Hermann Brandt crouched in the shadow of a collapsed smelting conduit, the winds whipping dust and metal shavings across the barren landscape of Gaulle.
He was an operative sent by the Abwehr—the Reich' intelligence agency—to carry out their Führer' will. He wore a dark robe that shields him from nearby dust.
Above, the storm-choked sky swallowed the sun entirely; the planet's surface was bathed in a permanent gloom, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of distant power generators.
His drop-pod had come cloaked, skimming past the planetary defense platform unnoticed, depositing him miles from the nearest settlement.
From there, Hermann had navigated across the jagged terrain, his boots crunching over stone and rusted metal, using abandoned pipelines and crumbling walls as cover. Every shadow was a potential threat, every distant movement a possible watcher.
Finally, after hours of careful traversal, the massive silhouette of the hive city rose from the darkness.
Storm clouds clung to its towers like living smoke, lightning arcing occasionally between the industrial spires.
Even from a distance, the hive seemed alive, a dark mechanical leviathan swallowing the landscape, its lower sectors shrouded in mist and smog. The upper spires vanished into the clouds, unseen.
Hermann paused on a ridge, ordering the service drone to survey the labyrinthine structure. There was no sunlight, nor warmth—only the faint orange glow of industrial furnaces beneath the cloud cover.
Somewhere below, countless desperate citizens struggled to survive, their lives reduced to scavenging, labor, and prayer. He took a deep breath. This was where he would begin.
Slipping between ruined service tunnels and maintenance conduits, Hermann approached one of the hive' external access shafts. It was a narrow service entrance, designed for authorized maintenance crews—but it would do for him. Timing his movement with the shifting patterns of patrols, he slipped inside the shaft, using the darkness and his lightened footsteps to mask his presence.
The shaft opened into a vast lower sector, a maze of corridors, stairwells, and debris-strewn plazas. The air was heavy with smoke and the tang of metal, and the distant echo of machinery thrummed like a heartbeat.
Hermann paused, scanning the corridor. Suddenly, the sound of panic attracted him toward a nearby passage.
Rounding a corner, he found a group of scavengers cornered by a pair of local thugs, their crude pistols sparking with overcharge. The scavengers—mostly children and elderly—were cowering against a bulkhead, their backs pressed to rusted piping. Hermann didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the corridor, his voice firm. "Let them go."
The thugs turned, startled, raising their weapons. Hermann moved with the speed of a shadow. One thug lunged; Hermann sidestepped, grabbing his wrist and twisting, disarming him in a fluid motion. Sparks flew as the energy pistol skidded across the floor.
The second thug fired blindly, and Hermann dove to the side as he drew a short blade, letting the gun strike a support pillar with a shower of sparks. He rolled, kicking the weapon from the thug' grasp, and delivered a series of precise strikes that left both men choked in their own blood.
The scavengers stared at him wide-eyed. Hermann offered a faint nod. "Move! Now! Head to the east maintenance tunnels; they'll hide you from patrols."
He led them through winding corridors, his knowledge of industrial schematics guiding them past broken lifts and clogged ventilation shafts. At one point, a patrol rounded a corner; Hermann slipped into a shadowed alcove with the scavengers pressed tight behind him. The soldiers passed, their footsteps echoing, and Hermann allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief once the danger passed.
After ensuring the group was safely hidden, Hermann pressed on, deeper into the hive. Every step carried him farther from the barren surface and closer to the hive's core, where crowded dwellings, marketplaces, and cultist enclaves mingled in chaotic disorder.
Here, desperation was tangible: the stench of unwashed bodies, the flicker of dim lights, the whispered prayers of those who had almost nothing to cling to.
He paused in a small, crumbling plaza, surveying the population. The people were gaunt, their eyes wary, but their faith was raw and desperate—a fertile ground for the mission he carried. Hermann adjusted the strap of his pack, activating the concealed commlink. The service drone hovered for a moment, scanning the nearby passages for patrols and mapping safe paths.
The infiltration was only the beginning. Hermann would have to blend, observe, and act with precision.
"Sent."
The faith he was here to sow needed roots in this desperation; one wrong move, and the Ecclesiarchy would intervene, leaving no room for mercy.
He cast one last glance back toward the storm-choked exterior, the faint outline of the barren surface barely visible through the industrial haze. Somewhere out there, the drop-pod waited for extraction, though he would not return until his task was complete.
In the dim light, he moved forward, every step careful and measured.
Hermann guided the group of scavengers through the winding tunnels until they reached a narrow service shaft that led toward their settlement. The youngest clutched his arm tightly, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and exhaustion.
"Go," Hermann murmured, kneeling to meet their gaze. "Follow this passage. Stay together, and don't stray. You'll be safe once you reach home."
One by one, the children and elderly slipped into the shaft, disappearing into the dim glow of the settlement's lights. Hermann lingered, shadows clinging to his frame, until a figure rushed to them at the edge of the light.
The man's face was lined with hardship, eyes scanning frantically before settling on his returning son. Relief broke through his features as he drew the boy into a trembling embrace.
"You're alive..." he whispered hoarsely.
Hermann stepped forward.
"Yes. They are safe." His voice carried a quiet authority, calm and deliberate.
He raised one hand slightly in the gesture of benediction. "I am Hermann Brandt, a priest and devoted to the Great Fü—" He paused mid-sentence, remembering his mission.
"—Primarch." He continues deliberately. "I walk the path of faith for the Primarch, son of the Emperor and protect those who cannot protect themselves."
The man's gaze narrowed, disbelief mingled with awe. "A priest? And you brought them back?"
"I have," Hermann simply replied. "No harm shall touch them under my watch."
The man, Cornie, studied him for a long moment, taking in the dust-streaked robes and the faint shimmer of a ceremonial sigil etched along Hermann's chest.
Finally, he nodded, although somewhat hesitant. A priest in his knowledge often augmented, with various devices implanted to their body. But Hermann does not have any, nor wore the same ceremonial attire they always did.
"Thank you," Cornie said. "I owe you my family' lives."
Hermann inclined his head, letting the weight of his presence settle in the dim corridor. "Keep them safe, and guide them with faith. That is all the thanks I require."
A fragile understanding passed between them, forged in the darkness of the hive, in the shadow of danger, and in the devotion to a cause greater than themselves.