Camelarion's new hive cities were populated almost exclusively by transplants from older, decaying hive worlds—men and women already inured to the crush of bodies, the scream of manufactorums, and the taste of recycled air. They adapted quickly. They had no choice.
However, one major change set Camelarion's hives apart from those across the Imperium. Under Atharion's direct decree, the Underhive are declared restricted zones — sealed from civilian habitation under penalty of death.
The Underhive, once a place of decay and lawlessness in most hives, was repurposed entirely into an immense depot and logistics network. Vast warehouse complexes and mechanized storage vaults filled its caverns, where servitors and drone platforms tirelessly cataloged and redistributed resources — promethium, agri-stock, metals, and manufactured goods — to the surface manufactorums or off-world convoys.
To compensate for the loss of the Underhive as living space, the Hab Zones were expanded dramatically. The habitation towers were built not only higher into the skies but broader across the hive's lower levels, their foundations reinforced by Mechanicus-engineered buttresses and energy supports. The result was a hive far larger and more structurally complex than any traditional design — both a monument to order and a statement of Atharion's vision for controlled progress.
Life within these expanded zones was harsh but regulated. Each district maintained a balance between manufactorum output, housing allocation, and ration supply, overseen by a rigid administrative hierarchy of Guild Prefects, Mechanicus auditors and Arbites. Crime and poverty, though never absent, were minimal compared to the chaos of most hive worlds.
Beyond this, Atharion also decreed reforms meant to strengthen the human spirit and stability of his realm. Across every world under his control, he ordered the construction of Scholums, Officio Medicae, and Officio Ignivigilus (fire stations), each fully funded and maintained under Camelarion's central administration.
The Scholums were open to all citizens, offering free education in literacy, basic numeracy, and civic discipline — while specialized Scholums, such as those for engineering, medicae studies, or tradecraft, charged minimal fees easily affordable to common citizens. The Officio Medicae provided free medical care, ensuring that disease and injury would not sap the workforce nor endanger the population. And the Officio Ignivigilus was established as a disciplined firefighting and disaster-response corps, equipped with Mechanicus-built suppression engines and staffed by both humans and servitors trained to contain any blaze or industrial accident.
The Judicium Camelarion served as the primary law enforcement and judicial authority across Atharion's domain — an evolution of the traditional Arbites structure, but vastly expanded in both scope and strength.
At its head stood the Lord High Marshal, who oversaw all operations across the three hundred worlds under Camelarion's authority. Beneath him operated the Justicars, mobile courts of law — roving arbiters of Imperial justice who traveled aboard Punisher-class Strike Cruisers. These warships carried the Justicars and their retinues between worlds, allowing them to deliver verdicts and enforce decrees wherever corruption or disorder took root.
Each world was assigned a Lord Marshal, commanding the Judicium's forces locally. Serving beneath them were Marshals, who commanded the Precinct-Fortresses that anchored Judicium presence across the planet.
The organization's internal hierarchy mirrored that of the Adeptus Arbites but on a far grander scale, with greater manpower, autonomy, and armament. Entire Precinct-Fortresses bristled with shock troopers, cyber-mastiffs, and riot suppression vehicles. Their armories held not only the standard Arbites equipment but also heavier ordnance — plasma, flamer, and melta weaponry among them. Their motor pools included Chimeras, Leman Russ tanks, and several of their battlefield variants, ensuring the Judicium could respond to any level of threat with overwhelming force.
Each Marshal enforced law and stability from their primary Precinct-Fortress, supported by numerous smaller bastions scattered across the planet. This network ensured a broad operational presence and rapid response capability across every inhabited zone. Every major hive, city, or industrial hub maintained at least one Precinct-Fortress Majoris, serving as the command nexus for that world's enforcement forces. Beyond these, Precinct-Fortress Minoris outposts were strategically positioned in remote or volatile sectors — ensuring that no region lay beyond the Praesidium's reach.
And under Atharion order, Tech-priests from Thoros and Palatines from Order of Sacred Rose and Bloody Rose are assign to help them. Tech-priest other than helping in maintenance the equipments and systems they using, they also serve as investigators for technology issue and leading their Skitarii to assist them in putting down uprising, rebellion and cult. Palatines serve to assist in matter regarding faith while also leading their Battle Sisters to reinforce the Arbites during major purgation campaigns or when heresy and witchcraft were suspected. Their presence ensured that every act of justice carried not only the Emperor's authority but also His divine wrath.
==========
338.M36
Asteron - Camelarion
"So, you're telling me that we didn't find out about this until now?" A Marshall said as he put down the datapad.
"Unfortunately, this is correct, my Lord Marshal." Replied the Proctor, his tone stiff but uneasy. "Because of the influxes of the population, we are overwhelmed by the crimes that happening and documents to record the situation."
"Especially when most new recruits didn't even know how to differentiate the different documents for different situation." Another Proctor said with an unhappy tone. "While I'm happy that I'm promoted and can order people, this actually resulting in me more busy than before." He finish with a sigh.
"We're not here to hear you complain, Proctor," the Lord Marshal interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "We are here to address the failure — not to wallow in it."
The chamber fell silent, save for the faint hum of the lumen strips overhead. The Lord Marshal leaned back in his chair, armored fingers drumming against the desk. "Now," he said coldly, "tell me exactly what we've missed."
The first Proctor swallowed hard before speaking. "My Lord, during a standard review of administrative reports in our archive, we have discovered multiple reports from Officio Medicae and Scholums about strange individual within the Hive." He then display the reports through the holo-display on the center of the chamber.
"Officio Medicae have reported that there's multiple families that have their wounds care within their facilities have display unusual gene difference with normal one." The reports on this matter are display over other so that the others can read. "And more importantly, many of them have mutated to have a third arms and fully losses of hair from their body also show, and while it's not uncommon for this type of mutation to happen, but with where they come from and where they living now, it's highly unlikely that they suddenly have this mutation."
The Lord Marshal's eyes narrowed as he read through the scrolling data. The holo-display cast a cold, shifting light across his faceplate, illuminating the tightening of his jaw.
The Proctor continue. "The Officio Medicae originally classified the incidents as isolated anomalies caused by industrial exposure or rad leakage from the manufactorum — but the pattern is too consistent. Every case originates from Hab-Sector Theta and its adjacent manufactorums."
Another holo-window flickered to life, showing a map of Hive Asteron. A section near the lower habs pulsed in red, the density of flagged reports spreading outward like a contagion.
The second Proctor leaned forward. "The Scholums in that same region have also filed reports. Children have been described as... unusual. Highly attentive. Too disciplined for their age, and unusually unified in behavior. Teachers note they rarely argue or fight — they obey collectively."
"So — we have gene irregularities, collective behavioral shifts, and an increase in coordinated compliance." The Lord Marshal's gauntlet tightened against the armrest, the faint whine of servos cutting through the silence. "While I should be pleased by such discipline, the manner of it…" He paused, his voice lowering. "It reeks of something unnatural. No populace behaves in perfect unity without cause — not even under threat."
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing on the holo-display. "Continue."
The Proctor nodded uneasily. "Yes, my Lord. We also received testimony from several Schola instructors who reported that some of the children speak of 'Patriach' — claiming it guides them to obey, to work harder, to prepare for the 'Great Day.' "
The Lord Marshal's expression darkened. "And the parents?"
"They're the same, my Lord," the Proctor replied. "The parents display the same signs — calm obedience, complete lack of fear, and an odd fixation on community work rotations. Like they're… coordinated."
"Tech-priest, what can you get from this?" The Lord Marshall turn towards the Tech-priest after thinking for a bit. "You're a Genator, correct?"
The Tech-priest didn't said anything at first but talk in Lingua-technis which all within can't understand before talk in High Gothic. "First of all, I'm not one of the esteem Genator, I'm only one that study in it." He stop with sound of bionic running coming from him. "Secondly, from the reports of Medicae, the gene can't be found in the existing archives. So, it only two possiblity, it's a new mutation that didn't divert them from the human classification or they have been altered," the Tech-priest finished, his vox-filter distorting the word into a metallic hiss. "Not by random chance, but by design. The uniformity of mutation across unrelated bloodlines is… statistically improbable."
The room grew tense. Even the Investigators shifted uneasily at his words.
"Explain," the Lord Marshal demanded, his tone sharp.
The Tech-priest inclined his head slightly, servo-arms twitching as if agitated. "Natural mutation, my Lord, is chaotic. Even exposure to ambient radiation or toxin pollution would yield variance — deformities, not… patterns. What is described here — identical tissue growth, symmetrical tertiary limbs, and the observed behavioral synchronization — implies controlled alteration. Something — or someone — is modifying them deliberately."
The Lord Marshal leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You're suggesting… chaos or xenos influence?"
"Unknown," the Tech-priest replied, his vox-voice grinding with static. "Further research is required to determine the origin with certainty. However…" His optical sensors whirred, the crimson lenses narrowing to pinpoints. "The level of genetic stability observed in the reports — the lack of degradation or cellular rejection — suggests an intelligence behind the alteration. Not random warp corruption. Not the chaotic instability of mutation."
"Tech-priest," the Lord Marshal said, his voice like flint, "assemble a team and requisition gene-sample kits from the Officio Medicae. You will personally oversee the examinations. I want confirmation before the day is out."
He turned to the Proctors. "Seal the affected hab-blocks. No one enters or leaves without my direct order. If anyone resists, subdue them; if possible, capture them alive — the Tech-priest will be pleased if there is a living specimen."
The Tech-priest inclined his head in acknowledgement, exiting the chamber while issuing order in binharic to his servants. The Proctors rose as one, the hard lines of their features lit by the war-lamp glow. One barked into a vox and the corridor outside the chamber erupted into controlled, military motion.
Outside, the precinct-fortress hummed alive. Shock troopers sealed stairwells; hatch servos screamed and locked. Cyber-mastiffs, their sensors aglow, were loosed into the targeted hab-blocks to trail scent and detect bio-irregularities. Riot carriers begin to move towards their target area with the Arbitrator squads inside them.
As the carriers rolled out, the surrounding Precinct-Fortresses Minoris received their orders. Beyond leaving sufficient personnel to garrison their bastions and maintain stability in their assigned sectors, each Marshal was ordered to send rapid-response detachments to shadow the main columns, to seal evacuation routes, and to deny any vessel or convoy escape from the planetary surface. Civilian transmissions were throttled; comms relays were put under Praesidium encryption. The Lord Marshal's seal shuttered access to external gateways: no ship left without explicit sanction.
Just over an hour into the operation, as containment perimeters solidified and the Judicium's noose tightened around the afflicted districts, the Lord Marshal's personal vox-chamber chimed with an encrypted priority-link. The identifier flashed across the hololith in gilded script:
PLANETARY GOVERNOR – PRIORITY SUMMONS
The Lord Marshal exhaled slowly, irritation flickering across his features. He accepted the transmission.
The hololithic form of Governor Varis Halden materialised — flushed, fatigued, and visibly alarmed.
"Lord Marshal," the governor began, trying to keep his voice even, "my office has received reports of widespread lockdowns, troop movements, and sealed transit lanes. Several manufactoria have shuttered. Civilian vox-lines are being throttled. I demand to know—"
"You," the Lord Marshal cut in, "do not demand anything from the Judicium."
Halden faltered. "I— I am the appointed governor of this world—"
"Indeed," the Lord Marshal said, his tone flat as steel, "you are the appointed governor of this world — by the authority and grace of Lord Atharion, King of Camelarion."
Halden straightened slightly, as if seeking reassurance in the title.
But the Lord Marshal pressed on, his voice turning colder.
"But do not mistake borrowed authority for ownership. You would do well to remember where your power sits… and where mine begins."
The governor's mouth opened, shut, then opened again. Confusion and fear warred behind his eyes.
As per Atharion's decree, all governors and high-ranking officials within the realm were appointed directly by the central government — chosen by merit, proven loyalty, and administrative capability. Yet though the realm had existed for some time, many of those now occupying these positions were the sons and descendants of worlds that had once held close ties to the Dark Knights before the acquisition of the three hundred worlds under Camelarion's banner.
This legacy bred a quiet arrogance.
Many governors, Halden among them, understood the laws and regulations they had been taught… but they had not yet adapted to the reality of the hierarchy they served. Their lineage and local influence often made them forget that their authority was granted, not inherent — and could be withdrawn at a word.
Beyond this cultural arrogance, there was another reason the planetary governors possessed far less authority than their counterparts in other Imperial regions — the deliberate removal of their military power. Even if a governor wished to protest or defy the Judicium, he lacked the means to enforce his will.
Traditionally, the Planetary Defence Force — the PDF — was raised, trained, and armed by the governor, funded through his own treasury and influenced by his local power base. In practice, the PDF operated as the governor's personal army, the backbone of his authority.
But under Atharion's reforms — instituted to eliminate the possibility of rebellion, sedition, or even minor insurrections — planetary governors were stripped of the right to raise any significant armed force. They were permitted only a token contingent: five thousand palace guards, whose sole duty was to protect the governor's residence and administrative seat.
Every worlds defense are entrusted to the Judicium and also the Auxilia. While Judicium is responsible for internal security, law enforcement, counter-insurgency, and suppression of unrest, the Auxilia is responsible for planetary garrison troops and defensive military arm.
Each world was assigned an Auxilia Cohort, commanded by a High Colonel, with subordinate regiments led by Colonels. The size of each Cohort varied depending on the world's population, industrial output, and strategic value — but no Cohort fielded fewer than fifty thousand active soldiers.
These Cohorts did far more than simply garrison their homeworlds. They also served as a reserve pool for the Imperium's frontline regiments, providing trained manpower when war demanded it. Because of this dual role, most Cohorts maintained not only large infantry formations but also their own armoured regiments and artillery formations.
This ensured that every world could respond to threats independently — without waiting for support from the Dark Knights or frontline Imperial forces — while also guaranteeing that reinforcements could be drawn swiftly from any Cohort when the wider war effort required them.
As the governor struggled to find words that would not hand the Lord Marshal cause to have him removed and imprisoned, the vox-channel flickered again. A second hololithic form began to materialise beside the trembling governor — taller, sharper, clad in a distinctive black-and-white military uniform adorned with campaign bars and a Cohort sigil.
Lord Colonel Tiberius Kael.
His projection sharpened, and he wasted no time.
"Kalex, what is going on?" Kael demanded, his voice edged with irritation. "My Cohort's shipments have been halted — and according to my logistics officers, under your authority."
His eyes narrowed into a hard, accusing glare at the Lord Marshal.
"You should be aware," Kael continued, "that this consignment includes newly approved equipment and prototype vehicles that High Command is eager to field-test. I negotiated for months to secure this allocation. I will not have that opportunity sabotaged because you decided to lock down half a continent."
He leaned forward slightly, jaw tightening.
"Explain yourself, Kalex. Now."
The Lord Marshal did not flinch. When he spoke, he placed deliberate weight on the title.
"Lord Colonel."
Kael's jaw twitched at the tone.
Kalex continued, voice iron-hard.
"My men received multiple suspicious reports from Hab-77. Follow-up investigations and preliminary findings from the Officio Medicae indicate abnormal genetic mutations among the population. Identical deformities. Patterned growths. Not random."
The governor stiffened beside Kael's projection, horror creeping onto his face. Kael, however, frowned—not frightened, but calculating.
Kalex pressed on.
"We have confirmed that at least several individuals show stable tertiary limb formation and synchronized behavioural patterns. These traits are not consistent with natural mutation, environmental exposure, or industrial contamination."
Kael's expression shifted from irritation to dawning seriousness.
"This is why I initiated the lockdown," Kalex continued. "Until the source of the mutation is identified, all movement in and out of the affected sectors must be restricted. That includes the shipment lanes used by your Cohort."
Kael crossed his arms, but his voice was no longer openly confrontational.
"You suspect sabotage? Bioweaponry? Cult activity?"
"We suspect," Kalex said, "that someone engineered this. Until we know who—and how—nothing leave the star port."
Kael exhaled sharply, but did not argue.
Before either could speak again, the hololithic projectors flickered—just as a concussion rolled through the vox-feed. A thunderous detonation tore through the audio, loud enough that even through filtered channels it made all three men flinch.
The city shook.
"What in the Throne's name was that?" Kael barked.
"What happened? Report!" the Governor shouted at no one in particular, turning to his aides.
Both aides—one in Judicium black, the other in Auxilia grey—were already pressing vox-beads, shouting over overlapping channels.
"Lord Marshal!" Kalex's aide finally gasped. "Massive explosion detected in Hab-Tier Delta—industrial levels. Seismic sensors reading secondary collapses. Preliminary pict-feeds show a… a plume, sir. A large one."
"A bombing?" Kael demanded.
The aide shook his head, paling. "Unknown, Lord Colonel. But the explosion originated from inside the quarantine block."
He paused, eyes flicking rapidly across his datapad as new information flooded in.
"The Judicium squad deployed to hold the block suffered… significant losses in the blast. Nearly half their number are—"
He stopped. His breath hitched as a new feed flashed across the screen. His face drained to chalk-white.
"What is it?!" the Governor demanded, voice cracking as he finished ordering the Palace Guard to full mobilization. "Speak, man!"
The aide swallowed hard.
"My Lords… the mutants are attacking."
A heavy, suffocating silence fell across the channel.
"The Proctor Primus reports the mutants have broken out of their hab zone," the aide continued, voice trembling despite his best efforts. "They're moving in coordinated groups—fast, aggressive. And the explosion… it opened a passage to the industrial storage vaults beneath the block."
Kalex's expression darkened. "What was stored there?"
The aide's voice was almost a whisper.
"Armaments, my lord. Thousands of autoguns. Ammunition crates. Spare parts. Enough to arm a regiment—several, even."
Kael cursed under his breath.
The Governor stared at the hololith, horrified.
"Mutants with guns? This is no longer an investigation you can quietly contain, Kalex."
He turned sharply toward the Lord Colonel.
"Your Cohort must mobilize. If not, the entire Hive may plunge into chaos—or worse, fall to these mutants. And if that happens, we will have nothing to say when the Central Council drags us in chains and tries us for gross incompetence."
Lord Colonel Kael gave a curt nod.
"I'll deploy three regiments to reinforce the ground-level cordons, and two more into the storage sub-levels to prevent any further breakout."
He turned aside, barking rapid-fire orders to his aides, who hurried to relay commands to the regimental colonels.
As Kael coordinated deployment, the Lord Marshal's expression grew ever darker. What had begun as a contained quarantine had spiraled into a crisis threatening the stability of the entire Hive City—and possibly the planet. If he failed to arrest the situation swiftly, the Governor was right: he could face a Council trial, likely overseen by the Justicar himself. Worse, he might be recalled before the High Lord Marshal—an outcome no officer survived with dignity.
There was no time left to lose.
Kalex turned to his aide, voice clipped and cold.
"Mobilize all Judicium forces—every precinct, every Proctor, every squad. Full war-readiness."
He paused only long enough to activate additional encryption runes.
"Inform the Sisters to return immediately and prepare for deployment. We will need them for containment and purgation."
"Yes, my Lord Marshal!" the aide replied, already running.
Before Kalex could issue his next order, new alarms shrieked across the hololithic display. Multiple warning sigils flared red, overlapping and blinking in chaotic sequence.
"What now?" Kael demanded.
Kalex's aide returned, breathless and pale.
"New reports, my lord—the mutants are moving faster than expected. Several of the armed groups have bypassed our cordons entirely."
He swallowed.
"They've seized three transit elevators… and they're attempting to push upward toward the mid-tier manufactoria."
The Governor's face blanched.
"If they breach the manufactoria levels, half the Hive will arm itself in panic, the other half will riot! Kalex, you must stop them—now!"
Kalex's jaw tightened.
"I will. All precinct-fortresses are already mobilizing to intercept. Additional Proctor detachments will secure the remaining elevators—and I will assign shock teams to retake the three that have fallen."
The Governor nodded, satisfied with the results.
But while the discussion continued in the safety of the command-chamber, the streets around Hab-77 had already become a warzone.
---
Hive Level C-32 — Checkpoint Sigma-Red
The air was a choking haze of smoke and pulverized ferrocrete. Sirens wailed overhead, punctuated by the crack of autogun fire and the thunderous bark of combat shotguns.
A Proctor slammed a fresh shell into his shotgun, leaned from behind a barricade of overturned hab-vehicles, and fired.
The nearest mutant—its limbs elongated, skin pulled tight over unnatural muscle ridges—exploded backward in a spray of gore.
"What's the update?!" he shouted over the din, ejecting the smoking cartridge.
"We can't hold this checkpoint any longer—their numbers keep growing!"
Beside him, the vox-operator crouched low, laspistol in one hand, vox-slate in the other. He flinched as a burst of autogun fire hammered into the barrier above him, showering him with fragments.
"Marshal's pushing reinforcements up the avenue!" he screamed, voice cracking as he snapped off three useless shots over the parapet. "But the Lord Marshal's invoked B-23! Orders are hold until relieved—or until the directive terminates!"
The Proctor cursed.
"B-23? Throne preserve us. That's the maximum-loss protocol. They're writing us off."
The vox-trooper's eyes were wide behind cracked lenses. "Then let's make sure the bastards earn every name on the butcher's bill."
Another volley of autogun rounds tore through the checkpoint. The mutants were advancing in frighteningly organized waves—three firing, while the next three moved. Like drilled infantry. Like soldiers.
A Vigilant took a round in the throat—he collapsed with a wet choking sound, blood spraying across the barricade. Another Vigilant immediately dragged him backward under suppressing fire, shouting for a chiurgeon and praying the man wasn't already dead.
"They're breaking through the left flank!" someone screamed.
A squad of three Subductors surged forward instantly, slamming their heavy riot-shields into the mutant vanguard. The impact cracked bone and sent several of the creatures staggering. The moment an opening appeared, the Subductors struck—shock mauls arcing with blue crackling energy as they smashed into twisted skulls, malformed jaws, or anything that looked like it would kill faster.
"Push them back! PUSH!"
Behind the shield-line, a heavy gunner swung his tripod-mounted heavy stubber into place. The weapon roared to life with a deep, punishing growl, spewing a river of lead. The first burst tore through three mutants at once, almost cutting them in half. The second burst shredded those behind them, spraying the corridor walls with dark blood and bone fragments.
Still the mutants came.
Bodies fell in heaps, smoking where shock mauls had burnt flesh or torn apart by the heavy stubber—but new ones climbed over the corpses without hesitation, without fear, without breaking formation.
One of the Subductor grunted as a mutant slammed into his shield with unnatural strength, forcing him back a step.
"Where in the Throne's name are those reinforcements?!" he shouted through gritted teeth.
The vox-operator checked his slate, eyes wide with dread.
"Three minutes out!"
The Proctor barked a bitter laugh.
"Then we're dead in two!"
Suddenly, a ragged, guttural scream tore through the din of the mutant horde—too sharp, too alien, and unmistakably not from any creature they could see.
"Proctor! Auspex shows more contacts—closing fast!" a Vigilant barked, knuckles whitening around his scanner as the runes spiked erratically.
"Emperor's breath…" the Proctor muttered, eyes narrowing as shapes skittered into view. "Whatever those are, they're worse than this filth."
From beyond the mutants emerged a group of bipedal shapes, moving in a perpetual predatory crouch, their motions unnervingly smooth—almost serpentine. Each creature bore two pairs of arms: one ending in disturbingly human-like hands, the other in long, sickle-shaped claws that gleamed with unnatural sharpness.
Creatures utterly unknown to Imperial records.
"What… what are those?" a Vigilant whispered, wide-eyed.
"How should I know?" the Vigilant beside him replied with a shrug far too casual for the situation. He braced his shotgun against his shoulder, sighting down at the advancing things. "All I need to know is they're not with us."
The creatures scuttled forward in coordinated silence, claws flexing.
"And that means we kill them."
"Weapons free! Kill them!" the Proctor barked into his vox, firing the first blast of his shotgun.
What followed was chaos. The tight corridor erupted with the deafening boom of shotguns, the chattering bursts of autoweapons, and the shrill, alien screeches of the unknown creatures. The assault was not isolated; across the Hive's checkpoints, vox-feeds crackled with frantic reports as other Judicium units made contact with the same horrors.
While the Hive plunged deeper into confusion and bloodshed, one place remained—if not calm—then at least contained.
The personal laboratory of the Tech-Priest.
After arriving at the Medicae facility to retrieve the samples and reports collected earlier, he had deemed it unsecure and insufficient for further analysis. His personal sanctum, shielded by layered machine-wards and insulated from the Hive's growing anarchy, offered both safety and the specialized instruments he required.
The reinforced door clanged shut behind him, heavy locks engaging with a metallic hiss. Servo-skulls drifted to attention as he strode across the chamber, red optics tracking him faithfully. Racks of diagnostic cogitators, gene-analysers, and containment units hummed to life at his command.
He placed the sealed canisters of biological samples upon the central examination altar, mechadendrites unfolding around him like a metallic halo.
"Initiate full-spectrum analysis," he intoned, his voice metallic and filtered through vox-grilles. "Cross-reference with all known xenoforms and unsanctioned human mutations."
The machines obeyed immediately, arrays of holo-runes flickering into existence.
But as the first strands of data began to scroll, something unexpected happened.
A warning rune pulsed.
Then another.
Then an entire column flashed crimson.
The Tech-Priest's optical sensors zoomed in, focusing.
"…Impossible."
The genetic sequences did not match any known mutant strain.
Nor any catalogued xenos of Imperial record.
Worse—several markers suggested deliberate engineering, an intelligence behind the design… but one utterly unfamiliar.
But one conclusion was undeniable: whatever these things had once been, they were no longer human. The most accurate designation he could grant them now was xenos.
"This must be reported," he said, mechadendrites tightening as he began typing a priority data-burst. "If it's can spread so silently, they could be anywhere.... even outside the Hab." He whisper the last part.
Suddenly, the laboratory siren erupted into a deafening wail, every lumen in the chamber flashing crimson. Warning sigils cascaded across the wallscreen:
UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY DETECTED
Drexial-7 stiffened. "Impossible, they shouldn't be able to enter here in anyway possible."
As he finished his word, he already can hear his Skitarii Rangers are engaging the intruders, and by the information feeding to him, it's not doing great.
The reinforced door hissed open, and one of his acolyta stumbled in—young, unaugmented, still painfully biological.
"Master—w-we are under attack by xenos!" he blurted, breathless. "Alpha-Y7 reports he cannot hold much longer without reinforcement, and I can't reach Alpha-Q2. He was guarding the outer laboratory defense line—he should have responded by now."
Drexial-7 did not speak.
He simply watched his acolyte until the young man stopped shaking and met his gaze—one organic eye trembling, one enhanced by fear.
Only then did Drexial-7 respond.
"Alpha-D89."
A blur of motion uncoiled from the shadows. A Sicarian Infiltrator emerged with silent, predatory grace—sensor-mask humming, neuromandibles twitching in anticipation. Behind him, three more flickered briefly into visibility before vanishing again.
"Bring your full kill-squad," Drexial-7 commanded. His vox-grille deepened with synthetic fury. "Cleanse the intruders. No abomination will defile a sanctum of the Omnissiah."
The Sicarian bowed his head, a gesture halfway between obedience and ritual execution intent.
"By your will."
And without another word, Alpha-D89 dissolved back into the gloom, his squad slipping through the laboratory's side access ports like ghosts.
The acolyte exhaled shakily. "Master… w-what do we do?"
"We meet the xenos," Drexial-7 replied, voice cold and modulated. "That is what we do, my young apprentice."
Two mechadendrites unfurled from his back with smooth, predatory precision—one gripping a plasma pistol, the other a sheathed power sword.
"Take these," he continued, lowering both weapons into the acolyte's trembling hands. "And prepare yourself."
The mechadendrites withdrew, reconfiguring as Drexial-7 drew forth his own armaments—an Omnissian axe crackling with barely contained power, and a plasma blaster humming as its coils reached firing charge.
"For now begins a new lesson," the Magos intoned, optics blazing. "The proper punishment for those who dare defile the sanctum of the Omnissiah."