The worst-case scenario had manifested.
After listening to Colonel Genster's report, Emrys' heart sank, his expression hardening into a mask of grim resolve.
Scarcely half a day prior, a desperate astropathic burst had arrived from the Tartarus system. It came from Chief Commissar Tynegall, stationed on the primary Hive World.
The message was brief and bloody: the Tartarus defensive grid, the final anvil of the Hades Sector, was being systematically dismantled by the relentless momentum of Hive Fleet Leviathan.
The planetary defense forces, reinforced by the Cadian Shock Legions, were preparing for a final stand alongside the remaining thirty thousand civilians too deep in the hives to evacuate. They had sworn a death-oath to hold the line, hoping to buy a few more hours for the systems in the rear.
Meanwhile, the Flesh Tearers and Blood Angels, having seen nearly ninety percent of their front-line strength decimated in the meat-grinder of the outer reaches, had been forcibly ordered by Dante to fall back. They were to regroup at the second Crimson Line before they were entirely wiped from the annals of history.
"It's moving too fast," Emrys muttered, staring at the casualty reports.
He had anticipated a brutal offensive, but he had never expected the Great Devourer to shatter multiple reinforced lines of defense in less than a week. Dozens of Astartes Chapters and millions of Imperial Guardsmen had been swept aside like dust. It spoke to a terrifying truth: the sheer mass and evolutionary speed of this splinter of Leviathan were far greater than their initial tactical projections.
More concerning was the state of Aeros. Tyranid vanguard organisms had already made planetfall on the gas giant's mining platforms. To extract the vital Promethium, these massive, floating refineries were essential. If they were sabotaged or consumed, the mission was over.
The difficulty was staggering. He had to protect the labor force and the delicate infrastructure of the platforms while fighting off a xenos invasion that had already broken the finest warriors of the Imperium.
Time had run out. His original plan had budgeted for a month of systematic extraction. Now, with Tartarus falling, they had a week at most—and that was being optimistic.
Emrys looked at the tactical hololith of Aeros. The gas giant was already being eclipsed by red icons symbolizing the encroaching swarm.
"If we move to maximum extraction cycles, working the shifts day and night without respite, how long until we hit our strategic reserve targets?" Emrys asked.
Colonel Genster ran the numbers through his data-slate. "At minimum, fourteen days to secure enough Promethium to fuel the Baal defense."
Fourteen days.
The number felt like a death sentence. At the current rate of the Hive Fleet's advance, they would be lucky to have five. But Emrys looked at the sensor readings of the Promethium deposits—veins of energy that could sustain the Blood Angels for years of war. To abandon this 'gold mine' now was to hand the Tyranids a victory before the main fleet even arrived.
"I will commit my entire fleet to securing the orbital space," Emrys declared. "Colonel, tell the workers on the platforms that they are to double their yields. Triple them if they must. We will spare no expense. We buy three days of pure extraction. I am counting on you."
He knew it was a desperate gamble. After the vox-link cut, Emrys rubbed his temples, searching for a way to cheat the clock. The primary bottleneck on a gas giant was the frailty of the human frame; miners couldn't survive the crushing pressures and toxic gasses for long, even with gear.
He considered his options. He could deploy a batch of lower-level Transformers—Cybertronian lifeforms whose silicon-based physiology allowed them to ignore the environmental hazards—to accelerate the mining operations. But even their mechanical efficiency wouldn't bridge a nine-day deficit.
He turned his gaze toward Trazyn, the Necron Lord currently cloaked in a sophisticated holographic disguise.
"Lord Trazyn," Emrys said. "I find myself in need of a... professional favor."
Trazyn sneered, his ancient, mechanical mind easily reading the Rogue Trader's intent. "Do not waste your breath. Even if I were inclined to assist your desperate species, the small legion I carry within my tesseract vaults would be a mere pebble against the tide of a Hive Fleet."
Emrys felt a pang of frustration. Was there truly no way to stall the swarm? His own android legions and Transformers were formidable, but they were meant for surgical strikes, not planetary-scale holding actions against trillions of organisms.
Trazyn paused, his ocular sensors flickering with a green, calculated light. "While I will not spend my own warriors for your oil-fire, there is a world nearby—one your maps call Perdita. There is something there you may find... useful."
"Perdita?" Emrys pulled up the star chart. "It's a designated Death World. Reclassified as a wasteland by the Administratum in the 36th Millennium. No strategic value."
"Value is a matter of perspective," Trazyn said with a hollow, metallic chuckle. "Perdita is what your kind calls it. In the archives of my people, that world houses a 'cage'."
"A cage?" Emrys asked, confused.
"A Tesseract Labyrinth," Trazyn clarified. "An ancient vault designed to contain the echoes of divinity."
Emrys' breath caught in his throat. "You mean... a C'tan Shard?"
"Indeed," Trazyn replied. "If fortune favors you and you find a Tesseract containing a Shard of a Star God, a mere Tyranid splinter-fleet will be the least of your concerns. A Shard of the Deceiver or the Nightbringer can unmake a fleet with a thought."
A C'tan Shard. An existence of terrifying, cosmic power. If Emrys could harness even a fraction of such a god-shaking entity, he wouldn't just hold Aeros; he could scour the Hades Sector clean.
"Then we change course," Emrys ordered. "To Perdita!"
The hunt for a god was on. If he found it, the leverage would be absolute.