Urgent! A major turning point in the plot! Read quickly.
Cadia Surface Command.
This command center, buried deep within the bunker complex, was currently shrouded in the glow of countless holographic projections. Creed stood before the main sand table, his gaze falling upon the miniature terrain representing the Cadian defense belt. Even though the battle remained in the fleet engagement stage and no ground war had broken out yet, he could not afford to relax.
At that moment, a dull hydraulic hiss echoed through the room. Creed lifted his head from the sand table. His eyes held a flicker of confusion as he turned toward the door.
A man wearing a Cadian military uniform walked in. His pace was steady, and a perfectly measured smile hung on his face. Creed recognized the face: Vallen Cole. He was the commander of the 84th Cadian Assault Regiment and one of Creed's most valued ground commanders.
"What do you need?" Creed's voice was raspy. He had not closed his eyes for forty-eight hours.
Vallen stopped before him and snapped a crisp military salute. "Sir, there is a problem with our communication platform." His tone was professional and calm. "The encrypted link between command and the front line is experiencing intermittent disruptions. The Tech-Sergeants believe the communication relay array deep within the bunker has suffered Warp energy corruption."
He looked directly at Creed. "Regarding this, we need your key for authorization so the Mechanicus Priests can enter the core area for emergency repairs."
Creed's brow furrowed. The communication relay array was the most critical node connecting surface command to the front. If something went wrong there, the coordination of the entire Cadian surface campaign would suffer.
But—why report this only now? Creed cursed silently. According to standard operating procedures, any issue involving a core communication node should be reported the moment it is discovered, or even before.
His hand moved instinctively toward the key terminal at the edge of the sand table. Then, he stopped. Creed's eyes narrowed slightly.
He looked at the young man before him. The gray-blue fatigues of the Cadian 84th, the regiment badge on the left shoulder, the rank insignia on the right arm, the campaign medals on the chest—every detail was flawless. The cheekbones of Vallen Cole, his jawline, and even the tiny scar above his left eyebrow from a training accident at age seventeen were all exactly right.
Everything appeared normal. More importantly, anyone entering the surface command center had to pass through a series of independent identity verification procedures: biometrics, gene sampling, cipher passphrases, psychic detection, and a final manual review by the Adeptus Custodes themselves.
It was impossible for there to be a problem. Creed's mind raced. Yet, the intuition remained. It wasn't the result of logical deduction, but something more primal—an instinct honed to the level of a wild beast.
He did not speak immediately. Creed stared at Vallen's face and spoke in a casual tone. "Test for you: during the Twelfth Black Crusade, how many men did the 84th Regiment lose in the defense of the Cadian Gate?"
"Six hundred twenty-three killed in action, four hundred seventeen wounded, sir," Vallen answered without hesitation. The numbers were accurate.
Creed nodded and continued. "Historically, when your regiment retreated to the second line of defense, who was responsible for covering the rear?"
"Captain Mihal Dronov, former commander of the Third Company." Vallen's tone remained steady. "He was killed instantly when a Chaos Terminator's power fist crushed his chest while covering the main force's retreat."
Still accurate. Creed's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the sand table. He fell silent for a moment. Then, he waved his hand. "Fine. You may go." He picked up the shimmering key from the table and tossed it to Vallen.
Vallen caught the key. His movements were clean and efficient, a standard military posture. He saluted again and turned toward the door, his pace remaining steady.
"Vallen." Creed's voice came from behind.
"Yes, sir?" Vallen stopped and turned around.
He saw the muzzle of a bolt pistol. The black hole of the barrel was pointed directly at his chest. Creed stood by the sand table, his right hand firmly gripping the standard Cadian-pattern bolt pistol. He said nothing.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The muffled gunshots exploded in the confined space of the command center. Bolts erupted from the barrel, burying themselves deep into Vallen's chest at close range. The small rocket-propelled munitions detonated upon impact. Flesh splattered, and shattered ribs scattered like shrapnel.
Vallen staggered back. A look of agony crossed his face as he looked at his commander with an unbelievable, almost confused gaze.
Creed remained unmoved. His left hand gripped the hilt of his power sword and drew it. The moment the blade was activated, its edges were wrapped in a deep blue decomposition field, emitting a low hum. Creed looked at the "man" who was still standing. A cold arc tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Was this a joke? When he pulled the trigger, he hadn't aimed for non-vital areas. Those four bolts had buried themselves solidly into the thoracic and abdominal cavities. On any normal person, they would have been enough to blast the entire torso into a red mist.
Yet, this fellow hadn't even fallen.
"So—" the "Vallen" spoke.
The voice had changed. It was no longer the crisp tone of a Cadian officer, but something more viscous, carrying a sickly sense of pleasure. It sounded like nails scraping glass or something whispering in a sewer.
"How exactly did you find out?"
The skin began to split. Starting from the squirming wound on the chest that was attempting to heal, fine cracks spread like spiderwebs across the neck, cheeks, and eye sockets. A blue psychic light flowed from the cracks.
Large patches of skin peeled away, revealing the constantly shifting tissues beneath—scales, feathers, eyeballs, and sharp teeth. They grew wildly in a way that defied all biological laws, only to be replaced by new forms in the next instant.
"My disguise was so perfect," the creature said in an appreciative tone.
The thing standing there now was a fluid, shifting Chaos xenos wrapped in blue spiritual light, covered in twisted feathers and eyes. Its voice carried a hint of a laugh.
"However, as a matter of politeness—"
The Changeling bowed slightly, a gesture that looked utterly bizarre given its shifting form. "Let me introduce myself."
"My name is the Changeling. You probably haven't heard the name—" The numerous eyes within the blue light turned toward Creed simultaneously. "But I forgive you."