[Into the second week, the Elysian Drop Troops continue their resistance.]
[Your trench network and underground passages prove their worth. Each company weathers the T'au bombardment through constant movement, never staying in one position long enough to be targeted effectively.]
[But the T'au adapt. They always adapt.]
[Unable to dig out the Elysians with firepower alone, they deploy Kroot auxiliaries en masse. The alien mercenaries are natural tunnel fighters, comfortable in close quarters, deadly with blade and claw. They pour into the underground passages in waves, forcing brutal hand-to-hand combat in the dark.]
[Above ground, the surface facilities have fallen. T'au battle suits hold every major building, their position unassailable without heavy weapons the Elysians simply don't possess.]
[Your company launches several counter-attacks, trying to reclaim lost ground. Each assault breaks against the wall of pulse fire and shield drones. Each retreat costs more lives.]
[The company commander falls in the third attempt, cut down by a Crisis suit's plasma rifle at close range. He dies instantly, at least. No suffering.]
[General's orders come through the degraded vox network: you're to assume command of the company immediately.]
[You accept without hesitation. There's no one else.]
[Your first orders are pragmatic: rotate the soldiers for rest, conserve ammunition, avoid unnecessary combat.]
[Your second decision is tactical: you personally lead teams of close-combat specialists into the tunnels. Someone has to hold the line against the Kroot. You're the best qualified.]
[By the third week, your movements have become mechanical.]
[Your power sword sweeps through another Kroot's guard, shattering their crude weapon. The return stroke removes their head cleanly. The blade's power field cauterizes as it cuts, but blood still sprays. It always does.]
[The foul-smelling ichor coats your broken carapace armor. Your helmet was lost days ago in a collapsed tunnel. You wipe blood from your face with the back of your hand and struggle to catch your breath.]
[The T'au tunnel assaults have slowed recently. You're not sure why. Possibly they're running low on Kroot. Possibly they're trying a different approach.]
[Your company has been surrounded, cut off from the other Elysian units. Communication is sporadic at best. You have no idea what's happening outside your small section of the underground network.]
[Fifty-three soldiers remain under your command. Out of a hundred and twenty.]
[Ammunition stocks are adequate, surprisingly. But food ran out three days ago. Everyone survives on water alone now, growing weaker by the hour.]
[You withdraw from the forward position, leaving the Kroot corpses behind. No time to police the dead.]
[In the main tunnel hub, a pale-faced trooper approaches. You recognize him: squad leader from Third Platoon.]
["Captain," he says quietly. "We have a problem."]
["More Kroot?" Your voice is flat with exhaustion.]
["No, sir. It's... the T'au have been communicating with our people. Using captured translators who speak Low Gothic. They've been offering terms."]
[Something cold settles in your stomach. "Go on."]
[The trooper's jaw clenches. "The General has been captured. Other companies are surrendering. The T'au are promising food, medical care, fair treatment. Some of our people are... considering it."]
[You're silent for a long moment.]
["Assemble the company. Everyone. Now."]
[The remaining soldiers gather in the largest excavated chamber. Fifty-three faces, gaunt with hunger, pale with exhaustion. They look at you with expressions ranging from hope to resignation.]
[You scan the crowd. Looking for one face in particular.]
["Where's White-Hair?" The female trooper should be here. She's never missed a briefing.]
[A soldier with only one arm raises his stump. His eyes glisten. "She died this morning, Captain. Kroot ambush in Tunnel Seven."]
[The news hits harder than it should. You barely knew her. But she'd been competent. Brave. One of the good ones.]
[You sigh and let the power sword tip drop to the floor.]
["You know the situation," you begin, your voice carrying in the enclosed space. "You probably know it better than I do. The other companies are surrendering. General Sekawa is captured. The T'au are offering terms."]
[Silence. Absolute silence.]
["So I'm not going to stop anyone who wants to surrender. According to what I understand about the T'au, they're genuine about their offer. You'll be treated well. Fed. Given medical attention. Invited to join their 'Greater Good.'"]
[You pause, choosing your next words carefully.]
["You'll probably have better lives than the Imperium ever gave you. Better food than corpse-starch rations. Better living conditions than hab-block slums. Better treatment than most Imperial citizens ever receive."]
[Some soldiers shift uncomfortably. Others nod slowly.]
["Over time, you'll start to see the Imperium differently. You'll despise it. Maybe even hate it. That might be the price of choosing to survive."]
[You pick up your power sword and turn toward the tunnel exit.]
["Anyone who wants to leave, leave your weapons and ammunition for those staying. And those who choose to stay: don't judge the ones who go. It's their choice. A valid choice."]
[You walk out without looking back.]
[Behind you, the soldiers talk in hushed voices. Arguments. Discussions. A few tears.]
[When the count is finally taken, thirty-five chose to stay.]
[More than you expected. Far more.]
[You organize them into fire teams, redistribute ammunition, prepare for the end. Whatever it looks like.]
[The fourth week. You lead the starving soldiers out of the underground passages and into daylight.]
[You expect immediate assault. Pulse fire, missiles, the quick death of overwhelming firepower.]
[Instead, drones swarm toward you. Hundreds of them, small floating machines bristling with sensors. They surround your position but don't attack.]
[Your hand rises, stopping your soldiers from opening fire. Something else is happening here.]
[The drones project light. Blue holographic illumination coalesces into a towering figure.]
[A T'au Ethereal. The highest caste, the leaders of their empire. This one wears elaborate robes, ornate armor, carries a ceremonial staff that pulses with subtle energy. The figure is at least three times human height, though you know that's just the hologram's scale adjustment.]
[When it speaks, the voice is wrong. The tones are alien, the accent bizarre, but the words are Low Gothic. Comprehensible.]
["Brave warriors of the Imperium of Man. Lower your weapons. There is no need to die in a battle you cannot win. Even your general has accepted the wisdom of surrender. He now serves the Greater Good."]
[The Ethereal gestures with its staff. The movement is elegant, calculated to appear benevolent.]
["If you surrender and join us, if you open yourselves to the teachings of the T'au'va, you will receive the full friendship of our empire. Food. Shelter. Purpose. Medical care for your wounded."]
["Together, our species can coexist peacefully. Work together. Build a future of prosperity for all sentient beings in this galaxy. Is that not preferable to meaningless death?"]
[The Ethereal pauses, clearly expecting a positive response.]
[You raise your power sword slowly, pointing the blade at the hologram's head.]
["Tell me something," you say, your voice carrying across the ruins. "Have you ever encountered the Necrons? Those ancient machines that want to harvest all organic life?"]
[The Ethereal's expression shifts slightly. Confusion, perhaps.]
["Have you been attacked by a Tyranid hive fleet? Watched entire worlds consumed by the Great Devourer?"]
["Have you tried reasoning with Orks? Those howling green-skinned beasts who live only for war?"]
[You take a step forward.]
["Do you even understand what the Warp is? What Chaos truly means? The things that lurk in that hellish dimension, hungry for souls?"]
[A cold smile touches your lips.]
["In this cold, dark universe, weakness and ignorance have never been obstacles to survival. But arrogance?" You pause. "Arrogance is fatal."]
[The Ethereal's projected form straightens, the benevolent expression replaced by something harder. Offended pride.]
["You reject enlightenment, then. You choose death over wisdom. How... typical of your species."]
[The hologram vanishes.]
[The drones don't attack. They simply withdraw, flying back toward T'au lines with eerie synchronization.]
[Your soldiers look at each other, confused by the reprieve. Some laugh nervously. Others just seem relieved to have a few more minutes of life.]
[You turn your gaze to the horizon.]
[Missile contrails appear in the distance. Seeker missiles, dozens of them, rising from T'au positions several kilometers away. They arc across the sky in graceful parabolas.]
[All of them targeted on your position.]
[You sigh. Of course. The T'au tried diplomacy, and when it failed, they defaulted to overwhelming firepower. Efficient. Practical. Very T'au.]
[You straighten your back and turn to face your soldiers. Thirty-five men and women who chose death over compromise. Who stayed loyal to the Imperium even when the Imperium had abandoned them.]
[Your expression is solemn. Respectful.]
[You raise your hand in a formal salute.]
["Soldiers of the Imperium," you say clearly. "It has been an honor. I'll see you all in the next life."]
[They return the salute as one.]
[The missiles descend.]
[Light. Heat. Thunder.]
[Then nothing at all.]