Chapter 11: The Future Is Bleak
The conquest of the Indonesian Federation was a decisive victory.
Yet for many Thunder Warriors, celebration rang hollow.
Among the Imperial forces, they had begun noticing unfamiliar troops — shorter, more uniformly equipped, operating with strict cohesion. These warriors did not belong to any Thunder Legion.
They were Astartes.
Worse still, perceptive Thunder Warriors observed a troubling pattern: wherever these new warriors appeared, Thunder Warrior deployments diminished. Gradually, the burden of expansion was shifting.
The Astartes were replacing them.
This was unacceptable.
Thunder Warriors had bled and died to carve the Imperium into existence. Now these newcomers appeared to reap the reward?
No.
Absolutely not.
A delegation was formed. The Fourth Legion commander, Usotan, known among his warriors as the Iron Lord, was chosen to seek answers.
He first attempted to contact the Custodians, requesting an audience with the Emperor.
The message was received.
No reply came.
With no alternative, Usotan sought Yuki.
He knew only the Emperor's word held true authority. The Princess might not be able to change anything.
But she was the only one who would speak with him.
"Oh… it is like this."
Yuki explained.
She told him of the Thunder Warriors' genetic instability.
Of cellular degradation.
Of neurological collapse.
Of the Legiones Astartes — designed for endurance, stability, and the wars yet to come.
The Emperor had not wished this truth revealed prematurely. Whether a cure could be found remained uncertain, and regardless, the future conquest of the stars would depend upon the Astartes. In his view, it was better to let the Thunder Warriors fight without burden until their role was complete.
Yuki disagreed.
Heroes deserved truth.
They had undergone brutal transformation and fought in hellish wars for humanity's survival. Treating them as expendable tools diminished both ruler and realm.
She had told the Emperor as much.
Who made heroes bleed and weep?
The Emperor.
Well… at least he listened.
Usotan stood motionless.
Had Yuki not seen the faint rise and fall of his chest, she might have believed him dead.
"Commander Usotan?" she asked gently.
He blinked slowly.
"Our… defect?"
"Do not be afraid," Yuki said softly, grasping his shoulders. "My father has not abandoned you. The Imperium has not abandoned you. I have not abandoned you. We are searching for a way to halt the degeneration. Please… do not lose faith in yourselves."
Then she smiled — warm, radiant, steady.
"I intend to appoint Thunder Warriors as instructors to the Astartes. Will you ask your brothers if they would be willing to train those who will one day carry forward your legacy?"
Thunder Warrior Command Pavilion
"So that's it," murmured the First Legion commander. "Is this our ending?"
"I thought we would stand beside the Emperor and Her Highness to save humanity. I did not imagine it would end like this."
Usotan looked at him steadily.
"Ilio… is it truly an ending?"
"At least we are not discarded like broken tools. At least we were told the truth. And did you not hear Her Highness? If our degeneration is halted, we may continue serving humanity — as instructors, as warriors, as whatever is required."
He paused.
"Or is being called Thunder Warrior more important than protecting humanity?"
Silence lingered.
"I stand with Usotan," said Ilya of the Sixth Legion, rising. "Her Highness said we would instruct the Astartes. I am curious what their Sixth Legion is like."
"Take it easy," someone called. "They barely have recruits."
"We know our limits," Ilya replied, already stepping outside.
Astartes somewhere nearby: I have a bad feeling about this.
Yuki's Command Pavilion
The eastern front had entered a phase of consolidation.
Territories required stabilization. Civilian resettlement demanded resources. Intelligence on the Pan-Pacific Directorate continued to accumulate.
Yuki used the relative lull to study relentlessly.
Gene-forge treatises.
Biological stabilizers.
Augmentation protocols.
Whenever she encountered something incomprehensible, she reached out psychically to the Emperor — effectively turning the Master of Mankind into a remote academic advisor.
She checked the tent to ensure privacy.
Then flipped a concealed switch beneath her desk.
A section of flooring slid aside.
Below lay a hidden laboratory.
Glass cabinets lined the walls. Surgical instruments gleamed under sterile lumen light. At the center stood a reinforced operating platform.
Strapped to it was a Thunder Warrior.
When he saw her, he erupted into violent struggle. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression consumed by rage. Had his jaw not been restrained, he would have roared.
Genetic collapse.
Combat psychosis.
He had attacked friend and foe alike before Custodians subdued and transported him here.
Yuki lifted a scalpel.
"The seventeenth clinical trial begins," she whispered.
Training Grounds
The Astartes had noticed something strange.
Thunder Warriors no longer rushed ahead in joint operations.
Instead, they lingered at the rear, observing.
Commenting.
"Tsk. Slow."
"We'd have cleared this in half a day."
"Their formation discipline is sloppy."
At first, the Astartes tolerated the commentary. These veterans had earned respect.
But patience has limits.
Today, they would respond.
Then they were beaten.
Badly.
They could not comprehend how warriors without powered armor moved with such overwhelming strength and speed.
The lead Thunder Warrior smiled down at them.
"By order of Her Highness the Princess, we are now your instructors. Perform well. Do not disgrace the Imperium."
The Astartes stared in stunned silence.
The future looked bleak.