Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(25) The Wonderful Number One===

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">The Blade is on its way, rushing to Augurus Prime. A Command missive was received by the vessel's complement of living ancestors, relayed with all due haste. The security codes embedded within were so high-level it defies imagination. Brynjol emerges from self-performed servitor surgery with a new set of scars, several steel plates in his vertebrae, and a curious sense of loss of one of his four progenoids.

"What did I miss?" he asks, limping onto the bridge, dressed in duty robes and using his crozius as a staff. He steps over the translucent blue weeds that have grown everywhere, noting that they seem to be drying out and shrivelling.

"I am still purging the growths. It is a time-consuming process, even after retrofitting automata with flame and cryo weaponry," Cyril admits, "The Squats I have running a supply train for ammunition are...skeptical."

Cyril notes that, everywhere he goes, the ivy-like growths seem to be dying off on their own. Many pale white slugs also are dropping down, curling into little ded slugballs. He collects any ded slugballs he can find, crushing them up and delivering the powdered remains to Brynjol in a dustbin for study. Eventually, one of the Servo-automata floats by, holding out a frilled, black apron towards Cyril while beeping. He absentmindedly tucks the cloth into his belt while directing the vacuum-automata.

Cortain, in the meantime, decides to look into their destination. Augurus Prime is a watery world with extreme seasons and sparse flora. The population live in enclosed forge hives. It is the Sector's primary manufacturer of Titans and other advanced war machines. Its Basilikon Astra is the pride of the Sector, though it has suffered much damage over the years. In fact, the Blade of the Long Watch itself was restored in Augurus Prime's Basilikon Astra. Cortain feels a sense of pride that the Blade is returning homeward.

During the 8 month return trip, the Commandos spend their time between training, silent contemplation at what they witnessed at Isstvan V, and in Cyril's case, weaving commemmorative rugs for everyone except Thexus with his Remembrancy skill.  While Rockfist and O'Malley monitor the Squat's morale on request, Thexus and Rose are hard at work in the Armorium restoring a Mastodon to working order.  While supervising the halls, the Commandos even see some new battle automata marching about, probably the result of Thexus remembering some new patterns (and Horus Heresy Book 6 scans appearing).  While one looks like a stripped-down Domitar with jet engines, the other...gives the Commandos an ill feeling. No doubt they probably wondered what a Blight Drone looked like before its unholy corruption, but the way its auspex-lens stares as it patrols the wider hallways is somewhat disconcerting to some of the lesser-ranked squats. 

Eventually, the Commandos are back in the Tiji Sector, for better or for worse. Surfacing briefly on the Outskirts of the Tiji Sector, the Living Ancestors and vox operators take the time to update the situation and Void Abacus charts.  It has been sixteen months - 1.33 years the Commandos have been gone from the sector. In the meantime, sightings of the Hellstar have remained constant, and no small amount of worlds, both uninhabited and not, in the space between sectors have gone completely dark. However, in the past four Months, none have seen the rogue superplanetoid. It has the Brotherhood datamats somewhat worried. Some were forge worlds, some were hive worlds, most were mining worlds in the voidspace between the Tiji Sector, the Scar, the Realms of Ultramar, and the warpstorms of the Deep Fringe. Cortain reviews the list of lost worlds, and tries to determine a pattern. 

Then he rolls a 100 on his logic test.

Cortain begins plotting the worlds. The pattern makes a happy face. The Hellstar comes in peace. It warms his hearts that perhaps interspecies diplomacy can in fact be given a chance. Then Brynjol whispers that he forgot to carry the three in his calculations, reminding him of his Mentor ability, and spends fate to reroll. Now he rolls a 1. 

Cortain notes that there doesn't seem to be much of a pattern. However, the worlds ARE being lost sequentially - the Hellstar, last seen, was circling the Sector, consuming whatever it found. And each target was a little closer to re-entering the Sector proper. And until four months back, the loss of worlds was accelerating.

"Lads, don't ya worry, we'll arrive at Augurus Prime within the week," Rockfist states, "Ya...are feelin' okay, right?"
"In a sense.  The visions are...difficult to describe to a non-Legionary," Cortain states, "But whatever happened, I can feel it."
Rockfist nods, before heading out. Cyril, however stops him.
"Rockfist, if it is not too much trouble, could you critique the rug? I believe I did well, but Squattish craftsmanship is legendary, and I seek to refine my technique."

Rockfist is caught unawares somewhat by the request, but he and a few engineers take a closer look at it. They debate for many minutes. The rug depicts hordes of dead Orks piled around the base of two mountain ranges, with a bigass skull in the sky above the mountains. With 6 Degrees of Success, it's a pretty tight rug.
"Hmm, it menaces with corpses of ork," one nods, "Like at Imbach."
"Yes," another nods approvingly, "And an undefeated hold, be it the Homeworlds Old and New..."
Rockfist, however, says little. A single tear rolls down his cheek. And that is all that needs to be said.
"Ya did good, lad," he whispers barely perceptibly.
"I... thank you," Cyril nods.

As a last task with the remaining time, Brynjol begins to examine the translucent plants and the ded slugdust that Cyril gathered. He first turns his eyes to the sample of translucent plant he picked off the ground. He can't seem to make heads or tails of its chemical properties, but he can clearly see it's disintegrating by itself. He then turns to the ded slugdust Cyril keeps bringing him. He notes their primitive organs are all undergoing failure, yet he can see no reason for such an event. There is no damage to them that Brynjol can otherwise determine. They are fully functional creatures otherwise, other than the fact that at the beginning of the trip back, they all started dying at once.

"Hmm... perhaps it's some sort of effect... they gain strength from proximity to warp sources, perhaps?" Brynjol posits.
"No, the massive one," Cortain notes, "It was almost acting as a sort of synapse beacon, terraforming the ship."
"Concerning. We must destroy the lot before any Tyranid can assimilate them," Cyril voxes, "Though if they are merely dumb beasts with bizarre properties, they may prove useful enough to warrant sparing a few."
Some of the Squats shudder. "Forgive me, lad," Rockfist begins, "But I'd rather not have anythin' cavortin' around that can threaten the New Homeworlds."
"Of course," Cyril affirms, "If they are determined to be a threat, there is only one possible response."

The Blade's Warp Drive, now back to a normal speed, begins to rumble and shake, as the Everything's Okay Alarm begins to sound. Travelling another day in the materium, the expansive world of Augurus Prime and its many moons begin to fill the sky. Surrounding the forge world is a ring, a great cathedral of the Mechanicus' Basilikon Astra shining amongst the void. Cyril orders a vox-traffic pass, and the Blade detects the normal traffic that a Forge World expects - mining world shipments, outgoing Legio Skitarius detatchments, even a few Squat ships here and there.

"A shame, lad," Rockfist laments, "Don't think the Iron Spire's here this cycle. It's quite a ship lad, although, even it pales in comparison to yer Blade."

Performing a wide-band augur intonation, the Commandos search for any signs of distress. They find none, picking up only endless chants in machine code, shuttle requests, holding patterns, and so on. However, as augurs pass, the Commandos receive an incoming message at the hololith plinths. Brynjol pokes the hololith, and a live connection is set up to a number of lower-ranking Magi, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods, their forms flickering in the hololithic display.

"In the name of the Machine Trinity, we bid thee welcome to Augurus Prime, emissary of Mars in the deep void. We were told to expect you."
"We received your missive," Cortain explains, "What seems to be the matter?"
"Republican Commandos, there is much to speak of. Guests of honor are on their way that grace our humble forges, a glory unrivalled in 10,000 years past, and 10,000 years future," the Magos explains rather shiftily, "We were told to extend our hospitality, until they arrive. We shall prepare a delegation to meet you in the Basilikon Astra Cathedral Mechanicum."
Cyril restrains himself to Nixarterian mutterings about wastes of time and nods. "Was there anything else before we come down?"
"We of Augurus, glory be to the Trinity, shall endeavor to ensure you are honored appropriately," the magi bow as the hololith fades.
"Oh joy," Brynjol sighs.

The Commandos load up from the Armorium, most taking their usual loadouts. The local environment is the Basilikon Astra Cathedral Mechanicum, a ring orbiting Augurus Prime, where starships and heavy machinery is built. Knowing full well the thin skin that shields them from the Void, the Commandos opt for the heaviest weapons they can find. Cyril also rolls quite well on his Diplomacy test, managing an extra 60 Requisition for the team, which he spends on darkfire-armed Battle Automata and a Xiphon Interceptor Bombardment.

"I like my loadouts like I like my plans, simple, effective, and flexible," Temur announces. Of course, a Grav Cannon is flexible enough to be useful against anything, or so he believes.

The Commandos are getting used to making statements about their landing presence, despite their disdain of the publicity they inevitably receive. As such, they ask a Stormbird be readied, which is enough to fit all the support the Commandos will be bringing with them. Landing coordinates to the Cathedral are sent, leading to one of the larger areas of the ring. The Squats clear out of the way, before the Launch Bays open. All paths are cleared for Takeoff, and the Stormburd blasts out of the hangar.

Weaving through ore haulers, troop transports, mass conveyors, and bits of the Cathedral ring, the polluted grey clouds of Augurus floating below, the sheer size of the orbital ring is incredible. Every berth is filled with a ship under construction, and the prayers to the Machine Trinity ring on every vox frequency. Cortain replies in equal measure, feeling comfortable amongst the Mechanicus.

The Stormbird barely fits in the designated landing zone, the area clearly meant for smaller diplomatic envoys. Nonetheless, landing is possible, and the doors drop open with a clang as energy fields seal the hangar from the void. Cyril glances at his battle-brothers, ready to form up and march out in synchrony with the Castellax maniple. Making an Oath to the Wolf King, the Commandos synch up and disembark. Awaiting the Commandos outside are another set of mid-rank magi, blinky lights of augurs and sensoria evident under their hoods.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMnHIKKdGOo

Cortain salutes the magi, folding his hands in the traditional sign of the cog.
"Welcome, honored Commandos," one magos bows, "You bless the Cathedral with your presence."
Cyril mirrors Cortain's salute and signals the automata to do the same, though lacking hands they merely end up punching themselves. Brynjol sneezes, feeling out of place, but much to his surprise, a servo-automata emblazoned with the sigils of Augurus Prime floats down with a tissue.
"There are those of us who still continue the old ways," a magos calmly explains, "Not all gave up the Cortex for the Datawafer. But they are still difficult for us to construct."
Brynjol crosses his arms, surveying the group of Mechanicus. Datawafers are the safer way, and the many automata aboard the Blade always did concern him, be they slaved to Executor Thexus or not.
"Of course, no doubt you came on...business," a magos says, "You were ordered here, just as we were ordered to await you."
Cyril nods. "Take us to the Basilikon Astra Cathedral Mechanicum."
"Of course," one Magos says, most likely the highest rank of them.

The Magi beckon to a wide hall. While the ground glows with embedded circuit-patterns, pulsing in binharic rhythm to Mechanicum prayers, the ceiling is engraved with the forms of Imperial voidships. Temur, Brynjol, and Cortain pop a gaze through the Portholes as the Magi briefly intone a small prayer. Amongst the ship traffic, they note a Storm Eagle flanked by a pair of Xiphons surge by. They bear the standard designations of the Blade. After a bit, only Brynjol and COrtain can see them off in the far distance, the Storm Eagle docking at a separate part of the Cathedral, before the Xiphons break off. Brynjol elbows Cortain, and the two resolve to keep further eyes open.

"Commandos..." the Magos states, turning at them, "Your missive, it contained command codes of incredible complexity, did they not?"
"Indeed. What is the matter?" Cortain presses.
"I see. Then our situation is identical," the Magos states, "Perhaps...we should start from the beginning."
Cortain begins recording.  "Proceed."
A different magos opens up, "Fifty years back, our Archeotech expeditions found something, buried deep below Augurus Prime. I...could not even begin to describe it, its size, its... the Lord Magos immediately sent an enlightened manuscript requesting support. It was sent directly to Mars."
"Tell us more," Brynjol insists, intrigued.
"Uncharacteristically, we were given a single order, with the same command codes we received today - we would give our lives to restore it," the magos continues, "And then further requests came."
"How would we receive the order then?" Cortain asks.
"No doubt the same one who sent the codes, codes so high-level we lack the cortex wafers to comprehend them, sent a missive to you," the first magos states.
Cyril begins to listen more intently after that, scratching his yeti behind the ear.

"In return for support and expertise in such an endeavor, we were to provide manpower and supplies to an outpost established in the Scar," a third magos states, "While this outpost suffered a most terrible raid seventeen years back, we redoubled our efforts and even sacrificed many legions of servitors and thralls to provide as per our Oaths to Mars."
"And what of the... artifact?" Brynjol asks.
"Now, we were told that, in honor of our service, the Magi of Augurus would be the ones to provide the artifact to the ones meant to use it," the first magos concludes, "And now, you are here, as the missive states. It is evident that all is coming to the plan of the Machine Trinity."
"And what is this artefact? You stated before that words were insufficient to describe it," Cyril asks, "Try."
"I did not see it myself," the second Magos states, "Even our greatest forges of the surface were insufficient for its...majesty. It was brought, and reassembled here, repaired, piecemeal, over these past fifty years. Tens of thousands of thralls were expended to remain on schedule."

Out in the blackness of spess, one part of the Cathedral is armored and hidden from prying eyes. 
"That is our objective, my lord Commandos, and the one who has been sending us these missives will arrive soon."

Cortain and Brynjol note that is close to where the Storm Eagle landed.
"Then we shall be allowed to see it?" Cortain asks.
"Of course," the Magos bows, "We will bring you with all the haste the Motive Force grants us."
Heading over to a nearby vox terminal, the Magos inputs a code, and requests a status on a potential conveyance. However, all he receives back is screaming. It's over almost every vox channel he switches to.

Cyril rolls his eyes, a gesture he picked up from the sector natives, "Typical."

The Magi flip through every vox channel possible, before a great shadow blocks out the light from the system's sun.

"Oh, by the Emperor..." Brynjol sputters, knowing full well what is coming next.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiBRGwzc4lc

Floating from beyond the dark side of Augurus, its many pseudopods flailing about, beak extended, the Hellstar's single eye shifts about repeatedly, at the world and its moons.

"We are ready this time, abomination," Cyril declares.
As if it heard him, its eye shifts directly onto Cyril. But he feels no ill effects as you once did before. There is nothing for the Hellstar to exploit. The magi, however, are not so lucky. They are bubbling machine oil, their minds unable to cope with the direct stare. All across the Cathedral, the Commandos can see crystalline forms impact the Cathedral, and black liquid forms splashing down off in the distance. It's under attack from all directions.

"It is time. We carve a path through them to the artefact," Cyril declares.
Temur gestures forward. "For the Khan, and the Emperor, WE RIDE WITH SPEED!"

The world is a mess as mass conveyors go awry, half-constructed voidship weapons fire in every direction, and the Hellstar has turned its eye to one of Augurus's moons. Luckily for the Commandos, since the Cathedral is a great ring, the path to the Artifact is pretty much a straight run. Heavy armored plating kilometers high obscures the work zone, but it is a clear run.

"Blade! Do what you can to evacuate that moon," Cyril commands, "Prioritize the ship's safety, but if you have a shot on these wretched xenos, take it. Avoid damaging the planet's infrastructure if possible."
"Beardlin', I'll do what I can. But that there is a forge world, an' I doubt we have the capability to evacuate even a fraction of a percent of that world," O'Malley explains, "If Rockfist an' the robot were here, I could do more. But all I can do is move in close."
"I... see. Understood, O'Malley," Cyril sighs, "Rose may be able to guide evacuation efforts with precognitive abilities, if she is not otherwise occupied."
"She left, beardlin'."

The Commandos crash to a stop.

"Is she insane...?" Cortain wonders.
"Where did she leave?" Brynjol yells.
"She is most likely with Rockfist and Thexus," Cyril suggests, "I am not pleased that they have kept us in the dark as to where they are and what they are doing, but at the moment we must secure the artefact millions died to prepare."
"They will answer for this," Brynjol swears, "But... you are right."
"Ya got it, beardlin'. The lass left for the Cathedral,," O'Malley explains, "Said somethin' about bein' "Called." Young Rockfist an' the tin brute are with her. She seemed in a rush. You may be able to contact'em if you're closer. I can feel'em somewhere on the Cathedral."
"Could it be... Who remembers what that Kroot said?" Cortain asks.
Cyril turns to him, annoyed, "What does the damned Kroot have to do with- oh. Oh."

>He told me that, one day, a Sightless Seer and a Master of Mechanisms would call me to action," she says, "And I would have to choose to answer the call or not.

Chugging along as fast as they can down the halls, approaching the armored Cathedral segment, the Commandos note that there's a side passage with a side dock. Within is the Storm Eagle from before, crash-landed haphazardly.
"Concerning. ROSE! ROCKFIST, THETA-TEN-SIGMA!" Cyril yells, Cortain briefly muting him and enabling the vox.
Unlike the "cleaner" mental destruction the Commandos see the Hellstar inflict, this area is littered with dead ripped-apart Skitarii and tech-adepts. It looks like a freight train full of fuck ran through here. Everyone is in agreement - Thexus.

"Contact made," Cortain announces, "Rose, Rockfist, Executor. ForgeMaster Cortain reporting."
He can vaguely hear a response.
"... ... ot that one, install it the...Lad!" Rockfist yells, "Where are you?"
"Approaching the crash site of the Eagle.  Where are you?"
"We're in the Cathedral....eading to the sealed se.....nd the lass is okay, we're installing the cybernetics she pointed out now, was a bi.......f a struggle to get here," Rockfist continues, "They took offe....e to her inventions, an' the toaste-PLEASE RELAY TO THE CONSULS THA...I HAVE DESTROYED 163 NONCOMPLIANT SKITARII AND ALL SYSTEMS ARE NOMINAL-...the toaster said 'e had a good time. Anyway, the lass keeps sayin' she's bein' called. Says someone's talkin' directly to 'er mind. We'll make sure she comes to no ha-... ..."
"...cybernetics? Inventions?" Cyril asks, "Rockfist, our connection is unclear, and your words only raise further questions. Are you all intact, unharmed, and reasonably likely to remain so? Can you wait for us to regroup with you, or must you push on to another objective?"
Connection lost.

The Commandos resume heading to the Armored Annex of the Basilikon Cathedral. Charging forward, out the window they can see the Hellstar has cracked one of the moons open, and its great distended mouth has begun to consume the moon's core. Putting it out of their minds, the Commandos begin to reach the connecting annexes where the Armored Annex of the Cathedral lies. Arriving in a large connecting annex, stained glass above flickering, the Commandos finally come to a large ruined corridor. Numerous bits of wreckage and cover litter the area. It's gotta be at least 50 meters across, probably used for grand processions. Off in the distance, you can see an armored door that was clearly clawed apart by energized weapons. However, in front of that door...

"Hi honey! Time to get ripped open!" Cortain laughs, uncharacteristic humor emanating from him.
"You yet live!" the feminine presence laughs, "Kosmos be praised! And you see! You now truly, truly see! Mag...nificent!"
"Oh, bloody hell!" Brynjol swears, instinctively clutching his hearts. But, he notices something's odd about her. Her form is stilted, her voice staticky. Her body, plastic, like a mere doll.
Cyril sighs, raising his Storm Bolter. "Please stay dead this time."
"Death has no meaning for us!" the Presence laughs, "You cannot kill what is not alive, not dead, you can only accept, and I see you have done so!"
"Accept, then, that this galaxy belongs to Mankind. Your Hellstar will not last forever. We? WILL."

Cyril unloads with his Storm Bolter, explosive bolts impacting her form and shattering her into hundreds of tiny fragments.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," Cyril shrugs, "We should hurry."

But the Commandos still hear laughter. And they notice a translucent set of strands leading to the pieces.
"I smell something deeper..." Cortain announces. Brynjol raises an eyebrow.
"You can see us now, see the truth underlaying your universe, see the projections of projections," the voice taunts, "We will...we will be one, you, us, your existence and ours. For we...ARE Hellstar."

The stained glass shatters as something descends down. A black form, its exposed skull staring out with multiple forming and dissipating eyes, manipulators streaming off its head, its thin, rotted body lacking all internal organs. The True Form of the Hellstar Presence descends.

"Just go away," Cyril spits, "This universe is the Emperor's, you may not have it."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PU8-NO9AfjY

Brynjol begins by calling Furious Charge, allowing for him, Cortain, and Cyril to immediately charge the spindly looking Hellstar Presence. It merely raises its hand, opening a small doorway to...somewhere, and releasing swarms of pseudopods out. While Cortain and Brynjol pass shields and brave it, Cyril veers off against the spray, and fails his attack. Though Cortain's Gladius Invictus is parried, it leaves Brynjol an opening to beat down the Presence with his Wulfen Crozius. Scoring fury and a number of good hits through the creature's phasing (acting as a shield), the Presence is wounded, but quickly goes on the counter-attack.

After reknitting some of its wounds with arcane regeneration, it begins swiping out in all directions, wounding against the target's insanity bonus. While Brynjol manages to hold his own, parrying and counter-attacking, Cyril is not so lucky, getting forced prone and into the negatives. Temur briefly applauds himself for staying in back where it is safe, but the Presence raises its clawed arms, sending shards of kosmic energy directly at him. The shards home in on him wherever he dodges, so he finds himself forced to will them away. While some shards are deflected, two still dig deep, wounding him against his Insanity bonus.

Cortain strikes at the Presence, the shield-ignoring properties of the Gladius Invictus allowing him to get good, consistent, damage in, while Temur strafes the thing with his Grav Cannon. Unfortunately for him, this creature has no armor, relying on extradimensional toughness instead, and his Grav Cannon is not half as effective as it should be. Cyril, his arm damaged in the critical, merely gets up, disengages, and calls his Squad Mode ability Tactical Finesse, enabling Brynjol to go fuckwild on his turn. He then sends his Yeti in to support combat, orders the Castellax to focus fire with Darkfire Cannons, and even orders a Xiphon Strike with incredible precision through the hole in the ceiling the Hellstar Presence made.

Brynjol is back and on the Warpath. Performing the tried and true Wolfbomb, he attacks to disengage, Furious Charges back in, attacks to disengage once more, and Furious Charges in again. Despite the Hellstar's shields holding for the most part, and its parries and dodges holding strong, Brynjol still manages a trio of bone-shattering hits that seriously hurt the extradimensional anomaly. But it's still not dead, and the Space Wolf sees a strange fire in the many eyes that it is starting to open.

The Hellstar Presence raises its arms, glowing with a dull blue haze. It then releases this energy at everything around it, everything with minds. While some Commandos are able to resist, even this resistance is fleeting. Cyril and Temur pass their insanity tests, taking heavy wounds in Temur's case, and causing Cyril's head to explode, the gaze of hundreds of eyes to much to handle. He needs to burn fate to reassemble it. Cortain and Brynjol, however, are overwhelmed with energy, and are reduced to 1 wound, no matter their original total. But, this surge of kosmic energy seems to have weakened the Presence as well - it seems more...corporeal, and it is bent over as if it is trying to recover its energy. The Commandos take this opportunity to start beating on the thing. Although Temur's grav cannon bounces off mostly, it is Cortain's Gladius Invictus that strikes the final blow. The Presence roars, before disintegrating into a translucent blue fog, which begins making its way to the now-staring Hellstar.

"So how do you like it?" Cortain shouts as he recovers his Gladius.
Deep in their minds, the Commandos hear a laughter.
"We shall become one..."

"Ugh. I may require a new arm," Cyril leans up, "Onward."
"Oi!" Brynjol yells, grabbing him by the shoulder,  "Sit your arse down for five minutes while I patch this up!"
"We do not HAVE five minutes. I will be fine," Cyril insists, "Cement it shut and we can tend to the gash on the Stormbird after retrieving what we came here for."
"You'll sit down while I sort your arm out," Brynjol threatens, "Or I'm putting you on reserve when we get back to the Blade, you daft bastard."
"You do not have that authority any more than I can do it to you," Cyril retorts, "Conduct a field patch and we move forward. I do not think Thexus and Rockfist will be able to protect Rose if that thing comes back!"
Brynjol finally relents, settling for his fastest acting medicinal herbs and salves. "Alright. You're going under the knife when we get back to the Blade, though."

The Commandos resume the advance to the Armored Annex, before their voxes light up. Someone is talking to them on normally Deathwatch-only encrypted channels.
"Republican Commandos, We've been waiting for you. We're quite glad you were able to arrive safely. Keep going. Everything has been readied, and the Child of the Dark Age has received our instructions."
"I'm bloody sick of spooky stuff..." Brynjol sighs.
"Fear not, Felleye Brynjol, for We are Human. We have been readying for this day for many, many years. But you must be the ones to perform your duties."
"Acknowleged," Cyril states, "I am curious where you learned what frequency we use, but that is a concern for another time."
"We have never, and never will we shirk in our duties," Brynjol announces, perhaps a bit put off.
"Good. Know that We believe in you, Republican Commandos. Keep heading towards the Core. She awaits you, but she cannot wait much longer."

Accelerating through the *PUMP* corridors, the Commandos can see outside something has manifested. Something reminiscent of a sea slug, but larger, its face gashed open, and leaking acid. It is *PUMP* attacking the Cathedral.

"What the...I thought we killed that," COrtain briefly wonders, and then he does a more careful analysis. The creature is far bigger, at least the size of the *PUMP* Blade. It's got more pseudopods and eyes than the formless one that hung off the Blade.
"We need its coordinates for an orbital strike," Cyril states, "But first we must see to Rose and the Artefact."
Brynjol, however, pauses, "What in the Verse is that noise?"

Arriving at an access hatch, armored against *PUMP* all damage, the Commandos traverse the long hallway to an *PUMP* *PUMP* armored door. Reviewing the *PUMP* *PUMP* door, it does have a handle. Giving it a good *PUMP* *PUMP* pull, it opens easily enough. Brynjol growls with every *PUMP*. As a semi-trained chaplain and apothecary combination, he easily recognizes the sound of a heartbeat, growing louder and faster the deeper the Commandos travel. 

"Good, you hear it too, the Heart awakens, reacts to you. You must hurry. There is not much time left."
"Any faster and I risk ramming into a door," Cortain replies, "Granted, I could dent it, but this is a house of the Omnissiah."
"Your devotion is honored and recognized."

Blasting through the corridors, it is clear that *PUMP* *PUMP* the Commandos are inside something, akin to a voidship. There are seals of the Mechanicus *PUMP* *PUMP* pasted everywhere, but eventually, the Commandos reach what reminds them of *PUMP* *PUMP*  a ship's bridge. The lights are dim, but they have *PUMP* *PUMP*  finally arrived. The bridge is odd. In the center is an old wooden ship's wheel. There are also a number of access terminals. They are glowing a soft red. Cyril lands abruptly in front of a terminal and checks for a point to jack in while *PUMP* *PUMP* scanning the screen.

"Wood...how quaint..." Cortain muses.
"Go forth, Commandos, grab hold. If you are the ones We have been waiting for, then there should be no problems. This is the point...where you choose."
"Choose...?" Cortain wonders.

Brynjol, without hesitation, heads over to the ship's wheel. As he approaches, the pumping reaches its loudest crescendo. 

"Well, we Astartes aren't exactly noted for restraint," Brynjol announces, "Are we in accord?"
Brynjol is making it obvious he wants to spin the wheel.
"Do it." Cyril's voice is distant as he searches the terminals for anything intelligible.
"Go," Cortain adds, "If we can ram this thing, then we need it."
Temur gives a subdued nod. "Is this not similar to the steering methods for the ships of Fenris? If anything you will have the most experience."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MrklwGRXnI

Brynjol grasps the wheel, and the lumen-panels ignite with a blinding flash. The screens ahead of Temur, Cyril, and Cortain glow an unvelievably bright red. The Commandos hear sounds, all around, disconnecting, releasing. A great groaning echoes through the armored capsule. Behind them, a panel sinks. Within the floating chamber, lies Rose, who begins to stir.

"Commandos...you've arrived!" she says, "Don't worry, I'm okay!"
"What... what is this?" Brynjol asks, turning at the sight of Rose wired through ports in the back of her neck, connected within the modified resuscatrix chamber.
Cyril starts at the sight. "Thexus, Rockfist, what is your location?"
"They needed a Core, a pure being to act as its mind. I'm...connected," she says, "Rockfist and Thexus are down below, they know. It's okay."

And then the Commandos hear it. A beastly roar, mixed with a foghorn. The sound is beyond deafening.
"That doesn't sound good. Fun, though," Brynjol grins.

And then, a tearing, as if something is being wrenched apart. Light swarms into the armored repair casket, and your first sight upon the light of the world's star...

A fist. A fist the size of a Macrocannon. The ripping commences as the Commandos feel themselves falling forward, onto the Cathedral Ring. The "bridge" rises, facing the sluglike creature ahead, the kosmos made manifest. Titanic legs step forward as an arm extends, a further beastly roar echoing a challenge at the extradimensional creature before it. A great turbine within the construct's chest begins to glow and spin, focusing inordinate amounts of energy.

"Yes...it has awakened...our final weapon, the Number One, the First Dark-Age Interstellar Decisive Weapon..."

"RISE, CRUSADER INVICTUS!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3PJxzxP3_RY

"It's... a God-Machine..." Brynjol coughs in wonderment.

The eight kilometer tall construct that the Commandos pilot repositions its legs into a fighting position, weapons igniting to life. Painted black in imitation of the Deathwatch's own armor, mighty Magna-Cannons cycle charges, as the Lances swing to acquire targets. Bombardment Racks load, and all heavy ordnance is readied. The God-Machine's polished black armor shines against the light of spess, mirroring the Commandos' own armor.

"Commandos...my friends," Rose says, "Give the commands, and Crusader Invictus will follow. They are coming soon, so just try to hold on."
Cyril laughs aloud. "THIS is the might of MANKIND!"

Brynjol grabs the wheel, roaring an excited praise to his Primarch and Allfather. He does not like space combat, but now, now he gets to punch things. It feels so much more....natural.

"The Heart...Crusader Invictus's Heart, it's an Arc Reactor! A true one" Rose realizes, "You should be able to Arc Charge some of the Components!"

Cortain is immediately on it. The capabilities of the Heart Invictus are very similar to the Atomantic Arc Reactor aboard the Blade of the Long Watch. Brynjol wishes to charge the winged slug-like creature ahead of him, but finds he is discouragingly out of range. So the Heart Invictus itself is Arc Charged, doubling Crusader Invictus' speed and allowing for the charge. Cortain fires a wave of torpedoes from the Bombardment Racks, while Cyril batters the creature with energized Magna-Cannons. Temur focuses the World Burner Lances, taking careful aim and slicing deep into the extradimensional monstrosity. But it is Brynjol who breaks 12 VU in 5 seconds, drawing back the titanic fist as the kilometres are eaten up by the massive strides. The fist cocks, and slides forwards at a lightning pace to any observers, connecting with atomic force, and doing inordinate damage while forcing the creature back.

The manifested extradimensional slug is so much more than a mere foe, a true Great One from beyond the veil, and begins by ejecting an acidic substance from its scarred-open face. Though Crusader Invictus's shields hold against this corrosive blood-like black fluid, it opens the way for shards of kosmic energy to manifest and impact Crusader Invictus. Though this is damaging, Crusader Invictus roars in defiance, ready to counter-attack.

"This...this is incredible!" Rose says, "I can feel every punch, every strike! I...I feel like I'm truly seeing!"
"THIS IS WHAT IT IS TO TRULY -FIGHT,- LAKHORA!" Cyril yells, "EMBRACE IT!"

Brynjol brings the fists up into a boxing stance. While Crusader Invictus's head is incapable of expression ... the Commandos could all feel a peculiar energy, the God-Machine emulating the battle fury, the energy and resolve, the grins on their faces, vindication.
"No Princeps ever born felt this mighty!" Brynjol boasts.
"I learn more about Crusader Invictus every moment..." Rose says, "Wait!"
"Holding! What is it, Rose?" Cyril asks.
"Step back, gain some distance...try Arc Charging the fists!" Rose says.

Brynjol flexes his fists, feeling the fingers flex in time with his own. Cortain is already on it, sending all available power to the fists. Magna-Cannon shots rain down as the World Burner continues its strafing fire, as the monstrous Great One ahead of them suffers under a seemingly endless barrage of torpedoes. Crusader Invictus takes a few steps back before approaching at an angle, building up speed as it goes, lining up the enemy. With the Kosmos made Manifest, the incomprehensible extradimension Great One, squarely in its sights, Crusader Invictus extends out its fist, which begins to glow. Engines suddenly detach the fist, mighty rockets carrying it directly into the sluglige monster with unbelievable speed.

"THIS HAND OF MINE GLOWS WITH AN AWESOME POWER!" Cortain starts.
"ITS BURNING GRIP TELLS ME TO DEFEAT YOU!" Brynjol finishes, "MY LOVE, MY ANGER, AND ALL OF MY SORROW!"
Rose looks on in bemusement.

The Rocket Punch flies true, heavily damaging the Great One, and provoking the creature to counter-attack. It spreads its tattered wings, lining up a powerful headbutt, while spewing more acid and kosmic energy at Crusader Invictus. Though it weathers the storm with severe damage, the Great One's headbutt barely misses, Crusader Invictus deftly sidestepping with engines in its legs. Some of the Commandos notice that, from every gash and wound in Crusader Invictus, burning red energy surges out.

As the Hellstar stares down at this mortal kombat below, Crusader Invictus's augurs pick up multiple incoming warp signatures. Numerous vessels appear over Augurus Prime, incredibly close. They bear the heraldry of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Of Mars itself.

"We have arrived, with the final piece we can give you," the mysterious vox channel states.
"PRAISE MARS!" Cortain yells.

The massive hold of an Ark Mechanicus opens up, something being released into space, before smaller engines tied to it blast it towards Crusader Invictus. Rose instinctively reaches out of her hand, as Crusader Invictus does the same, aiming for the lightning fast package. Brynjol maneuvers the returning Rocket Punch to pick up the incoming care package, which re-attaches to the waiting arm. 

It's a sword. An unbelievably large sword.  Brynjol's face lights up like it's the Sanguinala. Perfectly balanced, the towering blade resembles an engraved Claymore, though for Crusader Invictus it can be wielded one-handed.
"Now this... THIS is a blade!" Brynjol declares.
"Yes....that is a big one," Cyril coughs, before recomposing himself, "LET US SEE WHAT -THIS- BLADE OF THE LONG WATCH CAN DO!"

Crusader Invictus is in melee, and circles its less-agile opponent. When the Great One tries to dodge Lance fire, the Magna-Cannons are there to punish it. When a salvo of torpedoes is deflected, the creature is met with a devastating Lightning Attack with the Crusader Sword. The Commandos hear a keening echo across the winds of spess, as for all the barrages of ordnance and blade you unleash, it is Crusader Invictus's surprise uppercut that finally downs the creature. It begins to fade into pale blue dust, as Crusader retracts its fist.

"That was bloody brilliant," Brynjol announces, "When this is over, we're taking this thing to Fenris and I'm having a fistfight with a kraken."
"It truly was incredible..." Rose says, rather tiredly, "I...I'm glad to be of help."

The keening continues as the Hellstar stares down. But then the Commandos all shake, as Crusader Invictus turns at the Hellstar. It blasts a mighty roar of challenge across the winds of spess, as the Hellstar's iris narrows.

"Do you hear us?  Your days are numbered," Cortain declares.
Brynjol brings the arm up, pointing the gored tip of the sword at the Hellstar. Crusader Invictus begins to rumble.
"Commandos, I..." Rose starts.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjR7JZbdONs

The Arc Reactor charges, seemingly by itself. Out of the battle damage bursts red flame, but out of the back, the energy coalesces, into what looks like a burning...red...cape. Crusader Invictus kicks off. It is feeding off the Commandos, off their resolve and energy. An embodiment of fear incarnate, against those who Shall Know No Fear. The Hellstar's Beak begins to extend, as numerous Pseudopods rush towards Crusader Invictus. Crusader Invictus moves to parry the rapidly approaching pseudopods. While one is deflected and promptly cut through, 

"Commandos, I can barely...control it..." Rose says, as a pseudopod latches around the arm holding the sword.

Crusader Invictus, the God-Machine, presses on, uncaring that the arm holding the sword is damaged. The Commandos may not have the sword arm, but the Hellstar still lays ahead, and it keeps pressing on. The Hellstar's prehensile maw has extended and is approaching incredibly fast. Crusader Invictus may be the size of a mountain, but even it is dwarfed by the eye of the Hellstar. As the Hellstar's Maw rushes forward, Crusader Invictus meets it with an arc charged punch. The shockwave from the impact echoes across the Winds of Spess.

Brynjol howls at the top of his lungs as the Fist of the Long Watch meets the Hellstar. The Hellstar makes an earsplitting screech, as its maw, itself the size of a mountain range, cracks, damaged. But the Fist cracks as well, partially shattering.  While Crusader Invictus is forced backwards, the Hellstar fades out, to repair the damage. Brynjol groans as the sympathetic pain aches through his own fists for a moment, like deep arthritis.

"This...this is incredible...." Cortain whispers, "But we are going to need repairs.  Lots of them."
Cyril lays a hand on Brynjol's shoulder. "Are you well, Brother?"
"Better than for a long while now," Brynjol quietly states. He rests his hand on the ancient wheel for a moment, feeling the thrum of power in the core of the God-Machine

Crusader Invictus floats backwards, the lights beginning to dim. The tank in which Rose is in drains, allowing her egress. But she is exhausted, and collapses to the ground.

"She will need medical attention," Cortain announces, picking up Rose.
"I think we could all do with a bit of recuperation," Brynjol states, still holding his hand.
"You did well, Republican Commandos. The Fleet of Mars will hold for a while yet. We will transfer you a place to land. We...look forward to meeting you."

Crusader Invictus may be damaged, yes. But it pales to the revelation the Commandos have. The Emperor Protects, and Provides in his children's greatest need. There IS a weapon that can combat the Hellstar.

--------------------

"Target Selected. Firing solutions acquired. Repelling inva-"

Executor Thexus extends a claw into the Kastelan's chest cavity. Ripping out the datawafers, Thexus gingerly takes one in a mechadendrite, and crushes it. Rockfist steps up to the twitching Kastelan, and kicks it in the shin. It tumbles down in a heap.

"Systems failing, directives not found, shutting do..."
"THESE AUTOMATA ARE DISAPPOINTING MOCKERIES. THEY CANNOT HOPE TO STAND UP TO A TRUE AUTOMATA, A MARKED OF THE FABRICATOR LOCUM."
"Aye, ya keep sayin' that. Although, I ain't complainin'. It's gotten us this far."

Thexus and Rockfist descend into the depths, further and further into the darkness.

"I'm concerned. The lass's been plugged in, exactly where her vision said to. Now, what are we looking for again?"
"WE ARE FOLLOWING THE CODE, HELOT. WE WERE INSTRUCTED TO GUARD THE AUXILIA PSYKANA, AND WE HAVE DONE SO. NOW SHE STATED THAT OUR OBJECTIVE LAYS BELOW."
"I didn't take ya fer one that follows orders..."
"WITHIN HER VISIONS WAS A VOXCODE, A SECURE ONE. WE MUST FOLLOW HER DIRECTIVE."

Deep below, an ancient reactor stands silent. Rockfist and Thexus enact the rites, and the reactor roars to life, as if on signal. As they sit back, content as a great claw rips through the walls ahead, the hololithic terminal rises.

"You have done well. The Commandos are on the path."
Thexus pauses. "I KNOW THAT VOICE...THE MESSIAH LIVES."
"Messiah? Impossible, it cannot be..."

The hololith cuts out.
"Ah, what was that?"
"THE MESSIAH LIVES. WE MUST ANSWER HIS SUMMONS."
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