"To serve you is the sacred mission the Omnissiah has given me."
Because many within the Mechanicus believe the Emperor is the Omnissiah's divine regent in the material world, the Astartes—one of the Emperor's creations—were considered by them, especially by Genetors, to be sacred and untouchable.
They were the Emperor's handiwork, the pinnacle fusion of genetic engineering and the Omnissiah's divine power.
Of course, this reverence didn't stop some from secretly exercising their "creativity" during the gene-seed cultivation process.
The Tech-Priest here wasn't one of those, but he still showed due reverence.
Especially when facing an Astartes whose sheer size was extraordinary, and who could slay a Chaos Terminator one-on-one in a single strike.
Since that warrior had already agreed to provide the surgical materials, refusing would be suicidal.
And did he want to die? Of course not.
So he gratefully accepted the lifeline Romulus had given, bowed with the cogwheel-gesture to the two Angels, and obediently led his tech-adepts to the surgery tables the Sisters had blessed.
Then he ordered the soldiers guarding the augmetic vault to open it, eager to witness craftsmanship from other Forge Worlds.
But when he saw the prosthetic stockpiles, he fell into silence.
This model. This quality. This precision...
Looking at the Sisters carefully etching purity seals onto the augmetic surfaces, the Tech-Priest had to suppress the urge to stop them from "ruining" such perfect machinery.
The quantities were staggering.
With these augmetics, he could elevate a group of serfs into a force rivaling an Imperial Guard regiment of Frateris Militia.
Had Ryza III really exported this much stock?
He picked up a stamped respiration unit, and under the Guardsmen's horrified stares, began cutting. His bionic limbs moved with the smoothness of endless rehearsals, even as his augmetic eyes burned with questions.
In under thirty seconds, the soldier was bewildered but already being guided off the table by Sisters.
There was no need for confusion. To these "oil-heads," their mechanical limbs could work at atomic precision. For them, surgery was nothing but cutting and connecting.
"Seems he's skilled enough."
Arthur exhaled.
"Because it's all taken from his scans. And his private stash."
Romulus replied deadpan.
Karna had not only scanned augmetic schematics from the Mechanicus earlier but also raided their private stores.
Had they not carefully edited the production codes, this Tech-Priest would already be questioning reality.
"Sorry," Arthur said to Romulus. "I acted on my own."
"Nonsense. Right now we're short on men, not gear. These Guardsmen are precious fighting strength. Whether for aiding in battles to come, or for leveraging military power to gain voice among allies, they're... ah, listen to me, even saving people sounds like a transaction."
Romulus smacked his own forehead.
"Anyway, saving people can't be wrong."
Arthur's approach worked. After all, in the Imperium's death-worshipping military, you couldn't just say: 'Dying like this is too pitiful. We don't want you to die. Live, for us.'
That would've made the Guardsmen slit their throats on the spot.
Instead, Arthur's speech had given them hope, rallied their morale, and provided a path forward—one that no loyal Guardsman would reject: fighting at the side of the Emperor's Angels.
"But honestly, I don't see their future being bright."
Arthur looked at the newly augmented soldiers.
The words were noble, but the problem remained.
"If the Warp's taint on their minds isn't cleansed, Chaos corruption is inevitable."
Apart from the rare occasions when the Four couldn't intervene directly, corruption wasn't violent—it was insidious suggestion, an ever-present whisper.
The strong-willed might resist, but the whispers would gnaw, the illusions would mount, until eventually they broke.
Even the elite Vorskani Heavy Infantry fell in this way—long war against Chaos twisted them, and at a joint parade with Cadia they assassinated the Lord Castellan.
"In the end, just like I said before—the battlefield is their best ending."
"True."
Romulus nodded heavily.
"In this universe, ways to resist the Warp are too harsh."
For the transmigrators, it was tragic.
On this ship, thousands were still alive. Yet those who might live to old age could be counted on one hand.
And death was just the beginning.
Unlike Space Marines—whose loyalty, purity, and death in battle could send their souls to the Emperor's Golden Throne—ordinary mortals like the Guard had no such fate.
Except for a rare Living Saint or Sisters of Battle whose faith burned like fire, Guardsmen's souls went straight into the Warp.
Best case: the Emperor noticed and pulled them out. Average: a period of oblivion before natural dissipation. Worst case: daemon fodder.
And given the current Warp environment, the odds were overwhelmingly the worst.
One Emperor. Four Ruinous Powers.
Four sets of hands rummaging your soul's pockets—the miracle was if they left anything at all.
Arthur brooded, recalling the theoretical ways to resist the Warp:
• C'tan (Star Gods) – embodiments of physical laws, their mere presence stabilizes realspace. But they are as heavyweights as the Four. Unless one like the "Old Man" appeared, they could be ignored.
• Eldar methods:
– Dark Eldar sustain themselves by draining others' souls and through near-mystical biotech.
– Craftworld Eldar use soulstones, their souls entering the Infinity Circuit.
– Exodite Eldar merge into a world-soul upon death.
Of course, the simplest was to be noticed by the Emperor before the Four claimed you—and be worth His effort to save.
So there were ways. But all had their costs.
"By the Emperor!"
A shout snapped Arthur from his thoughts.
It was light.
Arthur turned—and saw Guardsmen glowing with holy golden radiance.
The Emperor? When did He arrive?
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