Raynor sat in a seat that was uncomfortably plush, gazing through the porthole at the gradually enlarging sphere of Brevis. Below him lay an endless expanse of white ice.
He looked upon the "Frost Forbidden Wall," a magnificent structure stretching between the frozen wastes and the plains. From his vantage point, he could see green, moving specks flashing across the white background—patrols or perhaps something more sinister. Near the wall, violent explosions occasionally kicked up "snowflakes" of debris and ice.
"It seems the battle is indeed fierce," Raynor thought to himself, though his expression remained an impassive mask. He assumed those fighting at the Forbidden Wall were either the planetary defense forces of Brevis or the private militias of local nobles. His mind was already turning toward a different battle: how to establish prestige and gain a foothold in this icy world.
According to information provided by Kerry and Isud, his next destination was the State Cathedral of Brevis Main Hive. There, he was to receive a solemn Mass. Only with the official recognition and blessing of the Archbishop could he obtain the "Governor's Scepter"—the relic symbolizing the dual secular and religious authority granted by the State Religion.
The Valkyrie squadron touched down on the Upper City's restricted helipad. When Raynor stepped out of the cabin, the glaring artificial sunlight made him squint in discomfort. This was a "luxury" exclusive to the Upper Hive; many in the depths of the Lower Hive would live and die without ever seeing a single ray of light.
The area beyond the courtyard was packed with Brevis citizens who had come to "welcome" their new governor. Dressed in garish, shimmering finery, they jumped and cheered with rehearsed enthusiasm, their faces fixed in beaming, artificial smiles.
A snippet of a song Raynor once heard drifted into his mind: "You came from Terra, and I'm dressed in all white now, I want to eat some good food..."
He had intended to offer a few polite platitudes to satisfy the crowd, but he paused as his gaze swept past the front ranks. Behind the citizens in elaborate costumes, separated by a heavy security cordon, stood another group at a distance.
They were ragged and emaciated, many reduced to little more than skin and bones. Their eyes were vacant, and their bodies bore the marks of various mutations, barely clinging to a human silhouette. These wretches made up more than ninety percent of the population of the Brevis Hive, yet in this ceremony, they were permitted to occupy less than one percent of the space. Like beggars who had stumbled into a high-end theater, they were jarringly out of place.
Had it not been a mandatory decree for all Hive sectors to participate in the welcoming ceremony, these people would never have seen the Upper City in their lifetimes.
Upon seeing them, Raynor changed his mind. He suppressed his practiced smile and gestured to Gus.
"Bring out the 'greeting gift' we prepared," he commanded.
Gus nodded immediately. He directed several Ogryn guards to haul four heavy metal crates from the Valkyrie's cargo hold. They hit the tarmac with a resounding thud. Every eye in the plaza fixed on the boxes. The socialites looked on with curiosity, while a flicker of confusion crossed the dull eyes of the poor.
The four accompanying dignitaries watched with varying degrees of suspicion. Raynor walked to the center crate and nodded to Dobby. The massive guard understood, reaching out with her large hands to wrench the lids open one by one.
With a series of heavy metallic clangs, the lids fell back, and the contents tumbled out, scattering across the floor.
Skulls. A literal mountain of severed heads.
From the first box rolled heads with pale skin, delicate but twisted features, and pointed ears—the Drukhari, or Dark Eldar. The second box spilled out bald, heavy-browed heads that looked deceptively human—Genestealer cultists. The third box contained heads with eerie blue skin and unsettling mutations—Chaos apostates. The fourth box held the ferocious, chitinous remains of Tyranid organisms.
More than four hundred alien heads were piled into a macabre mound under the artificial sun, exuding a heavy stench of rot and old blood. The visual impact was staggering. The once noisy plaza fell into a tomb-like silence.
The smiles on the faces of the wealthy froze, replaced by masks of terror and revulsion. Many instinctively recoiled, covering their mouths and noses. Even the hollow eyes of the poor showed a spark of shock. A few individuals with unstable psyches began to show signs of distress, but they were quickly and quietly "dealt with" by the PDF.
The four representatives of the elite reacted differently. Carter's eyes sharpened as he examined the trophies, nodding in grim approval. The SDF Marshal frowned, clearly viewing this as a tasteless display of "attention-seeking." The Bishop's benevolent smile vanished, replaced by a stony, solemn stare. The noble lord covered his nose with a silk handkerchief, his face contorted in disgust.
The atmosphere turned suffocatingly awkward. Seeing the tension, Gus took a deep breath and stepped forward, his voice loud but betrayed by a slight tremor:
"Do not be afraid!" Gus shouted. "These are the xenos and heretics that our Governor Raynor von bravely slew on his journey to Brevis! This is the proof of the Governor's formidable military prowess and his unwavering loyalty to the Divine Emperor!"
He paused, then bellowed the line he had prepared:
"The Governor is here! Brevis is at peace! The Governor is here! There is justice now!"
Gus shouted until his face was crimson, but the crowd remained silent. The public was reeling from nausea; the poor remained stunned, and the elites were lost in their own calculations.
Just as Gus began to sweat, wondering how to salvage the moment...
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A crisp, rhythmic clapping rang out. It was Raynor.
He smiled, clapping slowly as his purple eyes swept across the assembly. Seeing the Governor himself lead the applause, Carter was the first to snap out of his trance and join in. The SDF Marshal glanced at Carter, then reluctantly added a few claps of his own. The Bishop performed the Sign of the Aquila, murmuring a prayer. When the noble lord caught Raynor's gaze, he shuddered and began to clap with performative vigor.
With the "endorsement" of the powerful, the rest of the crowd finally woke up. The silence was shattered by a sudden, thunderous roar of applause.