Chapter 532: The Commorragh Protocol — Extermination
Armageddon, Hive Hades, Rear Assembly Hall of the Military Commission.
As the primary council concluded, Ramesses led Trazyn through the corridors, eventually locating Arthur in a smaller sub-chamber where the Lord of Knights was conferring with Commissar Yarrick.
Unlike the chaotic density of the general assembly, this room held the concentrated strategic weight of the Armageddon Sector and its surrounding "Aegis" zones. Present were the Void-Admirals of the Sector Fleets, the High-Prefects of the Astra Militarum, Chapter Masters of the Astartes, and the Dynastic Lords of the Rogue Trader Expansion Zones.
In the three-dimensional geometry of the galaxy, the Imperium was a sprawling, uneven beast. Because the galactic plane possessed significant verticality—reaching a thickness of forty thousand light-years in the core—nearly every Imperial sector was buffered by "Expansion Zones" managed by Rogue Traders. These dynasties, descended from the noble houses that had crusaded alongside the Emperor during the Great Crusade, served as the Imperium's early warning system and its primary source of "Esoteric Resources."
In the past, these zones were semi-sovereign fiefdoms, the Rogue Traders acting as thorns in the side of the unknown. Now, under the Dawnstar's technical and logistical patronage, these thorns had been sharpened into defensive bastions. Their role was to hold the gates of the major sectors and develop the "Outer Rim" economy.
Pity the buffers had failed against the "Prophet." No one had predicted the Orks would simply jump-start an ancient Webway portal and bypass the perimeter entirely, severing the Warp-lanes as they went.
A lesson learned in blood, the high command noted.
"I am grateful for Your Lordship's consideration," Commissar Yarrick said, standing tall before Arthur. His chest was a map of honorary citations, and his youthful face—now unburdened by the immediate stress of the siege—bore a sharp, focused intensity.
He offered no critique of the "Old Guard's" stagnant thinking, nor did he offer empty praise for Arthur's speech. He was a creature of the "Practical." The solutions the Wardens of Steel had implemented for Armageddon's post-war reconstruction had earned his total, unswerving trust.
"It is a logical necessity, Sebastian," Arthur replied, looking at the Commissar.
"A victory in the field is never the end. The reconstruction, the establishment of the administrative hierarchy... someone must carry that burden. You have the weight for it."
Arthur held Yarrick in high regard. The man's performance during the war had been flawless. Armageddon was one of the primary gates to the Solar Segmentum; its stability was critical for the future of the species.
The transmigrators knew that "Iconic Status" was a tool, not an absolute truth. They were cautious when approaching the "Legends" of the 41st Millennium. If a man possessed the traits to become a myth, the Dawnbreakers would provide the platform to ensure he became a monument.
"..."
Yarrick paused, momentarily stunned that a Primarch intended to entrust him with the planetary mandate. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then spoke with absolute clarity:
"From the day I entered the Schola Progenium, I understood that to lead a war requires more than just the sword. Every time I was assigned to a Hive, I made it my first priority to map the local political landscape."
"The work is exhausting, My Lord. But it is essential."
He's stating his candidacy, Ramesses thought, slipping into the room and watching the "Seniority Meta" play out.
No wonder the Orks love this man. He doesn't hide his light under a bushel.
"Hard work, indeed," Arthur said, patting Yarrick on the shoulder.
Romulus's warrant of appointment is already in transit.
Arthur then turned his focus to Tu'Shan, Chapter Master of the Salamanders.
Facing the simultaneous incursions of the xenos and the Chaos host, the Dawnbreakers had divided their strength.
In the Obscurus Segmentum, they had broken the "Iron Curtain" of Vashtorr and retrieved the Lion. Then, they had unified to purge the Death Guard from Ultramar.
Then came the Maelstrom—a meat-grinder involving Tyranids, Orks, Humans, and Chaos. They had broken the siege of Badab and stabilized the Octarius Sector.
And now, Armageddon was secure. The Prophet was driven into the Webway, and the possibility of the "Webway Reconstruction Plan" had manifested through the struggle with Gork and Mork.
The strategic board of the material universe was finally open. Guilliman was streamlining the bureaucracy; the Lion was scouring the outer rim for threats; and Corax was anchoring the Warp-lanes. The Dawnstar was ascendant.
But why the continued focus on the military? Why recall the Rogue Trader kings?
While it was politically "Non-Standard" for an empire born of the Great Crusade, the reality was that the Imperium's material expansion had reached a state of diminishing returns.
From the War of the Beast to the Age of Apostasy and the recent Macharian Crusade, the Imperium's history was a sequence of "Expansionist Blunders"—investing massive military assets into backwater sectors for negligible gain.
The Dawnbreakers were initiating a "Strategic Contraction." They weren't retreating; they were digesting.
The military assets "saved" from the material front weren't being retired. They were being concentrated.
For what?
Compared to a backwater system that took five centuries to turn a profit, the Webway was a "Blue Ocean" of infinite potential.
Beyond the archeotech and ancient ruins, a safe and stable Webway route could turn a forgotten rock into a galactic trade hub in a single generation.
What? The tunnel is too narrow for your ship? Then build a smaller ship. The problem is your engineering, not the infrastructure.
Rogue Traders, sensing the shift, were already pivoting their shipyards to produce new FTL-capable hulls for the "Webway Gold-Rush," hoping to take a massive bite out of the Charter Fleets before the Dawnstar locked down the contracts.
But to develop the Webway, one obstacle remained.
Commorragh.
The ancient hub of the Labyrinthine Dimension. A city that linked almost every artery in the network. Even ten thousand years after the Fall, the "Dark City" cast a long shadow across the galaxy.
If you built a trade route, the Drukhari could manifest at any point, slaughter your crews, and vanish back into the dark. They were a pathogen in the system.
During the Great Crusade, an Imperial Expeditionary Force—roughly fifty thousand Astartes—had managed to breach the Dark City. They had caused massive damage before withdrawing with heavy losses.
The leaders of that raid had been the Salamanders.
While the campaign was technically an Imperial withdrawal, it had shattered the old Eldar aristocratic order within the city, allowing the "Kabals" to seize power.
"I require the Salamanders to serve as the primary Tactical Consultants for the Commorragh Expedition," Arthur said, addressing Tu'Shan.
The XVIII Legion were the premier experts on Dark Eldar warfare.
Unlike the Ultramarines, who dealt with the "Civilized" Craftworlders, the sons of Nocturne lived in the shadow of the Dark City. Their home-system was littered with Webway apertures, and the Drukhari raids in that sector were a constant, bloody reality.
"It is our sacred duty," Tu'Shan replied instantly. Yet, he felt a flicker of shame.
Tactical Consultants?
He knew what that meant. With barely seven hundred warriors, the Salamanders couldn't lead a planetary-scale offensive anymore. They were the specialists, not the army.
He looked at the roster for the raid.
The Dawnstar Wings (excluding Ramesses' Warp-cadres) numbered nearly four hundred thousand. And that didn't include the Ultramarines, who were effectively a dual-Primarch Legion now.
The Dark Angels were a unified hammer.
Arthur would deploy a hundred thousand Astartes to the Dark City. Supported by the Space Wolves, the Black Templars, a dozen summoned Successor Chapters, and the massive weight of the Imperial Navy and the Steel Legion, the host was staggering.
The Salamanders would be a single drop in an ocean of iron.
"Do not feel the weight of the numbers," Arthur comforted him. He didn't need their meat; he needed their experience to ensure the capital investment of the other Legions wasn't wasted.
"I understand, My Lord."
Tu'Shan caught the subtext.
Serving a Primarch brought benefits. Look at the Black Templars.
Who even remembers the Imperial Fists anymore? They're just the guys who guard the front door while the Templars do the work.
In the past, the Salamanders had been "Honest Slaves" to their duty—not as pitiable as the Blood Angels, but lacking the social agility of the Ultramarines. Now that a Sire stood before them, they would not refuse the light.
"As for the expansion of the Chapter..."
Tu'Shan hesitated, looking at his old partner, the Forge-Father He'stan.
"I believe our Master of the Forge can oversee the logistical preparations for our growth."
He'stan's face fell. He wanted to bleed alongside his Father's brother in the Dark City, but he found no logical retort. Chapter-expansion was the primary mandate.
"Huron and Calgar will assist you."
In truth, Chogoris (White Scars) and Nocturne were neighbors in the "Gap" between the Maelstrom and Ultramar. Logistics between them were a non-issue.
The White Scars, Arthur had discovered, had already been "convinced" by Huron to expand. Following the lead of the Wolves, the "Sons of the Wind" were currently shouting slogans about "Riding the Webway to find the Great Khan!" while using the Mantis Warriors Successor-link to bleed Huron for every resource imaginable.
The Maelstrom was secure because the White Scars had mastered the high-speed mobile defense of its interior.
The Salamanders... lacked that level of "Strategic Awareness."
"Thank you," Tu'Shan whispered, his gratitude overwhelming.
"We labor together," Arthur nodded.
Regarding Commorragh, the strategy was dual-pronged.
It was simple because there were no "Innocents" to consider. This was a war of total Extermination. No ideological baggage. No prisoners. No souls to be saved. Clean the slate and move on.
The Drukhari were a species that had earned their extinction.
As the former elite of the Eldar Empire, they had refused to curb their excess even as the world fell. They were the catalysts for the birth of Slaanesh.
In the millennia since, they had sustained themselves by consuming the agony of others. They were soul-junkies who could never quit the high. Human Inquisitors were amateurs in the art of pain compared to a Haemonculus.
The only difference between a Dark Eldar and a Slaaneshi daemon was the name.
The few Drukhari with a conscience had long ago been recruited by the Harlequins or fled to the stars. Anyone left in those steel corridors was a predator that needed to be put down.
Furthermore, the Ultramarines and Salamanders shared a long, bloody history with the xenos. They were "Extermination-Specials."
But it was also complex.
For once the blades were drawn, they wouldn't just be fighting the Drukhari.
The link between the xenos and the Empyrean was absolute. A war in the Dark City was a war with the Gods.
Cegorach had been clear: Commorragh was riddled with gates leading directly into Slaanesh's domain.
It was the Dark Prince's private garden. She permitted the Drukhari to linger in their agony because a population of terrified, creative torturers produced more "Flavor" than a pile of consumed souls.
If Slaanesh chose to intervene, the tactical gravity would shift toward the impossible.
Single-tier Gods are one thing, Arthur mused. But a member of the Four? That's a different spreadsheet.
He felt that even with his current host, he was "under-budget" if the Dark Prince took the field.
"Master Art."
As the sub-committee broke to begin the drafting phase, Ramesses approached Arthur.
He watched the busy officers, swilling a bottle of "Ancient Terran Soda" that had been refilled a dozen times.
"These 'Logistical Trifles' certainly take their sweet time, don't they?"
Because he wasn't responsible for the mortal bureaucracy, he could afford to play the "Impatient God."
"..."
The military representatives nearby looked appropriately embarrassed.
"It is the process," Arthur replied, his anger having cooled.
He didn't like the failures, but he expected them. His job was to provide the "Correction."
The military was actually the cleanest part of the Imperium. They were greedy for power, yes, but they weren't afraid to die. As long as an army wasn't afraid to fight, it could be salvaged.
Romulus's department was the real horror-show.
Rogue Traders, eager for favor, had "successfully" reconstructed war-torn sectors... by working a million laborers to death in the process.
How do you audit that?
The work is done. The sector is secure. But the planet is a graveyard.
Do you reward them for the result or execute them for the methodology?
"I suppose the military is the easy job," Ramesses noted after hearing Arthur's internal summary.
"It is direct," Arthur agreed.
"Everyone in this room is a pillar of the species. They are ready to sacrifice themselves. But the way they fulfill their duty... that is where the 'Divine Craft' comes in."
Even a Primarch's sarcasm could be surgical.
The officers bowed their heads, feeling the sting of the Knight's words.
At least they still know how to be ashamed, Arthur thought. That means they can be re-educated.
The smart ones knew the deal: send their heirs to Dawnstar for schooling, and serve Mankind with absolute transparency in the meantime. No more "Riddles." No more "Secret Reserves." Do the job, retire, and report to the "Hallowed Sun" for eternity.
The leadership transition of the 41st Millennium was moving forward.
"Any 'Good News' from the beyond?" Arthur asked his resident shut-in partner.
"Let our 'Old Friend' tell You."
Ramesses shrugged, signaling Trazyn.
Arthur turned his gaze to the Necron Overlord, his eyes searching.
Trazyn stepped forward, a fawning, metallic smile on his face.
"My Lord... I am a member of the team, am I not?"
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