A specter haunts Lycaeus.
Not a metaphorical one.
A real one.
Lycaeus was no true world of its own, but a moon—an industrial satellite of the forge-world Kiavahr. Its surface was scarred by mines, its skies choked by refinery haze, its population divided into two clear classes:
Slaves below.
Tech-Guild overseers above.
The miners labored in endless shifts, extracting ore to feed Kiavahr's manufactorums. They lived and died in the dark, nameless and expendable.
Into this world fell a Primarch.
His gestation pod crashed into the prison-mine complex. The first to find him was a young female laborer, drawn by the sound and by the sight of an impossibly perfect child lying among shattered metal.
Others gathered.
Then came the overseer.
He shoved through the crowd, lashing out with his shock stave, demanding order.
The infant looked at him.
And killed him.
The head tore free with impossible strength.
The miners recoiled in horror.
Then something else settled over them.
Hope.
They hid the child.
They named him Corvus Corax.
Over time, the boy grew—unnaturally fast. He absorbed information like a void swallowing light. He listened. He learned. He asked questions about production quotas, supply routes, security rotations.
He did not rage blindly.
He organized.
He divided the miners into cells.
He taught stealth before open violence.
He taught sabotage before confrontation.
Strikes became coordinated.
Supply lines faltered.
Tech-Guild retaliation grew brutal—public executions, ration cuts, increased surveillance.
But repression widened sympathy.
Those who once hesitated now joined.
When the time came, the rebellion was not a riot.
It was strategy.
Corax led a disciplined insurgency. They seized communications nodes, power relays, and landing platforms. They avoided prolonged engagements, striking from shadows, disappearing into maintenance shafts and mine tunnels.
Eventually, Lycaeus broke free.
But Kiavahr did not yield.
The Tech-Guild deployed armored cohorts and mechanized suppression forces. Heavy walkers descended upon the moon's surface.
They underestimated urban guerrilla warfare.
They underestimated sabotage.
They underestimated Corax.
The insurgents captured munitions, repurposed mining explosives, and redirected supply silos.
When nuclear charges detonated within Kiavahr's own orbital infrastructure, the Tech-Guild's capacity to retaliate collapsed.
Only then did Lycaeus truly stand independent.
They renamed it Deliverance.
And then the sky darkened.
The Arrival
Imperial vessels eclipsed the horizon.
Macro-cannon arrays aligned.
The rebels believed Kiavahr had returned in greater force.
Many prepared for last stands.
Corax stopped them.
"It is my father."
Unlike many of his brothers, Corax remembered the laboratory.
He remembered a man—not a god.
When the Emperor descended, the masses fell to their knees before a being of impossible radiance.
Corax saw something different.
A man of ordinary height.
Ordinary features.
Unadorned.
Only as he approached did the radiant form overlay the human one.
"Father?"
"My son."
The Emperor was pleased.
Corax had lived among common laborers.
He had rejected tyranny.
He saw rulership as service.
Few traits aligned more closely with the Emperor's ideal of enlightened governance.
"What do you truly look like?" Yuki asked suddenly.
Corax began to describe the laboratory figure.
The Emperor calmly dragged Yuki aside before she could press further.
In Yuki's perception, the Emperor always appeared in his golden war-form—not because she believed in kings, but because she refused to accept rulers at all.
The Emperor had long since decided not to show her his unfiltered appearance.
Some leverage was too dangerous.
Corax spoke with the Emperor privately for hours.
When he emerged, his answer was clear.
He would lead the XIX Legion.
On one condition.
Lycaeus—Deliverance—would remain free from external oppression.
The Emperor began, "The Mechanicum can—"
Yuki immediately covered his mouth.
"Father," she sent psychically, "haven't you handed Mars enough already?"
The Dark Angels were already maneuvering politically around the Icarus Accords. Mars was powerful enough. Deliverance did not need to become another bargaining chip.
The Emperor's silence conveyed indifference.
Fine.
Handle it.
Yuki turned back to Corax.
"The Tech-Guild's power will be neutralized. Imperial envoys will oversee diplomatic settlement. Deliverance governs itself, so long as it remains loyal to the Imperium. We do not interfere unnecessarily."
Corax smiled.
A genuine smile.
For a brief moment, Yuki thought of Curze.
Same pale intensity.
Different soul.
Corax's smile warmed.
Curze's chilled.
Nostramo
The man crawled.
Half his torso was gone.
Blood and tears mixed as he dragged broken fingers across cold stone.
A shadow loomed.
A massive striped predator padded forward.
Behind it—
Fear itself.
"Good," Curze whispered hoarsely. "Dinner."
The tiger leapt.
Screams ended quickly.
The beast shook blood from its whiskers. Genetically stabilized, it required feeding rarely—but lately, its master had been… generous.
Curze stroked its head.
Usually, the simple contact calmed him.
Not tonight.
After his previous purge, he had implemented law.
Written statutes.
Structured penalties.
He had listened to Yuki.
He had tried.
When he left Nostramo, crime had dropped sharply.
When he returned—
The syndicates still operated.
Not openly.
But alive.
Fear had once driven crime to zero.
Law reduced it—but did not eradicate it.
Curze had responded the only way he knew.
Another massacre.
The Midnight Haunter returned.
"Sevatar."
"Yes, Father."
"What is stronger?" Curze asked quietly. "Law—or fear?"
Sevatar hesitated.
Before the Legion, he would have said fear.
After years of legal instruction—
He was no longer certain.
Curze rose.
"Prepare for Terra."
Sevatar nodded.
"Another Primarch has been found. He travels there now."
Curze paused.
His smile returned—thin, sharp, predatory.
"…I know."
His eyes darkened.
"Little Raven…"
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL for more chapters.