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Chapter 43: Matrix in Warhammer 40k?
Cenos System
Imperial Fleet Deployment Zone
Date: 031.M31
The dark void writhed beneath the lash of immaterial forces as reality tore asunder.
A massive rent appeared in the fabric of space-time, disgorging hundreds of Imperial warships from the roiling depths of the Empyrean.
Geller fields flickered and died as the fleet translated back into realspace, their protective barriers immediately replaced by the rising crescendo of void shields powering to full strength.
Each vessel bore the sacred aquila upon its prow, the golden double-headed eagle that proclaimed humanity's dominion over the stars.
Along their flanks stood towering cathedral spires and devotional sculptures, interspersed with the gaping maws of macro-cannon batteries.
The fleet carried with it an aura of absolute authority, the weight of ten thousand years of human ambition made manifest in adamantium and ceramite.
Plasma drives ignited in brilliant azure cascades as the formation adjusted course, vectoring toward the system's primary star at maximum sustainable velocity.
The flagship Emperor's Grand Design deployed its sensor arrays like a vast invisible net, drinking in every scrap of data the system had to offer.
The harvest proved meager. Beyond basic astronomical readings, planetary masses, orbital mechanics, asteroid distributions, the system revealed little of strategic value.
Ā Database cross-referencing identified their destination as the Cenos System, marked in ancient charts as supporting multiple colony worlds.
Augur sweeps confirmed what the archives had suggested: technological regression on a catastrophic scale.
The colonies had fallen far from their ancestors' achievements, their histories fragmenting into myth and superstition.
The Imperial Crusade had encountered such worlds countless times, human settlements that had weathered the Age of Strife by forgetting their past.
Compliance operations proceeded with textbook efficiency. When the Legiones Astartes descended from the void, the primitive colonists hailed them as divine messengers.
Local potentates prostrated themselves before the Emperor's representatives, offering submission without even the pretense of resistance.
All proceeded according to standard protocols, save for the anomaly designated Cenos III.
Orbital debris fields and derelict space stations bore witness to the world's former technological sophistication.
Now, however, the planet lay shrouded beneath roiling clouds of electromagnetic interference.
The atmospheric disturbance created a barrier impenetrable to conventional sensors, isolating the surface from orbital observation and trapping any inhabitants beneath its veil.
Repeated augur sweeps yielded only fragmentary data through the interference.
Ā Tech-Adepts employed vast computational matrices to filter signal from noise, eventually confirming massive mechanical activity and human bio-signatures across the planet's surface.
Fleet Command initiated standard compliance protocols, broadcasting offers of peaceful integration into the Imperium.
The message emphasized humanity's glorious destiny among the stars, the Emperor's vision of unity and prosperity for all human worlds.
The response shattered such hopes.
"Human. Error. Purge."
"Human. Error. Purge. Thought."
The transmission repeated endlessly, its mechanical cadence devoid of any trace of human warmth or recognition.
Fleet anchorage was established in high orbit as command staff deliberated their next course of action.
"Permission to attempt surface contact, my lords," requested Captain Hadrian Vex of the 63rd Expeditionary Fleet's diplomatic corps.
Ā His voice carried the measured confidence of one who had negotiated compliance from dozens of recalcitrant worlds.
"While communication proves... challenging, the possibility of peaceful resolution should not be abandoned without direct contact."
The war council weighed his proposal carefully.
The captain's record spoke to his competence, seventeen successful negotiations, minimal casualties, resources preserved for the Great Crusade rather than wasted in unnecessary bloodshed.
Authorization was granted.
Captain Vex's gilded diplomatic shuttle descended through the electromagnetic maelstrom, escorted by a squadron of Stormbird interceptors.
As they breached the cloud layer, pict-captures revealed the transformed landscape below.
Cenos III had become a world of metal. Endless spires of black iron stretched to every horizon, their surfaces unmarked by vegetation or exposed soil.
Some towers pierced the atmospheric veil entirely, while others sprawled across continental plates in vast industrial complexes.
Crimson warning lights dotted the megastructures like baleful eyes, their glow painting the perpetual twilight in shades of dried blood.
Mechanical entities moved between the spires, serpentine craft trailing clusters of manipulator arms, weaving through the urban canyons with purpose incomprehensible to human observers.
"This represents a considerable technological achievement," Captain Vex transmitted to the fleet.
"Such infrastructure suggests advanced manufacturing capabilities that could serve the Crusade well once properly directed."
His voice carried the enthusiasm of a true believer in the Imperial Truth, convinced that reason and fellowship could bridge any divide between human settlements.
The ground-based defense batteries provided their own response.
Lance strikes and missile salvos erupted from concealed positions, engulfing the diplomatic mission in overlapping fields of destruction.
The shuttle's void shields collapsed under the barrage's intensity, hull breaches venting atmosphere and crew alike into the toxic sky.
What remained of the vessel plummeted earthward, impacting with sufficient force to carve a crater through several city blocks.
Captain Vex and his entire retinue perished without exchanging a single word with Cenos III's inhabitants.
The bridge of the Emperor's Grand Design fell silent as damage assessments filtered through the command network.
Ā The diplomatic shuttle had carried no weapons, posed no conceivable threat. Even the most xenophobic human cultures typically honored parley traditions.
This was something else entirely.
"Enlighten them," the Emperor commanded, His voice carrying the finality of absolute judgment.
The Imperium had offered Cenos III the gift of compliance.
They had chosen to respond with unprovoked murder. Now only the cleansing fire of Imperial justice remained.
Lance batteries, macro-cannons, and torpedo tubes trained upon predetermined target coordinates.
The orbital bombardment commenced with methodical precision, each salvo calculated to maximize structural damage while preserving whatever human population might remain below.
Plasma lances carved molten trenches through the metal landscape. Macro-cannon shells punched through spire walls in thunderous percussion.
Many structures collapsed into smoking ruin, their twisted remains a testament to Imperial firepower.
Other installations proved more resilient. Energy barriers flickered to life around critical facilities, deflecting or absorbing the bombardment's fury with technology that matched or perhaps exceeded Imperial standards.
Augur arrays tracked defensive responses continuously, cataloguing shield generators and anti-orbital emplacements.
Once enemy air defenses had been sufficiently degraded, the invasion would commence.
Drop-Ship Hangar Bay 66, Imperial Flagship
Ā Emperor's Grand Design
"I shall claim this victory in the Emperor's name. Witness the ascendant Legion of Horus."
Horus Lupercal stood among his Luna Wolves, conducting final equipment inspections with the meticulous care that had made the XVI Legion legendary.
Each bolt shell was counted, each power cell tested, each blade honed to molecular sharpness.
Ā The Warmaster's ambitions burned bright, this campaign would demonstrate once more why he stood first among the Primarchs.
Three hangar bays distant, another son of the Emperor prepared for war with equal intensity but markedly different temperament.
"Whether in arena sand or battlefield mud, Angron knows no defeat," the Red Angel growled to his World Eaters.
His Legion shared their Primarch's anticipation, viewing the coming battle as merely another gladiatorial contest writ large across a planetary stage.
Angron's fingers traced the crimson cords woven into his war-harness, each thread representing victory in the fighting pits of Nuceria.
Red for triumph, black for defeat. His cord had remained unbroken since the day of his first kill, an unending testament to martial supremacy.
The drop-pod assault commenced at the appointed hour.
The XVI and XII Legions spearheaded the assault, their orbital descent tracked by thousands of defensive batteries.
Point-defense turrets filled the sky with intersecting fire lanes, but Astartes drop-pods were built to survive such attention.
Most punched through to successful surface deployment, disgorging their superhuman cargo into the heart of the metal city.
What awaited them defied expectation.
The enemy possessed no fear of death because they had never lived. Purely mechanical constructs emerged from concealed positions, humanoid in general configuration but clearly artificial in origin.
They moved with inhuman coordination, their targeting systems acquiring Space Marine signatures with mechanical precision.
No battle-cries echoed from their ranks. No hesitation slowed their advance.
They simply executed their programming with absolute dedication, seeking to eliminate the intruders through focused application of overwhelming firepower.
The ensuing battle tested both Legions severely. On one side stood the Emperor's finest warriors, gene-forged for war and tempered by countless campaigns.
Opposite them marched enemies that knew neither pain nor fear, guided by logic matrices that calculated optimal casualty ratios with dispassionate efficiency.
Combat stalled into brutal attrition. Bolter fire shredded mechanical chassis while return volleys punched through ceramite plate.
Flamers reduced enemy formations to molten slag, only for fresh units to advance through the cooling remains. Plasma weapons carved through enemy ranks, their shots answered by energy beams that could sever an Astartes in half.
Imperial reinforcements shifted the balance. Titan war-engines descended via heavy-lift craft, their god-machines striding through the cityscape like wrathful avatars of human supremacy.
Ā Plasma annihilators and volcano cannons carved paths of destruction through the opposition, their firepower sufficient to level entire city blocks.
Gradually, inexorably, Imperial forces established expanding beachheads. The mechanical defenders fought with unwavering determination, but sheer weight of numbers and firepower told.
Drop zones were secured, fortifications established, supply lines opened to orbital support.
Victory seemed certain when Angron's assault squad breached a massive domed structure near the city center.
What they discovered within defied all expectation.
Thousands upon thousands of suspension pods filled the cavernous interior, arranged in neat rows that stretched beyond the limits of their helmet-lamps.
Each pod contained a human being, infants, children, adults, elderly, every age and demographic represented in this vast archive of slumbering humanity.
Data cables snaked from each pod to central processing nodes, their purpose unclear but certainly sinister.
The occupants showed minimal life signs, their bodies sustained by automated systems while their minds remained trapped in artificial comas.
The discovery was immediately relayed to fleet command.
Bridge of the Emperor's Grand Design
"The Matrix?" the Raven muttered instinctively upon reviewing the pict-captures transmitted by the XII Legion reconnaissance team.
His avian head tilted thoughtfully as he processed the implications. The comparison to ancient Terran entertainment media seemed apt initially, but practical considerations quickly dismissed such speculation.
Biological systems represented hopelessly inefficient energy sources, no civilization capable of planetary engineering would resort to such crude methods.
No, these humans served some other purpose entirely. One that likely proved far more disturbing than simple energy harvesting.
The question remained: what exactly had the people of Cenos III become, and what had been done to them in the process?
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