Blood oozed from every corpse. It did not merely seep from the eyes, mouth, or open wounds. It emerged from the pores of their skin, spreading across flesh like sweat from a fevered body.
The bleeding continued long after all measurable biological activity had ceased. Hearts had stopped. Neural activity had flatlined. Yet blood continued to flow.
An unnatural phenomenon by any standard of medical or battlefield autopsy.
The blood gathered across the ground, forming shallow pools between shattered machinery and broken pavement. It crept through cracks in ferrocrete and collected in shell craters, mixing with oil, coolant, and rainwater before separating again as though obeying its own set of physical laws.
Moments later, the liquid began to evaporate into the air. Not through heat or chemical reaction, but through an unknown process that left no residue behind.
The footage came from Grot, transmitted from deep within enemy-occupied territory.
Clad in his Thunderborn power armor, Yoan crouched within the shadowed wreckage of an enemy-seized manufactorum, carefully reviewing the data and running real-time analysis.
Streams of information scrolled across his visor. Environmental readings, biological scans, atmospheric composition reports, and combat telemetry were automatically cross-referenced by his bio-cogitator.
Despite his extensive training, the phenomenon defied logical analysis. It was unnatural, clearly warp-touched.
This kind of phenomenon had occurred years earlier, during the campaign against the Heretek cult known as the Order of the Omniscient Mind.
Most of the Thunderborns involved in that war had witnessed similar horrors, but only Yoan had grasped the full implications of such manifestations.
"A ritual," Yoan muttered as he scrutinized the footage.
There was no doubt. It was a heretical ritual, likely aimed at empowering isolated Chaos warbands on this Forge World, or perhaps meant to thin the veil between realspace and the warp itself, allowing daemons to manifest.
The exact objective remained unclear, but the repeated appearance of blood-related anomalies strongly suggested a ritual focused on mass sacrifice. Such rituals were common among Chaos cults devoted to bloodshed and violence.
And Grot wasn't the only one who had observed this bizarre blood phenomenon. Several units from the First Legion currently deployed on the Forge World had independently reported similar encounters.
Yoan continued reviewing the footage.
One recording depicted blood from both loyalist and enemy troops congealing mid-battle, drawn together as if by invisible strings. The fluid twisted and surged, coalescing into an eight-meter-wide orb that levitated above the battlefield, pulsing like a living heart.
Another showed a mass of blood reshaping itself into a humanoid figure, a being composed entirely of congealed gore and writhing veins. The abomination howled at the recording Legionaries in a tongue both incomprehensible and saturated with unmistakable hostility.
Several Legionaries visible in the recording instinctively opened fire. Their rounds tore through the construct, scattering chunks of coagulated flesh and blood. The damage regenerated within seconds.
The vox-feed warped and distorted, the very air shimmering as if recoiling from the sound.
There were many such recordings, and they were all uploaded to the Thunderborns' data-vaults.
Yoan assumed that Grey, the First Thunderborn and the lord commander of the Forge World expedition, had seen them as well.
But without Yoan's forbidden knowledge of the warp and the Chaos Gods, Grey likely dismissed them as isolated manifestations, dangerous but lacking strategic significance.
Individually, the videos revealed little. But together, patterned and cross-referenced, they exposed a disturbing consistency.
Yoan's bio-cogitator, unlike the standard-issue processors used by other Thunderborns, was a rare archeotech device specifically calibrated to process warp-tainted information without corrupting the user.
As the notion of a ritualistic pattern took shape in Yoan's mind, the bio-cogitator synchronized with his thoughts and immediately initiated a deeper analysis.
The processor began sorting thousands of battlefield reports. It compared casualty locations, timestamps, atmospheric distortions, psychic anomalies, civilian disappearances, and enemy movement patterns.
A strategic overlay appeared within his visor: a tactical map of the Forge World, with data points corresponding to the locations where the recordings were captured. Digital glyphs flickered with tactical relevance. Key footage was isolated, timestamped, and synchronized.
Yoan's eyes swept across the map.
At the far northern and southern regions of the Forge World, the blood manifestations were weaker, minor warp anomalies at best.
Most reports from those regions involved only postmortem bleeding and temporary atmospheric disturbances.
But as the data converged near the equatorial regions of the world, the phenomena intensified. The footage of the blood construct screaming in warp-tainted tongues had originated from there.
The largest concentration of civilian disappearances had also been recorded within the same region. Entire hab-block populations had vanished following enemy offensives. Few bodies were recovered.
The cogitator outlined a large circular zone across the equatorial Manufactorum belt and pulled up detailed info-logs.
[Zone: Equatorial Forge Region]
[Major Manufactorae: Engine Foundry (Macro-class), Tank Foundry (Heavy-class)]
[Previous Imperial presence: Archmagos of the Forge World Agripinaa; Adeptus Mechanicus; last confirmed defense deployments by Thunderborn Grey.]
[Status: Last vox contact with this zone was 50 hours ago. Communication blackout ongoing. Probability of hostile occupation: High.]
Some of this intel had been gathered by Yoan upon deployment. Some was recovered during recent reconnaissance. The rest had been provided by Grey after coordinating with local Tech-Priests.
Then the bio-cogitator ran a predictive analysis.
[Estimated Probability of Chaos Corruption Epicenter: 83%]
"Eighty-three percent…" Yoan frowned.
This wasn't the first time the cogitator had flagged potential sites of Chaos activity. But most had yielded low probabilities and were later deemed irrelevant.
Yoan knew the processor was not a prophecy. It couldn't see the future. It only calculated probabilities based on observed data and patterns. So this too could be a false flag.
Yoan considered his options. An 83% probability was worth investigating. If the estimate was wrong, he would waste time. But if it was accurate…
Then time was the last thing he could afford to waste.
"Yoan, what's your status?"
Grey's voice echoed in Yoan's mind. The communications arrays of the Adeptus Mechanicus forces were heavily jammed within enemy territory. Only the encrypted Thunderborn neural links remained functional.
Yoan had been sending regular updates, but today's analysis had run long. Grey had reached out first, likely concerned.
"The enemy command echelon remains hidden," Yoan responded, voice grim. "I plan to employ… alternative methods to locate and eliminate them."
"Alternative methods?" Grey asked, tone wary.
"Special reconnaissance protocols." Yoan kept the answer vague, though the plan had already solidified in his mind.
He didn't yet know the exact parameters of the ritual. But one thing was certain: such rituals demanded sacrifice, lives offered to the warp.
He could pose as a civilian, bait to be captured and delivered to the cultists. While it wouldn't guarantee proximity to the leadership, it would likely bring him straight to the ritual.
In Yoan's judgment, halting the ritual outweighed any benefits gained from a decapitation strike on enemy command.
"Don't take unnecessary risks," Grey warned. "Even we Thunderborns can die if the fusion cores in our chest are destroyed. Don't waste your life in a war we are destined to win."
From Grey's perspective, the war was already won. The Celestial Engine held control of the system's orbital network, and the Imperial ground forces, including the First Legion, had superior numbers and firepower.
But Yoan disagreed. If the ritual succeeded, everything could change. That made the mission even more critical.
"I'm heading to the location now. I'll blend in as a civilian or a captured Guardsman." Yoan transmitted the coordinates to Grey, specifically the Manufactorum where the Forge World's Archmagos once made his stand. "If the battle progresses favorably, I request a focused strike on this location."
Grey reviewed the data. He didn't fully understand Yoan's intent, but trusted his judgment.
"Understood. I'll coordinate with the Tech-Priests. Even if the Mechanicus won't act, the First Legion will. You'll have your strike team."
Yoan relaxed. That contingency was now secured.
Should the ritual succeed and unleash something catastrophic, at least allied forces would already be mobilizing on the target, bypassing deployment delays.
"Ending transmission."
With that, Yoan disabled the comm-link embedded in his Thunderborns warplate.
He closed his eyes and mentally repeated the phrase "disengage armor" three times. With a hiss of servo-locks, his warplate deactivated and detached from his body.
Despite being out of armor, the bio-cogitator maintained full synchronization with the warplate, allowing remote control, deployment, and recall; especially useful for covert operations.
Yoan then initiated the Dimensional Vault Protocol. A small rift shimmered beneath the armor, and the warplate sank into the breach. It would remain hidden in the Dimensional fold, unaffected by time or space until called upon again.
Now out of armor, Yoan appeared nearly indistinguishable from an ordinary human, aside from his enhanced physique. His augmetics were internal, leaving no visible traces.
His breath misted in the cool manufactorum air. The tang of oil, rust, and old blood clung to the windless corridor.
Without hesitation, he sprinted north toward Sector 4 of the Manufactorum zones, where the bio-cogitator had detected escalating concentrations of biological signatures, likely a mix of terrified civilians and something far, far worse.
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