[center][h1][b][u]Hope In The Frost[/u][/b][/h1][/center]
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There was something soothing about the frozen land that helped to calm his soul. When the sun jumped off the glittering snow drifts and the wind sent shimmering clouds of swirling white through the air, he could see the lost beauty that made Terra worth protecting. The flicker of hope that made Sanctii worth saving.

He stepped away from the insulated window of the meeting room and took one last chance to look over what he had painstakingly arranged for his coming guests. The room, nothing more than a conference room for the supervisors of the world engine beneath them, was sparsely adorned. There were scuff marks in the floor where a large industrial table had been removed to accommodate the finer seats that had been arranged within the room to facilitate the purported size of his coming guests. A small table of refreshments, still steaming, was set equally distant in the center of the fine furnishings, and finally a number of seemingly brand new datapads had been placed on the arms of every chair. 

He allowed himself a small smile, happy that he had managed this much in the time that he had been given to prepare. Yet he was still frustrated at the location that had been chosen by the Administrator for the meeting. Was he not Stefan Popov, [i]High Negotiator of Sanctii and Her Illustrious Holdings[/i]? Did his position not grant him the right to arrange the meeting? The menu? The venue? The seating? He chafed at the idea that the Administrator had overstepped him so boldly, and fumed that the Prime Minister had disregarded his complaints at this blatant power grab.

“Negotiator Popov…?”

Popov started, turning to face the aide with a smile as he smoothed over the frustration on his face. “Yes?”

The aide shuffled a datapad from his hands and held it out to Popov with an uneasy smile, “They’re on final approach, Sir.”

Popov nodded as he took in the auspex return of the Imperial craft coming in from the South, “Good, good. Make sure they’re not bothered, as planned. Bring them right here, not a single weapon in sight. No one speaks to them before I do, of course.”

The aide gave a curt nod and hurried off through the door, a quiet hiss following as Popove watched the door slide shut behind the young man. He sighed, took a small clear pill from his pocket and swallowed it dry. He turned back to observe the world outside the window, the billowing smoke of the world engine beginning to cast a shadow over the land as the wind shifted. He spotted the telltale signs of a blizzard brewing in the distance. He swallowed another clear pill, his pupils constricting slightly as he focused on the storm and calculated time and trajectory. He concluded it would arrive during the meeting, an unfortunate omen.

A dark, boxy silhouette began to materialize on the horizon, torrents of snow blasting behind it in a rapid advance. It contrasted harshly to the frosted wasteland of Terra’s northern territories, dull yellow and black plating covering the oncoming craft’s exterior. A great symbol of a raptor emblazoned upon one of the vessel's bulky surfaces, an unpolished eye glaring out at the planet’s sad state. Multitudes of brutal weapons mounted to the lower side of the transport while long-barreled monstrosities idly pointed from turret sponsons. The stormbird approached the tall, billowing world engine with haste. Quad engines churned black smoke out behind the craft as a platform lit up some several kilometers away to signal their landing. A silent exchange of binary communication flitted across the air, exchanging transponder codes and clearance access onto the world engine’s landing pad. Large, flat footed gears unfurled from beneath the transport as it settled down on the reinforced structure.

The platform, illuminated by austere glowglobes, groaned beneath the weight of the stormbird. Hissing mechanisms reverberated in the local area as the assault ramp began to extend down and outwards. The source of the craft’s superior weight became evident as seven individuals began to amble down in an unsorted formation. Five of their number were tall, herculean warriors covered from head to toe in powered armor, while the two others were average sized humans dressed in combat armor. The first of the arrivals was a giant in black armor, an alabaster pelt flowing behind them and a great helm worn tight against their skull. The next two were similar in size, differing only in yellow armor and styles of knightly helmet. One carried a great, whipping banner embroidered with a raptor crossed in front of thunderbolts attached to a long pole. They were followed by a woman in penumbral armor with folded, metallic wings accenting their half-covered facial features. Lastly were the standard humans, adorned in military attire appropriate for Terra’s northern lands. None of these individuals held armaments, for they were unneeded when their own strength would suffice.

Each footstep of the four, larger giants threatened to break through the platform they walked upon, their long strides allowing them to quickly cross the distance in a span of seconds. The one at the front of their procession, the black armored one, halted some distance away from an entrance into the world engine. Crimson lenses spied the hurried form of a human approaching their entourage, yet further identified a plethora of hidden defenses veiled into the austere environment. A manner of seconds passed as the human halted within reasonable distance of the arriving retinue.

“[b]Hail, Sanctiian.[/b]” The black-armored giant spoke first, a lion’s roar of a tone booming from the voxgrill installed into their great helm. A masculine voice that radiated with cool, supreme confidence. His crimson lenses stared down at the man as if he were infinitely smaller than the giant was. The alabaster pelt attached to his back whipped rapidly between frozen gusts and spinning engines. “Do I have the pleasure of speaking to the High Negotiator?” The title awkwardly rolled off his tongue, uncertain of Sanctii’s parliamentary positions.

The aide stood statue-still as the booming voice of the giant rolled over them, cold sweat beading on their brow as they searched for the right words to attend to the Imperials. He took an uncertain step backwards followed by another, far more confident one as he tore his gaze away from the terrifying monstrosity of plate and flesh. With a simple wave of his hand he gestured for the entourage to follow before hurriedly leading them down the central hall and toward the meeting room.

Popov, smiling as the indicator light over the door blinked from amber to green, spread his arms wide in welcome as his aide stepped quickly to the side of the room.

“Hail, Imperial. I apologize for my aide’s silence, they’re unfortunately not cleared to speak for such a meeting as this,” he laughed as he motioned for his aide to make himself scarce in a corner of the room, “I, however, very much am,” he offered a respectful bow of his head and motioned for the massive beings to come forward and take seats, “[b]High Negotiator of Sanctii and Her Illustrious Holdings,  Stefan Popov[/b], at your service.”

His smile thinned as he directed his attention to the chairs. They were far too small for these mutants.

“I had arranged seating, but I must say, you’re I appear to have underestimated the requirements,” he chortled.

The humans, to the eyes of the relatively well fed and clothed Sanctians, looked decrepit. There were two that seemed to hold the same office as the giant mutants, or at least an equivalent position. The first was a man, who, to put it politely, looked haggard, decrepit, and pale. He had large, dark circles under his eyes and a gaunt, ever so slightly jaundiced look of someone balancing on the precipice of malnutrition. His uniform, while appropriate for the Urshic cold, was mismatched and of ill-repair. 

“We’ll take that seat, if you don’t mind.” A female voice, sharp and clear, stated. 

She was healthier than the man, tall, strong, and with pink, healthy skin, but an ugly pink scar ran from under one eye, bisecting a cheek, going through both lips, and onto her chin. She had a crude, but serviceable military bionic crammed into the eye socket where the ugly scar started. Her uniform, compared to the man’s, was intentional, austere, and stark. Black jhodpurs, black boots, a black tunic with gold frogging, and a leather stormcoat. She wore a red cap and ear shields against the cold, but the flush of her cheeks suggested that as impressive as her garb was, it did not protect against the elements the same way the man’s did.

“I am [b]Discipline Mistress Augusta Severina[/b].” She said, and bowed. “And this is [b]Colonel Stavin[/b], of… Imperial Army unit 31-3.”

The man looked  sullenly at the woman, as if he detected some slight or falsehood in that statement, but said nothing. 

“We are the ranking Imperial Army presence for these talks.” She continued, seemingly oblivious to her comrade, “And most importantly, we are here to be a human face. Our regent understands that the Thunder Legions and Custodians can be intimidating fellows.”

She reached out, briefly touching the closest Thunder Warrior’s gauntlet, and the winged custodian’s. 

“You’ll forgive me for saying that of course.” She said to the other members of the Imperial delegation. “But we must be open and honest, no?”

Though Severina couldn’t possibly see beneath the great helm of the blacked armored giant, she could certainly feel the unpleasant aura forming when her hand touched his vambrace. Instinctively, as if feeling their leader’s discomfort, the other two yellow armored warriors stepped forward with a couple of trudges. An obsidian gauntlet raised up from the dark one, waving off their small amount of worry. He took a step forward to position himself directly across from Negotiator Popov, crimson lenses carefully observing the stature of the man. 

“Mistress Severina speaks correctly, but know that we are no less human than any other. I am [b]Primarch Aeternus Rex[/b] of the First Legio Cataegis, the [b]God-Slayers[/b], agents hailing from the Master of the Line and his dominion. I have known many names in my time, but only refer to me as this. Behind me are a pair of my Thunder Warriors, Captain [b]Caestus Caligula[/b] and Vexillarius [b]Gaius Felix[/b].” The primarch gestured with one of his gauntlets to the warriors behind him. The one named Caligula, a yellow armored giant with a crest upon his knightly helmet, gave a short chuckle and nodded his head. The other thunder warrior, Felix, responded with a short nod while gripping their beautiful banner tightly in one hand. 

Although hesitantly, Aeternus understood the necessity for an even playing field between negotiation forces. A pair of black gauntlets reached up to his helmet, unsealing the atmospheric protectors and lowering the great helm to his side. Bronze skin marred with a plethora of aging scars met the quickly adjusting temperature in the chamber. Dark orbs as umbral as the void stared down at Popov while strands of black hair complimented a rugged, charismatic face.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, High Negotiator Stefan Popov. I will be the primary negotiator for our liege and his dominion in these talks. Our secondary negotiator may interject at any time she wishes as she sees fit, as is her duty. The tertiary negotiators, as Severina has previously spoken, are granted a level of interjection as was decreed by the Master of the Line. Firstly, though,” Aeternus began to speak, his voice as commanding and dominating as a lion upon his pride. He slightly cocked his head in the direction of the final member of their cohort, motioning for the black armored knight to come forward and speak. “We have one last member of our entourage. One of the highest importance.”

“[b]Amalasuntha[/b], one of the Emperor’s chosen Custodians. I have come to oversee that all goes in the Emperor’s best interests,” the Black-Hawk said, her voice harsh and cold as she looked over the humans, her eyes carefully watching those of the Imperial Army before stepping back. That was all she needed to say and nothing more would be pried from her, such was the nature that Aeternus and any of his Thunder Warriors would know. The Ventarii maintained her grip over her Lance, before her gaze shifted back to carefully watching over the gene-warriors she had sworn to watch over, no longer concerned with the humans.

Popov waved a welcoming hand toward the chairs for the Discipline Mistress and her Colonel before turning his full attention back to the two mutants before him, “Of course, Primarch Rex, do correct me if I should use the full name for I may be unfamiliar with your proper use of formal title and name,” he said with due deference.

He turned his gaze toward the Custodian, a feeling of revulsion rising in his stomach at the way she had so confidently declared she was here to ensure things went “the Emperor’s” way. He gave her a respectful nod and a curt smile, “I have heard much of the Emperor’s vaulted Custodians. It is an honor to make the acquaintance of two of the mightiest warriors on Terra.”

Popov moved his attention back to Aeternus, and with a hint of curiosity on his face offered an open palm, “Forgive me, Primarch Rex, but it was the Imperium that requested this audience, and while I am more than honored to hold it, I must admit that your side was not exactly… forthcoming, with the details of why,” he shrugged, allowed himself a small laugh and continued, “Though I am rather certain why you would wish to seek this negotiation, I must ask that you voice your goals aloud.”

Primarch Aeternus internally prepared himself for the political battlefield laid out before himself. He couldn’t help but feel as it if were an actual battle amidst a brutal war, something that he was aware wasn’t the correct mindset for peaceful negotiation. A simulation of the possible events had been conducted beforehand with the Colonel and the Black Hawk, though it paled in comparison to the actual series of events. Nonetheless, he was ready to deliver whatever his master required, no matter what may come of it.

“Then allow me to be forward with my Master’s ambitions. He has seen that the great city of Sanctii is a bastion of humanity in a sea of chaos and lauds it from His domain. The Master of the Line - the Emperor - would see humanity unified to claim our birthright amongst the stars. In lieu of His goals, He wishes to create everlasting ties with the great city of Sanctii as an ally in pursuit of unification.” Aeternus momentarily paused to allow Popov a chance to digest the words he spoke. Rex lowered his usual lion’s roar of a voice to much more calm and deep level of speech. He physically controlled each movement of his body in such a way that the genewarrior’s demeanor balanced out between solemn and domineering. An effective gift from one of the Emperor’s Ephroi. 

“Yet he does simply ask for an alliance without reparation. He has sent His Legio Cataegis - my Thunder Legion - of the God-Slayers to assist in dealing with the Kalagann of Ursh. No doubt you’ve heard of our accomplishments in middle Terra,” An obvious two-faced statement. It was equal parts a threat and a gift for those with the ability to understand the nuances of negotiation. Aeternus’ form failed to radiate a threatening aura, nor did his speech pattern alter to allude to a dire warning. He continued to speak, aware already that their promise of intervention wouldn’t be enough to fulfill the negotiations. “But it has been told by our Master’s favored companion that the great city of Sanctii has no want for superior forces. To allay any disparity for lack of commitment, the Emperor has given His approval to a technological agreement.”

The Primarch felt as if he had expended a lifetime's worth of diplomatic flair in a single conversation, something that the thunder warrior was nowhere near proficient in. He had wondered if it was a test set by the Sigilite in cruel mockery, or perhaps it had been a trial to gauge Rex’s abilities by the Emperor. It loomed on his mind just as each of his own words possibly hung over Popov’s musing form. Regardless, Aeternus’s black orbs never fell away from the negotiator nor did they blink once during his entire speech. Those endless pits of darkness now awaited the Sanctiian’s response.

Colonel Stavin sighed as the thunder primarch stated the purpose of their coming. It was as simple as that. Join or die. But he had spoken himself hoarse at the tactica and strategis meetings before this diplomatic intervention - it would never work. Stavin was half Urshic. He knew of Sanctii. They were proud, but they were naive. Sheltered. A dangerous combination. 

Insulated as they were from the rest of Imperial conquest, and so convinced of their enlightenment, they'd never acquiesce to the requests of a butcher like the Emperor. That's what he was, after all. A butcher. A mass murderer. But only he could see it, only he, a damned soul, trapped in the interstice of Imperial truth and Imperial violence. 

It was the highest irony that not only did he have to usher the other souls of the damned, his penal soldiers, to their dooms, but now one of the oldest bastions of learning and civilization as well. 

He decided to speak. In Urshic, rusty and halting, to make his point. 

"[i]Bratya Popov[/i]." Stavin said in the lowborn thieve's Urshic of gutter criminals and soldiers, "It is in your best interest to say yes."

Popov would know of the Urshic criminal cant. That phrase was well known amongst the Urshic people, it was an almost comical cultural touchstone. The stereotypical threat of a vidscreen extortion, by the old mafiyas. It was so trite as to be almost humorous, and never said in anything but jest. 

That dissonance might give Popov the hint of what this meeting really was; murderous extortion, with Sanctii as the Emperor’s prize - that refusal was no option at all. It was Stavin's only throw of the dice to avoid what he knew would happen with certainty. 

Popov had known it was coming, anticipated it. The Administrator had warned him, along with just about every other sitting member of the Council. And yet, it was still a shock to hear it from the lips of the Emperor’s dog before him. He suppressed a snicker at the primarch’s insistence that some sort of technological exchange would benefit Sanctii as much as it would the Imperials, an easy task given the amount of focus drugs pumping through his system, and was about to speak when he found himself genuinely surprised by the Colonel’s rough criminal cant. He sneered in disdain at the realization of what such a thing meant from a Colonel, but went no further to engage with the gutter scum.

He felt a haptic implant pulsing in his neck and raised the datapad in his hands just enough for only him to read the text beginning to scroll across the screen. He suppressed further anger, easily washing over the emotion with overwhelming calm as he read the Administrator's words.

“Primarch Rex, I am sure that an alliance would benefit both of our states, but Sanctii will not, under any circumstances, share the technology vital to our survival. For reasons of security, it simply can not be arranged,” he nodded solemnly, “An alliance may benefit us yet, but our technology must remain ours.”

The hulking leader of the Thunder Warriors muled over the words spoken by Popov. He refused to acknowledge the Colonel’s statement in the brutish tongue of the Urshites nor would Aeternus really need to. An armored gauntlet from the First Cadre Captain, Caligula, had been carefully placed on the Colonel’s shoulder mere moments after the words left his mouth. A stern look was given by the genewarrior, Caestus’ ugly smile growing wide across an already repulsively scarred face. Rex had felt the movements behind him as they happened, silently thanking his geneson before beginning the next part of his practiced speech.

“That is rather unfortunate, Negotiator Popov, but it is His will that our alliance be on even footing. The Sigilite will have that conversation with your leader at a later point,” Aeternus began to speak, an initial air of disappoint surrounding his form before returning with renewed energy. Perhaps if his original orders had been to kill and claim, then negotations would’ve broken down there yet he persisted with the Emperor’s wishes regardless. “But you have no qualms with a military alliance against Kalagann of Ursh, is that correct? You said it yourself that we are the mightiest warriors on Terra, would it not be beneficial to deal with the Urshite threat together?”

Popov smiled as the Primarch updated his terms to fit squarely within the Administrator’s boundaries. He brought his shoulders back in confidence and nodded respectfully, “Indeed, to quell and even stomp out the Urshic hordes would be beyond beneficial to us. Though Sanctii holds no ambitions beyond our small collection of territories, to remove the Urshite raiders threat for good, would allow us to focus more on our greater tasks, such as the purpose of this world engine we meet on tod—” Popov’s haptic pulsed painfully in his neck, and he once more raised the dataslate to his eyes.

He bit his tongue as he read the scrolling text, cursing the Prime Minister for allowing the Administrator so much control over [i]his[/i] negotiation. There was supposed to be none higher within Sanctii, no other that could agree or deny terms today… and yet.

“I apologize, Primarch Rex, but my lords change their moods once more. I’m sure you can understand.”

Popov shifted where he stood, casting a glance back in the direction of Sanctii, its walls obscured by the storm outside the windows.

“There can be no troop deployments from Sanctii outside our borders,” he took a breath and turned his gaze back to the hulking mutant that called itself a man, “we will be able to offer no direct support in the conquest of Ursh, I am afraid.”

Finally, Primarch Aeternus narrowed his eyes in inquisitive disapproval. One of his black armored gauntlets raised to his own mouth, stroking at the scarred flesh in thought. He felt that his words had reeled in the High Negotiator, even going so far as to decline one of his Master’s directives to ensure their alliance. Rex felt something was amiss. His black orbs glanced down to the dataslate that Popov held to himself, watching every glance between the Sanctiian and the pad from then on.

To the surprise of the Sanctiian, the Primarch audibly sniffed the air and breathed deeply of the surrounding area. He closed his eyes in a moment of silence. Perhaps it appeared as if he were frustrated by their dialogue, but in truth, he had simply tasted the air for faint hints of the wyrd. Disappointingly, he failed to taste any amount of the sorcerous energy that afflicted their species. He opened his eyes once more to stare down Popov. He still had ammo in his satchel to fight with, but it would be a stretch to throw such a bone. Rex already knew that Amalasuntha would react to his next words, internally preparing himself for the eventual berating.

“I see. No sharing of your precious technology and no mustering of your garrisons against Kalagann. You’ve pushed me into a corner, Popov, something few are able to do.” The Primarch flashed a surprisingly charismatic smile at the Sanctiian, offering a slight chortle to deescalate the rising tension. “Very well, if you cannot directly support the destruction of Ursh, then perhaps the great city of Sanctii can offer [b]indirect[/b] assistance. If your leader requires proof of skill to acquire their approval, then we shall orchestrate an all-out assault on all of the Urshite warbands harassing Sanctii’s outskirting territories. Then, perhaps, your leader will be more forthcoming to an alliance.”

Popov breathed a silent sigh of relief as the Primarch opened his eyes and continued with his amicable mood. He had been convinced that the mutant was deciding on the best way to dismember him, having seen the picts from Memphos and across Gyptus, he was well aware of what the being before him was capable of if given a good reason to perform. 

“Support could certainly be arranged I believe,” Popov stated with certainty. He had the city's food and industrial earnings report pulled up on his pad, and with a simple flick of a finger sent a curated version to the datapads before the Imperial delegation. He offered a grin, happy his head remained on his shoulders, and motioned to the dataslates.

“I’ve provided a select view of Sanctii’s output, and would be more than willing to negotiate the more boring discussion of tonnage, shipping, and compensation now if--” his haptic stung painfully, and the dataslates before the Imperials chimed horridly once and cut to red screens at the same time.

He brought his own dataslate up to his eyes, reading the words scrolling by with disbelief.

Acting on his previous suspicions, Aeternus glared with extreme focus on Popov’s face in an attempt to gleam even the slightest hint of information. His dark orbs observed every detail off of the Sanctiian’s sculpted face from how open his pores were to the molecular hair on his face rising in ire. He carefully watched every shadow that passed beneath the Negotiator’s eyes, scrutinizing every single hurried glance.	

[b]//OVERSTEP. 
//CRITICAL INFORMATION NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION.
//CEASE NEGOTIATION POINT. REORIENT.
//HIGH NEGOTIATOR, YOU TEST MY PATIENCE.
//ALL SUPPORT TO IMPERIALS DENIED.
//CA_062 “”DW””[/b]

Primarch Aeternus felt ire rise from deep within his person. He considered every single avenue that could possibly be taken in preparation for these negotiations. An Ephroi had personally taken their time to equip a genewarrior of his low stature in accordance with the Sigilite’s will. Had it all been for nothing? One more push, he thought to himself, simply one more before we orchestrate His will in a different manner.

“All support to Imperials denied, Negotiator Popov?” The Primarch’s voice shifted several decibels lower, losing the facade of diplomatic favor for one in exchange for one relying on intimidation. A disappointed, angry look crossed the facial features of Aeternus, yet it wasn’t the emotion that was played off by the genewarrior. It was the look of someone betrayed. In accordance with his Master’s will, Rex dared not move to commit violence on the grounds of diplomacy, yet he balled his fists hard enough for the servos to audibly whine in protest.

“[b]What is the meaning of this?[/b]”

Popov, a man who had risen through the cutthroat politics of Sanctii’s ruling class from a simple diplomatic aide, found himself stunned. He physically reeled at the Thunder Warrior’s change in tone, the focus drugs barely allowing the so-very-human Popov to remain in some modicum of control.

“I assure you--” his haptic stung painfully, he ignored it, “I wish only the best for both our peoples, But Deep Winter--” his haptic stung so painfully that Popov brought a hand up to the spot in his neck it had been surgically implanted on the day of his birth.

“The Administrator--” he fell to a knee as the pain spread beyond the known bounds of the small device just beneath his flesh.

Around the room the dataslates came to life once more, green text scrolling across the reflective screens for all in attendance to read. Popov let out a whimper as he clutched at his neck, reading the text through tears of pain.

[b]//NEGOTIATIONS CEASED EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATE.
//DISINFECTION OF WORLD ENGINE EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATE.
//GLORY TO THE CITY. GLORY TO SANCTII.
//CA_062 “”DW””[/b]

Popov’s ears rang as he fell fully to the floor, blood weeping from his eyes and nose as he convulsed on the cold faux carpet of the world engine, so far from the Sanctii he loved.

An unease entered every organ in Aeternus’ augmented body. He understood what was happening even before his brain could fully compute the truth behind the events. Internally, in the brief seconds that mattered, he cursed himself for allowing treachery and deceit to befall him. Perhaps it was to be expected. Regardless, the Primarch and his warriors began to move in sync with eachother. Rex crossed the room in seconds, scooping up Negotiator Popov and slinging him delicately over his pauldron. Caestus swept the Colonel under one of his armored gauntlets and then echoed the action with the Mistress. The final thunder warrior swept the banner in a low motion, aiming the adamantium tip of the polearm at the portal that they entered from.

Each of their voxbeads, voxcasters, and voxrelays crackled to life with the urgent voice of the stormbird pilot. “Emergency egress! Oncoming heat signatures from several locations, unknown source and unknown designations! Lady Black Hawk, Primarch Aeternus, we need to leave!” She screamed into her helmet-mounted headset, the sound of engaging engines in the background echoing throughout her communication.

Almost instantaneously, the custodian began to dart - not waiting for the door to open and instead cleaving it with her lance and sending it across the hall. “Be quick, Aeternus!” Her call came as she sprinted down the way, her pack activating and propelling herself forwards to expedite her retreat.

Stavin cursed as he was scooped up, apparently valuable enough now to not sacrifice as a rearguard for the Imperial withdrawal. Sanctii was as good as leveled. He knew it though. He knew it would play out exactly like this. No one listened, but why would they? He was Damned, after all, and the moaning of the damned was something that was to be ignored, if you could help it.

But it was as he feared. Sanctii, in their hopeful naivety, had created an intelligence to run their city-state. That is why it was a verdant, learned, civilized paradise. And no matter how benevolent this ‘Deep Winter’ was, the Emperor would butcher everyone in the city to stamp it out. 

He strained to look past the armored figure holding him, looking forlornly at the last bastion of real learning on Terra. Sanctii was a techno-utopia, one of the last verdant places on Terra. No more. No more. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself to be carried into the future. 

A hundred different thoughts chased through the synaptic nodes in his brain as he sprinted down the austere hallways of the world engine. Defeat was amongst the foremost of these. Failure was rare for the God-Slayers, majority of their campaigns in the pursuit of Unification ending in his Master’s satisfaction. This, however, was a forlorn feeling that ate at the edge of his consciousness. Aeternus felt as if the odds had been stacked against him at every angle, no matter how hard he had prepared to ensure glory for the Master of the Line. Fearful and confused, Rex tuned out his deepest thoughts to replace them with the current matters. One of his gauntlets slammed the great helm from his belt atop his head, pressing the seal into activation with a twist of his wrist. Crimson lenses glared out in hidden fury as they pressed further out of the world engine.

None plagued their urgent sprint through the halls, genewrought might pushing their enormous forms through miles of corridors in minutes. The unconscious body of Popov’s aide was swept up by the banner-bearer, an unspoken command by Aeternus for later usage. Each reinforced door that threatened to block their escape was cut aside by either Amalasuntha or the banner-bearer with ruthless efficiency. Every screen they came across repeated the same message by the infamous Administrator, green text floating in an infinite loop on each digital surface. Eeriness crept like looming darkness in every alcove devoid of human life. It was if each stride of their armored figures was watched by an otherworldly entity unknown to them. And it wished for their death tenfold.

The final door onto the landing platform was blasted off of it’s sliding hinges by the black armored form of Aeternus Rex, who sprinted out of the world engine into the biting blizzard. Both of his thunder warriors followed after with a sense of urgency in their step. All four engines of the stormbird were loudly whining, flames jutting out of the spinning turbines with an eagerness to launch. The assault ramp was lowered to the frosted platform, a pair of crimson-garbed auxilia crouched on either side with lasrifles actively firing at unveiled defenses. The Primarch suddenly stopped, shifting Popov into the banner-bearer’s grasp before turning to ensure no member of their cohort was left behind. Rex then proceeded as the last member of their team entered the craft. Both the Colonel and the Mistress were released the moment the thunder warriors crossed into the vessel. The defending soldiers followed shortly after the last turret was melted into slag.

Inside of the wide deck, Aeternus trudged his way into the cockpit with several dozens questions nearly vomiting from his lips. The pilot, a woman of average stature and hidden features beneath augmented helmet, was rapidly preparing countermeasures for their immediate escape. “Are they so willing to kill us that they risk destroying their own infrastructure? How many signatures are you reading? Do we have identification codes? What is coming our way and would the most venerable Amalasuntha be able to intercept?” Each word was a booming command from the gullet of a lion, nearly deafening the mortal in a fit of pain. She clenched her teeth together as all relevant information was thrown onto one of the several screens in the cockpit.

“Unknown. At least several dozen. No identification codes, but trajetocries similar to any Terran intercontinental ballistic missile. I theorize that Lady Black Hawk could slaughter several of them, yet they would crash into the installation all the same. We must leave, Primarch Aeternus, to carry on the word of the Master!” Her voice was a shrill of logical defiance. One that Rex hadn’t expected as she closed all external access ramps into the stormbird. The stormbird began to shake with the familiar jostle of retracting landing gears. 

“[b]What in His name happened!?[/b]” Aeternus asked to the gathered members of his entourage, red lenses turning to regard Amalasuntha, Colonel Stavin, and Mistress Severina. Perhaps if he had taken longer than a second to consider the situation, then the answer would become apparent to the genewarrior of the First Legion. It was clear, at least to the Black Hawk, that the Primarch was in a mindfog the likes of which dulled his mental capacities. 

Stavin wiped his mouth as he was set down, along with the discipline mistress. 

“The rumors were true, Primarch.” Stavin said, “Sanctii is governed by automated intelligence. Do you remember when Popov said ‘Deep Winter’? It caused an automated haptic response. A pain response. Popov said too much.”

“You can’t mean-” Severina said, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Abominable Intelligence?”

“Right. I suppose that’s what He calls them.” Stavin said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes in front of three people who had the right to kill him with little recourse, “I’d bet good money it was Deep Winter that told Popov to cancel all ties with the Imperials. It is as I feared it would be. As I said it would be, in fact. There will be no allegiance with Sanctii because the AI that runs it knows the Emperor will murder it.”

“And murder it we shall! For the Emperor and Imperium, we will destroy Sanctii for this blatant treachery! Aeternus, contact the Sigillite and tell him what has been revealed,” her words came out harsh but determined, turning away from the thunderous Primarch as she willingly ignored his mindfog. Yet, her piercing gaze fell onto Stavin, a massive talon reaching out to grasp the human, as gingerly as she could, and lifted him by his throat. The words that came from her mouth reverberated with a thick malice that she had since only reserved for mindless thunder warriors, “You will reveal all you know of Sanctii, lest you make your love for the Intelligence known to me now.”

“Your- Our Emperor," Stavin began, seeing the harsh glare Severina gave him, even as the custodian threatened to flense him, “Compelled me into his service after I surrendered. I was a mercenary in pay to an Urshic castellan in one of the border forts. I don't remember which one. Doesn't matter."

Stavin cleared his throat, gasping for air, then continued. “He told stories, this castellan. I dunno if they're true. He was from Sanctii, or was a visitor. He said that at the center of the city, Winter slept. She dreamed of a green terra. She ordered the men around her like pawns on a chessboard and was dreaming a machine into reality that would rend the fallow ground green."

“When Popov said ‘Deep Winter' it reminded me of those old stories." Stavin said, “And you people, I mean, us, we live in a rational age, right? What else could ‘sleep in the center of a city' except an AI idling away in a massive cogitator bank?"

“[b]Enough.[/b]” Aeternus finally spoke after the mindfog had cleared from his head, listening in on Stavin’s words and Amalasuntha’s threats. Even if he hadn’t arrived at the conclusion first, Rex eventually managed to piece the puzzle together between the four of them. The Primarch trudged forward, gripping the Custodes’ forearm with one of his black armored hands. Though she couldn’t see beneath his great helm, she would certainly feel the piercing orbs of the Himalazian knight.

“Stavin, Severina. Remove yourselves to the bay and see about tending to our guests. We need to gleam whatever we can from them, no matter how that happens. Use the tools at your current disposal to handle it, otherwise wait until we’ve returned to the Imperialis Praetorios.” The Primarch said, momentarily turning away from the Black Hawk to address the two mortals. He could sense their fear, even if they didn’t show it. No doubt facing one of the Emperor’s personal guardians was a fearsome task, yet Rex had never felt fear around them. Perhaps it was Amalasuntha’s influence. “Release the man, Amalasuntha, we have more pressing matters to deal with… and we have a war to wage in His name that will require Stavin’s cooperation.”

Rightfully ignoring their conversation, the pilot had been gracefully tracking each and every signature that locked in on the world engine. She had guided the Stormbird away to an acceptable distance, yet she gritted her teeth in disapproval as they would feel the concussive force of the oncoming missiles. A multitude of measurements appeared on each monitor, indicating the time until impact. She didn’t feel the necessity to call them to brace, unwilling to interrupt their important conversation for something that wouldn’t affect the genewarriors.

The custodian relinquished her grip, not by Rex’s word but more from her own need to do something other than threaten meaninglessness drivel. She did not speak, but her blackened form shuffled back, away from the mortals. “His majesty will not be pleased by this,” her words came in a still coldness, speaking the obvious before her head tilted to the side for a moment, thinking.

Stavin fell to the ground in an unceremonious heap, hands grasped at his throat in protective instinct that was both too late and unnecessary; even if the ‘Black Hawk’ had decided against sparing him, there would have been little protecting his own throat could’ve done. 

Severina’s heels clacked on the diamond-etched plasteel. The discipline officer held a hand out, and Stavin took it, her only acknowledgement of his near-death experience. Augusta’s strong arms easily pulled him up from the decking, though for pride’s sake he had assisted the process as best he could. He stood up, brushing himself off, forcing himself to be okay with one of the Butcher’s creations coming within a hair’s breadth of killing him. 

He didn’t like to admit it, but the lower he fell, the more afraid of dying he became. Paradoxically, when he had been a successful mercenary commander, he thought nothing of crossing swords with the worst Terra had to offer - it had all been a game back then. Now though, as a dreg commander of a dreg outfit for a man (god?) he, on his best days, feared, and on his worst, hated, he found the idea of death deeply terrifying. There was a legacy in his younger days, a reputation that would survive him, even if it was only until the next amasec sodden pub crawl his former men took part in.

Now? Who would mourn him? Curse his name? No one. His name would be crossed off in a ledger and he would sink into anonymity just as surely as ants do when their hive perishes. The Black Hawk had swooped low, and plucked him from the river he swam in. Only luck had preserved him, and now he had to continue swimming upstream knowing at any moment it could happen again.

He straightened his ushanka, and nodded to Severina. 

“As you order, Primarch Rex.” He said, in his best military voice, some sand back in his craw, “We will begin advanced interrogation immediately.”

Another nod to the discipline mistress, and the two mortals went to their duty. 

Behind the turmoil aboard the Stormbird, an array of lights streaked across the sky in lazy arcs. Each missile was tracked by the Stormbird, an array of datapoints and analysis streaking across the pilot’s screen as the missiles made their terminal burns at the helpless world engine. 

A number of the smallest missiles, the Stormbird tracking as low-priority threats, made their impacts first.  Rolling explosions, orange, and firey red, ripped across the outer buildings of the complex. Entire warehouses went up in flames as warheads of unknown yield gutted them from within. The pilot trained her attention on the exterior pictfeeds, whistling as a particularly small building simply evaporated in a flash of orange.

The Stormbird’s machine spirit selected a missile from the next incoming volley, throwing an alert at the pilot even as she managed twenty other tasks at once. Her hands didn’t stop flowing over the controls even as she read the highlighted warning.

“Radiation alarm,” she stated cooly over the Stormbirds troop compartment intercom, “strap in.”

The Stormbird’s engines, already roaring at high power pitched into afterburner as the machine spirit took some level of control from the pilot. She banked the aircraft into a steep dive, unsecured boxes and items flying through the compartment at the sudden change in direction. Behind them, the Stormbird diligently tracked the missile in a highlighted angry yellow. The Stormbird ripped across the tundra, the pilot making a straight line for a massive canyon to their front, all as she continually checked the missile’s position.

Behind them a star blinked to life above the world engine, a roiling ball of plasma over a hundred million degrees flashed the snow and ice into steam in the blink of an eye, the dark of night around the Stormbird blazing like the Gyptian midafternoon. The pilot gritted her teeth, registering the stark shadow of her own aircraft as they ripped into the canyon just ahead of the shockwave from the atomic detonation.

Thunder filled the ears of the occupants as the venerable craft was buffeted by hurricane-force winds, but the worst was above them, outside the canyon. The howl of the engines subsided as the Stormbird stopped its desperate run to safety. Behind them, a mushroom cloud began to peak over the edge of the canyon, the pilot couldn’t help but think that was an ill omen for the coming compliance.
[hr]
Credits: [@MarshalSolgriev] (Aeternus/God-Slayers), [@BornOnBoard] (Colonel Stavin/Mistress Severina), [@FrostedCaramel] (Negotiator Popov/The Administrator), [@Lauder] (Amalasuntha)