Isstvan V

Welcome to the future, Lox.

This was the first voice Lox heard after awakening from his slumber.

The glow of the stasis field faded, and the ancient one who had been sealed away for ten thousand years regained his ability to move.

A powerful disorientation, accompanied by chaotic memories, swept through his mind. He looked around blankly and recalled that he was inside a stasis chamber.

"What time is it now? How long have I been asleep?"

It has been 3,658,765 Earth days since you entered hibernation.

"Yes, ten thousand years. What an unbearably long span of time." Lox rose from the inactive stasis field, moved his somewhat stiff legs, and walked outside the chamber. He paused. "Since I have been awakened, humanity must ultimately have entered that terrible future."

Lox, executor of the Future Reinforcement Project, came from M21—the glorious age when humanity had spread across the galaxy and technological power was sufficient to reshape the splendor of the stars.

With the use of Warp travel, the proliferation of strong artificial intelligence, and the invention of STC standard construction templates, human civilization had undergone explosive development.

Human pioneers had left their traces upon the accretion disk of the galaxy's central black hole and in the void between the Milky Way and the Andromeda Galaxy.

It could be said that this was humanity's age. The galaxy belonged to humanity.

"But beneath that glory lay a raging fire beneath boiling oil. Warp travel connected humanity across the entire galaxy, yet within that unfathomable Warp, hostile eyes lay concealed."

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

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

"The Warp is an ocean of the immaterial realm. It appears calm and gentle, but once it boils, once those eyes hidden behind the veil cease merely observing us, we will face an unprecedented crisis of destruction."

The chief's pessimism had baffled Lox. He had witnessed humanity create too many miracles and knew full well the immense strength possessed by this species.

"We possess fleets powerful enough to dominate the galaxy. We do not even fear those aliens who call themselves the Aeldari. What could possibly defeat the Stone Men and Iron Men?" Lox asked.

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

Forbidden weapons could easily tear apart stars. Countless swarms of nanites devoured planets merely to acquire the minerals humanity needed more conveniently. Humanity created the Stone Men, endowed with formidable research capabilities, and then 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 those most dangerous weapons turned upon their former masters?"

The chief's words left Lox silent. He had lived from humanity's third millennium to the present day, witnessing humanity's rise as well as the times when the species descended into internal conflict.

"We have compiled the vast majority of the STCs within the Alliance's current technological system and shaped them into a final backup capable of preserving humanity's technology and civilization."

"Yet technology alone is not enough. That is why we chose you. Your Perpetual constitution allowed you to survive from the distant past until today. You were born when humanity was still in its cradle, gazing out at the stars."

"You witnessed this civilization of ours climb step by step from its cradle to the mountaintop."

"Your genes have never undergone editing or modification. Compared with those who call themselves the Gold Men, they could be called primitive and crude. The Gold Men's genes have approached perfection through constant refinement. They fear neither disease nor aging. Their enhanced brains possess analytical capabilities a hundred times greater than ordinary people's, while their physical strength and reaction speed rival those of superhumans."

"However, perfection is synonymous with imperfection. There is no turning back from genetic modification. Once a path is followed to the end, we lose countless other possibilities. But you are different. The portions of your genes classified as inefficient and redundant contain precisely those possibilities."

Lox silently memorized every word the chief spoke, yet he remained puzzled. Why were the chief and those brilliant scientists unwilling to travel into the future?

As though he had seen through Lox's confusion, the chief finally smiled. "Everyone has their own mission. Ours belongs to this era."

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

"Oh, right. The project has not yet been named. I think the executor should name it. Come on, give it a name."

The chief abruptly changed the subject.

"A name..."

"Let's call it Red Alert."

When humanity moved toward extinction, Red Alert would awaken once more and firmly grasp the final hope in its hands.

"You are humanity's spark. When you awaken again someday in the future, remember your mission."

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

The chief seemed to wave at him, bidding farewell to his old friend.

"Please allow humanity to endure. Do not let the flame of human civilization be extinguished."

The hatch of the Red Alert slowly closed. As the sound of mechanical components locking together faded, the chief watched the starship, guided by the Cogitator into the dark galaxy, gradually vanish from sight. He murmured to himself.

"Goodbye, my friend..."

--

006. M31, Isstvan System.

This was a world that had already died.

Nuclear weapons of incalculable yield had torn apart mountain ranges, leveled valleys, and vaporized the very ashes of the earth, scattering them through the atmosphere amid the thunder of lance weapons and macro cannons.

The planet's surface was densely branded with craters deep enough to bury heavy vehicles. Polluted groundwater, molten streams of steel, and the blood of countless dead humans combined into a lethal fluid that reeked intensely of rust and blood.

Faint light fell through the gaps in the nuclear clouds, sending several minute ripples across the pooled liquid with its near-black reflectivity.

The ripples spread slowly before finally breaking beneath increasingly distinct footsteps.

"The scent of those rats is here."

A cold, hoarse voice emerged without warning. A squad of giant warriors, each standing nearly eight feet tall and clad in gray-green power armor, appeared within an environment saturated with poison gas and intense radiation. In their hands were massive scythes fitted with terrifying serrated blades.

Even for the Emperor's superhuman Astartes, such a harsh environment was no small trial. Yet for this squad of Death Guard traitors, it instead reminded them of the scent of their homeworld, Barbarus.

"It has been four whole months. So much time has passed since the landing site massacre, yet those troublesome bastards are still moving beneath our noses."

"The primarch's patience is nearly exhausted. After the Warmaster wiped out the Iron Hands, Salamanders, and Raven Guard, he no longer needs to hold back. Our warships will soon be able to point directly at Terra."

The Space Marine leading them drew a deep breath through his nostrils, then bent down. With a faint whine from his armor's servo systems, he pinched up a grain of blood-soaked sand that differed ever so slightly from the rest and held it before his eyes.

Genetic detection nerves. The surgeries undergone by the Astartes gave them extraordinary information-tracking abilities. Even a single drop of blood could reveal much about the one who had shed it.

And the owner of this drop of blood was undoubtedly badly wounded. According to the Death Guard's judgment, even if they abandoned the pursuit, the target would struggle to survive another two Terra days.

This earthly hell was deathly silent. Only turbulent air currents occasionally stirred up shrieking howls.

The Death Guard stood silently in place, slowly tightening their grips around their chainscythes, which were steeped in the stench of blood.

Though their words were filled with mockery for the three Legions encircled at the landing site, deep down, the Death Guard warriors knew perfectly well that their enemies were fellow superhuman Astartes.

Monsters tough enough to survive high-yield nuclear blasts, orbital bombardments, and artillery barrages.

The ground trembled.

The precise gyroscopes of their Mk II Power Armor detected the faint vibrations beneath their feet. The seven Death Guard warriors scattered instantly, abandoning their former positions in a flash.

"Ambush!"

The furious warning mixed with the sound of crumbling rock. Though their reaction speeds could be measured in microseconds, they were still a fraction too slow before this carefully prepared ambush.

The earth ruptured. High-energy explosives destroyed key geological points, causing the ground to collapse and sink in an instant. Like a miniature earthquake, it swallowed the traitors beneath the surface.

The rocks continued to cave in. Caught entirely off guard, the Death Guard were crushed beneath hundreds of tons of shattered stone. Even their powerful bodies, protected by ceramite armor, suffered severe injuries.

Two Death Guard warriors were buried directly beneath the collapsed boulders, while the ceramite armor of the other five was smashed, warped, and cracked. Beneath their black carapaces, muscles and bones ruptured and broke.

Boom!

A muffled explosion tore through the air. A vengeful bolt shell erupted from a gun, its precise trajectory ignoring the near-zero visibility and ripping through a Death Guard warrior's neck.

The ceramite armor of the Astartes was extraordinarily resilient around the breastplate and shoulder guards. Even bolt shells could not guarantee penetration there.

But at the joints of power armor—areas such as the helmet and legs, where flexibility demanded compromise—the destructive force of a bolt shell was enough to pierce ceramite and destroy a Space Marine's body.

The shattered fragments continued accelerating. After piercing the helmet, they did not stop, carrying pieces of the dead warrior's white skull and broken helmet into the others.

"Shameless traitors! You betrayed the Emperor and slaughtered your former brothers-in-arms!"

Within the dark underground tunnel, a cold electronic voice pierced the dust.

The response was more than a dozen bolt shells carrying the same murderous intent. The Death Guard raised their bolters and fired precisely toward the source of the voice, their power armor and immense bodies absorbing the recoil.

Two bolt shells struck the ambusher in the darkness, yet there was no dull sound of flesh bursting.

Iron Hands.

From the echo of the voice, the Death Guard understood at once. On this prison world, only Iron Hands warriors who had undergone extensive bionic augmentation could produce such a sound.

His bolter fired continuously while the Death Guard around him shifted rapidly, seeking the nearest cover while tightening their firing net.

In the span of a single second, the Death Guard unleashed dozens of heavy bolt rounds.

The roar of the heavy bolts echoed through the unknowably deep tunnels like hammers striking an anvil.

Just as they expected, the ambushing Iron Hands did not linger. They turned and fled into the deep, dark underground passages.

After four full months of encirclement and extermination, those warriors who had survived the landing site massacre had long since exhausted their bolt ammunition and war supplies.

"This tunnel does not exist in the Legion's command system. That means more Iron Hands and Raven Guard may be hiding inside, carrying out these irritating guerrilla attacks against us," the squad leader's voice echoed over the channel.

"Send the message. Tell them our location."

The Death Guard did not continue their pursuit. Two Space Marines guarded the direction in which the enemy had fled while activating the communication channels built into their power armor, attempting to send their coordinates to Legion command.

"Bzzzt..."

A sudden burst of powerful electromagnetic interference cut off the Death Guard squad's attempt to report in.

They were still here!

A powerful sense of danger struck. The Death Guard activated their chainscythes, and the humming massive blades hacked down violently before them!

The Death Guard squad leader reacted with lightning speed, but in the darkness, a pitch-black figure had appeared at some unknown moment. Holding two dull, lightless power swords, he lightly tapped the rotating gears of the chainscythe.

The black-armored warrior struck the chainscythe's vulnerable point. Its motor immediately jammed, exposing an opening in the Death Guard warrior's movements.

A power sword swept across the Death Guard's arm guard. Its tip skimmed over the ceramite surface before striking precisely through the vulnerable point at the throat.

The activated disruption field easily severed the ceramite. The Death Guard warrior's head flew away amid the sword-light, while his immense body remained locked in an instinctive spasm as it fell forward with its momentum.

The Death Guard aimed their bolters at their battle-brother's corpse and fired wildly, but the assassin had cleverly concealed himself behind the body. The bolt shells were intercepted by the dead Space Marine.

"Where did the attacker come from? Two of our brothers were guarding the passage."

Before they could figure it out, the overheated bolters in their hands had emptied every remaining round. The squad leader's power pack had been completely blasted apart, and the armor around his waist, along with his spine and flesh, had vanished without a trace, leaving only a hollow, gaping hole.

"You have no right to repent!"

The squad leader's corpse finally crashed to the ground.

The shadow emerged again from behind them. Within this dark underground passage, it seemed as though an invisible ghost lurked, bringing the most beautiful death.

Sword-light flashed. Two power swords once again pierced the throats of Death Guard warriors, severing their spines along with them.

These Space Marines of the XIV Legion possessed tremendous vitality and endurance. Many attacks that would have been fatal to Astartes of other Legions could merely delay death for them.

But decapitation was certainly not among those attacks.

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

Nykona Sharrowkyn efficiently finished off the enemies buried beneath the rubble, then immediately sent out the all-clear signal to notify the other battle-brothers deeper underground.

Soon, more than a dozen Iron Hands Astartes rushed up. Their armor was covered in impact craters, and they bore extensive mechanical prosthetics. They collected whatever usable weapons and equipment remained on the dead Death Guard.

These Sons of Ferrus, skilled in mechanical augmentation and carrying laser cutters and melta weapons, gathered the bolt shells they found and even began cutting apart the dead enemies' power armor.

Their damaged power armor desperately needed repairs, however crude those repairs might be.

The Astartes of the Shattered Legions worked swiftly. Even the dead enemies' brain tissue was removed, allowing them to read the other side's memories as thoroughly as possible and learn the traitors' movements.

"A clean death. You were too merciful to the traitors," Sabik Wayland said approvingly. He was the Iron Hands warrior who had set the ambush against the Death Guard. His steel prosthetic right arm had warped beneath the bolter barrage, yet the Son of Ferrus calmly used his other hand to straighten the twisted metal.

"You gave me the opportunity."

The silent Son of the Raven deactivated the disruption field on his power swords, then connected the energy cables from his power armor to the sword hilts to recharge them.

Wayland did not mind in the slightest. Raven Guard warriors tended to have the habit of not speaking much, and after fighting side by side for so long, he already understood the battle-brother he had dragged back from the slaughterhouse very well.

"Wayland, their footsteps are getting closer. This time, seven Death Guard came. Next time, it may be a coordinated extermination force of traitors," Sharrowkyn's voice came from the darkness.

"We must escape alive."