In collaboration with [@MarshalSolgriev] [hr] The voidship drifted listlessly through the warp, moving through stars and planets like a boat navigating the open ocean. This vessel was neither mighty nor was it imposing. It was one meant for the better part of discretion as it hunted the stars for its quarry - a predator tracking ever distant prey that limped away into the vastness of a galaxy. Tech-adepts, crew, and servicemen alike stalked the halls in their mundane day-to-day tasks - but the helm was very much alive with the silence of those who were true hunters. Vaunted gene-warriors overlooked the pilots and the Captain-Commander of this specific vessel. None of them knew the true nature of their prey and none of them would likely ever know their prey proper. The black-clad Stygian Talons were the true commanders of this vessel, [i]The Embers of Night[/i], carrying the full authority of the Emperor behind them as His Custodians. Though small in number, their air was enough to ensure compliance of any who would question their goals. Standing over a holo-table was the frame of Amalasuntha, silently going over what data they had collected from their martian expedition before Deep Winter had made its escape into the void. She recalled the brief engagement of those hereteks that had chosen to side with the abomination, as bloody as it was, there was no contest. Regardless, the machine had eluded them once more. Amalasuntha had spent too much time on Terra and it had gathered enough resources to avoid the other terrors of the Sol system. A hand gently went to her side, the side in which [i]he[/i] had wounded her and yet she still wondered why she had been spared when Aeternus had been so willing to kill her comrades. The Hawk refused to believe it was sentimentality as a true warrior would have finished her in the moment that she had lost consciousness. She lacked the understanding of his motives in that battle, yet, she knew pondering such thoughts meant nothing and she knew to push them to the side, especially as she noticed the vessel’s Captain-Commander approaching her. “My lady,” he said, folding his arms behind his back, “What resources would you have me prepare for you for when we transition into real space?” “Nothing but my dropship and the assault craft, captain-commander.” “Are you certain? If you would be going into battle I-” “Do not question me,” her words carried a deadly weight to them, causing the mortal man to gulp down a primal fear that flashed in that moment. He silently bowed his head and walked off to make the preparations elsewhere on the bridge. Truly, Amalasuntha had not meant to actually scare the man - perhaps she had simply been used to dealing with the Categis while they had still lived. They had always needed a firmer hand to stay in line, even before they had lost their minds to their imperfections. The Hawk continued to monitor the data on the holo-table, looking over what resources she still had since Arrarat. Quite the sum of Custodians had fallen and she had not wished to send a requisition to Him or Malcador for further of her kin. Instead, she had gotten something far more useful than anyone one Custodian - an asset that she was sure would spell the end to Deep Winter and her forces for good. The asset sat below in the armouring hall alone. None of the Custodians walked amongst the unimportant servants that busied themselves here, carrying supplies and fresh ammunition from other parts of the warship. They paid the asset as much mind as they did the genecrafted children of the Emperor, yet their curiosity was their downfall. The thing was not a Custodes nor was it one of the Space Marines of the Legio Astartes. It wore warplate akin to the Master of Mankind’s guardians, but it was imperceptively shorter than their number. Unlike their perfected masters, this one was garnished in chains, hexagrammic wards, strange symbols, and trinkets of a forgotten age. Auramite as dark as the void was trimmed with gilded aurum, embellished with silent skulls. Their left pauldron harbored the shaven cranium of a malformed reptilian, while the right beheld their allegiance to the one known as Malcador the Sigilite - A great I with eye at the center. Its great helmet was reminiscent of ancient Terran knighthood, clad with unfurled wings and topped with a crown and modified to mirror the Custodian guardianhood. It moved as if suddenly called by an invisible, maleficent power from beyond. The mortal servants urgently abandoned their curiosity, returning to their duties with a new sense of exigency. The asset reached down and hefted a greatsword into his right gauntlet, easing it against his right pauldron in a single move. A chain dangled between the wielder’s wrist and the pommel of their sword, forever linking the two. It was a weapon of dark majesty with a blade of obsidian and a crossguard of avian wings. A skull veered out where the shaft met the crossguard, hiding an unknown power within. The asset crossed the bay in a few simple strides, their pristine, augmetic left hand hissing as they moved. A bulky armament sat atop the wrist of the asset, similar in appearance to the boltweapon of a guardian spear albeit with two barrels. An inaudible command passed through the weapon, forcing it to load fresh rounds from an unknown feed. Satisfied with the test, the asset maneuvered through the bulkheads. The knight did not garnish glances from the Custodes as he walked out onto the command deck. They knew everything around them as studious protectors of the Emperor, even as He commanded them to fight afield. The knight was already known to them, yet only one knew the truth of the being within. It quietly stopped short of the holo-table, cautiously stepping aside for the mortals to pass around them. “Shield-Captain,” it- no, [i]he[/i] finally spoke after several long hours. His voice was a deep lion’s roar, booming and prideful. His tone spoke of an aeon of history, steeped in wars unwritten and battles unsung. It spoke for a legion of dead warriors. He brought his augmetic, left hand to his chest in salute. The symbol of a forgotten legion met his fist. “Knight-Errant Arthur ready for deployment,” the knight, Arthur, growled out through his voxgrilles. Whatever the man had once been, whoever the man had once been, there was nothing but the Knight-Errant that remained. He radiated an aura of a legend in its prime, a myth in its creation, and a song in its crescendo. The shield-captain did not move her head to respond, merely moving a hand to tap the holo-screen. She did not need to regard myth or legend, certainly not when there was prey to dive upon. Flickering with older information, the holo-table danced back to the Siege of Sanctii, long before the Martian expedition, and longer before the abomination had void-craft. It had been a time of unity, untold scores of Imperial forces had died against its wall and a token of custodes had given their lives far [i]inside[/i] them. “I am sure you are familiar with this battle, Knight-Errant,” Amalasuntha spoke in a firm tone, speaking to the living legend as she would any of the lessers upon the [i]Embers of Night[/i]. The statement, further, was not a question. She knew what he knew, saw what he saw, felt what he had felt at that time. Finally, her eyes turned to look at the armor of the individual who flanked her, studying him in nanoseconds before continuing. As much as she knew, however, there were facts that she could not have been aware of nor did she know his true knowledge of their quarry. “What do you know of the true nature of this battle? What was the primary goal?” She half-asked, as the holo-table danced with simulations of the battle as told by remembrancers and cobbled together from pict devices. “The eradication of the abominable intelligence, the recovery of Dark Age technology within Sanctii, and compliance with Unity,” the Knight-Errant responded promptly. That battle flashed before his eyes in nanoseconds. Thousands of men and women loyal to the Master of the Lines had perished. Many of his own died, thinning the warriors available to him at that time. It had been the beginning of the end for his long-dead comrades. He moved around the holo-table, his gauntlets guiding him across the holographic battlefield. “The battle was won after the ‘machine-god’ had left, but not before it let loose a horde of vat-grown, biomechanical monstrosities on the Emperor’s legions,” Arthur finished as he recalled the last of the battle. He still felt the cut of their claws to this day. It was lesser in comparison to the stabs of another, greater warrior than they had been. He continued to speak, “my assumption was that it had fled beyond the orbit aboard the voidship that the Sanctiians had in their arsenal.” To the Knight-Errant, it was a spoken truth. They had not witnessed the capitulation of the cruiser at the hands of Second Legio Astartes, nor the unending dance that the Black Hawk and Deep Winter shared across the void. The only thing that the ancient warrior knew was the decimation of Ursh and the slaughter of Mount Ararat. The void was beyond his knowledge. “An interesting theory when official accounts tell of the machine’s death,” the Black Hawk commented, as she motioned the Battle of Sanctii away from the holo-table. “Official accounts matter little to the Sigilite,” the Knight-Errant knowingly responded. His left hand, a sophisticated simulacrum of an actual gauntlet, intentionally moved to the center of the table. A new sigil unlike Malcador’s own displayed itself on the back of the augment. An ‘I’ with a skull in the middle. A smile would have crossed her face had she not been focused on the mission. Her expression remained unchanged as she continued, “The Abomination has fled the Sol system entirely, eluding us from Luna to Mars and beyond. We have scarce information as to where it is trying to run to, but a few scant options from our interrogations of Martian defectors.” Six planets arrayed themselves on the table, various data streams following as Amalsuntha went to explain each one as it entered the display. Carthae was an unremarkable mining colony on the edge of settled space. Sparse population, extensive industrial infrastructure, and little strategic value would make it the sort of place an abominable intelligence could occupy for decades before anyone noticed. A frontier agri-world with only a handful of population centers. Its automated harvest systems and isolated location would have provided ample computational resources while drawing little attention from the growing Imperium. Khepris served as a modest shipyard during the Dark Age of Technology. Though never a major naval hub, its orbital docks and manufactoria could sustain a machine intelligence seeking to construct vessels in secret. Originally settled as a scientific outpost cataloguing nearby stellar phenomena, Vandor's Rest possessed advanced research facilities but little military presence. It would offer knowledge, power, and, above all, obscurity. Meridian's temperate climate and stable infrastructure made it little more than another forgotten colonial world. The very banality of such a planet is what would make it attractive to something intent on avoiding discovery. Vion V was recorded only as an isolated industrial colony of little consequence during Old Night. Its mountainous continents and scattered manufactoria offered sufficient resources to sustain a machine intelligence, while its distance from the primary warp routes ensured it remained beneath the notice of all but the most determined searchers. We now know that assumption was disastrously incorrect. Amalasuntha looked at the Knight-Errant fully and asked a single question, “Where do you believe that Deep Winter could have fled to?” Red lenses stared down at the holographic replica of the stellar bodies. Their data streamed across his visor and reflected against his hidden eyes. He greedily digested the information within nanoseconds, something that he previously would’ve been incapable of. A gift and a curse as ever his life had been. He placed the greatsword down against the table and positioned his free gauntlet onto its edge. “The abominable intelligence seeks a power that rivals the Emperor’s own indomitable strength. That eliminates Carthae, the agri-world, and Meridian. That leaves Khepris, Vandor’s Rest, and Vion V as targets for the machine to seek,” Arthur responded as his augmetic hand manipulated the holographic images. He knew that she had an answer to this riddle. The Knight-Errant decided to humor her instead. A minor punishment for a hidden wound from decades ago. “Voidships take too long to fabricate and leave a large footprint, especially in conjunction with material shipping,” he continued with a slice at Khepris’ holographic shape. He communed with the machine spirit with an astonishing level of finesse as he connected dots across the system. He continued, “it would’ve left itself wide open to discovery without plentiful defenses. It’d need to flee before it’s plans came to fruition.” “Vandor’s Rest would suffice if the abominable intelligence had significant time, materials, and personnel to produce results,” the Knight-Errant switched his focus to the scientific outpost without missing a beat. He similarly slashed through it with his gauntlet and spoke again, “perhaps if the machine had more time and access to the knowledge of the Empyrean, then it could’ve had a chance.” The man held a hand over the holographic sphere of Vion 5. He narrowed his eyes at the planet as it danced in his metallic palm. A nagging sensation began to build up in his gullet like an itching intuition. “Vion 5,” Arthur announced after a brief second of further analysis. “Scattered manufactorums with unknown levels of subterranean transportation have the possibility of supplying the machine intelligence with a plethora of hideaways, supplies, and bodies. I don’t doubt that it manufactured a false report of Vion 5 to intentionally hide its trail,” the Knight-Errant finished with a look at Amalasuntha. “Very well, then,” the Black Hawk began with a small nod, “We shall adjust course to Vion 5.” She touched the holo-table once more and allowed it to cycle to other, less relevant information such as the background of some known affiliates of the abomination. The custodian gave her orders to adjust heading to the captain all the while looking between Arthur and her other comrades. Adjusting herself, Amalasuntha took a more relaxed stance as for once she allowed herself idle conversation, speaking with an uncharacteristically soft and more feminine voice. “I understand if this change requires more time for you to adjust to, Arthur,” Amalasuntha spoke, moving to take off her half-helm. Laying the piece on the table she gazed upon the warrior and examined him, for once looking truly human and without her typical menace. It was, perhaps, one of the only other times Arthur had seen her in this way, as an individual outside of His orders. [i]The change[/i]. He remained mute for several suffocating seconds, turning his helmeted gaze away from Amalasuntha to himself. The genealchemy of the Emperor’s darkest enclave had reforged him into a profound being after his promised death. Arthur was neither a member of a forgotten legion of warriors nor was he one of the vaunted Custodians of the Emperor. He remained both something in between and something completely different. The Knight-Errant realized it in the way he walked, spoke, and fought. Even now, opposite to his comrade of untold decades, he could measure the increased height he gained from before. Few were the traits that remained of his previous form, yet his indomitable spirit remained. “Your worry is a kindness, Amalsuntha,” Arthur replied in a familiar way, echoing the few softer conversations they previously had. Notably, the Knight-Errant did not remove his helmet to join the Custodes in her moment of humanity. The reason spoke for itself as Custodes and mortals walked around him, unaware of the man that he had once been. He continued to speak, “the Captain-General ascertained my abilities before leaving Terra. You won’t find me lacking, Shield-Captain.” [i]Not that you ever would,[/i] Arthur chose not to say yet the jab could be felt along an unquantifiable, immeasurable wavelength between them. Although the Stygian Shield-Captain could not see it, she was certain that the warrior was grinning beneath his helmet. “I’ve seen first hand what your blade can do,” the custodian responded as she turned away from the man, though keeping her eyes trained on him from the side. The Hawk could still feel the pain from their last encounter all too well. She wanted to say more, desiring to express more to Arthur but understanding that she could do little more than have the occasional moment between them. It seemed that despite all of it, the two could not have more than a fleeting moment to speak as equals. She stifled an audible sigh. “As long as you are capable, Arthur,” Amalasuntha said, flatly, before returning back to her more calculating and focused appearance - not wishing to dawdle on sentimentality. Knowing that the Knight-Errant would only wish to conduct His will to the best of his ability, she brought up the logistical make up of the Stygian Talons. “To supplement us, we have two gunships at our disposal, along with numerous Imperial Auxilia. Their commanders have been instructed to answer to your orders, but I will remind you that they are no gene-warriors. Use them at your discretion, otherwise, their purpose is so that we need not squander our own.” She paused for a moment as the feed displayed the compliment available to the ship itself. “That discretion is not absolute, however. Unlike before, the decision regarding where and when we commit ourselves to battle is mine. Should we encounter the abomination, or should circumstances be made that the Legio Custodes need to involve themselves, I alone will determine the manner of our engagement. Until that moment, the Auxilia is yours to do as you see fit.” The Knight-Errant looked down to the holographic images laid atop the table. He read, memorized, and calculated their numbers and total possible tactics within seconds. Despite the fact that they were Excertus Imperialis, they were [i]Solar[/i] Auxilia with veterancy in nearly every conflict from Terra to Sedna. None were of the Saturnyne genestock. They were not genewarriors of his lost era, but these men and women were the next best thing. “They won’t be able to replace my Slayers, but I think they can handle the mantle,” Arthur finally replied after collating all of their data. The term lingered in the air between them for half a second. ‘Slayer’. A small infraction on his oath, yet not a complete disregard for his anonymity. Another reason that the two warriors danced around their relationship. “What is your will, Amalasuntha? Shall we infiltrate into the populace together or will you remain aboard the [i]Embers of Night[/i]?” He asked, fully removing his attention away from the tactical display to the Black Hawk. His question had an unusual tone to it. It asked knowing her answer, yet it offered her a chance to indulge. The Knight-Errant appeared to not be completely ignorant of the Custodes’ wants, despite the cold exterior he alluded to in the long trip. “That is dependent upon the situation planetside, discretion will be the priority assuming nominal conditions,” she said matter of factly, as she attempted to pull what data they had in the bygone world. Amalasuntha gazed upon the fragmented data for a few lingering moments longer before dismissing it with the back of her gauntlet. There was little value in dwelling upon conjecture. Whether the colony had endured, collapsed beneath its own weight, or simply vanished into the long annals of forgotten history mattered little until they laid eyes upon it themselves. Facts would present themselves soon enough. The bridge carried on around her with its customary discipline. Officers quietly relayed updated headings throughout the vessel while servitors stalked between cogitator stations bearing fresh data-slates and replacement reels. The Embers of Night herself seemed almost eager, the subtle vibration beneath the deckplates changing as her plasma drives adjusted to their final approach. "How long until translation?" Amalasuntha asked without lifting her eyes from the hololithic table. The helmsmaster consulted the navigational display before responding. "Less than an hour, Shield-Captain." She gave a single nod. "Inform the launch bays that all assault craft are to be brought to immediate readiness. Stormbirds will remain fueled and armed, with reconnaissance augurs calibrated before we achieve orbit. I want every pilot prepared to depart the moment I give the order." "It shall be done." The command spread through the vessel with practiced efficiency. Across the launch decks, Tech-Adepts awoke dormant machine spirits with whispered binharic hymns while Solar Auxilia crews inspected their equipment for what would likely be the final time before deployment. Ammunition was inventoried, vox frequencies confirmed, and engines coaxed into life beneath clouds of sacred incense. It was a familiar ritual, one repeated countless times across humanity's march through the stars, yet every warrior aboard understood that no amount of preparation could compensate for ignorance. That, more than any enemy, was what awaited them on Vion 5. Amalasuntha allowed herself one final glance at the fading records upon the holo-table before extinguishing them entirely. "Whatever waits for us below," she said, more to herself than anyone else upon the bridge, "it has remained hidden since before Unity." The bridge fell silent. A resonant chime rolled throughout the vessel. "Approaching translation point." The stars beyond the armored viewing ports bent into impossible geometries before collapsing upon themselves as the Embers of Night tore free from the Immaterium. For the briefest of moments the bridge was awash in warning runes and status reports, only for them to settle as the ship's machine spirit confirmed a successful emergence into realspace. "We have arrived, Shield-Captain," the auspex officer announced as fresh stellar cartography blossomed across the command deck. "The Vion System lies before us." Amalasuntha stepped toward the newly formed hololithic display, emerald eyes settling upon the fourth planet circling its distant sun. "Bring us into high anchor above Vion 5." She rested one hand upon the edge of the holo-table, already considering the first steps of the investigation before the vessel had even entered orbit. "Prepare the first landing contingent." “In His name,” Knight-Errant Arthur responded alongside the other Auxilia. His augmetic fist was brought back to his chestplate in a familiar salute before beginning to leave the command deck. The warrior’s greatsword was hefted against his pauldron as he departed. He lingered a moment next to her before wordlessly moving forward into the bowels of the [i]Embers of Night[/i]. He marched through the ship with the presence of a wrathful guardian given purpose. A gaggle of mortals followed after him, adorned in the carapace voidsuits of the black and silver. Those men and women wore the livery of the Stygian Talons in the form of loinclothes, cloaks, waistcapes, and tabards. They moved behind him without fear through the hull, gripping their lasrifles with professional ease. Tech-adepts and ship servants made way for the warriors of their cause, dipping their heads as they passed. A short drop from an ascender saw the Knight-Errant and his assembling Auxilia arrive at the hangars of [i]Embers of Night[/i]. Organized chaos filled the bays from entrance to exit. Where typical deployments would have several lighters for troop transport, the Stygian Talons instead had been supplied with several Stormbirds for their operation. ‘Blessed’ by the forges of Mars and consecrated in the fires of the Solar Reclamation, their heavily armed hulls were painted in the black-silver livery alike their charges. At the furthest end of the bay loomed the dark spirits of the Custodes gunships, both of their machine-spirits humming with anticipatory violence. Mortals scurried in great herds, arming and refueling each of the craft with the practised urgency of professionals. Martian machine priests and Saturnyne tech-supplicants performed their rites in hurried grace. Roof-mounted cranes descended from unseen controllers, loading greater explosives on the voidcraft. Formations of Auxilia, outside of the Knight-Errant’s retinue, positioned themselves behind their allocated craft at parade rest. The Knight-Errant crossed the bay to the first Stormbird, whose engines had begun to spin in anticipation of their arrival. No formation of Auxilia awaited them like the other voidcraft. Only those that journeyed with him now would suffice for the task, though he doubted their presence was even necessary. [i]Better to err on the side of caution than fall to hubris, [/i] he thought as the craft’s ramp lowered to welcome him in. Arthur allowed the mortals to storm up the ramp first, hefting their own personalized heavier armaments from a nearby depot. He turned his helmeted gaze to the furthest crafts in the bay, lingering on their majestic silver shine before ascending onto the Stormbird. There was work to be done and His will to be executed. All that remained for him and the Auxilia was the call to action. The hangar remained alive despite the stillness that had settled over those assembled within it. Mortals hurried from craft to craft in rehearsed motions, each aware that the next few minutes would decide whether the operation began with order or confusion. Tech-priests uttered binharic canticles over awakened machine-spirits as the last ammunition hoppers were sealed into place. Refueling lines hissed free from armored hulls and were hurriedly dragged aside while warning lumens washed the launch decks in alternating crimson and amber. Above them, immense blast doors groaned as ancient mechanisms stirred from dormancy, preparing to expose the cavernous bay to the emptiness beyond. The vox crackled. For scarcely a heartbeat every movement within the bay ceased. "Launch authorization granted." There was no need for elaboration. The first Stormbird's engines climbed from a restrained growl into a deafening roar, joined almost immediately by the remainder of the squadron until the entire launch deck trembled beneath their collective fury. Deck crews dispersed from beneath the gunships with practised haste, waving illuminated guidance batons through the haze of vaporized fuel as mag-clamps disengaged one after another. The machine-spirits answered eagerly, straining against their restraints like predators scenting blood. Arthur remained motionless throughout the ritual, his greatsword resting across his shoulder as the assault ramp sealed behind the last of his Auxilia. Only when the launch cradle beneath the Stormbird lurched did he subtly widen his stance, preparing for departure alongside the warriors under his command. One by one the Stormbirds surged into the void. The Embers of Night relinquished them without ceremony, her armored prow opening like the jaws of some ancient beast as black-and-silver gunships poured forth into the darkness. The two Custodian gunships followed shortly thereafter, their greater mass and impossible grace standing apart from the more conventional assault craft. Their ancient engines burned with a cold brilliance as they settled into formation above the smaller vessels, watchful guardians to the coming descent. Vion 5 steadily grew within the cockpit canopies. At first it was little more than another world suspended against the endless black, but with every passing moment mountains emerged from indistinct shapes, continents revealed themselves beneath drifting cloud formations, and broad oceans reflected the light of the system's star. It appeared peaceful from orbit. Quiet. Forgotten. The first tendrils of atmosphere reached out to meet the descending craft. Heat began to dance across the armored viewports as the Stormbirds angled their noses downward, their machine-spirits roaring in triumph as they descended toward the world that had eluded Imperial scrutiny for generations. Within the troop compartment the red glow of embarkation lumens gave way to the harsh amber of atmospheric entry, bathing auramite, carapace and steel alike in a furnace-light. Whatever awaited them below would soon cease to be conjecture. The hunt, at long last, had reached Vion 5.