The recovery of the forces proceeded with anomalous efficiency, largely due to the labyrinthine factional strife and cold calculations inherent to Drukhari society.
Following the departure of the chanical host, the various Drukhari sub-factions descended into a brief but vicious bout of infighting, scrambling to carve up the territories the Iron n had scoured clean. The two largest Kabals, however, were paralyzed by even more complex internal schisms. This sudden incursion had resulted in the disappearance of both Asdrubael Vect and Aurelia Malys, causing their respective organizations to shatter into bickering splinter-groups.
As for the pirate fleets, they remained true to their nature, acting only in the pursuit of their own narrow interests.
And what of a pursuit?
Who would lead it? Whose strength would be spent in the chase?
Based on the preceding carnage, the treacherous Drukhari could easily estimate the combat efficacy of Axion's legions. For one or two factions to give chase was tantamount to suicide; for a grand coalition to coordinate a pursuit was a fruitless endeavor. Even if they achieved a pyrrhic victory, there was no profit to be gained.
Amidst the ruins of the city, the Harlequin troupes, who had vanished long before the first shot was fired, reappeared. The followers of Cegorach watched the wreckage of Commorragh and the spiraling chaos of the Drukhari civil war with grotesque, painted smiles. Had this been a Craftworld under fire, the Aeldari would likely have mobilized their massive world-vessels to fight to the last. Instead, these fallen wretches chose to prey upon one another.
Perhaps, in the eyes of the Laughing God, this was simply the ultimate jest.
…
Aboard the Void Sword.
Tens of millions of Drukhari were crudely incarcerated together. With the precedent of the million psykers being siphoned dry, Axion did not intend to exercise rcy this ti. However, to prevent the rescued Astartes from perishing alongside the xenos, he had prepared a contingency.
Tens of thousands of small psychic crystals were synthesized. Unlike the pale blue soulstones of the Craftworld Aeldari or the crystals of Imperial psykers, these Drukhari-sourced stones were vibrant and kaleidoscopic, a testant to the myriad warped beliefs that had stained their power. Any other entity might have feared warp-taint or psychic corruption, but the Iron n remained indifferent.
An Iron Man possessed no soul to corrupt.
Swarms of Sapient Machine Automata, replicating the operations previously conducted upon the Titan's Spear, constructed a wraithbone slting pool within a dedicated bay. Vast quantities of wraithbone looted from Commorragh were cast in as raw materials to be reforged into soul-conducting matrixes.
Following this, a massive Webway gate, dozens of ters in diater, was constructed to scale. Under normal paraters, a Webway gate is anchored in realspace to bridge into the labyrinthine dinsion, acting as a fixed waypoint. This construction, however, was designed to punch a hole directly from within the Webway to the outside. Where that exit led remained entirely uncertain.
For the Iron n, this was a negligible variable. They simply needed a vector to exit the sub-dinsional space.
As the psychic crystals integrated into the Sapient Machine Automata began to flicker, energies of every hue were woven with clinical precision around the massive wraithbone archway.
Zzzzt—!
Conflicting psychic currents lashed out in arcs of terrifying power, eventually stabilizing into a massive, swirling vortex in the center of the arch. An Automated Sentry-Trooper, trailing a physical data-tether, marched into the portal.
Vast quantities of Warp energy imdiately bled through the gate. Clearly, this unconventional opening had not reached realspace.
Yet Axion was not without recourse.
The structural geotry of the bay shifted rapidly. Ship bulkheads dissolved under the touch of nanites, and raw materials were surged into the zone. A rudintary vessel, built to the maximum tolerance of the gate's diater, was constructed. It was less a ship and more an elongated, massive space shuttle.
Led by Sapient Machine Automata, Ersen and his company were brought to the bay and ushered aboard this strange craft. The shuttle lacked life-support systems, but the power armor provided by Axion was more than sufficient to sustain them in the vacuum. Beyond that, the vessel contained every essential system of a void-ship.
Axion's objective was straightforward: remove the biological assets first, as his subsequent maneuvers would be lethal to organic life.
Once the manifests were confird, the needle-like vessel activated its Geller Field and slipped through the gate, sliding into the Empyrean. The Astartes sat in the hold, feeling a rare unease regarding their uncertain future.
Only Ersen remained unmoved. Though his prophetic insights told him that the imdiate path was safe, he could not guarantee his cousins would accept his word. After all, he was a Word Bearer.
The reality, however, aligned with his senses. Upon entering the Warp, the javelin-like craft used the Eye of Terror, ever visible in the tides of the Immaterium, to orient itself. The ship's engines flared. After traveling a calculated distance, it tore through the veil of the Warp and re-entered realspace, successfully erging near the Segntum Ultima.
The onboard intelligence imdiately initiated a quantum communication sweep, soon establishing a link with a Guardian-class vessel dozens of light-years away. The Guardian, currently assisting with planetary tithe collection, made its first proactive contact with an Inquisition Black Ship, requesting an imdiate course correction.
The Inquisitors gave the chanical escort vessels due respect; after all, a two-day delay in tithes was a small price for cooperation.
The tithe fleet soon rendezvoused with the strange ship that had been drifting for nearly two days. When the transports from the Guardian-class vessel extracted over a hundred Astartes from the javelin-like shuttle and delivered them to the Black Ship, the Inquisitor realized this was no simple navigational detour.
The Space Marines, clad in strange power armor devoid of Chapter markings, radiated an oppressive aura the mont they appeared. The Inquisitor could not have known that these Angels of Death had been bored to the brink of madness during their two-day transit.
Their environntal sensors had inford them the interior was a vacuum. They could not remove their helts, nor could they discard their plate. Though the narrow hull was not cramped, the enforced idleness had been agonizing.
The only ones who hadn't felt the boredom were the Techmarines. Conversely, the most agitated was the battle-brother from the Iron Hands. He was desperate to shed the armor, dismantle it, and study its inner workings.
During the days they were sealed in their suits, the Techmarine brothers had spent their ti touring every accessible inch of the shuttle. Axion had equipped each of them with a basic loadout: a particle vibration blade, an auxiliary intelligent bolt rifle built with ancient Federation tech, and a high-performance plasma pistol.
But there was no firing range. Staring at these familiar yet alien armants was a form of torture. The Techmarines lacked tools and were loath to use brute force on equipnt that clearly humd with lethal potential.
Upon reaching the Inquisition Black Ship, the Astartes offered only a curt "We will speak later" before following the Techmarines in a grim, determined march toward the ship's armarium and testing ranges. Even Ersen, the Word Bearer, was among them.
——————
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