Chapter 196: Khorne: What Are You All Scheming Behind My Back This Time?
The Impech System.
The Impech System was now far more active than when Chaos had first invaded. It had begun with the Mantis Warriors launching a campaign to liberate a planet besieged by Tyranids. However, shortly after the purge began, they discovered traces of Chaos corruption.
In the first few weeks, the war had progressed smoothly. The Mantis Warriors had cleared the major cities with, miraculously, zero casualties. But as the cultists were exterminated, order in the cities failed to return. More disturbingly, Chaos Space Marines began to appear as if sprouting from the ground, the entire planet seemingly being corrupted by some unseen force.
The Carcharodons Chapter had then arrived in the system. The war should have ended there. Thanks to technological support from the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Carcharodons' fleet was far superior to that of an ordinary Chapter, let alone the poorly supplied Chaos warbands. Once void superiority was achieved, the outcome of the ground war should have been predictable.
However, a strange Chaos sorcery had enveloped the entire planet, distorting and banishing any strike from orbit. Bombardment and global deployment became impossible.
The Carcharodons ultimately chose to cooperate with the Mantis Warriors, fortifying a key city in the planet's southern hemisphere, Ansel, and using it as a base to launch numerous raids. They sought to delay Chaos reinforcements while gathering intelligence, hoping to destroy the enemy's ritual core.
But as intelligence accumulated, the situation became clearer, and also more desperate. The dense network of warp portals, the ever-expanding warbands, and the increasing number of daemonic manifestations all pointed to one conclusion: this planet was likely beyond saving.
"Brother Tyberos."
In private, the Chapter Master of the Mantis Warriors, Khasan Neotera, had requested a meeting with Tyberos. He stood before the tactical sand table in the temporary command post, his gaze fixed on the figure who took up most of his field of vision. This Chapter Master was terrifyingly immense; Neotera often felt as if he were speaking to a Dreadnought.
"How much longer until support arrives?"
As a Chapter that did not excel at logistics and suffered from a relatively severe gene-seed flaw, the Mantis Warriors' organization and deployment adhered strictly to the doctrines of the Codex Astartes. They maintained the standard ten-company structure, and their command staff, Apothecarion, Armoury, and fleet were all of standard configuration.
However, their remote sector and chronic lack of resources meant that throughout their long history, they had almost never fought at full strength. A shortage of heavy vehicles, in particular, made every large-scale operation a struggle. The Chapter's strength was also in a slow, steady decline due to their gene-seed flaw. Companies were rarely brought back to full strength, damaged armour went unrepaired, and fallen warriors were not replaced. The Mantis Warriors were gradually sliding towards the brink of collapse.
To survive, they had focused their limited resources and production capabilities on the equipment that best suited their tactical style—light, swift weapons that perfectly supported their expertise in raiding and guerilla warfare. Over time, this had become their instinct. When faced with a powerful enemy, they preferred to avoid direct confrontation, relying on cunning and speed.
Recently, perhaps because their raids had enraged the Chaos warbands, the enemy had launched several major assaults on the city. Both sides had suffered considerable casualties. If not for the massive amounts of wargear brought by the Carcharodons, they would have likely already departed and notified the Ultramarines to deploy Exterminatus.
"Barring any complications, three weeks," Tyberos replied. "If support does not arrive within three weeks, we will withdraw." Having campaigned alongside Romulus and his brothers, he had a good measure of their efficiency. Moreover, with Te Kahurangi's xenos advisor, their communication with the Dawnlight Fleet within the sector was stable. The enemy's assaults were still manageable. The Carcharodons were familiar with their strategies and tactics, and with the entire Chapter now composed of Primaris Space Marines, they could maintain a defensive advantage despite being heavily outnumbered.
"Understood."
No further questions, no pointless arguments. Neotera acknowledged the order and prepared to return to his post to relay the news to his battle-brothers. After all, one does not bite the hand that feeds. The Carcharodons outnumbered the Mantis Warriors, and had brought with them a massive supply of power armour and weapons. Furthermore, Tyberos was an extremely experienced commander. In matters of strategy, Neotera had to respect his opinion.
And to be honest, he always felt a strange sense of unease around Tyberos, like a prey animal in the presence of a predator. This unease, in the face of the other's polite and direct conversation, had transformed into a kind of awe.
Stroking the brand new suit of Indomitus Terminator armour he now wore, his gaze fell upon the Carcharodon warriors. The sharks remained quietly in their designated areas. Some stood as still as statues; others knelt, using precision tools to replace the teeth on their chainswords, their movements practiced and focused. It was a habit born from a long history of material scarcity.
The Mantis Warriors had it too. Every Mantis Warrior maintained their wargear with a unique reverence, a level of care that surpassed most other Space Marines.
The Carcharodons and the Mantis Warriors had already reclaimed several Imperial worlds together, but this Chapter still remained a profound mystery to him. They fought like blades in the shadows—silent, precise, and lethal. During combat, there was no sound other than the movement of their armour. They always achieved their strategic objectives with the minimum possible cost. It was hard to imagine that such a well-supplied Chapter could produce such warriors.
Neotera frowned slightly. Logically, warriors with almost infinite resources would tend to become reliant on firepower, even arrogant. But the Carcharodons were different. They still maintained a near-fanatical efficiency, as if some primal hunger were still etched into their bones.
"Te Kahurangi," Tyberos said, paying no mind to the departing Mantis Warrior, turning instead to his Chief Librarian. "Have you noticed something familiar about the enemy's style?"
"Are you referring to the force under Lord Arthur's command?" Te Kahurangi was still analyzing the Chaos plot with the Farseer.
"Yes," Tyberos nodded.
As one of the first Chapters to encounter the four Primarchs, the Carcharodons' pragmatic nature had allowed them to establish a connection with the Dawnbreakers that went far beyond the ordinary. Unlike other Chapters, who were often constrained by cultural traditions or codes of honour, the sharks adhered to only two ironclad laws: loyalty to humanity, and no truck with Chaos. Beyond that, they had shed all other considerations with a near-cold indifference. As long as their supplies and recruits were guaranteed, they would not impose cruel blood-tithes, and would even pay a certain price to protect the human population of a sector.
For the Carcharodons, brutality was never a matter of bloodlust or tradition, but a necessary choice in the face of harsh reality, devoid of any personal feeling. They were a pure, emotionless blade, its use depending entirely on the wielder.
Because they had long existed outside of Imperial records, they had become the ideal test subjects for new tactics. After Arthur had taken command of the Dark Angels, a series of clandestine military exercises had been conducted with the Carcharodons' cooperation. They were privy to many secrets unknown to other Chapters. Now, the Techmarines of the Carcharodons were being trained by the Ironwing. In the future, the Carcharodons would gradually break free from the shackles of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the "Grey Tithe" would be redirected to the Dawnbreakers.
Tyberos could clearly sense that the four Primarchs were consciously exploring a new military structure, attempting to break the Mechanicus's monopoly on knowledge. The only thing that puzzled him slightly was that Archmagos Cawl, the representative of the Mechanicus, had shown no reaction to any of this, as if it had nothing to do with him.
"Indeed," the face beneath the skull-helm was lost in thought. Te Kahurangi searched his memory. "The Dark Angels?"
"The Pale Nomads?"
In a fortress held by Chaos, Baelor stared at the battle-report and frowned. They had clashed with these sons of the Raven Guard many times in the past. After the World Eaters were given to Angron, they had been Horus's primary shock troops.
"Your tactics have all been seen through, dearies," Agathya said, making an exaggerated gesture with his bloated body, his fingertips stirring the foul air. "Utterly disgusting." His voice was like a sound squeezed from his intestines, thick with a cloying dampness. "Anything else to say? If not, I'm leaving." A wisp of pale green toxic mist drifted from his side towards Baelor and Cyraxes, only to be repelled by a psychic shield and dissipate.
The source of the mist was a Death Guard warrior. His dark green power armour, shattered by ten thousand years of decay, clung to his swollen, mutated body like a cracked eggshell. A pale yellow, transparent pus seeped from the gaps.
Agathya's eyes were filled with undisguised disgust. Not long ago, they had been fighting to the death in the Eye of Terror over a single ship of pure water. Now, by the command of their respective masters, they were forced to stand in the same hall.
Well, this is just great. He bowed his head and began to vigorously rub his rotting flesh with a pomade made from rendered fat. He then grabbed a skull and began to polish a smudge on his armour, but the inescapable stench of decay still clung to him. No amount of water will ever be enough.
"..." The Death Guard merely glanced at him indifferently, not rising to the bait. He had already made his sacrifice. There was no need to provoke these perverts further. The Flawless Host had at least six lords, and they were constantly fighting, either against other Chaos forces or the Imperium. Their casualty rate was astronomical, a veritable mountain of bodies, yet the warband never seemed to be destroyed. No one knew how many of these seemingly unkillable deviants there were.
"Agathoklyda," Cyraxes said, half his face burning with a blue flame, his voice a challenge. "If you hadn't run off mid-battle to engage in your disgusting 'performance art,' the situation would not have turned out this way."
"Oh, my~" Agathya cupped his face with his hands and twisted his body in a theatrical display of ecstasy. "A girl can't help it~ The Lord of Pleasure was calling to me~" He batted his eyelashes and added in a simpering voice, "And you will call me Lady Agathya~"
"..." Baelor felt a wave of nausea. To be honest, even the Death Guard, who had become a walking pile of animate filth, was not as repulsive as this gender-ambiguous pervert.
"And you, Flesius," Cyraxes continued, turning his ire. "I believe I stressed that the enemy fortress had a dense network of promethium conduits. You were supposed to lead your forces through them quickly, not waste time corrupting a bunch of useless plague-walkers on the city's outskirts."
"The Grandfather loves every living creature," Flesius replied matter-of-factly. "It is our duty to lead them to his divine domain." His KPIs were on the line; he would absolutely not compromise. Besides, his subordinates had all gone to make their sacrifices. If he were absent and the blessings were snatched up by another brother, he could be replaced by some "ambitious" Plague Marine any day now. Upward mobility was a real thing. The Grandfather was generous, but his children were very competitive.
"Hmph. Useless," Agathya sneered, resentful that this oaf had stolen his sacrifices.
The corrupted organs in Flesius's gut suddenly contracted violently, and he spewed a jet of greenish-yellow pus. "You dare speak of being useful?" his rotting vocal cords boomed. "If it weren't for you, I would have already completed my sacrifice of the water supply and moved on to the next planet the Grandfather needs me at, instead of being banished here with you, you brainless imbecile, to listen to your inane orders and smell your foul stench!"
"Why are you yelling so loud?" Agathya shrieked, leaping back, but was still splattered with pus. His carefully manicured nails were instantly covered in slime, and he erupted in a rage. "I'm going to kill you!"
The sound of a brawl once again filled the hall, and a mixture of disgusting pus and strange fragrances filled the air.
Splat. A piece of silk, soaked in some unknown sticky substance, slapped against Baelor's psychic shield and slowly slid down, leaving a cloudy smear.
"..." Baelor expressionlessly put away his tactical data-slate and turned to Cyraxes. The thought of having to fight the Dark Angels, or a Primarch's army, with these lunatics filled him with despair. What in the warp did you summon with that ritual sacrifice of mysterious minerals? A bunch of rabble! Three times the numbers, with the aid of Chaos sorcery, and they still couldn't take down two under-strength Chapters, even with an equipment disadvantage. These ten-thousand-year-old veterans were a disgrace.
"You should never have placed your hopes in Chaos in the first place," Fabius Bile said, watching the farce from a distance. It was clear that both Nurgle and Slaanesh had their eyes on the new Primarchs. But he'd heard from his 'dear father' that the Four had recently suffered a major loss and, for the time being, had to rely on these Chaos Space Marines.
"I assume you have all learned your lesson from Abaddon." He had come here at Fulgrim's request. No matter how much he disliked it, the fallen Primarch was currently his greatest protector. Without him, he would have to spend a long time wandering again. As for his father, while he was interested in the materium, he was a follower of Slaanesh. You know how they are. Whimsical. He was currently playing with his new toys. Who knows when he would remember what he was supposed to be doing.
As for the issue of manpower... Fabius Bile's deal with the Warmaster of Chaos, Abaddon, was already complete. After receiving a sufficient amount of gene-seed, Abaddon had "generously" packaged up all the troublemakers and uncontrollable subsidiary warbands within the Black Legion and sent them over. Of course, the official story was much more appealing—the Warmaster had used his considerable powers of persuasion to convince them that this was a "good opportunity," a chance to sacrifice more souls and gain more favour. As for the ships and remaining members of these warbands, the Despoiler had, of course, gladly accepted them into his own forces. Abaddon didn't know what the Four were scheming now, and he remained skeptical about the new Primarchs. For now, he needed to focus on his own growth.
Fabius looked at the squabbling Chaos Lords in the hall, his fingers unconsciously tracing his scalpel. These fools would never understand. They were just pawns, discarded by Abaddon to clean house, living sacrifices for the gods to achieve their goals.
"I will not entertain a single fantasy about them ever again." Cyraxes's psychic flame danced violently on his face. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his power sword, wanting nothing more than to tear this monster who had blasphemed against the Primarch limb from limb. But the figure before him was just an empty shell, a remotely controlled puppet. Since Fabius had returned from his studies in Commorragh, the mad gene-smith had become increasingly difficult to eradicate.
His burning psychic eye stared at the body that was merely a projection of consciousness. "Are you so certain they will come?" Cyraxes asked in a low voice. He had not expected support from Fabius Bile.
"Of course," Fabius said, a mocking smile touching his lips as he looked at the flames.
"Someone has already seen it."
And Tzeentch.
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