Upon the Lord Regent's decree, the scribes and Lexicani of the Senatorum Imperialis began the Herculean task of unearthing reports. Literal mountains of parchment and data-slates, gathered from every corner of the Imperium, were hauled into Guilliman's sanctum.
There, two demigod brothers pored over the records.
For Guilliman, having the Lion by his side brought a fleeting sense of relief, shadowed by bittersweet ghosts. He couldn't help but feel that if a certain golden-winged angel, long since slain by Horus, were present, declaring the Imperium Secundus anew wouldn't feel out of place at all.
The Lion, however, entertained no such nostalgia. His heart was a cold forge of vengeance and reclaimed honor. Beneath that was a simmering irritation toward Guilliman for allowing such a wealth of dire intelligence and pleas for aid to sit neglected.
Of course, the First Primarch kept this grievance to himself; to voice it would give Guilliman the perfect excuse to chain him to a desk like an organic logic-engine until his hair turned as white as the Regent's own.
Through their combined superhuman intellect, the two Primarchs analyzed the timelines and Warp-routes. They traced a clear path of incursion: these "Space Skaven" had emerged from an uncharted sector within the Imperium Nihilus, pushed southward through the Nachmund Gauntlet, and breached the Imperium Sanctus.
One of the most comprehensive dossiers came from Chapter Master Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines. Spanning thousands of pages, Calgar's report detailed xenos that could traverse the toxic miasmas of the Death Guard with impunity. These specimens bore horrific signs of rot and contagion, distinctly Nurgle-aligned, yet fundamentally "other."
Simultaneously, reports surfaced of a second breed: more numerous, untainted by biological decay, but wielding bizarre techno-arcana. They utilized a green crystalline substance with extreme Warp-mutagenic properties; mere proximity could turn an unaugmented human into a Warp-spawned monstrosity in minutes.
In isolation, these scattered reports painted the Skaven as nothing more than opportunistic pirates. But with the full picture laid before them, Guilliman's post-human mind grasped the terrifying reality. These were no mere raiders. They were a vast, invisible web, organized and purposeful, sweeping from the galactic north to south to ensnare every world in their path.
"Action must be taken immediately," Guilliman declared. "Order every intelligence agency to scour the Imperium for traces of these vermin. We must excise this filth before it takes root within the Emperor's sacred domain!"
Guilliman realized that, unlike the deafening roar of a Tyranid Hive Fleet, the Skaven invasion was a silent rot. Thousands of reports indicated that once these xenos landed via their crude, warp-leaking vessels, the infestation became nearly impossible to eradicate. They nested deep beneath the crust, hidden and elusive. Because they didn't always present an immediate existential threat to planetary tithes, many Planetary Governors had simply ignored them, burying the "rat problem" under bureaucratic apathy.
"I fear it is already too late, Roboute," the Lion said, his eyes fixed on his brother. "Since the dawn of Terra, humanity has lived alongside the rat. Unless you intend to tear the foundations of every world apart, you will not find them all."
"No, it is not too late. They are vermin, and for vermin, one simply needs specialists. We must focus our efforts on finding the intelligence that commands them," Guilliman countered.
The brothers disagreed on the nature of the threat. The Lion viewed the Skaven as a direct manifestation of a new Warp power; Guilliman suspected they were merely the distraction, chaff meant to draw their eye away from a greater shadow.
Unable to reach a consensus on the origin, they settled on an immediate strategic response: the formation of a dedicated task force to map the infestation and purge it.
Under the escort of several Ultramarines, a man with a weathered face and eyes that flickered with a hidden, zealous madness was brought before the Regent.
"I come at your command, my Lord," the man said, kneeling in fervent devotion.
"Grand Inquisitor Glapas Veriel, faithful servant of the Throne," Guilliman began, his voice echoing with the weight of authority. "In the name of the Lord Regent, I charge you to lead a Crusade to investigate and annihilate this new xenos threat. You must hold the line. I am codenaming this endeavor: Operation Vermin Blight."
The Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos bowed his head low. "Thy will be done, my Lord."
Guilliman directed him to the two Skaven corpses. With a mask of pure hatred and contempt, Veriel inspected the remains while listening to the Primarch's distilled analysis. It was a fragmented picture, but hauntingly clear.
"The Emperor's will shall be executed," Veriel vowed. Armed with a personal decree from the Primarch, he departed to muster a specialized army.
Guilliman briefly considered ordering every Planetary Governor to conduct a self-purge, but he dismissed the thought as fantasy. Half of them would lie to avoid scrutiny, and the sheer volume of resulting paperwork would likely cause his mind to suffer a catastrophic failure.
"Brother—"
Guilliman turned to the Lion, only to see the First Primarch adjusting his cloak as he turned to leave.
"The Imperium Nihilus needs me more than this room does, Roboute. They need a Protector to shield them from the darkness. Unless, of course, you intend to abandon half the Emperor's realm entirely."
Guilliman suspected the Lion was merely dodging his administrative duties, but he couldn't argue with the logic. The Dark Frontier required a Regent of its own to ensure the Imperium's vast strategic depth didn't collapse into Abaddon's hands.
"Very well, brother. I understand," Guilliman said with a tired nod.
"I will do my part in this hunt," the Lion added, a grim shadow crossing his face. "I only hope I am wrong—the Imperium has enough gods and monsters to contend with."
With that, the Lion stepped into the shifting, manifested forest within the Throne Room and vanished like a knight of legend.
…
While the Primarchs plotted, Grand Inquisitor Veriel was consumed by a righteous fire. This was his moment of destiny. He sent urgent requisitions to the Ordo Xenos, the Ordo Malleus, the Deathwatch, and the Adepta Sororitas.
The response was swift. Battle Sisters from the Orders of the Argent Shroud and the Ebon Chalice, a kill-team of Deathwatch Astartes, and an elite regiment of Inquisition stormtroopers were placed under his command.
Surveying his new army, Veriel felt a surge of pride. He began to envision the terrors he would inflict upon any local official whose negligence had allowed the vermin to fester. He would dig them out with fire and steel.
But as he made his preparations, deep within the lightless sub-levels and ancient conduits of the hive-works, a thousand pairs of red, glowing eyes watched.
"Yes-yes... the man-things move-scurry..."
Deep beneath the Ural Mountains of Holy Terra, Supreme Claw-Marshal Whitesick watched the surface movements with a blend of savagery and low cunning. In the depths of the Throneworld, there were so many things for a rat to steal, and with every passing day, their power grew.
"Let the litter-kin on the other side know... this territory is ours-ours! This is the land of the City of Blight!"
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