Chapter 43: Whispers of the Devil
An assassin clad in light tactical armor appeared silently behind Malcador and delivered his report.
"Captain Skol of the Alpha Legion reports that their forces have rejoined the extermination operations against the Rangdan xenos. Their deployment is consistent with Imperial military strategic positioning, with no indication of deviation from orders."
Malcador shifted his body and turned to face the assassin, taking a few light steps before chuckling softly to himself.
"Hehe, those young warriors are frightened. Let them go, it will do them good."
He paused, his expression becoming more contemplative. "This was not the Emperor's intention, after all. The Great Crusade must continue. We cannot afford to stand still. Wouldn't you agree, my child?"
Then an Alpha Legion warrior clad in blue-green power armor appeared suddenly behind the assassin. The assassin immediately tensed, suspecting an attack on the Sigillite, but Malcador waved the warrior forward. The assassin withdrew, leaving Alpharius and Malcador to face each other directly.
Alpharius spoke with frank candor. "At this moment, nothing sounds more pleasant to Astartes than the sound of war. The silence and oppressive atmosphere on Terra was unbearable."
Malcador nodded. "I know. But there is value in people maintaining a healthy sense of restraint and caution. By the way, I have welcome news for you: the Mark III power armor is being retired. The new Mark IV power armor will be distributed to rearm all Astartes warriors, making you all even more formidable than before."
Alpharius replied. "A balance of incentive and discipline is indeed an effective method of command. Before I undergo memory erasure regarding the Eleventh Primarch, I would like to file a report on events during that campaign. My fleet encountered an extremely technologically advanced alien civilization during our operations."
Under Malcador's intrigued gaze, Alpharius recounted his experiences with the mechanized rib-like aliens. He described their formidable warships, their advanced weaponry, and their mastery of space technology with evident respect for their capability.
When Alpharius finished his account, Malcador's expression shifted to one of genuine interest. "Ah, yes, that civilization. We have designated them the Necrons."
"Over the past century, the Imperium has conducted several observations and compiled extensive records on them. They have hunted our warships and captured significant numbers of human personnel."
Malcador paused thoughtfully. "We know very little about the true nature of Necron civilization. All we can confirm is that this alien species is actively observing human imperial development."
"It is possible they are conducting secret research on our species and capabilities."
"They represent a potentially catastrophic threat to the Imperium," Malcador continued, "but at present, our most immediate and powerful adversary remains the Ork Empire of Ullanor."
"The Imperium may require intensive research into advanced space technology." Alpharius leaned forward slightly. "Without mastery of such capabilities, we will pay an enormous price when confronting these powerful alien civilizations. We will inevitably face them eventually."
Malcador nodded slowly, his expression approving. "I will convey your assessment to the Emperor directly. I am quite pleased with your strategic foresight on this matter."
After spending considerable time in discussion with Malcador, Alpharius returned to his fortress.
Upon his arrival, he possessed no memories of the Eleventh Primarch or the Eleventh Legion. The gaps in his knowledge felt entirely natural for him; there was nothing obviously wrong about them.
Amidst the profound silence that had settled over the numerous Space Marine Legions, the Imperium announced sweeping new initiatives: the Mark IV power armor program, new warship construction plans, and the ambitious Forge World development project, coupled with a massive empire-wide recruitment drive.
Following the victory over the Rangdan xenos civilization, the Emperor announced even more ambitious objectives for the Great Crusade. The entire imperial war machine surged forward once again with renewed momentum and purpose.
Amid the cheers and celebrations of countless citizens and soldiers, no one could have imagined the true cost.
The Eleventh Primarch incident had triggered something far more insidious: the Space Marines were slowly forming secret communication networks, living in terrifying silence, afraid to discuss matters openly even among their most trusted brothers.
When the Alpha Legion's fleet arrived at Pluto and received reports of Terra's grand new initiatives, Omegon found himself astonished.
On the bridge, several Captains watched as Omegon, their Primarch, leisurely sipped a cup of coffee. He seemed pleased, and with his improved mood, their own fear subsided. They became more composed and at ease.
Captain Skol spoke with evident regret. "If only I had remained on Terra longer, I might have been equipped with the more powerful Mark IV power armor before deployment."
Omegon dismissed the concern with a slight smile. "Our armor has proven itself through brutal combat testing."
"We can transition to the new Mark IV suits within a year at most. Meanwhile, we will continue operations as usual. There is no shame in using proven equipment."
He was, in truth, content to be away from Terra. After more than thirty years of continuous development, the Alpha Legion had grown to number over twenty thousand Astartes.
Originally, they had possessed more than thirty thousand, but the warfare had been brutal during this extended campaign. Many had fallen.
Even with Alpharius and Omegon secretly maintaining gene seed reserves, the losses had been substantial. Nearly all remaining Astartes bore significant combat damage.
What they needed now was time, time to recover, time to cultivate new warriors, time to grow stronger.
For the legion to achieve genuine strength, three conditions were essential: first, sufficient time to cultivate viable gene seeds from their stores; second, secure storage facilities to prevent genetic contamination; and third, optimization of gene seed inoculation procedures to increase efficiency.
The Dark Angels' severely reduced strength served as a cautionary example; many Blood Angels had fallen before their gene seeds could be cultivated appropriately, and much of the genetic material recovered after their deaths had become contaminated beyond salvage.
Of course, Alpharius maintained nearly eight thousand intelligence operatives and espionage agents distributed throughout human imperial space.
The actual number of Astartes engaged in direct combat on any given front was only slightly over ten thousand.
One should not underestimate these numbers.
A hundred Space Marines combined with Imperial Army support could conquer an entire planet if it lacked nuclear weapons.
Against civilizations still in primitive developmental stages, the combined forces could easily achieve total conquest.
With over ten thousand combat-ready Astartes, in theory, they could simultaneously conduct operations against up to one hundred planets.
In practice, however, such a distribution was unrealistic; alien civilizations controlled worlds that were far from weak or defenseless.
Encountering particularly formidable opposition, even a hundred Space Marines could be annihilated if the planetary defenses were sufficiently advanced and well-commanded.
Before executing the warp jump, Omegon contacted Alpharius. He was informed that Alpharius would lead operations independently this time; the Primarch had other critical matters to attend to.
They would reunite after the campaign concluded.
Omegon immediately understood: Alpharius was returning to his actual work, monitoring the movements and activities of the other Legions. Omegon couldn't help but shake his head slightly at the burden his brother willingly carried.
Through Pluto's Hades Gate, the flagship entered the warp.
The warp was filled with strange, fluctuating colors and impossible geometries. The Navigator's voice could be heard emanating from deep within the ship's observation chamber, shielded by the void.
Omegon became immediately alarmed. He realized that the recent turbulent emotions permeating Terra's population were bleeding into the immaterial realm, affecting the warp itself.
He quickly issued orders for all personnel to remain within the ship's confines and to maintain disciplined thoughts, avoiding any wild or emotional ideation. He then contacted the Master Navigator to assess the current conditions.
A small but dangerous storm swept through the warp, and Omegon's fleet struggled to navigate the violent turbulence.
Fortunately, the psychic beacon emanating from Terra, the Light of the Astronomican, shone brightly enough to guide them, preventing the fleet from becoming hopelessly lost in the warp's infinite depths.
Omegon had just settled into his command chair, relieved that the passage seemed stable, when a strange voice reached his ears.
It was not the Navigator's voice. The words were murmured, indistinct, yet somehow penetrating.
Immediately, Omegon felt profound unease ripple through his consciousness.
Then thoughts surfaced, unwelcome thoughts: his concealed identity and carefully hidden name, Alpharius's constant scrutiny and observation of his actions, countless small details he had previously overlooked or dismissed as insignificant.
Under normal circumstances, Omegon, having spent thirty years honing his spirit and will through constant warfare, would have dismissed such intrusive thoughts immediately. His will was already extraordinarily refined and resilient.
But these whispers reminded him of something Alpharius had once said with grim certainty.
"This warp might truly harbor daemons."Omegon realized the truth: he was experiencing daemonic temptation and corruption.
His vigilance intensified immediately.
He forced himself into deep meditation, methodically clearing his mind of distracting thoughts, calming his heart and spirit through practiced discipline.
Yet the daemonic whispers penetrated deeper, stirring waves of unwanted memory and dark imagination.
Omegon found himself imagining scenarios where he had accepted Typhon's overtures and used forbidden gas weapons without restraint. Evil and wicked thoughts arose unbidden in his consciousness.
Faced with this overwhelming assault of corruption, Omegon drew upon the vast reservoir of his experience and discipline.
Laws of logic and reason appeared clearly in his mind's eye. Combined with techniques to calm and center his consciousness, these mental tools gradually brought him peace and stability once more.
After an unknown amount of time, hours? Days? The Navigator's steady voice reporting stable passage filtered back into his awareness. Omegon's eyes opened.
He saw Captain Skol in conversation with the Navigator. After a brief listen to their exchange, Omegon learned that six days had passed. The fleet had survived the minor warp storm and was now on a steady approach toward their destination.
"Sir, thank the Emperor you've awakened," Captain Skol exclaimed with evident relief and joy.
Omegon nodded and immediately requested a full status report on his personnel. Skol responded that although they had endured the warp storm, all troops remained safe and unharmed.
However, one of the astropaths had collapsed from exhaustion and was still recovering from the ordeal.
[End of Chapter]