Chapter 203: Calgar's Concerns
"..."
Hearing Calgar's reminder, a silence spread through the channel for a moment. Titus could feel the death-glare of the Chapter Chaplain boring into the back of his neck. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and his knuckles tightened and loosened on the grip of his weapon. For a single, fleeting instant, the desire to kill urged him to turn and put a round into the meddling fool.
But in the end, he set his jaw and obediently stowed the xenos weapon.
The neural shredder was undeniably effective. Against the higher-tier organisms of the swarm that relied on synapse nodes, it was a perfectly tailored counter. During the campaigns to reclaim the various planets, it was an open secret that the kill-teams were equipped with these weapons. Titus, having campaigned across the galaxy with Romulus, had used them to efficiently eliminate targets on more than one occasion.
He understood Calgar's intent. The Chapter Master was not trying to give him a hard time; he was protecting him. Out in the wider galaxy, Romulus's command style had always been 'whatever is most effective'. Xenos technology, captured weapons, non-standard tactics—because he always won, and because of his status, no one would dare to question him.
But here, back in the Realm of Ultramar, under the watchful eye of the Codex Astartes, some rules had to be followed.
"My apologies. My own understanding of the Codex's requirements is still insufficient. I will be more mindful in my future command decisions." Romulus's voice cut into the channel at the perfect moment, his tone flawlessly sincere.
"It is understandable, Lord Romulus," Calgar's response was swift and respectful. He secretly admired Romulus's ability to lie so smoothly to give everyone a way out. After all, anyone who had read the Tactical Primer on Tyranid Warfare (Codex Chapter Edition) could see that the guide was essentially a complete analysis of the Codex Astartes, reorganized to precisely exploit the weaknesses of the Tyranid race. How could someone who wrote such a text not understand the Codex?
But some things are not about truth or falsehood. They are about who is speaking.
As expected, the Chapter Chaplain, who had been ready to pounce just a moment before, immediately fell silent. Even the few Codex Wardens who had been preparing to log the violation quietly put away their data-slates. Titus took the opportunity to stretch his shoulders, the servos of his power armour whining cheerfully. He silently charged towards a regrouping swarm in the distance, his sword carving a bright arc through the ash, his iron-shod boots crushing the black carapaces of scuttling bio-forms.
Due to the horrific intensity of the war on the fortress world, the swarm had evolved Tyranid organisms that could tolerate high temperatures and consume minerals and steel to provide biomass for the hive.
Now, he could finally, legitimately, get a good fight in.
"Lord Romulus, what is the situation in the void?" Calgar asked. With a large number of Astartes now reinforcing the surface, annihilating this portion of the swarm was only a matter of time. Even if a Hive Tyrant appeared, against an Imperial Navy that had absolute air superiority, it was just a matter of a single lance strike.
"The pressure is low. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this is the upper limit of acceptable losses for the Hive Fleet," Romulus replied, his focus on directing the fleet's maneuvers with Archmagos Cawl. A simple conversation didn't take up any of his processing power.
Calgar nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the tactical hololith where the swarm's signals were gradually weakening. The orbital defense platforms' cannons still traced brilliant arcs through the void, but the enemy's offensive had clearly lost its momentum. These powerful hunters from beyond the galaxy, though greedy and ferocious, were not mindless beasts that only knew how to charge to their deaths. When the Hive Mind assessed the value of an operation and determined that the cost outweighed the reward, it would choose to withdraw and seek an easier target.
"You will all be busy in the future," Romulus said, his gaze passing through the continuous fireworks in the void to the endless emptiness beyond. No one knew how many more Hive Fleets were lurking out there, waiting for their next chance.
"The Ultramarines will remember all that the Crusade Fleet has done. As for the Tyranid xenos, we will guard our home," Calgar replied. Although the initial defense had been a humiliating failure, turning a war that should have been intercepted on the frontier into a defense of Ultramar itself, Calgar was philosophical about the outcome. He was prepared to spend the next few dozen, or even hundreds, of years fighting these terrifying xenos. In truth, the Imperium's slow reaction time was the norm. Every department was buckling under the weight of the Imperium's over-expansion, a problem that was only getting worse. There were few who could coordinate the entire theater like Romulus, and no one else had the authority.
The two commanders had cooperated fully during the defense against Hive Fleet Behemoth. Although they had not yet met in person, their communication had been extensive. Without a doubt, Romulus, as the overall commander of the war, had left a deep impression on Calgar.
Victory was now inevitable.
"My Lord," Calgar's voice dropped in the private channel. He glanced at the busy staff in his command center and signaled for his Chief Librarian, Varro Tigurius, to raise a psychic shield around them, ensuring no one could overhear their conversation. "After the war, the victory celebration will be held on Macragge." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "A delegation from Terra has already arrived and is making preparations."
This was not a premature celebration. It was a warning. Surprisingly, Terra's reaction this time had been swift.
"According to the latest battle-reports," Romulus replied, his voice laced with a subtle meaning, "the Crusade Fleet has pacified the unrest from the Kaus sector to the Tyran sector. The main body of the fleet is concentrated at Boros Minor. Within the next ten years, the eastern fringe will be able to resume paying its tithes." As to which powers would be paying those tithes, it was best not to ask too many questions. As the general who had spearheaded the reclamation of these worlds, it was natural for him to take some temporary measures.
"I will conduct a handover with the Ultramarines afterwards."
"You may conduct the handover with the various successor chapters," Calgar replied, sighing internally. He felt it was best to be cautious. At least if the Ultramarines were not directly involved, they could step in to mediate at a critical moment in the future. Honestly, Lord Romulus was a bit too audacious. It was as if he were riding on the heads of the High Lords, openly declaring his intention to establish his own domain and promote Astartes-supremacism.
The efficiency that Astartes brought to Imperial governance could indeed allow a sector to recover at an astonishing speed, but the Imperial organizations whose power was being curtailed—the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Ecclesiarchy, the Administratum, the Adeptus Arbites—would not be pleased.
Calgar looked at the hololithic star-chart, where the eastern fringe was gradually recovering, and his worries deepened. He was not just a Chapter Master; he was also a skilled statesman. In his view, such simple, brutish measures could not last. The conflicts that were being forcibly suppressed would surely erupt like a volcano in the centuries to come. He wondered if Lord Romulus had a solution.
A solution? What solution?
Noticing the pained expression on Calgar's face, which always appeared whenever politics was involved—a stark contrast to his stoic demeanor under military pressure—Romulus ended the private communication with a chuckle.
There was no solution.
When the Lord Regent awakens, everything will be fine. Let him deal with it.
Outside the viewport, lance-beams flew, and a dense cloud of torpedoes rained down on the Tyranid fleet. Romulus rose from his command throne. At his instruction, the machine-spirit replaced the hololithic projection of the augur matrix with images of several hive ships.
"Ramesses, are you done over there yet?"
The fleet had maintained its distance, constantly pressuring the swarm with lance-strikes. To minimize casualties, the Imperial Navy had not engaged in a close-quarters battle, instead using its mobility to constantly pull at the Hive Fleet's formation, herding it into a single, dense mass.
"Almost, almost," came the reply.
Inside a hive ship, bathed in a surging green psychic energy, Ramesses was tinkering with an unusually large warp engine. The massive engine was encased in thick adamantium plates and, under Ramesses's manipulation, was gradually overloading. It had been salvaged from an unfinished Victory-class battleship. Ramesses hadn't paid any mind to the local Fabricator-General's apoplectic rage at the time. After all, the Crusade Fleet's investigation had revealed that these medium-sized forge worlds could provide the Mechanicus's explorator fleets with a new battleship every five years. It was easy to imagine how perfunctory these tech-priests were when dealing with the Imperium, even going so far as to pull ships from graveyards to fulfill their quotas.
"Hurry up," Arthur's voice, strained, came over the comms. In front of him was a Norn Emissary. The hive ship's queen seemed to have sensed the threat and was trying to destroy the warp engine that had been embedded in its body, even sending multiple Emissaries to do so. And compared to Karna, who was fighting his own opponent to a standstill in a Black Rage, Arthur was in a somewhat awkward position. Unlike fighting Chaos, when it came to a pure contest of stats against the swarm, he was outmatched.
"Patience, Master Arthur. How are you going to fight Khorne if you're like this?" Ramesses quipped, throwing a protective shield over Arthur.
"The usual way," Arthur replied, shaking his head as he parried a blow from the Norn Emissary.
Compared to Tzeentch, who went silent the moment he appeared; Nurgle, who simply died; and Slaanesh, who was writhing in agony and ecstasy from the restoration of his senses, the daemons of Khorne were indeed a difficult problem for Arthur. Or rather, any straight, one-on-one fight, without any tricks, was the most stressful for him. No mechanics, all stats. If you're outmatched, you're outmatched.
"HORUS!"
A roar came from nearby, and a wave of intense heat washed over him. Karna, dragging his flaming spear, arrived to relieve him. Not far away, another Norn Emissary was slowly dissolving in flames.
"Ah, stats," Ramesses sighed, shaking his head. He recalled the ideas he had salvaged from Fabius Bile's consciousness-clone. The power of the Aeldari god of the dead, Ynnead, was key to Guilliman's resurrection. He had some ideas about that. But as for improving his other companions, he was at a loss. The initial plan had been to give everyone a Crone Sword, but if Arthur were to truly accept the power of the warp, he would lose his most important ability.
'Perhaps I really should look into the C'tan. I'll write a report when I get back, see which shards are obtainable, and then we can test them.'
The warmth of a soul's ash still lingered on the sorcerer's fingertips. Two precious soul-crystals turned to dust in his palm. "Tch. Finally found it." He narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on the final readout of the warp engine, a smirk on his lips.
Detonating a warp engine was simple. Just overload it. But picking a good location took time. After all, their goal was to completely destroy the Hive Fleet. To prevent this swarm from regrouping, they needed to find an opponent who could finish the job. Vashtorr's Soul Forge was the obvious choice.
Revenge is a dish best served hot. The longer you wait, the less satisfying it is. That old bastard Vashtorr had colluded with Tzeentch. Besieging the Industrial Park was one thing, but Tzeentch had also tried to corrupt him through a physical medium. If he hadn't been sticking close to Master Arthur, he would have been done for. He had to return the favour.
Don't ask why he didn't just go and mess with Tzeentch, the main culprit. This small fleet would just be fireworks in the Crystal Labyrinth. It was better to give Vashtorr a little treat, a taste of the pinnacle of extragalactic biological technology. It was all about making trouble for Chaos. Why split hairs? It was basically revenge.
Ramesses unhesitatingly initiated the self-destruct sequence of the battleship-class warp engine, then teleported himself and his companions away.
The energy core instantly overloaded. A blinding blue-white light erupted from every seam of the engine room. The entire hive ship, like an over-inflated balloon, tore a狰狞 rift several million kilometers long in the boundary between reality and the warp.
BZZZZZZ—
A massive vortex of warp-storm energy sucked in all the nearby Tyranid bio-ships. The terrifying Hive Ships were twisted and deformed in the dimensional turbulence, their carapaces peeling away, their flesh vaporizing, before they were slammed directly into Vashtorr's Soul Forge.
When the blinding light faded, only a dozen or so shattered Tyranid ships were left, clinging to life in the deep void.
In the Warp, Vashtorr, who had been tearing his hair out trying to capture suitable daemons to fulfill his orders and also trying to destroy the "Industrial Park of the Lord of Formless Chaos," was now staring at Hive Fleet Behemoth. They had emerged from a warp rift and plunged headfirst into his Soul Forge. They brought with them a pure hunger and bloodlust, and, seemingly disoriented from their journey through the warp, began to attack every living thing they could see.
His daemons were driven back, and his precious war engines, which could be deployed into the materium without a ritual, were being furiously devoured by these starving creatures. They seemed to have been hungry for a very long time. They didn't even spare the molten iron in the forge itself.
Hee hee~
A mocking laugh echoed from a crystal palace.
Vashtorr roared in fury.
"TZEENTCH, YOU—"
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