A purple-gold gourd!
The moment Datch saw the mission reward, his eyes widened in shock. A reward item this buggy had to be acquired at all costs! With this gourd, when he saw Kairos again, he could just call his name. If the man responded, the gourd would catch it—much more convenient than a Pokéball. With the purple-gold gourd, he would never have to worry about catching daemons again.
"Leave this task to me," Datch declared confidently. All for the mission reward.
The minimap updated automatically, highlighting the mission location—Hollow Mountain—and plotting the optimal route.
"First, I need a vehicle." Datch bounced away, heading for the airport apron as indicated by the minimap.
Tieron watched the Primarch and the mysterious Custodian soldier converse, his expression complex, mingled with shock and surprise. He felt that this Custodian was a bit different from the others. Yet the Primarch trusted him greatly, even entrusting him with repairing the Chamber of the Astronomican—a task even the Mechanicus couldn't do. How could the Custodian manage it? He didn't mean to look down on them; each force had its strengths. The Custodian was unrivaled in combat and command, but when it came to machines, Mars' tech-priests were superior.
The others weren't surprised—they'd long grown numb to Datch's antics. Too many irrationalities; better not to think too much. It was all the Emperor's will.
The airport was vast, planes constantly landing and taking off. Tech-priests, scribes, navy, merchants, workers, and countless pilgrims from across the galaxy thronged the area. Every year, countless pilgrims set out for Terra, most dying en route in the warp or of old age at some transit point. Only a lucky few ever reached the Sol System, and even then, more patience and paperwork awaited. Applications had to overcome endless obstacles to reach approval. During this ordeal, documents could be lost, stolen, or destroyed. Most pilgrims spent a lifetime waiting, never setting foot on Terra. Over 90% had been brought from their homeworlds as infants, lived their whole lives in pilgrim caravans, and died without ever reaching Terra.
Yet through luck or the Emperor's will, some 5–6 million still managed to set foot on Terra each year. They queued up, chanting prayers, awaiting transport to the surface. Arbites officers patrolled above, electric batons at the ready, scanning the crowds with cold eyes, occasionally swooping in to subdue dangerous individuals or psykers.
Every time Datch bounced past the pilgrims, their faces lit up in excitement, their chants rising in pitch. In their teachings, warriors clad in golden armor were angels—warriors of the great Emperor, defenders of the sacred against corruption.
Datch ignored the fanatics and headed straight for the magnificent hangar where a Talion-class Custodian gunship was berthed. The Custodian skin granted him access not only to other Custodian communications and positions, but also to vehicle controls and the authority to call in other units. Security personnel, after scanning his credentials, let him pass without question. Even the tech-priests and workers servicing the gunship suspected nothing. To them, the Custodian were iron giants who never questioned orders—and their actions were never explained to other departments. As long as ID checked out, no one would interfere with the Emperor's chosen.
Datch boarded the gunship and sat in the cockpit. The Empire's vehicle operating systems all converged eventually, though button layouts differed. After a moment's thought, Datch grasped the controls and successfully started the Talion-class gunship. After a few bumps in the hangar, he pushed the craft out into the void, flying crookedly but purposefully toward Terra.
Terra's air defense was extremely strict—flights had to be reported in advance. Datch's mischief immediately triggered a series of alarms, with hundreds of query messages appearing on his interface. Combat escorts hovered around the gunship, ordering him to stop immediately. Had the gunship not sported the bright Custodian insignia, the defenders would have been alarmed, fearing a covert operation—and he would have been shot down the moment he entered the atmosphere.
Navradaran, accompanying the Primarch and Archmagos Cawl for the next briefing, was suddenly bombarded by harsh questions from colleagues: why had his command's gunship violated Terra's flight regulations and entered the airspace without responding to queries?
Navradaran was dumbfounded—he'd been sitting at home, and now trouble had fallen from the sky. After some investigation, he learned that the nameless one had commandeered the gunship and was heading straight for Hollow Mountain. What was going through that man's head? Such blatant trespass! The reputation of the Custodian would be ruined sooner or later.
Navradaran hurried to explain and reassure his colleagues.
Meanwhile, Datch ignored the alarms, focusing on piloting the gunship toward Hollow Mountain.
Driving a car in Los Santos or Night City, you'd worry about traffic lights, demerits, and fines. But on Terra? Do as you please—no one will come after you, not even the Yellow Emperor!
At this time, the location of Hollow Mountain was on the far side, shrouded in darkness. Many areas were ablaze—hunger and despair had driven the masses mad, turning on the sane in a frenzy. Gunfire and screams echoed endlessly. Some spires burned, flames lighting the sky red.
Datch piloted the gunship through the chaotic city, following the established route. Soon, he saw a massive canyon a kilometer wide and 200 meters deep. The gorge was covered in black-iron-like structures, jagged protrusions like human spines. At every distance, military fortresses bristled with rotating laser batteries and void shield generators. Grand machines jutted from the canyon walls—power transformers, plasma depots, electromagnetic flux absorbers, and psychic coils.
The gorge slashed through everything, arcs of light crackling, indicator lights flickering between half-buried pipes. This was the Chamber of the Astronomican's starting point. Flying deeper, the buildings grew more magnificent, adorned everywhere with Mechanicus insignia.
Datch glanced away from the hologram and peered out the observation window—on the horizon at the gorge's edge, a spiked tower rose, piercing the sky. Intricate bridges linked these towers, forming a dizzying network. At the heart of the complex, eight colossal black metal spires towered, dominating the skyline like a crown. In the center of the Iron Crown, a vast black hemisphere dwarfed all other structures.
This was Datch's destination—Hollow Mountain, the core facility of the Chamber of the Astronomican.
...
Bonus chapter at 100 PS
Read advanced chapters at patreon.com/AbsoluteCode