anwhile, at the Adeptus chanicus encampnt.
Archmagos Cawl stared intently at the holographic display projected by a servo-skull hovering before him. A massive torrent of data scrolled across the projection like a cascading waterfall, yet it was rapidly absorbed by his optical sensors.
Augnted by the absolute pinnacle of human technology, his brain—processing at speeds rivaling that of a macro-cogitator—analyzed every single data point with flawless precision.
Soon, Cawl arrived at a highly satisfactory conclusion.
According to the teletry gathered by their high-precision auspex arrays, the excavation drills were now exceedingly close to the anomalous signal. They only needed to maintain their current vector for a short while longer before the gates to this xenos ruin would finally open to him, allowing the true exploration mission to comnce.
The operational progress thus far had vastly exceeded Archmagos Cawl's most optimistic projections.
This was primarily because the greatest potential variable in this equation had, surprisingly, failed to cause any disruption to the excavation efforts.
The Chaos Strike Cruiser hanging in orbit—which had initially caused Cawl a great deal of anxiety, given he had departed without a sufficiently massive escort fleet—had made absolutely no hostile maneuvers.
Contrary to the typical, hyper-aggressive operational doctrine of Chaos Warbands, the vessel simply remained entirely stationary. After all this ti, the auspex arrays indicated it had only drifted a negligible distance.
This absolute lack of aggression rendered the extensive shielding and optical camouflage asures Cawl had prepared completely obsolete.
Realizing this, Cawl, whose audacity was matched only by his genius, imdiately ordered the deactivation of the encampnt's camouflage protocols to redirect all available power into the excavation efforts.
Empirical evidence proved this to be the correct decision.
At that mont, Cawl's massive, cybernetic bulk slowly pivoted as a Transponder Priest approached his flank.
Even as an Archmagos Dominus whose organic components had been almost entirely replaced by divine machinery, Cawl could not personally micromanage every single aspect of the operation. This Transponder Priest was the Tech-Adept specifically designated to maintain the vox-link with the chanicus fleet in orbit.
[Query: Purpose of approach?]
The two disciples of the Machine God communicated via the Noosphere—a localized, highly advanced telepathic data-tether entirely imperceptible to outsiders.
[Report: 78.2 Terran seconds ago, the primary cogitators aboard our cruiser intercepted an ident-code broadcast from the suspected Chaos Strike Cruiser.]
The Transponder Priest's cold, hyper-precise binharic syntax flowed through the Noospheric link.
[Cross-referencing the ident-code with Martian databanks confirms a direct match. Designation: The Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition.]
An Inquisitorial ident-code?
The cryptographic sequence embedded within every Inquisitor's Rosette was an absolutely unique identifier, directly representing their authority and their near-infinite, divine jurisdiction.
Yet, it was currently being broadcast from a Strike Cruiser possessing a confird Excommunicate Traitoris record?
This deeply perplexing paradox caused Cawl's primary processors to spin in contemplation.
However, it was not a statistical impossibility.
After all, the Inquisition spent their entire lives plunging into the absolute darkest, most corrupting abysses of the galaxy to combat the Imperium's foes. Over ti, the more they understood their enemy, the closer the shadows of corruption and damnation crept. The birth of Radical or Traitor Inquisitors through such exposure was a well-docunted phenonon.
There was a grim, unspoken truth within the Imperium: the Ordo Malleus summons daemons, the Ordo Hereticus breeds heretics, and the Ordo Xenos colludes with aliens. Such irony was no longer surprising.
But the true anomaly lay in the subsequent data packet.
[According to your personal, encrypted databanks, this ident-code belongs to Inquisitor Cybia Barrios of the Ordo Malleus. The most recent logged interaction with this subject occurred exactly 24 Terran years ago.]
Oh?
Although Cawl frequently had to manually purge redundant mory engrams to free up storage space—often accidentally deleting massively important technological data in the process—he still retained clear mory files regarding VIPs of this caliber.
An Alpha-grade psyker was already a statistical anomaly, but one possessing the adamantium willpower required to survive the Inquisition's horrific, soul-breaking trials was rarer than a functional STC fragnt.
Cawl's previous interaction with this Inquisitor had been quite pleasant. In fact, he considered her to be an exceptionally rare "normal" individual within the Inquisition. He had even made an unprecedented exception, gifting her a bespoke trinket based on his latest research to help stabilize and suppress her overwhelmingly volatile psychic aura.
Has she fallen to the Ruinous Powers as well?
Harboring a trace of doubt, Cawl pondered for a microsecond, allowing the various fragnted sub-personas within his mind to debate the variables before rendering a final decision.
[Directive: Engage the stealth archeotech relics on our fleet at maximum capacity to ensure their survival. Once secured, open a direct vox-channel to the vessel. Instruct Inquisitor Barrios to proceed alone to these exact coordinates for a rendezvous. If she approaches with a massive ard retinue, or if teleportation signatures are detected, classify the target as Hostile and engage imdiately.]
[Objection: This course of action introduces unnecessary risk variables. Probability of our encampnt suffering a catastrophic attack increases by approximately 75.5%.]
The Transponder Priest voiced his calculated dissent.
[Execute the directive.]
Having rapidly run millions of combat simulations utilizing his current defensive assets and contingency protocols, Cawl remained absolute in his decision.
[...Do you require additional processing cycles to re-evaluate? My cogitators indicate these risk vectors are entirely uncontrollable...]
[Unnecessary. I am Belisarius Cawl.]
Cawl responded with absolute, unshakeable certainty.
...
"It really is Belisarius Cawl?"
Aboard the Strike Cruiser in orbit, Rowan, seated comfortably upon the Captain's throne and neurally linked with the vessel's machine spirit, opened his eyes. A highly nuanced expression crossed his face.
He had to admit, this developnt was exactly what he had hoped for.
The vast majority of Adeptus chanicus Magi were little more than cold, unfeeling machines. Using the term "devoid of humanity" to describe them was a literal, factual descriptor, not an emotional insult.
For instance, there was a docunted incident where a chanicus Magos stood directly in front of an Astra Militarum Lord General and clinically proposed that the corpses of the General's fallen soldiers be imdiately processed into corpse-starch to resupply his Skitarii cohorts.
When the horrified General cursed the Magos as a "cold, unfeeling machine," the Magos's genuine, recorded response was:
"According to my biotric sensors, my chassis retains exactly 16.23% organic components. Therefore, classifying purely as a machine is factually inaccurate. Furthermore, my current rank within the Cult chanicus is vastly inferior to the absolute purity of the Machine God. Nevertheless, I accept your erroneous classification as a profound complint, and I thank you."
However, Belisarius Cawl was an absolute, glaring anomaly among the upper echelons of the chanicus.
As an Archmagos who had survived from the era of the Great Crusade ten millennia ago to the present day, the sheer amount of humanity, humor, and curiosity he retained vastly exceeded that of Magi a fraction of his age.
Furthermore, Rowan possessed a staggering amount of ta-knowledge regarding Cawl's deepest, darkest secrets, making negotiations with him exceptionally convenient.
It was just...
Rowan cast a puzzled glance toward Cybia, who was standing nearby.
"You are acquainted with Archmagos Cawl?"
"Indeed. We crossed paths during a previous operation," Cybia nodded in confirmation, not entirely grasping why Rowan found this surprising.
Well, I suppose it makes sense, Rowan thought.
Before a certain "Blue Primarch" awoke from stasis, Archmagos Cawl's operational thodology was obsessively low-key and secretive.
After all, if the Inquisition or the High Lords ever discovered the sheer magnitude of the hyper-heretical projects he was secretly conducting, he would instantly be elevated to a tier of Heretic Traitoris second only to Horus Lupercal himself.
Concluding his thoughts, Rowan imdiately issued the order.
"Since you are already acquainted, proceed to the surface and et with him."
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