When the astropathic relays and battle reports from the Bastion Fleet reached the Sol System, Roboute Guilliman attempted once more to contact Axion. However, the result was identical to his previous endeavors.
The Iron Man had evidently slipped back into the tides of the Warp, severing all lines of communication.
While Guilliman was gratified to see the Iron Man dealing such heavy blows to the enemies of the Imperium, he fell into a grim silence upon reading the descriptions of the two-myriameter-long behemoth mentioned in the reports. He had long been aware that the Iron Men's vessels were oversized and devastatingly powerful, but a length exceeding twenty thousand kilometers was excessive beyond reason.
He had previously considered that if the Iron Men could construct Gloriana-class battleships, the Imperium would need to further restrict the entity's mineral stockpiles. Now, it seemed that such measures were far too late.
Belisarius Cawl also reached out to the Lord Regent, informing him that the Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars had taken notice of Axion. No one could guarantee what the technocratic zealots of the Priesthood might do; the situation was steadily spiraling out of control.
Guilliman found himself without a clear solution. The Adeptus Mechanicus was a fractured web of radical and conservative factions, with a vast swathe of opportunists in between. Faced with an Iron Man of such terrifying capability, there was no telling what decisions these technological madmen might reach.
Yet, compared to other concerns, Guilliman's current strategic landscape was even more convoluted. The Iron Man was not the most immediate threat. Since the campaign in the Somnium Stars, his brother Lion El'Jonson had been hunting for word of the Daemonsmith Vashtorr and Abaddon's Arks of Omen fleets.
The Daemonic demigod, however, had vanished entirely, along with Abaddon's specialized armadas. No one knew what cataclysmic trauma or existential threat these daemons and traitors were preparing to unleash upon the Imperium.
But now, the Iron Man had forcibly ejected a massive Chaos fleet, clearly part of the Arks of Omen project, from the Warp. The sheer scale of this fleet exceeded the naval defense forces of any independent Imperial Sector. It was clear that these wretches were already mid-execution of some grand, malevolent design.
…
While Guilliman brooded over the new intelligence, another group was venting a far more visceral fury.
"You are telling me that four composite fleets were annihilated by a massive, unidentified armada?! And you do not even know the nature of the enemy?!"
In a fit of unbridled rage, Abaddon the Despoiler brought his hand down, crushing the semi-daemonic crewman who had delivered the news into a bloody pulp.
"AAAGH!"
As his roar echoed through the bridge, his fury bled into the surroundings. The command console, already scored with countless battle-scars, disintegrated under the weight of the Talon of Horus.
Bzzzt.
"Abaddon, I have some most intriguing data to share with you."
A vox-window flickered to life, and a towering figure clad in the jagged robes of the Dark Mechanicum materialized on the screen.
"Magos Tokart, you had best be bringing me good news."
"We have secured additional sources of intelligence. Among them are the particulars of your fleet's destruction and specific data regarding the 'enemy.' Consider this an investment, Abaddon. If you are interested, we should meet in person."
Abaddon went silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied Archmagos Tokart on the display.
"How unexpected. You've taken to being an information broker now?"
"According to my calculations, the probability of you agreeing to this meeting exceeds 92.32%, and the likelihood of my eventual remuneration is higher than 75%. That is a sufficient margin to justify exploring... unfamiliar avenues of commerce."
Tokart spoke in a leaden, mechanical drone, tapping his temple with a hooked, bionic finger that produced a sharp metallic clink.
"Very well. I shall await you aboard the Vengeful Spirit."
Tokart had once been a notorious Magos Biologis in the Eastern Fringe, loathed by his peers for his obsession with forbidden lore. That region of space was too vast, and the Black Ships of the Inquisition were often late, leading to a surplus of psykers on various worlds.
This provided the Magos with an endless supply of experimental subjects. He had even conspired with planetary underworld syndicates to harvest "unsanctioned" psykers for his use. His experiments eventually grew so vast that several Imperial worlds found themselves unable to meet their psyker tithes.
When an Inquisitor investigating the disappearances stumbled upon his forbidden research involving psykers and blasphemous Warp-glyphs, Tokart attempted, and failed, to silence the investigator. Faced with the dual wrath of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Inquisition, he fled into the embrace of the Dark Mechanicum.
With the assistance of these traitors, his research was unshackled. The liberated Tokart quickly produced a litany of dark, blood-soaked, and sacrilegious psychic technologies, earning him the rank of Archmagos within the Dark Mechanicum.
Soon, a massive, darkened vessel transitioned out of the Warp. It was a Retribution-class battleship, a relic of the Mechanicus stolen by Tokart during his defection from his Forge World. Now, the ship was utterly corrupted by the powers of Chaos; its Machine Spirit, subjected to Tokart's agonizing "special techniques," had long since fallen into madness.
The ship's former Skitarii had been warped into semi-daemonic, semi-mechanical horrors. The autonomous machines aboard resembled iron ghouls, with twisted metal spikes erupting from their chassis. Daemonic souls were imprisoned within them, serving as the "Machine Spirits" for these abominations.
As the vessel drew alongside the Vengeful Spirit, a faint psychic ripple shimmered in the air. On the ship's teleportation dais, Tokart's form vanished.
Hummmm…
With a flash of light, a massive mechanical frame appeared on the teleportation deck of the Vengeful Spirit. Abaddon stood waiting, a rare gesture of personal reception for the Magos Biologis.
Tokart looked at the Despoiler and offered a rare, stiff bow. "Great Lord Abaddon, I thank you for sparing the time to meet with me."
Abaddon's eye twitched slightly at the note of humility. You didn't have that tone over the vox. Are you afraid I'll break you now that we're face-to-face?
"Hmph. This information had better be worth the time I am wasting."
"Indeed. This is a transaction, my Lord. I am entirely certain of its value."
Seeing Tokart's confidence, Abaddon led the way toward a private briefing chamber, followed by his Black Legion guard. To ensure the absolute security of the intelligence, Abaddon utilized a unique meeting room within the Vengeful Spirit constructed from Blackstone, the same chamber where he had schemed with Vashtorr.
Whenever Abaddon deemed a secret too sensitive for the ears of the Warp, he brought his interlocutors here, ensuring that not a single word would ever leak to the Great Powers.
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