Aboard the Relic-class battleship Void Hunter.
Chapter Master Sanchez, wearing the Wolf Helm of Russ, the Krakenmaw at his side, stared at the holographic star chart's target, Indra-Sul.
He was no stranger to this world. During the Second Rangdan War, he had engaged in a contest of hunting and scheming with Wolf Lord Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson of the Space Wolves' 5th Great Company.
He had been a "Conspirer" then.
In their competition to cleanse the Rangdan xenos and the Slaught, he had won the duel, earning the cloak of the Great Wolf, woven from the pelt of a beast Russ himself had hunted.
Indra-Sul had been a key point in that contest.
The "Conspirer" had ultimately thwarted the schemes of the treacherous old wolf, Orssir Wodmek, against his Legion.
Though he was now a true "Conspirer," his current target was far more terrible, far more powerful.
A Khrave nearly matched a Custodes in normal combat; he was confident he could overcome one.
But a Khrave Progenitor, only two Primarchs of formidable power, Sanguinius and Angron, had ever defeated one.
The Black Emperor's divine will was to craft a scheme, to capture and even mock such a powerful being.
The "Conspirer," Sanchez, felt the crushing weight of his task. He could not fail the Black Emperor.
He touched the black blade at his side, the gift of the Black Emperor, and drew confidence from this weapon that filled him with awe.
Sanchez looked at Librarian Okafor. Over a century ago, they had worked together to foil Wodmek's plot.
"Okafor, I ask you to patrol this vessel."
The eight Chapters of the Shadows of Order deployed for this operation had all reduced their crews following the Black Emperor's command.
The Shadows of Order and the Iron Hand, possessing Simulus Chambers, already required fewer crew than other Astartes Legions, roughly sixty to seventy percent.
The exact ratio varied by ship class.
The Chapter Masters had called upon Shadows of Order who had been aged by the Hrud and forced into retirement, now serving as instructors training candidates.
They had also summoned serfs who had undergone partial augmentation but ultimately failed to become Shadows of Order.
In the end, recruits and servitors filled the remaining positions.
For his scheme, Sanchez had retained a crew of two thousand five hundred. This was a tempting target for the Khrave, but one that could be suppressed at relatively low cost.
Sanchez knew he could not defeat the Progenitor and its forces on Indra-Sul itself. He had to divide the Khrave.
His scheme had begun three years ago. He had equipped his crew with lower-lethality solid-slug weapons and had deactivated the Legion's warships' Jokaeron Force Fields.
"Leave it to me," Okafor said, pulling his psychic hood over his head and, gripping his force staff, walking out.
At the same moment, on the mid-decks.
A whisper from beyond reality seeped into the mind of Deck Master Edwards.
"Yes..." Edwards murmured, half-asleep.
He saw a distant star flash, and he was bathed in its approving cold light, as if it beat only for him.
"I understand."
Edwards left his deck. He had never done such a thing.
The ancient vessel that carried the Astartes was a labyrinth.
Edwards had no schematic of the areas outside his own deck.
But he moved swiftly through the darkness, without a moment's hesitation, as if every branching corridor, every pipe, were already mapped in his mind.
He turned down one passage after another, climbed through a ventilation shaft, and saw twelve others.
A wave of irresistible drowsiness washed over Edwards. He followed a flicker of life deep in his mind, closed his eyes, and stepped forward.
He muttered, "The Shadows of Order. They shouldn't have come here."
"Yes, we must kill them."
A distant power poured into the minds of all thirteen. They opened their eyes.
They had never met before, yet they felt a connection between them.
They spoke in unison: "The plan... we understand..."
"The power core... the energy conduits..."
The thirteen turned. The pressure in their brainstems intensified; the compulsion had sunk into the abyss of memory.
On Indra-Sul, the voice of Planetary Governor Yerson echoed across the globe.
"The Shadows of Order has illegally deposed your rightful governor."
He did not use the vox network, yet hundreds of millions heard his voice.
Tens of millions stirred restlessly, voices of dissent rising.
"The Shadows of Order are the Emperor's Angels! Lord Nareth is a noble son of the Emperor!"
"The Shadows of Order saved us! They freed us from the xenos' grasp!"
"We should accept the Shadows of Order's commands..."
"You are citizens of the Emperor! I am his appointed ruler!" Yerson shrieked, energy waves rippling outward.
Across Indra-Sul, thousands of psychic shockwaves erupted.
The Khrave, acting as psychic focal points for the Master's will, supported the mental web as it spread in all directions.
Whoosh!
Invisible psychic tendrils coiled around the planet.
The voices of dissent faded. The world fell silent.
The people of Indra-Sul froze, standing like the living dead.
Those who had resisted felt a prickling at the back of their necks, as if eyes were watching them.
Only Yerson's voice echoed in every mind.
"The Shadows of Order has no right to remove me!"
"You are my subjects! You will fight for me!"
"Kill them!"
The psychic roar resonated, and the frozen people of Indra-Sul suddenly moved, as if waking from a collective dream.
"Fight for Yerson and Indra-Sul!"
"Kill the Shadows of Order!"
Men and women, old and young, filed towards the nearest armories.
Even those who had never known where they were.
They took weapons, loaded them with practiced ease, and chambered rounds.
Those who had never trained knew how to fire.
They took positions, manned bunkers, and aimed their weapons.
In the Planetary Governor's mansion, Yerson looked out at the void.
A cold smile touched his lips. The entire mansion was coated in a layer of hoarfrost.
"Shadows of Order. You should not have come to my world."
His voice seemed to come from a distant space, ethereal and echoing.
Mottled ridges appeared on Yerson's neck. Hardened black veins surfaced on his slack flesh.
He felt his own weakness. The mental manipulation had been too draining.
"Damn it..."
"There's less and less food on this world..."
"Shadows of Order! Sons of Nareth! Before you leave this world, I will bury you here!"
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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