The Imperium's Frontier: Reclaiming Property

Vito leaned against his hover-bike. This crimson machine was originally manufactured on Mars—a genuine, old-school Adeptus Mechanicus piece. You ask how Vito managed to get his hands on it from the Adeptus Mechanicus? I can only be certain of one thing: he definitely didn't buy it from those oil-obsessed tech-priests.

The young Inquisitor wore his sunglasses with effortless style, a drink in one hand. He looked like he was vacationing on some lush Agri-World, but that was clearly a facade, as this godforsaken place was nothing but desert upon desert.

Every Agri-World has a place like this: a patch of land drained of all nutrients by high-yield crops. The once-verdant earth had been reduced to barren loess hills; death and desolation permeated the landscape, casting a shroud of ruin over everything.

It could be said that every Agri-World of The Imperium is a world in the process of slow destruction. The nutrients and soil of every planet eventually march toward annihilation under the consumption of The Imperium's countless and ever-expanding population.

Unless the Adeptus Mechanicus is willing to perform a full ecological reconstruction of the entire planet, the world is eventually abandoned and struck from the administrative records of the Administratum.

Vito sucked on his straw, took a leisurely sip of his drink, and raised his binoculars. Through the lenses, Vito scrutinized his target in the distance: the aliens—or rather, the irritable local natives—who were hijacking cargo transports in the abandoned farming town.

Those aliens wore some sort of rag-like headgear that completely wrapped their faces, leaving only a pair of goggles visible, whether they were eye-coverings or some mechanical structure. Their dark, bony fingers gripped crude weapons, but overall, these aliens were still humanoid.

"Inquisitor," a voice said. Vito lowered his binoculars and glanced back. A Knight of Caliban, wearing a winged helmet and carrying a sword, stepped over the loess dunes to his side.

"I hope Ragnar isn't too angry." "Then your hopes are in vain. When Ragnar heard you specifically requested me, he went to the training cages and tore apart several combat servitors. Cole is currently busy cursing his ancestors to the eighteenth generation."

Vito laughed and gave a slight shrug. "If I needed a massacre, I would have called Ragnar down. But this time, we need to complete the mission quickly and precisely, especially without letting anyone discover that an Astartes was involved."

Lancelot's laughter emanated from beneath his helmet. He looked down at the streets of the dilapidated town and the strange local natives upon them.

"Besides, I've heard that you Dark Angels are very skilled at covert operations, including erasing traces," Vito said, taking another sip of his drink. Lancelot shrugged. "I don't know what you're implying, Vito, but I fear you are speaking of the Dreadwing and the Deathwing, not the company I serve in."

Lancelot said, drawing his knightly sword. "But I believe I can do it as well." Vito smiled and set down his drink. "Very good."

"Good afternoon, everyone."

All the aliens turned their heads to see the human walking brazenly down the main street. Every alien snatched up their weapons, shouting in a strange language that sat somewhere between a hiss and a roar, pointing their weapons at the man who was either extremely arrogant or utterly foolish.

Vito walked into the town from the main street, his hands swinging casually. He looked at the crowd of aliens with a smile on his face as they clamored and shouted, seemingly cursing him.

"Sorry, everyone, I haven't learned your unique language yet, but I think you can probably understand what I'm saying," Vito said with a smile, pointing to a large truck on the street.

It was an armored vehicle modified from a grain transport. Its massive tires allowed it to speed across the wasteland, and its airtight cargo doors were locked tight to protect the precious goods inside.

"Do you mind returning that truck to us? I would be very grateful if you would."

Before Vito could finish his sentence, a dozen weapons were pointed at his head, followed by the sound of multiple chambers being racked. Vito gave a helpless smile and shrugged slightly. "Alright then, please allow me to introduce my big friend."

Before Vito finished speaking, a wall behind the aliens was smashed to pieces. Amidst the flying rubble, Lancelot stepped into the street, his Bolter roaring almost the instant he appeared.

Bolter rounds thundered, shattering the bodies of several aliens and spraying black blood. A series of curses and roars followed as the aliens turned in unison, firing their crude weapons at Lancelot.

But those pieces of junk didn't leave even a scratch on the Space Marine's ceramite armor. Lancelot rotated his muzzle rapidly, pouring The Emperor's fury with precision and speed into the heads of every alien foe.

Vito also drew his Bolter and fired at the aliens' backs. When the aliens, caught in a pincer attack, turned to fire at Vito, the Inquisitor was already moving fast, sprinting along the dusty street while pulling the trigger.

Vito performed a slide, ducking behind a dumpster. The scrap metal was shredded by bullets as the alien wielding a large-caliber rifle fired frantically in the Inquisitor's direction, shouting in his unknown, foreign tongue.

But his fun ended quickly, as his head exploded—literally crushed to pieces.

Lancelot tossed aside the broken corpse, his blood-stained hand drawing his knightly sword. He struck down another alien at close range; the power field instantly vaporized its flesh, and flickering arcs of energy danced across its limbs, turning the severed meat into charred charcoal.

Lancelot strode among the aliens, wreaking havoc amidst their meaningless resistance. Every swing of his knightly sword claimed an alien life, while their counterattacks were weak and futile.

Vito stood up and raised his gun, accurately killing two aliens behind Lancelot who were attempting a last-ditch effort with the only grenade launcher they had.

Vito walked over—not running, but striding—aiming and firing as he went. Just as Vito reached the grenade launcher, an alien wielding a scimitar jumped down from a nearby roof, hacking at Vito's head.

But the Inquisitor dodged with astonishing reflexes and, in the moment he turned, used the magazine of his Bolter to strike the alien directly in the forehead. Blood surged from beneath the alien's yellowish bandage-mask, and soon, as Vito pulled the trigger, the bandages exploded along with the entire head.

Vito didn't stop. He grabbed the grenade launcher from the ground and fired their own grenades at the aliens who were fleeing into the town's old grocery store to make a final stand. Explosions erupted from the store's doors and windows, and only a severed black hand landed on the loess ground.

Vito tossed the grenade launcher aside and walked toward Lancelot with his gun slung over his shoulder. The latter was busy executing the last living alien he had pinned under his boot. The Astartes had resolved the situation with efficient, accurate, and swift attacks.

Well, except for the ones Vito had finished off.

Lancelot sheathed his knightly sword and stood with Vito, watching the burning grocery store. "I will throw the remaining corpses inside and burn them all. No traces will be left behind."

Vito smiled and patted his bracer. "I knew you could do it. I'm going to deliver the cargo. When you get back, remember to tell Ragnar that I'll give him a chance soon."

Vito walked toward the truck, and Lancelot watched as the Inquisitor opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat. "When? Where?"

Vito started the engine, closed the door, and leaned against the window, putting on his sunglasses with a flourish. "Victoria Capital World."

He waved his hand and drove the heavy truck away from the town. He reached out one hand and gestured. "Oh, and please bring my hover-bike back for me. Don't scratch the paint."

Lancelot let out a long sigh, looking around at the field of alien corpses.