Cruz Hive City – Lower Hive
At the temporary camp of the 13th Infantry Company of the Vilettalis Storm Regiment, the Solar Auxilia returned in squads, soaked in blood and bits of flesh, pausing for a brief rest.
They had swung their shock batons and power axes too fast and too hard for the glory of the Savior—draining, exhausting work.
A temporary warehouse had already been set up. More supplies and ammunition were continuously being delivered.
Although the Holy Terra Material Allocation Committee had only just been established and many transport routes were not yet in place, the troops under the Savior's command were already receiving their logistics.
The Internal Affairs Office, originally founded for the Unyielding Crusade, excelled in military logistics coordination.
As a result, the first batches of supplies had been prioritized and delivered to the Savior's forces across the warfront.
"My God!"
The adjutant hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of Grox meat and stared wide-eyed at the newly distributed food, practically drooling. "Is that… fruit? That's incredibly rare!"
His family, though fallen from nobility, could still afford to eat starchy meat on special holidays.
But fruit? That was an aristocrat's indulgence—far beyond the reach of ordinary families.
Especially on Holy Terra, where the immense travel times meant fruits had to be shipped using advanced cryo-storage or stasis fields to avoid the corruption of the Warp.
However, the Savior's territory had specifically developed transportation tech for fruits—high-efficiency preservation and Warp-resistant.
Only such a wealthy domain could afford to waste time and resources researching something like that.
The Savior, worried that the Solar Auxilia might grow sick of eating too much meat, had personally ordered a batch of fruit to be delivered.
These were originally intended to fleece nobles, but now they were being used to boost soldier morale.
And when you had overwhelming military might, who cared how you fleeced them?
Around the adjutant, the soldiers looked at the golden, fragrant fruit in their hands, dazed and uncertain.
Born in the slums of Holy Terra, many of them had rarely even seen green plants, let alone such luxurious fruits.
But upon hearing the adjutant's explanation, they eagerly followed suit and stuffed the so-called "orange" into their mouths.
They took big bites.
"Praise the Savior—this tastes amazing!"
"It's so good! Hahahahaha!"
Several Solar Auxilia soldiers were completely enchanted. The taste was so pure, with none of the bitterness or weird aftertastes they were used to.
They couldn't stop raving—nor could they find the words to describe it.
"So sweet!"
The adjutant, born into a former noble officer's family, licked the orange juice from his fingers and gave the correct verdict.
"This kind of thing must have some kind of strange effect, right?"
"Now that you mention it… I do feel stronger after eating it. I could definitely hack a few more heretics for the Savior!"
The soldiers were full of excited chatter.
Meanwhile, at the outer perimeter of the camp, newly organized security forces—those who had surrendered—were also receiving basic rations, though their meals were far inferior.
Still, it was the best food many of them had seen in ages.
"So this is what the Savior's troops get treated like…"
Some of the newly appointed commanders of the security forces, stationed nearby, stared in stunned silence at their own food.
They could smell the irresistible aroma wafting over from the Solar Auxilia's side. They overheard talk of oranges.
Their mouths watered uncontrollably.
These new commanders couldn't help but wish for the same treatment. They, too, wanted to taste the legendary fruit.
They wanted meal stipends and the honor that came with it.
Quietly, many of them lowered their heads and choked back tears as they shoveled food into their mouths.
They were loyal too. They wanted to rise as well.
The Solar Auxilia camp grew ever more animated. The Savior's envoy had just delivered an Honor Banner, commending their bravery.
The banner bore their company's emblem, alongside the insignias of the Savior, the Lord Commander of the Astra Militarum, and even Living Saints.
It was the highest recognition.
The adjutant gazed up at the dark-golden banner fluttering in the air, savoring the orange's lingering sweetness.
Suddenly, tears rolled down his face.
The Savior had shown them so much favor.
He couldn't imagine what kind of army deserved such blessings.
Perhaps only during the Great Crusade, under the command of the Lords of Sol, did the Solar Auxilia receive such treatment.
They weren't worthy yet—not truly. But they would be.
They had to be.
Little did he know, this was standard treatment for the Savior's elite troops.
"Form up! New orders have arrived!"
Not long after, Holmes issued the latest battle command to the entire camp.
The Solar Auxilia and tens of thousands of security forces assembled and moved out toward another unrest zone.
Weapons in hand, they surged forward, brimming with unrelenting battle spirit.
...
Temporary Savior's Sanctuary
"Their morale is even higher than I expected. Hopefully, their speed matches their fervor…"
Eden stood on a balcony, gazing out at the columns of smoke and fire rising across the hive city.
The core regions of Holy Terra were now engaged in sweeping military purges.
His forces had to move fast—suppressing rebellion, subduing local militias, and occupying strategic sectors to restore order.
Starting from the underhive, moving upward through the midhive and into the spire.
Once the sub-sectors and their lower departments were all under his command…
Let the Terran High Council and the cowards hiding in their fortresses fend for themselves.
Eden had hesitated at first—should he storm the upper spire directly, or start from below and sweep upward?
But after witnessing the ferocity of the Solar Auxilia and their ever-expanding ranks, he'd committed fully to a bottom-up purge.
At the outset, the Savior's army consisted of the Thunder Custodians, a few thousand Astartes, and over a million Solar Auxilia—plus various allied units totaling several million.
But after the cleansing operations began, their numbers swelled rapidly, absorbing many surrendering factions.
The army now approached ten million strong—capable of sweeping the spires and growing further by the day.
Every captured militant force was added to the expanding tide.
The ancient fortresses were still too strong to breach in the short term, but once the outside was secured, the inside would collapse on its own.
After all, power came from people. Once Eden controlled the people, the bureaucrats locked inside their bastions would become powerless relics.
They'd have no choice but to obey.
What began as a martial law enforcement had now evolved into a full-blown civil war—open and unmistakable.
Both sides were armed and fighting over control of Imperial institutions—a "Terran Spring" in its most violent, raw form.
Par for the course in the Imperium.
If Eden's forces failed to maintain momentum, they would invite a disastrous counter-reaction.
Holy Terra would rot again—just like during Guilliman's initial reforms.
The traitors and heretics would pounce. Even the Dark Gods might slip in a hand.
His only hope now was speed and dominance.
He gave the troops two weeks—half a month—to secure the most vital sectors.
But he couldn't shake the unease.
No war was ever certain. He'd done everything he could.
All that remained now was to wait—and hope.
With a sigh, Eden returned to the hall and joined his allies, awaiting the next battle reports…
...
Meanwhile, across the hive cities of Holy Terra…
As martial law spread and the Savior's forces advanced, various sub-sectors received secret orders.
Those still loyal to the High Lords and ruling elite were commanded to resist—by any means necessary.
If they failed, they would lose everything under the Savior's reckoning.
Military forces across numerous departments began mobilizing.
Not just official armed forces—private militias, hive gangs, mutants, even cults joined in the resistance.
They fanned the flames of chaos.
Smoke choked the skies. Fire and screams filled the streets. In some regions, even heavy weapons were deployed.
The embers of rebellion grew hotter.
...
Lower Hive – Market District
Once a semi-legal black market for rotting meat, algae, corpse starch, toxic alcohol, and miscellaneous junk—this district had fed hundreds of thousands.
But now it was in chaos. Shanties were trampled and collapsed. Civilians fled in all directions.
A gang called the Rustchain Family had seized control—slaughtering the old market overseers.
The hive's vast, fragmented infrastructure made many regions virtually ungovernable. Gangs thrived in this vacuum of power.
Together with the security forces, they formed a dual-layered shadow governance, often outnumbering the legitimate authorities.
Now, they were stepping fully into the light.
The Rustchain Family, backed by a department official, had received weapons, promises of territory, and permission to resist the Savior's troops.
Their job: cause as much chaos as possible.
And in return, they could keep the market once the dust settled.
This was the enemy's plan—to drown the Savior in an endless stream of small wars, drain his forces, and slow his purge.
The Rustchain gang, fully armed and drunk on ambition, dreamed of power.
"Savior my ass. The hive belongs to the gangs now! This place is Rustchain territory!"
Their thugs had never encountered high command figures—and held no reverence for any authority.
They worshipped brute strength, slaughtered dissenters, and abused the locals to assert dominance.
But they underestimated the sheer difference in power brought by the Savior's forces—and the terrifying gap in technology.
It didn't take long.
The Solar Auxilia's armored vehicles came roaring in, followed by countless security forces.
A storm of anti-riot weapons thundered across the district.
"What… what the hell is happening?"
Amid the choking smoke, Rustchain lieutenant Bloodscar collapsed to his knees, his augmented body covered in blood.
He stared blankly at the severed limbs before him.
They belonged to the gang's patriarch—their strongest fighter—who even had high-grade power armor.
But that man had just been cut to pieces by a power axe. Right in front of him.
Bloodscar was completely dazed.
In the moment of the strike, he didn't even know how many times he'd been hit.
Five? Six? More?
He had no clue.
He only knew one thing—
The dream of the Rustchain Family had just been shattered.
In the distance, more steel-clad warriors dismantled the last of their fighters.
Cold. Unrelenting. Merciless.
The security forces swung their stun batons wildly at the defeated gang members—perhaps even more zealously than the steel-armored warriors.
Zzzzt—
"No—stop!"
Bloodscar took several more hits, curling up on the ground and twitching as electricity surged through his nerves. His will was nearly broken—yet, oddly, the current jolted his mind into sharp clarity.
"Savior!"
This gang enforcer forced his trembling body to straighten and cried out: "Commander! I'm loyal—I'm a faithful servant of the Savior of Terra!"
Soon, more gang members followed his lead, crying loyalty in hopes of sparing their lives.
The entire market district echoed with proclamations of allegiance.
The harder the batons and power axes swung, the more "loyal" they became.
Meanwhile, the Savior's forces had initiated a complete purge of the area—every traitor and unfaithful soul was brought to judgment.
Even street urchins took a few beatings.
As for true heretics and rebels—they met only annihilation.
...
Cult Hideout
"O Master of Change…"
The dark, muttered chants choked with fear. Panic seeped in.
These cultists had received generous blood offerings from a noble patron, preparing to summon the Great Many-Eyed One.
But halfway through the ritual, the Savior's troops arrived.
The cultists scattered in terror, only to be shredded by bolter fire—turned into red mist.
The Savior's army showed no mercy to heretics.
An Ogryn Prime led the Solar Auxilia in the assault, cleansing the heretic site with brutal efficiency.
"You are not loyal!"
The Ogryn Prime seized a daemonhost by the throat, dragging it from the air and pummeling it again and again.
His fists, clad in sacred-light-infused gauntlets, burned the possessed creature from within—burning the daemon inside with every blow.
The daemonhost shrieked in agony.
It would have preferred banishment back to the Warp—but the Ogryn Prime wasn't done. He was furious.
The daemon had dared to mock the Savior.
"Blasphemers must be punished! Ogryn hate blasphemers against the Savior!"
The Ogryn Prime growled, fists roaring like thunder. "Why aren't you responding?! You must pay for your insolence!"
Cracks spread across the daemonhost's skull. Its horns shattered. The pain drove it into a frenzy.
Putrid yellow-green mist spilled from its ruptured body.
"I—I'm sorry… I'm loyal… to the Savior…"
The daemon's voice rasped in a grotesque, twisted attempt at human speech—desperation and terror thick in its tone.
Under martial law, even daemons had to declare loyalty.
Satisfied at last, the Ogryn Prime crushed the daemonhost—and, with the Solar Auxilia, purified the entire site.
On the way back, he even recited a hymn he'd written for the Savior to his fellow troops.
...
Lower Hive – Administrative Office of Internal Affairs
Bzzzzt—
Layer after layer of force fields activated—the staff inside sensing an overwhelming threat.
"You are suspected of heresy and treason. The merciful Savior offers you one chance. Surrender for investigation immediately—or face judgment."
The warning came from a massive vox-speaker system.
The building was now surrounded by the Solar Auxilia. Several colossal artillery cannons aimed directly at it—the gaping barrels intimidating and unrelenting.
Since ordering the full purge, the Savior had deployed heavy artillery into the hives.
"Where's our backup?! WHERE'S THE DAMN REINFORCEMENTS?!"
Inside the building, the local Director of Internal Affairs was in full panic. "Get the security forces here! We need to destroy them!"
"Sir, most of our forces have been wiped out—the rest have surrendered!"
The director froze.
He had followed orders from above, implementing sabotage plans against martial law.
He never expected the Savior's army to quell the riots so quickly—or to march straight to his doorstep.
"This is the sacred Department of Internal Affairs—established by the Emperor himself! Any attack here is treason!"
The director made a last desperate bid, attempting to stall via vox communication.
His tone softened.
"The Savior may investigate me, but it must be authorized by the Ministry… or at least show me a warrant—"
But he knew deep down—his building's shields wouldn't hold against those cannons.
He began to consider surrender—but perhaps he could still negotiate some terms.
Before he could finish speaking, the vox outside broadcasted a cold, final declaration:
"Negotiations failed. The heretics are resisting. Commence annihilation."
BOOM!!!
The artillery struck the force fields with a deafening roar, massive sparks and shockwaves erupting.
The Solar Auxilia had initiated a full bombardment.
The entire structure shook violently. Shrapnel rained down, causing widespread damage and casualties.
"It's just some underhive scum—why open fire?! How dare they?!"
The director was dumbstruck amid the thunder of explosions.
"Weren't we negotiating? At least make a counteroffer!"
"I surrender! We surrender!"
Some bureaucrats screamed—but due to their crimes, the Solar Auxilia commander had rescinded the offer of mercy.
"Help me—please!"
"I'm willing to be investigated by the Savior himself!"
Desperate pleas flooded the public comms of the administrative office.
The building was reduced to rubble.
Those cries of regret spread like wildfire, instilling dread in other departments across the lower hive.
And so, the next time they were surrounded—they surrendered immediately.
No one wanted to taste that kind of "negotiation."
...
Kolly Family Hall
Mechanical facilities buzzed. Protective field hums faintly echoed.
All the Kolly family leaders were gathered, visibly anxious.
The Kolly family were Terra's sacred scavengers and recyclers—managing waste across the vast hive city.
The nobility and clergy would never touch such filth, but the hive required someone to do the job.
In a way, a large part of Terra's lower classes survived on scraps thrown away by the elite.
This business had grown into an empire.
Those who couldn't survive otherwise often joined gangs to live another day.
The Kolly family had become one of the largest gang-clans in the lower hive—technically a clan, a step above a gang.
They held tech, repurposed waste, crafted weapons—and even harvested corpses.
Without them, starvation would be even worse.
Occasionally, they did the nobility's dirty work.
Not long ago, officials from Internal Affairs contacted them, trying to draw them into the fight against the Savior.
They promised weapons, resources, protection.
But Clan Leader Watersin had hesitated. Something felt wrong.
Then the situation exploded—the Savior's army took district after district, destroying cults and gangs alike.
Everyone was horrified.
Pssst—
Watersin's thin, dark body was scarred from chemical burns. He inhaled a nerve suppressant and looked around the hall.
"So… what now? Do we resist, surrender—or run?"
The hall burst into debate.
Some advised surrender—resistance was suicide.
Others said the High Lords had ruled for thousands of years—this Savior couldn't win.
But that idea was rejected.
If they resisted, they'd die long before the High Lords won anything.
Fleeing, however, was even worse—no matter who won, they'd be marked for death.
Someone pointed out that many of their subordinate gangs had already gotten involved. Given the Savior's ruthlessness, surrender might not even be accepted.
The hall fell into silence, the only sound being the soft clicks of cybernetic limbs.
There seemed to be no good answer.
Everyone turned to Watersin.
He had once been a high-ranking Terran official—only to lose his inherited position and fall into the underhive.
But he hadn't collapsed.
He'd rebuilt a clan with cunning and tenacity.
He was the wisest survivor among them—the only one who could decide their fate.
Watersin listened to the distant thunder of artillery. He inhaled deeply from his stim canister.
"I know this Savior. He will rule this world…"
His eyes glinted with resolution—as if making a choice, or perhaps asking one final question.
"So… when that time comes… where will our family stand?"
...
The Streets
Suddenly, sacred hymns praising the Savior echoed through the alleyways—uplifting, majestic.
The Kolly Clan took to the streets like other gangs—but not to riot or destroy.
They marched.
Dressed in ragged clothes, these once-filthy gang members raised banners and images of the Savior high above their heads.
They'd cobbled together rough vox-units to play sacred hymns downloaded from public channels.
They sang praises of the Savior's legend, even tattooed his symbols on their skin.
Watersin himself climbed atop the pilgrimage wagon with his family.
His scarred face beamed with reverence as he held up an image of the Savior's crucifixion, singing a hymn with heartfelt passion.
Children in greying white robes mimicked choir voices, their innocent tones echoing through the streets.
This was the Kolly Clan's pilgrimage of loyalty.
They swore allegiance. They welcomed the Savior's arrival. They begged to join humanity's path to prosperity.
Their display was crude—but undeniably sincere.
"Sergeant Major, do we… open fire?"
A Solar Auxilia adjutant had received a scout report.
He stared at the marching Kolly Clan, then glanced back at the incoming super-heavy tanks and artillery.
He didn't know what to do.
Not long ago, orders were clear.
They were to deploy heavy forces to crush the Kolly Clan—an underhive faction that had colluded with Internal Affairs.
But just as the tanks arrived, before the bombardment could begin—
They saw this.
And everyone froze.
"By the Savior… how do we even attack something like that?"
Even Holmes was stunned.
The Kolly Clan had seemingly surrendered.
They carried no weapons.
They waved both the Aquila and the Savior's flag.
They played sacred hymns and chanted praises.
He had his orders—but what was he supposed to do?
Drive a Baneblade through a pilgrimage caravan?
Shell a Savior effigy with heavy artillery?
That would be blasphemy.
Suddenly, it felt like his unit had run into a divine shield—an invisible barrier of loyalty and faith.
He couldn't destroy such a scene. He didn't have the heart—or the right.
Perhaps… this had to be reported to high command.
Holmes submitted the emergency report.
And so, this strange scene and its implications traveled up the chain of command.
Until finally—it reached the Savior's desk.
And now, the judgment awaited…
(End of Chapter)
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