The scrapcode, erupting from deep within Olympus Mons, spread like a predatory raptor, seeking any data stream to devour.
It infiltrated the forge networks of Mars like an assassin, replicating itself at a geometric rate, identifying weaknesses in data protection perimeters.
The wondrous flickering and rhythm of machine language, the vibrant data streams and the shimmering light of rich information, were twisted into shrieking, malformed abominations.
At the chemical refineries of Valles Marineris, north of Olympus Mons, the scrapcode warped the pressure valves.
A mixture of methyl isocyanate, phosgene, and hydrogen chloride flooded the water tanks used by the workers of the Northern Basin.
The deadly clouds of poison gas slowly seeped into the water, killing every living soul.
Every second, tens of thousands died.
The scrapcode then flooded Medusae Fossae, altering the composition of the air sustaining life.
Hydrogen cyanide gas was injected into every psyker. Within minutes, over six thousand psykers were gone.
The screams of the dying echoed beneath the Emperor's Dome.
The scrapcode's dial-tone invasion flared, then was silenced in an instant by the highest-authority alarm cancellation.
Abnormal currents surged through the circuits of machine after machine. Machine-spirits screamed.
Circuits, unable to bear the overload, exploded. Countless precision machines were destroyed in an instant.
The populace of Mars lived and died by the network. Now, they were caught in the coils of a malevolent trap, awaiting death.
The same disasters played out across the red planet's surface, machine after machine overloaded and exploded, driven by contradictory commands.
Factory explosions released toxic chemicals from storage facilities, combining with the devastating chain reactions. Within minutes, the death toll reached catastrophic proportions.
Arsia Mons, the southernmost of the three great volcanoes, was eternally shrouded in smoke. This dead volcano had been reawakened by Archmagos Koriel Zeth, who had built her Forge of the Magma City on its southern flank, at the edge of the Daedalus Planum.
The unstoppable tide of scrapcode crashed against the defensive lines of glowing golden light, then flowed around the Forge of the Magma City, like iron filings around a magnet.
The Forge's wide halls were practical, the materials worked with fluid elegance, forming precise geometric shapes.
Archmagos Arkhan Land, his head encased in a golden helm, his consciousness immersed in the noosphere.
"Lady Zeth, your remarkable creation is truly admirable."
Zeth, also wearing a golden helm, looked more like a warrior than a Martian Magos.
Like Arkhan, she possessed a natural form, her lithe body clad in form-fitting bronze armor.
Her voice echoed in the noosphere. "Few are fortunate enough to receive your praise. I am honored."
"But I must say, my research is not entirely my own creation. I was taught by Archmagos Keth, and built upon the work of Archmagos Laszlo."
Arkhan knew Archmagos Laszlo had been an artifact hunter and explorer. In the years before the Treaty of Olympus, he had made many journeys to Terra in search of ancient technological remains.
Laszlo had discovered a vast burial complex in the Giza crater, among the Gyptians.
His discoveries had advanced Martian understanding of energy transfer, atomic restructuring, and chemical engineering. Most importantly, his work had revealed new methods of human cognition and communication.
Zeth's wireless information technology, the noosphere, and her most important research project, the Akashic Reader, were both built upon their achievements.
"Don't forget, I am also an archaeologist," Arkhan said. "My Land Speeder, Land Raider, and other discoveries all came from archaeological finds."
"I am honored to be able to recreate the glory of the Omnissiah."
Through the purest form of consciousness communication, Zeth could feel the vibrant, leaping sparks of Arkhan's thoughts.
"Arkhan, I feel the same."
"You two still have time to discuss technology and praise each other." Ipluvien Maximal's consciousness radiated anger.
"I can now confirm that the attack on my primary reactor was certainly the work of the Legio Mortis, acting on the Fabricator General's orders."
"The Legio Tempestor depends on its power output. The Legio Mortis wanted to destroy it, to weaken a rival Legion."
"When the Princeps of the Mortis, Camulos, roared his denials at the Tharsis Council, I had no evidence. I believed he had planned it, but not directly ordered the attack. Now I know my trust was misplaced."
"The infection spread outward from the Fabricator General's forge. I have tried to communicate with him, but each time I am refused." Fabricator Locum Kane's voice joined.
"Forgive me. Organizing the code cleanup and data migration took some time." He apologized, then continued.
"I am now forced to believe the terrible truth Arkhan told us."
"The Warmaster has betrayed us. Kelbor-Hal has fallen to darkness."
"Arkhan, I thank you for your warning. Lady Zeth, I thank you for sharing your noosphere." Magos Tycho Brahe's consciousness radiated relief at having survived.
"My assets have been saved."
"In this dark hour, I have good news." The Guardian Magos of the Schiaparelli Repository on the Asplenia Planum said, his voice excited.
"Our two-thousand-year data archive, containing data from humanity's earliest days and the accumulated wisdom of ages, has been preserved."
"All of this is thanks to Arkhan and Zeth."
A wave of mental applause rippled through the noosphere.
One by one, the Magi expressed their deepest gratitude to Arkhan for the preservation of their assets.
He was no longer an outcast or a heretic. The image of the Black Emperor, high upon His throne in the dark mist, flashed through his mind.
"All of this is thanks to the revelation of the Omnissiah!"
"Praise be the Omnissiah!" the Magi chanted.
As the noosphere settled, Magos Maximal spoke: "We must report this to the Regent immediately. We must tell him of Mars's atrocities."
"No!" Arkhan countered.
"The Regent is not to be relied upon. Primarch Number Seven, having learned of Number Sixteen's betrayal, has gathered all the forces he can muster."
"One-third of the 7th Legion's strength has formed a punitive fleet."
"What can we expect from them? A few companies of enhanced warriors to stand against the Fabricator General's armies and God-machines?"
"Are you saying we should just wait to be destroyed?" Maximal roared.
"Of course not. Lord Nareth will help us."
"What?" Kane asked, confused.
"Lord Nareth has fewer than a hundred Shadow Guards in the Sol System. How can he help us?"
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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