Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 38: Preparations

"How much do you know about them?" Archmagos Cawl asked.

Excellent, he's willing to hear me out, Romulus thought, pausing for a moment to consider.

Compared to their knowledge of the Asuryani, humanity's understanding of the Drukhari was actually very limited. They often confused these xenos with Eldar Corsairs. This was because the Drukhari operated in great secrecy, and their mastery of the Webway far exceeded that of their Craftworld cousins. As a result, in many cases of mass civilian abductions, the Imperium couldn't even identify the culprits.

At the same time, the Drukhari were not considered a primary enemy of Mankind. Commorragh was vast, but compared to the sheer scale of the Imperium, it was a drop in the ocean. Their level of raiding didn't even register as a rounding error on humanity's population growth. Naturally, the Departmento Munitorum didn't pay them much mind.

To even be able to distinguish them from other Eldar was the mark of a senior scholar in xenos studies. To know the current political landscape and military strength of Commorragh and the Drukhari was unheard of. Aside from the Carcharodons, very few had ever entered that damned city and come out alive.

Of course, Romulus couldn't just say he had a daemonhost-powered wallhack. If he wanted to avoid trouble in Imperial space, he needed to avoid any association with things from the Warp—besides the Emperor, of course.

"Once, a Salamanders Strike Cruiser was abducted and taken to Commorragh," Romulus began. "This prompted an expedition by a fleet of multiple Chapters, including the Salamanders. They destroyed nearly half of the Dark City before successfully withdrawing."

This was the first and last direct conflict between the Imperium and the Drukhari during the Great Crusade, an event that had completely changed the political landscape of Commorragh. Romulus mentioned it because it involved the Salamanders' Primarch, Vulkan. Even if the Archmagos had purged his memory banks, he should still have some recollection of it. If not, Romulus would have to waste his breath explaining the characteristics of the Drukhari in detail.

This coded response left Marshal Orlando, who was listening in, even more confused. When were the Salamanders ever abducted to Commorragh? And which Chapters sent a fleet there and managed to get out in one piece? Why has the Black Templars' galaxy-spanning crusade fleet never heard of this? And for such a major crusade, they didn't invite the Black Templars?

"You were there?" Cawl asked.

"They can handle it," Romulus replied, deflecting the question and gesturing to the silent, machine-like Imperial Fists behind him. They were, after all, the ones who would be assisting the Carcharodons in apprehending the Drukhari.

"And this... psyker?"

"The very presence of a psyker strengthens the connection between realspace and the Warp," Ramesses explained. "The effect this has on the Drukhari is similar to the effect of a Blank on a psyker."

Archmagos Cawl nodded in understanding, then took a closer look at this "Deathwatch" force, whose numbers and equipment were highly unusual. Master-crafted Terminator armor, its ornamentation exquisite but devoid of any religious elements. The Imperial Fists, on the other hand, wore lighter Corvus-pattern power armor and wielded volkite calivers—weapons of slightly less destructive power, but, as Cawl well knew, renowned for their accuracy. They were scouts, meant to rely on experience to pinpoint enemies in the dark and guide their comrades. The price of failure would be the death of their brothers.

A force capable of tracking the movements of the Drukhari through experience alone could not have been trained in an era where humanity no longer engaged in large-scale conflicts with the Dark City.

And...

A light flared in Cawl's eyes. Countless streams of data flowed through his massive frame as he integrated and analyzed this new information, verifying its authenticity. The very air around him grew hotter.

Correct.

Is it a coincidence?

No.

Therefore—

There was only one possible answer.

After a brief silence, a few muffled clunks came from his vocalizer array, which vented a cloud of visible steam. The beast-like metal frame of the Archmagos shifted, accompanied by the clanking of metal on metal.

"I accept your proposal," Cawl said, a sound like laughter emitting from his vox. Only Orlando had no idea what he was laughing about. He glanced back at the Chaplain, who was staring at Arthur's black sword, then at Inquisitor Aglaia, whose eyes were shining as she scribbled furiously on a sheet of parchment. He felt like he was the only one who didn't know what was going on.

SCRAPE—

A thick cable scraped across the deck, throwing sparks. The Archmagos moved aside. A servo-skull joined their group as he raised his original, still-human right hand and pointed towards the mechanical lift leading to the aft section of the Ark.

"You have five minutes."

"Why the Imperial Fists?" Ramesses asked with surprise as the lift ascended. The Black Templars were now in a state of collective brain-freeze, completely unable to process the situation. Of course, the four of them hadn't considered bringing them along anyway. They didn't know them well enough, and commanding them would likely be difficult.

"Because of all the gene-lines I have access to, the Imperial Fists' traits are the most suitable for this type of operation. They're easier for me to control," Romulus replied. Actually, the Raven Guard would have been the most suitable, but there was no time to change. Besides, he had never intended to specialize in this kind of high-risk, high-speed combat style. He had to pick the best of a bad bunch, choosing the one with the base stats most suited for a breakthrough. After all, there was a limit to what he could do while manually piloting the marines. Being able to pull off a combined arms assault with a Cadian armored regiment was his current peak.

"Right." The lift reached the top. Ramesses, carrying his coffin, stepped forward without any issue. The Blood Angels were a no-go, and the Ultramarines had been trained as heavy infantry, their stats skewed in that direction. Readjusting them would take time. The Imperial Fists were indeed a good fit. Before Dorn's return, they had excelled at void combat and boarding actions. You just had to look at Void-master Polux and the Executioners. These traits were ingrained in their very being, on a genetic level. They didn't need to be shaped after the fact like the Ultramarines.

He then turned to Tyberos. "The one hundred and thirty Carcharodons will be randomly dispersed among our men, in groups of no more than five. I will cover you with a psychic ward. After that, I will use a spell to suppress the entire Drukhari operational area."

"Does it have to be exactly one hundred and thirty men?" Tyberos confirmed.

"Yes," Ramesses replied, looking at the Shark with a serious expression. If the Carcharodons weren't so adverse to the Imperial Cult, he would have asked Arabella to send thirteen Sisters to give them all a pre-battle prayer. Of course, the important thing wasn't the number itself, but the Emperor. This number had a certain connection to the Emperor on a psychic level, which was why Ramesses liked to use it.

ripple—

A faint wave rolled through the Warp, flowing towards the golden sun. Ramesses casually made a psychic phone call. Yep, the Emperor is still watching. No problem.

The transmigrators were not purists. They were pragmatists. If praying to the Emperor in 40k actually worked and could increase the success rate of their mission, then they would pray.

An objectively existing phenomenon was not a feudal superstition.

(End of Chapter)