Tarphus could not believe what he saw, past the doors and through the narrow halls, while being assaulted by various oils and chemicals' horrid and acrid smells. What lay before his eyes was the biggest room he had ever seen; it should not even exist.
Yet despite Tarphus's misgivings, here it was, the hanger bay. Giant machines hummed, filling the air with a discordant melody that did not seem to bother anyone else.
As Tarphus looked, he noticed many different platoons marching in front of a massive podium. Though at this distance, Tarphus had a hard time distinguishing the exact details of the stage.
With grim reluctance, Tarphus strode towards the dais. Like the room, the staging was massive, even for its purpose. The outline where the different platoons were supposed to go was inlaid in bright crimson chalk.
He noted that he was the last to arrive, but no one noticed nor cared about his group's presence. Instead, Tarphus saw that the other Platoons stood at ease like they had just arrived.
Understanding that he might not be as late as he thought, Tarphus arranged for his platoon to fit neatly next to the platoon closest to him. Surprisingly no one even looked at Tarphus; it was almost like they were actively ignoring him.
Tarphus did not mind; he was a scion. He would have been a disgrace if he was disgruntled by mere spurning. The thought that he was forcibly removed from his family's name weighs more heavily on his mind than the pointed disregard for others.
The troops stand at attention as the entire regiment assembles before the podium. As Tarphus got closer to the stage, he noticed that his fellow platoon leads were akin to the fat bastard he had just left.
The officers looked on in utter boredom, though the lieutenants nervously glanced at one another. Tarphus could understand their feeling. He, too, remembered when his father had him train with the town's guards. Horrid memories filled Tarphus as he had not cleaned his sword and was verbally berated in front of the entire square.
He did deserve it, merely being late was nothing compared to that embarrassment. Tarphus tried not to smile as his platoon perfectly halted before the podium.
Now that he was standing in front of the thing, Tarphus was impressed with the make-up of this stage. Like the rest of the room, a sort of ironwork bolted into place through sheer will and unapologetic brutality.
The size impressed him; the supposed grandeur due to the golden emblems and filaments did little to "inspire" him. However, he felt awe and inspiration when he held the masterwork in the throne room.
So as Tarphus stared at the stage, he felt... loss. It hurt him to see how far the humans of this universe had fallen. Tarphus looked at his fellow Liuetanats looked at the podium with wonder.
It was painful for him; he could see the beauty of such a project; the finery and jewelry were eye-catching. But, there was little to no meaning to it.
Tarphus forced himself to look past this as he heard feet stomping. His eyes turned toward the noise though his head was fixed forward at parade rest.
It was agonizing as he waited for the stomping to creep forward. The sounds of boots upon the steel bulwark rang out as a discordant procession instead of an ordered melody.
Tarphus felt sympathy for those who arrived earlier than him, but he would never say that aloud. Then, finally, the marchers meandered into view, and Tarphus was immediately disappointed.
It was a shamble of a march; even calling it would be the worst comparison possible. Moreover, the procession was odd; different people entered the stage with gusto, but they lacked the military precision Tarphus expected.
More than half of his officers wobbled onto the stage with the elegance of a hippo; the others were fit. Even a few actually marched onto the scene with the gravitas required of them.
The commanders shuffled and groaned into various positions upon the stage, where chairs popped out of the ground. Though it has to be said that the group did not seem to be winded.
Furthermore, the physically rotund did not try to sit down. However, the labored breaths they attempted to stifle seemed excruciating to them.
One of the officers walked to the center of the stage with determination in his eyes. But, once he stood directly in front of the podium, those behind him sat immediately. The rounded individuals seemed to almost collapse into their seats.
The speaker saluted the troops and spoke calmly, collected, almost monotone voice that overwhelmed the miscellaneous noise from the machinery around the room.
"Hello, you all might not remember me; I am Tarquin Thirmine. One of the Regimental Commanders of the Inquisitor's entourage. To make a long story short, it is my job to teach potential leaders for the next generation.
"It has been my displeasure to watch all of you struggle to get your men to follow your commands and respect your authority. However, all of you managed to crawl your way around mutiny and fratricide. Whether through force or charisma, it was always up to you."
This got the awkward shuffle from various soldiers both on and off the stage. None of the officers wanted to remember the days when they were at risk. At the same time, the lieutenants were uncomfortable because they had just survived the experience.
Tarphus also felt some discomfort at the memory of Gudo almost disobeying his orders. In fact, the soldier might have killed Tarphus if the Tech-Priest was not there backing him.
The Regimental Commander's following words grabbed Tarphus's attention again. "In all honesty, the life of command will not get any easier. However, as long as you earn the respect of your men and follow the rules of your superiors, your chances of survival will be increased."
This only gave Tarphus a feeling of unease as he covertly glanced around; the other lieutenants were worriedly glancing at each other. The officers scrutinized the speaker as if he had grown a second head, and the speaker scanned the troops with a leisurely gaze.
"Now that that is out of the way, we can get to the main event, the competition. The top three have earned the ability for an adept from the Mecanicus to be at their side. With the Tech-Priest comes their retinue of servitors.
"The Tech-Priests will be NOT under your command; however, they will provide aid and strategic assistance. Now that that is taken care of, let us announce the victors of the event."
As he finished this statement, three Tech-Priests stepped into view with a total of fifteen creatures that marched mechanically behind them. The creatures sent a chill down Tarphus' spine as he watched in unmitigated shock.
The shambling mounds of flesh and metal were humanoids; the mere thought that these creatures may have been humans sent a tremor of fear in Tarphus's mind.
By the Emperor. They had faces of muscle and sinew; however, much to Tarphus' horror, nearly half had their skin stripped from them in mockery of decency.
So these... things are the "servitors" Tarphus felt his gorge rise as his scrutinizing gaze pierced the veil of cloaks and battle gear. Tarphus felt utter disturbed as his eyes met the unblinking stare of a servitor.
Its cold dead eyes glared at Tarphus like the macabre specter of those he had murdered. Tarphus' mind screamed in rage as he tore his gaze away from the ghastly visage before him focusing again on the Regimental Commander just to save himself from that dreadful stare.
All lieutenants leaned forward as a wave of unease washed over them. Even Tarphus was not spared from the anxiety that was overwhelming the audience. Those behind the Regimental Commander smiled as though they were wolves eyeing up their next meal.
"First place is Leiutanant Isinov Snow; he had earned this by being a bright example to his troops and his brilliant strategies." There was loud applause for the Lieutenant, who smiled as if that was the only option that could have transpired.
The only one that did not applaud was the Regimental Commander; his baleful glare pierced the smug Lieutenant as if weighing the poor soul. Finally, after a minute or two, the crowd paused their expression of adulation.
"Next up, in second place, is Thyme Trusko." The Lieutenant almost shouted in joy as his eyes watered. Tarphus felt glad for him; however, his nerves grew more frayed as the cheers erupted. The officers smiled proudly at the second-place winner.
Tarphus noticed that a few officers glared at him with animosity, which surprised him. What did he do... No, not the time he needed to focus, as the Regimental Commander looked directly at Tarphus as he spoke.
"Last, in third place, Tarphus Cullivan." Relief swept over him as he heard the applause of those around him. The Regimental Commander stared into Tarphus' eyes with such steel that utterly terrified Tarphus.
In his eyes, Tarphus saw a man who led countless charges, saw death on an almost a galactic scale haunted the baleful and dismantling globes. In those eyes, Tarphus saw someone with utter hatred for his enemies, and Tarphus' knees weakened at the thought of being this creature's enemy.
After that second of witnessing eternity, the Regimental Commander dismissed Tarphus from his gaze.
It was as if Tarphus was a mere faceless grunt about to step into the meat grinder. This dismissal turned into a burning hatred that snapped Tarphus out of his horror; he was no minion, no goon that the Commander could scare!
The boredom as the Commander left hurt more than he would ever tell. That same look that the disgusting orc once gave him as if his mere existence was a chore for them.
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The shame burned him like fire as he felt his arm wriggle and crawl, those eyes of boredom as he looked away, akin to the orc that killed him. It reminded Tarphus of the bastard who had removed his arm, the shame that it brought.
No one could see nor feel Tarphus' rage, but he forced himself to calm down, swearing that he would make sure the Commander would NEVER look at him again.
To Tarphus, those minutes that it took to compose himself felt like years, but he eventually dimmed the hatred in his heart. It smoldered like charcoal, ready to burst; however, he kept it under control.
Tarphus blinked as the Commander looked over the Leiutanants and sneered. "Now that the 'fun' is over, I can go onto the main reason you all be here."
The guardsmen looked at the Commander as tension soared; their task, weeks of hell of drills and butchery, led up to this. The guardsmen straightened their backs with such pride in what they would do. Tarphus was the exception as he watched his fellows warily.
The Tech-priests and their servitors went to the victors silently; Tarphus could not hear them despite the metal grids on which they were almost made to make noise.
The Commander spoke with solemn indifference, "We are traveling to the planet Varik III. The Inquisitor has been hailed by the planetary governor due to some cultist activity in the past."
The Commander shifted his position as a hologram of the planet formed behind him. "This is Varik III; it is the third planet from that solar system's sun. The atmosphere is dry. This is because most of the water is under the surface."
The planet on the hologram was a light brown, though there were splotches of red dots in the middle of many brown patchworks. Then there were the grey dots sprinkled throughout the planet; Tarphus wondered what those would be.
The Commander pointed towards one, "This world is a hive world. The underground holds such large quantities of minerals that 'naturally' formed down there that it is an essential resource to the Imperium."
Tarphus was unnerved when the Tech-Priest silently slid next to him with their entourage in tow. The lifeless, heavily lidded eyes meandered past Tarphus like fish at the market, dead as a doornail. Yet, unlike the meal, they moved in a macabre mockery of life.
Tarphus quickly shook his head, remembering where he was; the Commander used the silence to point out the grey dots scattered on the planet.
"Now, to get down on the planet, we must secure one Hive City. The world's orbital stations have locked down the world for us to engage the heretics."
Tarphus pondered what the Commander stated with his monotone voice, heretics. He wondered why someone would go against the Emperor, why would they turn their back on humanity? But before he could get into a theological debate, he needed to make sure his men's survival, which entailed listening to the Commander.
"The heretics are hemmed in two hive cities, Worx and Mercury." At the mention of Hive City Mercury, the Tech-Priest next to Tarphus stiffened and shuffled unconsciously, nervously looking at Tarphus.
Tarphus could only nod towards them, silently mouthing, "we'll talk about it later." The Commander glared at Tarphus briefly but said nothing about Tarphus' breach of decorum. Probably noting it down for later so that Tarphus could receive some "motivational" speeches after this entire event is over.
The Commander spoke again as the hologram zoomed in on the Hive City Worx. "The Inquisitor with his personal guard will go to the savable Hive City. Fortunately, the Hive City Worx only has a minor cultist activity, so the Inquisitor will murder the traitors with surgical precision."
A display of the Inquisitor standing in front of the giant angels. Tarphus remembered them because they saved Tarphus and his Squad back at the first Trial. Tarphus could recall how the eight-foot-tall angels tore through orcs as mere goblins.
His cybernetic eye felt heavier as he looked at the angels. The image of the last thing his natural eyes say blazed to the forefront of his mind. When they churned through the enemy like a knife through butter, the sight gave Tarphus such hope and awe when he saw it.
Tarphus' eyes focused on the display again, showing a different Hive City; it was like a fortress, no, it was a fortress. The grey wall that might have once been a shiny metal was now rusted and worn down by natural decay.
"The Inquisitor has left us the sacred duty of capturing the second Hive City, that of Mercury. The governor has turned; he joined the hated foe. Therefore, we must ERADICATE his followers and pull the traitor out of his sunken city like a lobster ripe for the feast."
Tarphus glanced at the pict with a worried gaze as it showed men and women picking up arms to attack the Imperial Guard stationed there. "Now, let us focus on the vital information in taking this Hive City. The first thing that should be noted is the spaceports."
The display shifted, showing a bird's eye view of the city; two red dots appeared, indicating the spaceports. "These two spaceports are critical to our conquering of this Hive City.
If they push us out of these while also setting up Anti-Air, we will be forced to destroy the city from orbit. Of course, this will annihilate millions of souls, innocent and guilty alike; therefore, it is a weapon of last resort... should you fail."
The silence that followed those somber words would have been deafening if not for the cacophony of noise caused by the machinery behind the troops. This semi-silence had forced Tarphus to forget that he and his troops were still standing; the shock kept that annoyance down.
"That will be the last thing we try; the reason for this is simple, the orbital station saw fighting between what they believe are loyalists and the traitors." The Commander nearly snarled every time the word traitor was forced to exit his lips
"Therefore, the plan is to take the spaceports and secure the surrounding area; if they have Anti-Air, it will be up to the boots on the ground to disable them. Only after this is down can we allow for the second wave of troops and armor to accompany them."
A cold smile painted the Commander's face with blatant ridicule towards the lieutenants. "Thus, the task to secure the spaceports and eliminate the Anti-Air is up to you. When these are done, your superior will issue your next orders."
The Commander's cold smile morphed into a frigid blank expression; Tarphus could not place the emotion on his face. The entire force before the Commander seemed to shudder under the metaphysical weight of that icy gaze.
"Now, you have six hours until the boarding process can be attempted. After you get in your transport, you will be delivered to the enemy as quickly as possible. When you arrive, you will deliver unto them the Emperor's mercy. May the Emperor bless you, Dismissed."
The Commander and his subordinates promptly turned and left with a salute that was quickly returned by the Lieutenants and the soldiers behind them.
Tarphus was taken to a waiting room by the Tech-Priest, though as they walked, Tarphus saw how it shuddered with what he presumed to be dread. But, Tarphus did not know why; he could only guess. However, he did remember how the Tech-Preist reacted to the Mercury Hive City.
It probably has something to do with that; it did say that it was born on a Hive World... That caused Tarphus to question himself: were they going to destroy his friend's home?
This caused Tarphus to feel somber as his entire platoon went to the waiting point. Finally, Tarphus, after ensuring his troops were organized, went to the Tech-Priest's side to support them.
Tarphus almost regretted doing so as he witnessed the Tech-Priest "maintaining" the abominations. The metal tendrils stabbed into the flesh of these "servitors" to ensure the muscles and sinew were functioning correctly.
The process reminded Tarphus of a cook surgically slicing into a chicken to ensure it was thoroughly cooked. This level of detachment truly unnerved Tarphus as he watched the Tech-Priest work on the servitor.
After a few seconds, Tarphus woke up from his macabre daze and spoke. "Hello, I wanted to make sure you are ready for the mission." Tarphus stared at the Tech-Priest as to remove the abominations from his vision. The Tech-Priest paused and then retracted the metal tendrils from the creature as it was sent away.
The Tech-Priest looked down as it brought one of the tendrils to its face bringing out some tools with its regular hands as it fiddled with the tendril. If Tarphus did not know better, this fiddling would have been a nervous tick, but he had never seen the Tech-Preist uneasy before.
The Tech-Priest broke the silence. "Sq- this one apologizes, Lieutenant, the Hive City has great horrors which memories cause great harm for this one. This one would recommend finding more equipment that the Lieutenant can carry against the traitors."
Tarphus could only nod; he turned to a nearby Squad Captain who looked at the Tech-Priest with a raised eyebrow.
Tarphus knew that this conversation needed to be private, but ammunition would also be good for the mission.
"Gather as much ammunition as possible." He eyed the group of thirty conscripts; they were most likely new, as in unproven.
Tarphus grimaced as one looked down the barrel of his gun, only for the said gun to be ripped out of his hands by two regular Guardsmen.
"Gather everyone and bring as much ammo before the mission starts."
The Squad Captain hesitated as he turned towards Tarphus, "How should we, um, requisition these resources?"
Tarphus smirked; he heard from his father the propensity of soldiers and their sneaky ways. "The quickest way that won't end up with more paperwork... but keep the weasel in line."
"By the Emperor, you will have it." The Squad Captains then rounded up the troops cackling as though they were gifted a toy.
Tarphus nodded as his platoon went to gather the ammunition. He then turned toward the Tech-Priest before asking, "Anything else?"
It nodded solemnly; the monotone voice seemed to flicker as it spoke. "Halfway through the siege, this one's master was tasked to handle the heavier vehicles deployed in the second part of the campaign."
The pause was rife with pain as memories of horror must have surged forward into its mind. Tarphus did not speak; he could not. All he could do was place his hand on his friend's shoulder.
The Tech-Priest briefly shifted slightly away from Tarphus before leaning into the hand. The two were silent for a few minutes; this earned the snickers of some of the Guardsmen. Tarphus did not mind, though the ribbing would be more pointed in their downtime.
That brought a smile to his face as he reminisced on the downtime he and his troops received. It was Tarphus who broke the solemn silence. "Tell you what, we will drink our sorrows away after this."
The Tech-Priest let out several soft monotone grumbles that Tarphus deciphered as a chuckle. "This one will take the Leuitanant up on the offer." Tarphus smiled at the Tech-Priest as he reminisced. Unfortunately, he missed the slight shuffle of the robed vicar as it glanced at him.
It took a few minutes for the two to calm down before the Tech-Priest spoke again. "This one's master was told to attack the city's palace; it was there that the taint on the world sloughed off its pleasant facade entirety."
The Tech-Priest shuddered as it recalled the horrors from which only silica could save it.
Tarphus nodded; he still had some fear and respect from his troops. But, the Tech-Priest continued snapping Tarphus out of his victory. "It was the never-born."
"Purple skinned creatures bubbled forth from the redlight district fast as lightning; the hospitals spewed a horde of pestilent barbarians. Before this, one's master was unleashed powerful psionics, and from the worker's district was a wave of red-skinned monsters."
The Tech-Preist shuddered; Tarphus nodded before speaking, "Was there anyone that aided you?" The Tech-Priest nodded. "The church of Saint Marbalane did not hold any sisters of the fighting ordos. However, the priest was willing to lend their flammers, and the Hospitallers volunteered to repair the damage."
There was a pause as the Tech-Priest reminisced over its fallen coworkers. Tarphus remained silent as his friend delved into its memory filled with trauma while ensuring that the locations of the creature's reveal were noted for the future.
"There were Ogryns and other auxiliaries; however, this one must sadly relay that they were the first to be targeted by the never-born." Tarphus could almost hear the sorrow in its voice as it remembered the soldiers that fought alongside them.
The silence remained as Tarphus remembered the heavy weapons team that died. He resolved to have as few casualties as possible as the ammunition was brought in.
Tarphus also started debating whether or not he should inform his superior about the threats. He knew it was valuable information, especially for the potential allies. However, he did not know about these "never-born." He could only assume they were terrible but probably something he could handle.
Tarphus fought orcs from this universe, "never-born" should be a cakewalk in comparison.
On the Other hand, how would he justify the knowledge? "Oh, the Tech-Priest told me," would not fool anyone, nor would it be taken seriously. In fact, Tarphus might be branded as incompetent or worse due to his "delirium."
It was then that the weasel walked up to Tarphus, his sniveling voice grated on Tarphus's nerves. "Lieutenant, sir, the Regimental Commander has stated that the attack will begin in an hour. Therefore we are to get to the dropships."
Tarphus nodded before asking the Tech-Priest, "So, are you ready for some action?" He got a slight nod before the Tech-Priest turned toward the walking corpses. Tarphus gathered his platoon, making sure to remember the faces of each one; their names would have to wait.