After departing the greatest forge-complex on Agripinaa, Vick boarded a heavy transport shuttle bound for the location designated by the Archmagos.
The shuttle was ancient, even by Mechanicus standards, a battered relic of pre-M36 manufacture. Thick ceramite plating covered its hull, layered with overlapping repairs accumulated across centuries of service. Automated heavy bolter turrets tracked constantly along recessed weapon rails, their machine spirits whispering restless binharic liturgies of vigilance.
Such transports were valued not for elegance, but endurance. These vehicles were highly prized across Forge Worlds for their ability to adapt to varying atmospheric conditions that would tear lesser craft apart.
As Vick ascended the boarding ramp, the pilot immediately bowed his head.
"With your presence, Magos, we will undoubtedly reach our destination safely."
Vick nodded, his expression tinged with mild exasperation.
Two months ago, he would have corrected the pilot: "I am not a Magos." But after hearing it from so many mouths, the effort had become futile.
He continued deeper into the shuttle and made his way to the designated restraining cradle.
Scanning his surroundings, he took stock of his fellow passengers.
Several squads of Skitarii Rangers occupied the forward benches, motionless as statues beneath their hooded cloaks.
At the rear stood a sealed rad-containment chamber housing a squad of Skitarii Vanguard.
The Vanguard squad stood out even through layers of shielding. Vick's augmetic senses detected elevated radiation levels leaking from within; they were dangerously high. To avoid contamination, the Vanguard squad was confined to a sealed chamber at the rear of the shuttle, isolated to prevent irradiation of the main cabin.
Ten figures stood inside.
Nine Skitarii Vanguard troopers.
One Alpha.
Their crimson Mechanicus robes were stained black around the hems from long-term radiation exposure. Radium carbines rested against armored chests, each weapon humming faintly with unstable isotopic charge.
Radium carbines, exotic weapons that fired hyper-irradiated rounds laced with unstable isotopes. Even a grazing shot could melt organs and cause lethal cellular decay over time. The weapons were deadly, not just to enemies, but to the wielders themselves.
Prolonged exposure to the radiation they emitted eventually wore down the flesh, even beneath layers of shielding. The Mechanicus considered this a worthy sacrifice for battlefield effectiveness.
Their levels of cybernetic augmentation varied, but the Alpha was by far the most extensively and elaborately modified. Where a face might have been, there was only a blank bronze mask studded with sensor lenses. Multiple mechadendrites protruded from his back, each tipped with tools both surgical and deadly.
It was clear this shuttle wasn't solely built for transporting combat personnel; it likely also served as a dignitary carrier, ferrying officials and off-world visitors. That was probably why these contaminated soldiers couldn't simply remain in the main compartment.
If that was the case, then the Forge World's situation must be dire. Agripinaa had always prided itself on order, hierarchy, and calculated deployment of resources. The fact that irradiated Vanguard troops were being loaded onto diplomatic transports spoke volumes about the scale of the crisis consuming the world.
As Vick considered this, the Vanguard Alpha inclined his head in salute. Vick returned the gesture.
The shuttle took off, engines roaring as it soared toward the southern hemisphere of the Forge World.
"Pilot," Vick said as he entered the cockpit. "Who commands the southern theater?"
"Magos Sevin, my lord," the pilot answered respectfully.
At the mention of that name, Vick exhaled in relief. Sevin was an old comrade, a fellow disciple of the Machine God, one with whom he shared not just familiarity but ideological unity.
Magos Sevin did not merely hold the title of Tech-Priest like him, a designation broad enough to encompass disciplines from battlefield command and manufactorum oversight to archaeological excavation.
Sevin, however, was a commander, a Magos Militaris, a specialist in the art of mechanized warfare, siege logic, and battlefield algorithmics.
If Sevin was leading the war effort in the south, then completing the Archmagos's task would be manageable.
But Vick knew better than to consider only the Archmagos's interests...
From the perspective of a devout servant of the Omnissiah, Vick considered Sevin's role even more critical in the long term.
"The plague festers," the pilot muttered suddenly, glancing toward the hazy sky as he guided the shuttle onward. "The fleet is lost. Reinforcements from Mars or the Imperium remains uncertain. The plague's scourge continues to ravage our systems as it has for years now… may the Omnissiah preserve us."
Vick was tempted to say the pilot was being far too optimistic. If control of the orbital sphere had truly been lost, then a massive invasion was imminent, and compared to that, the plague-born zombies were a secondary concern.
Without orbital superiority, every city, every forge, and every defense line on Agripinaa would eventually become isolated islands awaiting annihilation.
As he contemplated the implications, the shuttle passed over vast factory complexes stretching across the landscape, cruising steadily toward the southern edge of the Forge World.
From above, it all seemed quiet, eerily so.
But on a Forge World, silence was the greatest alarm bell.
Normally, the surface of Agripinaa thundered endlessly with industrial activity. Millions of manufactorum stacks belched fire into the atmosphere while conveyor-cities transported raw materials across entire continents.
Now, however, countless factory lines sat dormant. Entire districts were dark. Towering smokestacks emitted only thin trails of dying embers, and vast assembly lines stood motionless.
Vick knew well that Sevin and his forces were locked in a brutal war beneath the surface, battling endless swarms of plague-ridden zombies. That conflict had begun even before the Imperial Navy lost control of the Agripinaa Sector, and in recent weeks, the situation had only worsened.
As the shuttle drew closer to a towering manufactorum macro-spire, Vick's cranial implants began receiving multiple distress signals.
These signals blinked in his optical HUD, pinpointing locations beneath ancient manufactora structures, sites buried deep beneath the planet's skin. The coordinates flickered with urgency, overlaid with crimson runes indicating biohazard breaches, hull collapses, and escalating mortality indices.
Along with the emergency pings, a vox-transmission came through. The image that appeared was of a face so heavily augmented it barely resembled flesh.
It was Magos Sevin.
"Should I call you Priest or Magos now?" came his cold, mechanized voice.
"Call me Vick, just as I call you Sevin," Vick answered in kind, equally expressionless.
There was no emotion. No vocal inflection. Yet both men felt the familiarity, the bond of camaraderie. It was friendship, Mechanicus-style.
Vick transmitted the Archmagos's orders via encrypted vox.
"Acknowledged. I'll allocate whatever personnel I can spare to assist the Archmagos," Sevin replied after reviewing the directive.
With the formalities handled, Vick turned his attention to the source of the distress signals.
He forwarded the coordinates to Sevin.
"Why haven't you responded to the distress calls?"
"The plague has ravaged this entire Sector for decades. Those husks are endless, more corpses than bullets. If I waste manpower answering every call for help, I'll have none left to hold the line when the enemy descends from orbit," Sevin replied matter-of-factly.
Vick calculated quickly. And indeed, Sevin's choice was tactically optimal for the present.
But calculated logic was one thing. Purpose was another.
Ever since his return from the Talon system, Vick had carried a sense of divine burden: to preserve what could be preserved, to save what could be saved, all in preparation for a greater purpose.
After a moment of thought, he addressed the pilot.
"I'm not going to the spire. Divert course. Take me to this location."
As he spoke, he transmitted new coordinates. The pilot instantly redirected the shuttle toward the source of one of the distress signals.
Vick then turned back toward the others in the cabin.
"What's your destination?" he asked.
"The spire. We were ordered to garrison there," the Vanguard Alpha replied. Then, after a pause, added, "But now, our destination is the same as yours."
Vick turned to the Rangers.
"With you," they answered in unison.
Their voices were cold. But beneath that synthesized unity pulsed something else: resolve. Perhaps even... faith.
He gave a slight nod and waited silently for their arrival.
Of course, the Skitarii forces aboard couldn't simply change mission parameters on a whim. If they intended to accompany Vick, they required Sevin's authorization.
Sevin granted it without hesitation.
"There's plague in the Talon sector as well?" Sevin asked suddenly.
Vick had told him of the events in Talon when he first arrived at Agripinaa. It was no surprise that Sevin was intrigued.
"Yes," Vick replied tersely.
A brief silence passed.
"What kind of enemy are we truly facing...? Have you received any... revelations?" Sevin asked, hesitation seeping through his emotionless speech.
"The revelation I received is this: the Forge World of Agripinaa shall endure, for the Omnissiah and the Angel of Creation are with us." Vick answered.
"Understood. Then I will continue reinforcing our positions. Should you encounter overwhelming resistance from the plague, call me." Sevin signed off, satisfied to hear those exact words from his comrade.
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