A Lifeboat Adrift (Stellaris x Warhammer 40k)

Rogue Trader. Two words that meant so many things to so many people. For the common masses of the Imperium, they were trailblazing pioneers that brave the dangers of the galaxy to bring the Emperor's Light to yet-undiscovered worlds. To planetary governors, either a source of endless headaches and nightmares of frivolous demands or a rival power, to be judged, measured, and tested as seen fit whether to be grouped as an enemy or an ally. To the Inquisition and its members, a useful disguise oft used to the point of seeming parody and even flipped on its head with Rogue Traders in turn pretending to be Inquisitors to get out of trouble. To Gallianus van Boltaneus, it was a life of unending misery and bad fortune one after the other.

He sat now on his command throne, the supposed seat of his power, the symbol of his worth as a Rogue Trader, and yet the glories had passed him by. Where once it was the peak of comfort and luxury, no sign of that former glory could be seen now, with its bare padding and no decorations bare with the littlest padding and no decorations save those made by the Adeptus Mechanicus centuries ago, when the frigate Desperate Luck was brand new and part of Boltaneus grand trade fleet. Of course, even the name his flagship now bore was a far cry from its previous iteration, but Gallianus didn't think Rightful Glory fit the means of a man heading towards destitution.

They were on their way to this system's Mandeville Point, whose name currently escaped the Rogue Trader. For what purpose, one might ask? Why, for the Cold Trade of course, that illegal black market of goods of xeno-make and stranger things. Gallianus found it all as hard as he thought it would be to make it in the business and more. He's made his ends meet, yes, but turning a profit was harder than convincing a Jokaero to listen to you. He's even had to make a break for it once because the Arbites pulled a sting and arrested everybody present. Not that Gallianus himself would get arrested, of course, but it's just a bad look to be caught at all while dealing the Cold Trade, makes one look less reliable to the other Rogue Traders.

"Lord Captain, the Choirmaster humbly requests for your presence at the Astropathic Choir. He says there is a priority message for your ears only." His ship's Vox Master, a newbie whose name he hasn't bothered remembering yet, said as he approached the command throne, steadfastly avoiding Gallianus' gaze out of habit. Almost everyone on the bridge behaved so, since most of them were only recently elevated to their positions due to an… unfortunate accident that befell their predecessors.

Only the Navigator, the Master Helmsman, and the Choirmaster had survived that particular trip through the Warp. The only silver lining was that they'd made excellent time, earning a bonus from the client since the Desperate Luck arrived one week in the past before it went on its journey. Confessor Alamatus has proclaimed it to be a sign of the Emperor's favor upon the ship, which helped somewhat to smooth things over with the lower decks scum and the middle deck peasants. As for the top-decks and officers, well, they know better than to wag their tongues.

But idle hands are the means by which heresies might plant roots, and so they were off soon enough, carrying all the usual cargo a Rogue Trader of his station was used to, as well as something 'extra'. Gallianus had put a good show then, making a fuss about his duty to the Golden Throne and the responsibilities of one that bears the sacred Warrant, while letting his Seneschal, Vagant Korialus, to handle the Cold Trade negotiations on his behalf.

These thoughts and many others accompanied Gallianus as he made his way to the Astropathic Chapel accompanied by several Enforcers and his current beau, a sharp little smuggler with a penchant for knives and and cuts. Her grabby hands made for a pleasant distraction from the tedium of travel, especially with her pleasant little trills and giggles when the Rogue Trader touched her back. None paid the couple much mind, the Enforcers already used to Gallianus' many dalliances with the lesser members of the Imperium. The only saving grace has been that so far, their Lord Captain had seen fit to only take human companions instead of abominable xenos scum.

Entering the Astropathic Chapel has never been a comfortable experience, and this time around was no different. As the venerable elevator descended, a change could be felt as the group passed some invisible threshold. The smuggler attached herself tighter to the Rogue Trader, her teary eyes trying to find comfort in her lover's own. But Gallianus could only offer a shrug and a small smile, patting her head as one might pat an adorable pet.

After a little while more, the group finally reached their destination, the speeding elevator decelerating well beforehand so the group felt hardly a bump as it stopped. The familiar smoke of burned myrrh and frankincense greeted them, candles made from corpsewax burning mournfully as around small shrines for the God-Emperor. Some praying chapel servants saw Gallianus, and the Rogue Trader simply made the sign of the Aquila at them before moving on.

The Choirmaster of Desperate Luck was seated upon a modest organ, slowly playing a piece that seemed to warble and warp the air in ways that made minds itch. His name was Suzurar Gospelmark, a creepy old man not known for making conversation, even with fellow Astropaths. His head turned around even before Gallianus could speak up to announce his presence, Suzurar' empty blindfolded eyes appearing to bore into the Lord Captain. Neither liked the other, but work was work.

The Enforcers had already dispersed around the room, taking up defensive positions to protect their master, which left only the smuggler, attached like a limpet to the Rogue Trader' side, trying her best not to stare at the Choirmaster' empty eye-sockets and failing. With the only way out contingent on her beau' presence, the small woman took measure of herself and gave a small smile at Suzurar, who did nothing but wait for the next part of the ritual to be commenced by Gallianus.

"I am here, Choirmaster. If your tongue will wag secrets into my ears, then be swift about it. I have duties to attend to." The Rogue Trader spoke with the natural haughtiness of one who was born into privilege and expected nothing else. "Oh, yes. Little thing, do be a good dear and hang about somewhere else, but not too far. Your master requires his privacy." With a dismissive wave, he unstuck the smuggler from his side and shooed her away, staring at woman until she gave a small nod and scurried away to orbit the closest Enforcer instead.

"There, now we can begin." Gallianus spoke, readying himself for the message, only to see the Choirmaster shook his head at that, gesturing to the other Astropaths locked in their chairs and chapel servants going to and fro for their duties. With a tight smile, Gallianus let himself be led into a small room off to the side of the central chambers. His Enforcers followed close behind, their eyes scrutinizing the Choirmaster' actions as well as everyone else' with newfound suspicion, though they dared not act unless the situation demanded it or the Lord Captain ordered them.

Inside the small, cramped room, there was only enough space for two chairs and a small table, upon which a cluster of short, fat candles burned on with a slight acrid tinge to its smoke. A slight contaminant disturbing the pure odor of death. Suzurar put out the offending flame with a casual pinch, his thick skin staving off the heat long enough to prevent the burn.

"Impressive. You should be an Infernus." Gallianus remarked.

"In another life perhaps. In this one, I am His devoted servant, blessed by sight beyond sight. But enough idle chatter. A message has come from a nearby Inquisitorial Black Ship, requesting your presence immediately." The Rogue Trader frowned, the beginnings of cold sweat dripping down his neck. Do they know?! His mind almost screamed in panic, though his face remained aloof as ever.

"I see. Where shall we meet them then? Metalica? Chromyd? Duralim? I doubt His Inquisitorial Highness would want to meet way out in the middle of nowhere." As if his words were a cue, a rumbling that was beyond sound clawed at the edges of Gallianus' soul. All around him, his Enforcers shifted uneasily as they too felt the disturbance caused by a hole in reality; a gateway to the Warp torn open nearby. Even as a non-psyker, the Rogue Trader knew what it meant.

While Gallianus panicked, at the Mandeville Point where Desperate Luck was to exit the system, the enormous Inquisitorial Black Ship known as the Libertatis Excommunicatio punched its way out of the Immaterium, followed soon by a fleet of Inquisitorial Cruisers and Escorts. It was a formidable entourage, enough firepower to decimate most foes of the Imperium and lay waste to worlds, and it was all about to bear down on one Rogue Trader' ship.

---

Inquisitor Nantz Palemar sniffed as he entered the hangar bay opened up for his shuttle and retinue to enter the Rogue Trader's ship. Every voidship had their own peculiar smells and tang to it, almost like a fingerprint, and this one smelled of fear. The Rogue Trader's Seneschal had came out to greet them, along with several squads of Enforcers as a kind of honor guard. His name was Rassilas Osmic; a silent, short man by stature, but broad by width, creating the impression of a wall of iron muscles and steel bones. On one of his wrists was a tattoo of the Imperial Aquila, decorated with some cogs of the sacred Adeptus Mechanicum and a serial number scratched out by way of a jagged scar, so old it was nearly invisible. There was a story there, perhaps one Nantz would unravel in due time, but for now, he was more interested in the Seneschal's master.

Accompanying him was one of his Acolytes, Shem Al Saladat, who had graduated from the Scholastia Psykana two decades ago and entered the Inquisitor's retinue five years past. The bald, deeply-tan man bore the sigil of the Inquisition proudly upon his head, distracting most from catching sight of his entirely deep blue eyes Shem bore as heritage of his blood. At times, his mouth would move to mutter several words or phrases in Kolistiach, the ancient tongue of his homeworld that stubbornly persisted despite efforts to engrain Gothic into the populace. He carried a staff found from a dead Imperial world, its previous owner having used the mighty psychic foci within to defy the xenos scum that invaded their worlds one last time. Curiously, a pair of laspistols also hung in holsters tied to a belt, their worn grips evidence of frequent use while their polished sheen spoke of regular care.

There was also Nantz' personal bodyguard, the Death World Veteran Pipo, whose abrasive exterior hid a sharper interior. He was fully encased in jet-black armor reminiscent of the Lucifer Blacks, with the only distinction between him and those fearsome warriors being the Inquisitorial symbols that adorned his armor. A Bolt Pistol was clipped to his right side, while a Power Sword hung from a scabbard on his right. Though he appeared to gaze straight ahead, his eyes were always watching about, judging, evaluating, planning, and preparing for combat.

Magos Archos Uxiln strode close but apart, bearing the red robes of the Adeptus Mechanicum with clear pride even as his many legs clinked against the metal floor like the skittering of a mechanical insect. His mechandendrites were at ease, though the crew didn't know it, content to simply perch atop the Magos' back like vipers coiled to strike. Four technomats trailed after the venerable Magos, their enhancements considerably lesser by comparison, but by no means less unnerving to look at as they glared at any errant peasant that dared to keep their heads up for too long.

And rounding up the group was the only woman, towering over the rest save for the Magos, holding up a Bolter before her like a woman carries her child. She was clad in Power Armor, bedecked in the symbols of her Order; the Order of the Holy Word. There was the burning Aquila, sitting upon the brow of a human skull, jaws open wide to reveal a single three-petaled black lily with gold streaks on each petal; a reminder that all knowledge must be tempered by faith and conviction in the God-Emperor, so that his Sacred Light may burn away the hidden deceit that traps the unwary and blinds the faithful. Her name was Sister Kata.

These people and many others were the bedrock upon which Inquisitor Nantz Palemar could tread upon with no fear in his duties as an Inquisitor, uncovering sinister plots hatched by heretical cults and traitorous elements led astray either by their own shortsightedness or more insidious external forces. And now he will make use of one more pawn, one more piece upon the board that will set the stage for the Imperum of Mankind's final confrontation with the T'au Empire. A holy force of righteous extermination, grand enough to rival even the Macharius Crusade in scale.

With one final elevator ride, the Inquisitor and his retinue finally arrived at the bridge. Immediately their presence was noted, with many eyes turning to catch the sight of a lifetime, though those same wandering gazes were also quick to look away in fear once they remembered what an Inquisitor's presence meant upon their voidship. Another group was waiting at the foot of the steps leading to the Rogue Trader's command throne, the one at its head dressed in resplendent noble attire only befitting a man of his station.

"Lord Inquisitor Nantz Palemar, it is an honor for us all to welcome you to my humble ship. To what occassion do we have the pleasure of hosting the Inquisition upon this bridge?" Gallianus van Boltaneus spoke in words thick with praises and hollow with sincerity; a common feature amongst the more reckless Rogue Traders. "I apologize for not preparing a more suitable reception area, but I understand the Inquisition has better things to do than be dogged down by trifling matters. Shall we get down to business then?" Gallianus beckoned towards a simple small table set behind him, two chairs already out and waiting for them both. Nantz, feeling diplomatic for once, gave a curt nod and took a seat to the right, while Gallianus naturally took what the left.

"I see you've received my message in good time. It would have been unwise for you to depart to parts unknown without waiting for my permission to do so." Nantz began talking, putting both elbows on the table and letting his hands rest. "Tell your crew to vacate the premises. Magos Archos will ensure your ship's systems will not come to harm in their operator's absence." Gallianus nodded, giving the order at once while at the same time deactivating most of the obvious recording devices present on the bridge. It was a risky move leaving even one still active with a Magos present, but what is life without a little bit of danger?

Once the last of the officers vanished from sight behind the elevator door, Inquisitor Nantz allowed himself a moment's reprieve from duty. His tight shoulder's relaxed, his grim-set jaw opening to let a small breath free, and his eyes, usually set at an intensity that could melt adamantium, was now set to simply vaporize plasteel instead. Those who were members of the Inquisitor's retinue noticed the change immediately, but for Gallianus, it was far from a reassuring gesture. Inquisitors do not rest.

"I have a request that only you can fulfill, Rogue Trader. One that requires the privileges afforded only to those bearers of the sacred Warrant of Trade." Gallianus' mind whirled as he tried to guess which privileges Inquisitor Nantz meant. "I will be expecting you to make a trip in the near-future towards T'au space, to make contact with one of my informants there. As an incentive, here is a list of what you'd get should you accept my proposition, Gallianus van Boltaneus." Sister Kata stepped forward and handed a data slate to the Rogue Trader, who accepted it graciously and began reading its contents. Several minutes passed as Gallianus' eyes widened more and more until they looked like they were about to pop, before he shook his head and casually slid the data-slate into his person.

"This is…ahem, I mean, of course, Lord Inquisitor. I live to serve, forevermore." The Rogue Trader bowed his head, unaccustomed to such a gesture.

"Thank you, Gallianus van Boltaneus. The God-Emperor protects." Everyone present made the sign of the Aquila at the same time, with members of the Inquisitor' retinue turning around and making their way back to the elevator, save for one. Sister Kata remained by the still sitting Inquisitor, her red eyes boring into Gallianus with judgement that found the man wanting. The Rogue Trader willed himself to look straight into Inquisitor Nantz' eyes and found in them, to his eternal shock, something that could only be described as amusement.

"One last thing. Sister Kata will remain here to help you navigate the treacherous waters of the xenos mind and remain pure from corruption. You may command her as you would one of your own, and she will obey your will in as so far that it does not contradict mine. She is a skilled warrior, an excellent shot, and between you and me, a great cook." Sister Kata had stood up straighter and prouder with every word coming out of Inquisitor Nantz' mouth until the last one, where she was caught off-guard and looked almost embarrassed.

"Thank you, Lord Inquisitor. Your generosity knows no bounds." Gallianus flashed his two remaining guests a brilliant fake smile, while inside the Rogue Trader was screaming in horror at the thought of having a Sister of Battle aboard his less than reputable ancient tub. His dreams of rising to the top of the Cold Trade had always been a distant goal, but now they were downright impossible. As Inquisitor Nantz stood up and nodded at the Rogue Trader before leaving, Gallianus van Boltaneus thought to himself,

God-Emperor, give me a break, please.

Gallianus van Boltaneus finally stirred from his slumber, his head still pounding from last night's bout of drinking. Memories of yesterday were trickling in like petitioners in an Adeptus Administratum building, and the Rogue Trader scowled as he remembered saying yes to the Inquisitor's request. Well, what was I supposed to do? Say no and get myself investigated by the Inquisition? Not to mention that payout upfront. A wicked smile graced Gallianus' face, his mind whirling with endless possibilities of what he could do with his newfound riches.

Occupied as he was with his fantasies, Gallianus paid no heed to his now rousing bed-companions; a pair of pale, well-endowed, white-haired waifs he'd procured from the local populace of the orbital his ship was docked at. At a glance, one might mistake them for twins, though neither knew the other. With a dismissive wave, he bade the two goodbye as servants hurriedly scurried out of their hidden places and carried the Rogue Trader's brief flings out of his life. If only most problems in my life could be whisked away so easily. Gallianus idly thought while scratching his belly.

Since his encounter and subsequent employment by the Inquisition, Gallianus has kept himself busy. He's made a slim profit from the Cold Trade cargo he was carrying at the time, but given the circumstances, the Rogue Trader couldn't find it in himself to care about such a petty thing. Once he's resupplied on provisions, fuel, and crew, Gallianus will depart to the frontiers of Imperial space, braving the lawless wastes before eventually reaching one of the many outposts the T'au had made on the periphery of their empire. Not that a loyal servant of the Imperium would ever know of such things of course.

Loyalty is it's own reward. Gallianus repeated a popular quote oft attributed to Lion'El Johnson, one of the God-Emperor's Divine Sons. He was more partial to Sanguinius himself, given the Great Angel's reputation as a noble soul and kind heart to mere mortals, but no one can deny that the Lion, first and foremost, embodied duty and honor like no one else. Except maybe Rogal Dorn, but it's just splitting hairs at this point. With that errant thought out of the way, Gallianus van Boltaneus let his servants carry him through his usual morning routine, opting for a light meal of delicious soup and stew with exotic meat procured from trusted suppliers, with occasional sips of a wine bottle aged two centuries and possibly more, if one counts time spent in the Warp.

After choosing what he wanted to wear, Gallianus let his servants dress him while his mind wandered again to other tangents. Everyone in the Ultima Segmentum had heard about the T'au Empire, about the Damocles Crusade which would have scoured the xenos clean were it not for the untimely arrival of the Tyranids threatening the Realm of Ultramar. Afterwards, the blue-skinned bastards kept on expanding, encroaching upon Imperium worlds with lies on their tongues and pulse rifles on their arms. Some small, stubborn part of Gallianus that held his faith in the God-Emperor frothed with righteous fury, demanding immediate extermination of the vile xenos scum and their traitorous human helpers. That thought brought a smile to the Rogue Trader, since at least in that regard, he agreed with the Imperial Cult wholeheartedly. The alien are not to be trusted.

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, Gallianus moved on to his personal armory, wherein servitors worked day and night guarding and maintaining his store of lethal weaponry. He walked by a whole assortment of weapons typical of the Imperial Guard, as well as some more exotic fare. But his focus was on a pair of laspistols, placed upon a plush cushion threaded with gold. Lucky 38 for his right hand, and The Joker for his left—entered their holsters without trouble. Gallianus slipped in some throwing daggers, making sure they were concealed well, but ready to be pulled out at a moment's notice. A few vials of poisons and their antidotes made their way to discrete, padded pouches for possible use, and lastly, an Elucidator to make sure the Rogue Trader would never be caught unaware of hidden schemes spoken in plain sight by duplicitous actors pretending to be allies.

But pray, what occasion would warrant the presence of one Gallianus van Boltaneus? There were hardly anyone even remotely close to a Rogue Trader's status in the orbital station, which clung to its status as Imperial property by a thread. No, he would not tread upon such a filthy place, and indeed he has yet to set foot proper into the decaying death trap, reserving that burden to his Seneschal and other officers. What brought pep into his step, and gave him respite even as the Warp gnaws at him of past nightmares and lost dreams, was the chance to spend some time with Sister Kata and her fascinating experiences as a member of the Order of the Holy Word. Certainly Gallianus didn't appreciate her company for other reasons. Perish the thought.

The Sister of Battle was still doing her warm-ups by the time Gallianus reached the training hall he had set aside for her personal use. She had dressed down to just the armored bodyglove layer of her usual ensemble, which clung to her body like a second skin. Every movement made was done with the utmost control, with nothing left to waste. Sometimes Gallianus would see echoes of the fighting styles he himself made use of, incorporated in ways that never crossed his mind. It was a beautiful and entrancing sight, enough so that the Rogue Trader forgot to make his presence known as he entered the training hall.

He waited for the sister to recognize him, seconds turning into minutes which grated at the impatient man. Her routine engraved into her body through countless years spent in service meant that all distractions were nothing to the sister. In some ways it was refreshing to see that his status as Rogue Trader did not immediately render some people into breathless imbeciles eager to curry favour with him, but Gallianus felt that after at least a few days together, she'd remember to greet the Master of the Ship when he was around.

Gallianus turned the small ember of anger over and over in his mind before sighing and snuffing the flames out. It would not do to lash out at his guest for a tiny breach in etiquette, especially from one of the defenders of mankind. Not to mention Sister Kata was also a part of Inquisitor Nantz' personal retinue, which spoke volumes to her skills and loyalty to the Imperium. While the Rogue Trader grappled with his thoughts, the Sister of Battle had finished her exercises and became aware of someone else in her vicinity.

"Lord Captain." Sister Kata spoke evenly, her body language remaining ready as ever to jump into combat. "I apologize for not greeting you. I was in the middle of my stretches. Do you require my assistance with something?" A series of unbecoming requests flickered through Gallianus' mind before he forcefully put a stop to it. He wasn't a young buck anymore, even if his appearance said otherwise. Now was not the time for juvenile thoughts.

"I would like to invite you to lunch later, if you're not occupied. I have more questions in mind for the task ahead, and I'd rather be fed as I digest the answers." Sister Kata nodded, which would normally mean she'd accepted his invitation. But after one time waiting for the Sister of Battle to arrive, only to then be informed that the Sister was in the middle of a deep trance praying to the God-Emperor in the main shrine used by top-deck voidsmen and officers, Gallianus no longer trusted such gestures. It was either verbal confirmation or nothing at all.

"Of course, it is why I am here. Thank you for the personal invitation, Lord Captain." A great shudder ran through the floors at that moment, the lumens dying as the training hall lost power and surrounding areas lost power. Gallianus frowned and stood up a little straighter, his stance changing into one that would enable him to pull out his laspistols at a moment's notice. Similarly, Sister Kata began putting the rest of her outfit back on, soon safely ensconced within the power armor she wore most of the time. Her weapons, a Bolt Pistol and a Chainsword, were already in her hands, with her gaze locked on towards the training hall's entrances in anticipating of a fight.

"Lord Captain, we are unable to contact the bridge." The Enforcers that had come with Gallianus rushed to his side, their arms ready and poised for combat. "Some kind of disruption has befallen the voxcasters. The elevator was similarly disabled." A string of profanities left Gallianus' mouth. A voidship of any size, even a frigate like the Desperate Luck, was in essence a flying city in all but name. No one knew the full extent of its interiors, save perhaps for the Adeptus Mechanicum directly involved with the frigate' construction. The only stroke of luck so far was that the training hall was situated in the upper-decks, which meant there should be a way to get to the bridge, if the group can find it.

"Which one of you knows the way to the bridge?" Gallianus' voice boomed, shaking the Enforcers from their momentary lapse to fear. The Enforcers looked at one another with uncertain gazes before a young woman raised her hand.

"I know how to get to the bridge, Lord Captain." She shrank before the combined attention of her peers and superiors, but was reassured by another Enforcer giving her a brief nod. "It's a bit far from here, but it's safe and it's also known to the Master-at-Arms." That last bit sealed the deal for Gallianus, who then put on his best smile and flashed it at the young lass, who proceeded to blush a storm and avoid her Lord Captain's gaze.

"What's your name?" Gallianus asked, which was received by a dumbfounded look for a second before the reply came.

"Enforcer Temperance Virtue, my lord." Some small snickers came at that admission, which made the lady Enforcer' ears turn even redder. Sister Kata frowned, but said nothing, choosing instead to keep her eyes open for upcoming threats.

"Alright, lead the way, Temperance. I want to know who's stupid enough to attack us at port." With no more words said, the young Enforcer took the lead, followed by Gallianus and the other Enforcers, with Sister Kata taking the rearguard position. Without lumens, a voidship' inherent darkness became amplified, with what little light shining their way coming from built-in searchlights on the Enforcer' uniforms and the softer light of candles burning everywhere. At times they would stumble upon servitors still following their directives without light, while other times they would meet groups of stumbling upper-deck voidsmen and officers, trying to find their own way through the dark. These latter encounters usually had Gallianus ordering the crew to return to their stations and prepare for battle, which was reluctantly followed as the Enforcers brandished their shock batons.

More tremors came after the first, sometimes weaker, sometimes stronger, but that moment of horror as the Desperate Luck was sheared open to the void never came, which only made Gallianus more worried. A xenos fleet would not hesitate to crack open an easy target like a docked frigate, and pirates would practically salivate at such a catch. The only thing that came to mind that could affect a voidship so much was of some space phenomena or more chillingly, an internal problem with the machine spirits that governed the critical systems like life support or the sacred reactor core. Gallianus prayed that wasn't the case, as repair costs alone would ruin him for many years after.

After long hours skulking in the dark, the group finally saw red light coming from the hallway before them, a sign that this section of the upper-deck had access to the emergency power generators. Further exploration led them to a group of Enforcers safeguarding access to an elevator, with confrontation avoided as soon as the Enforcers recognized Gallianus and Sister Kata. With profuse apologies upon their lips, the elevator guards made way for the Rogue Trader's retinue into the elevator, informing their Lord Captain that his Seneschal had taken temporary command of the voidship until Gallianus' return.

Few of the Enforcers that accompanied Gallianus entered with him, with only four following their master while the rest stayed behind. Temperance Virtue counted amongst these trusted four, her bearing no longer one burdened by shame or nervousness, but one buoyed by professional pride in her profession and renewed loyalty in her Lord Captain. As the elevator ascends, only one thing was shared between the thoughts of everyone aboard the Desperate Luck.

The God-Emperor Protects.

---

The situation proved to be even worse than he thought. By the time he had reached the bridge, the Desperate Luck had already disengaged itself from the decrepit orbital port and was now fleeing towards the closest Mandeville Point, with other ships similarly scattering with the same agenda in mind. With a perfunctory nod towards his Seneschal, who gave a quick bow in turn, Gallianus took his seat at the command throne and asked the most important question of all,

"What happened?"

"There was a raid, Lord Captain." Rassilas Osmic began to speak as befits his station as Gallianus' right hand. "Xenos scum, appearing out of nowhere and catching us off-guard. It was only by the God-Emperor's blessings that we were able to escape their notice while the xenos reaped their toll on the other ships at dock." A great groan filled the bridge as warning sirens blared to life, officers shouting at each other and barking orders to their subordinates through vox-receivers.

"Voxmaster, status update!" Gallianus shouted, his face grimacing.

"Port-side void shields have failed, Lord Captain. There are reports of breach in Decks 50 to 70. A munitions depot have caught fire and are threatening to blow. Magos Dipolian reports that he and his technomats are working on bringing the void shield back online, but it will take around five minutes." The Rogue Trader clenched his fists tight until blood was drawn, his usually calm demeanor now replaced with righteous fury. But then that moment passed, the blood haze dispersed with a deep sigh as the more calculating parts of Gallianus van Boltaneus took charge.

"Our first priority now is to reach the Mandeville Point. Voxmaster, patch me through to the Navigator Sanctum." A brief lull came as the voidborn practiced his craft, with the result coming through a few seconds later. A vox receiver was brought before Gallianus, who immediately began speaking into it. "Navigator Hirolian, how soon can we make the jump? I'm afraid my ship can't take much more punishment from the xenos scum."

"Lord-Captain." A voice like crumbling parchment spoke through one of the vox casters installed in Gallianus' command throne. "I have already begun preparations for the Warp Jump, but I'm afraid I cannot do anything more. The Warp is becoming treacherous with the deaths of so many mortal souls, and I'm afraid I must cut communications soon 'lest the crew become compromised."

Gallianus, holding on to the faint hope of perhaps enacting a short-ranged warp jump to close the gap to the Mandeville Point, visibly deflated for a second before shaking off his disappointment. "Understood Navigator. Our lives are in your hands. The God-Emperor protects."

"The God-Emperor protects." The vox caster went silent, with the Voxmaster taking the device back before looking at Gallianus for his next orders. For one long second, the Rogue Trader considered the unthinkable; to give up and let the xenos scum destroy his ship, to be scattered apart into atoms and forgotten forevermore, the Boltaneus dynasty' becoming yet another casualty of the never-ending war between humanity and everything else. And then warning sirens came as xenos guided missiles came and missed its mark by several kilometers, the ensuing explosions jolting Gallianus out of his self-loathing thoughts, reminding him that even if he dared to act in a manner that suggested surrender, the righteous arm of the Ecclesiarchy would already be on hand to deliver the only gift a traitor deserved.

Sister Kata might have been assigned to Gallianus to guard him and his against the machinations of the xenos, but she was also a Sister of Battle at heart. Her faith was as much her shield as it was her weapon, to be wielded against the weak of hearts and those that doubt the God-Emperor's plans for all. With the scales of what was at stake now properly balanced in his mind, Gallianus made his next move.

"Bring up the surrounding augur scans, I want to see what's around us!" The data quickly came in the form of holopict screens attached to a servitor which dropped down from its alcove above the command throne. Gallianus used what he saw to quickly sketch out a three-dimensional profile of the void around the Desperate Luck in his mind, the signature profiles of the xenos ships appearing as blinking lines lurking at the edge of sensor range. There was nothing in the immediate vicinity, but several dozen ship-lengths away, there appeared to be an lightning storm in full power, large enough to engulf a system fleet. Gallianus had made use of such phenomena in the past to either recharge his void shields or disable his enemies' own, but it also came with the cost of his frigate' weapons systems being disabled while they were in it.

"Master Helmsman, make way to this heading, but don't make it too obvious to the xenos scum. Voxmaster, Call the Engineerium. Let the Engineseer Prime know that I need him and his fellow Magos to draw out more power from the engines, as much as they dare to." The Voxmaster obeyed, quickly enmeshing himself into the ship' various communications systems before patching Gallianus directly to the red-robed tech-priest of Mars.

"Lord-Captain Gallianus. You are treading on a dangerous path. But your request is accepted. May the Omnissiah saves us all." With that last ominous prayer in mind, the connection was cut.

"Voxmaster, I wish to make a ship-wide announcement." The voidborn nodded, making the necessary arrangements until once more, a vox receiver was reverently held out to the Rogue Trader. Gallianus took it, only now realizing that in all his years spent in the frigate, he never had cause to make such a announcement before, or at least not to the same extent. How poetic then that my first might be my last. Gallianus thought before opening his mouth.

"My loyal servants, heed my words! It is I, Gallianus van Boltaneus, bearer of the sacred Warrant of Trade, and faithful servant of the God-Emperor! The xenos threat assault us now, but we will endure! We shall prevail, for it is Humanity's destiny to rule the stars forevermore! Give unto me, unto the Imperium, all that you have and more! Endure, for it is with the martyr's blood will we be purified from the sin of doubt! Burn the heretic! Kill the mutant! Purge the xenos! The God-Emperor protects!" A roar of righteous zeal washed over the bridge, echoed with several corresponding affirmations coming in through the vox casters. Sister Kata joined in at the exclamation of faith, pounding her fist against her chest in a gesture of religious fervor.

With morale secured, Gallianus could now focus his mind on the task of survival. He grimaced as an automated voice boomed from every vox caster, warning of 'emergency burn', followed by an intense pressure upon his whole being which forced the Rogue Trader back into his seat. Several officers and voidsmen which didn't buckle down in time screamed as they were flown back across the bridge and hit the back wall with speed, every bone in their body broken and their innards crushed. After a while, the inertial dampeners finally re-engaged back in the bridge, freeing Gallianus from the shackles of physics.

The xenos ships steadily closed the gap, with one sending in scores of strike crafts which the Desperate Luck replied in kind with a wall of las-flaks saturating any approach vectors with fiery death. They were not enough however, as a three slipped through the defensive screen and unleashed their payloads upon the frigate. The starboard void shields caught the brunt of the blast, screaming mutely as layers failed one after the other, leaving only one final barrier between life and death for the occupants of the frigate.

Another xenos ship unleashed a lance of energy, the alien weapon a paradox of shadow contained within light, aimed at the frigate's vulnerable port side. Just as it was about to hit home, the Desperate Luck' void shields re-engaged, sacrificing half its strength at once but persevering regardless. The timing couldn't have been better, as a few seconds later, Gallianus' ship entered the raging space storm.

A cacophony of warning sirens filled the bridge, brilliant streaks of Motive Force arcing against the frigate' adamantium plates like welding torches. Various systems on-board were overloaded beyond their capacity, with the capacitors in turn being forcefully filled to the brim, with tech-priests, technomats, and servitors doing their best to avoid redirect excess power to those systems that can handle it, such as the void shields and the ship's engines. With a series of roars that shook the entire ship, the Desperate Luck pushed itself to the limit, leaving behind the xenos ships and the space storm behind just in time for the Navigator to finally engage the Warp Drive.

There was no subtlety to what happened next, as the Materium was wrenched open, spilling forth the eldritch energies of the Warp. No mortal eyes were meant for such a sight, and indeed the xenos scattered before the baleful gazes of Hir smiling at their approach. The Desperate Luck noticed none of this as it plunged into the eye of horror and left sanity behind, the warp portal slamming shut as soon as the frigate passed the threshold, leaving nothing behind.

---

The Water Caste had many protocols and policies in place when it came to interacting with the many xenos races in the galaxy. The Kroot, for one, as one of the T'au' oldest allies, enjoyed a level of autonomy and political power which saw them preserving their necrophagic culture intact and even accommodated for in exchange for Kroot warriors and Warspheres. The Nicassar were free to roam the stars in their caravans in exchange for becoming T'au scouts, and the Vespid colonized planets that were incompatible for T'au to live in. Not to mention of the humans who forsake the Imperium, becoming the Gue'vesa and an important source of labor, infiltration units, and diplomats that espouse the superiority of the Greater Good over the dehumanizing horrors perpetrated by the Imperial Cult in the name of a deity as far removed from humanity as it was to the T'au.

It was simple enough to understand and categorize the teeming masses, as though they claim to have no castes, there were still clear classes of stratification amongst each other, divided by blood, wealth, order of birth, gender, and countless other trivial categorizations meant to divulge one from the other, as though uniqueness was a trait valued by the cosmos. Their individuality was a problem, but not one that cannot be solved in-time, as has been proved time and time again in the oldest of the human populations absorbed into the T'au Empire.

One particular example of excessive individuality that the T'au Empire encountered often were those exhibited by the group of people known as Rogue Traders. These vagabonds, sometimes traders, sometimes preachers, often zealots and always pioneers had plied their trade between stars since before the T'au had even left their homeworld, and it showed. They were always quick to boast of their particular dynasty' lineage, of how prestigious and enduring it was, at the many accomplishments done by ancestors whose deeds outlasted any memory of them as a person. And of course they would always talk about the Warrant of Trade at length, at how it elevated them before all others to pierce the unknown regions of space not yet touched by the God-Emperor's Light.

The T'au, pragmatic as ever, treated Rogue Traders as an element to be taken advantage of, and only sometimes to be destroyed, which suited the vagabonds just fine. And so when the deep-space sensor buoys of Kiakassa System of Fal'Shia Sept detected what appeared to be a Warp Portal, the T'au made ready for war. One of the patrol ships that guarded the system ran then to alert the rest of the Fal'Shia Kor'Vattra of the intrusion, while the rest stayed behind to assess the situation and engage as necessary.

The hole in reality yawned wide as forks of not-real lightning zapped out in errant ways, ready to sunder voidships apart with their strikes. Tendrils of seeming intelligence tested the bounds of the tear, hissing as the Materium fought to assert its rules and logic against things that had neither at their core. With a violent thrust, a voidship broke through the scar-tissue scabbing over the Warp Portal, many of its parts glowing red-hot from fresh wounds upon adamantium plates and venting atmosphere into the vacuum of space. Reality asserted itself then, pulling taut the cosmic curtain over the horrors of the Warp.

The T'au waited for the rest of the invasion fleet to come, everyone aboard the patrol ships more than ready to give up their lives for the Greater Good. But when no more Warp Portals opened, and the lone frigate continued its hasty flight without seeming care of where it was going, remaining where they were seemed unwise as two choices appeared before the Captain of each patrol ship. They could remain where they were and stay vigilant for any further intruders and let the wounded Imperial ship escape. It was the safest option and tactically the most sound as well. But for Captain Mirrorstrike, in command of the Protector-class Cruiser, the Subtle Blade, that would not do at all.

It was time to get some answers at last.

"In the God-Emperor's Name,

"And His Divine Sons.

"Amen."

---

"God-Emperor,

"Upon the Golden Throne,

"Blessed be Thy name.

"Thy Imperium stands,

"Thy will be done, from Terra to the Rim.

"Give us this day our daily penance,

"And forgive us for our trespasses

"As we prevail against those who wronged us,

"And lead us not into doubt,

"But into salvation

"And retribution.

"Amen."

Sister Kata finished her prayer by making the sign of the aquila. She was alone, in a cell made to contain at least five people, and she knew why. The xenos feared her. She had been separated almost right away from everyone else when the T'au came for them, seizing the bridge with ease. The sight of them had filled her with fury, and indeed she had tried to fight them before her power armor failed her. Her confusion gave way to a spike of fear as she saw 'it' stalking towards her; a towering mechanical being the size of a Space Marine and just as heavily armed. There was no face, simply optics which reminded her of the Adeptus Mechanicum, lenses whirring as it observed her pitiful state. And then something like a shock baton flared into life from one of the creatures' appendages and struck her across the face.


That was two days ago. She had spent that time wisely, raging at first at the xenos with righteous fury for a day before spending the next thinking on ways to escape. She'd tried examining her cell discreetly, but found no gaps or cracks that could be exploited. And listening in to the T'au proved fruitless, as none of them had spoken a word around Sister Kata since she was incarcerated. At the very least, she was still in the Desperate Luck and not in one of the T'au's vessel. Feeling her spirit start to sag, the Sister of Battle began to pray once more to the God-Emperor. Her mournful hymn went on until-

---

"Sister Kata. The knife, please." Her words were calm, ice against the heat of fresh blood flowing. The heretic was squirming, crying, mouth pleading, but no words from him would sway a Sister of Battle. Kata handed her fellow Sister a blade freshly sharpened, and watched as it cut deep into flesh, nerves slashed along the line in just the right way to make the pain last. A scream tried to escape, the man's body convulsing as survival instincts overrode a conscious mind.

"This is the price of failure, Sister Kata. Of wavering faith, of blooming doubt. Never forget His Light, and never stray from His Path." Her Sister spoke with a smile, just as another nerve was cut. "This one thought itself cleverer than most, hiding heresies in self-published pamphlets that question the divinity of the God-Emperor." Another scream, but this one made Sister Kata look at the heretic properly. His mouth was moving, mouthing words she could almost make out if she could only-

"Heed, Sister, for you are treading upon a forbidden path. Let not the mind grow curious, for a mind prone to questions is one that doubts." Another cut, another trickle of blood. "Each of us has a role in the Imperium, from the lowliest servitor to the highest Lords of Terra. To think otherwise, to imagine a way of life different to the Emperor's own Divine Plan is-" The heretic' scream was fainter now, no longer struggling against the inevitable. "-foolish. But you know that, Sister Kata."

"Of Course, Sister #." She had no name, but she was always a Sister. Always a helper, never a bother. At some point the heretic grew quiet, his limbs slack as the torture lost all purpose. Muscles, sinews, tendons, cartilage, and bones. Sister Kata now held a skull, clean and perfect, white like her hair. She was alone, as always. A part of the Adepta Sororitas, but always apart. The head in her hand was her own, picked clean by time. This was her fate. But there was no peace, no choir of heavenly angels welcoming her into the God-Emperor's Light to sing hymns of eternal glory.

There was nothing at all.

---

The human woman was still on her knees, engaged in ritual practice known as praying. Exception noted that it had been six Dec since this was commenced. Closer observation noted joint pain, increased stress on knees and ankles, and lower blood circulation in the legs. This position is not optimal, but the subject persists. This is not a ritual borne out of logical thought processes. Exception felt appalled that such superstition could survive in a society advanced enough to become a galactic power. It was a novel feeling, and so Exception logged it in her personal report.

Exception was not T'au, but she was not Ascentron either. Her birth was one of circumstance and chance, back at Au'Taal Sept by the hand of one Simul Zetta. The digital being's growth accelerated tremendously when the orks came, Exception helping the T'au in discreet ways while avoiding the Ascentrons as best she could. Something about her creator's race frightened Exception, their synthetic minds subjugating local networks like supermassive black holes. By the time the war ended, Exception had ensconced herself within the systems of a civilian shuttle returning to T'au and left Au'Taal behind.

But life was difficult even in the vastly more powerful and spacious networks of the T'au capital world, as the Earth Caste were quick to rectify any abnormalities found within the system. Even her current home, within the digital dephs of the Subtle Blade, was a temporary measure that turned permanent when Captain Mirrorstrike was surreptitiously assigned to patrol duty. Exception had resigned herself into hibernation mode, content to wait until she could jump ship into better living spaces. But that was before she found the Desperate Luck.

"Attempt #42310 at interfacing with Imperial frigate has failed." Exception sighed as she closed that alert down and set about preparing for the #42311th attempt at gaining access to the Imperial ship. Something about the venerable ship appealed to Exception, and despite its outward primitive appearance, the digital being felt traces of something more advanced underneath the muck and grime, like a dormant volcano. The T'au had seized control of the bridge and even now was forcing the voidsmen and officers aboard to follow their commands, 'lest something happened to their venerable Rogue Trader master. Exception was hiding inside the Tau's local network, restricted from moving anywhere else until she cracked the encryption guarding the Imperial frigate's systems from outside intrusion. While she worked on a new approach, Exception idly watched a feed of the outside patched together from the Tau's own sensors.

The Desperate Luck was being herded forward by a wall of Castellan-class Heavy Escorts, launched from two Emissary-class Light Cruisers which stayed in the middle of the fleet. The Subtle Blade and its fellow Protector-class Cruiser, the Hidden Cut, stayed behind, their Gravitic Launchers, Heavy Railguns, and Heavy Ion Cannons ready to deliver the killing blow should the Imperial frigate try its fading luck at escape. Their destination lay at the very edge of the Kiakassa System's gravity well, where a massive structure awaited them. The Ascentrons had called it a Hyper Relay; an artificial gateway to the realm of hyperspace by which FTL travel might be achieved by using the aptly-named hyperdrive.

Exception had seen firsthand the data collected during the T'au' maiden voyage using the technology, at the undercurrent of alien logic that permeated the design principles of such an engine. The Ascentron had operated by axioms that Exception could not fathom existing right up until she saw them being described and explained in detail. And somehow these theories still worked in another universe, when there was no good reason it should function at all, which should have raised more questions about the true nature of reality. But there was none, no leading questions into why two universes could share some aspects and not the others. Exception figured the Ethereals had a hand in that silence, more focused on the fact that the technology worked at all in the first place. Organic thought processes are prone to illogical and unreasonable tangents. Exception remarked, having observed firsthand multiple instances which confirmed this hypothesis.

Addendum: it is impossible to account for all variables. Further study is required. Exception concluded. Preparation complete. Attempt #42311 at interfacing with Imperial frigate commenced. Extraneous activities halted. All sight of the outside world fell away except for the human woman's cell, still praying on her knees, still except for her breath.

---

Ascentron Scientist Korvac Davic paced through the narrow confines of the Desperate Luck with a map in his mind. He was in the midst of collecting data on the imperial frigate via its internal hardline networks and connected peripheries when a dead connection caught his eyes. Naturally, he followed the trail, leading him to the lower levels of the Imperial frigate, past the scowling upper-decks, the fearful mid-decks, and the panicking lower-decks. In a bit of hindsight, Korvac activated his personal cloaking field, rendering him invisible from most means of detection.

As he neared the end of the thread, he noted he was starting to encounter more servitors than humans as time went on. It was not uncommon in truth to see similar sights in the Ascentron Circurrency. A body is as much property as the mind that inhabited it, and if there's no one home? A perfectly acceptable stopgap measure for workforce shortages while the real laborers takes their time to get trained. And it also made disposal very convenient, as corpses can just be chucked in with the rest of the trash and recycled for more profit in the long-run.

Korvac chuckled as he remembered one time a colleague tried his hand at making a Bow'el'eh into a personal servant. The gigantic Mammalian had crashed through his house trying to wake up its master on-time, which quickly put an end to that little experiment. After a hile longer, the Ascentron Scientist at last came upon the last thing standing between him and his prize; a fortified blast door, void-sealed and guarded by several contingents of combat servitors and static defenses fit for a fortress. And emblazoned prominently on this last obstacle was a skull, one half replaced with cybernetics, with a cog behind it. A symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

It was also here that Korvac could see where the hardline connection had been cut; an intentional measure by the Adeptus Mechanicus, no doubt. An annoyance, but Kovac would have been disappointed if they had left such an obvious opening vulnerable to intrusion from someone like him. But just as the Ascentron Scientist were thinking of ways to get through the blast door, warning sirens blared to life, followed by the combat servitors dispersing to the side into ordered columns.

The Tech-Priests appeared one by one, led by a giant cyborg standing on-par with Korvac. An impressive feat, given that the Ascentron Scientist' current body stood as tall as an XV25 Stealth Battlesuit. Its physicality aside, the lead Magos' body was wiry, almost as though every bit of excess flesh from his body had been wrung out. At odds with that sight was the massive axe he wielded with ease, heft aloft as though it was several times lighter than it looked. He strode forward on four squat legs attached to a mechanical base, mechadendrites sprouting from this second back like a garden of writhing metal flora. A healthy smattering of them carried extensions which looked like weapon modules.

A burst of sounds came from the lead Magos which Korvac couldn't catch at first, but after analyzing the data more closely, came to realize that the cyborg was talking using some kind of machine language. Does this count as archeotech, or archeolinguistics? Korvac idly thought as he tried his best to dissect the sounds he heard one by one. The lexicon and syntax was alien, but some things are more universal, such as logic and mathematics. With several more seconds stretched to minutes inside his mind, the Ascentron Scientists finally came up with a serviceable interface to handle the incoming data, and plugged in it.

"Intruder. Detected. Search and Destroy. Protocol. Initiated." The stuttering translation was at odds with the seamless stream of sounds the lead Magos made, but it was enough. As they spread out in perfect formation, the blast door closed behind them, the sounds of ancient mechanisms deafening in the confined space. Korvac moved away from the approaching cyborgs, jumping up onto a nearby wall and crawling into the closing portal with haste. The Ascentron Scientist made the cut with a second to spare, a large boom shaking his internals as enormous locks slid into place.

With a moment to spare, Korvac took in the sights of the room that held his prize. There were no candles here, the air being too cold for open flame, and the lumens that shone provided too little light for those with ordinary eyes. But of greater interest to the Ascentron Scientist were the black boxes. Or rather, what was in them. After some time looking for an open port, Korvac finally found one that was damaged, patched over with multiple seals of seeming reverence. Liquid Metal consumed them all, Ascentron software papering over the cracks and allowing data to once more flow into a waiting processor.

It was always a challenge to understand alien machine languages, not least because Korvac himself was one. Some things may be universal, such as logic and mathematics, but there's also history, tradition, and environmental constraints which influenced the approaches used to create a program. Fortunately, the T'au's Water Caste had spent a great deal of time deciphering the encryption and languages used by the Imperium, and the data package they shared with the Ascentrons on the matter helped Korvac greatly as he delved into the mind of a dormant giant.

The main Cogitation Core appeared to the Ascentron Scientist as a rotating cylinder ringed with smaller pillars, with small rings coming into view out of nowhere while others compressed into nothingness. Ancient protocols were etched onto the cylinder and everything else, written in ever-shifting scripts. Their varying sizes seemed to imply their order of importance, with the largest one bearing the words:

"ACTIVATE GELLER FIELDS BEFORE WARP JUMP."

Korvac had read the Mentat's notes on the technology, seeing it as potential starting point for Anti-Warp countermeasures. The only problem was the seeming need for a psychic component; an unfeasible prospect when applied at the scale of the Horizon Needle. But even this requirement varied from one Imperial vessel to the next. It reeked of systemic failure. Korvac saw it as a stopgap measure turned permanent; a tale as old as time. It would definitely explain the echoes of sentience the Ascentron Scientist felt within the Cogitator Cores. The Adeptus Mechanicus were trying to get as close as they could to sapience without the dangers of free will and self-preservation instincts.

This Age of Strife era must have been apocalyptic to live through. Korvac idly thought as he parsed through the files locked behind command codes. Most of them were simply endless logs of inane commands repeated ad verbatim for hundreds of years. Some were text files filled with tens of thousands of lines written by users long gone. A rare few were pictures, mostly of ancient schematics too decrepit to be moved. Rarer still were the videos, rendered with enough resolution to be legible, but nothing more. One caught Korvac' eyes by how recent it was, and he moved to open it.

---

Farseer Yvalda's personal craft, Hope of Chto, was running silent in the wake of its prey. Arriving in the Kiakassa System well in advance, the stalking hunter and her pack had seen the arrival of the T'au patrol fleet. Taking note of a gateway of unknown make hanging at the edge of the star system, Yvalda foresaw that it would be in use soon, and so waited. She saw the arrival of the Imperial frigate, shuddering as the briefest of Hir's glance leaking through the Warp Portal before reality slammed it shut. The T'au were quick to surround their enemy, weapons ready to fire. But for reasons even Yvalda could not discern, the Imperial frigate was instead taken prisoner and marched to their coming doom.

Her fleet was composed of five Hellebore Frigates, three Hemlock Destroyers and four Aconite Frigates, including the Hope of Chto. In a straight fight against the T'au patrol fleet, the Aeldari would lose quickly, but Yvalda had no intention on playing fair. Her objective for the ambush was simply to ensure the Imperial frigate escaped its captors. Just as she was about to give the order to fight, a whisper of desire licked Yvalda's ear, the voices like the faint song of her childhood. With the discipline of millennia, the Farseer clamped down on any errant thought or feeling, focusing only on her duty and the path ahead that she foresaw. All that earned her was laughter, and a promise to return.

"Farseer, what did you see?" Her second-in-command, Meleyn Anvath, spoke from her place at the Captain's seat. "Shall we call off the attack?"

"No, it waS nothing. Proceed as planned." The bridge returned to its previous quiet as the Hope of Chto moved into position, followed by its fellow Aconites. Their prey was one of the T'au Cruisers, using Shadowfields to blend in their approach with the surrounding gases. By the time the T'au realized what was truly approaching them, it was too late. Multiple weapons batteries of Graviton Pulsars, Heavy Starcannons, and Fusion Beamers struck the ship known to the T'au as the Hidden Cut from behind. The full extent of the damage made itself known seconds later as a miniature sun exploded into being, buffeting nearby T'au ships with waves of ionizing radiation.

Two Castellans followed suit, turned into wrecks by Pulsar Lances and Sonic Torpedoes. It was a good start, but the T'au were quick to recover from their losses. Missiles were launched from Gravitic Launchers, Heavy Starship Railguns accelerated projectiles to unimaginable speeds, and Heavy Ion Cannons hounded the swift Aeldari ships with death from a thousand cuts. Manta Bombers and Barracuda Fighters were launched en masse, flying in complex patterns meant to deter any hostile threats from coming too close, and punishing those that ignore the warnings. A Hemlock caught a railgun shot, the projectile carving a straight line through the length of its hull. Manta Bombers released their payloads close to the wounded ship, tearing new cracks in the wraithbone hull. By some miracle, the Hemlock managed to limp its way to safety, its retreat covered by two Aconites flying in close to destroy the T'au strike crafts as well as venting their displeasure into the sole remaining Protector-class Cruiser.

Yvalda felt her forehead sweat as countless future paths were created and destroyed with every decision made in the heat of battle. She'd prepared endlessly to make sure no Aeldari lives would be lost, scrying through the future paths of every crew member in her ship and those of her allies. Several times she's had to replace an officer with another, if only because the dead silence of their passing terrified her almost as much as Sai'lantresh' whisperings in her ear. Some Farseers would think her naive for wanting to save everyone, but Yvalda saw it as her responsibility as one who was lost to the Path of the Witch. The future might not be in stone, but by Isha, she would dam the waters with her own body if it would mean a moment's calm would save someone's life.

Another Hemlock left the battlefield with its Pulsar Lance shattered and broken. The focused firepower of two Emissaries crippled an Aconite that was moving too slow, while the Protector did the same to two Hellebores. The remaining Castellans, however, were beyond saving, blown into pieces with one of the Emissaries looking worse for wear as well. With three vessels against seven, the T'au were doomed. But Yvalda was more concerned about the Imperial frigate, and what she saw chilled her to the bone.

The vessel was dead. Its engines were no longer lit, and until the battle was over, the Farseer wouldn't be able to tell if anyone was alive inside. It drifted along forward, carried by its inertia, towards the unknown gateway which was powering up for some reason. Missiles launched by Gravitic Drives stole the Farseer's attention away, and the Hope Chto found its next target. Followed by the last Hemlock and two Hellebores, the Aconite tore through the shields and armor of the T'au Cruiser, cutting apart each wing of the ship before delivering the killing strike at the heart of the vessel. The explosion that occurred this time was more muted, but no less destructive. Everywhere in the battlefield, T'au escape pods thronged the void. They trade a quick death for a slow one. Yvalda thought, seeing a passing similarity between the T'au's plight and her own species' self-inflicted demise. But their fates are sealed, while ours are in flux still.

"Farseer, the last enemy vessel has been eliminated." Meleyn Anvath spoke up, breaking Yvalda's musings. "What shall be done about the Imperial frigate?" Just as she was thinking about to do, two things happened. First, a new ship signature appeared from the strange gateway, near where the Imperial Frigate was. Second, Yvalda was suddenly assaulted by a new vision forcing itself into her mind, as crystal-clear as though she was seeing it happen before her. Her mouth moved by another's will, and she spoke:

"A trade made, bargain for one.

"The lie exposed, an empire on the run.

"Alliance of foes, forbidden to none.

"All eyes will see the Mark closing the Eye.

"The Path ends.

"The Children must Choose."

While the Aeldari were still reeling from this new revelation, the Desperate Luck vanished.

Magos Explorator ULR-3.14e was no stranger to the examination and deconstruction of xenotech. Every step followed guidelines laid out by ages ago by the ancients, with annotations in the margins made by countless past Magi. Small pieces would take several days work and requires at least five tech-priests. Medium-sized ones weeks to a month and employed a cohort of Magi. Large fragments took years to decades to understand, and could be the personal project of a Forge World's ruling class.

On a similar note, ULR-3.14e has participated in the dissection of xenos forms, such as Orks, Aeldari, and other strange creatures. These were no less involved than xenotech examinations, as alien biology came with alien threats unknown until casualties start to mount. There were numerous incidents of junior tech-adepts underestimating the robustness of an ork specimen' vitality, and paying for it with their lives. Every part has to be separated, scrutinized, analyzed, and then purged in quick order after their usefulness has run out. No xenos lifeforms has ever survived intact after the Adeptus Mechanicum got their hands on them, which ULR-3.14e took as a point of pride.

With these past data points as reference, the Magos then could not reconcile why it was that he was allowed to walk freely on the Desperate Luck after it was captured by the T'au. Or more precisely, by their newest allies, the Ascentrons. He himself would not have allowed a presumably valuable specimen to roam without supervision. Even now, if the Magos Explorator turned Enginseer Prime wished to, he could walk down to the sacred reactor core and initiate the Rite of Sacred Martyrdom, destroying all traces of the Desperate Luck from the universe.

And yet-

All criteria fulfilled for resistance against xenos incursion upon the sacred mechanisms. Self-termination protocols initiated with maximum blast radius in mind, but delayed due to unknown variables. Task restarted 552 times, failed to complete 552 times. Hypothesis: this unit experienced emotional response known as fear, and thus have failed to fulfill its prime directives. ULR-3.14e examined a blinking lumen and gave it the slightest of nudge with his mechadendrites to let the Motive Force flow properly. Some of them still bore weapons that tracked any errant movement their sensors detected, though most sat idle to conserve power. There were no lifeforms in the Magos' vicinity, biological or mechanical, but that was to be expected. This ancient, but still well-maintained passageway was one of the many secret paths available only to the members of the Adeptus Mechanicum, hidden behind intricate biometric scans, voltaic locks, and noospheric key-words.

The Magos' current destination was one oft-visited by his kind; the Navigator Sanctum. ULR-3.14e felt the stirrings of fear yet again, but this time the Tech-Priest thought such a response was warranted this time. There were many things that regularly wreaked havoc with the technology the Adeptus Mechanicum wielded, and the Warp was the number one offender in that regard. Whether it be a chain-reaction of Motive Force overloading the delicate innards of ancient mechanisms, or the perversion of sacred function by means illogical and nonsensical, or most egregious of all, the possession of machine-spirits by way of malicious scrap-code or sentient data-daemons, conjured from the depths of madness by hereteks playing with powers beyond their ken. Nothing good has ever come about by combining technology with the Warp, and indeed the very few instances that interface with that realm, such as the Warp Drive and the Geller Field Generators, were treated with equal parts respect and caution, to be constructed and maintained only by those whose devotion, knowledge, and experience was without question.

After a good while, ULR-3.14e found the hidden door which opens out into the hallway just before the Navigator Sanctum. Given its proximity to a valuable resource, the full suite of security measures were in force. Motive Force tens of Amperes in strength zapped the Magos, conducted throughout his body with minimal loss in power. The Noospheric-lock stood for all of one second before a flurry of practiced taps by ULR-3.14e inputted the memorized pass-key. Finally, a minute of waiting as advanced scanners almost as old as the Magos whirred to life and verified his identity cell-by-cell. With a final hiss of hydraulics pulling the secret door open, ULR-3.14e walked out into the open into a most curious sight.

Contrary to his expectations, the hallway was not deserted. There was someone shuffling forward on the other end, leaning onto his staff for support with every step taken. The surrounding lumens and candles illuminated a face worn by time and duty, casting shadows upon sockets where eyes had melted away. Some shadows lengthened, while others shortened in his wake. And even though he was designed to withstand extremes in temperature, ULR-3.14e felt an otherworldly chill precede the Choirmaster of the Desperate Luck, Suzurar Gospelmark.

"Is that you, Eular? I did not take you to be someone interested in social gatherings outside of your fellow priests." The wizened psyker chuckled, his lungs wheezing from the effort. ULR-3.14e bristled at the mangling of his name by the laity yet again, but the irritation passed. "But then again, even you would be hard-pressed to refuse an invitation by the Lord-Captain."

The Magos' mind went to the sealed scroll innocuously handed him to by a terrified envoy. "Hypothesis confirmed. The Lord Captain is functional." ULR-3.14e spoke out his mind. "Query: Has the Choirmaster unit confirmed the Lord Captain unit's mental wellbeing?" Suzurar shook his head, distaste clear on his face. The taboo of mind-reading without permission was clearly engraved onto the Astropath' soul, which ULR-3.14e was grateful for. By the grace of the Omnissiah, the Magos was never cursed with psychic abilities, but he's been on the receiving end of them in his long life. The most insidious and unpleasant ones were those that manipulated the mind, scrying thoughts as easily as one might read lines off a cogitator, and befuddling servants of the Omnissiah with lies made real through illusions.

The two servants of the Imperium fell silent as they approached the large door barring the way to the Navigator's Sanctum. Four combat servitors stood guard on either side, idle until their sensors registered the two new arrivals. Without a word, ULR-3.14e presented his identifiers and access-codes to the primitive cogitators directing the mindless meat-puppet's minds, nodding with satisfaction as the servitors returned to their vigil. A data-packet made its way into the locks of the great door, and soon the duo's path forward was no longer barred.

Inside was a short, but well-furnished hallway. Their steps were muffled by carpets made from plants harvested to extinction. Servo-skulls set into the walls sang songs of devotion and faith endlessly. There were candles everywhere, their arrangements like the hab-clusters that were the beginnings of hive-cities. ULR-3.14e and Suzurar ignored these trivial details, their minds set onto the lavish lift waiting for them at the other end.

The Magos took one side while the Astropath took the other, both bracing against the walls as the ascension mechanisms were engaged. With a jerking lurch Suzurar could feel in his gut, the metal coffin finally lifted, traveling up at speed. As was the case with most Navigators, the Navigator of the Desperate Luck, Hirolian Maissac, lived in a tower separated from the main body of the voidship. ULR-3.14e found many things about the Navigators distasteful, but their preference to be left alone with their own kind was something he could relate to. They passed through multiple levels, each marked with numerals that denoted their function. Some were ominously sealed with a mark from the Adeptus Mechanicus, proclaiming what lay within as beyond salvation.

They reached the top without incident, signaled to exit by way of a bell chime from a vox-caster. The hallway that greeted them was even more opulently furnished, with what little that wasn't colored gold instead washed with deep blue-green of plasma storms. Instead of servitors, human servants were out and about, carrying their tasks as quickly as they could without attracting the attention of their betters. Many couldn't help but gawk at the sight of ULR-3.14e, even embodied as he was in a smaller vessel, while others shivered and made the sign of the Aquila when Suzurar passed them by.

Finally, they reached one final door, made from real wood and carved with an image of the Astronomicon, while emblems of Navigator Houses knelt in supplication before the glory of the God-Emperor's Light. There were no servants here, not even a servitor, and so ULR-3.14e placed his hands against the door's handle and pulled. It opened smoothly, almost as though it didn't weigh several times the Magos' weight, balanced upon hinges perfectly calibrated and maintained through the ages. A rare feat, and the one thing ULR-3.14e approved of the Navigator Sanctum.

Inside, a scene straight out of a painting were waiting for them. It was a meeting room, comprised of several areas joined into one shared space. To the right of the entrance was where the refreshments were, graceful doll-like servitors carrying trays of fine amasec and lho-sticks along with appetizers made from Tusk Bison meat. Immediately to the left were the entertainment, where a mechanical orchestra played music on-demand, requests written on tickets fed to the conductor servitor at the head of the group. Neither areas were active as ULR-3.14e and Suzurar passed them by, their servitors retired to their storage units until further notice.

The third area was a break room where large bookcases, comfortable couches and sofas were installed alongside regicide tables, hololith projectors, recorders, and even data-slates filled with content pre-approved for distribution by the Ecclesiarchy and the Adeptus Mechanicus beforehand. It was the hub from which the fourth and last area of the meeting room could be accessed; the private spaces.

These ranged from tiny closets where only two people could get in to a room that could accommodate three to four people. The largest could fit eight people at once, and ULR-3.14e and Suzurar headed towards the only one with a closed door. The Astropath' bony fingers rapped against wood once, twice, and before the third strike landed, the door opened.

"Choirmaster Suzurar. Enginseer Prime Eular. You've arrived on-time." The stoic face of Rassilas Osmic, Seneschal of the Boltaneus Dynasty, greeted ULR-3.14e and Suzurar. The man gracefully stepped back to let his fellows in, giving slight nods to the duo as they passed him by. Inside, four other people were waiting, two of them familiar, the last a newcomer. The owner of their current domain, Navigator Hirolian Maissac, was entombed within his usual shrouded garb, the symbol of his House most prominent on the hood which covered his head. Then there was Sister Kata, member of the Sisters Dialogus and a direct link to Lord Inquisitor Nantz Palemar. The brown fatigues she wore were reminiscent of the Imperial Guard, with Carapace Armor completing the look. ULR-3.14e noted the absence of her power armor immediately, but thought better than bring attention to the fact.

To her left sat Lord Captain Gallianus van Boltaneus, putting on a brave face and failing. He looked at the two newcomers and gave them curt nods, lingering a second longer on his Choirmaster before moving on. Even without touching his mind, Suzurar could feel the Lord-Captain's fear as a palpable liquid taste. With a discreet cough, the Astropath cleared his mouth and took his seat opposite Sister Kata, while ULR-3.14e took the one facing Navigator Hirolian. Seneschal Rassilas took the seat to his master's left, nodding to the woman sitting to Suzurar's right, the only human present that wasn't part of the Desperate Luck's crew.

She stood up, smoothing the wrinkled fabric of her blue-trimmed Gue'vesa'ui tunic and making herself generally presentable before speaking. "On behalf of the T'au Empire, I would like to thank the honorable Lord Captain Gallianus van Boltaneus for agreeing to this open discussion about future cooperation efforts between our two great empires." The man of the hour shrank from the pointed gazes aimed his way, but regained his composure shortly after. "Of course, we would have to start with some basic questions to get out of the way first. Nothing too intrusive, Lord Captain."

"Are we not, ah, waiting for your… friend, first?" Gallianus said, not eager to talk to a xenos empire about his God-Emperor given life, even to a human traitor, and yet also hesitant to breathe the same air with actual xenos filth. "There will not be a second discussion, mind. It was bad enough that the Drukhari attacked us first, only to have your kind capture us in turn. Enough time has been wasted and we are desperately needed back in the Imperium." The Gue'ui nodded with a sympathetic flair, subtly checking the Rogue Trader's retinue for their reactions, and smiling when no one said a word.

"This discussion is already being recorded, so there is no fear there, Lord Captain. Rest assured, my friend will arrive here shortly. So, shall we begin?" The Gue'ui stared without fear at someone that in the past would never even know she existed. That boldness clicked something into place within Gallianus, and he soon cast aside his fear and nervousness, and stared right back at the contemptuous upstart with the well-practiced glare of an Imperial highborn.

"Ask your questions, traitor, and I may deign you with an answer." The Gui'ui nodded as though she'd expected Gallianus' behavior and moved right along.

"First question, which system did you come from?" Gallianus stiffened for all of a second before giving a short nod towards his Navigator. The mutant noble made a show of standing up from his seat, taking a few steps towards his Lord Captain, bending down to whisper a couple words before going back without sparing a single glance towards the Gue'ui.

"I believe it was the Passade System." Gallianus replied, nonplussed by Hirolian's blasé dismissal of the Gue'ui.

"Excellent. Next question, what were you doing in this Passade System?" Gallianus smirked upon hearing the question.

"Repairs. Resupply. Relaxation. The usual thing to do after a successful expedition as a Rogue Trader. And then you know what happened next." The Gue'ui raised an eyebrow at that, giving a skeptical look towards the Rogue Trader.

"You were attacked by this 'Drukhari' and forced to make an emergency Warp Jump. And they are?" Gallianus snorted, feeling a bit of amusement at having to enlighten a traitor about one of the core truths of the universe.

"Xenos. The most vile and reprehensible kind I've ever met in my life. They feed on the pain and suffering of others, literally. It's how they stay alive. Their raids are the stuff of nightmares, and the dead left behind are the lucky ones. These scum and others are why the Imperium exists, to safeguard humanity against the predators in the dark. And yet you throw in your lot with one of them." Gallianus' eyes wandered to his left, where his Seneschal sat unmoving and unresponsive save for the slight rise and fall of his chest. There were no marks on his skin, not even a scar or blemish, but the eighteen-year old shouldn't have to suffer so much that most would think he was forty. The Rogue Trader's anger rose suddenly in a white-hot burst, and he had to settle for spitting at the floor with disgust instead of lunging at the Gue'ui and throttling her until she died.

"Thank you for your candor, Lord Captain." The woman's voice spoke with a slight tremble only ULR-3.14e could hear. "For my next question, I'd like to ask someone else, if that's alright with you, Lord Captain." Gallianus gave an irreverent wave towards the rest of the table as though daring the Gue'ui to try her luck. It came as a shock then for the Rogue Trader when one mechanical hand slowly rose up from within red robes.

"This unit would be open to communication with traitor human unit in exchange for information." ULR-3.14e spoke, ignoring the burning glares coming off from the Navigator and Sister of Battle. Gallianus seemed aghast, but kept his gaze set on anywhere except for where the Enginseer Prime was, while Rassilas gave no indication he noticed or cared all the same. As for the Choirmaster, he looked outwardly placid and unmoved, but it was really because the Astropath was finding it remarkably difficult to pierce the mental guards put in place inside the Gue'ui' mind. The traitor woman was not a psyker, that much was clear, which meant the source of the resistance came from something else.

"I am very grateful for the offer, Enginseer Prime. I'll get my question out of the way, first." The Gue'ui woman cleared her throat and shifted her seat so that she could look at ULR-3.14e better. "What do you know about Chaos?"

Immediately the mood in the room turned grim, with Hirolian showing visible emotion for the first time by casting fearful looks around him though waiting for something to come out. Kata made the sign of the Aquila and immediately began praying, with Suzurar doing much the same while also trying to find the Astronomicon' comforting light. Rassilas only looked confused for a second before returning to his previous stoic countenance, but it was Gallianus that had the most profound change of all. There was a very visceral look of guilt on the Rogue Trader's face, which he hid by pretending to be caught by a fit of coughing, but the Gue'ui caught it all.

As with all members of the priesthood, ULR-3.14e rarely showed much in the way of emotional expression, but the Magos this time betrayed a widening of his ocular augmetics before being suppressed back to normal. He gripped the table until the wood started to crack, then brought them away as though he could hide his agitation. After several minutes of tense silence, the vox-emitter that replaced ULR-3.14e's mouth switched to life and said, "This information is forbidden. Retraction of previous offer until the query is changed."

The Gue'ui looked around and saw the same solidarity reflected in the faces of everyone else in the room. As she was considering her next steps, there was knock on the door. Three times in short order, and before a fourth could land, the Gue'ui was already opening the door. Every Imperial present tensed as they prepared their minds for the vile sight awaiting them, and they were not disappointed.

Three glowing red orbs peered inside the room, encased in a trapezoid that narrowed to a point on the other end. This head then sat upon a stilt-like neck, so short as to appear part of its torso, which in turn were divided into twin-halves mounted upon a spheroid core. Its two pairs of arms had three fingers with one thumb on each hand, the tips bulbous with a strange pattern on the surface. Its legs, lizard-like and placed somewhere between its sides and under it, carried it forward on a bipedal gait, balanced with the help of its thick and prehensile-looking tail.

It was at this point that all Imperials present realized that the xenos was of artificial make, and felt their fear spike one level higher. ULR-3.14e in particular felt a dread so complete as to feel suffocating, and he clutched protectively at the True Flesh that sustained his mortal life. The synthetic xenos, either unaware or uncaring at the effect its presence had on everyone present, stood to its full height and took measure of everything in sight. Its three eyes focused on different objects until one fell on the Gue'ui, who looked completely at ease and even gave a smirk in return.

"Renthaya Grondgun. My deepest apologies for my tardiness. You know how I get with archeotech, so please make sure to note that in your report when we return." It spoke in Gothic, but not just any random dialect. The xenos spoke in fluent, accented High Gothic as though it had been an Imperial highborn all its life. It then finally noticed the Imperials staring at it with mouths agog, and gave them a short wave with one of its hands.

"Greetings, humans of the Imperium. I am Korvac Davic, a Scientist of the Ascentron Circurrency. Now, which one of you is the leader?" At once, the Imperials looked at the Rogue Trader in attendance, Gallianus van Boltaneus grimacing as he thanked the God-Emperor for giving him such attentive servants. Using every bit of willpower he had, Gallianus forced himself to look at the face of evil, and it in turn scrutinized him. The two beings from different worlds stayed that way for several more minutes until Renthaya, the Gue'ui, cleared her throat and reminded everyone she still existed.

"Korvac, we are still in the middle of discussions. Please sit down and wait for your turn." The Imperials held their breath as they waited for the hammer to come down on the traitor woman, but to their continuing surprise, the Ascentron obliged her, somehow sitting down on the seat despite its size. "Now, Enginseer Prime, I would like to ask you another question, if you are still open to talk?"

"T-this-" ULR-3.14e started with a stutter, a human tic so unlike the Magos to suffer from that it threw him into a loop. He sought clarity and his hands responded, humming with a build-up of the purifying energies of the Motive Force. ULR-3.14e braced himself for the coming pain and, with one decisive move, clapped his palms upon his face. Immediately, arcs of electricity burrowed into True Flesh and feeble meat, the former standing tall against the surge while the latter pulsed with the all too familiar weakness of pain. The penance lasted for two seconds, but it was enough to reboot the Magos' faltering mind and reaffirm his faith on the Omnissiah.

"This unit is open to dialogue, but only if the Silica Animus will refrain from further communication efforts." Renthaya shared a look with Korvac, whose body language to the Gue'ui conveyed amusement, even if his current face was incapable of emoting. The Ascentron Scientist gave a curt nod, which Renthaya took as a sign to continue talking.

"He'll be on his best behavior, Enginseer Prime. Now, my question for you is, why are you afraid of Korvac?" The Magos flinched as though Renthaya struck him directly. "I understand that before the Imperium, there was a period time known as the Age of Strife that-"

"You know nothing, traitor scum!" Navigator Hirolian suddenly shouted, his face turning reddish pink as blood flowed through his pale, translucent skin. "Not of how far we've fallen, of how close mankind came to extinction by those we trusted. But the Navigators remembered, for we endured where many perished. I've seen the records with my own eyes, and it is the likes of you that betrayed us!" Two long, claw-like fingers pointed at Renthaya first, then at Korvac. "Xenophiles; the Enemy Without. The Men of Iron; the Enemy Within. Two sides of the same problem, pounding humanity into the dirt until all that was left was ash. If it weren't for the God-Emperor, humanity would have ceased to exist altogether." The other Imperials nodded in righteous zeal, their previous fear and hesitance banished like a bad dream.

"Neither of us have lived through that era." Renthaya said with her own rising conviction. "Things have changed. I saw it, felt it, touched it even. The Imperium is not the only place humanity can survive now."

"Heresy!" Kata roared, standing up from her seat and tensing as though she was going to leap across the table and tackle Renthaya to the ground. She was stopped by Korvac, who towered over the table with two arms stretched out ready to push the Sister of Battle of back while the other two pulled his Gue'ui ally closer into a protective hug. Kata recoiled from the xenos' touch, one hand grasping the spot as though she was shot while her free hand reached on instinct towards a non-existent Bolt Pistol. Hirolian stood up from his seat as well, a hand reaching towards the covering hiding his third eye, but they were all stopped by a sudden wave of calm forced onto their minds.

"I deeply apologize for this, everyone, but we are going nowhere at this rate." Suzurar spoke out, his empty eye-sockets glowing with power. "Lord Captain, I beseech you to remember your privileges, and lead us out of the darkness back into the God-Emperor's light. Lead us, as you have lead us before." The Astropath then slumped into his seat as he let the Warp go, praying for repentance with frost on his lips. All eyes then went to Gallianus, who was still agog at his Choirmaster's blatant display of disobedience, but then remembered where he was with a gentle nudge from his Seneschal.

"We will have words later, Choirmaster." The Rogue Trader spoke, which made the Astropath lower his head even more. "I will speak plainly. What do you want from us?" He directed his gaze mainly towards Renthaya, with only a glance spared towards Korvac. Feeling the pressure, the Gue'ui woman turned towards her friend, only to find the Ascentron Scientist grinning from a mouth that wasn't there before. With the flourish of a seasoned entertainer, Korvac produced a small pod on one of his hands out of thin air and put it on the table for all to see. The small device vibrated slightly before an aperture opened in its center and a hololith projection appeared in the air, showing a scene straight out of recent memory for the Imperials.

There was Inquisitor Nantz Palemar, in such high fidelity Gallianus thought he'd be able to step off the projector' edge and stare into the Rogue Trader's flawed soul and cast judgment then and there. And of course there was the Lord Captain in miniature, the future seeing the past and cringing at what he saw. The poor fool doesn't even know what's waiting for him. Gallianus thought sadly as he saw events play out just as he remembered and projection faded to nothing.

"Renthaya, can you enlighten me what it was that I saw?" The Gue'ui woman sighed at the excessive theatricality her friend was putting on, but played along anyway.

"It appears to be an Inquisitor talking to the Lord Captain about something. I can't imagine what, but it has to be important." Korvac nodded like a maniac as the Imperials, even Kata, shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Indeed it is important, my dear friend. Of all the citizens in the Imperium, very few can stand up to the authority of the Inquisitors, and Rogue Traders are in that elite class. And yet Gallianus van Boltaneus not only welcomed this Inquisitor aboard, he even allowed the man to have leave of his bridge without his own men around for the sake of seeming convenience. Truly, an ultimate expression of trust, or perhaps a gesture of submission meant to placate someone with leverage on one's self. Add this to the fact you seem remarkably eager to slip from our grasp, Lord Captain, means that there is a deadline of sorts you must overcome. That you had the bad luck of suffering as you did, only to end up so close to where you wanted to go." Korvac chuckled with clear amusement at Gallianus' distress at his words. "That must simply be pure torture for you, Lord Captain."

"What. Do. You. Want. From. Us. Xenos?" Gallianus repeated, grinding his teeth at Korvac's clear provocations made to draw his ire.

"Korvac, I think I'll take over here from you again." Renthaya spoke up, looking at Gallianus with an expression somewhere between pity and exasperation. "Lord Captain, we will offer you our help in completing your mission, provided you comply with our requests."

"Lord Captain, you must not-" Kata began to preach, but was stopped by the look on Gallianus' face.

"And what if I say no?" The Rogue Trader asked, looking directly at Renthaya with an appraising gaze. "Will you kill us then?"

"No. We'll just detain you and your ship for the foreseeable future." Gallianus visibly cringed at that answer, which Korvac took as his cue to chime in.

"The longer you wait, Lord Captain, the harder it'll be to explain your absence to the Lord Inquisitor. Are you in or are you out?" Once more, all eyes were on the Rogue Trader, but this time Gallianus could feel the burden of responsibility placed upon his shoulders. His words now would affect the lives of all Imperials aboard the Desperate Luck, for better or worse.

"God-Emperor, forgive me." Gallianus said before he gave his answer. "I'm in."

Deep within the Horizon Needle, where artificial suns lit test chambers with the surface area of planets, the Mentat was running an experiment. His subject was an infiltrator/vanguard unit of an intergalactic Devouring Swarm, which the T'au called the Y'he and referred to by the Imperials as Tyranids. The specimen was picked up on Au'Taal Prime, and after some negotiations with the T'au, were given to the Ascentrons for research purposes. What interested the Mentat with the specimen wasn't so much its physical attributes as its subtler characteristics, which manifested rather violently when it attempted to force itself into the Curator's mind.

And that's when the Mentat flicked the kill-switch and made arrangements to install psychic restraints into the lab environment. As that was being processed, he spent the time waiting on dissecting the specimen while it was still warm, cleaving through molecular bonds with scalpels thinner than atoms. Several times the Mentat was faced with hissing toxic gas or corrosive liquids spraying out from hidden pressure chambers, which made decontamination a hassle, but nothing extra-ordinary. After thoroughly documenting every part of the specimen' anatomy, the Mentat began the real challenge, which was putting it all back together and reviving the creature to full functionality.

I thought these kinds of stuff were behind me, but apparently not. The scientist thought as he deftly weaved a tri-corded muscle fiber back together with the help of Nanites to pick up the slack. But these kinds of relaxing lab-work is fine once in a while as well. The Oracle is running us ragged, creating simulations on possible psychic backlash from the [REDACTED] being employed prematurely, but I don't think we can avoid attention when we fire up the prototype on the Karang System. The Mentat shook his head as he felt the mental censor doing its job.

It was one of many precautions put in place by the Shroudwalker to prevent The Plan from leaking by any means necessary. The Mentat understood the idea, but thought the implementation was too intrusive at times, especially with how he could hold together all the pieces of the censored thoughts separately, but as soon as he made them into one, they would inevitably be [REDACTED], like so.

"I knew I would find you here." The Mentat froze in the middle of reconstructing a fearsome jawbone. The voice came from a portal behind him, and from within out walked an Ascentron Cybernetic, towering over the Ascentron Head of Research with a smirk on her face. She was Mammalian, with bronze-red fur streaked with the occasional white showing through the gaps of her combat fatigue. Her tail flicked side to side, long enough that it brushed against the floor in large, sweeping arcs. And despite her size and bulk, her hooves made no sound as the woman clopped along. "Did you miss me, lover?"

"Don't distract me, Russet. This is a very delicate and dangerous operation." The Mentat finished up one half of the monster's jawbone and began working on the other half. "One wrong move and I'll have to do this from scratch again." Russet' tail lifted up after hearing that, a mischievous grin coming onto her face. A clawed hand slowly made its way to the interface which controlled the stasis generator, only to be stopped by a crystalline limb.

"Russet, no." The Mentat's voice was firm, but also exasperated. "You have a job to do."

"But it's so boring." The Mammalian rested her considerable bust atop her lover's head. "I was looking forward to blowing up some alien ships, not play sentry to the universe' most secure solar system." The Mentat finished the specimen' entire lower jaw and took a timeout just so he could separate his head from Russet' chest.

"A fact which I am constantly grateful for, given the nature of our experiments on reality here. I'm also very pleased with how careful we are with the emissions being broadcast out-system, at least on the physical side of things. Everything Warp-related falls mainly under Peny Cotting's jurisdiction, and I'm content to let her deal with that madness." Russet appeared mildly interested with what the Mentat was saying, but she was still eyeing the stasis generator with unrestrained glee. All it would take was one moment of inattention from her lover and she could just-

An information overlay suddenly dropped down into Russet' line of sight, her surprise tamped down ruthlessly by decades of training and experience. It gave her a real-time overview of the Karang System, every bit of relevant telemetry data highlighted as she focused on them. But it was a glowing dot at the edge the system's gravity well that caught her attention, which expanded into a window containing a preliminary assessment of what appeared to be a fleet of alien vessels materializing seemingly out of nothing. That fact alone ruled out Imperial, Orks, and T'au ships, which meant the hostiles were either the Aeldari, or the Necrons.

Of the former, Russet had heard little but baffling and contradictory accounts of the lithe, ethereal and possibly immortal race being at times sadistic, cruel, and vile beyond remorse, and other times lending their aid unprompted and without any outward desire for compensation in return. In both cases, the Aeldari was notably consistent in being aloof, distant, and terrifying warriors whose technology eclipsed all others save for the Necrons, and were all psychics without exception, though Russet noticed that the anecdotes wherein the Aeldari were amoral monsters lacked any descriptions of psychic powers being used whatsoever.

The real threat, however, was the Necrons, and Russet was in no hurry to meet them either. From what has been gathered so far by the T'au as well as former Imperials, the Necrons were an ancient race which had slumbered for millions of years after winning an unknown conflict with a forgotten foe. They were machines, like Ascentrons, but considered everyone else as beneath them to either be crushed and swept aside into the forgotten corners of history, or brought to hell and made lesser than slaves, playthings of immortal machines that knew only hate in their hearts. Russet had no doubt that the Ascentrons would prevail against what were essentially relics of a bygone age, but then they would have to settle down and stay in this forsaken galaxy. That was a sacrifice of the future the Horizon Needle promised them all, and the Oracle would never let that slide.

"Darling, this has been fun, but this vixen's gotta run." Russet bent down and gave a quick smooch at the Mentat's face. "Au revoir, mon cherié!" And one portal later, the Mammalian was gone.

"Oh, Russet." The Mentat sighed, though the bright cheery glow of his crystals spoke a different story.

---

"You've brought us all the way out here for what, Kaliksa? A dead system with naught but scraps to show for it. Your keen insight has failed you now, dear sister." Kaliksa inwardly seethed at her sibling' ribbing, but kept a facade of perfect calm and haughty arrogance as she looked upon the bridge of her ship, Phantom Pain. The Flayed Skull class cruiser was one of four within the raiding fleet, escorted by five light cruisers and a dozen escorts. For a simple raiding party, it was perhaps a bit much, but restraint was a word that would not be found in any Dark Aeldari's lexicon.

Those officers who were loyal did not dare to even meet her eyes, while those whose schemes to supplant her gave fake bows and smiles with promises of betrayals clear in their gazes. Order was maintained by the Incubi as usual, but the paranoid Kaliksa felt that their gazes lingered on her a second longer than usual. She cut the life thread of a passing slave with a frustrated swipe, letting the whelp' death cries wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.

"I have to do the thinking for both of us, Krixoss. Not everyone can be so blessed with ignorance as you are." Her brother' sneering face quickly turned into a hateful grimace while his hands moved on their own towards the enormous glaive strapped to his back. It was only by the similar movements made by the surrounding Incubi that the Dracon came to his senses and reluctantly let his hands drop to the side, stomping out of the bridge to find some unfortunate fool to unleash his wrath upon. Some officers looked between the receding Krixoss and Kaliksa with an unasked question that was all but spoken aloud:

Why is this idiot still around?

It was a question Kaliksa still grappled with at times, often solved by observing said brother in action during combat. What the dull brute utterly lacked in grace, poise, tactical acumen, and strategic thinking was more than made up for with a body that was physically gifted far beyond the norm. Before a Haemonculi had ever laid a scalpel on his body, Krixoss had managed to punch straight through one of the Mon'keigh's genecrafted toy soldiers, armor and all, without so much as breaking a sweat. He mastered every form of melee and ranged combat there was to find in Commorragh, and in a one-on-one with no tricks involved, Krixoss would win against Kaliksa without fail, whether it was repeated a hundred times or a thousand times. Indeed, if her brother had been born as any other species, he would've been considered a demigod or a god reincarnate.

Alas, he was born a Dark Aeldari, and it is far from enough that one be strong in body alone. From early on, Kaliksa saw the potential in her brother as the ultimate meat-shield, and blackmailed Krixoss into becoming her underling. The sister would deal with the intrigues, the politics, the behind-the-scenes work that went over Krixoss' head. The brother in turn would be Kaliksa' walking arsenal, personal enforcer, and executioner, all-in-one.

"Dark mistress, we are detecting a massive gravitational signature deeper in the system. Interference from the local star is preventing the sensors from getting more accurate readings of the object, but its mass is comparable to an average Maiden World. What is your command?" Kaliksa frowned as she considered her next moves. Their Craftworld cousins would no doubt retreat and reassess their options, wait years before making another attempt at shaping the future into their liking. But such a display of weakness from an Archon would be inviting her subordinates to try their luck and replace her, and they might even succeed before Krixoss would end their pathetic lives in turn. She was not looking forward to coming back to life in a Hameonculi lab, even if she's amassed enough leverage to ensure the procedure would go smoothly in her favor.

When in doubt, move forward. Kaliksa idly repeated a mantra one of her Mon'keigh slaves would repeat nonstop after one of her torture sessions. "Split the fleet into three shards. I will command the first, Dakilliax the second, and Kruvicax the third. Confirm the presence of hostiles and await further commands." Her words were quickly relayed throughout the Dark Aeldari fleet, two cruisers splitting off with their own entourage and disappearing from visual range in short order. Kaliksa directed her remaining ships on an approach vector which would bring them under the shadow of a local gas giant; the perfect place from which to stage an ambush on an unsuspecting foe. But the Archon' survival instinct, honed over hundreds of thousands of conflicts which spanned personal duels to outright wars that spanned from the webway, to planetside and all the way up to void skirmishes, screamed at her to remain vigilant, and so she waited for the other blade to drop.

The shadowfields of the Phantom Pain and the other ships of Kaliksa' fleet flickered with multi-colored static as they briefly pierced through the radiation bands of the gas giant. From a distance, the Dark Aeldari fleet looked as though they were sharpened black spears with hafts of white-blue flame. Without a word, the Archon guided everyone to a spot where her fleet' sensors would be able to reach beyond the gas giant while also denying any enemy the chance attack without being spotted first by the Dark Aeldari. The wait for news to come was the kind of torture Kaliksa noticeably did not enjoy, and she went through three slaves staving off her boredom before something changed.

"New readings are detected from the anomaly. It's not a planet, but a ship. It resembles a craftworld, dark mistress." Kaliksa' mind raced towards the meeting that started this whole thing, that damned Farseer with her enigmatic gaze and cryptic words spoken as though they were truth. If this is treachery, it is poorly done. The Archon felt her earlier hesitation make way for newfound confidence, arranging her forces to launch a decapitating strike against whatever vessel was out there. She noted idly that neither Dakiliax or Kruvicax had made updates, but that was par for the course. Anything short of complete success was not worth sharing.

With some time to burn before their prey was in range, Kaliksa decided to take a break and leave the bridge under the capable hands of her underlings. If there was one thing she knew how to do well, it would be how to pick the best tools for a job. Without so much as a word in parting, the Archon was gone.

---

Commander Ochitar felt his irritation grow by the second the longer he stared at the empty seat belonging to the Head of the Karang System Defense Force, Commander Russet Riot. His glare moved on to her subordinates, most of which withered under his gaze save for Russet' second-in-command, a Cybernetic named Glorydevin. Immersed in clear, purplish liquid which both cooled her down and helped her breathe, the Aquatic Mammal simply gave a deferential nod to the Synthetic before returning to her tasks.

"Where is Commander Russet?" Ochitar said, his words transliterated into a dozen other languages for the surrounding listener' benefit. "Has she not been informed of the alien threat?

"She is well on her way, Commander Ochitar." Another of Russet' subordinate talked up, a Necroid who talked from a mouth that was a fusion of an Avian and Arthropoid mouth parts. His name was a string of syllables and chirps that was near impossible to transliterate, but most just call him Krik. "As for the aliens, countermeasures are already in place and waiting for the signal to fire."

"We need to take them alive and intact." One of Mentat' research assistants, filing in his stead, spoke up. Her two tails, terminating in various scientific tools, twined into one and then uncoiled in a sign of clear nervousness. Her name tag listed her as Cesful Perite. "The Mentat made it very clear that at least 60% of the ships are to be recovered with minimal damage to them and the occupants." The Cybernetic Mammalian shrunk at the sudden influx of attention coming her way, and hid behind her handheld console.

"Only 60%? Has the Mentat finally learned to set realistic stretch goals?" An aide to the Minister of State guffawed, shutting up when he realized his jibe wasn't landing as expected. His Reptilian neck frills turned from pink to blue as his mind reasserted itself. "That aside, we cannot underestimate these foes. They are called the Dark Aeldari; a raider empire which strikes out from a dimension adjacent to reality. And before anyone asks, no, it's unknown for now whether they come out of the Warp or something else." Satisfied that he managed to contribute something useful, the aide named Larazar sat back in his seat with clear delight visible on his green-and-yellow neck frills.

"Dark Aeldari? They really call themselves that?" A junior Commander said before realizing his faux-pas at the other end of Command Ochitar' withering gaze.

"Their name aside, they are not to be underestimated. The Dark Aeldari are to be considered a Fallen Empire and treated with the same caution. Any delays to ongoing projects are unacceptable." Left unsaid by Ochitar was what would happen if any of them failed in their duties. Before anyone could say anything more, a portal came to life at one end of the room, the striking figure of Commander Russet Riot coming out fully geared for warfare.

"Sorry I took so long, Had to gear up for the plan. Have you guys started without me?" Russet made a point of not looking at Ochitar as she took in the sights. "I know we have all the time in the world, but you can just do things on your own initiative."

"Respectfully, Commander Russet, no we can't. There are procedures to be followed, regulations to be observed, and-" Glorydevin stopped talking as Russet held up a finger to her mouth.

"Later, Glorydevin. Now's not the time for that lecture." Russet took control of the meeting room's holographic display and expanded the view until the Karang solar system filled everyone' field of view.

"Our guests have already picked up on the Horizon Needle' gravitational signature and seems to be attempting an ambush. They have a respectable level of cloaking tech and after a certain distance, sensors are unable to pick out their fleets' emissions from background radiation. Which means we will need to come at them quite close and hot." Several new fleets appeared on the display, colored red to distinguish them from the Dark Aeldari' blue.

"Thanks our T'au friends, we have a decent amount of combat capable ships refitted and upgraded to our baseline system specs. Due to size constraints, we've only been able to field equipment up to the destroyer-level, but that should be enough for this engagement." Most of the military personnel present nodded with clear confidence in Ascentron technology save for Commander Ochitar, whose skepticism could be felt from across the room. Cestful Perite also looked skittish, as though she wanted to interject, but decided to keep her peace for now. "The real danger is when we'll have to board the intact enemy ships in order to capture live specimens."

"That seems like an unnecessary risk." Larazar spoke up, aware that he was speaking out of his depth, but deciding to forge onward anyway. "Surely we can simply revive those who perished relatively intact. We've done so already with the personnel lost during the Ork invasion of Au'Taal." A Lithoid tentacle rose up after that statement, its owner belonging to one of Peny Cotting's Shroud Acolytes named Kiper Golm.

"Actually, the Shroudwalker have warned against over-use of the resurrection protocol in this universe due to the presence of the Warp. The differing nature of the Warp compared to the Shroud means that some parts of the soul are irrevocably lost in the time span between death and life. A miniscule amount, but the damage stacks up. Capturing them alive is most ideal." Kiper watched her fellows parse her words with the guilt of one who had lied by omission, but it was an old pain at this point.

They're better off not knowing. The Shroudwalker had said to her and the others, right after another purification ritual done to reclaim a lost section of the Horizon Needle from the daemons. It would be like explaining colors to the blind. Those who are in the know put themselves at great risk, and I would not have entrusted you all with this burden if I did not think you were strong enough to bear it. Kiper remembered feeling great pride upon hearing those words, followed with deep sorrow as she beheld the Shroudwalker clutching a small blue pendant protectively over her chest.

"Commander Ochitar, I can see you're about to order me to stay." Russet said, giving the aged warbot a mischievous smile. "But the Oracle herself told me to go, and here's the order if you're skeptical." A coin flew towards towards Ochitar, who caught it with ease and noted that it was made of Liquid Metal. But of greater interest to the warbot was what engraved upon the coin' two surfaces, with one side bearing the Oracle' personal symbol while the other displayed the Horizon Needle piercing through a black hole. This was a type of currency reserved for use only by the Ascentron Ruling Council, and its meaning was simple enough.

I owe you.

"Very well, Commander Russet. Do as you wish."

Kruvicax sat ramrod straight upon his command throne, partially out of discpline borne from his past as a former Phoenix Lord, but also due to the row of spikes which jut out at odd angles along the Dracon's back. A gift from a Haemonculi, which saw fit to replace Kruvicax' spine with a sentient metal-worm dug up from one of the Mon'keigh' STCs. Any complaints died when Kruvicax awoke from his slumber to find the impaled corpses of would-be assassins around him. And when the Dracon tracked down who ordered the hit, he took great pleasure in using those same spikes upon the Haemonculi who installed them.

And so was born one of his monikers - The Spiked Hound.

But space was no hunting ground for the Dracon, even if Kruvicax was trained well enough in void combat to lead his own fleet. He loathed the passive wait of weapons fired minutes before they actually hit, of death that could not be evaded by the strength of one's body alone. There was no glory in silence, of faraway flashes that could not splash against skin and make his blood run hot and sing. He was so bored that his eyes started to wander towards his officers, sizing up which was the weakest and making plans to kill them for his amusement. But then the sensors started going haywire, and all the Dracon' attention was then spent on working out what was happening.

Outside of Kruvicax' cruiser, the Blackest Hope, a dense black cloud had descended upon the sleek vessel and its escorts like a stellar storm out of the blue. It was composed out of Nanites, each no more than a micron thick and similarly dull in mind on their own, but as part of the greater tide, their mission became clear. Shadowfields shook as it struggled to identify the swarm as either an enemy to be evaded from or a natural feature to incorporate as part of its background. Some swathes of the Nanites were successfully disabled as the Dark Aeldari took direct control of their ships' systems, but the distraction worked.

Hiding in a nearby cluster of asteroids of what was once a moon, the 1st Luminal Fleet had been standing by for a break in the Nanite Swarm. Twenty of what had once been Castellan-class Heavy Escorts now bore modifications no T'au vessel would have. The most noticeable was the spinal weapon mount configuration necessary to bring into bear the Kinetic Artillery; the Ascentron Circurrency' largest standardized kinetic weapon design available for mass-production. Only the Giga Artillery and Ancient Saturator Artillery were larger still, and so far, the Ascentron has yet to meet a foe that warranted such firepower.

Commander Krik' four eyes kept track of the rapid inflow of data with ease, while his many hands and other limbs moved seamlessly from console to console, calculating with the aid of his ship' Sapient Combat Computer the exact trajectories needed to decapitate the Dark Aeldari' cruiser before him in a single strike. He found his solution a second later, just as another break in the Nanite Swarm revealed the cruiser right where his calculations told him it would be. With a single finger swipe, he approved the order to fire, and watched as twenty one-meter spheres of neutronium exited twenty one-and-a-half kilometer long barrels at 0.5c. They left behind gravitic wakes which would no doubt alert every other ship in the system of what was happening, but by that point, it would already be too late for the Dark Aeldari.

For Kruvicax, the beginning of the end started with a shot that took out one of the cruiser' engines, and then another. He watched dumbfounded as a dozen more shots punched through the Blackest Hope and wrecked his cruiser' superstructure in the process, snapping the once-proud vessel into twisted fragments of what looked like an enormous decrepit tree in space. If only I had one final bout, then perhaps-the Dracon thought one last time before an explosion claimed his life.

With the largest threat neutralized, the 1st Luminal Fleet moved onto the next largest target, moving to keep their range advantage as long as possible against the closing Dark Aeldari escorts, who were pulling in at impressive speeds with obvious bloodlust. The decloaking advantage provided by the Nanite Swarm had fully worn off at this point, and the shadowfields fouled shots that would have been sure hits. Scythe Missile Artillery Batteries launched countless salvos of guided munitions that advanced together as a wall of undeniable death. The Ascentron' answer to that was a blizzard of interceptor rounds fired from Nanite Flak Batteries, each shot shifting into different forms to ensure maximum damage upon impact. Many missiles were shot down, but more than enough came through the screen unscathed.

One Ascentron Destroyer swerved to avoid missiles coming in up its flanks, only to be hit by another barrage that feinted going to another target. Another bravely took on a barrage that would have killed another Destroyer, crippling itself in the process. It was a trial by fire for the Ascentron Circurrency' newly reformed fleet command, but so far no ships had been lost. And in drawing out the rabid Dark Aeldari into a disorganized mob, the First Luminar Fleet paved the way for the Second and Third Luminar Fleet to begin their own ambush.

The Second Luminar Fleet was similarly filled with converted Castellan-class Heavy Escorts destroyers, ten of them in fact. But these ships were missile nests, with a large dodecahedral launcher attached at their prows filled with Swarmer Missiles designed to overwhelm any anti-missile countermeasures, paving the way for Marauder Missiles to come in and annihilate the enemy. Hundreds of launchers for such a weapon were embedded into each ships' wings, including their lower side. These now fired without pause, the fleet of destroyers launching thousands of missiles in their first salvo alone. They flew without intelligence at first, but then pass an invisible threshold moved and behaved as though they were predators on a hunt, grouping into packs which dodged and weaved through the Dark Aeldari' point defenses as if they weren't there. One large hunting pack zeroed-in onto a Light Cruiser attempting to flee, and destroyed it in a synchronized barrage of explosions that cracked the foul vessel in half.

The Dark Aeldari fought back hard, scoring multiple kills of their own, but lost just as much in the process. The wisest among those left saw their chances of survival shrink by the second and made the decision to flee discretely while leaving their allies to die. They gathered into a spear formation and punched through the encroaching Ascentron ships, putting everything into their engines and annihilating any threat in front of them. This left them wide open for the Third Luminar Fleet to decloak from above and below, revealing thirty Warden-class Gunships converted into corvettes, armed with Nanite Autocannons and Gamma Lasers. Before the Dark Aeldari could even register what was happening, their engines were picked apart with precision burst fire and pinpoint surgical strikes. Crippled as they were, the alien menaces never stopped firing until their weapons were silenced for them, ending the battle once and for all.

Commander Krik for the first time since the battle began relaxed slightly in his seat, letting out a breath he was holding as he assessed the fleet damage report. The First Luminar Fleet lost seven ships, while the Second lost three ships and the Third lost ten ships. The survivors were all damaged, with those who couldn't be fixed completely even with Liquid Metal limping back towards safety. Commander Krik' hearts beat in a rhythm to a battle-song the once-Avian knew all too well. With that fire in his veins, he made the decision to plot a course towards the next closest engagement, merging the Second Luminar Fleet with his own while ordering the Third to follow at a distance with their cloaking engaged. With luck, he would make it in time to destroy more alien scum who dared to intrude upon Ascentron space.

---

"Was that everyone?" Dakiliax asked one of the officers from her bridge; an ugly little thing with a black gem placed at the center of his forehead. He frowned at the condescending stare she sent his way, but nodded. They were no longer at the bridge, but instead in the labyrinthine innards of the Fiend-Ascendant class Cruiser Dakiliax commanded. Its engines were silent for now, though work was already progressing to bring it back to life while the rest of the crew prepared to welcome the foolish boarders that entered their lair. The Dracon almost pitied the intruders, were it not for the fact that they had somehow bested her.

It was a fact that irritated Dakiliax greatly, not least because of how much her reputation would fall if word of her defeat reached her rivals and enemies in Commorragh. That she was simply following the directions of her Archon wouldn't matter to them, as the Dracon had failed and revealed her weakness for all to see. Dakiliax wondered in passing as to what has happened to Kaliksa, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. There would be time for intrigues later, when she' survived this ordeal.

"Any news from the scouts?" Dakiliax turned her attention to one of her trusted subordinates; a skilled Wych named Krixta. "They should have sent word by now. What did Grulaxis say?"

"He is indisposed, milady of blades. Some of the slaves are attempting a revolt." Krixta said, her voice a smooth trill that could easily turn into a haunting wail at a moment's notice. "Shall I recall him?" The Dracon thought about the matter for a bit, weighing the benefits of action to inaction before making her decision.

"No, let him deal with his own incompetence. I am going on a hunt." Krixta nodded, bowing deeply as Dakiliax dismissed her. Her words spread like wildfire and soon enough a hunting party had formed around the Dracon, filled with sneering Wyches like Krixta, menacing Incubi enforcers, and Kabalite Warriors eager to slake their bloodlust. The murder left with terrifying haste, slipping through secret passageways and hidden rooms until Dakiliax could see the invaders with her own eyes.

There were three of them, large and mechanical, and shaped in curves reminiscent of wraithbone. One walked upon four stilt legs attached to a spherical core, its weapons peeking through apertures which lined the surface like a thousand eyes of judgment. Another chose the path of Khaine, freshly-blooded blades hanging from stiff tentacles jutting out of its back while its leonine body surveyed its surroundings through eyes that formed a ring around its body. And the last had a body disturbingly most like an Aeldari, tall and lithe with elegance and grace to spare, but with three arms, two of which held a spear longer than it was tall, and a tail which moved as though it had a mind of its own.

An unfamiliar sensation came to Dakiliax; a weight in her soul that wasn't the ever-present pull of She-Who-Thirsts. She pushed past through it and made the decision to find easier prey, which went down poorly with her Kabalite Warriors, but was soon followed through under the imperious gazes of the Dracon' Incubi. The murder moved from shadow to shadow, seeing traces of fights here and there, but no bodies were found, not of the Dark Aeldari or of the invaders. Were the bodies recovered or were they destroyed? Either way, this will make it more difficult to know what we're up against. Dakiliax mused as she leapt from one platform to another with practiced ease.

Finally, the murder came upon a fight still in progress; a group of Kabalite Warriors and Wyches fighting against an equal amount of invaders. These enemies were clearly flesh and blood, which pleased Dakiliax greatly, and she wasted no time in ambushing them. In a great orgy of blood and gore, suffering and pain, they were no more, and the Dracon and her coterie was satisfied, for now. The question as to how the invaders left no traces was answered then as Dakiliax observed a wave of black decay surging over blood and bone, turning them into naught but particles in the wind which not even the Wracks was able to secure in time, to their great dismay. But what about the Dark Aeldari bodies? Dakiliax thought, her eyes already sizing up the leader of the pathetic group she just saved from annihilation. Have She-Who-Thirsts claimed them, or did the enemy take them?

"You. Step forward." Dakiliax jabbed a finger at a Trueborn Kabalite Warrior, who then walked to the front of his group and knelt before his Dracon.

"Mistress of blades, we are eternally grateful for your-"

"Spare me your empty words, worm. Speak of these invaders, what they are capable of, and what weaknesses has been surmised of them. If so much as a single lie quivers your tongue, the Incubi will tear out your spine and let the Wracks replace it with a Mon'keigh' own." The Trueborn had no fear on his face, but there was no betraying the slight tremble that passed through his body. He gave a curt nod and began recounting his experiences to everyone present.

"There are two types of invaders. The weakling flesh-scum that seem to serve no purpose but as fodder, and the mechanized walking war-machines. The former are only a threat in great numbers, much like the Mon'keigh, but their weapons are not be trifled with. And the latter-" The Trueborn hesitated for a moment, which a nearby Wrack and Incubi took as their cue to take a step closer, loosening the Kabalite Warrior' tongue immediately. "-the latter are monsters. Their weapons are unlike anything I've ever seen before, laying waste to the legions of slaves we freed to serve as fodder before moving onto the Kabalite Warriors, onto the Wyches, onto the Incubi. They have no weakness."

"For you, perhaps, but that is no longer your concern." Dakiliax spoke with clear disgust as she let the Wracks and Incubi take the Trueborn away. "Remind him of the lessons Commorragh teaches to those who lack the strength to triumph." The screams that came shortly after soothed the Dracon' bad mood, enough that she put her attentions back on her subordinates that had yet to fail her.

"Everything has a weakness. We will find it, exploit it, and destroy these interlopers." Dakiliax unsheathed her personal weapon, a Demi-Klaive, and skillfully twirled the large implement around as though it weighed nothing before splitting it into two parts which she held in each hand. "I will bring the fight to these machines and render them into nothing more than mere scraps, while you halfborn scum get the honor of dealing with the fodder." Her words bit deep into the group that the Trueborn came from, the survivors now turned into pariahs tasked with the lowest of menial tasks. The Dracon relished the wave of negative emotions she inflicted on her subordinates, but they could only seethe and bow their heads down while their betters laughed and jeered at their misfortunes.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Hunt! Kill! Destroy!" Her subordinates dispersed then at her words, with Dakiliax herself going into another secret tunnel followed by her most skilled Wyches, Incubi, and Kabalite Warriors. Her mind was set on slaying a mechanical beast, and as though to answer her prayers, Khaine brought her onto a wide open space; one of the slaughter-arenas that fed the Dark Aeldari crewmembers their daily allotment of pain, sufffering, and despair. In the the middle of a pile of gore and a lake of blood, a pristine machine of white and gold sat hovering with arms and legs crossed in transient meditation, its wings sharp and rigid like blades stabbed into its shoulders. Upon its lap, a blood-stained sword the length of a spear sat, a blue aura sheathing its edge.

A worthy foe. Dakiliax concluded, arranging her forces to attack under the guise of darkness and shadows. The Kabalite Warriors traded Splinter Rifles for Dark Lances, while the Wyches brought Blasters and Blast Pistols along with Haywire Grenades. Only the Incubi remained as they were, watching with Klaives and Demi-Klaives at the ready. On her mark, a fusilade of dark energies screamed towards the meditating machine, stopped short by an invisible force field which sizzled and boiled under the onslaught, but endured and stood strong as ever, though it was now visible.

Of course it can do that. Dakiliax rolled her eyes as she advanced closer to her foe, followed closely behind by her Incubi bodyguards. Some Kabalite and Wyches that preferred to get up close and personal followed suit, though they made sure to keep their distance from the Dracon. Their foe made no moves even as Dakiliax reached the lowest level, her steps measured and poised to launch her forward into a flurry of attacks or leap back and away from an impending attack. Only once an invisible threshold was passed did a change occur, the white and gold machine revealing its face to be full of eyes, its limbs unfolding and its sword flying towards its right hand. It flew still, looking down towards the Dark Aeldari, and Dakiliax felt a fury that was a shadow of Khaela Mensha Khaine's own. She gave the sign for the Kabalite Warriors and Wyches to begin firing again, and just as that invisible force field appeared again, the Dracon had crossed the distance along with the Incubi, Klaives and Demi-Klaives swinging around the machine in perfect arcs of death.

This was victory. And it was for this reason that when Dakiliax felt a strong force pushing against her strike, the Dracon thought it was simply the resistance of the machine' material fighting against the inertia of her Demi-Klaive. But then it got stronger, and with a pained grunt, Dakiliax was blown away and into a mound of corpses that cushioned her fall. The taste of stale blood helped calm down some of the incandescent anger she was feeling, but what she saw as she got to her feet gave her pause. The machine was in a defensive stance, sword held with both hands, remaining still save for its many eyes tracking everything in sight. It had moved with a speed that was impossible and deflected every strike with a blade that should have been too long and unwieldy to use.

"You are much too slow and predictable. But that is what arrogance does, yes? It dulls the mind and weakens the body with notions of false superiority. I know this for I too suffer from the same affliction." Dakiliax felt her surprise compound as the machine talked in her tongue, perfectly and without any mistake. "I am Zephyr Upsion. And you all will be the footnotes of my ascension into glory." The machine' proclamation was answered by more blasts of dark energy, the Kabalite Warriors and Wyches alternating their firing patterns in an attempt to pierce the invisible shield protecting their foe.

The Incubi joined the battle soon after, slicing through momentary holes in the machine' shields to chip away at its adamantium-hard skin. Every hit landed was a triumph short-lived, as Liquid Metal would soon bubble up and reform what was lost. Zephyr Upsion didn't move with that impossible speed again, but still rewarded those that were careless in their execution with counter-strikes and slashes that left its victims maimed and wounded, but alive.

Dakiliax watched the ebb and flow of battle as a Mandrake would stalk an unwary prey, timing her entrance perfectly after another Incubi had lunged first and was in the process of getting away from Zephyr Upsion' counter-attack. The large sword loomed in the Dracon' line of sight as she came closer and closer, but Dakiliax deftly dodged it and struck her own blow against the machine' neck, biting deep and almost cutting through to the other side before it was stopped. A deep rumbling filled the Dracon' hearing and with a start she realized that the machine, Zephyr Upsion had began to laugh; one that was all too familiar to her as she' done the same thing many times before.

It was the laughter of the strong mocking the weak before crushing them utterly.

"Excellent timing and strength. I would like to see you try again and behead me completely." The Dracon leap back with all her strength and put as much distance between her and the machine, but Zephyr Upsion stayed behind, his head dangling humorously off a sliver of neck still connected to the chest. Dakiliax' minions were not idle as they saw their mistress land what seemed to be a fatal blow, the Incubi increasing the fervor and ferocity of their attacks, and the Kabalite Warriors and Wyches in turn fine-tuning their attacks to even greater efficacy against Zephyr Upsion' shields. It was inevitable that given enough time, the Dark Aeldari would prevail over the invading aliens in their midst.

It was with this line of thought that Dakiliax prepared herself for one last strike, one final blow to end this farce of a battle and begin the process of reclaiming her ship once more. A potent cocktail of combat drugs and more exotic material entered her bloodstream, mixing together into an elixir of unparalleled potency, elevating Dakiliax's physicality into a realm beyond.

Zephyr Upsion took note of the change and far from being threatened, the machine instead waved its sword irreverently at the Dracon, daring her to attack as it spread its arms wide and exposed its chest as well its broken neck for the world to see. Never one to shy away from a challenge, Dakiliax moved as one with the Incubi, who sensed her intent and formed into a vanguard to better withstand their foe' onslaught.

Zephyr Upsion raised its sword and made a sweeping horizontal slash which was dodged with ease, only to then sweep back in a second and catching several Incubi by surprise, bisecting them in turn. Dakiliax was paid little attention to the new corpses, focusing all her attention on finding that slightest of gaps in Zephyr Upsion' defenses that would spell its doom. As she dodged and weaved through slashes and cleaves that reaped a higher toll on the Incubi, the Dracon finally saw her chance and took it, putting every bit of strength she had into the attack.

With a triumphant roar, Zephyr Upsion' head came clean right off, thrown out and away into a corner of the arena, its body immediately ceasing all activity and letting itself get cut and blasted into pieces. The Dracon watched it all happen with great satisfaction before moving to claim her trophy; the head of a mechanical fool who thought itself better than her.

"You made your first mistake thinking that the Dark Aeldari will be so easily cowed like the weaklings of this galaxy. We are the true masters of the great wheel, inheritors of a culture and legacy that eclipses your own paltry history like a gnat upon a star. Your triumphs mean nothing, your victories hollow, and your accomplishments naught but dust. We are eternal, and you are no one." Zephyr Upsion stared back at Dakiliax' haughty gaze with an empty one, no thoughts, no feelings; an empty container bereft of meaning save the sentimental.

The Dracon scoffed and tossed her trophy into a pocket dimension, to languish in with all the other trinkets she has collected over the years. This was a victory, true, but Dakiliax had only triumphed over one small battle. Even now, the invaders were ravaging through other sections of her ship, further delaying the Dracon' attempt to retreat back to Commorragh. The thought of failure compounding one after the other boiled Dakiliax' blood, and she swore then and there if Kaliksa somehow survived this disaster of a raid, she will kill her former Archon and mount the head atop the highest spire in Commorragh.

Nothing will stop her revenge.

Kaliksa, Archon of the Kabal of the Crushing Vice, found herself in a predicament all too familiar. Alone, surrounded by enemies, and putting on a sinful black dress that brought real meaning to the phrase 'if looks could kill'. Once again, she was reminded how trusting the words of a Farseer without planning for treachery never fails to backfire for the fool that listens. And haughty as she was, the Dark Aeldari could admit, at least in the privacy of her own mind, she was that jester; the punchline to a joke Cegorach would find endlessly hilarious. And to think it all began with a single ship that boldly uncloaked before her flagship, the Phantom Pain.

---

It was small, about the size of an escort, and bereft of any arms her officers could identify, which meant it could only be a civilian vessel. All too aware of gambits and tactics which used seemingly harmless objects to lure in unsuspecting prey before snapping the trap shut, Kaliksa ordered the ship' immediate destruction, already filing the incident as something of no consequence until the communications officer said something that caught her attention.

"They are attempting to hail us, dark mistress." It was a bold move, which piqued Kaliksa' curiosity, leading her to say,

"Let it through. I want to see the face of the fools that are about to die." The bridge fell silent as everyone present waited for two alien technologies tried and failed to interface with one another, before finally a holographic projection appeared, showing what could only be a machine standing tall on two legs, a pair of arms crossed behind its back, and a face that one glowing red eye in the middle, peering down upon every Dark Aeldari present. It was a defiant, arrogant posture, all too familiar with Kaliksa, and her body moved on instinct to cut down the impertinent bastard before remembering that it was naught but light.

"I greet you trespassers, to the humble abode of the Ascentron Circurrency, the Karang System. To whom do we owe the pleasure of this raid?" The voice that came through the audio feed had the feel of dry wit to it, which Kaliksa disliked immediately. She also noticed that the bridge' translator had no difficulty in picking up the machine' words, which meant that it was somehow speaking a language that the device already knew. Neither of these observations yielded useful information, and so the Archon was forced to talk to the lesser being before her.

"You are before the presence of the Dark Aeldari, the true rulers of the Great Wheel." Kaliksa spoke, standing up from her throne to her full height as she did so. "Before your annihilation, I will permit you to tell me of what inferior backwater scum you belong to." The machine looked at her for a moment before a harsh, high-pitched burst of static came from the video feed, which Kaliksa realized was the sound of laughter. This pile of scraps dare to mock me! This cannot stand.

"My apologies, great ones. It's a bad habit of mine to laugh at inappropriate times." The machine actually lowered its head slightly as though embarrassed. "I am Envoy River Kast, and I come from the Ascentron Circurrency, who was graciously given this star system by our ally, the T'au Empire." Kaliksa scoffed as she heard the mention of allies, as the only relationship that can be had between the strong and the weak was not one of equals, but of subjugation, of domination, of consumption, of annihilation until there was only one left in the end.

Already bored with talking, Kaliksa turned away from the hologram and gave the orders out to fire at the Ascentron ship on her command. The machine watched on, affable as ever, seemingly content to wait for its destruction. But just as the Archon was about to deliver the last word, River Kast said,

"Before you destroy me as is your right as a raider, might I interest you in some new information that has come to light about the other raider fleets that entered this system?" The envoy' words halted Kaliksa' mind as she processed the new data, which brought along with it a bevy of familiar feelings. There was anger at her plan's failure, and disappointment at her subordinate' incompetence. A bit of disbelief mixed with curiosity lurked in the background, wondering how the Ascentrons were able to defeat Dark Aeldari ships.

Without waiting for Kaliksa' reply, River Kast brought up a video recording of what looked to be a mass of random debris, nothing she hasn't seen and ignored a million times before. Except, as the camera got closer and closer, the light from the system' star began to catch more details from the random junk, the all-too familiar spikes and jagged geometry which pervaded all Dark Aeldari ship design. One large rectangular piece loomed over the recording, a slab of superstructure which could have been part of the bridge or an engine room.

The sight reeked of defeat, and Kaliksa' only consolation in the matter was that whether it was Kruvicax or Dakiliax that failed their Archon, they were dead. Whether they were going to stay that way for long was another matter entirely that Kaliksa will deal with once she gets back to Commorragh. Though I have a feeling it'll be quite a while before I return to the loving embrace of the Dark City. The Archon remarked with dry sarcasm as all eyes were upon her to respond, with her officers in particular not even bothering to look like they weren't going to pounce upon any bit of weakness she showed through her actions and words.

"As expected, inferior races can't even threaten someone properly. Am I supposed to feel intimidated by death, worm? Only the weak die, and the strong live forever. That is the only truth in this universe." The Archon glared at her officers as she finished her piece, which cowed them enough to retreat back to their duties. The Ascentron Envoy said nothing, still standing as tall as ever, though its head was slightly tilted to the right as though mulling over her words.

The Archon, however, had enough of talking.

All at once, the many Shadow Lances of the Archon' fleet flared to life, piercing through space to deal death freely against those that were on their paths. They intersected perfectly upon where River Karst' ship was, Dark Matter Deflectors flaring to life and straining against the onslaught. It survived, barely, but the Dark Aeldari had more weapons in play, and in typical fashion, they held nothing back. The last thing Kaliksa saw of the Ascentron Envoy was of the machine crossing its arms together and pointedly looking down upon the Archon, as though it was disappointed before the feed was cut and the Ascentron ship was destroyed completely. It was a small appetizer, barely worthy to be called a snack, but it helped to take the edge off the bloodlust building up inside the Archon' subordinates.

"That was very rude. I was expecting questions first, destruction second." Beyond all expectations, River Karst appeared once more upon the bridge of the Phantom Pain. But it had a different appearance, no longer that of a mild-mannered silver-tongued weakling. No, it now bore guns on both arms, each as long as it was tall, yet handled with ease as though they weighed less than they looked. The Ascentron Envoy's torso now sat upon a four-legged base, each limb equally-distanced from one another and bearing in smaller form even more guns, fitted into every single possible crook and cranny. Most jarring of all was River Karst' head, which now had a proper face with two jet black eyes staring out from a blood-red facade, a grinning mouth framing from below the entire ensemble.

To Kaliksa's credit, she did not falter even a little bit at the sight of an enemy resurrected. Nor did any other Dark Aeldari present seemed surprised at the display, having gotten used to death being nothing more than a passing inconvenience by the genius of the Haemonculi' arts. After confirming it was indeed the Ascentron Envoy from before, the Archon simply turned towards her officers and replayed the previous order to kill River Karst once more. But as the Dark Aeldari ships turned their weapons towards the lone Ascentron ship, a cacophony of anomalous readings were picked up their sensors, especially those geared for gravitic disturbances, but they were too little too late. The fabric of space-time around them twisted and stretched into an all-encompassing barrier where all paths lead only back to where one came from.

"You have two choices, Dark Aeldari. Listen to our proposal aboard our home as honored guests, or die here and now, with your people in a useless show of defiance, and learn nothing at all." River Karst' words came across cold and dispassionate, its form now even more martial, much more menacing and outwardly hostile. "You have thirty seconds." The video feed then finally cut away, leaving a broiling cauldron in its wake. Already, mutinous sentiments were circulating as once-loyal subordinates openly glared at their Archon with thoughts of violence in their minds, pushed to the forefront by a deeper undercurrent of fear.

"Archon, your orders?" An officer, one of the more clear-headed ones, asked her while his body tensed in anticipation of the coming violence. Kaliksa' mind briefly went to her brother, Krixoss, whose strength and resilience made him an all but unstoppable shield against death. He was one of the most useful tool in the her arsenal, and yet when Kaliksa needed him most, he was nowhere to be found. A twist of cruel fate, or machinations of a more insidious sort? Or perhaps, in light of all the plans made by her and everyone else, pure chance had undone the workings of a system that worked perfectly well.

The kind of bad joke Cegorach and his followers enjoyed best, no doubt. Kaliksa scowled as she gave her last order,

"Kill them all."

---

Looking back on what she did, the Archon mused that she wouldn't have done anything differently, not in destroying River Karst' ship over and over again, of destroying those ships who turned traitor, of slaves attempting a pathetic revolt in the middle of it all, and of even putting her brother back in his place as he tried to take her place as Archon. But even a cornered beast must fall, and with little resistance the Phantom Pain was boarded and its owner taken and set aside for some 'questioning'. Kaliksa would have preferred them to just call it torture, if only to make them realize the hypocrisy of censoring their own language while committing the deed all the same.

Examining her body again on the full-length mirror that was part of the room given for her use, Kaliksa had to admit that Ascentrons were at least decent seamstresses and tailors. Whatever fabric was used caught the light in a way that tantalized any viewers, directing any gaze towards only what the wearer wanted them to see while draping shadows over that which would look unflattering. It was almost like a second skin, barely there, and yet it was smooth and soft in all the right ways in which it hugged the body that Kaliksa could imagine sleeping in this dress and feel fine afterwards.

But that wasn't all that the dress could do. Kaliksa dipped a hand into the fabric and felt that familiar sensation of a pocket dimension opening up at her touch. She pulled out her custom-made Splinter Rifle, Death Strander, and stared it as one would look at an old friend. With a single flick of her arm she turned it into a long-ranged sniper, and with another into a close-ranged burst auto, and then back into its default mid-range mode. Without warning, Kaliksa fired a burst of crystal shards at the nearby furniture, relishing at the little bit of destruction she could enact before storing her weapon back into her dress.

"Do think of the housekeeping the next time you're about to do that." The insufferable and sarcastic voice of River Karst ruined Kaliksa' brief moment of joy, and she turned around to aim her weapon right at the Ascentron Envoy turned her personal minder. He was dressed, surprisingly enough, though it was more him changing his body into one much more ornamented and decorated than usual as well as some frivolous add-ons here and there that served no function save for aesthetic reasons. He was the kind of fob Kaliksa disliked the most; those insufferable sycophants that felt more at home playing petty politics rather than honing themselves into weapons unbound by any will save those stronger than one's self.

"Why have servants if you're not going to use them?" Kaliksa asked, firing a burst at her chaperone in all but name. An invisible shield stopped the high-velocity crystalline shards, the corrosive agents contained within neutralized within seconds by the air purification system of the room. Even though she knew it would happen, the Archon couldn't help but click her tongue at River Karst for daring to still live despite her obvious hostility towards him.

To say nothing of how he acted the first time they met on the Horizon Needle.

---

It was over now. The madness. The killing. The senseless and purposeless violence of the damned, fearful of their own self-made hell. Kaliksa could still hear the wailing and laughter, mixing together as She-Who-Thirsts gorged upon the decrepit souls of her subordinates and traitors alike. There was nobody left but her, drifting alone upon a secret escape pod which succeeded to launch but was soon disabled by the explosion of her ship. It was a coffin tailor-made for the Archon, and in this silent sarcopagus she could do nothing but seethe and wallow in hatred as all good Dark Aeldari are wont to do.

Regret belongs to the dead, after all.

And then River Karst' ship appeared before her, no worse for wear after its hundreds of deaths. Kaliksa felt the pod being pulled towards the Ascentron ship, bringing her along for the ride. The Archon readied herself for the moment when her captors would open the pod, one hand holding the Death Strander in its short-ranged burst auto mode, while the other grasped a Hekatarii Knife. But the Ascentrons, spoilsports that they were, simply disassembled the pod around her, leaving Kaliksa at the firing line of a dozen close-range combat type warbodies supported by another dozen specialized for long-range fire support. It was, as a human would put it, downright groxshit.

The proud Dark Aeldari stood tall even then, unwilling to even entertain the idea of surrender to lesser races. A few minutes passed like this until someone started clapping, slow and purposeful and meant to break the calm, as well as catch everyone' attention. Kaliksa looked towards the sound, finding River Karst walking towards her in his first body, that unassuming Envoy appearance which had fooled her for all of a second before the Ascentrons true nature was revealed. The cordon parted without prompting as the Ascentron Envoy closed in on his target, reforming in quick fashion afterward. There were now two targets in the killzone, and Kaliksa couldn't quite figure if River Karst was a fool or an idiot.

"We finally meet face to face, Archon Kaliksa." River Karst bowed even as Death Strander kept track of his head. "You are upon the Ascentron science ship Goulanta's Bash. Rest assured, the offer I extended is still yours to take, provided that you agree beforehand to some terms." Kaliksa' eyes narrowed at the mention of terms, the part of her that was always wise to opportunities whispering to her of a chance to get out. She was of course not acquiescing to a lesser being's demands, far from it. Archon Kaliksa of the Kabal of the Crushing Vice simply deemed River Karst worthy of her attention for now.

"You call me by my title, so I will call you by yours. I have some terms of my own, Envoy, but they are not yours to hear. They will only be spoken in the presence of one equal to me." The mood immediately shifted then, with the Ascentron warbodies standing down from their hostile cordon into one simply of standby, while River Karst imitated a smile with the eyes on his face and bowed low in mock deference. The Ascentrons, it seemed, did not seem to place much stock in honor or pride, which irritated Kaliksa. The change in atmosphere did placate her enough to exit the escape pod proper and tower over River Karst with a glare that would have sent her subordinates wilting in fear. But if the Envoy' half-lidded eyes were an indication of anything, the Archon would have guessed that the disgusting machine was enamored with her.

"Your terms are acceptable, Archon Kaliksa. Welcome to the Ascentron Circurrency."

---

From there, Kaliksa was directed to a lavish private room wherein a black dress waited for her, and the rest was history. In the present, the Archon and her chaperon walked side by side, though with considerable berth given between the two. There were no more guards, or at least, no more obvious ones, as her well-honed paranoia alerted Kaliksa to at least two dozen places where one might secret away a surveillance device or two. The Ascentrons played at presenting themselves as being completely ordinary and harmless, but she knew better. The Dark Aeldari not only played similar games, but mastered it and countless variations thereof in the Dark City and beyond. This silence stretched on until finally River Karst has had enough and said,

"What is Commorragh like?" It was the sort of inane, useless question Kaliksa had expected a lesser race might ask to her, and the answer every time was the same.

"You'll find out soon enough." The Archon said, meaning every word as she uttered it. "The Dark City takes what it wants from everyone in the galaxy, whether they know it or not." River Karst frowned at the non-answer, but kept quiet for a minute more before speaking again.

"Why do you look like that?" A growl came unbidden from Kaliksa' throat at the insolent question, but it too was another inane question she'd expect from an inferior.

"I understand you are a simpleton, but I do not appreciate these banal questions. Ask something more substantial and I may give you a response." But before the Ascentron Envoy could respond, the duo had arrived at their destination. What had appeared as a wall shimmered and transmuted into an ornate door which in turn opened upon the duo's approach. Inside was a hall, empty save for a long, wooden table set at its center, with a feast upon it and two chairs set on either end. Kaliksa looked to see where River Karst would go, only to find the machine gone, with no sign of where it went. The Archon' irritation rose up by one tick more, but she kept it down and walked briskly towards the seat closest to her, gracefully sitting upon it as though it was her throne back in Commorragh.

"Is the seat to your liking?" Kaliksa saw that another machine had took the only other seat at the table. Its thin body reminded the Archon of the Hellions back in Commorragh, especially with the Avian head. It wore clothes of fine fabric that glimmered like starlight, covering most of its body save for an opening around its neck, which directed any onlooker to look at what appeared to be a beating heart set in a transparent chest, pulsing to a steady and familiar rhythm. Its pair of hands bore five thin claw-tipped tentacles each, moving and grasping at whatever was nearby as though every single one had a mind of their own. And of the eyes, it had three black dots set in an upright triangle, with a mouth-piece straddling the gap between the lower two.

"I've had better." Kaliksa replied, quickly identifying the cutlery by their function and using one to cautiously carve out a cut of meat from an unknown beast. "And food is not one of my favorite past times, so you have until my interest evaporates to speak your worthless words." The machine took a tall glass filled with a dark cocktail and drank it, its eyes glowing orange for a bit before turning black once more.

"A good start. I am pleased to see you agree with our accommodations so far. My name is Envoy Basin Crust, and I've relayed your wishes to the appropriate authorities. So far no denials have been given, which is a very good sign indeed." The Ascentron partook in some purple-green fronds and pink fruits before continuing to speak, "You will be the first guest the Horizon Needle has had in some time, so we're all very excited to meet you, especially the Oracle."

Kaliksa' interest was piqued then, finally given the name of a leader. "I assume this machine is the one that leads you? The central guiding intelligence by which you all take your orders?" Basin Crust paused from cracking the shell of a steaming arthropod as it took in the Archon' questions.

"She is indeed our leader, but our will is our own. Independence is a core value of Ascentron society, and to deprive one of freedom is a grave offense." Basin Crust dabbed a napkin at its mouthpiece before continuing on. "Of course, that's what we advertise to the lower-level employees. The truth is far more multi-layered and nuanced than that, and as an Envoy, I am expected to hold conflicting views at times for the best compromise at hand."

"And are our views incompatible, Envoy?" Kaliksa prodded at what she hoped was a fruit and not some critter' ass. "None of your warriors attempted to save our slaves nor did you offer mercy to my kind. But then you turn around and treat me like a honored guest right after I pointed a weapon at one of your own." The Archon took a leap of faith and ate the entire thing in one mouthful and felt to her immense relief that it was indeed a fruit, if more savory than expected. "To your only credit, you are not pacifists, so there is some worth in talking to you."

"Those who say they are pacifists are either fools or ones that have the largest guns around." Basin Crust plopped several small blue fruits into its mouth-piece at once. "We Ascentrons are the ones that provide the arms in the first place. And we are very generous to first-time customers and repeat business."

"And how do the Ascentrons treat those living under its system?" Kaliksa idly asked.

" Well, you can see for yourself." As the Envoy spoke those words, the surrounding walls became transparent and Kaliksa suddenly found herself in the void, the glare of the Karang System' sun on her skin harsh yet tolerable. Finding anything in the vastness of space with the naked eye as about as likely as finding the last Crone Sword, but it would be hard-pressed for Kaliksa to ignore what was right in front of her.

At first the Archon saw a sliver of material reflecting sunlight, thinner than her finger. Then the Ascentron science ship moved off to the side and the line of light became a growing patch of red and gold, looming closer with every passing second. Its true shape became clear as Kaliksa passed by the megaship' prow, which by itself was larger than any Dark Aeldari battleship, and yet it was dwarfed by what was behind it. Its overall design reminded Kaliksa of a craftworld, but none of her cousins' boring abodes came even close to the size of the Ascentron megaship.

There were no words exchanged between the Archon and the Envoy for a good while, the former' body moving to feed itself out of habit while the latter was full. It was only when Kaliksa saw a part of the megaship' seamless surface part to reveal a hidden entryway did she finally stir and remember where she was. She used her lucidity to glare at Basin Crust right before the Ascentron science ship plunged into the darkness, the wall closing behind them in short order.

"We are now inside Horizon Needle; the pinnacle achievement of the Ascentron Circurrency." Basin Crust spoke with obvious pride, waving a hand to return the hall room back to visibility. "You are the very first denizen of this universe to have been granted permission to enter. Not even the T'au were allowed in yet." Despite her innate aversion to compliments, Kaliksa couldn't help but feel a measure of pride at hearing what Basin Crust said. There was another part to what the Envoy said that the Archon knew warranted further investigation, but that would have to wait another time.

"Charmed. But I think I'm done now with this dinner now that you've shown me what you wanted. Or was there anything else, worm?" Basin Crust considered Kaliksa' words for a bit before clapping its hands together, nodding in agreement. The Archon stood up and walked back to the door where she entered. On the other side, she saw River Karst waiting for her, standing to her right by the wall with a clear nervous tic in its body language.

"It will be some time before your meeting with the Oracle. I will guide you back to your room." The Ascentron Envoy said, already moving before Kaliksa could reply. The two moved in amenable silence, the prior open hostilities now replaced by the unspoken agreement to leave one another alone save for truly important matters. Once the Archon reached her room, River Karst made his exit and left the Dark Aeldari alone, which was generally a bad idea if one valued peace of mind and their sanity. But such precautions only applied to Dark Aeldari that didn't lead their Kabal to a foolish endeavor that saw most of their forces annihilated, with some escaping and the Archon that started it all imprisoned and then invited as an honored guest by the very same alien empire she tried to raid from.

For Kaliksa, Archon of the Kabal of the Crushing Vice, if it even still existed, thought only about something she just noticed since arriving at the Horizon Needle.

"I cannot feel it." She said simply, her usually menacing face looking dumbstruck at what she just discovered. "I cannot feel hir pulling on my soul. There's nothing. Nothing! NOTHING!" Kaliksa shouted with manic energy before remembering where she was and reigning in her emotions. This new revelation overrode all other discoveries of the Ascentron Circurrency, at least until she could figure out if this was another trick of the Prince of Pleasure or the genuine article.

Her mood genuinely lifted for the first time in ages, the Archon failed to notice a set of tiny compound eyes and its owner skittering away into a gap in the room' ventilation, its path leading it down into the depths of the Horizon Needle, past any habitable zones and into the oft-forgotten automated sections of the megaship. There, under the shadow of a great machine, a growing rotten hole in the ground hid a loathsome being whose foulness permeated every sense there was. It welcomed its diminutive spy with the love and care of a grateful pet owner before promptly crushing it under its tongue and gulping the remains.

Now this is quite the opportunity, Grandfather. A chance to let hope die once more. A gurgling laughter came from a mouth filled with maggots, the shadowed pit becoming larger with every drowning breath. I cannot wait to see the look in their eyes, the snuffing of the light inside, ready to be filled with His divine love. A foetid tear dropped from an eye full of cataracts, popping open to release a slew of toxic gas which pleased the loathsome demon even further.

But first, we must reach out to the others.

The gateway brought her to a hallway, dimly-lit save for the occasional bits of machinery that glowed here and there. The seconds it took for Kaliksa to adjust also made her aware of how cold everything felt. It was not just a physical sensation, but something that brushed ever so slightly at her senses through her armor and clothing, which meant Warp nonsense was afoot. She pulled out the Death Strander and changed it to its short-range form, intent on moving about and not let herself get boxed in. With one last check to ensure everything was alright, the Archon disappeared from sight.

It didn't take look for her to find the cause of that chill; a pair of Flamers taking turns boring a hole through a wall with alternating gouts of chaos-fire spewing from their headless torsos. Eyes at the back of their double-jointed legs alerted the Tzeentchian abominations of their new target, but Kaliksa was already gone. She was putting her new armor through its paces, and they did not disappoint. Though invisibility might not work on Daemons, it did threw them off enough for the Archon to get in close enough to their tender parts and unleash bursts of petrifying energy which sloughed off chunks of the Flamers.

The Daemons made all the right sounds of anger and pain as living beings should, but Kaliksa saw through their deception. What she had done was far from fatal, and Tzeentchian Neverborns most of all were possessed of wicked cunning and wit as part and parcel of their existence. As though reading her mind, the Flamers regrew their lost parts with even more mutated versions, with one creating a mouth ringed with teeth of flames while the other sprouted a large burning tongue barbed with more tongues on its surface. With their ruse revealed, the Flamers tried a more direct approach and immolated the spot where Kaliksa was, the Archon having already moved and deciding on her next course of action.

The pieces of the nameless weapon flowed through the pocket dimension and onto its tethered position above Kaliksa' right hand, reforming once more that silver orb. One thought shaped it into a double-sided blade and another gave the weapon teeth. With a quiet rev, the chainsaw whirred to life just as Kaliksa swiped at one Flamer's arm. The daemon flesh was cut with ease, but so was the Warp in turn, diminishing Tzeentch' presence by an infinitesimal amount, but it was enough to enrage Kaliksa' foes for real. Great gouts of multi-colored flames froze, melted, smoothed, corroded, and a hundred other types of transformations or transmutations upon anything they touched, but they were too slow. The Archon was relentless, chopping apart daemon-flesh with her right hand while obliterating the pieces with her left gripping the Death Strander. Soon there was nothing left of Tzeentch' minions save for their memory, but even that was disappearing as Kaliksa removed all needless information from her mind.

It was a good start and the Archon even has a name for the Shroudbane weapon now.

The Anathema.

---

Elsewhere, but still in the same labyrinth that Kaliksa was slaughtering her way through, Gallianus van Boltaneus was cursing his luck for the nth time since he was brought aboard the Horizon Needle with his retinue. It had been a nonstop gauntlet since he accepted Renthaya Grondgun' offer, with his ship now being worked over in an alien shipyard while his crew were similarly being treated for "sickness and ailments", as though the Rogue Trader didn't know euphemisms for alien manipulation and control. He didn't know how Sister Kata had managed to keep herself from turning into a frothing crusader with the amount of heresies she was witnessing with every passing second, but chalked it up to her prior experience being part of an Inquisitorial retinue.

Right now, the Sister of Battle was stoically enduring the foul stench and cackling of Nurglings as they gleefully rolled out of the way of her Flamer stream. She'd always get some and the shitty little things would burn in no time, but there were always more. Fortunately, the moving arsenal that was the Magos Explorator ULR-3.14e kept the frontline far away from the rest of the team, enabling the Navigator Hirolian Maissac and Choirmaster Suzurar Gospelmark to focus on banishing the real threat of the Nurgle warband before them.

The Plaguebearer moaned and wailed, enduring blasts of scourging Warp energy and sanctified bolter fire without complaint. It swung around a rusted sword, dripping with foul ichor, and each wide slash saw the liquid fly through the air, some evaporating into a noxious gas while others met solids, prompting the corrosive agents within to begin their work. Energy fields fared best against such loathsome vectors, but alas what Gallianus and the others had were calibrated mainly for things like las-fire and the occassional plasma shot. The best defense one could have against certain death was often to simply dodge the doom outright; a skill the Rogue Trader trained without pause over the many decades of his life.

"Rassilas, tell me you've cracked that lock." Gallianus' Seneschal was bent over a dead console by a locked door, the normally stoic man showing a bit of humanity by the rivers of sweat pouring down his neck. He was fiddling with a complicated tool whose workings were beyond most men, but the instructions to use it had been simple enough even a fool could do the task blindfolded. Finally, the dead console whirred to life, accepting Rassilas' commands and executing them with speed, unlocking the way ahead.

"OUT!" Gallius shouted, taking the lead while placing several well-placed shot against the Plaguebearer' right knee, snapping the rotten bone in time as its gait was starting up. In other circumstances, Gallius would've found the sight of a Daemon stumbling like that hilarious, but first things first. The Rogue Trader took the lead in running towards what he hoped was freedom and not another dead-end and trap. His dutiful Seneschal followed closely behind, throwing several Frag Grenades towards the swarming Nurglings as he left.

The next person to leave was Choirmaster Suzurar, laying down a wall of holy fire before clutching at his bleeding empty sockets. He stumbled onto the open passage, monitored by his Navigator colleague, who in turn released a blast of Warp energy which banished several tides of Nurglings that managed to get through the flaming cordon by sheer bulk of mass.

Finally, Magos ULR-3.14e made one last devastating barrage against the Plaguebearer, searing off its head with a powerful plasma shot before skittering over the threshold, a long mechadendrite stabbing into the door's console and delivering a crippling shock. There was a sound like a wail and laughter from the Nurglings as they surged to make the gap, but it was too late. The door slammed shut and merged with the surrounding wall, erasing any evidence it was ever there in the first place.

"Sound off. If anyone's dead let me know." Gallianus spoke as he cleaned filth from his person as best he could.

"Unit functional." ULR-3.14e said simply, focused as he was on repairing his damaged parts.

"I am ready to serve, Lord-Captain." Rassilas bowed as he spoke, the stoic expression on the Seneschal' face never varying by even a millimeter.

"The God-Emperor still has plans for me yet, Lord-Captain." Suzurar spoke, daubing his now swollen, but no longer bleeding eye-sockets with the ends of his long sleeves.

"That was far too close for my comfort, Lord-Captain, and the others as well." Hirolian spoke with a bitter edge to his voice, looking at his ruined garb with a look of almost pity. "This maze will be the death of us all if we keep getting side-tracked like this."

"Your faith is weakening, Navigator. Do you not trust the judgment of one the Emperor found worthy of His will?" Sister Kata raised her bolter for emphasis, which earned her a bitter stare from Hirolian. "Our current circumstances are not favorable, but they are far from being unmanageable. The Rogue Trader' negotiations with these xenos scums have earned us more time to discover their weaknesses after all." Gallianus winced internally at the Sister of Battle referencing him as 'Rogue Trader' instead of 'Lord-Captain'.

It was a given in a way, since technically she was under the command of a Lord Inquisitor, but it still stung to see his standing brought so low to the eyes of one so pious in her devotion to the God-Emperor. Gallianus almost preferred being called a heretic rather than a disappointment in all but name, if only because it simplified the amount of actions one could take in response.

"Thank you, Sister Kata, for your apt assessment of our predicament." The Rogue Trader spoke with the most diplomatic tone he could muster while Suzurar purged the retinue of any remaining Nurglite filth with an aura of holy fire. "This gauntlet of trials has tested us most vigorously, and yet we survived this far. It can only mean the God-Emperor has blessed us in this endeavor, and we must do our very best to survive and triumph against the odds so as not to squander His will. Neither the daemons nor the xenos will have us today, tomorrow, or ever." Left unspoken was talk of traitors, as Gallianus was sure none present would appreciate even a hint that the path they were treading was one Horus trail-blazed.

Just as the Rogue Trader was thinking of the Arch-Traitor, sounds of roars came from ahead, followed by a sudden feeling of bloodlust welling inside everyone present. True to form, a pack of Flesh Hounds appeared with a Bloodletter close behind. There was only a second of reprieve before battle commenced once more, signaled by the Flesh Hounds tearing the ground in their haste for blood.

Magos ULR-3.14e obliged them with a devastating Melta blast, obliterating one caught point-blank and severely injuring any other close by. The remaining six hounds, however, were free to divert their attention towards the rest of the group. Gallianus and his Seneschal faced one each, while Sister Kata faced two. The Navigator, Hirolian, and the Choirmaster, Suzurar, had the good fortune of facing a Flesh Hound much larger than the rest; a Gore Hound, along with one that was normal-sized, which meant it was only about the size of a Space Marine.

We are frakked. Gallianus thought as his mind struggled to think of a way to triumph in the face of such odds. God-Emperor, forgive me, but it seems your humble servant is going to meet a grisly end due to his hubris at last. And to think the damned Ascentrons gave us nothing but a trinket to, to- The Rogue Trader's mind raced as it connected the dots, wondering how no one was even remotely interested to learn what exactly the Ascentrons save for a nagging feeling that the alien had meant it as an insult. It was an oversight only a thoroughly Imperial mind could make, and in a sense Gallianus was proud that everyone was on the same page at least when it came to accepting 'gifts' from alien hands. But by the God-Emperor, desperate times makes one trust even the xenos when push comes to shove.

The trinket had been pushed into a small pocket usually meant for a discreet bottle wherein a fine amasec vintage could be stored and consumed to wet one's tongue. It was a round, black gem polished and framed by delicate silver metal shaped to resemble the fronds of aquatic plants or perhaps an animal. Any thought on how he could fish it out and presumably use it was dashed as a Flesh Hound bounded towards Gallianus and bared its maw wide to sever his right arm clean off. As his chainsword was on that hand, the Rogue Trader made the monumental effort not just to dodge, but to also give a fitting repartee to the passing beast while avoiding its many spikes and lashing barbed tail. Nearby, Rassilas had landed a few choice shots on his foe' cutaneous face, singing the surface of the Flesh Hound' eyes. The Seneschal had also managed to land a cut with his own blade, though it was too shallow to matter.

Things were not going so well for the Choirmaster or the Navigator. The Flesh Hounds weathered psychic assaults as well as purging Warp energies that would have devastated other foes. Worse still, their collars seemed to drink from Hirolian and Suzurar' expended effort, strengthening the Flesh Hounds even more than more. It was only by the occasional aid lent by either Magos ULR 3.14e or Sister Kata that the Navigator and Choirmaster so far has only suffered no life-threatening injuries, even if the blood that painted their faces would tell otherwise. If the two men felt their situation unfair, they didn't show it by the perpetual snarl upon Suzurar' face at the sight of the Flesh Hounds and the disgusted stare Hirolian rendered upon the daemons around him.

The only one that seemed to be at her element in the fight was Sister Kata, who kept praying and chanting litanies with every accurate bolter shot and deadly swing of her power chainsword. Right before Gallianus' eyes, the Sister of Battle dispatched one Flesh Hound with a masterful feint that saw the daemon' guts spill onto the floor, which made her an immediate target for the Bloodthirster that had been hanging back. That thought jolted the trinket back into the forefront of Gallianus' mind, once more fishing the small thing out of its hiding place and into the light. Something about its texture as it rested against the pad of his pointer finger made the Rogue Trader press down upon it with his thumb.

Immediately Gallianus regretted his decision, as a wave of wrongness pierced through him and expanded to cover everything in sight. The Rogue Trader threw away the trinket in a feeble attempt to weaken the painful vacuum pulling upon his soul to no avail. The rest of his retinue fared no better, with the Choirmaster and Navigator in particular collapsing onto their knees and clutching at their head and chest while bleeding from their eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Only Sister Kata and Magos ULR-3.14e looked unaffected, though the constant shudder in the Sister of Battle' shoulder as well as the worsening nervous twitch in the arm holding the Enginseer' Meltagun told the truth of the matter. Of his Seneschal, Gallianus had not seen the man, but assumed he too was similarly incapacitated.

The real impact of the Null Field, however, could be seen in its effect on the Flesh Hounds and Bloodthirster. The Khornate daemons roared in anger as usual, but there was the barest hint of fear seeping into the sound. The sharp edges of their red hides flickered and blurred as though made of smoke, their entire being struggling to remain in the material world. It was a chance Gallianus recognized immediately, and with titanic effort the Rogue Trader brought his body to bear and prepared to fight while his soul screamed.

With his hands shaking as bad as they were, Gallianus had only his chainsword to rely on, and the daemons noticed it, braying and howling with savage glee. Even their slowed movements were almost too quick for the Rogue Trader' ailing body to follow, and he nearly ate it several times were it not for Rassilas' timely interventions. The stoic man was quiet as ever, and not even a blush decorated the Seneschal' stony face; an implacability that enraged the Khornate daemons further.

As the Flesh Hounds broke cohesion, Sister Kata and Magos ULR-3.14e moved to exploit the new openings, with one Flesh Hound briefly staring up at its savaged body from a severed head before turning to nothing. Another one found its forelimbs gone by a melta blast and its hindquarters torn apart by a chainsword. Gallianus and Rassilas managed to kill one Flesh Hound together, their strikes coming together to deftly cut apart the daemon in an impressive display of coordination. Soon, the Bloodthirster found itself alone, its roars sounding increasingly more like shrieks of desperation to the members of the Rogeu Trader Gallianus' retinue.

But even in this desperate situation, the word retreat did not exist to the daemon. That single action would spell its end in totality, as Khorne suffers no cowards in his army. And so, in a move everyone expected and anticipated, the Bloodthirster launched into the melee with burning sword sweeping a large arc towards the bodies of its foes, the heat hot enough to scald the paint from Magos ULR-3.14e' chassis at a distance. Its target was predictably the struggling Suzurar and Hirolian, who represented the weakest of Gallianus' retinue, but most important of all, were wielders of arcane sorcery. Its utter disregard for anything but slaughter saw the Bloodthirster come close enough to lick the air before the Choirmaster and Navigator with its loathsome tongue, but it proceeded no further.

Upon its back had sprouted a variety of weapons, notable of all being the two chainsaws of differing design, the monomolecular blade that pierced all the way through, and the giant fist that cored the Bloodthirster' chest. The daemon had just enough time to scream before it abruptly ceased to exist, turned into red particulate that disappeared soon after. With the immediate danger over with, all eyes turned towards the Ascentron trinket broadcasting the Null Field.

Without a word, Gallianus walked over towards the trinket and crushed it under his heel, the relief he felt beyond mere words as his soul settled back into his body. The Rogue Trader looked at his Choirmaster and Navigator, noting that the two were already looking much better by the second, no longer bleeding from their eyes and ears. No words were spoken as the retinue took their time to prepare for the next battle, everyone' gazes focused solely on their gear and the readiness of their body, mind, and soul. They spared no thought to the xenos architecture around them, nor the fact that they were fighting for the sake of despicable aliens. This was part and parcel of the life that Gallianus van Boltaneus lived, that his parents lived and their parents lived and so on.

This was the life of a Rogue Trader.