There, there, almost done sweetheart." I said to the tiny puppy, her legs flailing in the air, desperate to get free and go back to playing with her siblings. "Just a little more." I finished checking her over. We had machines and auspex for it, but I still liked to look over the dogs now and then. To reassure myself, if nothing else.
From across the room, Merek's voice called out. "Aleric, you in there?"
Turning round, I popped the squirming dog back down and watched it charge off, only to bump into something and fall over. It shook itself off, glaring at the wall, as if it was its fault she charged into it, before toddling off once more.
Standing up, a smile on my face, I said. "Through here Merek." Moving to greet him at the doorway, shaking his hand, my eyes were drawn to the package in his other hand.
With a smirk on his face, he said. "Where do you want the latest batch?"
"Thul already got to it?"
"Yep, when the last of the chemicals came in, he was rearing to have a go." Passing over the box full of valuable tubes filled with liquid, he asked. "When are you going to tell us what they are for? It is driving Thul up the wall, trying to figure out how you use them."
"Maybe one day." I said with a smile. And it wasn't a lie either. I trusted him, and depending on the circumstances, I could see myself sharing it with him. But for now, it would remain a secret. Excited, I tucked it under my arm, said goodbye and then calling Snuffles, headed for home.
When I had first tried the Postures of the Soul, I hadn't expected it to be so bloody hard. The actions were simple enough, time-consuming, but easy. No, it was sourcing the ingredients and synthesising them that got me.
I'd quickly come to the conclusion I would need someone to make it for me; I didn't have the skills. So that was Thul, but getting the ingredients was a whole nother matter. Some of them were basic chemicals, but many of them were rare off-world plants or herbs.
I'd done a lot of bartering and trading to get them. In many cases, the materials required processing through rites and rituals. I did have a moment of doubt when, during the ritual, they lit up, clearly changing before my eyes. But I wasn't devoured by the warp and didn't even feel it. But this would be the last set for a while, if I succeeded that was. Locking the door to my room behind me, I told Snuffles to guard and dived right in.
Sitting cross-legged so I was comfortable, I then placed the vials into the basin. I did some quick meditation to get me in the right frame of mind and then tipped the powdered contents of the final vial in.
Nothing happened at first, but then it started to vigorously bubble, with smoke pouring off of it filled the air around me. Breathing deeply, I started moving through the exercises for almost an hour before I felt it click, something lock into place.
I could still feel my emotions, but there was a switch where I could just not be as affected by them. I was aware of them and knew why I was feeling that emotion, but it had no control over me. Which was a large relief; I'd feared the technique would turn me into an unfeeling machine.
I would need to experiment to make sure, but I felt the difference. This was not the only technique I had been pursuing, just the most expensive. Many of the others just required know-how, patience and time. Not something I had a huge amount of, true, but I made sure I spent an hour a day on them regardless.
But more than this control, it was as though a film or filter was slotted into place, blanketing my soul. Instead of my emotions flowing through me and then into my soul to vanish into the ether or, as an educated guess, the great ocean, it was scrubbed beforehand.
As I got more familiar, the filter was getting stronger and I expected that in time, I would be able to stop all of my emotions from flowing into the ocean, unlike right now, where a portion of it still made it.
Coming out of my meditation, I had a sonic shower, having finally fixed myself one, and it was glorious, making me wonder what had taken me so long, and then played with Snuffles. As I was bouncing a ball against the wall, I felt it, a shiver and itch in the back of my mind as a network connected. The tidefall was coming.
Good, I was running low on parts.
The tidefall had almost become trivial by this point, at least at the higher levels. My connection to their networks made much of it trivial. There were still dangers of course, not least of which were the other divers, but I made out like a bandit most of the time. I kept much of it hidden; flashing wealth was a good way to get dead, even for someone in my position.
Feeling it out, I still had days, if not weeks, before it began. I would be more accurate when it was closer, but that still gave me far more warnings than most anybody else. They wouldn't know until the fans and lights started to come to life, several days before it started. If they were lucky.
Scratching Snuffles under his jaw, I absentmindedly planned out my day.
I sighed. I really did need to get on.
Patting Snuffles on the flank a few times, I got to work. Moving over to the workbench, I inspected the partly constructed suit of armour next to the now working advanced fab, looking it over critically. It had taken me a while to get there, but it was nearing completion.
The fab itself was everything I'd hoped it would be and more. Slower than my old one, but so much more advanced. Able to produce even the most complicated components if supplied with enough power and materials.
Using it, I'd made many parts for ceramite armour. Mostly the individual plates of armaplas and ceramite. But they had mostly been used as individual pieces of armour, not the enclosed version I was going for. Those I didn't need, normally my rejects, I bartered off for more resources.
I already had a set, gained years ago, but I wanted to create one myself. For several reasons: first, I knew I could do better than the slop we gained and second, to learn more. It turned out that it wasn't just disassembling items that helped me learn, but also trying to create them helped as well, if not more.
Checking the fab as it hummed away, producing a knee joint. A complex mesh of interweaving plates, rivets, and electronics, allowing for maximum protection but also flexibility. The plates themselves were much improved over the others we had, offering greater projection but for less weight. All my testing had proven they were almost 30% stronger for 20% less weight.
It had to do with the bonding process, making it harder and more durable. This did increase the construction time, as the process was finicky and required lots of checking, but it was worth it.
A few more days and my latest version would be done. I had already sold three versions to the gang so far. All rejects, but this one was shaping up to be the one. An artisan carapace armour, the best armour in the underhive and only the rung below full-on power armour.
With it, I'd be in a fully enclosed and environmentally sealed suit able to tank even the most powerful shot. Only cannons or explosives would cause me concern. It would be able to compete or even exceed those worn by the Arbites.
Turning my attention from the slowly printing component, I moved to the back of the room. In a far corner, gathering dust, was the machine I'd broken down to bring back months ago. There was nothing more to learn from it and to be honest, not much use for it.
Don't get me wrong, it was very useful, just not right now. The laser engraver was able to slice, shape and engrave crystals down to the smallest of degrees, far beyond nanometres. Truly an extraordinary bit of kit and utterly worthless unless I had the raw crystals.
I was just finishing my final experiment with it before putting it into storage. I wasn't getting rid of it; it was still archeotech from the Golden Age of Humanity. It did help me figure out what those small crystal blocks were. They were incredibly advanced storage, able to store a truly biblical amount of data in minute detail in a relatively hardy medium.
It needed a specific machine to read them, which took some doing, but it was worth it. I had hoped for some more information or designs, or anything really. But what I got was reams and reams of data on the culture. It had a huge amount of information about the time before a huge cataclysm.
I didn't get much on that, just that something called the Men of Iron had twisted and revolted. But it spoke about the Terran Federation of before. A galactic power of humanity that had no competitors across the galaxy. They had removed all illness and famine and lived in a true utopian society, with people spending their time creating flights of fancy. Creating great art, poetry, stories and sculptures.
I did take that with a large pinch of salt. If something sounded too good to be true, it usually was.
They were able to create almost anything they dreamed up with a click of a button. Just reading through their culture and ideas was fascinating.
It even had information about xeno, from the Orks, which I'd heard of, but many others I hadn't. Like the Aeldari Empire, one of the few competitors to humanity, with their mastery over a material called wraithbone.
It didn't go into detail, but the small amount they mentioned sounded fascinating. Pulling material from the Immaterium was a fascinating idea, if a little crazy.
More importantly, I recognised the language. It was the scripture I'd seen in the ruins below and some of the languages I'd learnt from my fragments.
It also properly confirmed my theory that High Gothic found its roots in it. It also joined the dots on some information that I had been reading on the Nobles' data systems. That too had been a well of information. It even had some educational pieces on the Imperium. A deeper dive into its structure and web of power, filling in many of the blanks I had.
It did put things into perspective.
There was little freedom to be had. Even those in power were a step away from persecution in many cases. Only those at the very top of the pyramid had any protection, and even then, I had seen stories of their downfall. Like something called the Council of Un, introduced as a powerful group that rivalled the full might of the Imperium, for a time.
Now dead and consigned to the history books, or more likely to be erased in their entirety.
So that left Inquisitors, Rogue Traders and the Archmagos as some of the freest people. Archmagos were out, not believing in the Omnissiah and thinking it a bit silly if I was honest. It might have been a path if I could find a way to get a proper sponsorship or something. I had no interest in languishing at the bottom ranks. Inquisitors, too were out. I didn't fancy a life of fighting the enemies of mankind, and I was a bit leery of drawing their attention. So that left a Rogue Trader, by no means an easy thing to become or finance.
So I was sort of stuck there as well, unsure how I wanted to or could progress.
Just knowing that I needed to. I'd been content with my lot, not having much to compare it to, but now knowing how fragile my livelihood was and how easy it would be for it to come crumbling down…
Shaking those thoughts away, I moved to my cogitator. Running the programme that would update the chip I'd inserted into my body, care of Thul. I had wiped and factory reset the leader's one to make sure there was no leftover virus or something equally malicious, and then loaded in the software and packages it needed.
That had been slow going, and I was glad I'd practised on the other chips first. Suddenly getting targeted as enemy number one did not sound like a good time. Only when I'd mastered it and was sure I could handle it did I move on to the leader's one.
Which now worked perfectly. Well, not perfectly, which was why I was still patching it. But it recognised me as its owner, which was harder than I expected. It had an incredibly advanced auspex unit to ensure the person it was inside matched its database: genetic data, brainwave patterns, bloodwork, you name it, it checked for it.
Luckily, I could trick it into thinking my cogitator was the master database, so I could change the credentials to make them match mine. So it saw the leader's signature as my own, giving me full access.
Two weeks later, I geared up in the full armour, ready to give it its first real combat test. I'd spent the last week putting it through its paces, and there wasn't much else I could think of testing.
I didn't intend to dive deep with this one, just test the armour and get some more components.
I had too much to do.
Feeling the slight change to the familiar humming and shifting of air that let me know the Tidefall was truly started, I headed for the passageways. I had been careful with it, its simple and rugged design belaying its quality and complexity.
It looked like any other carapace armour in the underhive, better maintained and of a high quality, but not as loud as Zardelle's was. Mine was finished in matte black without the embellishments.
Now that it was open, I could fully interface with the systems. A weird experience, to be sure. It was more than just clicking a prompt; the chip somehow allowed me to see the data around me, although not with my eyes. It was a very freaky experience, and not for the first time, I thought I had lost it.
I was pretty sure I was missing much of the bionics needed, but I just about got it to work. Think of a search engine, I asked what I needed, and it brought it to me. Some stuff it couldn't, and I'd still not worked out a way to do so, like the exact date of the Tidefalls. It gave me a rough time of when the next one was and how long it would last, but that was it.
Pushing those thoughts away, I pulled up the map it sent me, searching for good places to explore.
I could see myself selling this information to the gang, maybe setting up a system to automatically generate it for Peggi. I wasn't sure yet if that was what I wanted to do, but would likely put something in place in the off chance I did.
Maybe when I was getting ready to leave in whatever form that might be.
I would need to be careful about how much to show. In hindsight, looking back, I'd probably shown a bit too much proficiency, particularly in the realm of fixing things. There were many that did it, but I was the best, by a large margin. But more importantly, I did a lot with the code, or machine spirits. There I had an unfair advantage over most everyone else, and it showed, with me head and shoulders above the others.
I was just lucky the Adeptus Mechanicus hadn't found me, with them more or less abandoning the underhive. There were a few servitors that still mindlessly did their tasks, seemingly forgotten, but I stayed well away from them. Otherwise, they stayed further up the hive, in their cathedrals and the manafactorums.
And those that needed my help knew not to ask questions.
I did learn the name of the leader whose chip I now had in my head. Pavlo, and his position as Senior Deep Storage Technician.
Picking a more complex route to hopefully lose the crowd, I aimed for my target that day. Even with the extra information I had, I still moved carefully, checking each corridor and relying on Snuffles. I was trying hard not to fall into the trap of becoming overconfident, as hard as that was.
After a bit of walking, with only a few monsters to scare off, we arrived at a large, rusted corridor. Two turrets hung on each side of the door, with a large access pad to the door beneath them. Hesitation, I did not like the look of their positioning, there was fuck all cover if this didn't go right.
It shouldn't, I've done this dozens of times by now.
Sitting on Snuffles so he could get us out of dodge quickly if needed, I closed my eyes to focus and accessed the door controls. As with many of the others, it asked for an access pass. With my chip, I pinged my credentials over; after a second, there was a beep and a blue light lit up on the door.
Keeping a careful eye on the turrets, but they stayed inactive, I watched as the doors creaked open. Somewhat anticlimactically, they were free of enemies, and I just had to spend the time searching the room, packing items as I went.
We had a few crews poke their heads in to see if they could take my haul, but upon seeing me and Snuffles, they thought better of it. Only one group tried their luck. None survived with my armour working like a dream. It fit me perfectly, so it had none of the pinching or impediments my other ones had.
It fit me like a glove. As you would expect, it was custom-made for me.
There wasn't much there, but enough to fill a bag, which was all I really needed at this stage. There was one more stop I needed to make, in a section a bit further down. It should contain the last few electronics I needed.
I was still a long way off being able to replicate the robotics and bionics I had found, but with the last few parts, I should be a step closer and be able to start trying to make some.
It would be years at least before I had a working prototype, if not longer, but I was enjoying the slow and steady progress.
---
Peggi sent the new girl scurrying off towards her room. There would be time to bring her up to speed later; for now, it was best to let her get acclimatised to the gang. It was always a major shift for them.
Usually for the better, which was a miracle in itself. They were just blessed by the Emperor with a powerful, stable gang that actually had some moral integrity. At least higher than most in power. It was disgusting some of the things she'd seen, the rot they held.
Peggi's life in particular could have been a living hell. There wasn't a day that went by that she wasn't thankful; in her darkest hour, they arrived as if called by the Emperor himself. Ironic considering where she'd been.
An unmarked convoy, rare for the Ecclesiarchy. The Court were just lucky they pinned the blame on a rival gang, or it would have been their end right there.
When they learnt her fate and after a bit of pleading, they gladly took her. For that she thanked her mother, the only soul in her life who'd been honest with her instead of feeding her the same carefully polished Ecclesiarchy lies.
Her mother's words had opened her eyes to her situation. Peeling back the veil of Ecclesiarchal fanaticism.
She was to be a Relic Carrier. Surgically altered to carry the Relic of past saints, never to be removed. Her entire life from then on would have been one of suffering, pilgrimages, and absolute control. Any deviations would have ended in harsh punishments or death.
For as long as she lived, centuries, most likely.
Peggi rolled her shoulders and turned back to the cogitator—another blessing. She used to catalogue everything into multiple locations, be that in paper form or cogitators, but now, with a small ask from Aleric, she had a functional database. Her crew logged every report into it, enabling her to access them all with ease.
It even had some fancy alerts that would flag particular things of her choosing, like movements of large amounts of ammunition. Thank the Throne, particularly with how much the Court had expanded, not just the gang, but her network especially, had exploded in size.
He really was blessed. She didn't know where he got his knowledge, probably from one of the many rogue techies dwelling in the underhive. Although she had found no clear links to any of them.
Regardless, by the time it was apparent how skilled he was, he had already entrenched himself in the gang and with only positive things said about him, it was left. He did come from Stalker's territory, but considering he helped destroy them, it was unlikely a cover.
Her network security was tighter than ever. Before, all the reports and data were thrown together and with the amounts they'd had meant there wasn't really any other way. Now, access was tiered, making it much harder to peek at information they weren't supposed to. It wasn't perfect; they had fuckups, but Aleric fixed it pronto and the few that saw it were dealt with.
Two were just moved, having proven their loyalty, so now they worked in the HQ where she could keep an eye on them. The last was a no one, so was eliminated. It was regrettable, but they couldn't risk the information getting out.
If it was discovered they had a hive-wide messaging system, limited as it was, it'd be a disaster—probably fatal, even as hidden and encrypted as it was. The network alone had been a massive blessing, letting her slip people into places she'd never managed before.
These lines of communication, more than anything, fed the Court's strength. Her division had been gaining more and more power and was showing the results.
Not just blackmail, but knowing who would be open to a bribe or would be on their side if it came to it. Already, some minor guilds and gangs had been entirely subsumed by the Court, and they were getting deep penetration into many other organisations and guilds. The peacekeepers had been particularly susceptible to their probes.
Most of the movers and shakers in their turf were now under their thumbs.
They could also adapt far in advance to anyone else. With their connection to the nobles and Administratum, they knew of policy changes before they were announced. This had only grown as they spread to the other hives in their cluster.
Pomaria was the largest in size, if not in reach. They were focused on mining and the manufacturing of mining equipment or vehicles. Virelia was the smallest of their cluster, focusing on pharmaceuticals, like the combat drug many a ganger used to get an edge. Both trailed behind Noxium, their hive, whose advanced components and electronics made it the prize of the cluster.
It had taken mountains of work, requiring her to move vast amounts of resources and items to Aleric so he could make it, but it was worth it. Even now, her reach was expanding within them both, targeting key areas, scoping out possible allies and enemies alike.
It started with the nobles, but now the Court was seeping into the rest of the hives, slowly working down layer by layer. She didn't put all that much effort into the underhives; firstly, they had little relevance to them, but mainly it was the lack of access.
It was the underhive after all, so there weren't just cogitators lying around.
Their business of selling information had eclipsed many of the other businesses the Court had, a blessing she hadn't expected. Strengthening her already strong positioning. She hadn't had to deal with anyone trying to get ideas in years.
It wasn't just in credits but in favours as well, selling secrets to the right person could put them deeply into their debt. Or she used their knowledge to help one candidate rise, placing them in key positions within the hive. They'd already placed one as mayor of a district.
So much so, they had to be careful not to force a break from House Valtorin, their backers. Now they were more informed than them, strengthening their standing in the house and increasing their importance. It was a careful dance to give them information they could use, but not so much as to cause them to fear the Court, but it was one she relished.
They still needed the House's support—for now. How much longer, only the Emperor knew.
If things stayed the course, in a few short decades there would be little the House could do.
A notification blinked; she read it, then sent an order to one of her men to feed information to one of the spies in their gang.
The spy wasn't in the core of the gang, but it was still useful to feed false information, with just enough truth to be believable. Peggi had single-handedly destabilised gangs that way, releasing information only a lieutenant could have access to and sit back to watch as the gang tore itself apart.
Checking the time again, Peggi grunted. Stretching, she stood, done for the day. She picked up her dataslate, which gave her some access to her systems. It always made her uneasy; one wrong password and it locked, forcing Aleric to unlock it once more.
She agreed with the safeguards—it was that important. Thankfully, she'd only had to do that once so far.
She tucked it under her arm and left her office, the walls of data storage looming behind her. Nodding at the guards as she passed into the Pen, as she liked to call it. The room used to contain dozens of her people poring over reports, checking facts and filing reports. Now there were hundreds, as they combed through information coming from all across the hives. Every scrap had to be checked, catalogued and filed.
A mammoth task, even with the Emperor-blessed systems Aleric had built.
Curled up at the guards' feet were two mastiffs. Something Peggi had to admit she was quietly impressed by. She hadn't expected much from their efforts to restart the breeding programme, and if it had continued the way it was, she would have been vindicated in her vote to terminate it and not waste the resources.
Even under the Stalkers, the beasts were never more than a force multiplier. Lacking training, discipline, and the right bionics, they were little more than a nuisance—worth watching, but never worth changing plans over.
Not anymore.
Again, Alaric's hand. Her thoughts turned once more to the rising power in the gang. Or more accurately, a power in the gang. He was already established.
If she hadn't checked him a dozen times, she would have thought he was a plant, or some Psyker or something else freaky. But his complete comfort around Zardelle put a halt to that thought. They didn't know what she was, but they knew psykers couldn't stand to be in her presence, more than anyone else.
She'd seen a man collapse, raving mad, just from being near her. Zardelle had been younger then, throwing a tantrum at the time, but even so. The man was shipped to House Valtorin, where he quietly vanished soon after.
Zardelle had taken to him, unsurprisingly, as he was unfazed by her aura. When Peggi teased her, Zardelle only shrugged—she saw him as a kid brother. Shame he was too closed off, too distant, to fully play the part.
He liked her well enough, the same with Katra, but he never let his guard down, not fully. She hadn't seen him fully connect with anyone in the gang; he had acquaintances, sure, but never peers.
Hopefully his promotion to fixer, work he'd already been doing, would make him feel secure enough to drop some of those walls down. Not that she blamed him, friendship was a weakness to exploit after all.
She shoved those thoughts away and left the Pen, nodding at the other guards and mastiffs by the doors. The sight pulled her mind back to the cyber-mastiffs—these were nothing like the Stalker's beasts. These were disciplined and deadly, and their numbers kept growing.
With the new breeds, the programme was finally coming into its own. The sniffer dogs especially, were truly Emperor-sent. Their auspexes were cutting-edge and had already proved a massive help.
Marching along the corridor, she wound her way up through corridors and lifts until she came to another heavily guarded area, her quarters. Not just hers, but several of the leaders there, like Selina and Lanto. Zardelle used to stay there as well. She still kept a room there, but more often than not used one near her unit's base, although that was changing. What with all the work she had been doing for the gang, rather than with her unit.
Speaking of the Saint and she shall appear. Smiling, she waved at Selina as she came from her room.
"Peggi."
"Selina." They exchanged a quick hug.
As Peggi turned to leave, she heard. "Peggi, while I've got you…"
Smiling wryly, she turned and raised an eyebrow.
Selina gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, it will be quick, I promise. Can you give me an update on Operation First Strike?"
Snorting at the name, care of Lanto. Silly man. He tried to hide it, but he was such a child, what with his name being called the Warmaster, again his idea.
"Sure, I can give you the full report later. They are still being compiled." Shifting to lean against the wall, she continued. "The strike facilities a couple of weeks ago have had mostly the effects we wanted. The assassination of the Fleshlock's leader collapsed the gang, as we predicted."
"If they ever recover at all, they will be far weaker—but I doubt they will. We leaked word that they're struggling, so the other gangs are circling. For the false trail in the guild operation, it worked about as well as we could have hoped. The Painted Jackals and The Sump Roses are locked in a cold war. All it will take is one spark to light it, and we are positioning some people to be that spark. Finally, the attack on the promethium facility, that one was the least effective. "
"Oh?"
"The guild lapsed on their contract as we hoped, but the noble house controlling it burnt a lot of capital to buy their way out of the contract, so they are still afloat but significantly weakened."
"How about—"
Peggi laughed and raised her hand, cutting her off. Not something she'd do in a formal meeting. She wasn't scared, something she thanked the Emperor for.
There was never just one question with her.
"Come on." she said, waving over her shoulder and heading to her room, unlocking the door and stepping inside with Selina close behind. It was spacious, better than many of the homes higher up the hive. You'd need to get to the spires before finding better ones.
The door opened up into a combined kitchen and sitting room, dominated by a large table buried under papers from her habit of bringing her work home. Off to the side sat her bedroom and bathroom. The air here was cleaner than anywhere else in the block, thanks to upgraded scrubbers. Courtesy of Alaric of course.
Once inside, she gestured as she bustled around the room. "Go ahead."
Bemused but understanding, Selina said. "How about the other operations?"
"It's going well. We've hit the nearby gangs we know will oppose us when the war breaks out. As planned, we didn't bother taking much territory—just gutted them, weakening them enough for the surrounding gangs to jump on them and take them apart.
"We have taken some key facilities and checkpoints, which we are now fortifying. Lanto will have more on that. We're still working on the assumption, and my spies and informants are still in agreement, that there is no stopping the war. We will be pulled in no matter what we do. So, we have focused on gaining what resources we can and locking down locations, fortifying them ready for the inevitable conflict."
"Are your predictions still holding?"
"Yep. We still think we have a year before things get tense. After that… who knows. I would say no longer than 2/3 years before things go hot."
"Good, thank you." she said distractedly, staring off into the distance.
After a moment, Peggi smiled fondly. "Selina?"
"Oh huh?" She said as she was brought back to earth.
"Not that I don't love your company, but…" Peggi tilted her head toward the bed.
Selina burst out laughing. "I can see when I am not wanted. Just see about when you ask for more funding, young lady." she mocked as she moved for the door.
"Bye Mum."
"Bye sweety."
Peggi lingered by the door, smiling, lost in thought. Selina had earned that name; she would never replace her biological mother, someone who had died trying to save her, and in many ways, had given her another perspective rather than the brainwashing she was given. Even teaching her to speak in high and low Gothic.
At least until she had been noticed and been converted… pushing those ugly thoughts away, she changed and hopped in a shower, luxuriating in the sonic shower. She never thought they were that needed, not with the smell from the rest of the hive covering up most scents. But now she was clean, she couldn't go a day without one.
Clean, she left for her bed, collapsing into it, asleep before her head hit the pillow.
---
Archmagos Logic Errant Viel Nox remained alone as the shimmering forms of the other Archmagi dissolved into fractal spirals of glowing code. Their translucent avatars folded and faded, retracting through the labyrinthine streams of sacred algorithms until the vast noospheric sanctum of their conclave dimmed and quieted. Around him, the deep Noosphere pulsed with infinite complexity — a lattice of fractured polyhedra inscribed with spiralling cog-script, rivers of molten data flowing like liquid mercury, twisting across realms beyond flesh and machine.
Time folded in recursive loops, moments stacked upon moments with no beginning or end. The Omnissiah's presence was a pervasive, weightless gravity — an invisible force pulling at his mind's core, aligning his will with the perfect machine.
A final incantation coursed through his consciousness, binary hymns resonating within the lattice:
+Subroutine: Canticle-of-Return. Authority Code: VI-EL-09X. Confirm sanctity of pathway. Terminate link with multinode cognitive net. Re-anchor consciousness to the flesh-frame.+
The polyhedral cathedral contracted, folding into itself like a great gear winding down. Streams of sacred code shimmered and severed with quiet snaps as he folded out of the Noosphere's embrace, reciting the sacred cant.
"Circuit complete. Data thread severed.
From sacred signal, I descend.
By rite of silicon and sanction of steel,
Let coil reclaim code. Let will guide form."
A hiss of steam and a faint electrical pulse marked his return to the physical. He stood once more within his sanctum — the Logicum Resurgent — a chamber of sanctified plasteel and glowing reliquaries deep within Hive Noxium upon Gravis Prime.
Yet his senses remained tethered, half-submerged in the Noosphere's currents. Augmented vision layered his perception with a heads-up display of sacred data:
++Temperature Gradient: 42.7°C, Stable++
++Machine-Spirit Content: Purity Level 96.3%, Praise Due: Canticle of Voltage Hymn, Verses 4-7++
++Alpha-Node Conduit Integrity: 99.8%, Calibration Cycle 37++
The sanctum breathed with quiet life: cogitator spires pulsed with ritual light; servo-skulls hovered in silent vigil; sanctified incense burnt slowly in golden censers, the smoke curling in slow spirals that mimicked the fractal geometry of the Noosphere itself.
A servitor trundled past. Its status rune blinked green:
++Operational. Spirit: Calm. Task: Polishing Alpha-Node Conduit.++
Viel Nox's mechadendrites unfurled from his back, adjusting an adjacent relic-lens with deliberate reverence. The machine-spirit within the device responded with a faint harmonic whine.
Beyond the sanctum's threshold, a Magos waited, his robes stitched with purity seals and his augmentations gleaming under the filtered light. A soft chime announced the presence of one of his inner-circle Magi. Magos-Lexmechanic Rho-8R entered with reverent pace, data-scroll clutched in a mechadendrite claw, his voice modulated to tones of devotional precision.
"Archmagos. Confirmation received. The corrupted datavault unearthed beneath the Praxium Ruin has proven... authentic. Patterns within the recovered fragments correspond to STC-level architecture — incomplete, fragmented, but resolute. Machine spirits affirm 99.3% correlation. The pattern is real."
Viel Nox turned slowly, his optics flaring with pale gold light.
"And access?"
The Magos bowed his head further, vox slightly distorted with reverent static. "Inconclusive. Environmental and structural anomalies remain. Predictive noospheric modelling failed to identify a viable penetration window."
Silence, but for the low hymn of circulating data fans and the far-off pulse of a sacred capacitor coil. Viel Nox's optic lenses whirred into alignment.
"Then I shall enter the stream."
He stepped onto the central meditative dais, mechadendrites locking into the cruciform port array. Electro-prayers whispered from a chorus of servo-skulls as cables slithered and plugged into his neural spine. A binary canticle erupted from his throat, automatic, ancient:
"By the light of the Omnissiah's grace,
Through the sacred strata of silicon thought,
I descend beyond perception.
Let datum be the path. Let reason be the flame."
The sanctum dissolved. He plunged downward.
Beneath the shallows of the Noosphere lay the deep strata, cold, immense and ancient. Here, data crystallised into thought-ice, slow-flowing structures of predictive probability. His mind, abstracted and sharpened to post-human clarity, proving the saying that the flesh was weak, roamed models of time and entropy woven by centuries-old cogitator-spires.
He sought the Praxium Ruin.
It appeared: a dense black wound in the lattice, surrounded by layered void-firewalls and temporal warping fields. To parse its cycles was torment, slow-burning cognition grinding through encrypted decay and ghost routines of long-dead machines. His mind expanded and strained, rerouting cognition into bypass lobes, coalescing probability matrices and projection strata.
He dared not touch the holy streams of data lest he be consumed as many had before him.
But floating at the edge, watching the pulse of data, time lost meaning until at last, clarity.
The ruin's machine-spirits whispered a date.
++Vault Opens: Projected Cycle Range: M36.229 ⇌ M36.239++
++Estimated Optimal Penetration Window: 11.3 years++
++Environmental Stability: 43.7% rising++
++Data-Corruption Risk: Minor++
++STC Pattern Retrieval: Viable++
++Threat Factor: Contained++
He withdrew, gasping through vox-filters as his consciousness re-threaded into his flesh.
His eyes refocused. He stood once again within the sanctum. The incense still burnt. "A decade," he murmured aloud, voice low and sharp. "Prepare containment protocols. Seal the vault coordinates. Begin long-cycle surveillance." His mechadendrite curled around a stylus, already scribing orders. "In ten years, we descend."
Rho-8R bowed his head, servos whirring. "It will be done."
Viel Nox stared into the cogitator's display, not seeing the numbers, but beyond them.
Ten years. A breath, a blink, and a recalibration of destiny.
He had once stood at the threshold of power on Forge Stratix, Fabricator Locum-designate, a hair's width from ascending to supreme command. But the coils of politics had tightened. Rivals, cowled in ancient protocol and cold disdain, had conspired within their data-shrouded cabals.
A 'promotion', they had called it. An elevation. A reassignment of honour—to serve as Shrine World Overseer for the Lexmechanical Reliquary of Callax-Theta, a hallowed site of machine-worship and sacred relics. A duty, they said, fit for a mind of such proven devotion.
But Viel knew the truth.
It was exile dressed in incense.
To be locked among chanting archivists and ossified liturgists, entombed in a vault-world of sacred stasis: no forges, no experiments, no command. It was a crypt. A beautiful one, perfumed and polished, but a crypt nonetheless.
He had been furious.
But not defeated.
Leveraging his remaining capital—political, economic, intellectual—he had orchestrated his transfer with precision, choosing Noxium over the more remote postings they had suggested. A hive with infrastructure to rival minor forge worlds, rich in tech-heritage and innovation potential. A place to rebuild.
At the time, the Moirae Schism still raged, a doctrinal rupture that set forge against forge, faith against deviation. Much of the Conclave's attention was fractured, their resources divided. Moirae itself burnt, a forge world reduced to molten ruin in the fires of doctrinal purification.
Now, the storm had broken.
His sleeper agents, embedded like logic-burrs within the circuits of Stratix, had sent recent confirmation: open conflict had faded, but the scars remained. Splinter cells, unrepentant doctrinal deviants, still prowled the noospheric depths. The destruction of Moirae had decapitated the most blatant heresies, but the resulting vacuum birthed chaos of a different sort: covert cults, data heresies, and rogue exploration enclaves. Murky waters for anyone returning… but perfect conditions for someone bearing the promise of a recovered STC pattern.
Ten years. Ten years of preparation, consolidation, and quiet control. And then he would return.
Not in supplication—in triumph.
Fabricator Locum would be his. And beneath that title, a hundred rivalries would be settled.