
As the signature blocks of the contracting parties crystallized within the light, the Lion cast a deeply complex glance toward Guilliman.
The two Inquisitors hesitated for a brief second before stepping forward to actively speak in Guilliman's defense. After all, following the deployment of the Iron Men as escorts, the collection of the Imperial Tithe across fractured sectors had become remarkably efficient. Staggering quantities of war material and resources were successfully secured, ensuring the survival of countless beleaguered Imperial armies.
Furthermore, the Iron Men systematically eradicated latent, insidious planetary crises wherever they touched. The macro-level benefits yielded to the Imperium as a whole were simply too vast to count.
While the transaction required surrendering a specific quota of rogue psykers, these individuals were dangerous liabilities who failed to meet even the base criteria to serve as fuel for the Astronomican. Under standard operating protocols, the Holy Ordos would have had no choice but to purge them out of hand.
No matter how one analyzed the paradigm, it was an exceptionally profitable trade. Even the most puritanical minds within the Adeptus Terra could not deny the absolute strategic value of the accord.