WH 40k: Transcendence

Well here is a bonus chapter. Thanks for the overwhelming support guys.

21:04 Standard Terran Time

Cassian moved through the mid-hive streets, his steps measured, deliberate. The weight of the day's training clung to him—bruises forming beneath his fatigues, muscles aching from drills that pushed him past exhaustion. The Adeptus Arbites did not tolerate weakness. Neither could he.

The shift from scribe work to training had been abrupt. One moment, his world had been ink-stained parchments and the droning of overseers. The next, it was reinforced batons, combat drills, and cold, methodical lectures on law and execution. A lesser man would have broken under the strain.

He had no choice but to adapt.

Cassian reached his hab block, weaving through the narrow corridors. The familiar stink of promethium, sweat, and decay filled the air. The hum of machinery was ever-present, a dull backdrop to hive life. Yet, as he approached his door, something felt off.

His fingers paused on the keypad.

Nothing obvious. Nothing concrete. But the air felt heavier, charged in a way he couldn't explain.

He exhaled, dismissing the unease, and keyed in the code. The door groaned open, revealing the cramped interior.

Same cot. Same desk. Same stack of dataslates.

Familiar. Reassuring.

Cassian stepped inside and shut the door. He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness settling into his frame. His mind drifted to the training—grappling techniques, baton strikes, live-fire drills. Progress was slow but steady. The Arbites instructors were harsh, but not without purpose. Strength, discipline, control.

He dropped onto his cot, exhaling. His gaze flicked across the room, his thoughts already shifting toward tomorrow's regimen.

Then he saw it.

His ink bottle—shifted.

Barely an inch. But wrong.

Cassian frowned. He had lived alone for years. He never misplaced things. The bottle had been on the right side of the desk, aligned with the edge. Now it was slightly off-center.

Once is an accident.

He reached out, fingers brushing the bottle.

Warm.

Cassian stilled. The room was cold, as always. The ink bottle should have been the same. Instead, it felt as if someone had just held it.

He set it back.

A breath. Another. The hum of the hive returned to the edges of his perception, grounding him. He was just tired. Overthinking.

Then the lumen strip flickered.

Twice is a coincidence.

Cassian's pulse quickened, though he kept his expression neutral. Power fluctuations were common. The hive's infrastructure was ancient, unreliable. And yet…

The silence pressed in.

Not true silence—the hive was never truly quiet. But something had changed. The distant sounds of machinery, the faint murmur of life beyond his door, all felt… dampened. As if he were hearing them from the bottom of a deep well.

His fingers flexed. His training with the Arbites had honed his instincts. Recognizing danger, responding to it—these were skills drilled into him daily. But this wasn't something he could fight.

He was being noticed.

Cassian turned his head slightly, as if checking his boots. His eyes flicked to the desk. The ink bottle.

Three times is a pattern.

His breath was slow, controlled. He refused to let his body betray tension. This was the Warp's touch. Subtle, creeping, but unmistakable.

Something had reached out.

And it had brushed against his world.

—-

The training hall was a brutal place.

There was no warmth here—only the sound of bodies hitting the floor, the crack of batons, and the sharp grunts of effort. Cassian had been in this place long enough to know that respect wasn't given. It had to be earned, one bruise at a time.

He stood across from Dain Verrus, his muscles aching from yesterday's exertion. The veteran had barely broken a sweat in their previous spars, but Cassian had been improving. Slowly.

"Again," Verrus said, rolling his shoulders.

Cassian exhaled and shifted his stance. He had been drilled on the fundamentals: keep his guard up, stay light on his feet, watch his opponent's movements. Knowing the theory didn't mean much when facing someone leagues above him.

Verrus moved first.

Cassian saw the attack coming—a simple jab to test his reaction time. He twisted to avoid it, stepping back just enough. But then came the real strike—a sharp hook aimed at his ribs. He barely managed to deflect it, pain flaring up his forearm from the force of the blow.

Then Verrus was on him.

A feint—his left shoulder dipping as if for a body shot. Cassian tried to react, but the real attack was a knee snapping toward his stomach. He barely twisted away, but the follow-up elbow cracked against his shoulder, sending him stumbling.

Verrus didn't let up.

Cassian had no time to reset before a low kick swept toward his leg. He saw it too late. His knee buckled, throwing him off balance—

And then Verrus shoved him.

Cassian hit the mat hard, the impact rattling through his spine. His breath came in short gasps.

"Sloppy," Verrus said, stepping back. "You're hesitating."

Cassian grit his teeth and forced himself up. He wiped sweat from his brow and raised his hands again. "One more."

Verrus gave a small nod. "Good. You should always want one more."

They circled each other again. Cassian adjusted his stance—lower, more stable. He wasn't going to match Verrus in raw power, but speed, positioning, timing—those were his weapons.

The next exchange was faster.

Verrus launched a straight punch, and Cassian deflected it, sidestepping just in time to avoid the follow-up. A second punch came, and instead of fully retreating, he leaned in, using the momentum to guide Verrus' arm just past him.

Then he struck—

A sharp jab aimed at the ribs.

It connected.

Verrus took a step back.

For a fraction of a second, there was silence. Cassian's heart pounded. It hadn't been much—barely more than a distraction—but it was clean.

Then Verrus exhaled.

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Not bad."

Cassian let out a slow breath. His whole body was sore, but for once, it wasn't just from getting knocked down.

Verrus clapped him on the shoulder. "You're learning."

Cassian flexed his fingers, feeling the bruises settle in. He had landed one strike. It wasn't victory, but it was something.

Verrus gave him a look. "That's enough for today. If you want to keep that momentum, reflect on why it worked. Study your own movements, not just your opponent's."

Cassian gave a small nod, still catching his breath.

Then, after a pause, he spoke. "I need to talk to you about something."

Verrus raised a brow. "Go on."

Cassian exhaled and recounted what had happened in his hab yesterday—the sense of wrongness, the way his ink bottle had shifted, the suffocating stillness. He hadn't been imagining it. He knew something had been there.

Verrus didn't react at first. Then, without a word, he turned and gestured for Cassian to follow.

The silence between them stretched as they made their way through the precinct. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. Fewer people walked these halls, and those who did bore the unmistakable weight of knowledge—the kind that twisted a man's soul if he dwelled on it for too long.

Finally, they stopped before a reinforced door. Verrus knocked once.

A voice answered from within. "Enter."

Cassian stepped inside.

The Arbitrator from his first day sat behind the desk, his piercing gaze immediately settling on him. The door shut behind them.

Verrus spoke first. "He noticed something."

The Arbitrator's expression remained unchanged. "Explain."

Cassian took a breath and relayed everything. He kept his voice steady, careful not to sound either paranoid or dismissive. He recounted the details exactly as they were.

When he finished, the Arbitrator leaned back slightly, regarding him with a calculating expression.

"You're sensitive to it," he said finally.

Cassian frowned. "To what?"

"The Warp."

The word alone made his skin crawl.

The Arbitrator steepled his fingers. "Some people have a natural awareness. Not psychic, not measurable, but… attuned. They recognize when things are amiss before others do." His eyes locked onto Cassian's. "You are one of those people."

Cassian clenched his jaw. "And what does that mean for me?"

The Arbitrator exhaled slowly. "It makes you an asset."

Cassian hated that word.

The Arbitrator studied him for a moment before continuing. "Tell me, Vail. Do you know how the Imperium classifies the fall of a world?"

Cassian had an idea. He had read enough lore in his past life to know how these things played out, but he remained silent, letting the Arbitrator speak.

"There are stages to corruption," the man said. "The first is unseen taint. Small disturbances. The beginnings of cult activity. A shift in the air that most overlook."

Cassian's fingers twitched.

"The second stage is the cracks in faith. Unrest spreads. More disappearances. People lose trust in authority, and those in power start turning on each other."

Cassian's stomach tightened.

"The third stage—manifestation. The veil weakens. Things happen that cannot be explained away. People disappear en masse. The world begins to rot."

Cassian knew what the fourth stage was. Exterminatus.

But the Arbitrator's gaze hardened. "We are not there yet."

Cassian's breath slowed.

"The Imperium has lost countless worlds to Chaos, but it has saved just as many." The Arbitrator leaned forward slightly. "Do not mistake creeping corruption for inevitability."

Cassian forced himself to meet the man's gaze. "Then how do you stop it?"

"There are ways." The Arbitrator's voice was calm, measured. "Information is the first weapon. Rooting out cults before they spread. Destroying vectors of corruption before they take hold." He tapped the desk lightly. "But the most important factor is the people. When the people lose faith, the world follows."

Cassian let the words sink in.

The Arbitrator's expression didn't change. "I tell you this because you are in a rare position. You have noticed what others have not. That alone makes you valuable."

Cassian knew what he was really saying. You are being watched.

For a long moment, the room was silent. Then the Arbitrator spoke again, his voice quieter.

"Tell me, Vail. When you look at this world, do you believe it can be saved?"

Cassian met his gaze.

It was a test.

If he answered wrong, he'd be marked. If he hesitated too long, he'd be suspected. The Imperium didn't tolerate defeatists.

But he couldn't lie, either. Not outright.

"…I believe it can be," he said finally. "But I don't know if it will be."

The Arbitrator watched him for a moment longer. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Good answer."

Cassian exhaled slowly.

The Arbitrator gestured toward the door. "You're dismissed."

Cassian didn't need to be told twice. He stepped out into the hall, his mind racing.

The Warp was creeping into this world. But the Imperium wasn't blind to it. They were fighting, struggling to hold back the tide.

The question was—would it be enough?

And more importantly—did it matter to him?

—-

Word count: 1837