Chapter 64: Welcome Ceremony

Stormbird—a landing craft utilized by the Legions during the Great Crusade.

In truth, the Black Templars possessed them as well, but millennia of endless crusades had exhausted their reserves, and the remaining legends forged in the fires of war had long since been interred within the halls of relics.

To this day, setting aside whether it even suited the Chapter's current combat doctrines, simply figuring out how to manufacture a model like the Stormbird posed a daunting challenge.

"......"

Metallic canticles echoed through the cabin. This Stormbird, bearing the glory of humanity, proclaimed its newly initiated journey with the joyful vibration of its engines.

Orlando’s armored knuckles tapped against the grim, metal bulkhead. The unpolished tread-burs of his Tartaros Terminator boots scraped across the plasteel flooring, kicking up microscopic sparks.

Spartan and entirely devoid of superfluous decoration, the interior space featured gleaming metal bulkheads reflecting the stark illumination.

There was no burning of holy oils or incense, no embossed skulls; this vessel of iron was as pure as the Emperor’s will itself.

The blank honor-plates, devoid of any recorded battle accolades, suggested the craft had rolled straight off the assembly line brand new.

Beside him, Cawl quietly measured the isotope readings.

[Isotope decay rate: 0.0013%. Forge-year glyphs unactivated, no production serial encoded...]

Brand new from the factory.

"Compared to a Thunderhawk gunship, this place feels more like the nave of a cathedral."

A certain Inquisition squad leader had just muttered his awe when a Tech-Priest beside him cut him off with a synthesized bellow: "This is sacred machinery; it is not for the likes of you to casually critique."

The squad leader quickly fell silent.

Aglaia, meanwhile, paid no mind to this minor interlude. A low hum emanated from the servo-skull beneath her robes, and her focused gaze recorded every historical detail.

Far more spacious than the cramped confines of a Thunderhawk, the Stormbird's cabin allowed the high command of the allied fleet to board the very same transport alongside their personal bodyguards.

As for security...

It could only be said that the Stormbird was perhaps no longer suited for an Imperium whose territories now spanned the entire galaxy.

Yet there was a reason why, during the Great Crusade, it could carry wave after wave of Space Marines to forcefully breach strange and perilous worlds, holding that tactical supremacy firmly until the eventual dismantling of the Legions.

Its blinding velocity allowed it to evade the lock-on systems of heavy weaponry, while the dual-layer void shields provided an unprecedented sense of security, rendering dense barrages of fire gentle and harmless.

As these steel behemoths tore through the atmosphere with an elegance defying their sheer bulk, the purple-red arcs of plasma generated by the friction between the void shields and the ionosphere flared brightly. Heavy artillery fire blasted toward them, only to be instantaneously cast into the warp, leaving nothing more than brilliant streaks of light across the observation ports.

Until the crushing gravity of Pierd reined in the seven-thousand-ton hull, forcing the bones of every passenger to contend with the laws of inertia—

Except for those superhumans who had woven gene-seed into their very flesh.

The Astartes gazed forward with solemn expressions, as though witnessing history itself.

Four ancient saints sat in quiet stillness near the decompression hatch, each in a different posture, yet all silent, their ceramite armor frosted with the dust of the starry void.

The Sisters bowed their heads in the manner of pilgrims, silent as statues, save for the rosary beads swinging gently against their chests.

Composed.

Waiting only for their blades to be whetted, ready to bare steel against the enemies of mankind the exact moment the transport touched down.

"Imperial encoded transmission received. Identification code provisionally verified as Imperial hereditary nobility."

Cawl, in charge of the information systems, suddenly spoke up, his static-laced synthetic voice shattering the silence.

"The sender has designated a landing port for us. Shall we proceed?"

"Proceed. Demand that they open their airspace entirely, and we shall select our own landing zone."

Romulus replied calmly, peering through the Stormbird’s optical systems to survey the environment of the planet below.

The entire planet of Pierd featured only a single hyper-dense hive city located at the equator. The southern hemisphere was completely smothered by sprawling Adeptus Mechanicus forge complexes, while the northern hemisphere was submerged in thick industrial exhaust, transformed into a toxic wasteland.

In the spire zone, the shrines of the Ecclesiarchy and the temples of the Mechanicus together formed the bridge connecting these two worlds.

Topographically speaking, Romulus judged that landing safely in the upper spire would be best; after all, intelligence from the Word Bearers indicated that the planet had descended into utter chaos, beyond the control even of the forces of darkness.

Should they be forced to launch assault operations from the hive's outskirts, the intensity of combat would exceed what this expeditionary force could endure.

"Acknowledged. Data integration complete; the formation will proceed along the predetermined trajectory. The landing site has been corrected to the Upper Spire Mechanicus Shrine, and I have interfaced with their internal systems."

With a few simple manipulations, Cawl summarily dismissed the landing zone chosen by the Imperial noble for the assault formation, and his following words made the expressions of everyone present turn grave.

"Furthermore, traces of Omnissiah’s sacred code corrupted by Chaos have been detected. All parties, prepare for combat."

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"More of those pseudo-angels tainted by heretical faith."

Ending the transmission, an aristocratic lady of the Imperium let out a heavy sigh.

"Such sorrowful news. A mere thousand xenos have inflicted unprecedented losses upon the God-Emperor’s sacred flock, and I shudder to imagine how much slaughter this latest invasion will bring."

"Remain optimistic, sister. The Emperor teaches us tolerance."

A voice drifted over, filled with boundless piety and gentleness.

"Whether xenos or human, if they possess a heart of unity, we should embrace them and share this boundless starry expanse together."

"Forgive my presumption in misinterpreting the Emperor's sacred will."

The noble lady quickly rose, offering an apology to the preacher beside her.

It was a bald woman clad in fine purple robes.

"You shall prepare a welcoming ceremony for them, advancing with fruits and vegetables. If they greet us with smiles, we shall dwell together; if they greet us with fire and steel, we shall answer with sword and blade."

The woman spoke thus.

"Thank you for your guidance, Envoy. Praise be to your tolerance, Envoy."

The noble lady responded with fanatical fervor, as though touched by divine revelation.

"No need to thank me, nor praise me."

The woman spread her arms, and as her expression shifted, the faint contour of overlapping bone plates could be discerned across the crown of her smooth, hairless head.

"Look around you."

They stood within the bustling bustle of a busy workspace.

"Unity."

Human beings collaborated closely with one another; every report received the optimal resolution before being flawlessly executed.

"Tolerance."

Even the most impoverished wretches of the lower hive tiers were able to participate in councils and contribute to every decision. The nobles moving about them bore not a hint of discrimination in their eyes.

Food was distributed with absolute precision; the populace no longer needed to endure the cruel exploitation of scum who worshiped heretical dark powers.

No one needed to suffer hunger any longer, nor struggle merely to survive.

They gathered here, pooling their strength, solely to sow blessings among all people, solely to rescue the lives of every compatriot from the hands of the wicked.

This was a profoundly lofty ideal.