Chapter 21: Humanity Never Yields
The Master of Mankind stood before the command console, His noble countenance darkening as He contemplated the implications of the vox-transmission. Having gazed upon the fundamental truths that underpinned reality itself, such warnings held no terror for Him—yet the information they conveyed demanded careful consideration.
Was this missive born of benevolence, sent to spare the Petakanas system from the ravages of Old Night? Or had this distant outpost of humanity truly become a charnel house of the damned?
"Raven," the Emperor spoke through the psychic link that bound them, His mental voice carrying across the aetheric void to His companion. "What counsel do you offer?"
"Not much thinking room up here on your shoulder, Big Guy," came the irreverent response, though the creature's tone carried an undertone of respect it had not possessed in their earliest encounters. "But I say we drop in and sample the local cuisine. Been wondering if daemon-world fries taste as bad as they smell."
The faintest ghost of amusement touched the Emperor's features—a fleeting expression that spoke of humanity preserved even in one who had transcended mortal limitations.
"Then we shall descend," He declared. "And I shall ensure you taste whatever delicacies await us in this supposed hell."
The Great Crusade had been launched to reunite the scattered children of Terra and restore humanity to its rightful place among the stars. Even should the Petakanas system have become a realm of the damned, retreat was inconceivable.
If survivors yet drew breath in that distant hell, the Emperor would move heaven and earth to liberate them from their torment. If humanity had already been extinguished from those worlds, then those responsible would face the wrath of the Master of Mankind Himself.
"Information Adept," the Emperor commanded, His voice carrying the absolute authority of ten thousand years. "Initiate immediate trace protocols on that transmission."
"At once, my lord."
The response came swiftly. The warning had been broadcast from an orbital platform in the outer reaches of the Petakanas system's second world—a satellite that should have been teeming with human life according to the fragmentary records salvaged from the Dark Age of Technology.
Petakanas was a binary star system, twin yellow suns locked in their eternal dance, their combined gravitational embrace creating stable orbital paths for five worlds.
Three were terrestrial spheres capable of sustaining human life; two were gas giants whose moons had once hosted thriving colonies.
According to the scattered archives of humanity's golden age, the second planet had been the crown jewel of the system—the most populous world, the commercial heart of a thriving stellar civilization.
"Signal the fleet," the Emperor pronounced, His words carrying across the command deck with the weight of divine decree.
"Advance at maximum velocity. All forces are to prepare for combat operations. If this warning proves false, the local authorities will submit to Imperial authority. If the second world has indeed become a realm of the damned, then we shall wage war against hell itself."
His golden eyes swept across the assembled bridge crew, each gaze a benediction and a promise.
"Nothing shall prevent us from reclaiming humanity's birthright. Not heretics. Not xenos. Not even the denizens of the Warp itself."
The expeditionary fleet spread across the void in perfect formation, each vessel a cathedral of war blessed by the Emperor's own hand. The Bucephalus, flagship of the Master of Mankind, led the advance, its massive frame cutting through space like a golden blade.
Plasma drives ignited in sequence as the fleet accelerated toward their destination, maintaining disciplined spacing as they approached the benighted world.
Days passed in the cold silence of the void before the fleet achieved stable orbit around the second planet. What they discovered defied even the Emperor's expectations.
Every human construct in the orbital sphere hung silent and lifeless. Massive space cities that had once housed millions drifted as tomb-ships, their lights extinguished, their corridors filled only with the void.
Orbital stations and defense platforms showed no signs of life—only the desiccated remains of what had once been a thriving civilization.
Reconnaissance squads of Astartes and Mechanicum adepts were dispatched to investigate these derelict structures. Their reports painted a picture of horror that chilled even veteran warriors who had witnessed the worst depredations of xenos and heretics.
"The deceased shows signs of prolonged torture, my lord," reported Captain Valdor as he reviewed the initial findings. "Based on atmospheric analysis and decay patterns, these deaths occurred during the earliest phases of Old Night. The dry, sterile environment has preserved the corpses in remarkable detail."
The accompanying pict-captures were difficult to look upon, even for those who had witnessed countless battlefields. Tens of thousands of human beings had been subjected to systematic brutality before their deaths.
The expressions frozen on their faces spoke of terror and despair that transcended mere physical torment.
The Emperor studied each image in silence, His features carved from granite. Even the Raven, normally quick with sardonic commentary, remained respectfully quiet as the scope of the atrocity became clear.
Below them, the second planet was shrouded in an unnatural miasma that confounded every augur and scanning array in the fleet.
Neither blessed machinery nor psychic perception could pierce the veil that enshrouded the world's surface.
"We cannot commit the full expeditionary force to unknown terrain," the Emperor declared after reviewing the sensor reports. "Deploy advance reconnaissance elements. Once we have established the nature of the threat, we shall determine the appropriate response."
As preparations were made for surface operations, the Emperor turned to His personal guard. The Custodians had served as His shield and sword since the earliest days of the Imperium's birth, and He would trust no others with this mission.
"My lord," Valdor ventured, his concern evident despite his disciplined bearing. "Surely the risk to your person is too great. Allow us to conduct the initial reconnaissance."
"No," the Emperor replied, His tone brooking no argument. "Even should this world crawl with the spawn of the Warp itself, they pose no threat to Me. We shall discover what calamity has befallen Our children."
The teleportarium's energies discharged in a brilliant cascade of golden light, depositing the Emperor and His retinue upon the surface of the benighted world.
The sky above was the color of old blood, the twin suns reduced to sullen crimson orbs that cast wan light through the perpetual haze.
The very air seemed to pulse with malevolent energy—the unmistakable taint of Warp corruption that set every warrior's teeth on edge. This was a world where reality itself had been poisoned by the touch of Chaos.
A bestial roar shattered the oppressive silence.
The creature that emerged from the mist was an abomination beyond easy description—a twisted amalgamation of flesh and fury standing three times the height of a man.
Multiple eyes burned with unholy intelligence in its malformed skull, while fangs the length of combat knives dripped with venomous saliva.
Constantin Valdor moved with fluid precision, his guardian spear punching through the beast's skull in a single, economical thrust. The creature's massive corpse crashed to the broken earth, its corrupt ichor steaming where it touched the ground.
The Emperor gazed upon the fallen monstrosity with undisguised revulsion. "Warp-spawn," He pronounced. "The corruption runs deep in this place."
Extending His psychic senses, the Master of Mankind could perceive the true extent of the planet's fall. Dozens of similar entities prowled the wasteland—nightmares given flesh, their forms so twisted that only the most deranged minds could have conceived them.
Yet the Warp storms that had once raged through this region of space had subsided millennia ago. What force could maintain such pervasive corruption in their absence?
"Emperor," the Raven's voice carried a note of genuine curiosity, "There is a sign of settlement to the northwest. Might have some answers there."
The creature's enhanced senses had detected what the Emperor's own perception had already noted—a walled city in the distance, its architecture reminiscent of Terra's medieval period.
Smoke rose from its chimneys, and the Emperor could sense the presence of living beings within its walls.
"Advance," He commanded.
The Custodians spread into tactical formation as they approached the settlement. The surrounding countryside showed signs of active cultivation—crops grew in orderly rows, their health suggesting regular tending.
Yet no workers labored in the fields, creating an atmosphere of unnatural quiet.
"Strange that the fields stand empty during daylight hours," the Raven observed.
The Emperor made no reply, His attention focused on the city gates ahead. The guards stationed there were humanoid in general form, but their canine fangs and leathery wings marked them as something far removed from baseline humanity.
The Custodians struck without warning, their enhanced physiology and active camouflage allowing them to neutralize the sentries before they could raise an alarm.
"What manner of creatures are you?" the Emperor demanded of the surviving guards.
One of the captured beings snarled defiance until a Custodian's halberd reduced its companion's head to bloody fragments. The sight of sudden death brought swift cooperation from the survivors.
"You know nothing of us?" one gasped in evident disbelief. "You must be ancient ones, recently awakened from some forgotten vault. We are the Blood Descendants, noble servants of Viscount Whyte, who rules these lands by right of blood and conquest. Release us now and swear fealty to our lord, and you may yet receive the gift of transformation."
The Emperor's expression darkened as understanding dawned. "Warp-touched degenerates," He pronounced with cold finality. "Preserve two specimens for analysis. Execute the rest."
The Custodians carried out their orders with mechanical precision, snapping necks with casual strength that spoke of centuries of warfare.
Passing through the city gates, the Emperor and His retinue found themselves swept along by a tide of human residents, all moving toward the settlement's central square.
The Master of Mankind employed subtle psychic influence to ensure their passage went unnoticed—to outside observers, they appeared as unremarkable citizens of the settlement.
"Where are your offerings?" a young boy asked, genuine concern evident in his voice. "Today is the Day of Blood Sacrifice. The priests grow wrathful when the proper tributes are not provided."
"The last man who came empty-handed was flayed alive," another resident whispered fearfully. "I can still hear his screams echoing in my dreams."
"We shall face no such difficulties," the Emperor replied gently, His voice carrying a warmth that seemed to ease the boy's distress.
"I pray you speak truly," the child responded. "I have heard enough screaming to last several lifetimes."
The crowd eventually gathered in a vast plaza dominated by an obsidian altar stained black with the accumulated blood of countless sacrifices.
The metallic stench of spilled life hung heavy in the air, a cloying miasma that spoke of systematic slaughter conducted over years or decades.
"Today we offer another grand sacrifice to the Blood God!" shrieked a robed figure whose voice carried the fevered intensity of the truly mad. "Let the crimson tide flow freely, that our devotion might be made manifest!"
Before the altar knelt a dozen human prisoners—men and women whose defiant bearing marked them as different from the cowed masses surrounding the square.
Their clothes were little more than rags, their bodies bore the marks of systematic torture, yet their spirits remained unbroken.
"These heretics dared to raise arms against the blessed Blood Descendants," the priest proclaimed, brandishing a ceremonial dagger whose blade gleamed with unnatural hunger. "They sought to desecrate the sacred image of our patron deity. Such blasphemy demands the ultimate punishment."
The first prisoner—a middle-aged man whose eyes burned with unquenchable hatred—was seized by the priest's assistants. The dagger slid between his vertebrae with practiced ease, severing his spinal cord and sending arterial blood cascading across the altar's surface.
"Let this be a lesson to any who would dare resist the rightful order!" the priest screamed, holding the bloody blade aloft. "Opposition to our divine masters leads only to agony and death!"
A second prisoner was selected for execution, her life snuffed out with the same casual brutality that marked this as routine rather than aberration.
At that moment, one of the condemned—a woman whose spirit had been battered but not broken by years of oppression—raised her head and spoke with a voice that carried across the entire square.
"My brothers and sisters!" she cried, her words ringing with absolute conviction. "Do not fear these parasitic mockeries of life! Our ancestors conquered the stars themselves, while these self-proclaimed nobles are nothing more than opportunistic scavengers!"
Her voice rose above the crowd's murmur, cutting through their fear like a blade through silk.
"The human will to resist cannot be extinguished by torture or terror! One day we shall reclaim our birthright and cast these abominations back into the hell that spawned them!"
The priest's face contorted with rage at this display of defiance. He stalked toward the woman, his blade dripping with fresh blood.
"Humanity never yields!" she shouted as he approached. "Long live the human race!"
"Then die, accursed wretch!" the priest snarled, raising his weapon for the killing blow.
He never completed the strike.
To be continued...