Dark Undercurrents and Arrogance

The smoke of war had yet to disperse from the Imperial Palace of Terra, while the flesh-and-blood hell of Eternal Gate Square had already been more than half cleared away.

The Adeptus Custodes stood solemnly once more before the Lion's Gate under repair, like tireless golden statues, though their numbers had clearly dwindled considerably.

The expeditionary fleet and the ships of the Imperial Fists patrolled low orbit, guarding against threats that might emerge again.

Guilliman stood before the massive tactical table in the temporary command post. The holographic display showed the progress of order being restored across Terra, reports on the purge of Chaos remnants, and... summaries of secret communications, each worded differently yet all carrying hints of probing and ambition.

His battle-scarred but resolute face now held, beyond exhaustion, a touch of icy scrutiny.

"Lord Regent," the voice of Marshal Trajan, commander of the Adeptus Custodes, came through the comms. As unruffled as ever, it nonetheless conveyed an unquestionable message. "The council chamber has been cleared. The remaining members of the High Lords' Council... request an audience. In addition, representatives from the Ministry of Government Affairs, the Ministry of the Interior, the Department of Justice, and... the Ecclesiarchy have all expressed a desire for private meetings."

"Make them wait." Guilliman's voice was as cold as Adamantium. "Prioritize the repair of fortress defenses and the placement of the wounded. Record anyone who attempts to delay or divert resources."

"Understood." Trajan cut the transmission.

Guilliman's gaze swept toward one corner of the tactical table, where a special coordinate had been marked—the "Apocalypse One" hovering in Terra's synchronous orbit.

Its holy hull resembled a tranquil star amid the void, forming a stark contrast with the scarred Terra below. He recalled Liang Bing's savage yet pure combat power, as well as her undisguised greed for "research material" at the end.

Powerful, willful, purposeful, and... utterly uninterested in the politics of the Imperium of Man.

That might have been the only good news at present.

Yet not everyone could see that. Or rather, some had seen it and developed even more arrogant thoughts.

The Luna base, "Sentinel's Eye," had returned to its usual cold order.

The Hilling Valkyries had long since returned here, far from the suffocatingly foul air of Terra's surface and the even fouler political atmosphere.

"What... baffling persistence." Glory elegantly sipped her newly prepared energy drink as she looked over the holographic summaries of letters sent through various secret channels by Terra's major families and departments, all attempting to contact them.

The contents were largely the same: they expressed "respect" for "powerful allies" and discussed the possibility of "deeper cooperation." Yet every line was filled with the arrogance and probing peculiar to Imperial bureaucrats, as though the prerequisite for "cooperation" was for the Hilling Empire to be absorbed into the Imperium's outdated and rotten framework, accepting their "guidance" and "allocation."

"What do they take us for? Mercenaries who need their approval to exist?" Prinz Eugen lounged against the back of her chair, her crimson eyes full of mockery. "They're so weak, yet they want to command us? Tch, what do these people even have in their heads?"

"Strength and order require matching wisdom to wield them." Prince of Wales gave a cold assessment. "Clearly, they possess nothing but rotten political maneuvering and swollen ambition. They have no wisdom at all."

Joan of Arc merely prayed quietly, the gentle halo soothing the spirit as she chose to turn a blind eye to the filth of the mortal world.

Nimi made a face at the projection. "Boring! Sister Glory, when can we leave this dump?"

Glory set down her cup. Her face bore its usual graceful smile, but her eyes were as deep as the stars. "There is no need to pay attention to this noise. Our support mission has ended. But Supreme Wisdom has not issued any further orders, so we should wait for now. I have a strong feeling that the real storm may only just be brewing on Terra's surface."

Her gaze turned toward Terra, as though piercing through space to fall upon the shadows beginning to stir.

They were guests. They would never allow themselves to be dragged into the filthy political mire of the Imperium of Man.

In stark contrast to the peace of the Luna base, the resting chamber and reception room temporarily assigned to "Hilling Empire envoy" Obi-Wan Kenobi on the outskirts of the Imperial Palace of Terra had practically become the center of Terra's entire vortex of power.

After seeing off a group of Ministry of Government Affairs officials with smiles piled across their faces and hollow words, who had tried to use the grand narrative of "human supremacy" to fish for Hilling intelligence and "friendship," Obi-Wan wearily rubbed his brow.

Through the Force, he could sense that these officials' hearts held no sincere desire for cooperation, only calculations for power and fear and greed toward "foreign power."

"Master," the assistant Guilliman had assigned him reported quietly, "the representatives of the Department of Justice have arrived. Their... attitude is very forceful. They demand that we provide all technical specifications and personnel records concerning Lord 'Apocalypse King' and her warship, claiming that this is 'a necessary procedure for an Imperial security review.'"

Obi-Wan sighed, a trace of helplessness on his gentle face. "Please let them in."

The people from the Department of Justice were indeed like walking law codes, rigid and oppressive.

Their questions were sharp and direct, carrying the air of an interrogation. They repeatedly emphasized the supremacy of Imperial law, implying that any refusal to cooperate could be regarded as a "potential threat."

Obi-Wan employed the wisdom and diplomatic skill of a Jedi Master to deal with them cleverly, revealing none of the core secrets while leaving them no tangible leverage.

He gently emphasized the Hilling Empire's respect for order and subtly stated that they would not participate in the political struggles of the Imperium of Man. Yet the suspicion in the Department of Justice officials' eyes did not lessen in the slightest.

Having sent off the Department of Justice representatives, he had not even had time to catch his breath before an even colder oppressive presence, carrying the mingled scent of blood and incense, enveloped the reception room.

Three black-robed figures wearing the I-shaped insignia of the Inquisition on their chests entered soundlessly like Ghosts.

The leader's face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, revealing only a pair of sharp, cold eyes like those of a vulture.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," a hoarse voice rang out without the slightest warmth, "we represent the holy Inquisition. You, and those xenos behind you on Luna, must submit to inspection."

"Inspection?" Obi-Wan responded calmly, his blue eyes meeting the other man's. "As allies, we have just assisted the Imperium in repelling a Chaos invasion."

"Allies?" The Inquisitor gave a short, mocking sneer. "Xenos will always be xenos! You wield incomprehensible powers, associate with Eldar heretics, and even shelter that... that angel who toys with daemons! Your very existence is blasphemy against the Emperor's divinity! You are a tremendous threat to the purity of the Imperium!"

His voice suddenly rose, filled with fanatical obsession. "Hand over those heretical weapons immediately! Order that so-called angel to leave the warship and submit to the Inquisition's purification! Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?" A cold, majestic voice, like ten thousand tons of Adamantium crashing down, sounded from the doorway.

Guilliman's towering figure blocked the entrance to the reception room. His blue-and-gold Armor of Fate gleamed beneath the lights. Though the Emperor's Sword remained sheathed, the immense pressure belonging to a Primarch surged in like something tangible, instantly dispersing the Inquisitors' chill presence.

Behind him followed a fully armed Ultramarines guard unit, their Bolters deliberately or otherwise aimed at the Inquisition members.

Marshal Trajan stood quietly to one side like Guilliman's shadow. His golden mask was expressionless, but the tip of his Guardian Spear lowered slightly, locking onto the Inquisitor.

The lead Inquisitor's momentum faltered, and his face beneath the hood turned exceedingly ugly. "Lord Regent! We are carrying out our sacred—"

"Sacred duty?" Guilliman cut him off, his voice like ice. "To threaten the Imperium's allies when I have just repelled Chaos and Terra is still in ruins? To demand that I hand over warriors who fought beside me on the battlefield?" He took a step forward, and the pressure of the Primarch seemed to freeze the air itself. "Who gave you the authority to bypass me and directly deal with the expeditionary force's allies? Which High Lord? Or does the Inquisition believe itself above the Regency of the Imperium?"

"We are acting for the security of the Imperium!" the Inquisitor forced himself to argue. "These xenos—"

"Security?" Guilliman's fury was like a volcano on the verge of eruption. "Your so-called 'security' is branding every force that differs from your narrow understanding as heresy! It is pushing allies willing to help humanity into opposition! It is creating division and panic from within while Chaos stands before us as the great enemy! Are you protecting the Imperium, or paving the way for Chaos?!"

He suddenly swept out a hand, and the Ultramarines' gun barrels rose at once with a crisp metallic clatter. "Take them! Charge them with dividing the Imperium, sabotaging the wartime alliance, and usurping the authority of the Regent! Throw them into the Adeptus Custodes dungeons! Without my orders, no one is to contact them!"

"Guilliman! The Inquisition will not—" the Inquisitor howled in shock and fury.

"Take them away!" Guilliman roared, leaving no room for dispute.

Trajan gave a slight nod. Two Adeptus Custodes advanced like golden lightning, ignoring the Inquisitor's futile struggles and curses as they locked him in specialized psychic shackles and dragged him away like a dead dog.

The other two Inquisitors had gone pale, not daring to make the slightest movement beneath the Ultramarines' gun barrels.

The reception room fell silent in an instant, leaving only the low hum of the energy equipment.

Guilliman turned to Obi-Wan. The frost on his face eased slightly, though he remained stern. "Master Obi-Wan, you have been disturbed. The Imperium... has deep-rooted maladies. There will always be fools who cannot see the situation clearly."

Obi-Wan gave a deep Jedi bow, understanding and a trace of pity in his eyes. "I understand, Lord Regent. Power and fear are often fertile ground for ignorance and arrogance. Certain people within your Imperium seem not yet to have learned humility and cooperation from the wounds of war."

He paused before adding, "Rest assured, the Hilling Empire has no intention of intervening in your internal affairs. Lady Glory and the others are observing events quietly on Luna. As for the commander..." A helpless smile appeared on his face. "She likely cares only about her 'research results.'"

Guilliman nodded. His gaze swept across the disordered reception room before finally turning toward the tranquil "star" in the sky beyond the window—Apocalypse One.

"I know. But please convey this to your side: the promise of the Imperial Regent remains valid. Any offense against an ally will pay a price." He turned and departed, his footsteps heavy yet firm. "This Imperium has no room for two voices. What must be purged must be purged thoroughly."

Obi-Wan watched Guilliman's departing back and let out a soft sigh.

The whispers of the Force lingered beside his ears, foretelling that beneath Terra's surface calm, an even fiercer storm was gathering.

Deep within the enormous hull of the holy warship Apocalypse One, inside the most heavily sealed laboratory, all outside clamor had been shut away.

There were no Imperial intrigues here, no foolish probing from bureaucrats, only the purest... "academic atmosphere."

Liang Bing lounged in a floating chair formed from flowing energy, crossing one leg over the other as her slender fingers rapidly slid across the complex holographic control panel before her.

Her breathtakingly beautiful face wore an expression of focus and excitement, as though she were admiring a priceless treasure.

At the center of the laboratory, within a transparent containment chamber formed by a high-intensity energy field, the captured Khorne Bloodthirster was undergoing "research" it would never forget for all eternity.

Its massive body was forcibly fixed in midair by an invisible force field. Dense probes and data cables connected to its form, while its crimson skin was covered in marks left by scans, cuts, and even microscopic particle bombardment from various energy beams.

"Roar—!!!" The Greater Daemon released an earth-shaking roar filled with endless pain and fury, struggling madly as it tried to tear apart the tiny being before it who had brought it such ultimate humiliation.

Yet beneath Liang Bing's meticulously designed containment field and ceaseless energy suppression, its strength seemed utterly futile.

Every struggle only triggered stronger feedback from the containment field, bringing even more intense pain.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, don't get worked up, little doggie." Liang Bing did not even raise her head, her tone as relaxed as if she were teasing a pet. "Life-sign data is fluctuating sharply. Under energy stimulation at a specific frequency, the psychic core is showing a critical overload state... Hmm, the results of the physical and psychic dual-phase conduction threshold test for Warp Emotional Energy Aggregates are out! Interesting! So interesting!"

She casually opened another panel, which displayed the microscopic fission and energy dissipation patterns occurring where the Greater Daemon's Warp essence joined with its material body after being bombarded by high-energy particle beams.

"Look at this energy loss path! What an... 'artistic' tendency toward self-Oblivion!"

The more Liang Bing spoke, the more excited she became. Her fingers rapidly entered commands on the panel. "Come on, let's try this! I want to see whether this pile of rotten meat can still twitch after I extract the core imprint of that little 'Blood God's Blessing' from your soul!"

An eerie violet light, seemingly capable of twisting the soul itself, instantly flared inside the containment chamber, accompanied by the Greater Daemon's shriek abruptly rising to an extreme pitch, so agonized it was almost no longer a sound!

On the bridge's main screen, a communication request from a Terra noble had flashed countless times before finally dimming due to no response, marked as "low-priority garbage information."

Liang Bing glanced at the screen and curled her lips in disdain. "A bunch of natives who can't even grasp conservation of energy want to negotiate terms with a queen? Save it."

Her attention returned completely to the "perfect specimen" struggling in agony before her, her eyes gleaming with the fanatic light of a scientist discovering a new law.

"Be good, don't be afraid. It'll be over soon... well, maybe." Liang Bing licked her lips and launched a new round of "testing."

Apocalypse One hung in Terra's orbit like a cold holy temple, cut off from the conflict and filth of the world below.

Its master, meanwhile, was immersed in her own "academic paradise," without even the slightest interest in mocking the self-righteous little schemes of the Imperium's upper ranks.

Her very existence was the deepest despair and the highest Bulwark for those beginning to stir.

And Terra's true storm was still brewing and fermenting between Guilliman's iron hand and the dying struggles of the old powers.