Immor Planet
A mining colony on the fringes of Ultramar's Five Hundred Worlds, its coordinates lie at the intersection of the Misty Star Territory and the Eye of Terror's sub-radiation zone.
This planet, once considered a "Promethium Treasury" by the Mechanicus, had now become a rust-covered wasteland.
On the surface, anti-Warp stabilizers with shimmering runes hovered above the giant drilling towers, while the mine entrances were hung with brass chains engraved with cogwheel insignias.
Due to resource depletion, most mining areas had ceased operations, and the remaining active mines were always accompanied by the low-frequency hum characteristic of Warp interference.
Occasionally, non-human roars echoed from deep within the mines, but they were drowned out by the thunderous drilling sounds and went uninvestigated—or rather, no one dared to investigate.
After all, in the Imperium's fringe worlds, curiosity was often more lethal than Chaos corruption.
Mining Hub Tower · Top Floor Office.
Karchus Gryma's Planetary Governor badge gleamed with a murky oily sheen under the dim Promethium lamp.
His bloated body was sunken into a bone throne carved with reliefs of the Emperor's Great Crusade, and ash fell into a ceramic pot inlaid with the bones of a Daemonette.
This was an "artwork" he had exchanged for two hundred tons of refined Promethium from the Red Corsairs; according to those heretics, this thing could neutralize neurotoxins.
Karchus believed this implicitly, even though his left bionic arm had been twitching violently at night recently, as if tiny demons were crawling inside it.
The collapse report from D-7 sector was trampled under his feet; in the holographic projection, twelve mangled miner corpses were wedged in rock crevices in twisted poses, their broken ribs piercing their work clothes, resembling some kind of sacrificial array.
Even more bizarrely, jagged blood-blade marks appeared on their decaying foreheads.
However, Karchus merely glanced at it casually, his gaze shifting to the window, scanning the ant-like miners below.
The dark red veins bulging on the back of their necks, like burning thorns, were called "Corrupted Bloodstains" by Ecclesiarchy priests, but Karchus only cared if these mutations would affect mining efficiency.
"These wretches are worse than servitors," he muttered, his thick fingers caressing the skull decoration on the armrest of the throne, as if stroking his own conscience.
Beep—
The encrypted communicator on the desk suddenly erupted with dazzling blood-red runes, startling Karchus into spilling his tranquilizer wine, which was laced with hallucinogens.
When he saw the Aquila shoulder guard of Sector Governor Norton Starken appear in the holographic projection, his gilded bionic limb began to twitch uncontrollably, like an electrocuted servo-skull.
"Gov... Governor!" Karchus's bionic vocal cords emitted a distorted tremor, as if about to short-circuit, "Why have you suddenly graced us with your presence?"
The middle-aged man in the projection sneered, the Imperial Aquila projection rotating in his mechanical eye's pupil stinging Karchus's retina: "You have five minutes to report to the starport."
The communication abruptly ended, leaving Karchus frozen in place, his fawning smile instantly congealed, replaced by a look of terror.
He twitched as if suddenly awakened, his felt cap, emblazoned with the Imperial double-headed eagle, creaking with metallic deformation as his mechanical bionic limb squeezed it.
Without time to summon a servo-skull to relay orders, his bloated body stumbled towards the bronze gate, looking like a Grot being chased by an Ork.
The servitors in the corridor, dragging cables, hastily made way, and the scribes dropped their data-slates in fright.
After all, this Planetary Governor, who usually enjoyed "motivating" his subordinates with his power claw, now looked so disheveled that it could be recorded in the "Imperial Bureaucratic Jokes Compendium."
By the time Karchus arrived at the starport, panting, Promethium dust was already searing his lungs, and sweat had soaked his clothes.
On the landing pad, the ion exhaust of several transports still flickered in the air, emitting a scorching glow.
And beside a thunderhawk gunship, four Astartes warriors clad in cast-iron power armor stood motionless like bronze statues—the silver mechanical hands on their shoulder guards indicated their affiliation with the Iron Hands' 33rd Sub-Chapter.
Karchus's heart tightened, but what truly made his knees buckle was the figure standing in front of the Planetary Defense Force, to the left of Governor Norton.
On the black-and-silver patterned Inquisitorial robes, the silver flame insignia of the Daemon Inquisitorial glowed eerily in the wind, as if silently declaring: "Your soul is about to be weighed, and the other side of the scale is a bolter."
"Gov... Governor, hello!"
Karchus forced a smile, his voice trembling like a malfunctioning auto-reciter, "May the Emperor's light forever shine..."
Norton raised a hand to cut him off, his gaze as cold as ice: "Spare me the pleasantries."
"Over the past thirty Terran standard days, the Daemon Inquisitorial's psychic surveillance array has detected seven Warp shrieks in this sector, each psychic spike corresponding to an incident report in your jurisdiction."
He took a step forward, the beam from his mechanical eye almost burning through Karchus's skull, "You'd better explain clearly what exactly is going on?"
Karchus's heart rate suddenly accelerated, and cold sweat ran down his spine, as if a Nurgling was swimming in his fat layers.
He tried to steady his voice: "This... this must be a mechanical malfunction!"
His metallic bionic limb projected a hologram, the data on the screen flickering with an eerie light, "See, this is the 'machine spirit Detection Report' issued by the Mechanicus; the number five pulverizer showed abnormal signals last month."
Norton's mechanical eye scanned the data-slate like a searchlight, then he sneered: "The third verse of the Binary Litany is missing seven checksums; do you think the Forge Temple's prayer analysis unit is just for show?"
His steel-clamp-like fingers suddenly clamped onto Karchus's bionic limb interface, "Article 1204 of the omnissiah's Holy Scripture stipulates that any unauthorized act of overwriting a machine spirit's memory..."
He suddenly exerted force, the hydraulic system hissing with overload, slamming the bloated Planetary Governor to the ground like a broken sack, "...shall be made into a Penitent Servitor!"
Karchus's bionic cheekbone collided with the reinforced steel floor, producing a satisfying metallic clang.
He trembled as he propped himself up, then immediately prostrated himself on the ground, his forehead pressed against Norton's Promethium-stained military boot.
Norton turned to the black-robed youth, his mechanical joints emitting a respectful hum: "Since he dared to defile even a machine spirit, then I ask you to weigh him," his mechanical eye flickered with dangerous red light, "how many grams of purity are left in this soul."
The youth stepped forward slowly, the hem of his black robe unmoving.
When he pushed back his hood, Karchus saw only an pretty young face.
Until he met those eyes, they were not human eyes.
A non-human, eerie glow surged deep within the black pupils.
The moment their gazes met, Karchus felt a bone-chilling coldness creep up his spine to the back of his head.
"Quiet," the youth's voice was low and cold, "Your mind is opening to me; concealment is useless."
The Astartes warriors standing still nearby suddenly tensed their muscles collectively; their power armor servo systems emitted an unnatural hum, and scarlet warning runes exploded across their visors:
WARNING: PSYCHIC INTERFERENCE LEVEL γ-6
NEURAL LINK STABILITY DECREASED BY 14%
RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE PURIFICATION PROTOCOL ACTIVATION
"What plague is this metal lump's machine spirit catching now?"
Assault Sergeant Gana of the Iron Hands' 33rd Sub-Chapter grumbled on the encrypted channel, his power axe instinctively sparking with arcs.
"Watch his collar!"
Tech-Sergeant Tolk's mechanical tentacles slid rapidly across his data-slate, "The psychic suppressor isn't active—either it's broken, or..."
A harsh electronic sound came through the channel, "He doesn't need that thing at all."
As if to confirm this conjecture, Karchus suddenly collapsed to the ground like a mutant rat whose spine had been pulled out, spewing out roars mixed with binary code.
Those fragmented memories were like malfunctioning holographic advertisements being forcibly played: Promethium deals with the Red Corsairs in dark holds, blood-blade marks on the foreheads of miner corpses, non-human roars from deep within the mines.
"You did not directly participate in Chaos rituals," the youth said slowly, "but your greed and depravity provided a breeding ground for Chaos corruption."
Karchus stumbled to his knees, his mind seemingly greatly impacted; his face instantly turned pale, and his lips trembled: "I... I swear! It was those damned miners who secretly colluded with heretics..."
Norton's metallic hand clamped onto the back of his neck, pressing his face against the scorching deck: "Do I need to send a cherub to use a flaying probe to slice your fat-encased wetware brain into binary thin strips and spread them throughout the Inquisition's data corridors?"
"No, no... I am willing to undergo scrutiny, I request..."
Karchus's pleas were drowned out by the footsteps of the guards.
Norton coldly ordered: "Take him to the interrogation chamber. Immediately seal off all mining areas, and all personnel will undergo scrutiny."
Now, the most important thing was to ascertain the extent of Chaos corruption on this planet—and what exactly was hidden deep underground.