Chapter 104: The War for Cypra Mundi: Phase I

POV: Nicole

As the Stormbird climbs into the sky, I get a good look out of one of the windows at the rest of the Forge city. Ferrus-9 is quite literally on fire, and the Astartes are rapidly expanding the scope of their purge and running into larger and more armed groups of Genestealers. I can see drop pods screaming down through the sky, plunging toward the city below. Mechanicus troop carrier ships follow, descending through the haze in slow, deliberate arcs before disappearing behind the various towers and manufactorum stacks. Everywhere I look, there are signs of fighting. Tiny flashes of weapons fire flicker out from between the buildings. From this height, the scale of the fighting looks almost unreal. But there is no mistaking what I'm seeing; Ferrus-9 has become a warzone.

With my ability to tap into the Noosphere restored, the data streams coming from across Cypra Mundi and the orbital ring clearly indicate it is not an isolated incident. “This is going to screw up my testing schedule,” I mutter to myself, sighing as I settle into my seat.

Since I have some time on my hands, I begin compiling a high-priority message regarding what I observed during the ambush.

PRIORITY TRANSMISSION

NOOSPHERIC / VOX RELAY

PRIORITY: HIGH

SOURCE: Matriarch of Legio Tempestus, Princeps Senioris Nicole Cavalerio.

AUTHENTICATION CONFIRMED

RECIPIENTS: Cypra Mundi Planetary Command, Cypra Mundi High Council

SUBJECT LINE: Tyranid presence.

ATTENTION.

I have personally confirmed the presence of Tyranid bioforms on Cypra Mundi acting in coordination with the Genestealer cult.

Bioforms observed:

Ymgarl strain Genestealers

-These are in addition to the more traditional Purestrain Genestealer forms.

Lictors

-Carapace coloration after termination matches the coloration of Hive Fleet Behemoth.

See attached Auspex data cache.

Warning: I have just received information that another Lictor was terminated while attempting infiltration of the Orbitalis citadel.

The casual deployment of such Bioforms indicates they are likely present in considerable numbers, and the cult may have smuggled additional higher-threat bioforms to Cypra Mundi.

In the absolute worst-case scenario: A Hive Ship with an Active Norn Queen is hidden somewhere on planet producing Bioforms.

Formulate your response to the cult accordingly.

Sincerely,

Nicole Cavalerio

The moment I hit send, Vicky’s head snaps up, and she gives me a conflicted expression. “My Lady, I don’t mean to be rude, but that could have been worded less terrifyingly.”

I hum softly before I shrug. “Probably, but I would rather they overreact than underreact. Something about this whole uprising feels off.”

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POV: Fabricator General, Archmagos Aptimos Mundi Phi<0.05

His walk through the capital continued unimpeded. The aberrants had ceased shelling his position four hundred and thirty-two seconds prior. They could offer him minor delays at best.

Some of their desperate attacks were almost clever, almost. None had exceeded his expectations.

He reached out across the Noosphere, taking in the various data streams as his view of Cypra Mundi updated in real time. A recent report from Princeps Cavalerio was flagged by his algorithms; he downloaded and processed the report in a moment, and adjusted his predictive models accordingly. “Korr.”

“Yes, Fabricator General?” Korr’s avatar replied instantly.

“Your efforts to contain this situation have been adequate. I am giving you fourteen days from when I enter my sanctum to resolve the situation. If it is not resolved by then, I will be forced to intervene personally. Understood?” Aptimos had never been good at giving praise to his subordinates.

Korr bowed his head. “Yes, Fabricator General.”

“Good, divert any Skitarii tasked currently with protecting me to protect critical infrastructure instead. I will permit the enemy to entertain me a little longer,” Aptimos said as one of his Mechadendrites blasted a missile out of the air.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Lord High Admiral Spire

Spire glanced around at the officials gathered in the war room within the orbital fortress – the vast majority of whom did not look well; stress lines and dark bags dotted the faces of people who had not slept since the start of the recent turmoil, some of whom had come dangerously close to death mere hours ago.

“These repeated assassination attempts are quite bothersome. Have we secured the fortress?” He asked aloud, tapping a single finger on the table in front of him.

“We cannot be entirely certain, but… assets are actively working on removing any lingering Genestealers,” Inquisitor Van Vugens said with a cough and a sidelong glance at the only individual who seemed to be in a good mood, Lord Shadow.

“Sir! We have re-established communications with Cypra Mundi. We have an active communications request from the Fabricator Locum,” the communications officer announced.

“Put him through,” Spire spoke calmly.

A hologram of the Fabricator Locum appeared at the opposite end of the table. His gaze swept over the assembly. “The situation in the capital has stabilized. Skitarii forces are moving to expunge the remaining Genestealers. Mass mobilization is under way under Magos Dominus Ryex-Epsilon.”

“That is good news, Fabricator Locum,” Spire said with a nod. “The uprisings and sabotage throughout the system have increased. We maintain orbital superiority, and the critical positions in the orbital ring are secure. Orbital traffic has been heavily restricted for now.”

Korr nodded back. “Assets: Nicole Cavalerio and Saint Zyne have been secured; they are en route to Citadel Orbitalis.”

“Yes, we received her report. The presence of such bioforms is… concerning,” Van Vugens spoke gravely.

“I have additional news,” grunted the large form of Captain Erod of the Brazen Claws, “The uppermost layer of Forge City Ferrus-9 has been secured. However, the Genestealers have heavily fortified the lower levels. Despite killing well over ten million enemy combatants, their numbers have not diminished, and the initial forces have been forced to fall back after encountering hardened fortifications and choke points. Two dreadnoughts were disabled… Both have been recovered and are undergoing repairs. The Auspex data they gathered in their push down indicates the Genestealers have installed shielding arrays that will prevent us from utilizing orbital strikes.”

“Do we have an estimate of the enemy numbers?” Cardinal Octavian Malchior inquired politely.

“At least a billion… possibly closer to two or even three depending on how many they have hiding in their massive subterranean fortress. The entire southern continent is compromised,” Van Vugens admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“By the Throne,” someone behind him swore.

“That is a considerable number of foes but not an insurmountable one. We will need to mobilize the Astra Militarum, the Mechanicus, and ask for the aid of most of the Astartes present, but there are no signs of a Hive Fleet approaching. We can wear them down in time.” Spire said confidently.

“We have two weeks,” Korr said ominously.

“Two weeks before what?” Lord Shadow asked with a frown.

Korr’s hologram straightened. “The Fabricator General has given us two weeks. If the situation has not resolved itself, he will personally intervene.”

“What does that mean, Fabricator Locum?” Captain Erod asked.

“I do not know. However, the Fabricator General has prepared certain contingencies to protect Cypra Mundi. Most were devised after the traitorous Iron Warriors attack back in 865 M41, after which the planet was cleansed within a week. Not even I am privy to the full nature of his contingencies.” Korr’s tone was grave, but it steeled itself with determination. “The violation of a sacred Forge World is unforgivable. The Mechanicus will be launching a full-scale extermination offensive within the next forty-eight hours.”

The entire table fell silent for several long seconds.

“I shall discuss it with the other chapters, but the Brazen Claws will aid Cypra Mundi in purging the Xenos,” Erod declared. “I do not anticipate many will decline the opportunity to purge this foe in the name of the Emperor. The segmentum fortress must hold for the sake of Obscurus.”

Spire agreed with the sentiment. “The Navy will support you, Fabricator Locum; you have your pick of vessels who can support your offensive with orbital strikes and strike craft. Our air superiority is not in question,” he spoke confidently.

“What of the gene scanners?” The Canoness asked, “They would be helpful in rooting out the infected.”

Korr hissed, “The factories allocated to produce parts for them by the Fabricator General are intact but the supply lines feeding them were targeted en masse. Mass production has been delayed. I have asked Archmagos Doll and Explorator-General Luminous Bulbor to utilize their ship-based manufactoria to produce more. Though the number of units they can produce within a reasonable time frame will be low.”

Van Vugens scowled. “The introduction of the scanners may have been what spurred the Xenos into action. This infection was well hidden; there is no sign of the Patriarch. Still, this behavior is at odds with the Inquisitorial records. They cannot hope to escape Cypra Mundi or gain orbital superiority. The report from Lady Cavalerio regarding unusual Bioforms was confirmed by the Astartes and Mechanicus; it is quite concerning.” One of his fingers rapidly tapped the table in front of him as he scrolled across a dataslate with his other hand. “Whatever endgame the enemy has prepared is not apparent. Make no mistake, the enemy leader-beast we face is as intelligent as it is alien.” He began muttering aloud, “Hive Fleet Behemoth was destroyed in the first Tyrannic war, but the coloring is distinct; the presence of the Ymgarl is another abnormality; they predate Behemoth. Distinct genetic strains.” He trailed off as his implants flickered.

“There are no signs of a Tyranid hive fleet anywhere near this sector, let alone this subsector or system,” the hunched and withered representative of the Navis Nobilite announced with a rasp.

“My agents have been getting a considerable amount of practice in anti-assassination operations. You’re all welcome. Do let us know if you locate the beast,” Shadow said with a cold, relaxed smile, “We could make a sport of hunting it with the Astartes.”

Captain Erod looked like he was seriously considering the suggestion. “It would make for a fine hunt.”

Spire shook his head ruefully and studied the map. He could not discern an obvious target, the Genestealers were targeting infrastructure and Mechanicus bastions indiscriminately, targeting vaults, weapon and vehicle depots seemingly at random.

“We care not what the enemy wishes. I will call upon the Legios of Cypra Mundi to crush this rebellion.” Korr growled as his hologram flickered as he pointed towards the southern continent with the largest concentration of foes. “They will be purged.”

—------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Nicole

As we land back at Citadel Obscurus, I receive a fascinating little data packet from Genta. I skim the contents and smile, deciding on my next destination. I have somewhere else to be.

“Thanks for the lift,” I tell the Star Dragon pilots as I step out of the Stormbird onto one of the Citadel's elevated landing pads.

The local Secutarii step forward to assist with unloading the wounded.

Baldos lumbers out behind me, his weighty Dreadnought chassis making the deck groan beneath each heavy step. The Skitarii and Sisters follow, with the injured immediately being directed toward the medical facilities. I send my Automata ahead to meet me at my second destination, the facility near Kiryu, while the rest of my retinue begins to sort itself out.

I take a moment to orient myself and locate the small open expanse of greenery in the distance below.

“I'm taking a quick detour! The cadets are in one of the atriums.” I say with a grin, and before anyone can object, I trigger my Argent-pattern jump pack and step off the edge.

The sudden drop becomes a smooth glide as the pack catches me, carrying me out over the open space. Wind rushes past my armor as I angle toward the distant greenery, leaving the landing pad – and most of my retinue – behind.

Delta-A3 Raptor, Victoria, Felixis, and several of the Skitarii apparently decide to follow me. Their Argent-pattern jump packs ignite in quick succession, and they leap after me.

I glance back, catching Lael, she gives me a long-suffering look as I quickly fly out of visual range before she simply shakes her head. She remains with Baldos and the Astartes.

The Titanicus Citadel passes beneath me as I zoom over several of its facilities. The fortress is quite the sprawling structure, with little patches of greenery, a sign of their immense wealth. As I near the green spot that marks my destination, I throttle back and sink through the air, touching down on one of the open paths, my boots barely disturbing the grass.

I can feel a multitude of eyes on me from the moment I land in the atrium. Around the table where the cadets have gathered, while the corpses of several Genestealers and a single Lictor are being hauled away by utility servitors, their remains leaving dark stains across the grass and ferrocrete. I greet the hidden Secutarii snipers with a brief burst of binaric, requesting the data on the encounter from them. I receive binaric acknowledgement from the silent guardians as they forward me their logs.

At the table, a medicae officer is checking over Yip's face, carefully wiping away the blood residue with a neutralizing agent while the boy sits there with his ears pinned back and tail tucked between his legs.

“Princeps!” several cadets exclaim as I approach.

“Senioris,” Genta greets me placidly, inclining her head with respectful precision.

“At ease,” I say quickly, before anyone can start bowing or saluting.

“It would seem you all had an interesting encounter while I was away.” The corner of my mouth quirks up in amusement, knowing I had a much more intense encounter than the cadets. “Genta sent me the data, which was confirmed by your Secutarii guardians. Nyanko…” I turn and lock eyes with the felinid girl. “Well done. Overcoming your instinctual fear when in danger is a key skill for any officer, let alone a Princeps.”

“T-thank you-nya, Princeps,” Nyanko squeaks out stiffly.

Felixis approaches and reaches down to rub Nyanko’s head between her ears, looking quite proud of his niece.

“Uncle?!” Nyanko sputters before wrinkling her nose. “Ugh! You smell like burnt flesh and blood.” She leans away from him before taking in the state of his armour; the normally pristine plate has dozens of pockmarks and cracks running along damaged plates.

Stolen from NovelPhoenix, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

A few of the cadets look embarrassed or ashamed at their own actions. A few look confused.

“Yes, you were used as a lure. No, you were never in any real danger. You are not carrying weapons; normally you would have a sidearm like Sandra here, but our hosts asked to refrain from arming you cadets, and I saw no reason to refuse. To make up for that, you all have Secutarii following you. At all times, whether you are aware of it or not, is irrelevant,” I tell them bluntly.

I snag a message on the citadel’s Noospheric network; I tilt my head slightly as I examine the contents, just as one of the distant bells goes off, calling for the forces of Orbitalis. “It would seem the Legios of Cypra Mundi will walk. The Mechanicus of Cypra Mundi has declared an all-out war of extermination on the Genestealers.”

A ripple of excitement and more than a few gasps pass through the lips of the cadets.

“What are we going to do, Princeps?” Robin asks eagerly.

“We…” I say, looking around the table. “We will do nothing,” I say, imperiously clasping my hands behind my back.

The table goes still and silent for a long moment; looks of utter confusion are shared between the cadets. Felixis snorts in amusement.

“Tempestus is not ready to walk. We have not been asked to walk; we are Mechanicus but we are not Cypra Mundi. In fact, I received a message from the Fabricator Locum politely requesting I, with my Absolute Strategic Priority, avoid the warfronts entirely. I will still contribute to the war effort in my own ways, but you cadets will continue your classes as scheduled. Perhaps with some live-feed lessons from the front, if they permit it,” I explain as most of them slump into their chairs, either in relief or disappointment.

“Our first major war and we can’t participate?” Z0-0M clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Sandra’s eyes sharpen as she leans forward in her seat. “Senioris Cavalerio, is there any way you would be willing to loan out some of your engines to Clypeus Obscurus?”

I study her for a moment and let a smile slowly spread on my face. “Your Legio is lacking in Engines, and you know that they must put on a good showing and accounting of themselves here on their home Forge. Yes, there is a way I would be willing to lend the Engines of Tempestus, but the cost is… significant." I pause, my smile melting away into neutral expression. "I would demand the crews that meet the standards of Legio Tempestus and my approval stay with the Engines upon their return.”

Sandra stiffens and swallows thickly. “I will… relay your generous offer, Senioris.”

“I will put it in writing for you. Oh! My Kiryu is obviously excluded from the possible loans.” I gesture to Vicky, who is already working with an autoquill and parchment.

“Of course, Senioris.” Sandra stands and bows deeply at the waist.

Vicky passes the document to me, and I sign the bottom before I roll it up and hold it out to Sandra. “Pick your Engine well, Sandra.” I tease her a little. It’s fairly obvious to me that she intends to offer herself up, though who else her Legio is willing to part with to perform well in this war, which may determine the entire future of their Legio and Cypra Mundi’s resource allocation for the next few centuries, remains to be seen.

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POV: Fabricator Locum Archmagos, Rhydan Korr

Korr stood on a balcony overlooking the sprawling industrial complex that was the capital forge city of Cypra Mundi; most of the capital was obscured by the weather. It was raining; the storm system to the south had moved north, dumping its toxic rain, not that it mattered given what surrounded him.

Around his sanctum were the remains of over fifty thousand Genestealer Cultists; their corpses laid in a dark, toxic miasma he had unleashed upon them. Everything the miasma touched had died within moments; it was a custom formulation he had devised himself. Even servitors and lesser sealed armours weren’t enough against it – the chemical compounds simply dissolve their way through most filtration systems.

“Dominus Vitruvius,” he called out without turning around.

“Fabricator Locum, you summoned me?” Magos Dominus Vitruvius responded immediately, head bowed respectfully.

“You have always served me faithfully. I must entrust this critical task to you. Take my Legions out and purge these Xenos from Cypra Mundi. You cannot fail,” Korr stressed.

“Which Legions, Fabricator Locum?” Vitruvius inquired.

“All of them, Vitruvius. The Cohors Ferrum Veneni will remain to guard my sanctum.” Korr sighed and clenched one of his cybernetic fists. “You know, Vitruvius, it was a mark of prestige, a sign of my immense wealth, power, and status that allowed me to maintain twelve elite personal Skitarii Legions. Even our Fabricator General only has three, but then again, he only needs three,” Korr remarked dryly.

“Three? The Fabricator General only has two registered Legions, Lord Locum,” Vitruvius replied, confused.

“A slip of the tongue. Forget I mentioned it, Vitruvius,” Korr waved his comment off.

“All of them. Even… Caustica Mortis?” Vitruvius hesitantly asked with a faint shudder.

“Indeed, I do suggest you wear your sealed power armour.” Korr buzzed in amusement. “You know the idea for their main armament came from a weapon favored by the Imperial Cult? A Pyrophoric Vambrace, such a clever little thing utilizing various corrosive powdered metals that react explosively when exposed to oxygen instead of promethium in a flamer. Of course, their design is much smaller and less reactive than the one Caustica Mortis employs.” Korr explained, his tone faintly melancholic. “They naturally pair quite well with Phosphor and Radiation weaponry. Though we were forced to forgo all forms of open-topped transportation.”

“No, I was not aware of that, Lord Locum,” Vitruvius replied respectfully.

“The miasma will go inert within the hour. You will depart at once. The Legions of Cypra Mundi will walk with you. The Titan Legios of Cypra Mundi will walk with you.” Korr finally turned around to face his chosen Dominus; he reached out, passing over the relevant control engrams and authorization codes. “Vitruvius, I want you to exterminate these vermin, sterilize their warrens, and kill as many as you can within the next two weeks. If the Omnissiah favors us, perhaps we can flush out their foul leader-beast.”

Far below the pair, deep within the sanctum, the Legions of heavily armoured skitarii with large backpacks and chemical flamers marched into various transports alongside units aglow with faint ionizing blue and ominous green light.

Vitruvius took the command codes and filed them away. “By your will, Lord Locum! Ave Deus Mechanicus!” Vitruvius made the sign of the cog as he bowed and retreated.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Bladed Cog Biophagus Zygor Gravox

He felt the Patriarch urging him to hasten his descent as he passed through the fortified levels down to the bottommost area, where the lake of biomass and his project, the Queen, resided.

Strange new thoughts pressed in on his mind, risky thoughts, dangerous ideas. Precarious enhancements he could add to the Queen that he had never considered previously. An intense feeling of euphoria drowned out everything else in his being, all his concerns, all his hesitation. The Patriarch needed him – needed what his brilliant creation could produce to ensure they emerged victorious in the name of the Clawed Omnissiah.

“Yes… Yes! I will do it!” He cackled, expression manic, as he entered the final lift and descended.

The Patriarch had amassed a great number of resources and parts in preparation for this war, and now he had given Zygor total access to their most valuable stores.

He sent off demands through the Broodmind for various parts; His mind churned with ideas for his eventual masterpiece.

As he entered his sanctum above the lake of biomass, he informed his underlings.

“Cease the disposal of the feral subjects that fail to sync with the Broodmind; those that can shall be sedated and sent upwards and utilized against our foes. Increase production! For the glory of the Clawed Omnissiah!” He decreed, arms and mechadendrites wide as he stood before the writhing corpse of the Queen, arcs of crackling power lancing down into it every few seconds.

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POV: Leviathan Siege Dreadnought, Ancient Claviger Khalon, of the Deathwatch

Khalon halted before a long stretch of tunnel, his Auspex mapping the contours of the walls. He was well below the fortress now; his dogged pursuit of the enemy had taken him and his allies all the way down to the bottom of the upper layer.

“No good, this one is mined too,” he grunted.

“Noted, Ancient; that makes forty,” the Brazen Claws Techmarine, Bolab said flatly.

“This is going to have all the worst problems of clearing a Space Hulk, with far more enemies and over a much greater area,” Khalon admitted, firing his Cyclonic Melta Lance into a wall to disable a trap on the other side.

“I am unfamiliar with that process, Ancient, but given how much these spaces differ from their records, I am inclined to agree with you. This task will be arduous,” Bolab spoke as his own Auspex worked to catalogue the massive labyrinth of tunnels that went deeper into the industrial sprawl.

“It is a shame the enemy retreated. I was beginning to enjoy how efficient it was to purge them as they charged in such organized single-file lines.”Dreadnought Condilus of the Brazen Claws rumbled.

Bolab paused, tilting his head. “Ancients, they are requesting we pull back. The Mechanicus have arrived and have volunteered to handle pathfinding and trap clearing.”

Khalon considered the offer. “We shall oblige them. Many of us are not in the right loadouts for prolonged tunnel fighting." He turned his lumbering form away from the tunnel and began the long, winding trek back to the surface.

“Wait! My Lords, p-please!” a raspy mechanical voice called out from a side tunnel. The Astartes raised their weapons as a man adorned in Mechanicus robes and absolutely saturated in filth stumbled forward and prostrated himself before their forces.

“Identify yourself,” Growled Bolab.

“This lowly one is Adept Worlo-8! Caretaker of Sump 255-C. I-I bring dire news from below, My Lords! Of defiled sacred machines and h-horrible monsters! I swear to the Omnissiah!” He sputtered and mewled pathetically.

“Speak,” Bolab ordered.

“I saw them coming up from the lowest level, horrible clawed beasts, fouler than any mutant I have ever seen. Mutated Tech Priests moving strange machines down while monsters came up. I-I barely escaped through the sewage lines to warn those above!”

Bolab examined the man; he had basic Mechanicus augmentations, respiratory cybernetics, and one cybernetic eye. Bolab did not ask as one of his Mechadendrites slithered out, and he inserted a probe into the man’s eye, forcefully extracting the data even as the man whimpered in pain. “He speaks the truth. This data may prove useful.”

“The Mechanicus will decide his fate.” Khalon stated, “Follow, adept,” ignoring how Worlo-8 began sobbing and thanking them for their mercy. He opened a private Vox channel. “Your thoughts, Techmarine?”

“The Mechanicus tenets and orders are quite clear. There are no noncombatants remaining on this continent. If the data he has proves useful, he will be lucky to escape servitorization. Even then, punishment for failing to notice the pervasive taint and corruption that has consumed this continent will be in order,” Bolab replied clinically.

“Yet he thanks us,” Khalon rumbled, amused.

“He is likely unaware of his looming judgment,” Bolab mused.

Khalon snorted in amusement. “We make for the surface.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Skitarii Vanguard, Terminal-6

Terminal-6 moved in perfect sync with his squad. His Radium Carbine thrummed in his cybernetic arms. They were the vanguard scouting the paths down for the elite units behind them. The entire squad of ten pushed down the tunnel assigned to them.

“Advance,” came the order from his Alpha, Terminal-1.

The cold calculus of war filled his cortex. Terminal-6 felt nothing but the cold satisfaction of completing an objective, and the recoil of his rifle as he fired on the cultists and the hybrids that attempted to stymie his squad’s advance. His emotions were suppressed, leaving naught but the certainty of machine and steel.

Terminal-7 was the first casualty, a cultist’s lucky shot punched through his torso and triggered the suicide trap hidden within his body; the resulting explosion swallowed the fallen Skitarii and several nearby enemies in plasma fire.

Terminal-6‘s carbine barked as Terminal-6 shot and killed a cultist. Terminal-8 was the second casualty as he jerked backwards, a high-caliber autogun round tearing through his cranial palte, flatlining his data-feed into static.

The ground rumbled faintly underfoot as something came at them from below. Claws and twisted limbs erupted from beneath the floor to drag Terminal-9 down into a crawlspace. The mutant abominations swarmed over Terminal-9, hacking and tearing at his body and as his feed flatlined Terminal-6 calmly stepped up with Terminal-2 both of them dropping grenades into the hole before moving on. With no mor emovement on the Auspex Terminal-6 ejected his empty magazine, and slid home a fresh one. Around him, the formation continued its advance, as they marched past the choke point.

“Terminal formation, fighting strength down to half.” Terminal-1 called in as they moved.

Their formation halted when they came upon a large, thick industrial door. The door in question bore the foul, perverse mark of the Xenos cultists: a twisted purple mockery of the cog of the Mechanicus.

“This door does not match the last registered schematic,” Terminal-1 observed clinically before directing his servo-skull towards the door’s console. “Purge whatever lies within.”

“Order acknowledged,” Terminal-6 and the remainder of his squad replied in unison as they formed up into a firing line.

The door lurched open as the mechanism yielded and opened with the grinding of old gears, revealing the dark stone chamber within. Their senses quickly swept the chamber; there were unusually deep scratch marks covering the walls. “Non-Mechanicus mineral extraction deviation.”

Terminal-2 was closest to the door, “Contact!” He exclaimed before the massive, lithe creature leapt down from the ceiling. It was long and serpentine, its body twisting unnaturally as six arms unfolded around it, each ending in vicious claws.

Terminal-2 barely had time to turn before the upper pair of claws struck. They punched through his reinforced metal frame and ripped downward with disturbing ease, tearing him cleanly in two. As Terminal-2’s vital signs flatlined Terminal-6's vision filled with cascading warnings as the squad's shared data-feed identified the creature before his own mind and cortex-implants had fully processed what he was seeing.

XENOS-EXTREMIS: RAVENER.

The designation blared through every node of Terminal-6's consciousness. His targeting reticle snapped onto the creature as the targeting data from across the squad synchornised. Terminal-6 pulled the trigger alongside the others. A storm of rad-charged ammunition from their carbines hammered into the Ravener. Terminal-6 expected it to collapse; the tactical data said it should. Instead, its thick carapace turned aside the majority of the barrage, the impacts throwing sparks and fragments from its armor without slowing it. His display automatically highlighted sections of the creature, cataloguing every abnormality, deviation, and mutation it could detect even as the Ravener charged.

“THREAT LEVEL REEVALUATED”

The squad's survival protocols changed immediately. There was no tactical withdrawal, no retreat vector, and no probability of extraction. The shared network calculated their chances of defeating the bioform and returned the only conclusion that truly mattered: Negligible.

Internal safeties disengaged, and warning runes flashed across their displays as containment limits were overridden. Their carbines were pushed beyond their safe operating parameters, turning each weapon into a primed irradiated bomb. Combat stimulants flooded their organic systems in massive doses, forcing muscles, hearts, and damaged nervous systems far beyond sustainable limits. They would not survive this engagement; survival was no longer the objective. They would kill it, or die trying and, in doing so, damage it, or learn enough about it for the next squad to succeed.

The Ravener struck again. Its tail whipped sideways and caved Terminal-3's skull in with a wet crack of metal and bone.

Terminal-1 charged rather than retreating, dumping an entire magazine into the creature at point-blank range before the Ravener's claws punched through his torso and ripped him in half, taking with him one of its eyes and pushing the creature into a frenzy. The missing eye exposing a potential vulnerability.

Terminal-4 and Terminal-5 opened fire from opposite angles, their weapons screaming as radium rounds and overloaded energy bolts finally began to burn through portions of the Ravener's weakened and pockmarked carapace. The creature recoiled for the first time. Terminal-6's targeting systems recorded the reaction instantly: Weakness identified. Damage threshold identified. Combat data uploaded.

CONTINUE ENGAGEMENT.

Noospheric connection established: authenticating... authentication successful. Mundi War-Logic Network connection established. Live combat feed active.

Terminal-6 did not remember activating the transmission it had triggered automatically. Everything his squad saw and experiencedl all data was now being transmitted live through the command network: every shot, every wound, every movement of the Ravener, every scrap of combat data they could gather.

The squad threw itself at the creature. Terminal-6 injected another combat stimulant. Then another. His heart hammered violently against his ribcage evnough to cause pain despit ethe stims as his remaining biological muscles tearing as they were strained past their operational limits. He fired until the weapon's barrel glowed, discarded it, drew his red pistol sidearm, and continued firing.

The Ravener moved through them like a living blender. Terminal-5 shared Terminal-1's fate, being ripped apart by the Ravener's claws. Terminal-4 managed to put three rounds into an exposed joint before the creature's tail impaled him and hurled his body aside, where he continued firing until his vitals flatlined.

Terminal-6 fired again and again, his autosenses’s targeting reticle struggling to remain locked on the Ravener as it moved faster than his enhanced vision could comfortably follow.

Even under the stimulants, his body was beginning to fail. His lungs burned. His vision trembled but that soon faded as he lost feeling across his extremities. Something tore in his shoulder as he forced the weapon upward. His cybernetic left arm emitted a shrill overload warning before the joint seized completely, the servos in his back having been driven beyond their rated tolerances. Terminal-6 ignored it; he shifted the weapon to his remaining hand and kept firing. When the pistol began to overload he tossed it like a grenade at the Ravener scorching it’s tail before he snapped his broken arm back into place retrieved his close combat weapon.

Around him, the squad continued to do the same. They were hitting the Ravener now, but only causing superficial damage with its wild thrashing fouling their aim, every successful impact was logged, every mutation recorded, every defensive reaction transmitted. The creature was killing them faster than they could damage it, yet they kept fighting. The final member of his squad fell leaving him alone to combat the monster.

His heart finally gave out putting what little remind of his life on a time limit. What little remained of Terminal-6's biological systems began shutting down one by one. His vision tunneled and focused solely upon the Ravener. The Ravener crossed the remaining distance in a blur of claws and chitin, tearing through the last of his squad. Terminal-6 lashed out with his close combat weapon, feeling the crunch of chitin as it screamed, then he watched the creature lunge toward him. His neural implants continued transmitting the data even as his organic body failed. The last thing his systems recorded was the Ravener opening its jaws, and the last thing Terminal-6 transmitted was an up-close image of its monstrous face.

Warning: Critical Failure in Potentia Coil. Detonation imminent.

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