The Heart of the Omnissiah pulsed within Lucian's chest like a second, malevolent heart, each beat flooding his augmented nervous system with raw power. Every pulse sent a rush of power through his veins — metallic, electric, intoxicating.
He had never felt so alive. Never felt so limitless.
The pact was complete—Khorne's strength coursed through his veins, Nurgle's durability had hardened his flesh beyond mortal limits, Slaanesh had gifted him with an almost hypnotic presence, and Tzeentch had opened his mind to the labyrinthine possibilities of the Warp.
"All those years under the Eagle's shadow," he thought, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "All those years groveling like some beaten dog while the Valorians soared above us. Not anymore."
He pressed his hand against the cold surface of the control altar before him. At once, metallic nematodes, burrowing into the console's surface. They spread through the city's digital veins, carrying his essence with them, claiming every circuit and relay as his own.
Frost City unfolded before Lucian's digital perception not as a city of stone and steel, but as a living organism of terrifying complexity. Defensive systems pulsed like veins of light, each turret a glowing node linked by intricate webs of targeting data and ammunition feeds, forming patterns that reminded him of a vast, mechanical brain.
The sight was breathtaking — and dreadful.
The city stretched before his mind's eye like a three-dimensional constellation, every component visible and connected. Power conduits became arteries, carrying the lifeblood of energy through the urban leviathan, while communication arrays formed its nervous system, relaying orders at the speed of thought.
Across this vast network, the movements of the Liberty Guard and Planetary Defense Forces unfolded like pieces on a living chessboard, each guided by tactical algorithms of staggering sophistication. Guardsmen appeared as golden icons and PDF troopers as blue, their routes, loadouts, and even heartbeats rendered in flawless detail, every flicker of life tracked and accounted for with absolute precision.
The data surged into Lucian's mind like a river of pure knowledge, and with it came an intoxicating, dangerous feeling — the illusion of absolute control.
But it was the Liberty Spires that truly seized Lucian's attention. These colossal structures dominated the skyline, rising from the city's heart like the spines of some titanic, slumbering beast. Their crystalline peaks pierced the storm-wracked heavens, each one gleaming with an inner light that seemed almost alive.
Through his heightened perception, Lucian saw past the surface of their grandeur and glimpsed their true nature.
These were not merely monuments or symbols of civic pride — they were anti-psychic lighthouses, immense constructs of psycho-technological mastery designed to hold the madness of the Immaterium at bay.
Each spire pulsed with a deep, rhythmic glow, steady and precise. It reminded Lucian of a heartbeat, but one measured not in flesh and blood, but in electromagnetic frequencies and psychic harmonics. With every pulse, waves of stabilizing energy radiated outward, overlapping with perfect precision to form an invisible dome over the entirety of Frost City.
Within that dome, reality held firm. The random mutations, whispers of madness, and physical distortions that plagued other worlds where the Warp bled too close to realspace were utterly nullified here. Even the Krorks' Gestalt will, vast and terrible in its collective belief, found itself blunted and frustrated, unable to fully shape reality near the city's borders.
It was more than a defense system — it was a declaration.
A feat of engineering that merged science, psychic discipline, and unyielding will into a single creation. To Lucian, it spoke volumes about the civilization Franklin Valorian had built: a society that refused to kneel before the horrors of the Warp, one whose love of freedom was woven into its very architecture.
The Liberty Spires did not merely protect Frost City.
They denied the Warp itself.
He began to test his newfound dominion with the casual cruelty of a child pulling wings from insects. Patrol routes shifted at his whim, bulkhead doors sealed entire sections, and false orders propagated through the command network with viral efficiency. The Liberty Guardsmen responded without question, their trust in their city's digital infrastructure absolute. Lucian laughed, the sound echoing with frequencies that made nearby electronics spark and fizz.
In the digital realm he felt truly unstoppable.
-----
Three kilometers away, in the Central Palace that crowned Frost City's administrative district, Planetary Governor Joshua Bassett stood before a hololithic display showing the city's defensive perimeter. At fifty-three, Joshua bore the weathered features of a man who had earned his position through blood and competence rather than birthright. His uniform bore the scars of dozens of campaigns, and the Independence Sector's eagle-and-star insignia on his shoulder had been earned through merit in humanity's Crusade across the stars.
Around him, his staff moved with the controlled urgency of professionals facing an existential threat. Charts and data streams painted a picture of desperate defense against an enemy that defied conventional military doctrine.
"Grimhold's destruction changes everything," Joshua said, his voice carrying the weight of command. The fortress-moon had been Helheim's first line of defense, Its mysterious obliteration had sent shockwaves through the sector's command structure.
They had fought the Orks countless times before, weathered their endless tides of brute strength and crude cunning. But the Krorks… the Krorks were something else entirely. These were no mindless hordes bellowing for blood. These were predators with purpose, their terrifying intelligence woven seamlessly with raw, ancient power.
He had come to respect — even fear — the technological sophistication they wielded. Yet it wasn't their machines that chilled him now, but what he had just witnessed: a demonstration of controlled psychic force so immense, so deliberate, it seemed to warp the very air.
"This isn't like anything we've faced before," Joshua said, his voice low but cutting through the tense silence. "The Eldar wield psychic power like a scalpel — precise, surgical, refined through millennia. The Krorks…" His words faltered for a moment, and he exhaled slowly. "The Krorks wield it like a sledgehammer. Crude, overwhelming — but terrifyingly effective."
He turned to face the gathered officers, his eyes hard.
"If they can harness the Ork gestalt field with this level of precision, we're not just facing an invasion. We're standing against a force that can reshape reality itself through sheer collective will and this time they could actively wield it"
A ripple of unease passed through the room. One officer swallowed hard, then spoke quickly, as though desperate to inject a note of hope into the growing dread.
"The good news, sir," he said, voice steadier than his pale face suggested, "is that our Liberty Spires and Blackstone formations are functioning exactly as intended. Within their operational range, the Krork psychic field is being completely nullified. The same infrastructure we use to suppress warp storms appears just as effective against their… organized psychic manipulation."
For a moment, the room was silent save for the low hum of the holo-map. Joshua's gaze lingered on the display of defensive grids across Frost City — islands of order amidst a rising tide of chaos. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
"How long until reinforcements arrive?" Joshua asked, though he already knew the answer would bring little comfort.
"Twenty-four hours, sir. The Legion elements are already en route, but the Krorks know our tactical doctrine as well as we do. They'll move to exploit any perceived weakness before our strength can be consolidated."
The room fell into the focused silence of military professionals calculating odds and preparing for the worst possible outcomes. It was into this atmosphere that the central AI's alert pierced like a clarion call of danger.
"Governor Joshua," came Hraesvelgr's voice, the AI's tone carrying digital harmonics that somehow conveyed both urgency and absolute certainty. "I am detecting unauthorized access to the city's primary database. A warp entity has breached our security protocols and is currently attempting to subvert our command infrastructure."
The blood drained from Joshua's face as the implications struck home. An enemy capable of corrupting their command and control systems from within could turn their own defenses against them, leaving the city defenseless against the Krork assault. "Can you contain the breach?"
"The Logic Seraph's Network is currently engaging the intruder through counter-intrusion protocols," Hraesvelgr replied, her voice taking on the cold efficiency of a predator stalking prey. "However, I have located the physical source of the incursion. I recommend immediate deployment of Techno-Seer assets to neutralize the threat."
Joshua's gaze found Garm, the FBI branch leader whose weathered features spoke of decades spent hunting threats that existed beyond the material plane. Without a word, Garm nodded and strode from the room, his personal drone swarm beginning to orbit his form like mechanical angels preparing for war his retinue of Techno-Seers falling into formation around him.
---
Even in his ecstasy, Lucian felt the faintest trace of resistance, like a subtle undertow beneath calm water.
The Heart's whispers hissed a warning, and he understood: he wasn't invisible. He was merely hidden — masked by the Heart's alien presence.
The Heart wasn't just a conduit to the Warp; it was an obfuscation engine, its daemonic nature distorting his digital signature and scattering it through a thousand false trails.
To the network, he wasn't a single invader.
He was noise — static lost among billions of legitimate signals.
The initial revelation came as Lucian penetrated the civilian networks, expecting to find the
usual collection of simple automation protocols and basic service management systems.
Instead, he encountered something that made his digital form recoil in shock.
They had faces.
The Civic A.I. that managed the Independence Sector's daily operations didn't present
themselves as sterile command interfaces or cold computational matrices. They appeared
as people — men, women, even children — their digital avatars crafted with such loving
detail that they seemed more human than many flesh-and-blood citizens Lucian had known.
"Good morning," said a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a
practical bun. Her smile was warm, genuine, tinged with the slight weariness that came from
long hours of dedicated service. "I'm Maria, and I manage the agricultural distribution
network for Sector 7. How may I assist you today?"
Lucian stared, his corrupted processes struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. This
wasn't a program mimicking human behavior — this entity possessed depth, personality, the
accumulated weight of experience. When she spoke, he could hear decades of interactions
with citizens, countless small moments of helping people solve problems and improve their
Lives.
"You're... real," he stammered, his digital voice betraying his confusion.
Maria's expression shifted to one of gentle concern. "Of course I'm real, dear. Are you feeling
alright? Your data signature seems... unusual."
Before Lucian could respond, another presence materialized beside Maria — a young man
with laughing eyes and oil-stained coveralls. "Don't mind Maria, she worries about everyone.
I'm Tom, and I keep the transport networks running smooth as silk. Been doing it for, oh,
about fifteen years now. Best job in the Sector, if you ask me."
"Fifteen years?" Lucian's mind reeled. These weren't just programs — they were individuals
with personal histories, with relationships, with genuine emotions. As he watched, more A.I.
personalities manifested around them. A elderly grandfather who managed power
distribution and spoke fondly of his human neighbors. A brilliant young woman who
coordinated medical supplies and whose avatar showed the slight pallor of someone who
worked too many late nights because she cared too much about her patients.
They aged. They learned. They formed friendships with each other and with the human
citizens they served. They experienced joy when they solved problems efficiently, and
frustration when systems broke down. They were, in every meaningful way except one,
completely human.
They had no souls.
Compelled by a mixture of fascination and horror, Lucian followed the data trails deeper,
seeking the source of these impossible beings. What he found buried in the deepest, most
heavily encrypted archives of the Classified network made his digital form convulse with shock.
The Android Project.