Bright_Ops

The Key of Twilight (Kingdom Hearts AU)

@Double

Still here.

The Key of Twilight (Kingdom Hearts AU)

@Double

For his part, Droka didn't care about the outcome of the spar that was happening between Zack and Seifer. He had never really cared about the sport of the Struggle in the first place, but to each their own. Instead his focus had been on Vivi, even as he glanced towards the match more to see if Seifer was going to be strutting around like a peacock in victory or not.

The answer, as it turned out, was no. Zack managed to pull off a hit barely before Seifer's landed in turn.

What mattered to Droka was when Vivi finally spoke... and while he understood his words, Droka couldn't help but feel somewhat conflicted as he watched his old friend run off to be by himself. He wanted to run after him but... he also understood that sometimes what one needed was a bit of time alone as well and he didn't know which situation this actually was. Making the decision to give Vivi some space for now and to check up on him a little later after he had some time to himself, Droka reached up to scratch the back of his head through his hair before turning to look at the others who were still in the Sandlot with him.

"Well... that happened. Sorry but I do actually need to buy some things for my mother so I do need to get going... I'll go talk with Vivi after he's had a chance to get some space and calm down, but if you guys see him before I do... could you please let him know that he's not alone? I don't want him beating himself up for something that wasn't his fault." He asked softly of them. Not pleading because the situation wasn't that dire or anything, but it was clear that there was some concern in his tone for Vivi's well being.

The Key of Twilight (Kingdom Hearts AU)

Pretty much. Also waiting for Vivi to actually answer Droka. That would be nice.

《 R W B Y :: Grimm Adventures 》

Schiefer Henker

Schiefer Henker
Schiefer: Slate (Gray)
Henker: Executioner

Basics

Full Name:
Schiefer Henker

Nickname/Alias:
Henker
The Butcher (Limited to White Fang of Vacuo)
The Flayer (Limited to White Fang of Vacuo)

Age:
17

Gender:
Male

Race:
Human

Appearance Description:
To put it bluntly, Schiefer is an ugly bastard. Originally he was somewhat average looking with dull blue eyes and listless white hair, but his father's 'disciplinary actions' in his early teenage years has resulted in his nose being broken so many times that it would take serious surgery in order to undo the damage that has left it in a malformed state. He is also noticeably missing a number of teeth along his bottom right jawline that makes smiling... awkward for him.

Despite the unfortunate state of his face, physically Schiefer is a remarkably physical example of the human race. He towers over most at 6'7 in height, his body toned and muscular due to years of hard physical labor and combat practice. His hands are covered in scar tissue and calloused from being put to work.

Allusion:
The often unnamed Royal Executioner

Personality

Personality:
Many would believe that Schiefer was a cruel, heartless monster who delighted in the pain and suffering of other living things, both from his appearance and the story of what happened at that Astor Dust Company mine in Vacuo that earned him the fear and hate of the White Fang in the region. The truth however is... more complicated then that.

Schiefer is somewhat emotionally stunted and numb, taught from an early age that part of his value to the tribe was to keep a steady head on his shoulders and not let such petty weaknesses like emotion dictate his actions and being punished for being overly emotional. This doesn't mean he can't feel things like happiness or sadness, but he doesn't really know how to properly display them and thus has to push them down like he was trained too.

Raised almost from birth to follow in his father's footsteps as a mercenary for hire (The main source of income for their tribe), any passion or pursuit that didn't support or somehow enhance his future prospects in this field were suppressed and discouraged. The desert of Vacuo was also a highly dangerous place where life was cheap and the strong survived, the tribe hammering into Schiefer's head the lesson again and again until he could keep himself distant from others so that he wouldn't feel pain when they died, be they friend or foe.

The Astor Dust Company mine incident changed Schiefer in ways that no one could have expected. Losing himself completely to his semblance and regaining control to witness the aftermath of what he had done horrified him to the core. His decision to take the money earned from the job and leave for Vale/Beacon was driven by a need to get some distance between himself and what he had done, but also because he firmly believed that Beacon could teach him the control needed so as not to lose himself like that again.

Likes:
Blacksmithing
Clearly defined duties and goals
Beautiful things
Soft things
Pastries (even more so if they've got cream involved somehow)

Dislikes:
His justified paranoia of the White Fang
Needless cruelty
His snoring
The fact that he has to breath through his mouth most of the time because he can't properly breath through his nose
Weakness (both physical and emotional)
Spicy Food

Motivation:
To achieve the self control needed to make full use of his semblance without losing himself to it.

Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual, but willing to concede that he hasn't really explored this.

Biography

Country of Origin:
Vacuo

Bio:
Schiefer was originally born in one of many small tribes that dotted the landscape of Vacuo. He was born the son of the one of the tribes blacksmiths named Axton and his supportive wife Amber, but despite the efforts of the local healer Amber passed away several days after giving birth due to complications. The slow and painful death of his wife changed Axton for the worst; He had never been the kindest of men and he was well known for being something of a strict taskmaster, but Amber had been able to coax a degree of softness and restraint from her husband that kept him from being too overbearing in regards to his fellow tribesmen. With the light of his life gone, Axton became harsh and cold to his fellows... the most often focus of his attention being his son.

Throughout Schiefer's childhood, his father was a distant figure who expected a high standard from him and was difficult to please because of it. When the standard for normal was set to 'great' by default, good was never good enough while poor work was badly punished. While nothing out of the ordinary when he was small, as he grew older Schiefer's punishments tended to get more physical in nature once Axton believed his son was old enough to know better and could take those kinds of things. His nose was broken a number of times, resulting it in being completely deformed.

Axton wanted his son to grow up into a strong man that people could depend on when times were tough. To this end, Schiefer was trained to follow his father's footsteps as a blacksmith... as well as taught how to fight in order to serve as one of the tribes mercenaries to be rented out when required. The first time that Schiefer took a life as part of a coming of age ritual (a bandit who had been captured alive for the purpose), his father took him aside to let him know just how proud he was of him. It was one of the few times in his life that Schiefer actually received his father's approval and it would remain one of his most treasured of memories.

Shortly before his 17th birthday, Schiefer joined his father and a team of tribesmen on a job. One of the dust mines of the Astor Dust Company in the region had been occupied by White Fang insurgents who had taken a number of the work force hostage. The manager of this branch of the ADC had quietly cut corners in regards to security in order to line his own pockets and, rather then risk the discovery of his embezzlement by calling in a company task force that might discover his mishandling of company resources and funds, instead hired local mercenaries to do the job instead.

The White Fangs holding the mine had not been idle. They had taken advantage of the resources of the mine, namely the dust and mining explosives, to set a number of traps to serve as defenses against what they believed was going to be a Aster Dust strike force. One of these explosive dust traps maimed and resulted in the death of Axton Henker when he had his legs blown off and he bled to death with his son beside him. With half their force injured or dead, fear gripped the remaining tribe mercenaries while the White Fang indulged in a moment of hateful joy at the losses inflicted on what they believed to be a hated enemy...

And then Schiefer discovered his semblance.

Drawing in the negative emotions of both his allies and enemies, Schiefer found himself becoming empowered by them. It was as if a cocktail of combat drugs had been injected into his veins, increasing his reflexes, speed and strength while causing him to... it was difficult to put into words to describe what happened next. He remembered his actions rather clearly but... as Schiefer would later word it, it was sort of like watching someone else play one of those arcade first person shooters; You're aware of what was happening and the decisions that the player needs to make to win, but you weren't in direct control of the situation, just watching someone else do it.

Holding Action in its one handed mode and picking up his father's sword Consequences, Schiefer went on a one man killing spree. At first he just felt like he was soaring at the peak of human physical ability, overpowering and overwhelming any White Fang member he encountered with clean efficiency... but as the fighting continued the discovery that by changing the goal from defeating the enemy to intentionally inflicting pain and agony on them to inspire terror, fear and dread in both his victims and those watching would actually empower him to the point of being inhuman changed the nature of his battle with the White Fang into something cruel and dark.

This cruelty evolved into monstrous sadism as two further discoveries were made by the power addicted and blinded Schiefer. The first was how to switch Consequences from its standard sword mode into its cat-o-nine-tails alternative, allowing him to start flaying his opposition alive and leaving them to drown and die in their agony on the ground as he pushed onto new victims. The second was how the terror that fueled this new power sky rocketed to new heights once the difference between 'White Fang member' and 'Faunus mining worker taken hostage' was forgotten.

Schiefer would have left no one alive if it wasn't for the arrival of Grimm lured by the fear he had been cultivating... and the only reason their arrival changed anything was that their inherit hatred of humanity proved to be more pure a source of negative energy and power that he forgot about the remaining White Fang and Faunus miners to focus on this new, more interesting foe.

By the time the last of the Grimm were dead, the remaining miners and White Fang had either died or fled. Without a strong source of negative emotion to fuel his semblance and the additive power that it offered him, the haze started to lift from Schiefer's thoughts and the full weight of the horror he had unleashed crashed down upon him without mercy or pity.

The ADC manager who had hired them for the job paid rather well for the overzealous display and a promise to employ the tribe again to handle any... further disputes. Schiefer was given the lion's share of the cut as it was largely his efforts that saw the job being a success but... he couldn't stay in Vacuo any longer. What he had done horrified him due to the complete lack of self control that it had devolved into and going to Shade wasn't considered much of an option due to how much the White Fang chapter of Vacuo likely wanted his head for what he had done to them and the miners...

So he left Vacuo, traveling to a completely different kingdom in order to get the training he so desperately needed not to be afraid of himself anymore.

Combat

Weapon:
Action and Consequences

Action: A rather simple but effective weapon, Action was designed by Schiefer himself to be an axe that could switch from being a single handed weapon into a double handed one to increase reach and the possibility of putting more strength behind the blow, resulting in inflicting more damage onto his target. It is simply a matter of the shaft of the weapon being able to extend and retract.

Consequences: Originally designed and used by Axton Henker before his death, Consequences' base form is that of a one handed executioners sword. The trick of the weapon is that its blade can 'split' and form a whip like cat-o-nine-tails covered in serrated shards and blades, extending its reach dramatically. The purpose of this second form is to dig into the target and flay it in multiply spots at once, be it aura or flesh.

Both Action and Consequences can be enhanced with dust to give their attacks an additional effect. Because they are separate weapons, they can be infused with different kinds of dust, independent of each other.

Semblance:
Empowering Darkness: A passive semblance, Empowering Darkness is triggered whenever Schiefer encounters the negative emotions of others; Namely emotions of anger and fear. Whenever there is a source of anger or fear nearby, Schiefer's physical reflexes, strength, speed and endurance starts to increase. The more powerful and widespread the emotions in question, the greater the boost to his abilities becomes. Currently he is unsure of what the limit of his semblance might be, but from personal experience he is aware that he can bypass normal human limitations if he finds a source of anger or fear strong enough.

Empowering Darkness' effects can create a dangerous cycle. The more powerful Schiefer becomes due to it, the more 'addicted' his mind becomes to the power and thus, he starts to actively want to create a situation where the emotion empowering him grows more intense and powerful, thus making him more powerful and seeking to further enhance the emotions to enhance himself. This can reach the point where rational thought goes out the window, as proven by the first time Schiefer discovered his semblance when during a terror fueled rampage against the White Fangs, he actively started torturing civilian faunus miners who he had been hired to rescue from the White Fang solely because the terror and hatred the act inspired drove his power to further heights in the moment.

The Key of Twilight (Kingdom Hearts AU)

It took Droka a moment to notice Julia, let alone what she was doing... but once the idea that she was trying to escort Vivi off the struggle field so that the fight that was about to break out between Zach and Seifer wouldn't spill over and run into them, he silently followed suit.

He didn't trust himself to say anything at the moment, instead focusing on trying to calm his rampant emotions down so that he could function properly again without the risk of either attacking someone or bursting into tears. He wasn't sure which of those he was more concerned about happening, but he felt like if he wasn't careful it could tip in either direction.

@Stylobilly

The Key of Twilight (Kingdom Hearts AU)

Either Vivi is going to figure out that his old friend Droka is not in a good place right now or Droka is going to figure out how to create and throw fireballs in a hurry.

The Key of Twilight (Kingdom Hearts AU)

Droka returned the glasses to his face surprisingly quickly when it became clear that Seifer was too focused on the chance to take a swing at Zack to focus on him. His body continued to shiver as the terrors of what might have been continued to course through his body but... there was something else that was brewing in the depths as well.

He was so sick and tired of being ignored. Fear and terror quickly proved to be a dry tinder as frustration and irritation struck sparks and lit their tainted flames. Deep down, he wanted to scream in fury. To pick up Vivi's struggle bat and charge that arrogant bastard, taking advantage of his focus on Zack and just... pummel him into the ground! But he couldn't, despite wanting too. Seifer was physically stronger then him, as well as pretty damn good with a struggle bat despite his ego making him want to show off all the time. He also had at least two friends who would probably step in if he tried to sneak attack their 'leader', even if he was overdue some solid whacks to the back of the head.

The knowledge that he didn't have a chance of doing anything to Seifer apart from make the bully laugh in his face from his sub par attempts to attack him didn't make the desire to attack go away. In fact, it just made the boiling rage worse as shame and fear just seemed to fuel the blaze further. He honestly wasn't sure if he was still shaking in fear of what might have happened if light had touched his eyes or anger at being completely disregarded as a non entity, but his hands started to clench tightly into fists and he could feel his eyes water as they threatened to tear up.

He hated feeling this way. He didn't want to feel like this. He just... he just wanted to go and leave this whole stupid affair behind him so he could get some shopping and go home and let it all out then pretend like he hadn't wasted his time with the mess but... something bid him to stay despite his desire to go. He had only gotten involved because Vivi was being picked on and... even if Vivi hadn't spent any time with him for a while he still considered him a friend... even if Vivi didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

His eyes covered by tinted glass, he turned his head to look at Vivi... and took a deep breath as he tried to keep the tide of emotion plaguing him out of his voice as he softly asked "Vivi can... can we please just go? I'll help find you a better teacher just... If I stay here much longer I'm going to do something stupid and I don't want to just leave you to get your butt handed to you over and over again because Seifer sucks at explaining things."

@Double

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

“Curious,” the Librarian said, cocking her head at the Lexmechanic. “She’s telling the truth. Which is, again, curious. One would think that any placed in a position so visible would be aware of who was watching. Unless, of course, one did not fear the watchers. You feel no fear, no anxiety, no dread when going about your duties for the Triumph?”

“I dread making actual mistakes and errors in my work a lot more. I’m a Lexmechanic, my work is the foundation everything else is built upon. If something goes wrong, it’s almost invariably because of something at the root before it is an actual mechanical defect. I worry about the quality of my work first, and generally that is more than enough to keep me safe.” Kalgehan almost seemed to calm down, the edge to her voice smoothing out as she carried on, even with Usriel’s fist still clenched around her head.

“And what, precisely, had to change in your own work to facilitate the xenos auxilia joining the Triumph?” Theodora asked, ignoring Usriel’s fist about as well as Kalgehan was.

“Well, actually, the holo-caster system we built was made specifically for the Triumph.” Kalgehan began to babble again, an actual hint of enthusiasm creeping into her inflection. Clearly, this was a topic she did not mind discussing in the least. “It is completely unique - there are probably systems like it elsewhere, we made it from scratch if you take my meaning. So we did not need to make any real changes. We just built it from the ground-up to be xenos tolerant. The bulk of our work is in making sure the other systems in the network play nice with it.”

“And do they? Play nice, that is.”

“Not if they haven’t been reconsecrated they don’t.” Kalgehan made a curious shape with her mouth, almost as if she had almost snorted derisively, only stopped by the absence of the necessary organ to do so. “Now for some systems, that’s not a problem. But the Holo? It’s one of the key pieces of technology being used in the entire Triumph. There are more than a million different servitors and legio cybernetica robots that have to link up with it, more than five thousand different vox relay hubs and nodes, and more than twenty independent monitoring systems. If any one of those things is not reconsecrated? The machine stops working.”

“I take it that the machine is working, then?” Theodora asked, as if she were having a casual conversation in which one of the participants might not have her head crushed at any time.

“As of two weeks ago, yes. We have had a few operational hiccups due to a handful of anomalous devices being slipped in every once in a while, but we can identify which ones they are pretty quickly. We just shut everything off serially until the machine starts working again. Helps narrow down the field of problem children real quick. Now we are just in the debugging phase. Lots of Rune Priests and Techsorcists going over it to prune out everything causing issues with the Machine Spirits. And that has been an ongoing issue. Do you know how many Rune Priests are even willing to give us the time of day considering the Holo is an abomination unto the Omnissiah? And do you know how many of them have been seized by the Prefecture Magisterium? It is slow going.” Kalgehan’s voice drifted. One of her eyes wavered to glance back up at Usriel from underneath his thumb. “Pray, holy child, could you relieve me of the grace of your touch?”

“The Sicarian wished you to stay alive for doing your job well,” Usriel commented, releasing his grip on her head and standing at full height.

Theodora was for once beginning to grow uncertain, her face wavering as she examined the Lexmechanic. “Why do you not fear seizure by the Prefecture?”

“Two reasons, I suppose,” Kalgehan began. Her tone of voice remained the same, the level of interesting unwavering, but immediately Theodora sensed the return of the Tech-Priest’s previous anxiety - her evasiveness. She had calmed down now, but some rotten secret was festering inside her skull even as she spoke.

“The first is, you have to understand, all that dancing around I mentioned earlier, so we can do all this techno-heresy without losing our heads over it? It is not just the lay priests and the enginseers and the artisans and everyone else in on it. The Prefecture is, in their own way, playing along too. There are more than a million Mechanicum personnel on-planet right now working to make the Triumph possible, and tens of thousands moving between the planet and orbit every day, and I can promise you a not insubstantial chunk of them have done something that would be considered Techno-Heresy any other day of the week under normal circumstances. And sure, the Prefecture Magisterium have this big air of mystique about them, they’re oil-thirsty and barely controlled scrap-mongering rust-eaters. But they aren’t stupid. They aren’t interested in killing off a million plus Mechanicum priests just because a Primarch decided to put his dirty friends on parade.” She paused emphatically before continuing.

“Which is where the second reason comes in. Right now, they’re biding their time, and only occasionally slinking out of the duct-work to snag some high-profile busybody so they can pretend they’re still faithful to the creed. And that’s just it. I know plenty of Rune Priests they have snatched. Plenty of Enginseers and Artisans, even a few Transmechanics. I can’t even remember the last time they bothered picking off a Lexmechanic though - here in the Triumph, that is.” She clarified the last statement as an afterthought. “I’m utterly beneath their notice. Doesn’t matter what I’m working on. Once the whole Triumph is over, they’ll get together with their buddies in the Department of Historical Revision in the Administratum, and with a few line edits and a few more demolition charges in the tunnels nobody will ever remember that the Triumph was only made possible with rampant techno-heresy.”

Calm returned to the Librarian’s features as she found a thread to pull upon, her confidence in her abilities restored. “You are playing along as well, then?”

“Well yes.” Kalgehan replied matter-of-factly. “Just because they are not picking off Lexmechanics does not mean it is impossible to do something they will take particular exception to. The weird circumstances are not an excuse to slack off. And like I mentioned - my work is the foundation. You can bet being inept on top of being a perverse Heretek would not help my chances of getting out of all of this alive.”

“Would lord Micholi have any reason to be displeased by your labors?”

Kalgehan made another reflexive attempt to shrug that was thwarted by the servitors. “Unsure. What would displease the exalted Primarch Micholi?”

“Acting against the Edict of Tolerance,” Usriel answered before looking to the servitors, “You may release your grips upon her.”
Kalgehan rose stiffly to her feet, audibly rolling her shoulders and arms as she did so - frowning perceptibly when she brought her arms back in front of her body and seemingly realizing her hands were still missing. She then answered, “Pretty sure I’m safe on that ground, holy son. The Edict is hallowed doctrine. The Prefecture Magisterium will decommission you for disobedience to the Omnissiah just as soon as they would for committing techno-heresy.”

“What about that which is within the letter of the Edict, but still distasteful to lord Micholi’s most beneficent decrees?”

“I am not an expert on the most venerated second child of the Omnissiah’s beneficent decrees.” Kalgehan answered with a scowl. “I’m not even particularly exceptional when it comes to standard theological necessities within the creed. I’ve been passed over for elevation on those grounds plenty of times, Omnissiah knows. Could you be more specific?”

“Lord Micholi views all of his auxilia as equally worthy of recognition and praise. Would he be able to rest assured that your works would provide that?”

“What, you mean he might have an adverse reaction if his precious pets do not get enough pict-time?” Kalgehan inquired, almost flippantly.

“Yes,” Usriel affirmed, arms crossed, “He loves those xenos as much as I love my sons, he would likely die protecting them if he needed to.”

“Well then he has nothing to worry about. His mongrel bands got allotted the exact same proportion of pict-viewing time relative to everything else in the schedule, save of course the Omnissiah and the Fifth Legion. Same kinds of viewing angles, and no censoring from any of our Machine Spirits or the like.” Kalgehan replied, a faint hint of indignation underlying her voice.

“And roughly how much time would that be, in absolute terms?” Theodora asked, innocently.

“Well, for remote viewing, we are actually working with the Administratum on a number of different pict-casts -” Kalgehan immediately began to babble on again - which made enough sense. As a Lexmechanic, a good chunk of her responsibilities would include regular contact with the Administratum. “The exact viewing time will depend on which pict-script is being used, and we have a number of different scripts we will be putting on based on varying different needs. A few would n-”

“Enough speech of upon pict-casts, Lexmechanic. Tell me, truly, why do you act in a manner not befitting of a Tech-Priest,” Usriel said with a coldness unmatched from when he had spoken before, “You seem unfaithful. Even the other tech-priests, while regarding the xenos as abominations, still held in a manner of speech far more respectful in the presence of one of the Omnissiah’s own sons.”

The words hung like a body in gallows as Usriel stared down the Lexmechanic, “Do you believe the Emperor to be the Omnissiah and his sons to share in his divinity?”

Kalgehan’s disposition went from tepid to mortified in an instant, the remaining flesh on her face turning chalk-white and her entire frame stiffening as though a chill had wafted through the room. A single instant passed, and then the Lexmechanic instantly fell to the floor, prostrating herself before Usriel and wailing in nearly incoherent Cant Mechanicum, flailing wildly with her handless arms.

“And so your secret has come to pass. That is why you were amongst the list, you, Lexmechanic Kalgehan would deceive even a Primarch! Is this why the Sicarian would have you amongst it?” Usriel questioned, raising his voice at the wailing woman and casting an unheard judgement upon her.

“What list?!?” Kalgehan wailed. “I swear, holy Primarch, most peerless and empyrean of splendors, I am faithful! My Magos tells me I am too irreverent by nature! I try so very hard, oh glorious one, it does not come readily to me! May the Omnissiah have mercy on my wretched soul, barren of native faith! Please-”

“She speaks the truth. But there is something missing. A fine way to treat the son of your God, to speak in circles and evasion, to guard your heart’s despair from his sight. Prove your faith then, if it is mercy you desire. Reveal that which you have labored to keep hidden.”

“What could I possibly be hiding from you?? I have told you nothing but the truth already! What more do you want?!? Examine my works, all is as I said it was!” Kalgehan cried.

“Speak now of what you hide or so help me your soul will be cast into the warp!” Usriel ordered, stepping forward to where the Primarch was practically on top of her. “If you are faithful, then deception of the Omnissiah’s son will not please the Machine God!” Usriel exclaimed.

With that, Kalgehan broke into a scream. A shrill, hopeless cry that strung itself through the air in the shrine like cracks winding their way through glass as she flung herself down again and beat on the fulcrete floor with the stumps of her wrists.

Eventually, she quieted, heaving for breath, shuddering violently on the floor before Usriel and the Doomsayers. The Primarch knelt down once more to become closer with Kalgehan, stating in a calm voice, “So long as you confess, you will be safe from ire, Kalgehan. Speak and prove your faith to the Machine God.”

[sub][i]”...two seconds of outshot frame scripting…”[i][/sub] Kalgehan whispered, her voice so soft it was scarcely possible to discern that she had said anything at all.

“Two seconds of outshot frame scripting?” Usriel asked in an echo, having to hide near genuine shock over that being the subject. He figured more was to it, but at base thought, the Primarch could only feel a twinge of shock over the simple nature of her issue.l

“Yes! Two seconds! A single frame of the holo-pict, with tens of thousands of different optics and pict-recorders and auspex devices all adjusted to all not see that single frame for two seconds! When there is not a single instance of a single frame anywhere else in any of the scripting that does not have at least a hundred different angles and views on it from just as many devices!” Kalgehan wailed. “Two whole seconds of a break in the universe! A single solitary point of obliviousness to evade recording!”

“....what is the subject of that missing frame?” Theodora asked, trying to keep her composure.

“One of the mongrel xenos band leaders during the Triumph, at minute forty-one exactly.” Kalgehan explained miserably. “But there’s more. I didn’t do it on a whim. I was told to do it.”

“By who.” Usriel inquired flatly.

“I don’t know!” Kalgehan choked. “They contacted me using a servo-skull as a proxy. But whoever it was, they knew exactly who I was, exactly what all my duties were, and my exact work schedule. They gave me specific routine instructions on what to do - I didn’t even know the contents of the frame that were ghosted until I manually reviewed the entire pict-script start to finish looking for it!”

Usriel looked back at the Doomsayers, clearly masking anger at the absurdity of the situation, asking in a reserved and flat tone, “Did they give any indication as to their rank or anything? Surely you did not follow the instruction of some random servo-skull that came up to you.”

“The incentive they gave me was immunity. They promised the Prefecture Magisterium would ignore me and the rest of the Lexmechanics working on the Holo.” Kalgehan blubbered, her warbling voice oddly inhuman in the absence of tears from her bionic eyes.

“Immunity from the Prefecture?” Usriel echoed, his hidden anger morphing into curiosity. A sudden dawning came upon Usriel once more as he rose once more to his full height, “There is only one with immediate access to your files and duties that can shield you from the Prefecture Magisterium, Lexmechanic.”

“What, you mean this - that Sicarian you mentioned? Szorbulo?” Kalgehan asked. “I suppose...Many senior Priests in the Prefecture Magisterium would have both the access and the ability to grant immunity.”

“That seems to be the case, Lexmechanic, which would be why he knew you did not know of him and yet he knew of you,” Usriel explained, looking back to the Lexmechanic before letting out a drawn out sigh. “You gave into your fear, Lexmechanic, a weakness of the flesh. Do you attest to this,” the Primarch asked in a disappointed voice.

“I do! Holy Primarch, I do! The flesh is fallible, but ritual honors the Machine Spirit! Omnissiah, save me from the weakness of the flesh!” Kalgehan threw herself prone on the floor again.

“You are forgiven, Lexmechanic Kalgehan. I can see you will take this experience and reflect upon it, and your station will increase with the knowledge that you have obtained from this,” Usriel said a tone that seemed to force the impatience of the Primarch to the side. The Primarch took a step back from Kalgehan, before awkwardly clearing his throat, “Once you have composed yourself, you may return to your duties. Unless you have any further statements, that is.”

Kalgehan had nothing more to say but to incoherently babble mangled canticles of the faith before abruptly turning and fleeing from the room.

“Two seconds of outshot frame scripting,” Usriel echoed, almost in awe, looking to the Doomsayers with what could only be a look of bewilderment hidden behind his helmet. The Primarch’s mind turned as to what the significance of the frame could even mean, other than just to be a slight annoyance to the viewer. “I am both shocked and confused to think that is what she was hiding, even if we managed to get some information out of it,” he commented before returning to silence.

“We are seeing with only one eye,” Theodora replied cryptically, the woman who had been composed in the face of death finally showing concern at her lack of understanding. “There is more to this that we’re missing, there must be. These vandals have wrought such miniscule harm that I had assumed they had been acting as their consciences dictated. It was logical, no? I’m not certain what to think now.”

“There are still more pieces to this puzzle, Sister. Our work is not yet done,” Ascania said softly, but it was clear that the masked figure was ill at ease with how events had transpired.

Minutes later, Usriel received a Vox out of the blue from Magos Ulbridge.

’Holy Primarch, since the detainment of the perpetrators identified by Librarian Theodora, your Honor Guard have successfully identified, detained, and extracted confessions from three times their number in various lay priests and minor Tech-Priests. Since your work began, the number of new instances of subversive programming detected in the Triumph network have drastically fallen off, and my staff is rapidly cleansing all presently affected systems. Assuming the present rate of progress is sustained, the Triumph systems will be cleaned and fully reconsecrated in only two or three days.’

“Excellent, Magos. Your work here will earn the direct praise of myself, and likely, Micholi. This investigation would have not been as successful as it was without you aid,” Usriel responded into the vox, allowing his praise of Ulbridge to hang for a moment, “You may send forth the Enginseer.”

‘By your order, Exalted Son of the Omnissiah.’

Minutes passed. Eventually, the door to the Shrine pulled open and the by now familiar sight of three lumpen, hunchbacked servitors dragging in a beleaguered Tech-Priest greeted the Primarch and the Doomsayers. Usriel’s helmet identified them as Enginseer Armard, and from what Magos Ulbridge had said, he worked at the vox network master switchboard for the service tunnels. He looked nearly indistinguishable from any other Enginseer. Although he was still technically more flesh than machine still, anything that stuck out of his robes had been heavily augmented, including his face, arms, and legs. The augmetics for his face-plate in particular were evidently meant to be temporary, a design meant to be replaced by something more elegant and sophisticated later on - resembling nothing less than an IA hazard mask with integrated bionic eyes. As with the others, the servitors forced him into a kneeling position, arms forced behind his back and head raised at a forty-five degree angle.

“Enginseer Armard, do you have any relation with Sicarian Szorbulo,” Usriel began, folding his arms in front of him as the questioning took hold of the room.

“Negative, Ho-ly Primarch.” Armard’s deep, sonorous voxcoder replied, strangely drawing out the inflection of the middle word.

“Have you encountered any servo-skulls offering you immunity from the Prefecture Magisterium?” Usriel continued.

“Negative, Ho-ly Primarch.” Armard repeated their prior statement perfectly, sounding absolutely no different than before, as if each syllable was pulled from a pre-synthesized phonetic cogitator.

“Are there signs within your station that would disrupt the Triumph by humiliating the xenos regiments within it?” Usriel asked, his own voice showing no difference in elevation as he looked upon the Enginseer. He continued, “You would certainly be within the position to do so and the last two that had been brought before me have already openly stated their faults.”

“Process-ing inquiry.” Armand stated flatly. For the next five seconds, the only sound that filled the shrine was that of the Enginseer’s voxcoder whirring audibly. “Ho-ly Primarch, return output to your inquiry indicates no anomalous entries in the master array. No disrupt-ion is project-ed.”

Usriel looked back to the Librarian, “Anything that he may be hiding, niece?”

“Fascinating,” Theodora breathed out, looking over the enginseer with undisguised curiosity. “His mind is truly an emulation of the machine. It reminds me of a servitor more than any other caste of tech-priest I’ve seen before. He shall process what you command, but is incapable of guilt or doubt. A question will get an answer - but one needs to discern the appropriate question to ask.”

“Interesting,” Usriel said, looking back to the Enginseer and asking, “I assume you have been subject to the Rite of Pure Thought?”

“Negative, Ho-ly Primarch. This unit has been subject-ed to a similar procedure; the Rite of Impure Excisement.” Armard replied dully.

“As I thought,” Usriel commented before looking to the servitors, ordering, “Release him.”

The moment the servitors released Armard, the Tech-Priest rose and, without saying anything else, turned on the spot and began walking to the door out of the shrine.

“Are you returning to your station,” Usriel asked, stepping around the man in quick strides to block his path.

“Affirm-ative, Ho-ly Primarch. This unit is three-thousand, six-hundred and twenty-eight standard processing cycles behind mandat-ed work quota.” As the Enginseer spoke, it performed a perfect ninety-degree turn, took three steps forward, turned back the way it had been facing, and continued walking towards the door out of the shrine and around Usriel.

“Come nieces, we shall follow him back to his work station,” Usriel commanded, as he walked behind the Enginseer.

“Of course, my lord,” Ascania said with a small bow, both Doomsayers following after Usriel in the wake of the enginseer.

Armard then proceeded to lead Usriel and the Doomsayers through the twisting maze of service tunnel corridors. Armard’s routing was close to perfect efficiency, the tight precision of his movements combined with the avenues he turned down making it clear the group was doubtlessly moving across the shortest possible distance to reach the array. At the same time, however, his movement was faintly sluggish, relaxed, and unhurried. A man in a hurry to go at his own pace, it seemed. As he led them along, they passed dozens of other Tech-Priests, Skitarii, and Servitors. As before when Usriel had originally entered the tunnels, they all uniformly moved to the sides of the passageway, either bowing or kneeling in reverence as he passed, offering clasped hands and gesticulations of prayer as he went, singing hymns and canticles of faith. Unexpectedly however, as Armard led Usriel on, Tech-Priests began to break from the lines in order to hand or drape inexplicable ornamentation to him. By the time the group arrived at the Vox Network Master Switchboard Array, Armard had accrued no less than six different necklaces made of gold and wrought iron, a circlet of gleaming and polished chrome, a new, second set of robes embroidered along the hems and seams with meritous decorations, and no less than three separate idols of varying metals that Armard had tucked, mechanically, beneath his left arm.

The VNMSA was a bulbous, spherical protrusion emerging from a square plate in the floor, surrounded by ascending racks of cogitator units in a fashion almost akin to an amphitheater. A single antennae jutted from the top of the dome, pointed upwards towards the high-raised ceiling, shaped to resemble a radial dish with a reciprocal , three-pronged circle antennae extending out from its center to almost meet the first one rising from the floor. Two shallow trenches adjoined the square plate the dome rose from, revealing a pitch-black underside interior area where the mechanism’s guts and mechanisms resided. Only two other Enginseers were present in the chamber when the group arrived. They emerged on their hands and knees like scurrying rats from the interior of the forward trench, offered perfunctory gesticulations of prayer to Usriel, and then immediately bent low to return to the interior. Armard, not even breaking stride, began to step down into the trench to follow them.

Ascania and Theodora came to a halt on the plate, the women clearly out of their element in the labyrinthine workings of the array. “I shall attempt to provide what support I may, but, I must admit I am uncertain what assistance I can be,” the Librarian said.

“Worry not, niece. I presume I should be able to manage it from here,” Usriel said in a semi-comforting tone before looking back to Armard. He stepped down into a trench that was ill-suited for his massive form, before he leaned next to Armard.

“I want communications with Archmagos Rarnet pulled for me to listen to, understood?” Usriel ordered in a whisper.

“Affirmative, Ho-ly Primarch.” Armard droned. “Patch-ing all array-mediat-ed vox communicat-ion from and to Arch-magos Rarnet to your device.”

Tuning his helmet’s vox-receiver to the designature frequency, Usriel was immediately subjected to the blaring, chaotically intermingling tones of Archmagos Rarnet having two separate conversations on two different lines simultaneously. Despite this, Usriel was able to understand both sides in perfect clarity, his mind processing both as they happened. Even the different languages were translated without issue of him confusing which conversation was which. The Primarch focused his mind as to what was transpiring with the Archmagos, hoping to free him from suspicion.

’...clarify what you mean by “uncertain.”’ The Archmagos’ voxcoder sang.

’I was being polite, Archmagos. The operative word was I cannot be certain. Astropathic messages of such high priority are to be delivered to their intended recipients only.’ The second voice was unfamiliar, but from the context it was possible they were a member of the Navis Imperialis, likely somebody attached to an Astropath and tasked with relaying deciphered messages.

’Absurd. I am the highest ranking Tech-Priest in the entirety of the Ullanor system-’

’Begging your pardon, Archmagos, but that is not strictly true. If I recall correctly, the Primarch Augor Asten is an Archmagos Intendant, and his Equerry is an Archmandriture. Both outrank you, yes?’

’I am not going to debate the nuances of the Mechanicum’s hierarchy with you. They are both members of the Ordo Astranoma, effectively a separate branch of the Mechanicum entirely. I am the senior Tech-Priest of the Mechanicum itself present, representing the Holy Synod of Mars, and I know for a fact the message would not have been relayed to either of them. I am ordering you-’

’You can issue as many orders as you want. I cannot even tell you if there was such a message. The best I can do for you is redirect you to the inciphering staff so you can have a message sent back to whoever you were expecting your message from…’

The second conversation was no less tense and rife with frustration, from the sounds of it. Unlike the first conversation, it was spoken wholly in Lingua-Technis, the secretive and esoteric machine-language of the Cult Mechanicum. Utterly impossible to even attempt to speak or listen to with the unaltered Human tongue and ear, and even if one could comprehend it, the speed at which Tech-Priests spoke it was swift as lightning - quite literally. Only an augmented Human with substantial bionic modifications would have any hope of using Lingua-Technis, assuming they even knew it - and the Tech-Priests of the Mechanicum guarded the knowledge of their language jealously, affording them nearly unparalleled communications security.

To the heightened potency of a Primarch’s mind however, the language was readily understood even at its lightspeed breakneck pace - and though most of the Primarchs had no knowledge of the language, Usriel counted himself as one of the few who knew it intimately.

’...you expect me to believe you did it out of mercy? I can scarcely recall the last time anybody was pardoned by your order without extenuating evidence. The most resplendent nineteenth son of the Omnissiah, Usriel Andredth, already suspects conspiracy.’ Rarnet’s accusatory voice echoed.

’I do not expect you to believe anything. Just as I do not expect to explain myself. The Prefecture Magisterium’s records are in order, unlike yours and those of the Hereteks facilitating the Triumph.’ The replying voice had the sound of a blade being sharpened on a whetstone.

’You dare call them Hereteks? Am I to take that as evidence you intend to act?’ Rarnet demanded.

’Perhaps we do. We will permit them to facilitate the Triumph. It is the order of the Holy Primarchs that it be so. In spite of my predecessor’s willful ignorance however, it is more than clear that all working down in the tunnels are guilty of perpetrating Techno-Heresy. It is my inclination to have all of them executed the moment they leave orbit, once their work is done and their usefulness has expired.’

’Your logic engines are defective! Even if you do not believe the Fabricator General’s decree is coming, prudence would dictate you at least wait and confirm-’

’The Prefecture Magisterium waits for no man. If we reach a verdict, we are certain. If we declare a sentence, it is final. Our authority stems directly from the Treaty of Mars and the Exigencies of the Omnissiah. We will duly consider your alleged decree from the Fabricator General. If it is presented to us prior to the conclusion of the Triumph…’

There was silence in Usriel’s mind, a silence that only carried with it an overwhelming aura of anger and sadness at the words that he had just heard. Those suspicions that the Librarian had stated were true and that fact alone carried with it so much inner despair as Usriel tried to understand why the Mechanicum would kill millions of its own personnel. The feelings radiated off Usriel and filled the room to the brink as his mind raced over what to think and what to do with the newfound information. The only thing the Primarch could do was return to his full height, in his hand was the plasma pistol that he had instinctively drawn as his mind had raced. It wasn’t until he had realized that he had turned to face the Doomsayers in sheer and utter shock that he felt the grip of his hand around the weapon.

With his free hand, Usriel took the helmet off his head and looked to his nieces, his face portraying the mixture of emotion that had simmered within him.

“My lord,” Ascania said in a soft voice, advancing towards the Primarch with Theodora a step behind her. The Equerry still wore her mask depicting Daena’s face at rest, while the strange artifice of genetic legacy had granted the Librarian the Primarch’s active and alive. “What has happened?” she asked, looking between Usriel and Theodora.

“It has been proven, hasn’t it?” the Librarian asked, more as a courtesy than out of curiosity. “The Prefecture will purge those who wrought what the Primarchs have commanded.”

Silently, Usriel nodded to Theodora, unable to vocalize what had become the truth. It was clear by his face that he felt as if he had been betrayed, a betrayal possibly rivaling even that of Atis. The Primarch spoke into his vox, “Micholi, we need to talk.”

There was a moment of silence, before the soft voice of Micholi answered back over the Vox “Where and when?”

“The Shrine, as soon as possible,” Usriel responded in a voice hiding his turmoil, as he took off waking in at a hurried pace. Still keeping his helmet in his hand as he rushed past the tech-priests in the hallways.

“I’ll be there.” Was the only answer that Usriel would need at this point in time. In fact, when Usriel and the Doomsayers would arrive at the shrine in question, Micholi had kept his word, sitting down in front of the shrine while his back towards it, allowing him to face the door in a somewhat meditative manner. Looking at his brother, he asked a question that was right to the point. “How bad is it?”

Any of the security measures that had been disabled let out sparks as they permanently shorted, Usriel stepping towards his peer. It was only only until in the Nineteenth Primarch was directly in front of Micholi before he spoke in a quiet and subdued voice, “The Prefecture Magisterium seeks to execute all who worked upon the Triumph once this is over.”

There was a moment of silence from Micholi… before Usriel and the Doomsayers would witness something that very, very few people got to hear. “Fuck.” It was clear that even as Micholi swore, the gears were turning in his head at high speeds to try and work out how to fix this problem, but it seemed that cursing had helped him get into the right frame of mind.

“Alright. What allies do we currently have?”

“The Archmagos, I believe. He objected over the proposition,” Usriel stated before continuing, “I will not allow these people to die, it would be a great waste of the Imperium’s resources.”

“On that we can agree.” Micholi answered easily enough, before focusing as he asked “I need to know the full details of what is going on first before we plan any course of action.”

“I know we do not know who to trust. These Priests all fear the Prefecture Magisterium, some work with or for them,” Usriel explained, looking away from Micholi as he continued, “The only one who does not seem to be with them in the Archmagos, and perhaps Magos Ulbridge.”

Nodding his head slightly as he took this in, Micholi pondered aloud a little. “Malcador is likely already aware of the situation, but I doubt he would act… at least not to save those working on the Triumph anyway. Likely viewing the grander picture. Prometheus… I don’t know if he would care. Considering his views on xenos in general, it’s possible he would fully support this plan to purge these people. Augor… is something of a wild card honestly. Do you think it would be a help or a hindrance to make him aware of the situation and try and bring him into it?”

“I do not believe it is a matter of them caring about the xenos, after all many of the Mechanicum do not care for them and actively despise them. It may be them focusing on those who would listen to the Will of the Primarchs,” Usriel said, explaining the conclusions that he had come upon before looking at the door.

Thoughts raced in his mind, Usriel knew something had to be done to prevent this purge to happen for the sake of the Imperium as a whole. Knowing that if loyalty to the Primarchs would be undermined, then that would allow the Mechanicum to allow sympathizers of rebellion to be fostered. A mass rebellion of the Mechanicum would be a war that the Imperium would not be able to afford with whole forge worlds not being able to supply the war machine. These were the thoughts that raced through Usriel’s mind, ones of treachery and rebellion.

“I will speak to the Archmagos about having these priests sent to Vion 5, overseen by myself. However, there are millions and I would not be able to guarantee the safety of all of them,” Usriel said to Micholi.

The news of the intent of this purge being to deal with those who would listen to the Will of the Primarchs caused Micholi’s eyes to widen in shock for a moment. However, it was easy to see that he believed his brother at his word, without needing to ask for evidence or proof of his deductions. Hearing Uriel’s plan, Micholi nodded again as he pushed himself to his feet, thinking of the logistics as he added “I could likely claim some for my own domain, but I admit I am hampered by distance. I could only take so many people with me across the Imperium in one go and… well, I doubt I would be able to make it back for a second trip.”

There was a pause for a moment before he tilted his head slightly. “It is a shame that Eiohsa isn’t here in person. However, she is currently defending against an invasion of her personal realms… which are relatively close at hand and would likely need a great deal of trained personnel to help manage repairs…”

“Eiohsa is not in the best standing of the Mechanicum, anyways,” Usriel stated.

There was a nod of agreement. “True, but she still would likely welcome a more than fair share of the personnel we are trying to save. It wouldn’t even be her requesting it. It would be some of her siblings sending a wave of trained tech priests and professionals to help her planets recover from trying times. And if one of us goes along to quietly inform her of the greater situation I’m sure she would find other jobs that need doing indefinitely.”

“I’d rather send them to Sarghaul,” Usriel stated as he turned to walk towards the door, “I will make the preparations, I will let you know where to be so that this may go effectively.”

“Of course. Shall we inform some of our siblings in the system of the situation so that they might offer to claim some skilled labor of their own?” Micholi asked as he watched his brother start to leave.

“If that is your prerogative, I will be taking as many as I can,” Usriel said as he stepped out of the room, putting his helmet back onto his head. With a quick change of his vox, he spoke, “Magos Ulbridge, have the Archmagos prepare to meet me in his office.”

’Do you intend to meet him upon the Ark Mechanicum “Fearful Symmetry,” Holy Primarch?’ Ulbridge voxed back. ’If so, I can arrange for a planetside teleportarium to send you there immediately.’

“Then have me there immediately, Magos,” Usriel ordered.

---

Aboard the Ark Mechanicum Fearful Symmetry...

---

Stepping from the Teleportarium platform aboard the Ark Mechanicum, there was scarcely any evidence to even suggest Usriel had left the planet. The similarity in the aesthetics of the machinery roared in the style of the Mechanicum, and save for a more generous approportion of space in the corridors and all the cablings and artifice being more neatly arrange and less cluttered, it was not even evident that he was now aboard a Void Ship.

After being led through its halls, crewmembers stopping to bow reverently as he passed and to offer him praise and hymns as he went, he approached the Archmagos’ quarters. Rarnet’s facilities were so unspeakably hallowed that they had an entire Shrine Atrium antechamber serving as both a security stopgap and foyer dedicated to them. After being rapidly cycled and led through the chamber, he finally arrived.

Rarnet’s personal chambers were lavish beyond the bounds of envy by even the most venal of Planetary Governor’s. The main apartment was three stories high with a massive throned dais towards the back upon which Rarnet’s control throne rested. The starboard and port walls were dedicated to massive pict-screens that showed a crystalline, high-fidelity scene of the Ark Mechanicum’s exterior and the surrounding expanse of space, so perfect in clarity it looked as though one could step through the screens and be engulfed in the majesty of Ullanor Prime’s upper atmosphere. Columns of capacitors running from the length of the floor to the ceiling sat bestride massive cogitator cores and data-archives, and the chamber included no fewer than four gazebo shrines which housed exalted Archeotech in armored and gilded display cases. The entire ceiling was a vast mural, embossed and etched in brass and pewter, of a partial depiction of the Machine guide in triangular alignment with its aspects of the Omnissiah and the Motive Force. Hanging from the center of the Mural at the crux of the three entities was a skeletal golem, a perfect replica of the Human frame, wrought entirely in gold and with countless decorational gears, cogs, and machinery encased within its ribs. Supported in its hands were two lights, which illuminated most of the interior chamber.

Rising from his control throne, Archmagos Rarnet bowed deeply to Usriel as he entered, the gesture reminiscent of the deep motion he had made that nearly resulted in him slamming his head against the conference table during the meeting of the Primarchs on Ullanor Prime.

“It is in furtherance of our eventual completion that we are privileged to once more exult in your presence, peerless idol of grace and Nineteenth Son of the Omnissiah.”

“The efforts to disrupt the Triumph have been stamped out, Archmagos, but that is not why I have come,” Usriel said in a cold tone, looking upon Rarnet as he stopped not even a single stride away from the Archmagos. He allowed the words to hang before continuing, “I am here to discuss the personnel after the Triumph. I will be having many of them transported to Vion 5 and other worlds under my control, Micholi also wanted to have some brought to his home world.”

“That is a nearly unequaled commendation of their merit, Holy Primarch. Am I to take it that this impressment is to be the reward of the many Tech-Priests working upon Ullanor Prime for their dedication and exceptional work in facilitating the Omnissiah’s Triumph?” Rarnet’s voxcoder whirred emphatically, managing to somehow convey a pleased intonation despite its synthetic nature.

“Correct, Archmagos. Their loyalty to the Primarchs and the Omnissiah should be rewarded. I believe it would also be within their own best interest. Wouldn’t you agree?” Usriel asked, implying his knowledge of the situation to Rarnet.

“Forgive me, your Hallowed Eminence, I am uncertain I take your meaning.” His voxcoder clicked, and he adopted a habitual pose of contemplation, long since obviated by his passing the Crux Mechanicum. “Oh, of course. It would go without saying that to enter the personal service of one of the Exalted Primarchs would doubtlessly be preferable to nearly any other circumstance. Regardless, I will begin making the arrangements immediately. Quite a few of them may need to remain on-planet for some time before additional ships can be scheduled to transport them. Or perhaps we can simply arrange a staggered series of transports over time...Ah. I am dithering. Rest assured you can leave such matters in my hands, most vaunted exemplar of the Chosen Peoples.”

“Thank you, Archmagos. I am sure that the Prefecture Magisterium will be thrilled to know that they will not have to monitor them as closely while in our services,” Usriel said, putting his arms behind his back as his tone took on one of more subtle pride.

“Pardon my ignorance once more, Holy Primarch, as again I am not sure I follow.” The Archmagos performed his sharp box once more, taking two steps back as he did so to avoid slamming his head directly into Usriel’s groin. “The agents of the Prefecture Magisterium are doubtlessly counted amongst the personnel you wished to grace with your most generous benediction.”

“Ah, then to specify, those agents of the Prefecture Magisterium can continue their normal careers as directed by the Prefecture itself. After all, I am sure that those taken by the Primarchs do not need to be under the scrutiny of the Prefecture after this work is completed,” Usriel stated, the red glow of his helmet drilling into the Archmagos. “After all, the Prefecture agents would have to wait for transportation along with the rest and, as I have heard,” the Primarch paused as his voice took on a cruel inflection, “The Prefecture waits for no man.”

“The Prefecture, as well as the Mechanicum, take the threat of Techno-Heresy rather seriously, holy Primarch.” Rarnet replied. “I am afraid their presence is required at all harbors and regardless of the prestige of the station. If you are concerned for the duties of their agents here upon Ullanor Prime, I can of course arrange for new agents to be dispatched to join the transports prior to their arrival. This is not preferred in most circumstances, the Prefecture Magisterium takes great pains to build rapport and community databases of those they watch over, and starting from scratch is always something of an arduous labor. One they will doubtlessly be pleased to perform at your behest of course, Exalted One.”

“Very well, Archmagos,” Usriel caved, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to nullify the threat of the Prefecture, instead asking. “I trust that no one will go unaccounted for?”

“No true Tech-Priest of the Mechanicum would reject the call to work under the auspices of one of the glorious Omnissiah’s hallowed Children.” Rarnet assured.

“Thank you, Archmagos,” Usriel said, turning to leave the Rarnet to his work and the metallic sounds of his boots hitting the floor echoing in the chamber as he moved. Before he stopped at the entrance and requested, “I would like a direct, private communication with Primarch Augor.”

“Ah.” Rarnet inflected, whether it was another habitual utterance or born of genuine surprise difficult to discern. “My control throne offers the most secure vox system in this area of the ship. I shall vacate the premises and permit you your privacy, Holy Primarch.” He performed his odd bow again, brought his hands together splayed in the semblance of the Cog Mechanicum, and then departed the chamber the way Usriel had come.

Usriel marched back to the control throne, gazing onto it for a moment before sitting on it. Unexpectedly, its dimensions accomodated him adequately - perhaps intentionally on the part of the designers attempting to accomodate all eventualities, or perhaps due to the occasional Tech-Priest known to enlarge themselves to similarly gargantuan size, akin to the likes of Szorbulo. “Augor, do you read?” Usriel asked into the vox.

There was a substantial delay before the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion responded, nearly half a minute.

’I read you, brother. This is most unexpected. What can I do for you?’ Came the eventual reply. It was the first voice other than Micholi’s that Usriel had heard in a while that was not mediated by a voxcoder.

“I must speak to you about an issue with the Mechanicum that I have come across,” Usriel answered, his tone being one of concern. With a deep breath, explained the entire breadth of the situation to his brother. The findings of the Prefecture Magisterium’s desire to execute all those who worked upon the Triumph, his suspicions of it not being about the concern of xenos and being about destroying those more loyal to the Primarchs. Nothing was hidden from Augor as there was no need to hide it. The Primarch of the Stargazers listened without interruption or any evident reaction as Usriel spoke.

‘Brother,’ Augor said finally once Usriel had finished his explanation. ’I might have expected a crisis of this magnitude had any other of our siblings attempted to intervene in this matter. You, however, should have known better. I will have some choice words for you once this is all over, but for now I am ending this entire farce right this instant. Stand by, I will now be patching the others into this transmission.’

There was a delay, nearly a minute long, as Augor individually isolated and pulled Micholi, Archmagos Rarnet, Magos Ulbridge, and an unfamiliar figure who Usriel realized had been the new head of the Prefecture Magisterium upon Ullanor Prime, Malagra Seydavro.

’Thank you all for your prompt receipt of this call. I want all of you to drop what you are doing and to listen to everything I am about to say very carefully. To start with: Malagra Seydavro, I understand it is your intention to have every Tech-Priest working on the Triumph executed for Techno-Heresy, due to the necessity of needing to reconsecrate a majority of systems and devices to be xenos-tolerant. Is this correct?’

’Holy Primarch of the Twelfth Legion, your assessment is correct.’ The scything voice of the Malagra answered.’

’Noted. Archmagos Rarnet, Magos Ulbridge, tell me if you are expecting or have received a declarative writ of clemency from Mars, and why it has not yet arrived if that is the case, and how it is seemingly every Tech-Priest on Ullanor other than myself seems to have heard of it.’ Augor’s voice was swift, perfunctory, and exact - with the faintest evidence of exasperated impatience underlying his words.

’I had the honor and privilege of speaking with Kelbor-Hal personally prior to departing Mars, Holy Primarch of his Holy Omnissiah’s Twelfth Legion.’ Rarnet answered. ’He assured me such a writ of clemency would be arranged. In fact, it is past due the date he claimed it would arrive by several weeks.’

’As for news of this writ being spread, I am the one responsible, Exalted Primarch.’ Ulbridge answered in turn. ’As you know, I was delegated the task of managing most of the personnel assigned to complete the mechanisms necessary for the Triumph. Quite a few of them either refused to work or expressed great reticence to doing so. In order to get work production moving forward, I revealed to several groups of junior Tech-Priests that the writ of clemency was due and that they had nothing to fear.’

’And neither of you have received it?’ Augor followed-up. They both replied in the affirmative. ’And Malagra Seydavro, you likewise have heard of it. As far as you know, has any such writ of clemency been delivered to anybody either amongst your staff or of any other branch of the Mechanicum?’

’No, Holy Primarch.’ Came the answer.

’Then here is what is going to happen. You are all to assume going forward that the writ is still being delivered via astropathic relay. Until such time as it arrives, here is my decree: I both personally acknowledge and affirm the decision of the Prefecture Magisterium that every Tech-Priest assigned to work upon the Triumph of Ullanor is guilty of Techno-Heresy…’

The words sounded like the thundering of a mountain. Millions of lives consigned to oblivion in an instant.

’...and I also hereby, by the authority vested in me as the Twelfth Primarch of his Omnissiah’s Holy Legions of Astartes, pardon them of any current or future Techno-Heresy pertaining to the facilitation of the Triumph, either until its conclusion or until they leave the planet. Should Kelbor-Hal’s writ of clemency arrive, you are all to treat my declaration here as subordinate to his own, and should there be any differences in their bodies, his writ is to prevail. Am I understood?’

...And just as soon as the portents of doom had been drawn together, they were banished.

’As you will it, so it shall be, Holy Primarch.’ Seydavro’s voxcoder was the first to answer. ’What shall we do with the current round of Hereteks and suspects we have detained?’

’Release those whose offenses pertain purely to meddling with xenotech or the creation of xenos-tolerant mechanisms. All others are to be kept and processed normally. Archmagos Rarnet, Magos Ulbridge,’ Augor’s voice turned sharply to the two Tech-Priests. ’My brothers have been working to root out the conspiracies you brought to their attention earlier. In your opinions, have all threats to the smooth execution to the Triumph been determinatively eliminated?’

’No, Holy Primarch.’ Magos Ulbridge answered. ’Though the most peerless and capable Primarchs of the Second and Nineteenth Legions have done unequaled and exemplary work in unveiling the perpetrators, there remains some risk of additional conspiracy. Though this is merely my opinion.’

For the first time since this joint call began, Micholi softly spoke up. “While I respect Magos Ulbridge’s words of support, I must insist that the praise for the investigation should largely go to Usriel and elements of the Doomsayers. While my services were made available to him if requested, they were not needed.”

’Archmagos, in light of this, has your official recommendation to the Primarchs from the Mechanicum as the participation of xenos elements in the Triumph changed?’

’...No, Holy Primarch.’ Rarnet responded after a brief pause.

’Then clearly, my brother’s noble intentions aside, the Mechanicum and the Imperium at large remain unready for such prominent exposure to xenos integrated with Imperium forces during a Holy day such as this one. Micholi,’ Augor’s voice took on a sudden and stern intonation. ’This entire affair was precipitated by your decision and by your lack of foresight into the ensuing consequences. All of the executions and decommissionings perpetrated by the Prefecture Magisterium are on your hands, and subsequently, the planned near-total purge of all Mechanicum personnel is likewise a matter I am holding you personally responsible for. The Xenos elements of your Legion and its associated auxila are to be pulled from the Triumph. They are not worth even the risk of anything untoward transpiring during it. You will acknowledge this, here, now, with us as your witnesses.’

”Or they could listen to the Will of the Primarch and offer an exception this once. I care not for the Xenos, however, as stated many times during both-” Usriel began.

’USRIEL ANDREDTH.’ Augor’s voice boomed like a meteor descending from the sky across the vox-link. ’Your own investigations have already revealed the conspirators would not care for any decree made by a Primarch or otherwise, unless it were to come from our father himself. Additionally, this catastrophe only came about when you had Malagra Szorbulo decapitated, thus undoing his mitigatory efforts to save lives! You have done ENOUGH. DO NOT TEST ME ON THIS MATTER.’

”This is about the Will of the Primarchs, Augor. Our word is holy to the Mechanicum, and the Omnissiah allowing the Edict of Tolerance means exceptions must be made,” Usriel argued.

’As glaringly demonstrated by you and Micholi, the Will of the Primarchs occasionally has disastrous unforeseen consequences when used flippantly and in disregard of objective reality, Usriel. Something you yourself have failed to grasp until this very moment. If we ignore our wordly limitations and foibles even we are liable to still be burned. The Will of our Father is utterly irrelevant here, as he has levied no expectations as to the presence or absence of Xenos. I will hear no more of this nonsense from you unless you receive the express directive of the Omnissiah himself.’ Augor retorted. He then abruptly turned his address away from Usriel and back to Micholi.

’Brother. Our Imperium is not yet ready for this. There is too much remaining that lies ahead of us to suffer your frivolity on this matter. The honor and dignity of your xenos will not be earned, marching in a parade for the masses in a Triumph for a campaign neither they nor you had anything to do with. Their time will come, and when it does, they shall have a Triumph of their own. But this is not that day.’

The line fell deathly silent as Augor finished speaking, he and the other four participants of the vox-call awaiting Micholi’s answer.

Micholi had been quiet as Augor and Usriel had argued, considering his response carefully in what time he had before at last all eyes were turned upon him. While it was true that Prometheus had used arguments akin to the ones that Augor was using, Micholi couldn’t help but feel like Augor was making those arguments from a different origin point of logic rather than just blind hate that made it harder to reject out of hand.

However, there was still a question that needed to be addressed before he just allowed himself to submit to the will of one of his siblings. “Augor, I agree that you’ve made some strong points… but there is something that came up during the investigation that I cannot help but find myself rather curious about. Namely, why did a member of the Mechanicum feel the need to slip a machine spirit into the data slate of one Prefectus Hodge designed to copy and transmit data on it to an unknown location before the investigation was underway?”

’Irrelevant.’ Augor’s voice cut across the vox. ’If you wish to continue your investigation after this discussion that is your prerogative, but I will not be letting you go until I have personally assured that there is NO possibility of remaining risk to the execution of the Triumph. Stop running from the consequences of your actions brother. Answer me now. If I hear anything other than that from you next, I will personally CENSURE you with these three Tech-Priests and our brother as witnesses. I have more than sufficient cause to do so.’

For a brief moment, a spark of anger appeared in Micholi’s eyes, forging the steel in his tone as he countered coldly “You do not have the authority to censure me, Augor. Nor are you the final authority in the Imperium. Only the Emperor has that right and it is best that you remember that.”

Taking a moment to take in a deep breath, he considered Augor for a moment before saying “Augor, I made a promise to our brother Prometheus that if the Triumph was in any danger of being interrupted, not only would I withdraw the Xeno auxila but for the sake of making it appear that the move was motivated by a desire to offer more honor and praise onto those who fought the savage greenskins of Ullanor requesting that all forces who were not present for that campaign would respectfully stand aside. After all, the Imperium cannot be seen to bend to the will of discontent. I intend to keep that promise.”

“However, while I admit that I was ignorant to the extent of the work, time and resources when I made my plans that would be required of the Mechanicum to manifest them, I am painfully aware of the costs now… and I believe it would be a grave insult to those who have spent all this time, energy and resources to do the work they have already done while under the threat of being judged to have stepped over a line and be harshly punished due to following my request if I suddenly turned around and said ‘I’ve changed my mind’ and made all the work and sacrifices they have made and suffered meaningless.”

There was a momentary pause before he quickly added “And there is also the damage such a thing could do to the authority of the Primarchs if we are seen to be fickle in our decision making. So right now it’s a matter of arranging this situation so that everyone can walk away without feeling like this was a mistake and the authority of the Primarchs isn’t brought into question. Do you actually have a plan for that or are you just going to bark that we do it and bullrush it like a combat servator?”

’You have a curious way of voicing assent, brother.’ Was Augor’s eventual reply. ’As long as we have your word, I will take it on good faith, and permit you as much time as necessary to ensure it is done gracefully. I also agree to unconditionally assist and support you in any manner necessary to facilitate the arrangements, should you deem them necessary. As for ensuring the Will of the Primarchs is not brought into question and saving face, we will simply announce that you completed your investigation and identified and thwarted the perpetrators, but had a call of conscience that the Imperium was not yet ready for what you had envisioned. You will be remembered as a hero who deterred a conspiratorial plot to upend the Omnissiah’s triumph.’

Micholi’s face looked sour at the suggestion that Augor was providing. However, as he ran the scenario though his head, he paused as an idea struck him. “Hmm… I would not be so crass as to sell out my Xenos soldiers by saying the Imperium wasn’t ready… but I could admit that the Mechanicum wasn’t. When I made those preparations, I hadn't considered the crisis of faith that would occur among the various ranks of the Mechanicum as they were put into a position to either follow their creed or follow one of the sons of the Emperor. The mental breakdown of Malagra Szorbulo as he was forced into a logical paradox was enlightening in this event… and as such I will reluctantly put my pride in my forces aside to allow the brave soldiers of Ullanor to fully enjoy the glory they have earned for themselves. This was simply a cultural misunderstanding between the Imperial Truth and the Machine Cult.”

’Then we have an accord.’ Augor replied. ’In light of this - Archmagos Rarnet, I will now respectfully belay my brother Usriel’s request that all the Tech-Priests working on the Triumph be relocated at its conclusion. I will not object if he makes the request again, but as his primary motivation was to save their lives, I do not believe the move remains necessary.’

’As you wish, Augor. I will not object to this as I affirm that what you have stated was my motivation,’ came the voice of the Nineteenth Primarch, now reserved and back to its cold normal language. Usriel contemplated for a moment speaking in a bit of a sneer, ’I will again state that I never cared for the xenos inclusion, I acted out of my own prerogative to follow Imperial Law as stated by the Edict of Tolerance. Regardless, with this matter settled, Micholi, I expect you to personally tell Prometheus that the xenos shall be withdrawn. Your desire has caused me enough headache for the time being.’

A sigh escaped Micholi as he muttered “Of course. I’ll spare you having to listen to his victory gloating. You’ve earned that much Brother.” Before his tone recovered the authority of a Primarch as he added “Malagra Seydavro, I am requesting a meeting with you in order to further discuss the machine spirit bugging of Prefectus Hodge. I respect that you have only recently come into your leadership position, so I will give you a cycle of Ullanor in order to get settled in.”

’That will not be necessary, Holy Primarch.’ Seydavro’s knifelike voice answered. ’I have had adequate time to establish myself since the departure of Malagra Szorbulo from our agency. I need but a few moments to discern what purpose the machine spirit placed in Prefectus Hodge’s data-slate was meant to achieve.’

There was a momentary pause of around ten seconds.

’Holy Primarch of the Second Legion, I must regretfully inform you there is no record of any such machine spirit having been placed upon the Prefectus’ data-slate. We made only cursory monitoring of his activities, since as an external party to the Cult Mechanicum our authority over him is limited. Whatever the source of that machine spirit, its placement was unsanctioned.’

Mindful of the fact that this call included his brothers and other busy persons, Micholi still made a hmm of interest. “I might have to meet with you after all Malagra. Because the machine spirit in question was of Mechanicum design. While my tech marines were able to divine what it was doing, it was too basic for them to work out what information it was after and where it was sending it. Maybe your people would have an easier time answering those questions.”

’Acknowledged, Holy Primarch. I will have my finest Tech-Priests clear their current task parameters to await your directives.’

“I will be there in a few hours then. I first have to address a matter with my brother Prometheus. I will send word when I am free to come.” With the matter settled for now, he sighed before addressing the rest of the call “If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

---

The Fortress of Steel, the flagship of the Steel Sentinels, lay in orbit over Ullanor Prime, the massive framework of the Gloriana-class battleship dwarfing many of the transport ships that ferried down additional supplies for the Triumph and Mechanicum personnel. It measured twenty-four kilometers from bow to stern, much of its bulk being consisting of a hull that was thicker on all portions of the ship. Seemingly at random, it would array a line of weaponry at a passing transport ship before sending out smaller transport shuttles to conduct searches of illicit goods or to merely harass the mortals for the marine’s own cruel amusement. The ships hull glinted against the sunlight of the Ullanor Star, revealing the color of the Sentinels themselves, painted a grayed green with an underlying cream color just as the many battle-brothers wore their tabards over their armor into battle.

One ship stood out amongst the traffic however - neither heading towards or away from the tremendous Gloriana in relation to the planet. A Mechanicum Light Cruiser was approaching the Fortress of Steel from its far end, from out of the reaches of deep space. Additionally, the presence of silvery-blue trim lining the vessel in addition to its ordinary coloration revealed it to be a light Cruiser of the Ordo Astranoma rather than belonging to the Cult Mechanicum proper. The vessel itself was still slowing down in its approach, and compared to the Gloriana it was hardly even a speck, smaller in scope than a single one of the Fortress of Steel’s tremendous macrocannons.

Given its occupant, it was evident the craft had been selected for its swiftness above all else.

And Usriel was certain - his brother, Augor Astren, was aboard that light cruiser. Word had already been sent to him from the Fortress of Steel’s bridge that he was requesting permission to board. Just as quickly as Usriel had received that request to board, it had been accepted with Augor being told to meet with his brother in his quarters of the great ship.

It was as Augor entered the massive room, having been led by a woman in the armor of the Imperial Auxilia with blonde hair cut short, that Augor would see a room that was - by most standards - a desolate and barren quarters. All it contained was a large workbench to support the size of Usriel, on it lay the components of a project that the Nineteenth Primarch was in the middle of. An armory lay next to it, the only two objects being the plasma pistol and power fist that Usriel used. Of course, there was the standard Imperial decor that lined the walls and ceilings, but nothing personalized or modified. However, upon further inspection, the symbol of the Omnissiah had been carved into the floor with Usriel’s own control throne at the center of it and Usriel sat upon it with his power armor still on him.

“I bid you welcome, Augor,” Usriel stated, rising from his throne and stepping towards the other Primarch before looking at the woman and ordering, “Leave us, Belloris.”

“As you wish my reason of life,” Belloris said, bowing deeply in a manner that would rival Archmagos Rarnet’s own before she turned and left the two holy men to their privacy.

Augor had eschewed his bulky servo-harness and armory of heavy weapons when he came aboard - and in fact, rather than the power armor the Primarchs were accustomed to wearing at nearly all hours of the day, the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion has instead arrived adorned only in simple sleeveless Mechanicum robes. His bare arms overran with cords of muscle and braided ceramite in equal measure, sets of capacitors the side of a normal Human’s torso embedded along the lengths of his limbs and winding lines of soldered electoos creating a harsh blue luminescence in the air about him, in addition to filling the air with a faint static hum. The ashen skin of his head, although bearing no outward signs of augmentation, nonetheless betrayed the signs of substantial internal bionic installation due to creases and grooves in the flesh of his crown, surgical scars that would never quite entirely heal.

And staring directly at Usriel were Augor’s empty orbital sockets, the Twelfth Primarch’s eyes having been burnt out long before he had even been rediscovered. Either he had discrete bionic auspex integrated in his body that allowed him to see, or he possessed some psychic gift that enabled him to perceive the world around him - but either way, he had left his scarred and empty gaze as it was, and their unnerving sight bore directly at Usriel, unflinching and unblinking.

“It disappoints me that this is not the first time we have needed to have this conversation, brother of mine.” Augor spoke, his voice unexpectedly higher and softer in pitch than his inflection across the vox channel had implied.

“The Mechanicum needs to understand that it needs to follow orders as given without needing to question their dogma,” Usriel said in a cruel inflection, folding his arms behind his back. The two Primarchs stared, Augor’s eyeless gaze meeting the red glare of Usriel’s helm. With another breath, “They cannot hide behind religion and the Treaty of Mars forever.”

“Perhaps not. But tell me, brother, would you have the Mechanicum obey you over father?” Augor asked lightly.

“They will obey the Primarchs and the Omnissiah without question,” Usriel answered, evading the question.

“That is just it, Usriel. You demanded they ignore and renounce the will of our father, in order to answer and follow your own will.” Augor replied evenly. “At which point it is no longer even a matter of the Treaty of Mars. For them to cow to you then would also be a violation of the Imperial Truth - both on their part, and on yours. I ask you again. Would you have the Mechanicum obey you over father, if your wills were not as one?”

“They will obey,” Usriel repeated without variation in tone.

“Who else would you have obey your will over our father? The Custodes, perhaps? Malcador? Perhaps even father himself?” Augor carried on conversationally. “For better or worse, the Mechanicum is the instrument of the Omnissiah, the Emperor of Mankind. When he strode forth upon Olympus Mons he made certain that they and theirs would obey him without question, without hesitation, no matter what and for all time. Today, you asked them to abandon that. They chose to obey, faithfully, as they had been instructed.”

Augor inclined his head ever so faintly.

“...They simply did not choose to obey you.”

“I am an instrument of the Omnissiah, to go against any of us Primarchs is to go against the Omnissiah. As it was intended, Augor,” Usriel replied, his voice unchanging, “If they will not obey, then they will be forced to.”

“Ah. I believe I understand. So when you delivered your imperatives, they were forced to choose between disobeying the Omnissiah, and disobeying the Omnissiah. I suppose your intention was to have them slaughter themselves on the spot. Perhaps I should take this to mean this elaborate arrangement to have the Triumph personnel executed was your desire?” Augor then nodded in faux-sagacity, the faintest of smiles crossing his lips. “Or perhaps this appeal to force you speak of is meant to be a challenge to our father - that the force you can levy against our subjects is greater than his. Quite the choice of aspirations here - genocide versus usurpation. There can be no mistake it was one of these things you desired, for that is the precise crossroads your own words and actions forced you upon.”

“Do not twist my words upon me, Augor. I am the Emperor’s enforcer, nothing more and nothing less,” Usriel commented, his voice growing darker, “Do not imply me to be a usurper.”

“Ah, so it was genocide then. Do you know what I think, though?” Augor leaned in, almost conspiratorially. “You did not go far enough. For you are right, to disobey either you or our father, nevermind that your wills may be opposed, is a trespass deserving only the harshest of punishments. We should go forward with this. We can start with the Mechanicum, of course. Then perhaps we could exterminate the Imperial Guard, obliterate the Navis Imperialis, crush the Administratum, cast down the Custodes, have Malcador beheaded - why, it would just be father and us, his Primarchs, alone in the galaxy. Of course, the other Primarchs might choose to obey father over you as well, so clearly the rest of us would have to go. And then, finally, at the end of all things, you would finally have a galaxy bereft of everyone who would refuse to obey you without question.” Augor paused emphatically.

“Except for father, of course. Though rest assured, though the stars themselves might eventually burn away from the void, he would never obey you.”

“ENOUGH!”

Usriel’s voice strained once more, his anger clearly growing as his form stomped towards Augor being not even a full step away from the other Primarch. The Nineteenth Primarch, allowed a moment to pass as he restrained his emotions once more. Speaking in a voice holding back his anger, “Enough, Augor. I only tolerate the mortals for they are needed, you know this. I will not have a repeat of what happened over Inrade.”

“That is the problem, Usriel. What you tolerate and occasionally ruin when your patience is exhausted does not belong to you. The mortals you deride are the subjects of our father, and regardless of however low your esteem for them is, they serve a purpose - the purpose of the Omnissiah - and that design is beyond every living being there is, yourself included. This is all precisely as father intends. When you unsettle their ranks for following the course of his design before yours, you obviate that purpose.” Augor leaned back, assuming his former posture.

“Either learn to live with them and their exceedingly rare defiance, or throw down the gauntlet, brother. This trend of yours cannot continue. It is self-destructive.”

“And when they spiral out of our control, Augor, what will we do then? What will happen when all the mortals feel they can disobey our will?” Usriel questioned, leaning after Augor, “You know nothing but what the Mechanicum has told you. You allowed them to bar you from ever setting foot on Holy Mars! The Fabricator General would walk all over you if he was allowed to, Augor.”

“Usriel, in all my life, nobody in all of the Mechanicum has ever dared deny me over anything - except twice.” Augor held up two fingers - his hands being entirely bionic, electrostatic gauntlets as favored by Electropriests. Usriel recalled that Augor had grown up in the role of a Corpuscarii - these were likely a remnant of that upbringing.

“Both times were because what I ordered was opposed to the will of our father. I learned from those two instances and since those times I have had the wisdom to only ever issue demands that are followed by the Mechanicum without question. You, on the other hand, obsess over the mere existence of such hypothetical denials and forcibly evoke them in a senseless confrontation with no peaceable outcome. Which is where I must come to my final point, brother.”

Augor lowered his hand, and took a half-step towards Usriel, their faces now less than a third of a meter apart.

“You grew up amongst the Mechanicum. You saw all of this. You were taught all of this. You should know better. This is your obsession ruling over your reason and your discipline, and unlike what happened at Inrade, father will doubtlessly hear of this. Too many eyes and ears beheld you in this moment of frailty, Usriel. Once more, and for what I genuinely hope will be the last time: Conquer this obsession, rather than let it rule you.”

Usriel’s helm continued to bore into Augor, wordlessly staring into Augor before he relented and backed away from the other Primarch, only a step back. “And when the Omnissiah does hear of this, he will trust my judgement. I will continue to do my duty, just as the Fabricator Technis of Vion 5 will do his duty. Arx obeys whereas others do not. Until you get his word that my duty is an obsession, then I will stay my course.”

Augor appeared to parse his next words cautiously, as if aware that he was suddenly treading on treacherous ground. “His loyalty to you above all is admirable, brother. One could not ask for a finer friend and ally. Though realize that his failing is a reflection of your own. In his own way, perhaps without realizing it and as noble as his intentions may be - he has rejected the will of the one who stands above all.”

“You accuse him of rejecting the Will of the Omnissiah?” Usriel growled, turning away from Augor and allowing silence to befall the room once more.

“I accuse him of nothing.” Augor said after a heavy pause. “It is merely as you have said. He obeys you whereas others do not. Who could possibly dare to refuse to obey you, Usriel? Or more pertinently...for what reason would they dare to refuse to obey you?” He fell silent once more.

“I do not know why any would disobey for my mind is not that of a traitor’s,” Usriel commented before the sound of the room’s door sliding open once more caused him to turn and see the small form of Belloris. He let out a grumble, “I thought I told you to leave us, Belloris.”

“I am sorry, my devotion. I could not help but intrude to inform you that all those apart in the recent mutiny attempt have been put to death. The total number of crew that need to be replaced is approximately over two-thousand-five-hundred-and-ten. I do ask that you reconsider the order of having the officers that had allowed for them to gain arms to be turned to servitors, worship. Perhaps, Lord Augor can arrange for their punishments of incompetence,” Belloris explained, looking to Augor only momentarily as if to ask for his input.

“It would be best if I did not involve myself in the punitive measures decreed within a legion other than my own.” Augor suggested airly, tilting his head faintly to the side to address Belloris in turn.

“As you wish, Lord Augor. I will-”

“Leave us,” Usriel repeated, Belloris silently bowing once more and leaving the room. The Nineteenth Primarch turned his head back to Augor, speaking in a more annoyed than angered tone, “You must forgive Belloris, she is a strange mortal, but a very competent commander.”

“I have said what I came to say, brother.” Augor said. “I shall now hold my peace, and let us pray events such as this one do not befall you again. Does there remain anything else for us to discuss?”

“No, but I will say, the day I change my ways is the day you set foot on Mars, Augor,” Usriel stated, backing away from Augor to sit upon his command throne again. “Perhaps the next time we converse, it will be far more pleasant than this one has been,” he sneered, leaning back as he continued to stare at Augor.

“Let us hope you do not find yourself repeating that before the Omnissiah one day. Brother.” Augor then turned and, without any pomp or fuss, left.

---

Unlike the first time that Micholi had voxed Prometheus in order to request his presence at a meeting of Primarchs and their representatives, the second message had been a one way communication. A message to be checked when he had a free moment, considering that the last Micholi had heard his sibling had been present for a medal giving ceremony that would offer honors and physical symbols to be worn for the Triumph itself that would be attended by his own Knights of Awe and Usriel’s Steel Sentinels.

He honestly didn’t care enough to check if there were other Imperial forces or legions who were going to be present to get their dues or just to witness others receive theirs. But he was respectful enough to acknowledge that such pompous things took time and he didn’t want to distract a sibling from playing an important ceremonial role via a vox conversation unless it couldn’t be helped.

The message was short and to the point… but clearly carefully worded at the same time. “While Usriel’s investigation has been successful, having been made aware of a cultural misunderstanding between the Imperial Truth and the Mechanicum that I was unaware of, I have decided to honor your request that this Triumph be dedicated to the heroes of Ullanor. I request a private meeting in order to discuss details that you need to be made aware of. Contact me when you are free to do so.”

The ceremony honoring the Knights of Awe and the Steel Sentinels was indeed a long affair; many Astartes earned marks of honor or heroism. During a lull in proceedings where the next round of Astartes were found Prometheus acknowledged the communication, it was simple and to the point. “If you require a private meeting come to the Gloria Victorum. The ceremony should be concluded by the time you arrive. Otherwise give a report and it will be reviewed in time.”

There was a quick message back. “Be there soon.”

True to his word, a thunderhawk would be noticed by the systems of the Gloria Victorum baring Second Legion credentials, requesting permission to board. While another Primarch might have gone and bothered the Mechanicum to let them use one of their teleportariums for the relatively short trip into orbit, Micholi… honestly didn’t trust the technology that much. If he needed to use one he would, but for this trip such a thing wasn’t deemed necessary.

When Micholi’s transport docked with the Gloria Victorum he was greeted with the appropriate pomp and ceremony due a Primarch, a dozen Astartes of Prometheus’ own honor guard stood at crisp attention. However, Prometheus was conspicuously absent. In his stead was Commander Haen mortal commander of the Knights Auxilia forces. He bowed deeply showing utmost respect to the Primarch “Lord Primarch Micholi, I am honored to greet you and be your escort to Lord Prometheus.” His words however lacked the awe and fear a Primarch generally instilled in mortal men.

For what it was worth, Micholi didn’t seem to care about the seemingly lack of respect of Prometheus’ not coming to greet him personally, nor the pomp and ceremony for which he was presented just for arriving on the Gloria Victorum. The fact that Commander Haen didn’t seem to be either afraid or awed by him was noticeable, but not important in the scheme of things. Micholi's expression was that of practiced diplomacy, kindly if hindered slightly by the ugly looking scar on his face.

“Commander Haen, I am sure that you will be a man to keep an eye on going forward. But duty before all else, we should get going and not keep my brother waiting.” Micholi offered with a degree of polite authority.

Commander Haen mirrored the Primarch’s own expression masterfully, a born diplomat or beaurocrat rather than a general. “You flatter me my lord, and of course this way.” the commander gestured and fell into step with the Primarch, though having to take two steps for each of Micholi’s. The commander talked as they made their way through the ship pointing out details he found interesting, a scar on the hull plating or grisly trophies from wars long since fought. Before long they arrived at Prometheus’ personal quarters.

The commander said “I’ll announce you Lord Primarch” before he opened the door. “My lord, your brother Primarch has arrived.”

Prometheus looked up from a vast holo-table displaying navigation routes to several systems that have yet had expeditionary fleets explore them. Along with a score of data slates surrounding the table listing the vast military under the Primarch’s command. “Ah, yes. Thank you Commander. Please close the door on your way out.” Once done Prometheus went to an ornamental lounge area and poured himself wine from his homeworld. “So, what details are so pressing that they require your presence to explain?” He said as he arranged his drink.

There was something to be said about the fact that Prometheus wasn’t crowing like a rooster in victory as Micholi simply walked over to join his sibling. He didn’t take a seat, but he did offer a data slate to him as he explained “There are two matters that need to be addressed. I confess I would rather see what your own conclusions to Usriel’s discoveries are so as not to influence them unduly.”

The data slate would contain the information that Usriel and the Doomsayers had gathered, both for the investigation itself and the further discoveries that shaped the Primarch of the Steel Sentinels concerns about elements of the Mechanicum taking advantage of the situation at the Triumph to attempt a purge of all Mechanicum personal who would follow the order of a Primarch over their own doctrine. Micholi for his part would remain quiet as he allowed his brother to look over the information himself, but he would answer questions if they were raised.

Prometheus sat in one of the large padded chairs and studied the information. As he read he frowned, “I argued with Usriel over this?” he muttered to himself. After a time he shrugged and set the data slate aside. “It seems to me… that this is largely confusion within the Mechanicum, while there are some curious matters of circumstance and action it appears as little more than the edict confronting Mechanicum doctrine and a degree of mismanagement.” Mused Prometheus clearly down playing certain facts. “Why? What is your grave concern Micholi?”

“Usriel’s concerns… and some that I find myself sharing with him… was that this confusion and mismanagement was intentional. That there are elements within the upper ranks of the Mechanicum that wanted the situation to spiral and result in a purge of personnel.” Micholi answered back.

Prometheus stared down into his wine for a moment before he spoke “I can not see why, seems rather illogical of the Mechanicum if you ask me… There was a saying, though I do not know its origin, One should not attribute to malice what can be attributed to incompetence. I believe that is how it goes. It is always possible that this” He pauses a heartbeat and glances down at the data slate “Malagra Seydavro is a fool who believed some purge was necessary to comport with Mechanicum doctrine.”

There was a small sigh. “Possible. But I still carry my suspicions. At any rate, I thought you should at least be aware that Usriel and myself have concerns about possible members of the Mechanicum who would rather the Mechanicum didn’t revere and follow the word of the Primarchs over that of their own creed. But at any rate, there is a second matter that does need to be addressed.”

Pulling out a second data slate, Micholi approached again to hand it to his sibling. This time, he didn’t step back as he added “This one shouldn’t take long. It just needs to be addressed.”

Prometheus studied his brother a moment before looking down at the data slate, he drank from his goblet as he read maintaining a disinterested air. The data slate in question only had a single line written on it. ‘Usriel told me what you did.’

Judging exactly how long it would take Prometheus to read said line, Micholi’s sucker punch was swift, strong and to the jaw… but it wouldn’t be followed up by more attacks. If anything, he would actually pull back and build distance again. “How dare you.” Micholi growled deeply. “How dare you put your own ego and desires ahead of the Imperium itself.”

Prometheus surprised from the attack took a fraction of a moment longer to react, as his head rocked back from the blow he surged up from his seat prepared for a brawl though the next blow never fell. He studied Micholi again, his face an expressionless mask though loathing fury could be felt beneath it. “My ego?” he spat “My every action and waking moment is spent for the Imperium, there is nothing above service to the Imperium of Man.” He emphasized taking the opportunity to rub salt in the fact that though his admittedly weak plan failed, victory in this problem had come to him regardless.

As angry as Micholi clearly was with his brother, there was something that Prometheus likely would be able to recognize; Micholi clearly wasn’t interested in beating the shit out of him. In fact, now that he had gotten that sucker punch out of his system, he seemed to be calming down a bit. “Prometheus, me hitting you wasn’t even about the xenos situation. What’s pissed me off here is the fact that there was a situation in which people threatened to undermine the Triumph, the Imperium and the authority of a Primarch and instead of taking it seriously, you actively tried to undermine Usriel’s attempts to investigate it purely to spite me and try and force me into a position that I would have to keep my word to you. Thanks for the good faith in our agreement by the way.” Micholi spat with some sarcasm, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m already planning on how to address the change in Triumph which doesn’t invalidate all the work and sacrifices the Mechanicum has made trying to get everything working for xenos to take part without making it look like Primarchs are prone to fickle changes of mind or that we’re bowing to the demands of a small group of dissenters. Usriel’s investigation being successful helps out a lot in that last regard. I don’t like this situation but I’m dealing with it because it’s for the best. How can you stand there and tell me you did the same instead of some petty act of spite?”

“Quite simply, my actions undermined the legitimacy of the edict. Mechanicum doctrine is generally rather hostile to xenos species and the Edict itself strains the alliance we have with the Mechanicum. Their removal from the Triumph, dressed up however you wish, proves that the Edict is a destabilizing factor weakening the Imperium itself.” Despite Prometheus having said this calmly his stance while not hostile was prepared for Micholi to attack him again. “Your edict will cause unimaginable strife, perhaps not this year, or this millenia. In time it will be a cancer growing in the heart of the Imperium.”

Micholi… actually laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant thing. It was a slow, pained and tormented thing that managed to escape from him in this brief moment of surprise. “What hasn’t already caused unimaginable strife? I had to produce the Edict so that it could exist in a system that depended on the cooperation of a religious organization that hated xenos as a fundamental tenet. The Emperor helped me write it so that it could be brought into the Imperium and survive because we both believed that it would be a good idea if the Imperium could actually think about things more logically and clearly when it came to encountering a new xenos species. Blind, mindless hate of everything that isn’t human makes humanity just another breed of ork, only without the green skin.”

“Just because the planet you were raised on is plagued by parasitic creatures you were ill prepared to wipe out and cleanse from the universe doesn’t mean that all non-human life has to be treated the exact same! If they’re such a concern for you, I would be happy to send some men to assist you in ridding the universe of their ilk! They’ve had plenty of experience dealing with those damn gene cults that are still embedded around the place.”

Prometheus advanced a step, his blood boiling. “I do not need your help!” he roared, the beginning of Micholi’s speech left forgotten. “Amn is winning its war! There are entire regiments of the Imperial army with my Neophytes rooting them out, it is just a matter of time.” he seethed for a brief moment before composing himself again. “It is not a blind hatred, merely a justified one your bleeding heart lacks the strength to grasp.”

Micholi… sighed. The frustration and anger fading away completely as his shoulders and face seemed to droop for a moment. “Prometheus, which do you think is harder… to butcher everything in your way without considering such things as if the species you are slaughtering are an actual threat to humanity, or to view them as a species worthy of life and coexistence… but you need to destroy them and everything they hoped and dreamed of being because a zealot in a red robe deems their air conditioning units to be heretek and thus the whole planet must be purged?”

A deep sorrow was in Micholi’s eyes as he just… seemed to deflate just a little. “I do agree that there are xenos species that cannot exist in a peaceful galaxy. The Orks, the Rangdan… the Eldar. But I stand by my conviction that there are those who are close enough to desires and goals to humans that coexistence is possible. I know you disagree with me but… to betray that belief would be to doom humanity and the Imperium to stand alone in an empty, uncaring universe.”

Prometheus nodded as if Micholi had just confirmed something. “I do not take orders from the Mechanicum, their stance on xenos is merely an alignment of ideals.” he glanced towards the door to his chambers a moment. “I do not understand why you waste my time at every opportunity to accept your plague on the Imperium… Get off my ship, else I will have you removed.” Prometheus finished calmly, however there was an edge of threat in his tone.

The brief moment of weakness that Micholi displayed disappeared as he righted himself, returning to the standard diplomatic form he turned to walk towards the door and make his leave now that what had been said had been said. However, just before he got close enough for the door to open, he did pause to look back over his shoulder. “As hard as it might be to believe, I do still respect you. Maybe I am a little too idealistic and having somewhere there to balance that out is a good thing. I also apologize for mentioning Amn… that was a low blow and I shouldn’t have brought it up. I know we don’t have to like each other, but I trust that the agreement still stands?”

Prometheus returned to the holo-table as Micholi walked away and pretended to study it closely as Micholi spoke, though his attention was clearly not on the information before him. “I wish I could say the same” Prometheus said, venom creeping into his words but touched with sorrow. “But, yes. Primarchs are united in all things.”

---

After flying back down to the planet via Thunderhawk, Micholi navigated the sprawling labyrinth of tunnels, eventually finding his way to the subterranean headquarters of the Prefecture Magisterium.

The difference as the twisting corridors gave way to the deadly sleek and military-efficiency trimmed realm was stark. One moment the Primarch of the second legion was surrounded by a tangled maze of pipes and cables winding across every available surface like serpents, and the next he was confronted by a gleaming, polished brass-colored and utterly featureless bastion wall. Set in it was a seamless, solid bulwark door with a simple emblem of the Prefecture Magisterium set inside the Cog Mechanicum, with no evident access ports, activation runes, or interfaces of any kind near it. Two Skitarii standing at attention immediately outside the bulwark stared unerring at Micholi as he approached, and rather than prostrating themselves or bowing, they instead opted for simple and ergonomic single-handed gesticulations, politely acknowledging Micholi’s venerated status as one of the most vaunted and hallowed personnages in the entire universe.

Micholi wouldn’t lie to himself; He much preferred the Skitarii’s bare minimum show of acknowledgement and respect then the pomp that most planets seemed inclined to go with. There was something humble yet respectful about it. To that end, Micholi offered a small bow of his head in acknowledgement, but clearly respecting that by social standings, he outranked them a fair bit. “I trust that Malagra Seydavro is handling his new duties well?” A polite question while being one that would help pass the time slightly as the bulwark of a door would no doubt take some time to open. Security after all required some sacrifice from efficiency after all.

“Malagra Seydavro’s task management profile is not accessible by us at this time.” Was the rote and clipped mechanical answer Micholi received from the Skitarii on the right.

Micholi shrugged. “Fair enough.” He had… well, not forgotten, but briefly considered that he was misremembering just how untalkative Skitarii tended to be. As he waited for the door to open at its grinding pace, he instead decided to ask “Any security issues that I should know about?”

“Members of the Second Astartes Legion were traced and identified infiltrating and subverting Triumph-related network systems. Their ongoing security breach remains unresolved due to their broad immunity to intervention by the Prefecture Magisterium.” Was the equally rote and clipped response from the same Skitarii. Their vox-coder modulated voice had no inflection to speak of, but their choice of words alone carried with it a sense of withering commentary.

Micholi politely waved it off. “They were acting in concert with Usriel and his investigation. Do not concern yourselves with it. They’ll be back to dealing with the orks soon enough.”

The Skitarii continued to stare, unmoving at Micholi. Wondering idly why the door still had not yet opened, the Primarch focused with their preternatural hearing and realized: Absolutely none of the mechanisms in or around the door had activated. It was not opening because nobody had elected to open it from within.

“I believe the door needs to be opened for me to see Malagra Seydavro.” Micholi stated with a mild degree of amusement in his tone.

“Your belief is accurate.” The Skitarii replied with absolutely zero humor. The door did not move.

There was a small nod before he ordered “One of you should inform the Malagra that I’m here then.”

“Malagra Seydavro has confirmed the presence of the Holy Primarch of the Second Astartes Legion.” The Skitarii replied. The door remained shut.

Some Primarchs might have lost their temper as this blatant display on the Skitarii’s part… but instead Micholi just smiled. “I see. Open the door Skitarii.”

“Access granted.” The Skitarii uttered. The door then coolly slid upwards into the ceiling, permitting Micholi access to the corridor beyond. He moved on through, the interior of the Prefecture Magisterium headquarters consisting largely of several subsequent and redundant layers of airlocked bulwarks, all set in the same uniform, sleek-metaled mold, the exact same emblem stamped on every door and with scarcely any other distinguishing features to be seen. A Skitarii had been wordlessly awaiting to guide him to the Malagra’s quarters, offering him the same perfunctory gesticulation before leading him onwards. At no point did the cybernetic soldier lead Micholi through anything resembling an actual room, but instead took abrupt and inexplicable turns at intervals, continuously leading the Primarch of the Second Legion through nothing but one airlocked chamber after another in sequence. Finally, more than twelve chambers deep, the final airlock bulwark slid open and Micholi found himself in Malagra Seydavro’s chambers.

The room was large, but similarly barren in detailing to the remainder of the Prefecture’s headquarters. The back of the room was dominated by Seydavro’s control throne, with what was clearly a master vox-relay and assembly trench situated directly in front of it. Twin cogitator towers rose to either side of the control throne, and the ceiling prominently displayed the emblem of the Prefecture Magisterium once more, while a modest totemic idol of the Omnissiah was poised at the base of the throne. From its makeshift and small appearance, it was clearly Seydavro’s personal shrine, moved directly down from whatever ship he normally served on.

Seydavro himself was, like Szorbulo, a Sicarian, with reverse-jointed legs and four elongated arms. They had not yet built up to their new authority both in the figurative and literal sense, being normally proportioned and diminutive compared to the Primarch, whereas Szorbulo had rivaled the tallest members of Usriel’s honor guard in stature, the only outward sign of their authority being the decorational sigils and traced lines along Seydavro’s robes.

Unlike the Skitarii who had greeted him, Seydavro rose from his control throne and bowed deeply before Micholi, his voxcoder audibly chanting some alien and indecipherable canticle in Lingua-Technis before reverting back to High Gothic.

“Holy Primarch, we are honored by and within your presence.” Seydavro’s voxcoder had a grating, tensed quality to it - like a razor being dragged across strung wire.

Micholi offered a bow in return; Deeper than the one offered to the Skitarii but shallow enough to acknowledge, again the difference in their rank. After all, there was no harm in showing someone the respect their rank deserved. “It is a pleasure to visit Malagra. But I am aware that you are a busy man and we both have our duties to carry out so let us get to the point, shall we?”

Without any fanfare, Micholi presented Malagra Seydavro with the data slate that his team had isolated the Mechanicum based machine spirit that had been located during the investigation. “I must admit a small degree of curiosity to this mystery. Originally my team suspected it was present for purposes related to Primarch Usriel’s investigation, but further reflection suggests this might be independent of that completely.”

Seydavro accepted the Data-Slate and then placed it reverently onto an induction node seated on the edge of his control throne’s armrest. He then wound a mechadendrite that snaked out from around his neck into a nearby access port, and paused for several moments before replying.

“This configuration of Machine Spirit is known to us, Holy Primarch.” Seydavro announced. “It is an ejection remnant. Originally part of a larger, more sophisticated Machine Spirit, it is intended to transfer its Mother Spirit out of its immediate device, erasing and concealing all signs of its activity in the process, which is supplemented by any other applicable active features of the Mother Spirit. It is a powerful tool for secure remote transmission of Machine Spirits, particularly in covert scenarios, with one notable drawback: The presently unavoidable and necessary remnant of the ejecting Daughter Spirit remaining in the original device afterwards, which retains only limited subversive capabilities.”

There was a small noise of confirmation from Micholi. “I see. Then it seems that the Mother Spirit had already run its course and disappeared before my team had even gotten their hands on the slate then. By any chance would you have a bit more luck with figuring out, if not what the Mother Spirit was there to do, at least where it ended up being sent afterwards?”

“No, Holy Primarch. Concealing and destroying that exact data is the primary intended purpose of the Daughter Spirit.” Seydavro answered. “It is not even evident when the Daughter Spirit was activated. Although…” Seydavro tapped the surface of the data-slate where it rested on the armrest. “This other Machine Spirit, it is intriguing. Something similar and yet different, and evidently not of Mechanicum make. It is possible it retained information on the purpose of the Mother Spirit - questioning Prefectus Hodge would likely be the most prudent course of action. Which is unfortunate, as his jaw has reportedly been surgically wired shut, and he has already transferred off-planet and onto a Void Ship that departed the Ullanor system several hours ago, listing medical necessity as justification for his leave of absence.”

There was a small sigh that escaped Micholi as he nodded his head. “That is… not surprising. I suspect you are already aware of the circumstances of why Prefectus Hodge’s jaw needed to be wired shut?”

“Correct, Holy Primarch.” Seydavro answered.

“A very strange circumstance nonetheless. While I can respect his zealous drive to his duty, one cannot help but find it odd how driven he was to try and slow Usriel down with red tape. Alas, this is as far as we can go with this mystery at this time.” Accepting that there wasn’t much more that could be done, Micholi offered a respectful bow to the Malagra before saying “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry that the exact mystery I wanted answered seems to be without a solution at this stage, but it is better to have it confirmed then ponder the unknown. I wish you well on keeping things on track for the Triumph going forward.”

---

The Doomsayer fleet that remained in the system had scattered across its worlds to purge the last remnants of the greenskins, but a central core remained tucked behind the dark shadow of Ullanor Prime's night side. There hung rows upon rows of battle barges and lesser vessels, chief among them the Misericors Sponsus Mors, personal vessel of the Equerry to the Primarch and de facto flagship with the Legion's Gloriana absent. Here, in its quiet anchorage, the mistresses of the XIVth held court among themselves, Equerry and Ladies Commander reviewing the actions of the past day.

"Someone must answer for this farce,” grumbled the taciturn voice of the Fifty-Seventh, to quieter assents by the Ladies of the Thirteenth, Eighty-Ninth, and One Hundred and Eleventh. “To think of the collateral alone, nearly the entire Mechanicum below liquidated. And for what? Glimpses of a plot our vaunted brothers seem to not bother solving?”

“I admit there I erred, and welcome our Mother’s judgement for my transgressions,” Theodora replied, the Librarian wearing only plain black robes. If anyone was on trial, it was her - and paradoxically, her judge. The woman looked up at the soaring seats that surrounded her, the Strategium of the Mors having been fit for a full convocation of the Two Hundred. It sat far less today, the Ladies Commander in their splendor clustered close around the Equerry, Ascania having replaced her armor for robes while still retaining the Death Mask of their Primarch. “It was not my intent to press the Malagra to his breaking point-”

“-merely to make him malleable enough to disclose the identity of plausible suspects, yes,” the quiet voice of the Fortieth finished, the woman letting out a deep sigh. “At very least you succeeded in that, but what are we to do with a Sicarian’s head? It’s not as if we can just reattach it and leave him on his way.”

“What does a Ruststalker matter?” all but spat the Twenty-Fourth. “We have an injured Elucidator, with clear evidence of the Mechanicum spying upon him, and not a word from the Sigilite! Oh, and, lest we forget, unkept promises and rumors swirling around the Fabricator-General himself.”

“And what of Prometheus’ helm?” practically shouted the One Hundred and Ninety Third. “Are the daughters of Terra now nothing more than magpies? Surely you had a plan in mind before committing such an affront, Equerry.” It was not a question, but nor was it blatant enough to be an insult to her office.

“Silence,” Ascania spoke, the word reverberating through the still air of the chamber until it was obeyed. “Our judgement will, by necessity, be unsatisfactory and incomplete upon this day. The pieces are far too fluid, the board constantly changing. Yet what we have learned is thus, and pray, Sisters, listen well to it. Our brothers, as well as their vaunted fathers, have shown themselves to be as brash and impulsive as any other among Mankind. We must not permit ourselves to fall to the same maelstrom of emotion, lest we make similar mistakes. This, I know, our Mother would say.”

Soft noises of assent followed as the Equerry gingerly removed her mask, revealing her face to the makeshift tribunal. Painfully young by the standards of Astartes, easily a century less experienced than the Ladies Commander surrounding her, Yekterina Ascania was well aware that it was solely Daena’s confidence in her that had kept the mistresses of the Chapters listening so far. And that meant little and less with the Primarch now far away.

“I shall now pass my judgement. Each doom shall be voted separately, in accordance with the forms,” she intoned. “Librarian. You have acted rashly and without forethought for the consequences of your actions. You are sentenced to a month of deathseering, and your requested challenge is denied. However. Considering the circumstances at hand, your bloodright is unaffected. Due to the fact that I permitted this to occur, I sentence myself to ten minutes in the pain glove. Let any who would deny this doom speak now.” One by one the Astartes casted their votes, the Librarian’s verdict upheld - with a single thought upon the minds of those who would dissent: one could always add to a punishment later.

“As for the helm of the Primarch Prometheus, our use of it has ended. It shall be returned to him prior to the Triumph, wrought with garlands and presented to him by the Legion’s daughters. Additionally, I sentence myself to an additional two minutes in the pain glove.” Again, the judgement was upheld, a shallow excuse for the theft better than none.

“As for the Elucidator, we shall trust in the Sigilite. The individual in question has successfully extracted from Ullanor, and a replacement shall be dispatched. Or perhaps one shall not. Their Order is not our concern, save for when we are bid to assist them. If Malcador believed we were needed, he would’ve called for us. On the same topic, I formally commend Sister Brynhildr for discovering the so-called Prefectus Hodge’s true identity, and recommend her for bloodright. Were Lord Usriel here, perhaps I would pass a judgement upon him,” Ascania said wryly, a joke that won few smiles, “but that is at least one disaster we played no part in.” What little debate that had occurred on prior judgements was now entirely absent, even the most cantankerous Commander in agreement.

“As for the many and manifold questions swirling about the Mechanicum, judgement is deferred to our Mother,” she began, immediately igniting a firestorm of shouts that she promptly ignored, “but we shall retain all such evidence that she may require.” A tension filled silence replaced the furor as they waited, Ascania knowing full well that how she handled this situation would be her own judgement. “Malagra Szorbulo and Techsorcist Heamiona shall be formally requested to join the Doomsayers as permanent auxiliaries, in the name of Daena io Azrael. Should the former prove receptive of this, he shall be reunited with his body and placed with those among us who adhere the most staunchly to their God. He shall under no circumstances be provoked,” she said, eyes falling flatly upon Theodora. “Additionally, we shall request in Mother’s name a contingent of competent theologians, as it is clear that our distance from such notions as the divine have clouded our judgement. This must not be permitted to occur again. Finally, the Artisan Malchediel will be invited to join us with whatever retinues he may require for his works. It shall be stressed that this is not a requisition.”

The Doomsayers slowly voiced their assent, but none turned to leave. With a grim resolve, the Equerry began her self imposed punishment before the eyes of her peers. The scribes and serfs of the Legion busied themselves preparing the reports for their Primarch, the seal of judgement affixed once more.

---

Even Tech-Priests who had crossed the Crux Mechanicum still occasionally had to bow to the foibles of the mind itself. No matter how much of the flesh was replaced, deep within a root of the original organic neural matter remained. For those Priests whose minds had little in the way of invasive bionic augmentation still had to sleep.

Thus, it was at the closing of the day and the Primarchs' investigation, and Magos Ulbridge had delegated his active duties to his assistant and retired to his quarters. Given the prestige and importance of his position and association, he was one of the few Tech-Priests within the sprawling service tunnels afforded the privilege of a private if modest chamber to himself. The room contained little more than a resting alcove with a personal shrine to the Omnissiah nested within, a cogitator bank, and a work-table with an integral vault. Navigating into the dimly-lit room and securing the door close, Ulbridge swayed placidly in the dark for several moments in thought. He then moved towards the cogitator bank, unfurling two mechadendrites as he went. One reached out, activating the ingress sequence on the activation runes of the table's vault while the other snaked into an access port on the cogitator's underside. A few moments and additional sequenced activation runes later, the lid of the vault cracked open. Ulbridge's mechadendrite surged inside and retrieved an unassuming data-rune. This was promptly plugged into another access port underneath the cogitator bank, granting access to the data stored within.

>One File Directory Found
>"Writ of Clemency", archived 49 days ago_

Ulbridge arranged a number of Machine Spirits and programs to handle the process. The Writ of Clemency would appear be fed to a courier Machine Spirit that would leave the Cogitator Bank and embed in a network relay, segmenting itself and partitioning its metadata logs into a smaller Spirit that would then be cannibalized. The Courier Spirit would then leap directly from the relay up to the Fearful Symmetry in high orbit and be routed to Archmagos Rarnet's office - leaving no data-trail to trace back. For all intents and purposes, the Writ of Clemency would appear to have been transmitted to the Ark Mechanicum by a ghost.

>"Writ of Clemency" Directory Transferred to Courier Spirit OZ87.12-D
>Executing_

Ulbridge disengaged from the Cogitator Bank, removing the data-rune as he did so and promptly crushing it into fine powder between the coils of his first mechadendrite as the second shut the desk-mounted vault. He then turned towards the rest alcove, and started to shift a number of his core systems into a low-power state.

He was immediately and immensely surprised to see Prefectus Hodge standing behind him with a plasma pistol pointed squarely at Ulbridge's face.

"Impossible." Ulbridge's voxcoder clicked plaintively. The portly Administratum drone had made no sound to betray his entry, the door was still closed and sealed, and even as he stood before the Tech-Priest he inexplicably failed to register to the integrated bionic auspex suite the Magos constantly used to surveil his surroundings.

"Not so hard as that. You completely covered any evidence of your network activity and you were reasonably cautious about concealing your involvement with the hardware setup, but you overplayed your social outreach and did not do enough to conceal the existence of your toys from direct examination." Hodge's voice was cracked, low, and stiff - his jaw, which had still been wired shut the previous day, had healed far faster than was Humanly possible but was still evidently recovering. A raw and crimson set of bruises and superficial scarring traced across his jawline, themselves evidence of the miraculous pace of healing as even they were far smaller and more diminished than they had any right to be.

"...I have no idea what you are implyin-" Ulbridge began, only for Hodge to cut him off.

"It was that stunt you pulled with the Primarch in the control that gave you away in the end. Up until that moment you were still only one of my top suspects."

"Investigating? Yo-"

"No need to pretend, Magos. Yes. That would be Elucidator Hodge." The overweight man in the Administratum robes said in an exasperated and impatient tone. "Which you knew long before now. With everything winding down, I have a few remaining questions for you. It is in your best interest to cooperate."

Ulbridge's voxcoder clicked again, followed by a second of silence before he spoke. "Well, if you truly are an Elucidator, I would be pleased to divulge everything I know. However, I have received instruction from the Archmagos not to relay this informa-"

"I will not be showing you any identification, you are not being formally charged or detained, and if you do not cooperate what will happen is I will shoot you and transmute you body into a rapidly flash-vaporizing pile of boiling slag." Hodge interjected dryly. "If you are useful enough, you may live to receive a secret Elucidatum trial for conspiracy to commit high treason and to foment rebellion."

"Absurd!" Ulbridge's voxcoder keened. "That is the most outlandish nonsense I have heard in decades! You have no proof of anything I could have done to that effect!"

"Very well then - a recitation is in order. Perhaps if your master is still somehow listening, this will make them think twice about trying something like this again. But first - sit." Hodge stepped to the side, and gestured for Ulbridge to approach the rest alcove. The Tech-Priest grudgingly crouched and slid into a prone position inside the crevice, glaring balefully at Hodge as they did.

"To begin with, of course, is the matter of Kelbor-Hal's Writ of Clemency." Hoodge began, his voice assuming a recitory if strained tone. "The Order Elucidatum set to tracking it from the moment it was relayed from Mars. The Transmat Link is completely secure of course, but the number of Forge Worlds with astropathic relays proximal to Ullanor was limited, so we immediately knew something was wrong when the Prefecture Magisterium did not stop detaining Tech-Priests. An investigation aboard the Fearful Symmetry revealed the Writ had never arrived, and once we found the relay it was sent from we determined it had been sent directly to one of the planetside network relay nodes, where it was then transferred onto an anonymous data-rune. An anonymous data-rune which we had the configuration specs on due to a nearby omnispex device, which match those of the rune you just crushed a few moments ago."

"That means nothing! That was a standard data-rune, one of thousands used by my immediate staff!" Ulbridge protested.

"Next was the matter of the holo-caster system. You contacted Lexmechanic Kalgehan anonymously via servo skull and promised her and her staff immunity from the Prefecture Magisterium if she did as you instructed. This was not something I discovered myself, but was revealed by the Primarchs during her interrogation." Hodge carried on, completely ignoring Ulbridge's protest. "What I did discover during my own examination was the two second ghost frame you had Kalgehan program into the Triumph pict-schedule. It would not be evident on the first or even by the fifth viewing from the perspective of different remote viewing servitors, but after that it became evident all of the pict-casters being networked together were performing some rather inefficient and unlikely maneuvers at the same abrupt timeframe. Even though you only had a single visual frame omitted for two seconds, due to the sheer breadth of high-fidelity coverage of most of the pict-devices being used to record the Triumph it was inevitable nearly all of them would have to perform some curious and jarring aerial maneuvers to facilitate that omission in coverage. Even a child would have noticed, if they had the patience to watch through a dozen or so different pict-perspectives in a row."

"You have no proof it was me who contacted Lexmechanic Kalgehan!" Ulbridge's voxcoder whirred angrily.

"There is no direct evidence of that, true." Hodge remarked lightly. "However, the Primarchs revealed during their investigation that Kalgehan was contacted by somebody who gave her exacting instructions, and who demonstrated particular knowledge of who she was, who the other Tech-Priests working with the holo-caster were, and their exact work schedules. This immediately ruled out Kalgehan's immediate superior, as they would not have needed to resort to such measures to perpetrate tampering. Then of course, on top of the Holo-Caster's staff being confidential due to its nature as a high-priority aspect of the Triumph systems, they regularly destroyed their own work records and logs, including their publicly accessible registry, to deter arrest by the Prefecture Magisterium. Meaning the only people who could have known those details would have been you or a member of your immediate staff, using the root personnel registry."

"Transmechanic Korvykha, one of the conspirators identified by the Primarchs, was a member of my staff-" Ulbridge started.

"And he was one of my primary suspects for some time on that basis alone." Hodge admitted, interrupting Ulbridge yet again. "I ultimately dismissed him on the basis of the interrogation performed by Librarian Theodora, who revealed that he genuinely believed the rumors of the Writ of Clemency to be false. The rest of his interrogation revealed that his sentiments did not sensibly align with the notion of also being aware of the Writ's concealed existence, as he was motivated out of disapproval of unsanctioned techno-heresy."

"Your logic is faulty! The Librarian's report was not so unambiguous! For all we know he would have done the same even if the Writ had arrived as it should have!" Ulbridge retorted.

"My logic is perfectly rational. After all, by your own report, the vast majority of Mechanicum personnel were reticent to begin reconsecrating the Triumph technology at all until after you began spreading the rumors of the Writ of Clemency's impending arrival." Hodge carried on serenely. "So even those Tech-Priests not part of the conspiracy were unwilling to engage in what was evidently unsanctioned techno-heresy, and Transmechanic Korvykha plainly indicated his primary motivation was to garner the approval of some imagined higher authority."

"Baseless speculation! Supposition derived from scant inference and suggestion!" Ulbridged wailed.

"Then, of course, we come to the matter of the network relay node worked on by Enginseer Armard." Hodge carried on, once more ignoring Ulbridge's outrage. "The Primarchs did not deign to examine any of the devices in the vicinity, much to their detriment, and their line of interrogation with the Enginseer was not directed enough to reveal their presence or purpose. You contacted Armard via a remote servo-skull, exactly as you did with Kalgehan, and instructed him to erect a number of devices for your own purposes in secret. These systems were air-gapped from any kind of connection with the rest of the Triumph network and had no signal-compatible hardware, making them complete black boxes. They were designed to interface with the network relay via a pneumatic mechanism that would have physically joined them to the network relay, causing them to inject a batch of custom Machine Spirits and programming into the Triumph systems while the event was ongoing. Their trigger was nothing more than a timed switch, manually and externally adjustable but already pre-configured to fire exactly forty-one minutes past the nominal start time of the Triumph. Which, interestingly, coincided with the exact timing of the omitted pict-frame in the Holo-Caster system. Armard confirmed that there existed no documentation on these devices when I questioned him, much as there had been none with the Holo-Caster and for the same reasons."

Hodge's voice then turned hard. "Which was why I found it quite odd that your personal cogitator core in the control room had a secure archive with the schematics for the devices themselves stored within them, although the designs for their Machine Spirits and programming remained absent."

"Nothing but fraud!" Ulbridge's voxcoder hissed. "I am not the only one with access to the primary cogitator core! Korvykha-"

"Did NOT have access to it. I checked." Hodge carried on, his voice still stern. "Of course, I too, at the time, could not dismiss the possibility that you were being framed. But what happened next dispelled me of that possibility. You see, unbeknownst to me at the time, some complete bastard had inserted a sophisticated Machine Spirit into my data-slate. This same wretched heap of dreck used this Spirit to send me a priority alert, indicating that the Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion had called for an assembly of the Mechanicum Senior Heads of Staff assigned to the Triumph, and that he had ordered all of their assigned staffs’ work to be halted and all ongoing Triumph operations suspended indefinitely."

Hodge glared wrathfully down at Ulbridge, who did not reply. After a moment, Hodge carried on.

"Of course, that sort of interference, even by a Primarch, could not be tolerated. The Emperor himself was receiving reports on the progression of the Triumph's readiness, and such an act was borderline insubordination to the Emperor himself, even coming from a Primarch. I decided then and there to confront the Primarch and reveal myself as an Elucidator, and to set them back on the right course rather than allowing such a severe disruption. Of course, I never got that far. Later, once I got out of the infirmary, my own Machine Spirit alerted me that the registry I had been shown was not only falsified, but had been erased only moments after the incident with the Nineteenth Primarch."

Hodge glowered murderously at Ulbridge, who remained unspeaking and motionless within the crevice. "Nothing to say now?" Hodge asked icily.

"...What do you intend to do?" Ulbridge asked back.

"As I said, I have questions." Ulbridge replied. "Answer them truthfully and I might permit you to live long enough to be tried in Sol. The first being, how was it that you even knew I was an Elucidator to begin with?"

"...Only from the presence of your own Machine Spirit." Ulbridge answered. "I myself did not know its nature upon spiking your Data-Slate. I made inquiries and received the answer that it was with almost complete certainty a personal Machine Spirit of an Elucidator. I cannot guess as to who the information came from, as it was relayed to me via a secure, remote channel."

"A likely answer." Hodge spat. "And not sufficiently useful for me to humor you. Next - I never did discover what you actually intended to do in that two-second span of time inside of that single frame. My own investigation was abdicated in favor of following along with the Primarchs, and I never had the opportunity to follow that lead."

"...There is an Emanatus Force Field emitter rigged beneath the Triumph causeway within the area of that missing frame." Ulbridge's voxcoder grated out. "Modified to emit a voltaic ablative-kinetic pulse. When the xenos auxila marched by-"

"They would have been flung into the air by a nearly invisible dome emerging from the ground. Or if the procession were delayed or pushed back for any reason, it would have done the same beneath the auxila's main assembly. Pict-recorded evidence would have shown the dome if reviewed carefully enough, but with that single frame of imagery mysteriously missing..." Hodge paused for a moment to mull over the implications. "...the Triumph would have been disrupted by the xenos floundering about haphazardly, with only their word that it had been because some mysterious phantom force had blown them off their feet, with nobody else to witness or corroborate it and no pict-data either beyond recording the xenos stumbling around confused or even as if reacting to an attack with no clear cause."

"The Emitter was rigged to disintegrate upon activation. Digging into the causeway would have just revealed a light fixture." Ulbridge added.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Why in the world would you go to such obscene and bizarre lengths to effect such a petty end? You concocted this entire grand conspiracy in order to momentarily humiliate xenos marching in the Triumph? Why? What possible end does such an inexplicable plot service?" Hodge demanded, genuine confusion spreading across his face. "Why go to such lengths, deceiving multiple Primarchs, getting hundreds of fellow Priests KILLED by deliberately withholding the Writ of Clemency, and conspiring to cripple an Elucidator? Are you insane? Has all common sense abandoned you?"

"...The Logis." Ulbridge's voxcoder almost seemed to sigh.

"...What?" Hodge fired off sharply.

"...Logis Karoa. She is one of us. She did not partake in this plot, but she provided us with our directives and instructions. Had it been up to me I either would not have risked doing anything at all or else endeavored to have the perverse abominations killed, but the prophecies of Logis are not to be ignored. I do not know what purpose humiliating the xenos in such a way would have facilitated. It is possible this entire plot was arranged specifically for me to fail, for you to discover me, and for the xenos to be removed from the Triumph altogether."

"Now who is being illogical?!?" Hodge choked back a faint stammer as he indignantly barked out the rhetorical question. "We know all about the Logis. Their 'prophecies' are compelling, but even they do not have such esoteric and schizophrenic paths."

"On this we are agreed, Elucidator. I was compelled to act regardless." Ulbridge answered. "I can only speculate as to the purpose of her instructions. All I know is that, whatever the scope and consequence of what has been done here, it was necessary."

"Necessary for what?" Hodge demanded.

"The abolition of the Edict of Tolerance? The protection of the Mechanicum? Perhaps even the censure of the Mechanicum, in some far-ranging bid to ensure its even further-reaching prospects?" Ulbridge's voxcoder had taken on a speculative if quietly reverent intonation. "I am not a Logis, Elucidator. Do not ask me to speculate as to their mysteries."

"Very well. My final question then. Logis Karoa - am I to believe this entire plot is ultimately to fall on her head?" Hodge asked.

"...No. As you have stated, this entire chain of circumstance is filled with absurdity. I think what is most probable was the Logis was directed to calculate an outcome that would service some unforeseen objective.”

"And who would have delivered her this objective? Archmagos Rarnet?"

"No. He is uninvolved in all of this. The order would have come from within the Holy Synod of Mars, a particular sect within it that is."

"Hm." Hodge mused. "Well. I cannot deny that you have been cooperative. As cooperative as I could have hoped." Ulbridge's bionic eyes alit almost hopefully.

"But I would still have preferred answers with actual, sensible direction to them. You have informed me of little I did not already know, and have quite successfully convinced me that further interrogation would yield little to no additional information, Magos Ulbridge. I therefore..."

Magos Ulbridge's entire mechanical body tensed and then lunged at Hodge where he stood, only for Hodge's plasma pistol to roar as it unleashed a tremendous burst of incandescent power, erupting from its barrel in a crowning blastwave that cast itself across the Tech-Priest, briefly outlining their entire body in stark and merciless illumination before the entirety of it seemingly crumbled and flittered away like motes of ash in the wind.

The plasma blast shot through the alcove in the wall, searing a small hole in the back wall. The molten stumps of Magos Ulbridge's bionic legs, all that remained of him, tumbled over onto the floor with a dull thud.

"...sentence you to summary execution for the gravest of crimes against the Imperium of Man and the Emperor of All Mankind." Hodge declared blithely as he checked the plasma cell reflexively.

When the Prefecture security detachment arrived three minutes later to investigate the detected energy discharge, they found nothing there. Not Hodge, nor Ulbridge's legs, nor any sign that anybody had even been in the room, save for the plasma scoring inside the rest alcove.

LoZ: Age of Darkness (Closed & Moved to New Int Check)

With the King and Queen dispatched only one direct, clear member of the royal family remained.

This deep into the castle and considering the length of the trial of blood that was noticeably being left behind as it dripped off his body being beyond what would normally be expected from the Royal Executioner, Grindan had made the tactical decision to abandon the concept of trying to pretend that he was still loyal to the now empty crown of Hyrule. While he had yet to encounter anyone as he made a quick pace towards the chambers of the Princess, he was fully prepared to cut them down as he went.

Tied to his belt to serve as both a grim trinket to demoralize any solders encountered as well as save himself the trip of having to return to the Royal bedchamber to claim the trophy was the severed head of the former Queen of Hyrule, her face frozen in an expression of pure horror as her mouth hung open in an endless scream that would never be heard. Surprising to some, despite the jagged nature of the cut that disconnected her head from her body, the face was remarkably untouched; No brushing, cuts, blood stains or damage to speak of, allowing for easy recognition even as the severed head swung from his belt by her beautiful, long hair.

It was as the pair of them neared the Princess' chambers that the signs of struggle and corpses started to appear. Servants mostly but with the odd solder, normally found in pairs. Those Grindan had sent in advance had taken his words to heart... or what counted as such in the undead skeleton warriors. Arriving at the Princess' door, it was wide open and the room within clearly displayed signs of battle... but there was no blood or fleshy corpse to be found. All three of the 'knights' lay broke on the floor, their bones largely kept together solely by the armor they wore.

The armor itself intact for the most part, but looking them over it was easy to see where singular, powerful strikes had landed that bypassed the armor and resulted in the doom of the undead warriors within. The professional handy work of the Sheikah, likely Impa herself if he was any judge. After all, Princess Zelda was long gone without a trace.

A frustrating situation but... not completely unexpected. Of all the Sheikah Grindan had met over the years, Impa was among the most forward thinking of her peers; It would not have surprised him in the slightest that once the attack of the town had started or possibly even at the first report of an army moving in the field that Impa had disappeared the young princess out of the castle and away from the future battle to safety. An overreaction fueled by paranoia some might say but... well, the King and Queen were dead and the Princess safely out of his reach. If she escaped castle town and Ganondorf's forces remained to be seen, but there was likely little he could do about it now.

With a sigh he turned, not addressing the companion as they started the trek back towards the war room. He had a head that he needed to collect... and then a defending garrison force that needed to be informed that the war was already over and there was little point in them continuing to fight.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Year: 000.M31

The Aftermath of the Ullanor Crusade

The destruction of Urlakk Urg’s remaining forces took little time indeed. With their leader dead at the Primarch Prometheus’ hands, the remaining Orkish forces were routed with contemptuous ease, as many of them falling to the axes and guns of their fellows as were slain by the might of humanity’s hammer of Armsmen and Astartes alike.

In due course, and with the dutiful scouring of each planet by the Imperial Army and the Legio Astartes - in particular the women of Daena io Azrael’s Doomsayers - not a spore of Orkish DNA could be found anywhere in the Ullanor System. It was said, therefore, that the Orks as a species could never threaten the Imperium so seriously again: its might was too vast, and no Waaagh! of significance could hope to form with the galaxy under the Emperor’s gaze. The greatest victory the Imperium had known to date, outshining even the Rangdan Genocides in scope.

With this, then, the Emperor declared that a great triumph would be held, on the very planet that had once been the Warboss’ center of power. It was to be renamed as Mundus Tropaeum on all galactic maps and records of the Imperial Tithe; it would be a trophy world dedicated to the victory of the Imperium over the Orks of Ullanor; and the celebrations to take place would bear humanity’s mark like nothing else could, an Imperial march beyond comprehension of any one mind.

Before such could come to pass, though, it first had to be remade. The next year of the planet’s existence would be dedicated to this task: the Mechanicum brought its full power to bear, sending forth geoformer platoons, with world-engines and mobile stone-burners and countless servitors, prisoner-slaves, and thralls, to reshape the very world in the wake of the devastation that had been wrought, an entire continent flattened for the occasion. As the centerpiece: a highway of solid granite, smoothed to perfection and crafted 5 kilometers wide and 500 long, with the skulls of countless Orks lining its edges all the way down the path, and Promethium lanterns fitted to cast light across all its surface. And at its far end, a mountaintop citadel of black marble and granite, crafted on Terra and transported piece by piece to its resting place on the newly-dubbed trophy world. A fitting pavilion for the Emperor, Primarchs, Council of Terra, and other members of the Imperial nobility.

In another time, this would have been the end of it. A march of armed forces greater than any that would be seen before or since. Yet, in this era, there were complicating factors in play - and discussions that needed to take place before the triumph’s eventual order could be planned.

---

Year: 001.M31

Before the Triumph of Ullanor

The room that had been created to host this discussion had been carefully constructed. It had to be large and stately due to the fact that there would be several Primarchs attending in person to have a meeting with each other alongside the possible presence of the Emperor himself if he decided to attend to the matter personally. It also had to be absolutely secure; The range of topics that the Primarchs might have needed to discuss privately among themselves were wide and many of them required the highest of clearances to even know about, let alone be informed of the details.

There was also the matter of the unofficial rule for meetings between the Primarchs: While in the public eye, the Primarchs needed to show a united front. The Primarchs could not be seen publicly fighting or undermining each other because that would in turn undermine and weaken the Imperium and the chain of command. In private all bets were off, provided they refrained from actually killing each other.

As he sat in a chair designed for him, Micholi’s expression was that of feigned ignorance. He was well aware of why one of his siblings would have called this meeting and the matter that was going to be discussed, but he was more than happy to leave some wiggle room to be surprised by something else taking the floor. There were other matters that were important that they might have wanted to discuss after all.

As the door was sealed, there was a moment of pure silence in the chamber before Micholi decided to break it with a simple “I believe everyone is here. Shall we begin?”

Prometheus leaned forward his annoyance plain to see, something nearly unprecedented for those who know the Primarch. He sighed heavily. “To the heart of the matter then, I'll not have Xenos in the Triumph, it is not for the likes of them. However… I know that you will argue this matter in your ‘oh so reasonable’ manner until the last star burns out.” He stated matter of factly. “But... to what lengths would you go to force this issue I wonder?” he asked, his tone on the edge of threat.

Micholi’s face was blank of emotion as he turned to look at Prometheus. His words were calm and collected, but there was a finality to them that gave them weight. “As far as I need to, brother.”

Further annoyance crossed Prometheus’ face briefly. “I thought as much, I suppose then we shall be in this room forever arguing like ancient and senile senators,” said the Primarch dryly.

There was a small nod. “Indeed. So what is it going to take to get you to stand aside and allow proud veterans who have fought, killed and lost comrades in the service of the Imperium to take part in the Triumph without complaint or issue?”

“Without complaint? Even our father could not order such a thing. That said…” Prometheus began to outline a series of accomplishments and records of such exemplary standing that no unit in the Imperium could hope to achieve. “Those are the only Xenos worthy of attending.”

Micholi took a moment to look through the list that his brother was offering. The standards would be rather steep and would clearly reduce the number of xenos soldiers able to take part to a massive degree… but by cherry picking those individual soldiers who met the standards he could put together at least a squad of what would be some of the Imperium’s best and brightest. Pondering for a moment and looking through a data slate of his own, he slid it over the table to Prometheus.

The data slate offered some additional accomplishments and records that were clearly not on Prometheus’ list, but shared a similar theme; namely, all awards were acknowledgements of the saving of human life to various degrees. “While generally not as well remembered as those soldiers who take down great enemies or capture important objectives, I would argue that promoting those soldiers who have proven themselves via the protecting and saving of human life would still be acceptable to your beliefs.”

Prometheus frowned as he read through the data, It was a restrictive list to be sure, few would meet such a standard. However, these were soldiers, not aid workers, and a celebration of valor was the whole point of the Triumph. “Your list… certainly has a theme, and I am not so unreasonable as to not consider it. My concern is your list does not contain a single medal of heroism, valor, or even combat excellence. Any medicae in the Imperium could attend. Without unit distinctions of valor, their presence is unwelcome.” He concluded while sealing off the option of picking individuals of distinction.

“Would it truly be so terrible for us to offer the doctors, healers and medics of the Imperium the same honor and respect that we offer to its warriors?” Micholi asked with a surprising, if minor amount of good humor. Shaking his head slightly as he chuckled, he let out a sigh. “Very well… if these are the standards that you are going to impose on all units of the Imperial Army to attend, then so be it. If nothing else, it will ensure that only the best of the Imperium are in attendance.”

Prometheus simply scoffed at the implication that medics are not deserving of honor, obviously that is not what the Triumph celebration is about. Otherwise he remained silent on the matter, allowing his brother the petty barb.

“We are discussing Xenos, not the Imperial Army,” he said evenly as if this point had already been concluded.

“Are we?” Micholi asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked at Prometheus was something of amusement. “They are a part of the Imperial Army. Proudly serving the Imperium that they are a part of just like any other squad, regiment or otherwise. Yet, you would reject their contributions as if they were incompetent or their actions dishonorable and unvalorous. If anything, they have fought and worked twice as hard as most human squads to get a fifth of the recognition and respect.”

Prometheus leaned back and stared at the ceiling, Micholi’s praise of Xenos falling on deaf ears. Perhaps there is another solution, he thought to himself, a bit underhanded perhaps but would serve the same purpose. Finally he shrugged. “Fine, in that case the Xenos must be situated in the rear of the Triumph,” he said, seemingly conceding that all units in the Imperial Army would be held to a similar standard as the Xenos. Though, he had no intention of following such a requirement, nor would any general in his favor need concern themselves with it. The Triumph celebration would be filled regardless. The Xenos though, they would necessarily fall under more scrutiny.

A small smile graced Micholi’s face as he answered “That is acceptable,” to his brother, even though he already had plans of his own settling into place to ensure that any... incidents were kept to a minimum going forward. With one of the bigger obstructions out of the way, he turned his head to gaze over and see if any other concerns were going to step forward and let themselves be heard now.

“Be lucky that Prometheus is more amenable than I, Micholi. Were it my choice, only the beings in the Triumph would be those of the Legions,” chimed Usriel, looking at Micholi. While his features were blocked by the helmet he wore, it could be easily deduced that he was scowling at the choice of the Primarch he had fought side by side with.

“And I thank you for your even handed approach Usriel.” was the surprisingly simple answer the scowling defender would get in return from Micholi.

A dark-armoured figure stirred in the shadowed zone at the further end of the room. Though he had returned to the system in preparation for the Triumph, Sarghaul had been remiss to attend the meeting in person. The Tartarean Primarch instead preferred to withdraw in meditation to the more remote battlefields of the system, still bleak and scarred from the titanic conflict that had been waged over them. In his stead, he had appointed one of his gene-sons to act as the Ninth Legion’s voice at the gathering. Elder Manceps Nuvornal, an overseer of abyssal war-beasts, had until then remained in the gloom as was the habit of his kind, but presently he moved a step ahead. Though he was dwarfed by the sons of the Emperor, there was something unnerving in his silence, only occasionally broken by fragments of churning breaths.

“Lord of the Second,” he inclined his head in a formal, if dry display of reverence as he addressed Micholi, “My progenitor bid me pose you this question in the presence of your brethren. If your inhuman auxiliaries have not fought for Ullanor, why should they reap its honours?”

Micholi sighed a little at the question posed by Nuvornal before answering “Because the Triumph isn’t just about Ullanor. It’s a chance for the Imperium to celebrate its best and brightest in general. After all, I’m guessing that your Primarch is not intending to exclude those Abyss Lurkers who came to assist my forces at Laeran just because they weren’t fighting orks here.”

The Manceps nodded again. “He shall hear your words,” he replied in the same dull, toneless voice as he withdrew once more.

“If this convocation of the holy and most high sons of the exalted and ineffable Omnissiah would, in their limitless grace, please momentarily recognize the voice of Archmagos Rarnet.” The heavily distorted crackle of a tech-priest’s voxcoder burbled. The speaker was one of the Mechanicum’s tech-priests, a veritable army of which had been sent to service and manage the technical aspects of the Triumph. Primarch Augor Astren, who was not in attendance and who had broached no objections, had offered his seat at the table to the Mechanicum’s representative - as evidently, the Mechanicum itself had an opinion or two on how the Triumph was to be held. “I have been charged with the organization and deployment of all blessed simulacra and other servitor-mediated functions and facets of the Triumph. I have a pertinent report of concern slash note slash condition contingent line errors regarding the xenos legions. In keeping with the most righteous and venerated doctrine, I will begin reciting the preface of my report; the most sacred of addresses of your peerless personnages and the glories and honors due to you. Estimated time to completion is four hours, thirty-three minutes, twelve seconds, and fourteen millisecon-”

“Forgive me Archmagos, but while I cannot speak for my brothers, for the sake of time I will humbly request that you forego my titles, glories and honors.” Micholi offered politely. He did offer his siblings the chance to speak for themselves if they wanted the Mechanicum’s representative to flatter and praise them or not. “But otherwise you are acknowledged, feel free to address what is concerning you.”

The Archmagos’ voxcoder seemed to whir, click, and buzz for several seconds - perhaps the mechanical savant’s equivalent of a hesitant pause. “Doctrine does not require continued recitation minus complete fidelity to the breadth of all that is most glorious in its knowing. If there are no objections I shall proceed with my report.”

He waited pointedly for several moments for an objection that did not come before continuing.

“Oh holy of holies, Primarch of the Second Legion. Amongst the many Tech-Priests and others of our order who contrive and toil to make the Triumph possible, there has been unsettling discussion regarding the inclusion of your xenos legions. Inferences and suggestions of a plot to humiliate and degrade these exemplars of the lesser peoples under the infinite eyes of the Machine God, with automated dispensation of decaying produce and vegetative matter; reconsecrated holo-projection and transmission to either censure or else deface high-fidelity imagery of the same, etcetera, etcetera. While the speculated number of known and unknown actors in this matter are few, their numbers are great enough and the likelihood of their acting is high enough that it warrants due warning. The Prefecture Magisterium has already been alerted, and have issued an advisory that they are disinclined to investigate or prosecute as such conspiracy does not violate Mechanicum dogma.”

For a moment, Micholi looked at the Archmagos with a cool expression… before he nodded his head. “Archmagos Rarnet, I would first like to say that your dedication to the Omnissiah, though I personally will address its aspect as the Emperor, does you great credit. However, while I find your warnings and concerns of agents of the Mechanicum letting their personal feelings get the better of them within the realms of expectation, the news that the Prefecture Magisterium are intending to turn a blind eye to this matter is something of a concern.”

“After all, the Emperor is well aware of my intention to allow my Xenos legions take part in the Triumph and has made no objection to it. In fact, this Triumph is personally being overseen and the final approvals go to him. So the fact that the Prefecture Magisterium is ignoring reports that there are members of the Mechanicum who are actively planning to interfere and sabotage an event designed to capture a fraction of the glory of the Imperium, Mechanicum and the Emperor combined is… well, utter neglect.”

“The second of the holy sons and daughters of the unfettered and immaculate Omnissiah is most wise and astute in his observations.” The Archmagos bowed so low so quickly that he nearly slammed his metal-plated forehead against the top of the great table the gathering was seated around. “The crux of the issue is one of great doctrinal argument and theological debate. The suspected actors are not behaving in good faith; they plan and conspire to such ends preemptively due to base and errant emotional fallacies. However, their supposed justification - which evades review, as they do not prostrate themselves before their betters to explain it as would be proper - is that the Omnissiah’s permission has not been expressly presented, as inclusion of the xenos legions is a right afforded to you by your most venerable and sacred of stations rather than a matter requiring the Omnissiah’s leave. The Prefecture Magisterium has no authority to castigate or consign such behavior; to act so would be in breach of their function. It is the Mechanicum’s recommendation that the Administratum and the Arbites be tasked with such instead, as their authority covers a breadth the Magisterium’s does not.”

“I see…” Micholi muttered quickly before taking a deep breath. “I confess, Archmagos, that under normal circumstances I would prefer to find a solution in which the Mechanicum policed itself. While I and my siblings are well aware of the respect and reverence that your organization places upon us, we are also aware that our positions and the requirements of the Imperial Truth that apply to us make our involvement with internal affairs of the Mechnicum… rather complicated. Might I ask your opinion on how the Treaty of Mars might interfere with the Administratum and Arbites handling this matter rather than allowing an internal branch of the Mechanicum handle this instead?”

“Highest and most glorious child of the chosen peoples, it is this humble Archmagos’ opinion that the Treaty of Mars would not represent a substantive obstacle to investigation and prosecution of these malfeasant actors.” The Archmagos’ voxcoder then fell into a series of low-pitched hums and clicks that subsisted for several seconds before continuing. “To be completely transparent however, I must forward warning that any external investigation, recommended by our most sacred institution or no, is unlikely to discover or deter the perpetrators due to rampant and obstructive emotional sentiment amongst the Triumph’s many operators. It is thus my personal recommendation that the only ward against such activity is not to tempt it. Though of course, your decision, just and total in its magnificence, is unquestioned as your sole and absolute right as a venerated emission of the Soul of the Omnissiah.”

“If I may,” Usriel began, looking to the Archmagos, “Should these actors go forth with what they are planning, it would be a slight against the Omnissiah. This is a time to celebrate him, the victories he has brought forth to us all as a whole. Send a warning, that if anything be attempted, that I shall investigate the matter personally and bring justice upon them. That should be enough to ward many away.”

“Noblest and high-anointed nineteenth child of the Omnissiah,” Rarnet began, “Your reasoning is most peerless in its foresight, most crystalline and flawless in its structure, and doubtlessly reflects the infinite encompassment of all knowledge that is the Machine God. Such a measure would be efficacious. If you possess such willingness, begging your forgiveness for such impudence as to suggest action not considered prior, might you be willing to begin a preemptive investigation at the closing of this most sacred of convocations? The direct hand and presence of the Omnissiah’s children in the warding of such a matter would have great and immediately observable effect on such schemes and could feasibly waylay them entirely.”

After letting the question hang, the Primarch of the Steel Sentinels cast his gaze back to the Archmagos, “If you deem it wise for a preemptive investigation then I shall do so, wise one. Further, I would ask you to assist me in such an endeavor, if you’d aid me.”

The Archmagos replicated the first bow that had almost slammed his head into the table. “Holiest of holy champions, it would be my boundless joy and pride to assist you personally in this endeavor. May the Omnissiah beneficently grant us clarity and foresight unparalleled.”

Micholi carefully rose from his seat at the table, taking a deep breath as he calmly started to walk towards one of the nearby walls in thought. As he listened to Usriel’s suggestion and… actually took comfort in the fact that his brother would have his back on this, if for no other reason then because he wouldn’t let some upstart tech priests try to make a fool out of the Imperium. However, there was a way out of this situation in which a minor purge wouldn’t have to happen, there wouldn’t be a risk of the Triumph being sabotaged and the driving issue that forced this conversation in the first place would be kicked down the road.

Asking his question aloud for anyone in the room to answer, Micholi asked “How many of the forces currently assigned to take part in the Triumph were actively a part of the campaign for Ullanor? What percentage of it belongs to other Imperial forces who are being honored for their actions and achievements elsewhere?”

“Because while I could never stand for any member of the Imperium whom had fought and earned the right to be acknowledged for their achievements, if the Triumph truly was dedicated solely for those who took part in the campaign for Ullanor then… it would be utterly rude of any of us to try and slip in forces that hadn’t taken part.” Letting this hang in the air for a moment, Micholi turned to face his brothers and the representative Archmagos. “Of course, for this to hold weight, only forces that took part in the campaign for Ullanor can take part in the Triumph.”

Usriel silently looked over to Micholi, uttering his words, “There were many of the Mechanicum that took part in the campaign for Ullanor, too many to accurately count. It is likely that whoever is a part of the plot has connections or was a part of the campaign. Your thinking is with flaw, Micholi. You look to those outside and not the ones already within.”

Micholi took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “You’re right brother. For a moment, I let my concerns about ensuring that the Triumph happened without issue get the better of me. Even if we had accepted my compromise, it would not have fixed the bigger issue at play here. At best, it would have just kicked it down the road to be dealt with later. If you’ll have me, I would be happy to volunteer my time towards aiding your investigations however I can.”

“How well versed are you in the Canticles of the faith, Micholi?” Usriel inquired, his hidden face looking over to the other primarch.

“I suspect there are many that I have not been made aware of. However, the Night Watch is trained to be able to recognize situations where others can perform underhanded tasks.”

“Then should I require your aid I shall call upon it, for the time being, it may be best that I handle it myself as to avoid provoking any unnecessary issues,” Usriel said coldly before gesturing over to the Archmagos. “After all, I’m sure the Mechanicum would not like Astartes in their affairs. That said, I’m sure you yourself would provide an excellent unbiased thought in the situation as I had, like Augor, been raised with the Mechanicum’s beliefs.”

Micholi offered a respectful nod as he returned to his seat. “I will leave the matter in your capable hands then.” If he was talking to Uriel, the Archmagos or both of them at once was anyone’s guess.

Prometheus leaned forward once again. “A point has been raised several times that bears further exploration. Your Xenos did not fight on Ullanor, and there are elements of the Mechanicum that might try something against them. Furthermore, I know many Imperial Army units are not fond of the aliens. There are no plans I am aware of, but soldiers can get carried away, especially during celebration or if intoxicants have been found.” The Primarch rubbed at his chin in thought giving the appearance of deep consideration.

“It may be prudent to ensure that only those forces that participated at Ullanor attend, none of us would want an embarrassing incident to occur,” mused Prometheus, which would have the added bonus of possibly excluding the Night Watch Legion from attendance. He truly did not want an incident to happen, a drunken brawl or fire fight between a xenos and imperial army unit would be hard to hush up and ignore, especially with the Edict’s architect in the system.

Micholi shook his head at Prometheus’ words, even if they were merely raising the very compromise that he had suggested moments before. “Prometheus, Usiel has raised a point of grave concern. I have always known that the acceptance of Xenos races into the Imperial fold was always going to be a matter of contention. The fact that we’re having this meeting to begin with is clear evidence of that… but while one always needs to keep the emotional heart of humanity in mind, the Imperium demands a level of professionalism from its members.”

“It is one thing to hold negative opinions on the Edict of Tolerance or the Xenos races accepted by it; we could argue its flaws and merits between us for years in this very room and while I may disagree with all three of you on a number of matters, I would like to believe that there is enough mutual respect and professionalism between us not to let such disagreements effort our work towards the Crusade or spill out into the public eye. This organized group of Mechanicum personnel are fully prepared to sabotage an Imperial Triumph organised and attended by the Emperor himself because they have chosen to pursue their petty grudges over the good of the Imperium and the relationship between the Imperium and Mechanicum.”

That last point caused him to turn his attention towards the Archmagos. “After all, even if these individuals are working by themselves, they are still members of and represent the Mechanicum. Mechanicum personnel sabotaging an Emperor attended event would be a political incident. The last thing we all want is a rift between Earth and Mars forming…”

The Archmagos’ vox-coder clicked, exactly once. This was then followed by a pause of precisely two seconds before the Archmagos answered, during which a flurry of vox-hails rebounded between him and several other members of the Mechanicum delegation. Though such a pause would have been well in keeping with baseline Humans, or even with most augmented Humans - it was telling for such a high-ranking member of the Mechanicum. Especially here and now, at that very meeting, regarding that specific topic.

“Agreed.” Rarnet buzzed. “Though of course, it goes without saying that if no Xenos Legions are present at the march, no such incident is predicted to transpire. As I have said. The hallowed nineteenth Primarch’s pending investigation notwithstanding, the most immediate and efficacious deterrent to such a calamitous mishap would, as stated prior, be to not tempt it.”

“True, but if these individuals are prepared to let their own agendas take precedence over that of the greater Imperium and Mechanicum that is an issue that needs to be addressed and if the Xenos Legions are no longer a presence in the Triumph, then they will simply slip back into the rank and file until another time. After all, if there is no need for their plans to be acted upon, they will likely just delete them and finding any evidence at all of who was involved would be next to impossible.”

Micholi paused for a moment to let that sink in, before suggesting a plan. “For the purposes of Usriel’s investigation, for the time being we need to keep the Xenos involvement in the Triumph. If they are uncovered in the process of the investigation and thwarted then there isn’t going to be an issue… but for the sake of stability, if the Triumph draws close and we are not in a position to deal with this situation I will reluctantly withdraw the Xenos from the line up, alongside those forces who fought at Laeran. Publically it will simply be a matter that the Triumph was for those who fought at Ullanor and had nothing to do with this offshoot of Mechanicum personnel.”

“That does not change that I will investigate the matter,” came Usriel’s stern voice, “A plot to undermine the Triumph, and the Emperor, is still a plot regardless of whether it comes to fruition. I have dealt with enough rebellion to know how such courses go.” The Nineteenth Primarch looked between Prometheus and Micholi before stating, “I say allow the xenos, those who showed up later in the campaign for Ullanor, even if located at the very back. Those who would play their hand will do so or they shall not, depending on whether I can curtail this. It will show us who is loyal to the Emperor and his victories, and who is not.”

Prometheus frowned slightly at Usriel. “A plot is unfortunate to be certain, but is it a crime if nothing ever comes of it? Besides, I raised another concern in that the Imperial Army troopers may, in their excitement, cause trouble. We all know soldiers fight or bicker amongst themselves, and if their blood is up death or serious injury is a possibility. With xenos this would be doubly true, there is little love for them among most of the Imperial Army. Would you suggest removal of all Imperial Army regiments to protect your precious aliens?”

Micholi looked at Prometheus for a moment as if what he said was the most naive, silly thing he had heard come out of his brother’s mouth. “Brother, we are speaking of soldiers of the Imperial Army who are going to be on parade in front of not only the Emperor, but the Imperium as a whole in the present as well as future generations. I am fairly confident that, even if the average soldier somehow didn’t understand the importance of showcasing their discipline and being on their best behavior for this occasion, there is a long line of officers, NCO’s and discipline masters who will want to make damn sure that the reputations of their respective units and regiments, as well as their own, are not tarnished.”

“Assuming they themselves do not hold similar conspiracy in their hearts, noble Primarch,” Rarnet interjected. “Remember that the Imperial Army, while stringent and dutifully capable warriors, are made of a more common proverbial clay. These are not lawmakers nor zealous adherents to any faith. If Tech-Priests would fail to fully realize the scope of their responsibilities here in the Triumph, even the upper echelons of the Imperial Army may fall prey to similar sentiment.”

Micholi did have to concede the point a little, but he quickly countered “Oh, I fully suspect there would be many that would love to have the excuse of friendly fire to cover their actions. The difference between the Imperial Army in this circumstance and the Tech-Priests who are so concerned is that of anonymity. The Tech-Priests, while we intend to unmask them, have the benefit of being so distanced from the results of their actions that they might escape the consequences of them. Any soldier that started a shoot out or brawl during the Triumph wouldn’t have that benefit and there would be dire consequences for not just them, but the rest of the unit and regiment they were a part of. Doesn’t matter if the targets are xenos or other soldiers in this regard.”

“I certainly doubt any soldier would act so rashly while any of us are on the podium much less our father, my concern with the army is before or after the parade itself there will be plenty of time for an unfortunate situation. Will you deploy and remove the xenos as a lightning strike team?” Growled Prometheus, his frustration growing.

“Enough,” Usriel said, annoyance now clear in his voice before looking to Prometheus. “Prometheus, I have fought side by side with you, our sons died side by side. Consider, just this once, to end this nonsensical discussion. The xenos, before or after the parade, is none of our concern, only the concern of their commanding officers.”

He allowed a beat of silence before looking to Micholi, “I care not for the xenos, but this discussion has gone far enough and taken up too much of our Emperor’s time. After all, I doubt he cares about our squabbles.” Still looking at Micholi, he walked behind Prometheus before clasping a hand on his shoulder, “This is a time for celebration. A time of praise for Imperial victory as deemed by the Emperor himself. Enjoy yourselves lest you turn out like me.”

Micholi did not say much in response to Usriel’s words. Instead, he respectfully bowed his head and answered “Understood and well spoken.” before turning to look at Prometheus and the other representatives. “Before we adjourn, are there any other matters that anyone feels need to be raised while we’re all here?”

The armrest of Prometheus’ chair cracked as his frustration was taken out upon it, “Take your victory, but know you will make few friends forcing the edict down their throats.” he said gravely before he rose and left the room ignoring any departing words from Micholi.

As the contentious conversation finally drew to a close, a lone figure sat silently in her seat, having watched the proceedings impassively. Bound by duty and protocol, she remained as the quarreling demigods fell silent and left the room, listening to their parting shots with the same disregard that she had held the entire debate in. Girded from head to toe in finely wrought power armor, with a bone white death mask carefully sculpted onto her helm as a symbol of her office, Daena’s Equerry appeared to be a perfectly impassive figure, cast in the same mold as her gene-mother.

This was a carefully constructed lie, Yekterina Ascania having gained a newfound appreciation for her Primarch’s dramatic flourishes. She had been warned by no less than Daena herself that her assignment on Ullanor would test her beyond her limits, but she nonetheless found herself completely unprepared to witness the bickering of her “uncles”, the young woman - by Astartes standards at least, the Equerry barely into her second century - grateful beyond words that her expression had been hidden. Utterly concealed by a beautiful depiction of Daena’s face in the serene repose of death, it was unlikely anyone paid her any heed. Which was exactly as intended, the woman having been ordered to observe and report on the activities of the other Primarchs in their seclusion. Her first missive would be more eventful than she had anticipated.