The Beginning at Istvan V

Welcome to the future, Lox.

This was the first sound Lox heard after waking from his slumber.

The light of the stasis field extinguished, and the ancient one, sealed away for ten thousand years, regained his ability to move.

A powerful sense of vertigo, accompanied by chaotic memories, swept through his brain. He scanned his surroundings blankly, recalling that he had been inside a stasis chamber.

"What time is it now? How long have I slept?"

36,587,650 Earth days have passed since you entered hibernation.

"Yes, ten thousand years. What a long stretch of time." Lox stood up from the deactivated stasis field, moved his somewhat stiff legs to the outside of the chamber, and paused. "Since I have been awakened, it means humanity has ultimately walked toward that terrible future."

Lox, the executor of the Future Reinforcement Project, came from the twenty-first millennium of human civilization, an era where humanity had spread across the galaxy and the power of technology was enough to reshape the brilliance of the star sea.

With the application of warp travel, the popularization of strong artificial intelligence, and the invention of the STC, human civilization had undergone explosive development.

In the accretion disk of the supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy, and in the void between the Milky Way and the Andromeda galaxy, the footprints of human pioneers could be found.

It could be said that this was the era of humanity; the galaxy was the galaxy of man.

"Yet, beneath this brilliance lies a situation as precarious as fire under a cauldron. Warp travel connected all of humanity in the galaxy as one, but within that mysterious and unpredictable warp, malicious gazes were hidden."

Lox recalled the final conversation he had with the chief of the Alliance Science Division ten thousand years ago, after he joined the Future Reinforcement Project.

"Although our civilization has achieved unprecedented accomplishments, I am not optimistic about the future of humanity," said the chief of the Alliance Science Division, the pioneer who held the highest technological power of human civilization.

"The warp is an ocean of the immaterial world. It appears calm and gentle, but when it boils, and when the gazes that have long hidden behind the veil finally do more than just watch, we will face an unprecedented crisis of destruction."

The chief's pessimistic attitude left Lox puzzled; he had witnessed humanity create too many miracles and knew well the immense power this race possessed.

"We possess a powerful fleet capable of roaming the galaxy; even those who call themselves Aeldari do not frighten us. What could possibly defeat the Stone Men and the Iron Men?" Lox countered.

The chief's expression did not change, as if he had no confidence at all in those terrifying creations born from their own hands.

Forbidden weapons could easily tear stars apart, and countless swarms of nanites devoured planets simply to acquire the minerals humanity needed more conveniently. Humanity created Stone Men with powerful research capabilities, and subsequently forged endless legions of Iron Men controlled by AI.

Even the laws of physics were not unshakable; humanity had touched the great powers of time and space.

"But what if these most dangerous weapons were turned against their former masters?"

The chief's words silenced Lox. He had survived from the third millennium of humanity to the present, witnessing the rise of man and the moments of internal strife within the race.

"We have compiled the vast majority of STCs in the current Alliance technological system and shaped them into a final backup capable of continuing human technology and civilization."

"However, technology alone is not enough, which is why we chose you. Your Perpetual constitution allowed you to survive from the distant past to the present; you were born when humanity was still in its infancy, gazing at the star sea."

"You have witnessed our civilization walk step by step from the cradle to the summit."

"Your genes have not undergone any editing or modification; compared to those who call themselves Gold Men, you could be called primitive and crude. The genes of the Gold Men are perfected through constant improvement; they are fearless of disease and aging, their modified brains have a hundred times the analytical ability of an ordinary person, and their physical strength and reaction speed are comparable to supermen."

"But, the synonym for perfect is imperfect. There is no turning back for genetic modification. Once you walk down a path to the end, we lose more possibilities. You are different; those parts of your genes classified as inefficient and redundant contain this very possibility."

Lox silently remembered every word of the chief, yet in his heart, there was confusion as to why the chief and those brilliant scientists were unwilling to go to the future.

As if seeing his confusion, the chief finally smiled and said lightly, "Everyone has their own mission; we belong to this era."

"Among our people, a trend of losing reverence for the universe is spreading. Increasingly insane genetic blasphemy and psychic exploration are already showing signs of spiraling out of control. All of this requires the guidance of the rational."

"By the way, the project has not been named yet. I think it should be named by you, the executor of the project. Come, give it a name."

The chief changed the subject.

"A name, you say..."

"Let's call it Red Alert."

When humanity walks toward extinction, Red Alert will revive once more, holding the final hope firmly in its grasp.

"You are the spark of humanity. When you wake up again one day in the future, please remember your mission."

The serum took effect, and Lox's vision began to blur, but he still wanted to take one more look at this defender of humanity.

The chief seemed to be waving at him, bidding farewell to this old friend.

"Please let the human race continue; let the torch of human civilization not be extinguished."

The hatch of the Red Alert slowly closed, the sound of mechanical collision landing. The chief gazed at the starship as it sailed into the dark galaxy under the control of the central AI, gradually disappearing from his sight, and muttered to himself.

"Goodbye, friend..."

006.M31, Isstvan system.

This was a dead world.

Countless tons of nuclear weapons had torn apart mountains, leveled valleys, and evaporated the ashes of the earth, dissipating into the atmosphere alongside the roar of lances and macro-cannons.

The surface of the planet was densely branded with craters capable of burying heavy vehicles. Turbid groundwater, molten liquid steel, and the blood of countless dead humans combined to form a lethal liquid that emitted a pungent, rusty, bloody stench.

Faint light fell through the gaps in the nuclear clouds, rippling in tiny waves across the low-reflectivity liquid.

The ripples spread slowly, finally shattering under the increasingly distinct sound of trampling.

"The scent of those rats is right here."

A cold, hoarse voice appeared abruptly. A squad of giant warriors, two meters and four centimeters tall, clad in gray-green power armor and wielding massive scythes fitted with terrifying serrated blades, stood exposed in an environment filled with poison gas and high radiation.

Even for Astartes, the Emperor's superhuman warriors, such a hostile environment was no small trial. Yet, for this small squad of Death Guard traitors, it only served to evoke the scent of their home world, Barbarus.

"Four full months. It has been such a long time since the massacre at the landing zone, and yet these troublesome fellows are still active right under our noses."

"The Warmaster's patience is wearing thin. After annihilating the Iron Hands, Salamanders, and Raven Guard, there is no longer any need for restraint. Our warships will soon be able to point directly toward Terra."

The lead Space Marine inhaled deeply, then bent down. With the faint whir of his armor's servo-systems, he pinched a drop of strangely discolored blood-soaked sand before him.

Gene-detection nerves—the modifications undergone by every Astartes granted them superior tracking capabilities; even a single drop of blood could reveal a wealth of information about the one who bled.

The owner of this blood was undoubtedly severely wounded. According to the Death Guard's assessment, even if they abandoned the pursuit, the target would struggle to survive for two Terran days.

This living hell was deathly silent, save for the chaotic air currents that occasionally erupted in whistling screams.

The Death Guard stood motionless, slowly tightening his grip on the chain-scythe stained with the heavy scent of gore.

Despite the mockery he spat regarding the three legions surrounded and slaughtered at the landing zone, deep down, the Death Guard warrior knew clearly that his enemies were fellow Astartes—superhuman warriors.

They were monsters with lives so stubborn they had survived high-energy nuclear blasts, orbital bombardments, and heavy artillery barrages.

The ground trembled.

The precise gyroscopes of his Mk II Power Armor detected the subtle vibration beneath his feet. The seven Death Guard warriors scattered instantly, moving from their original positions with lightning speed.

"Ambush!"

The furious warning was swallowed by the sound of crumbling rock. Although their reaction speed was measured in microseconds, they were still a fraction too slow against this meticulously crafted trap.

The earth shattered. Once the critical geological nodes were destroyed by high-energy explosives, the ground instantly collapsed and subsided, swallowing the traitors into the depths like a minor earthquake.

As the rocks continued to cave in, the caught-off-guard Death Guard were crushed under hundreds of tons of fragmented stone. Even their powerful bodies, protected by ceramite armor, suffered grievous injuries.

Two Death Guard warriors were buried at the very bottom by the collapsing boulders, while the remaining five had their ceramite armor dented and cracked, with the muscles and bones beneath their black carapace torn and broken.

"Boom!"

A dull explosion tore through the air. Vengeful bolter rounds erupted from their weapons, their precise trajectories ignoring the near-zero visibility to tear through the neck of a Death Guard.

An Astartes' ceramite armor offered astonishing protection at the chest and pauldrons, making it impossible for bolter rounds to penetrate with absolute certainty.

However, at the joints of the power armor—areas like the helmet or legs where flexibility necessitated compromises—the lethality of a bolter round was sufficient to pierce the ceramite and destroy the Space Marine's flesh.

Shattered shrapnel accelerated, piercing the helmet and continuing its path, carrying fragments of the deceased's white skull and helmet shards to maim the others.

"Despicable traitors! You have failed the Emperor and turned your blades against your former brothers-in-arms!"

In the dark subterranean tunnel, a cold electronic voice pierced the dust.

Yet, the response was a dozen bolter rounds filled with the same murderous intent. The Death Guard fired precisely toward the source of the voice, their powerful bodies absorbing the massive recoil of their bolter guns.

Two rounds struck the attacker in the darkness, but there was no dull thud of impact against flesh.

It was the Iron Hands.

Through the echo of the sound, the Death Guard understood. On this cage-world, only Iron Hands warriors, heavily augmented with cybernetics, would possess such reflexes.

He fired his bolter continuously while the surrounding Death Guard shifted rapidly, seeking the nearest cover and tightening their field of fire.

In a mere second, the Death Guard unleashed dozens of heavy bolter rounds.

The roar of the heavy bolters sounded like hammers striking an anvil, echoing through the unknown depths of the tunnel.

As they expected, the ambushing Iron Hands did not linger, turning and fleeing into the deep, dark tunnels.

After four full months of encirclement, these survivors of the landing zone massacre had long since exhausted their bolter ammunition and war supplies.

"This tunnel does not exist in the Legion's command system. This means there may be more Iron Hands and Raven Guard hiding within, conducting annoying guerrilla warfare against us," the squad leader's voice echoed over the comms.

"Send the message out. Tell them our location."

The Death Guard chose not to pursue further. Two Space Marines guarded the direction of the enemy's retreat while they opened the power armor's internal communication channel, attempting to transmit their coordinates to the Legion command.

"Static..."

A sudden, intense electromagnetic interference blocked the Death Guard's attempt to signal for help.

They are still here!

A sharp sense of crisis struck. The Death Guard activated their chain-scythes, the buzzing blades swinging down with a violent force!

The Death Guard squad leader's reaction was fast as lightning, yet out of the darkness, a pitch-black figure emerged. Wielding two dim, lightless power swords, the figure tapped the rotating gears of the chain-scythe.

The sudden appearance of the black-armored warrior struck the vulnerable part of the chain-scythe, causing the motor to jam and exposing the Death Guard warrior's opening.

The power sword swept across the Death Guard's arm armor, the tip grazing the ceramite before piercing the weak point at the throat with perfect precision.

The activated disruption field easily severed the ceramite, and the Death Guard's head flew off in the flash of the blade. His massive body, still locked in a state of instinctive rigidity, collapsed following its momentum.

The other Death Guard fired their bolters frantically at the remains of their battle-brother, but the assassin had cleverly hidden behind the corpse, using the dead Space Marine as a shield.

"Where did the attacker come from? My two teammates were guarding the passage."

Before they could fathom the answer, their overheating bolters ran dry. The squad leader's back-mounted power pack had been completely shredded, and his waist armor, along with his spine and flesh, had vanished, leaving behind only a gaping, hollow hole.

"You have no right to repent!"

The squad leader's corpse finally slammed into the ground.

Shadows emerged once more from behind. In this dark underground tunnel, it seemed a ghost, invisible to the naked eye, lay in wait to deliver the most beautiful of deaths.

A flash of blade-light swept past, two power swords once again piercing the throats of the Death Guard, severing their spines in the process.

These Astartes of the XIV Legion possessed immense vitality and endurance; many attacks that would be fatal to Astartes of other legions merely delayed the arrival of death for them.

But that certainly did not include decapitation.

The Raven Guard who had survived the massacre were the coldest reapers in the shadows.

After Nykona Sharrowkyn swiftly dispatched the buried enemy, he immediately signaled the all-clear to notify his comrades deep underground.

Soon, over a dozen Iron Hands Astartes, their armor riddled with craters and heavily augmented with bionic limbs, rushed up to scavenge the usable weapons and equipment from the fallen Death Guard.

These Sons of Ferrus, masters of mechanical augmentation who carried laser cutters and melta weapons, gathered the found bolters and even began cutting into the power armor of the dead enemies.

Their own battered power armor was in dire need of repair, even if only of the most rudimentary kind.

The Astartes of the Shattered Legions moved with great speed, even extracting the brain tissue of the dead enemies to maximize the retrieval of their memories and understand the movements of the traitors.

"A clean and swift death; you are too merciful to the traitors."

Sabik Wayland praised him. He was the Iron Hands warrior who had set the ambush for the Death Guard; his bionic right hand had been deformed by bolter fire, yet the Son of Ferrus ignored it, using his other hand to adjust the twisted metal.

"It was the opportunity you provided."

The silent Son of the Raven deactivated the disruption field on his power sword and connected the energy cable from his power armor to the hilt to recharge it.

Wayland did not mind in the slightest; Raven Guard warriors were known for their taciturn nature, and having fought side-by-side for so long, he had long since come to understand the battle-brother he had once dragged back from the Asura field.

"Wayland, their footsteps are drawing closer. This time it was seven Death Guard; next time, it could be the combined encirclement of the traitors." Sharrowkyn's voice came from the darkness.

"We must escape this place alive."