11-11-69 was the 69th world discovered by the Shadows of Order's Eleventh Chapter, its internal designation.
Within the headquarters of the planetary defense forces, the Chief of Security stood respectfully beside the desk.
Pell Koscheny, Lord of the Eleventh Chapter, sat in a specially made nanmu-wood chair, a gift from those he had "corroded," rapidly reviewing a datapad.
[March 8, 988: Captain Gibbs of the 1st Company subjugates world 11-11-49, gaining control of its even-strand black gold mines.]
[March 27, 988: Captain Kirkland of the 2nd Company subjugates world 11-11-51, seizing control of its fifteen industrial cities.]
[...]
[May 14, 988: Captain Gibbs of the 1st Company, assisting the 18th Company, subjugates world 11-11-68, taking control of its starport and shipyards.]
The Black Emperor had commanded that the conquest of the entire sector be concealed, so the communications did not use the Imperial thousand-year dating system.
Pell lowered the datapad, nodding in satisfaction.
In five months, the Eleventh Chapter had fulfilled the Black Emperor's command, subjugating four of the six star systems in the Ark Reach Cluster. The Chapter's task now remained only with the system he was currently in.
Pell looked at the Chief of Security. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, my lord. Everything is prepared."
"Eleven o'clock." Pell ordered.
The world 11-11-69 had a thirteen-hour rotational period. Eleven o'clock corresponded to the second work shift of Vostroya's Nightban.
Eleven was not only his tribute to the Black Emperor, but also the time when the locals were most complacent.
The locals, especially the military aristocracy, adhered to a strict schedule maintained for four thousand eight hundred years.
They and their soldiers would conduct their third military training session at nine, followed by a meal at ten.
At eleven, the soldiers would be asleep, and the nobles, not on duty, would be in their castles.
After the Chief of Security left, Pell picked up a vox-communicator from his belt and said, in Vostoyan: "Dementieva, commence the operation at eleven."
Pell remembered the Black Emperor's lessons on "Terra." He had since explored methods of coordinating with assassin teams operating in the shadows.
It began with experimental applications involving a few individuals, then grew to dozens, and later to hundreds assisting.
From assassinating high-ranking enemy officers to providing critical intelligence, to inciting riots, to now controlling enemy leadership.
Pell had read all the relevant campaign reports, but could not discern the precise scale of the assassins in the shadows.
He could only, through their results and the traces they left, vaguely estimate that the "assassins" deployed were more powerful and numerous.
Sixteen seconds later, the communicator beeped.
Pell answered. A beautiful voice came through.
"My Lord, as you wish. I will make Michael Diablo forget his duties," the "Pleasure" Dementieva chuckled softly.
Her voice, low and alluring, made Pell involuntarily picture her graceful form.
The "Baron of Corruption," Pell, ended the communication and took a deep breath, dismissing the supernatural allure.
...
At nine o'clock, the strike cruiser Dark Sovereign entered into realspace.
The ancient Dark Age of Technology vessel, recovered from the permafrost of Ganymede, had been a gift from the Emperor to their Father.
At nine forty-one, Michael Diablo, his shoulders draped in a red-fur cloak, walked lightly through the door of the Diablo family tower.
He had made a brief appearance at the training grounds before returning home.
A fire burned within him; maintaining his official duties during the day was already a struggle to uphold his family's precepts.
Michael, upon entering, shed his cloak, handing it to a servant before they could even offer.
"General, you are home," the "Pleasure" Dementieva said softly, pressing close. Her warm body dispelled some of the chill.
Michael carefully pulled Dementieva into his arms, afraid of hurting her delicate frame.
"Dearest."
Their footsteps trod the plush carpet towards the bedroom.
Tap, tap, tap...
"General..." The adjutant, clutching documents, steeled himself to speak.
Dementieva's fingertips trembled, a faint frost forming on her nails.
"What is it?" Michael demanded, nearly shouting.
"General, the spaceport reports a warship entering orbit," the adjutant reported quickly.
"Its dorsal signature identifies it as an Ernest-class vessel."
Michael's tense body immediately relaxed.
"Don't bother me with such things again."
The adjutant stared at his general, memories of the past twenty-odd years flashing through his mind. Michael was no longer the general who oversaw every detail personally.
He smelled the dizzying rose perfume, restraining himself from glancing at the woman.
He had no wish to be seen as coveting his lord's consort.
Soft moonlight bathed the Diablo family tower. A meteor shower streaked across the night sky.
Urgent alarms sounded. The adjutant hurried towards Michael's bedchamber.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
He rapped on the door. There was no anticipated angry shout, nor any sounds of intimacy.
Frowning, the adjutant's hand went to his hip.
His fingers had barely touched his pistol when something wrapped around them.
A cold shock ran through him. He looked down and saw strange threads coiling around his lower body, his weapon and right hand engulfed, climbing rapidly up his arm and chest.
He opened his mouth to shout, but the webbing had already reached his neck, flooding his mouth.
"Mmph..."
He thrashed his head desperately, but did not despair. His two guards behind him would surely have noticed.
Bang!
Click!
The door opened.
No shouts. No gunfire.
The adjutant's eyes widened. He stared at the fragile woman in a silk dressing gown.
She raised her pale, delicate arms, extending and pulling.
His body struck something, and then his eyes were filled.
The "Pleasure" Dementieva looked at the three cocooned figures in the room, then at Michael sleeping soundly on the bed.
She slid silently, like a cat, to the coat rack. From the hidden pocket of a yellow velvet dress, she withdrew a communicator.
"Lord Pell, Michael Diablo is asleep."
"He will wake in five hours. I will bring him to you then."
"Lady Dementieva, I thank you for your assistance." Pell ended the communication.
He continued forward, following the woman in the black dress. His Honour Guard had already descended upon the Ministry of the Interior, the barracks, and other locations, striking key strategic nodes with swift precision.
Pell had only one objective: the military commander who styled himself king.
"Halt!" At both ends of the corridor, guards raised their weapons, aiming at the two figures.
Pell tensed to act, but the "Witch" beside him raised her black staff.
Bang, bang, bang...
The guards' eyes bulged. Their stomachs burst, entrails flying.
The "Baron of Corruption" stared at the grey-black threads of "Calamity" tangled in the blood-spattered wood splinters. 'Calamity?'
The thought flashed through Per's mind. He decided not to pass through the bodies.
The "Baron of Corruption" extended his spirituality, covering the marble tiles beneath his feet.
The square tiles rotated rapidly, "swimming" across them. In an instant, he stood before the palace gates.
The "Baron of Corruption" raised his arm and smashed his fist into the doors.
Boom!
The doors exploded. Splinters drifted through the air as wisps, then coalesced into cords.
A flicker passed through the "Baron of Corruption's" eyes. "Concepts Swap." The cords became steel wires, shooting towards the three figures within.
"You..." exclaimed the man in the ravenn, his potbelly protruding from his knightly armor.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
The "steel wires" severed three necks. Blood sprayed.
Pell walked to the window. The sounds of battle reached his ears, and he watched the rising flames.
The communicator brought a report from his Honour Guard Captain: "Lord Commander, the defense force barracks are secure, as planned."
'Praise my Lord!'
'My Lord's teachings on this new form of warfare are indeed efficient.'
'Without them, this world would not have been subjugated so effectively.'
Most Astartes Legions disdained the methods of clandestine warfare, considering it beneath their honor.
Only the Shadows of Order and the Alpha Legion favored infiltration and assassination to weaken their enemies.
As Pell mused, he drew the pitch-black potion from his belt and drank it.
Moments later, the newly advanced "Mentor of Disorder" brought his hands together in an inverted clasp, his gaze directed towards Heliosa, and performed the ritual salute in silence.
"Praise my Lord!"
"I thank my Lord for this gift!"
He lowered his arms, opened his communicator, and said to his Honour Guard Captain:
"My Captain, it is your turn."
After assisting his Captain in sowing chaos on 11-11-70 and seizing its resources, he would have completed the Black Emperor's command to conquer the five systems.
....
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