The war council was held in the shadow of the city's broken spire.
Orestian officers stood stiff at the edge of the map table, eyes flicking between Aurelius, Varian, and Malcor as if they were statues from the Imperial Palace suddenly come to life.
The reports were grim.
Cultist activity on the surface had surged since the psyker's death, no longer trying to open a gate in the square, but holding choke points in the hab-blocks and manufactorums. Below, the catacombs were no longer silent — seismic readings showed heavy movement, deep drills chewing through strata toward something older than the city itself.
"They're digging for it," Malcor said, voice low.
Aurelius looked at him. "You've seen this before?"
"Yes. In the Shadow Crusade. Chaos Marines searching beneath cities… they weren't mining ore. They were unearthing temples. Things left buried for a reason."
The Orestian captain asked the question hanging in the air.
"Custodian… if they reach it?"
Aurelius didn't hesitate. "Then the city — and all who remain in it — will be gone."
The plan formed in his mind like a blade being sharpened:
Surface front: Orestian Rifles hold the barricades, bleed the cultists' strength, keep them from reinforcing below.
Catacombs: Aurelius, Varian, and Malcor push the hunt for the warband through the tunnels, cut them off from whatever they're digging toward.
But there was a problem — he could feel it in the back of his mind. His Haki was already running hotter, sharper than usual since the fight in the catacombs. If he pushed too far, too long, he risked burning himself out before the true battle.
He kept that concern to himself.
They entered the catacombs at dawn, torches casting harsh shadows on carved walls. Every few dozen meters, they found evidence of passage — clawed marks on the stone, cult symbols smeared in blood, empty ammo casings from bolters too large for mortal hands.
Observation Haki stretched forward in a constant sweep, brushing the edges of hostile intent in branching tunnels. But the deeper they went, the harder it became to focus; here, the warp pressed back, like static in his senses. The air grew heavy, the light dimmer even with the torches.
A sudden spike of killing intent — Aurelius signaled, and Varian hurled a frag into the next chamber. The blast revealed half a dozen cultists crouched behind pillars, their ambush broken. Malcor charged in first, spear snapping from guard to kill in a heartbeat.
But it was only a feint.
Aurelius caught it just in time — the real force moving in from the ceiling.
He drove Armament into his legs and jumped, Guardian Spear skewering the first Chaos Marine as it dropped from above. Its partner swung a chainaxe that rattled his teeth on the parry. Varian joined him, the two gold-armored warriors pinning the Marine between them until the spearhead punched through its throat.
The deeper they fought, the more Aurelius had to split his senses — surface-level Observation to track ambushes, deeper focus to search for the warband leader's killing intent in the maze. It was like holding two swords at once, each trying to pull his attention.
They finally reached the dig site.
The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow, the floor a churned mess of rock and steel where Chaos laborers — both mortal and twisted — fed drills the size of tanks. And there, standing before a pit that breathed cold air, was the warband leader.
Not the one from before — this one was larger, older, his armor the deep black of the Black Legion but scored with ancient silver runes. In his gauntlet was a warhammer whose head glowed with warp-light.
"You came far," the Marine said, his voice echoing unnaturally. "But not far enough."
The first blow shook the chamber. Aurelius blocked with both hands, Armament screaming in protest as the hammer's impact pushed him back a step. He countered, spear lancing for the neck joint, but the Marine caught the haft and pulled, sending him crashing into a pillar.
He rolled back to his feet, tasting blood.
Future Sight flickered on and off like a dying lumen. Too much noise — too many enemies at once. Varian and Malcor were locked with the Marine's honor guard, each exchange showering sparks across the dig site.
Aurelius narrowed his world to one thing — the warhammer, the arc it would take, the moment it would leave the Marine's control. He felt the next three seconds crystallize, and he moved into them.
The spear met the hammer mid-swing. Armament ran down the haft like lightning, forcing the weapon wide, and Aurelius stepped inside, gauntlet blackened, and drove his fist into the Marine's chestplate with enough force to dent it inward.
The Marine staggered — but didn't fall.
And behind him, in the pit, something shifted.
Cold air turned into a pull, faint but growing. The laborers' chanting rose. The dig had reached its goal — whatever temple lay beneath was awakening.
Aurelius realized then: this wasn't the final battle for Caltrius. It was only the opening move in a much larger war.