"Did those tin-shelled machines in the Phanes System lose their memories and finally snap? Why the hell are they worshipping the Emperor?!"
Eden stroked his chin, weighing how this could even happen.
The projected image of the "Emperor" was unmistakably a fusion of the Emperor and the Necrons.
This Necron-Emperor wore a mechanical cloak and held a scepter, with a pharaoh-style headdress crowning his head. He even looked… mildly benevolent.
The more absurd part was the sight below the statue: a whole group of Necrons kneeling in worship.
To the old Imperium, this was intolerable heresy. How could the glorious Emperor be defiled like this?!
As the intelligence reported, the Phanes System had been completely seized by a Necron dynasty called "Karlozasa." They were not only profaning the Emperor, but also enslaving the Imperium's citizens there.
Years ago, when the 10th Fleet of the Indomitus Crusade's Phanes Detachment—Vigilus Battle Group Three—learned of it, they were furious.
The battle group's commander and senior officers could not tolerate such heresy. They resolved to annihilate the audacious xenos and rescue the citizens.
If the situation proved irredeemable, some high-ranking officials even wanted to launch cyclonic torpedoes and destroy the entire planet, so the taint would not spread any farther.
A necessary price.
For the moment, that conservative view was shelved.
Vigilus Battle Group Three's commander issued the final order:
"By the Emperor, we come to reclaim what was lost in accordance with the will of the Lord of Ultramar. Unless it is proven the citizens there are beyond salvation, we will still save them.
"Now, let us consider how to destroy those cursed xenos!"
Once the order was given, the fleet began redeploying forces for pre-war preparations.
They dispatched scout craft toward the Phanes System to probe Karlozasa's defenses and gather intelligence.
But the moment those ships entered the system, they were intercepted, destroyed, and went silent.
Plainly, the Necrons' perimeter was airtight, and they were highly alert to outside intrusion.
That forced the battle group to grow even more cautious. They didn't have many troops they could freely commit.
They had to move carefully.
What made it worse was what they found soon after: wreckage drifting out from the Phanes System.
Inside the wrecks, they found the scouts' corpses. The flesh had been shredded by long, thin claws, and the remains bore clear bite marks.
They even found mechanical limbs draped in human skin.
When Eden read that, his face darkened. "If those are Flayed Ones, then the Imperial citizens in the Phanes System are in real danger."
Necrons, after millennia of stasis, often woke with minds twisted in unpredictable ways. Those known as Flayed Ones were infected by a strange virus, obsessed with devouring flesh.
The most ridiculous part was that Necrons didn't even have digestive organs. They were only mimicking the sensation of eating flesh.
Flayed Ones were loathed by their own kind, and despised by every flesh-and-blood species in the galaxy, especially the Imperium.
So when Vigilus Battle Group Three identified that sign, they became determined to wipe out the Necron dynasty in the Phanes System and exterminate those insane xenos.
Yet while they were preparing for war, they received a plea for aid from Phanes Prime, the system's capital world.
And the one begging for help was the system governor himself: Zabbok the Crown-Broken.
He claimed to be a devout believer in the Emperor, and asked the Imperial fleet to assist Phanes against the heretical xenos rampaging within the system.
Such calls for help were routine in the Imperium. Battle groups constantly received distress signals from governors and worlds across the stars.
But the governor asking for help was a xenos, and likely a high-ranking Necron.
That was a different matter entirely.
Vigilus Battle Group Three's commanders judged it a crude lie. A mad xenos was trying to lure the fleet into the Phanes System.
There was probably a trap waiting—laid in advance—somewhere inside the system.
They had no doubt the Necrons were capable of building a trap on the scale required to destroy an entire fleet.
Necrons possessed vast tomb-machines.
They could alter the structure of space, sever or draw in Warp energy, and even change a star's magnetic polarity.
If the battle group blundered into the system's depths, they could face a danger they could not withstand.
In the end, Vigilus Battle Group Three's commander chose the opposite approach: draw more danger into the Phanes System, then strike while the enemy was distracted, smashing that insane dynasty in a sudden assault.
As for Imperial citizens, they would save as many as they could.
The priority was exterminating dangerous xenos.
"Classic old-Imperium doctrine," Eden said, looking at the war plan in the report. "No matter the cost, it's always: 'I want the xenos and the heretic dead.'"
Maybe that ruthlessness was how the Imperium survived this long.
But the era had changed. The Imperium needed better strategy.
Every Imperial citizen was a vital production asset. They should be preserved wherever possible, not spent like disposable ammunition.
Eden considered the situation for a moment and decided to intervene in the war for the Phanes System.
There might be something there he wanted, especially Necron wealth and secrets.
The technology of that ancient species could help him develop massive mechanical facilities meant to counter the Warp itself.
After sending a few messages, he walked into the spire's bedroom, raised the defensive void-shields, and returned his consciousness to his human body.
…
Dreamweaver.
Savior's Sanctum.
Eden rolled his shoulders, then casually handed the intelligence packet to his aide, who was waiting respectfully at his side.
"Tarko, what do you think?"
Tarko hesitated, then gave his answer.
"We need more intelligence before we can make a determination. As it stands, Vigilus Battle Group Three's plan is probably not a good choice. If the situation spirals out of control, we may lose the Phanes System permanently, and it could affect the wider campaign."
Tarko thought like the Savior did. He preferred a more stable solution, not excessive risk.
He especially refused to gamble with Imperial lives, particularly when the likely outcome involved mass casualties.
Eden nodded and issued the order. "Contact Vigilus Battle Group Three's commander, Adebayo, immediately. I have something to say."
The comms department reached the battle group commander quickly.
Hummm—
A half-body projection flared to life, linking the two sides.
Adebayo appeared before the Savior as a virtual image. He looked surprised, but offered a respectful salute.
"Savior… Your Majesty. Vigilus Battle Group Three will obey your will."
The battle group commander had clearly kept up with the Imperium's latest situation. He knew the Primarch of Hope had become the Imperium's new Emperor.
Even the Lord of Ultramar was expected to comply with that authority.
So Adebayo had to declare his loyalty, lest suspicion fall on him.
"Adebayo, effective immediately, Vigilus Battle Group Three is under my direct command," Eden said, skipping all pretense. "You are now part of this campaign."
There was little point in leaving the Indomitus Crusade's detached forces to operate independently anymore. Better to draw them back under unified planning, to prevent conflict with the new Imperium's deployments.
Eden needed more strength if he was going to win the Vigilus campaign.
Adebayo froze for a beat, then snapped to a full military salute, accepting the order.
"As you command."
He looked at the imposing Imperial Emperor before him, hesitating as if he wanted to ask something.
"You have the right to speak," Eden said mildly, not restricting him.
"Your Majesty… I want to know where the Regent—where the Lord of Ultramar, our Lord Guilliman, is now. We haven't received any news of him for a long time."
Eden thought: How would I know where that guy wandered off to? He's probably lost somewhere in the Warp, living like a feral savage.
But to avoid unnecessary problems and preserve Guilliman's dignity, Eden answered smoothly.
"The Lord of Ultramar is carrying out a confidential operation. Perhaps when this campaign ends, you will learn of his whereabouts."
Adebayo made no further comment, only inclining his head.
"From now on, you will coordinate with Tarko," Eden continued. "He is the Departmento Munitorum's responsible authority here, and he can represent my will."
With that, Eden withdrew, leaving the comms channel to his loyal aide.
His goal had been to seize the command authority. Everything else did not require a being of his level.
In truth, if outside support were available, an Imperial Emperor would rarely communicate directly with forces at the battle-group level.
Under Tarko's arrangements, Vigilus Battle Group Three established a defensive perimeter on the outskirts of the Phanes System.
They stood ready, awaiting further orders.
Meanwhile, Eden's Vigilus campaign expeditionary force—and Alaitoc's craftworld—also moved toward the Phanes System.
Once the time was right, the allied host would seize the system, destroy the Karlozasa Dynasty, and claim its inheritance.
Of course, Eden hadn't yet decided whether he truly wanted to annihilate that Necron dynasty.
In fact, he found the dynasty deeply interesting.
He dispatched missionary saints to investigate local conditions and determine whether the Karlozasa Dynasty had been collectively infected by the Flayer virus.
Those agents in synthetic-skin suits were experts at hiding in plain sight and blending into local society.
Especially in a place like Phanes, where faith in the Emperor ran deep.
Those nearly invisible blackstone reconnaissance craft took the safest routes toward the system's capital.
But not long after, Eden received an unexpected report.
An Ecclesiarchy force, obeying the sector archbishop's orders, had infiltrated Phanes Prime.
They had brought a lethal relic.
It seemed they intended to perish together with the planet the archbishop had condemned as heretical traitors…
—
Phanes Prime, the Main Hive.
This hive-city seemed forever shrouded in gray smog.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of mechanical limbs striking pavement echoed through the streets.
A patrol of Immortals, their eyes burning green, marched through the open as an assault detachment.
Yet when people saw them, there was no fear.
Only reverence.
Because the Immortals were the hive's guardians, the loyal soldiers under Governor Zabbok.
Many humans had lived under the "benevolent governor's" protection since their grandparents' generation.
They were long accustomed to it.
That being had sheltered the storm-battered Phanes System, ensuring people did not starve.
Phanes Prime's records showed that the planet had always suffered massive famines. The crushing Eleventh Tithe had nearly broken the population.
Since Zabbok and his loyal guards took control, no one had heard of a large-scale famine again.
And so he was revered.
In the distance, the Emperor's statue—staff in hand, mechanical cloak draped over His shoulders—looked down upon the streets and all living things, radiating green beams of light.
"By the Emperor…"
Today was Sunday. People hurried toward the grand cathedral to worship the Emperor and pray that He would protect Phanes, and protect their benevolent governor as well.
If they were lucky, they might glimpse the nobles.
They might even see the governor.
He was a devout believer, and when affairs were not urgent, he liked to visit churches across the hive, to worship and to listen to the true voices of Phanes' people.
The main hive looked peaceful.
Yet now and then, bursts of battle-fire flared in the distance.
Clearly, the planet was not as calm as it appeared, though those struggles did not greatly affect ordinary life.
The guardians of Phanes always threw themselves in harm's way, blocking explosions and bullets for the protected citizens, then swiftly eliminating the attackers.
The palace, the governor's residence.
Scribes hurried down the corridors, each carrying stacks of parchment so heavy that sweat streamed down their faces.
None dared slacken.
Because the governor of Phanes worked day and night to process affairs, exhausting himself for the sake of the planet.
They had to deliver the documents to his office as fast as possible.
Outside the office stood several-meter-tall royal guards in heavy armor, their living metal polished to a mirror shine.
They carried shields taller than a man, and held hyperphase spears that radiated oppressive intimidation.
"Protocol engaged. Confirm your identities."
The royal guards lowered their spears, blocking the scribes' procession.
Driven by protocol, they had to use scanning devices to verify every visitor.
It prevented disloyal intruders from slipping inside and threatening their Phaeron—or, as the humans called him, their governor.
Soon, the guards confirmed the scribes' identities and issued clearance authorization.
The scribes first offered the guards a look of respect, then entered the vast office.
The royal guards gave a slight nod, their living-metal bodies straightening even more.
They felt pride.
These high-ranking Necron nobles were not like common automatons. Though bound by protocol control, they still possessed self-awareness.
They were the Phaeron's elite guard.
Once inside the huge office, the scribes' reverence deepened. Their steps slowed, as if afraid to disturb the governor at work.
They gently placed the parchments in their designated location, saluted, then turned quietly to leave.
"Scribes… you've worked hard…"
A weary, raspy electronic voice sounded as a figure lifted his head from the towering piles of parchment.
He was thanking them for their labor.
The figure buried in paperwork was none other than Phanes' benevolent governor: Zabbok.
He stood a little over three meters tall, yet looked hunched, his living-metal body thin and spare.
Most striking was the black-gold crown on his head—missing one corner.
That damage was not from battle.
He had cut it away himself with a hyperphase sword.
It was Zabbok's warning to himself. He had said:
"If kingship cannot be used to protect, then it does not deserve to exist."
He had lived by that maxim ever since, never once betraying it.
Yet this Phaeron of the Karlozasa Dynasty had never realized that his memories were skewed after awakening.
He believed he was human.
And he worshipped the Emperor with absolute devotion.
Zabbok styled himself the Emperor's faithful servant, wishing to burn away everything he was for that holy being and for humanity.
He had driven out a rotten, brutal ruling class and pulled this world back from the brink.
That was why he was respected.
"To serve you is our honor," a representative scribe replied.
He said nothing more, leading the scribes away.
There was more work to do, and they did not want to disturb the governor any further.
He was already exhausted.
"By the Emperor… the workload grows heavier by the day…"
Zabbok picked up a parchment report. A trace of worry crossed his living-metal face, and somehow, fatigue and even wrinkles could be read there.
The parchments before him were only a portion.
He looked up.
Inside this enormous office stood rows of bookshelves more than ten meters tall, stacked to the brim with parchment documents.
Some dull-witted servitors worked mechanically, sorting papers into categories.
Centuries ago, Zabbok had been invested under the Emperor's holy legal codes and confirmed as system governor of the Phanes System.
When he first began handling governance, he preferred to feed information into a data-core and process it that way.
It was faster.
But soon he was savaged by court officials.
Using "abominable machines" to handle documents was heresy—an intolerable profanation against the great and holy Emperor. A grave danger.
Zabbok accepted the criticism and began processing affairs in the Imperium's older manner.
As a result, he was drowned by endless parchment, especially because he governed with increasingly meticulous detail.
Fortunately, his body was far superior to that of ordinary humans, and he required little sleep.
Only then could he endure this crushing pace of labor.
From time to time, he could still spare hours for pilgrimage, to worship the Emperor.
Zabbok and his "guards" believed that if they were loyal enough, the Emperor would one day cure their illness.
He would restore their flesh.
They would become normal humans again.
"The tithe-ship should arrive soon," Zabbok murmured, flipping through the Eleventh Tithe ledgers. "Phanes must submit the Eleventh Tithe, including the interest on arrears."
War's shadow was drawing near. Heretical xenos threatened Phanes, especially those mad Flayed Ones.
He feared the storage districts would be attacked, disrupting the tithe shipment.
The Eleventh Tithe was the Imperium's foundation. Paying it was Phanes' sacred duty and honor.
Since becoming governor, he had worked relentlessly to salvage the system's shattered production base, helping the planet catch its breath.
And ensuring it no longer risked failing to meet the holy Eleventh Tithe.
Back then, Zabbok and the court officials had been proud.
Their efforts had produced results.
Phanes had enjoyed an unprecedented harvest. They would pay the largest Eleventh Tithe in history, including the taxes the previous governor had left unpaid.
They would not be punished by the Adeptus Arbites.
They would be praised by Holy Terra itself.
To that end, Zabbok had written a letter to the tax authorities on Holy Terra.
He described Phanes' recovery in detail, and declared that the system was willing to shoulder even more sacred taxation, to ease the Imperium's worsening plight.
They believed that since Phanes had improved, it should bear more responsibility.
More tithe meant more help for more Imperial citizens.
Yet even now, Holy Terra had never replied.
Zabbok pondered the matter, and the green light in his eyes brightened slightly.
What was harder to understand was that more than a century ago, when an Imperial tithe-ship arrived, it hadn't even finished loading the Eleventh Tithe.
It had departed the system at speed.
Had it encountered some urgent catastrophe?
(End of Chapter)
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