"Dorn, confident?" Perturabo strode into the cockpit.
On the control panel's holographic display, communication logs and flight paths flickered continuously.
"I've analyzed the shuttle's communication protocols and flight patterns. I can attempt to simulate their authentication credentials. Success rate is over 50%."
"Then try it!"
Calliphone was deeply worried. "This is too risky! Trying to capture a warship with just one shuttle and over a dozen warriors. If you're exposed, you won't even have a chance to escape!"
At ten thousand meters altitude or in outer space, if the shuttle were shot down, all its passengers would perish with it. Even a Primarch couldn't survive.
Perturabo said, "We have no choice."
"The longer we wait, the more likely they'll detect something wrong."
"If the Black Judges decide to launch an orbital bombardment, we won't even have a chance to resist."
The Imperium had void shields protecting its cities and ground-based defense arrays for counterattack.
Olympia had nothing. They could only be bombed in silence.
The Black Judges had arrived too quickly. His Legion hadn't come yet. He had to take this risk now!
Caelan said, "Don't worry too much. My psychic powers can withstand their close-in weapon systems for a short time."
"As long as we board successfully, the rest will be easy."
Calliphone bit her lip, her eyes filled with deep concern.
Dammekos stared at Perturabo's resolute gaze. All his words turned into a barely audible sigh.
The truth was, they had a choice from the beginning. They could have compromised.
The Black Judges only wanted population, not the destruction of Olympia.
If they sacrificed that million people, perhaps the Black Judges would stay away for centuries, as before.
Even if not centuries, a few years would be enough time for the Fourth Legion to arrive. Those abducted children might not necessarily never see the light of day again.
It was a cowardly choice, but a realistic one.
But Dammekos understood that Perturabo would never sacrifice mortals to survive by the skin of his teeth.
Because Perturabo was a Primarch, and he was merely mortal.
Mortal courage often requires weighing options. What they strive to find in despair is not the best path, but the least bad one.
"Trust them."
Dammekos watched the slowly ascending shuttle, his gaze gradually becoming resolute. "Calliphone, have Heracon assemble the army. Whether we succeed or fail, we cannot just sit and wait for death!"
His son had made his choice. He, as a mortal father, couldn't help much, but he could at least avoid becoming a burden!
Calliphone murmured uneasily, "Sister Lilith, will we win?"
Lilith answered without a shadow of doubt, "We will."
With those three involved, she didn't see how they could lose.
Even if they encountered danger, the Youngest Goddess would not stand idly by. She had invested far too much; sunk costs wouldn't allow her to withdraw.
Just when a feast was within sight, who would give up now?
...
The shuttle's engine nozzles belched blue exhaust flames, accelerating to first cosmic velocity in an extremely short time, successfully breaking through the atmosphere into outer space.
Perturabo stared out the viewport at the eight-kilometer-long massive vessel suspended in orbit.
This pitch-black ship was like a Sword of Damocles hanging over Olympia, ready to bring destruction upon the Olympians at any moment.
"Arbiter, this is Silverswing Messenger." Dorn's voice came through the encrypted channel. "The Accuser has completed tribute conscription. Requesting emergency return."
"Silverswing Messenger, authorisation code." The comms returned a cold, mechanically synthesised response.
"Authorisation code: Ω-7-4-2-0. Accuser biometric signature transmitted simultaneously."
"Authorisation approved. Docking permitted. Engaging third docking bay. Maintain heading angle 27.3°. Restrict engine power to 5%. Follow guidance beacon."
Perturabo said, "Smoother than I expected."
Caelan chuckled lightly. "How hard could it be? The ship is real, the authorisation code is real, the biometric signature is real. Why would they be suspicious?"
Dorn suddenly spoke, "Their defence protocols have an obvious vulnerability: no biometric scan of the shuttle was performed."
Caelan said, "Maybe it's not a vulnerability, but arrogance."
The Black Judges had ruled the Meratara Cluster for millennia. They believed their authority was unchallengeable.
Defensiveness shows respect for the enemy, and Olympia was just a feral world, unworthy of even that respect.
Guided by the docking beacon, the Silverswing Messenger slowly entered the Arbiter's docking bay.
Through the viewport, Perturabo saw a group of hunched cyborg servitors shuffling towards the shuttle with heavy steps. Various repair tools were attached to their deformed limbs. They seemed to be performing routine maintenance and resupply on the Messenger.
The Black Judges were remnants of the Dark Age of Technology. They had also experienced the bitter lessons of the Men of Iron rebellion and harbored a deep-seated aversion to artificial intelligence.
Therefore, they chose cyborgs as their servants. Genetically modified warriors called Accusers acted as the Black Judges' representatives, while the lower-ranking servitors handled miscellaneous chores.
"Secure the deck immediately!" Perturabo's voice rang in his warriors' ears. "Find the core areas. Take control of the engines and the bridge. Give them no chance to counterattack!"
Click!
As the bay door slowly descended, driven by the hydraulic system, the welcoming committee for the servitors was a row of dark, ominous gun muzzles.
Blue arcs of lightning danced in the chambers of the las-locks, like the whispers of death.
These legacies from the Dark Age of Technology were one of the few decent weapons Olympia possessed.
Each shot could instantly vaporize an enemy into charred remains. Even genetically enhanced Accusers could hardly survive such violent energy!
Every las-lock discharge was accompanied by blinding lightning and the enemies' dying screams. The deck was soon covered in scorched wreckage, and the air reeked of ionised burning.
"My Lord, port corridor cleared."
Barabas hugged the cold bulkhead, the muzzle of his las-lock steadily aimed down the corridor.
At the far end of the corridor, several charred corpses were still emitting wisps of smoke.
The Arbiter was unprepared for an attack from a feral world, but only servitors were on the deck. This was hardly a battle worth celebrating.
Perturabo ordered, "To the upper core. We must control the bridge!"
Whether the Imperium, Invictus, or the Black Judges, the design of human civilisation always followed the same lineage.
No matter how a warship's exterior changed, the bridge was always located at the most prominent top and front, never hidden in the lower decks.
Like the Imperium, the Black Judges had removed AI from their technologies, but their level of ship automation far exceeded the Imperium's.
In the Imperium, a ship of this size would have at least a hundred thousand crew, but the Arbiter only needed two thousand.
Moreover, despite the small crew, the ship's internal defences were extremely sophisticated.
Every corridor and deck was equipped with automated sentry turrets. The firepower configuration was terrifying!
If it were just the Primarchs and mortal guards, these narrow corridors would indeed be enough to trap them.
By the time the Black Judges' reinforcements arrived, they would likely be forced to surrender.
However, they also had Caelan.
BANG!
Automated turrets suddenly extended from the ceiling without warning. Directed energy beams poured down upon Perturabo like hellfire.
This terrifying firepower could have killed a Primarch, but against Caelan's psychic barrier, these deadly beams caused no substantial damage, only unleashing dazzling light upon the shield.
Caelan simply raised his hand and closed his five fingers.
That automated turret was crushed like an aluminum can, instantly becoming a heap of sparking scrap metal.
"Father!" Perturabo called out with concern.
Caelan said, "I'm fine. Consumption is lower than expected. I can hold. Head for the bridge!"
The Black Judges' technology was indeed advanced, but Caelan's psychic power was no less potent.
Though Caelan rarely went all out, he was the Primarchs' greatest asset, the reason they dared to storm the Arbiter directly!
Though the Primarchs knew nothing of the ship's internal layout, and the warship's interior was complex as a maze...
They could still rely on their superhuman senses to pinpoint their location and correct their route in the unfamiliar, complex environment, quickly planning the optimal path.
As they advanced deeper into the ship, every corridor they passed became a crucial piece for building a cognitive map.
These scattered pieces of information gradually integrated in their minds, forming a complete picture of the ship's structure.
Though lacking any physical basis, this cognitive map, built purely on intuition and experience, proved astonishingly accurate.
Even if occasional deviations occurred, they could immediately detect and adjust.
Relying on this nearly instinctive navigational ability, they could avoid detours and forge straight ahead to the upper decks.
Staring at the large industrial lift at the corridor's end, a three-dimensional structural diagram of the entire warship quickly formed in their minds.
"The bridge is directly above us. This lift should go straight to the core area!"
Dorn said, "Too risky. We should find the stairs first."
The Black Judges still had absolute control over the ship. The lift could easily become a death trap.
"The Black Judges might not have wasted space for stairs."
"Brother, it seems we have a slight discrepancy in our map-building."
Perturabo didn't argue with Dorn. He turned to Caelan. "Father, what do you think?"
Caelan thought for a moment, then decisively pressed the lift call button. "Detours waste too much time. Time is life. Get in the lift!"
He didn't care if the lift was dangerous. He had psychic powers; he did what he wanted!
"Stay alert. Don't leave the barrier's range!"
Just as Dorn predicted, the moment they stepped into the lift...
The four corners of the ceiling suddenly split open, revealing four automated turrets extending their barrels.
Crimson targeting lasers crisscrossed the confined space. There was no blind spot in the entire lift!
BOOM!
The explosions of the turrets firing were deafening in the enclosed space. Blazing energy beams poured down like a torrential rain.
This firepower could instantly vaporize an entire army, yet upon touching the psychic barrier, it merely created ripples of energy before collapsing like waves against a reef.
Caelan closed his fingers. The four turrets emitted a terrible screech of twisting metal, crumpled into scrap by an unseen hand, sparks flying.
Caelan's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. For some reason, he felt a slight sluggishness when using his powers, as if something was hindering him.
But it wasn't enough to affect his strength. Unless there were anti-psychic forces or other psykers opposing him, a powerful psyker was invincible!
Other psykers would never dare unleash their power as recklessly as Caelan.
The more they used their powers, the brighter their projection in the Warp.
Those hungering daemons would swarm towards the light, tearing the psyker's soul to shreds.
This troubled not only humans but also the Aeldar.
The Aeldar had lost the protection of their gods. The Youngest Goddess might not personally watch over them, but the daemons under Her command would eagerly do so.
BAM!
Just as the turrets were crushed into scrap by Caelan's psychic power, the lift shuddered violently, then ground to a halt mid-shaft.
The next second, the entire carriage plummeted. The sensation of weightlessness hit instantly.
However, the fall lasted only a moment.
An invisible psychic force like a giant hand caught the lift, brutally arresting its descent, then propelled it upwards at a steady pace.
Only a psyker could pull off such an act of pulling oneself up by one's bootstraps.
When the lift reached the top floor, the carriage doors were violently torn in half by Caelan's power.
Over a dozen fully armed Accusers and at least two hundred cyborg servitors were already waiting in formation. They filled the entire compartment, the charging hum of energy weapons like the murmur of death.
BOOM!
Rays exploded against the psychic barrier in dazzling blue flames. A dense net of fire enveloped the entire lift carriage.
The carriage was almost immediately riddled with holes, its metal walls turning into honeycomb, yet the psychic barrier continued pushing the line forward against the enemy's fierce firepower.
Caelan simply clenched his hand, then twisted. The Accusers and servitors instantly twisted into a rope!
Their bones made a sickening crunch as their flesh was kneaded like dough under the unseen hand.
In the blink of an eye, the living warriors grotesquely contorted in mid-air, twisting together into a giant ball of meat, like a large bundle of doner kebab waiting to be roasted.
Thick, viscous blood poured down like a rainstorm, staining the bulkheads a splashy crimson.
The pungent smell of blood and the hellish scene made Caelan frown. He instinctively felt physically uncomfortable.
Perturabo and Dorn stepped forward in unison, using their tall frames to block the gruesome, bloody scene from Caelan's view.
Father was kind-hearted; he couldn't stand seeing such things.
Caelan's control over his psychic power was still too crude. Otherwise, he could have just twisted their heads off; the scene wouldn't have been so horrific.
If Calliphone saw this, she would surely have nightmares.
Caelan casually waved his hand, tossing the meatball into the lift shaft they had come from.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Perturabo moved through the compartment. A massive suit of armour, even larger than a Primarch, suddenly stood before him.
Like the rest of the ship, the bridge was spartan due to automation.
But this also meant the giant armour had nowhere to hide.
It slowly turned its body like a living thing, its crimson visor locking onto Caelan. Caelan stared back.
A Black Judge. Or rather, a mortal version of a Dreadnought.
They used fresh genetic material extracted from children to prolong their lives, but their bodies inevitably withered.
Their desiccated remains were transplanted into these massive war machines to maintain their rule.
These machines were comparable in size to a Dreadnought, comparable in defence, comparable in firepower.
The Dreadnought also originated from the Dark Age of Technology, so the two might share the same origin.
Due to a Astartes's large size, their limbs must be severed upon interment in the sarcophagus, leaving only a torso.
But for a mortal, they could be placed directly inside the sarcophagus.
The prototype of the Dreadnought was originally piloted by mortals. Later variants were customised according to the Astartes' physiology.
In the Dark Age of Technology, the Black Judges' use of Dreadnoughts was more authentic than the Astartes'.
"You..." the Black Judge spoke, but his cold voice held a tremor. "What kind of monster are you, exactly?"
Caelan found it absurd. 'You, a monster, dare call me a monster?'
"You've lived for millennia. Never seen a psyker before?"
The Black Judge's voice was distorted with shrillness. "I've seen many psykers, but you, monster, are definitely not a psyker. You're not even human!"
Caelan's eyes glinted with amusement. "What makes you say that?"
The machine stared intently at him. "That lift was built with phase-iron. Any psyker who steps inside it would be reduced to a cripple. Why can you still use your powers?"
Phase-iron. Humanity's own blackstone. Used in the Dark Age of Technology to restrain psykers.
Just as Superman is vulnerable to kryptonite, psykers suffer immense torment when bound by phase-iron.
Caelan had indeed felt a slight sluggishness when using his power, but he thought it was just a speed bump.
"Maybe it's expired. Or maybe it was adulterated."
"Do you, monster, even hear what you're saying?"
The Black Judge's voice was a mix of disbelief and trembling. "You are also human! Why do you aid the tyrant and serve this monster?"
Perturabo's gaze was icy. "Now you claim to be human? When you sacrificed those innocent children to prolong your lives, did you ever consider that they, too, were human?"
"This is a necessary sacrifice. We bear the heavy burden of protecting human civilisation!"
"They paid only a few million lives. In exchange, hundreds of billions were saved from the xenos threat. Isn't that worthwhile?"
The Black Judge's frantic sophistry disgusted Perturabo. He slowly raised his weapon.
"Shut up, monster! Your high-sounding excuses don't change the crimes you've committed. You ceased to be human long ago."
Dorn's anger meter was already full. With a roar, he charged at the Black Judge. "Enough talk. Die, monster!"
...
"My Lord! We have successfully translated into the Olympia system. Coordinates confirmed!"
Aboard the flagship of the 8th Expeditionary Fleet, Phrixus's voice burned with fervent loyalty.
"Engines, full thrust! Our gene-father is waiting for us!"
This time, they would not be late again!
...
........
30 Chapters [email protected]/DaoistJinzu