The bridge of the Fist of Iron was wrapped in silence so absolute it felt solid.
Ferrus Manus stood before the master console, the silver-grey fingers of his left hand spread wide, streams of data flooding his neural interface from the ship's central machine-spirit.
His grey pupils reflected the three hundred and seventy-one tactical markers scrolling across the hololithic display.
Every military unit on Aurelian IV worth marking.
"Karon."
The Primarch's voice was cold iron.
Fourth Company Captain Karon Santos stepped forward, his power armour's servos emitting the faintest hum.
"Father."
"Three orders."
Ferrus's cybernetic eyes flickered with blue light.
"First—have Planetary Governor Harrington, along with every senior figure from the four major factions, report to the bridge of the Fist of Iron within twenty-four hours."
"I mean the ones who actually hold power. Not the puppets propped up for show."
"Second—notify Mechanicus representative Occus Kane that I require complete transfer records for every gram of promethium extracted from Aurelian IV over the past eighty years. From extraction to export. Every single gram accounted for."
"Third—"
Ferrus dragged a finger across the hololithic map, letting it rest on a region in the northeast of the Redblaze Wasteland, flagged as an area of unknown armed activity.
"Send Seventh Tactical Squad to reconnoitre this zone."
"Establish an observation post one hundred kilometres out. High-precision auspex only. No direct contact."
He paused, then added:
"That force of a thousand... their combat data is interesting."
"Average kill efficiency is six-point-seven times that of the local PDF. Their tactical coordination shows signs of a standard template—but they don't follow doctrine cleanly."
"More importantly—"
Ferrus pulled up a grainy piece of footage.
Players fighting in the warehouse district. Tax Bro blasted a Timid Fiend apart with his modified shotgun, then spun around and holstered the weapon with a theatrical flourish as he turned away.
"They're enjoying it."
Ferrus said it flatly.
"Normal human beings encountering Warp-born abominations experience fear, revulsion, physiological distress."
"These ones don't."
"That isn't what disciplined soldiers look like. That's..."
He trailed off. The behaviour resisted easy categorisation.
Karon offered: "Anomalous."
"Yes. Anomalous."
Ferrus nodded. "Find out why."
"If it's some new form of combat stimulant or cognitive conditioning, I want samples."
"If it's something else..."
He left the rest unspoken.
But Karon understood—if that force had any connection to the Warp, the purification protocols would activate immediately.
"Understood."
The Fourth Captain turned, his armoured footfalls ringing crisp against the metal decking.
–
Twenty-four hours later.
The pressure seal on the Fist of Iron's bridge hissed open.
Governor Harrington led the procession.
The slightly portly middle-aged man had made an effort today—his most formal Imperial bureaucrat's uniform, a deep-blue robe trimmed in gold, the double-headed aquila on his chest polished to a gleam, even a splash of cologne imported from some agri-world.
His face wore the standard-issue smile of a career politician.
"Primarch, my lord! What an honour it is to see you once ag—"
Harrington's voice died in his throat.
Ferrus Manus hadn't even looked at him.
The Primarch stood with his back to the entrance, eyes fixed on the hololithic projection of Aurelian IV floating above the master console. It was divided into seventeen overlapping layers: mineral distribution, population density, military deployment, Warp contamination spread models...
"Planetary Governor Harrington of Aurelian IV."
Ferrus still didn't turn. His voice came through the bridge's vox-system, cold...
"Imperial Year 946.M30—you were appointed Planetary Governor of Aurelian IV for a thirty-year term. Your principal duties: ensure taxation, maintain basic order, and when necessary coordinate local factions in support of Imperial strategic objectives."
Harrington's smile calcified on his face. "Yes... yes, my lord, I have always—"
"Over the past twenty-five years, every annual report you submitted to the Terran Tax Authority listed Aurelian IV's annual promethium yield as a stable fifty-six point eight billion tonnes."
The hololithic display shifted.
A cascade of figures refreshed like a breaking dam.
"Actual data: average annual production over the past thirty years, eighty point nine billion tonnes. Peak year, one hundred and two point three billion tonnes."
"Of the discrepancy—approximately sixty percent flowed through black markets to other Forge Worlds. Thirty-five percent was absorbed internally by the four major factions. The remaining half-percent..." He paused. "Vanished."
Ferrus finally turned.
His three-point-seven-metre frame threw a crushing shadow under the bridge's harsh white illumination. Every scar and gouge on the Medusan Carapace read like a silent indictment.
"The vanished portion, according to Legion investigation, corresponds rather neatly to your personal asset holdings, Governor."
Harrington's face drained of colour in an instant.
"I—I can explain! Those were—strategic reserves! In case of external invasion!"
"Strategic reserves."
Ferrus smiled.
It was a smile with no warmth in it whatsoever.
"You embezzled promethium, converted it to Imperial Coins, and called it invasion preparedness?"
"Remarkably novel tactical thinking, Governor."
He raised his hand and tapped the air.
Another data set snapped into view.
"Imperial Year 946.M30 through 973.M30—Aurelian IV transmitted seventeen distress signals to the Sector Governor's office, citing severe local faction fragmentation, restricted gubernatorial authority, and requesting Imperial military intervention."
"During that same period, you personally signed over forty private agreements with the four major factions—mineral revenue-sharing, tax concessions, military transit rights..."
The Primarch's voice sharpened like a blade.
"You were using Imperial authority to extract personal profit, Harrington."
"You took their bribes, let them grow fat, then wept to Terra about losing control—all to squeeze more resources and privileges from the Imperium."
Harrington's knees buckled. He barely stayed upright.
"My lord! I—I had no choice! Those entrenched powers are too strong, I was only one man, I—"
"Enough."
Ferrus cut him off. His grey eyes were two cold gemstones.
"The Emperor gave you authority. He gave you a position. He gave you thirty years."
"You did not use them to serve humanity. You did not use them to strengthen the planet's defences. You did not use them to uphold the Imperial Truth."
"You used them to play politics."
Ferrus waved a hand.
"Karon."
"Strip Harrington of all titles and offices. Have him transported to the Adeptus Arbites."
"Tell the Tribunal—the Arbiter—I want to see the full interrogation record and a formal sentencing recommendation."
"Understood."
Two Iron Hands warriors stepped forward, their power armour's servos rumbling low.
Harrington finally broke.
"No! You can't do this! I am an Imperially appointed Planetary Governor! I have connections! I have friends on Terra, I—mmph!"
A gauntleted hand clamped over his mouth. The sounds that escaped were muffled and unintelligible.
The small eyes that had once gleamed with shrewd calculation held nothing now but despair and disbelief.
He had thought the Primarch was his saviour—here to help him crush the entrenched factions and restore his control over the planet.
The Primarch had crushed him first.
"Presumptuous fool."
Ferrus watched the man being dragged away and said those words quietly.
--
Next Goal = 500 Powerstones.
Wanna read ahead?! Join Patreon.com/AHumanMadeMOFO to read 20+ chapters ahead!!!!