The forge beneath Mars' surface roared like a living thing.
Molten metal streamed through Mechanicum conduits, each drop humming with alien resonance. Eristan stood at the center, robes fluttering in the furnace wind, the two C'tan shards suspended before him in containment fields. Valen stood opposite, his Haki woven with psychic force, caging the reality-warping hunger that radiated from the fragments.
Shawn entered without ceremony. Even in the blistering heat, the air seemed to still around him.
"Begin."
Forging the Cloak of the Deceiver
The first shard — from the Deceiver — shimmered like quicksilver, whispering lies into the minds of those nearby. Servitors dropped where they stood, minds broken by the suggestion that their lives had never been real.
Valdor stepped forward, Conqueror's Haki lancing out to crush the shard's will. Shawn followed, his own will locking over Valdor's like a second shield. Eristan poured the liquid alloy over it, folding in latticework from Mechanicum phase-tech, each layer hammered by blows infused with Armament Haki.
When it cooled, the cloak shimmered between existence and absence — a Veil Mantle that would let its wearer vanish from all senses, psychic or physical, without touching the warp.
Forging the Spearhead of the Nightbringer
The second shard — from the Nightbringer — was worse. It didn't speak. It simply was death. Every Custodes standing guard felt their lifeforce wane just by looking at it.
Guilliman and Valen moved together, locking it in place with combined Armament and Observation Haki. Shawn's Spirit Projection took shape — a towering spectral giant — and he pressed it down over the shard like a blacksmith's tongs, keeping the concept of death itself pinned.
Eristan worked the alien fragment into a slender, curved spearhead, inlaid with silver channels to funnel Haki directly through the blade.
When finished, the Spear of Finality gleamed with impossible sharpness — a weapon that would bypass armor, shields, regeneration, even the incorporeal bodies of daemons.
Testing in the Wastes
There was no trial chamber that could measure these creations. So Shawn took them to the wastes beyond the Phobos fortress.
A captured Tyranid Prime — too dangerous to keep alive for long — was released from stasis. It screeched, its chitin armor flaring with bioelectricity, claws scything toward Shawn.
Veil Mantle: He vanished. Not blinked — erased. The Tyranid stumbled, its senses blind. Shawn's Observation Haki let him circle unseen until he reappeared at its flank.
Spear of Finality: One thrust. No resistance. The spear slid through chitin, flesh, and bone as if they were smoke. The Prime's psychic scream cut off mid-breath. It fell in two pieces, both evaporating into stillness.
Valen, watching from the ridge, murmured, "You could end a god with that."
The Next Campaign
Astropathic reports were already arriving — Tyranid splinter fleets converging on a hive world in the eastern fringe. Millions of Imperial citizens still lived there, their evacuation incomplete. The swarm's apex leader was rumored to be a Neurotyrant the size of a Titan.
Shawn's eyes narrowed.
"This will do for a test."
Valdor's voice was grim. "If your weapons work as I suspect, this won't be a battle. It will be an execution."
Shawn gripped the spear, the cloak folding into his armor like a shadow.
"Then let the galaxy learn the cost of hunting in my Imperium."