A hole had been torn open in its abdomen. The spider-like machine, electric sparks flickering across its frame, still tried to struggle back to its feet.
In the next instant, something shrieking through the air cut down onto its head, cleaving effortlessly all the way to its chest cavity.
The car-sized machine finally went still, all function dead.
A few seconds later, the crippled hulk detonated. Countless severed limbs and fragments sprayed outward, battering the already weather-beaten ruins—buildings that had endured wind and rain for centuries, perhaps millennia—into even greater ruin.
Some structures that had been on the verge of collapse finally gave way. Under the impact of shrapnel and the blast wave, they thundered down into piles of rubble.
Kain checked his auspex again. No abnormal contacts. Nothing approaching nearby.
The auspex was a kind of detector, a scanner—an Imperial active-and-passive sensor suite.
It could detect and analyze a wide range of data: movement, invisible gases, directed emissions or ambient energy signatures, broad-band electromagnetic spectra, and more.
That included the heat thrown off by personnel and vehicles, plasma, radiation, and most other forms of electromagnetic energy.
Using what was effectively a short-range radar, Kain could confirm there were no enemies within the auspex's coverage.
What lay beyond that range, however, was unknown.
And he could not relax just because the scan looked clean. For all he knew, the auspex readouts were false.
Worse, the auspex itself seemed to be malfunctioning.
So some of these machines might still be playing dead, waiting for him to let his guard slip—then lunging in for a sudden kill.
Still…
Were these things really "helper-machines" of the Men of Iron from Humanity's golden age—AI constructs of the Dark Age of Technology?
The kind of thing that had crippled Humanity at its height, brought an entire era to ruin—were they really this weak?
Where in the warp was he?
He had been driving the tunnel-worm drill, preparing to bore into the elevator shaft.
Then the machine's wheels jammed on something.
He climbed out—and daemons appeared, forcing him back onto the battlefield he had just left.
Autocannon fire, vox-channels descending into chaos, and someone flashing him an invitation to some "channel." Irritated, he hit confirm without thinking.
And then—without warning—he was here, and immediately under attack by a swarm of thinking machines.
Who was playing games with him?
Had the Four finally found him?
They had moved him here without a trace, without even letting him notice. Why?
This had to be another planet. The atmosphere was too clear, not a dead, silent wasteland.
And not far away, there was a forest.
Had he been thrown onto a Garden World?
If the goal was to ruin him, they would not have sent him somewhere like this.
Unless…
Unless everything he was seeing was an illusion.
Unless he was actually standing on some nauseating Chaos-tainted world right now.
The thought of rotting filth surrounding him made Kain's scalp prickle.
In that case, there was only one option: reconnect to that place.
He drew a deep breath, bracing himself for that sensation—worse than death.
Link to Terra's—
"Cannot connect?"
The Throne-console could not connect.
Kain's expression darkened further. Was it being jammed? Blocked?
It should not be.
So what now?
Calm down first. Confirm where he actually was.
Was everything in front of him real, or false?
He closed his eyes and loosened his body, forcing his mind to steady. No stray thoughts. No panic.
He carefully sensed his own condition.
Everything felt good. Normal. He was certain he was himself.
He opened his eyes again.
The world was unchanged.
He disengaged full environmental sealing, allowing outside air to cycle into the power armour.
No stench. Nothing foul at all. The air was astonishingly clean.
Just like the auspex report: oxygen at roughly twenty-one percent, close to Terra's proportion.
No—correction.
It matched the older era's standard, back when Terra had still been called Earth.
The other atmospheric components were nearly identical as well.
It was as if he had arrived on Earth itself.
He examined the surrounding ruins.
They were plainly human-built structures.
Judging by erosion and weathering, they were at least three thousand years old.
If he had truly been thrown here, and it was not the Ruinous Powers at work, then Kain already had a good idea who it was.
And if someone had pulled him out of that disastrous situation and dumped him here, it meant this place likely contained something important from Humanity's golden age.
Some crucial inheritance.
So what was it?
Could it be… an intact, complete STC system?
If it really was, that would be perfect.
A complete Standard Template Construct—follow its guidance, and as long as you were not an idiot, you could manufacture anything with ease.
Especially the Dark Age's black technology.
Back then, Humanity had made the galaxy bow. The universe itself had been forced to yield.
And the cybernetic catastrophe that destroyed that era—there was no way it was on the same level as the machines he had just fought.
Which meant these enemies were degraded versions.
Just as Human technology had regressed in the current age, perhaps the Men of Iron here had suffered a similar decline.
If he could find a way to breach these things and read their data, he could learn what this world really was.
Unfortunately, he did not have the equipment for that on him.
Still, earlier, when the auspex had issued a warning—apparently suffering interference from some strange signal—he had nearly jumped out of his skin.
For a moment, he had thought his power armour was about to be hijacked.
If that happened, he would be almost helpless, sealed inside an iron coffin.
With no outside assistance, facing certain death, he might have been forced to reveal his other secret.
And the moment he revealed it, the Four would be far more likely to sense him.
Kain swept his gaze across the ruins.
Where should he investigate first?
His eyes settled on the forest in the distance.
If he needed food and water, the forest would be far easier.
These ruins were nothing but barren waste. Where would he even find water, let alone anything edible?
He began walking toward the treeline.
Then the sandy ground suddenly sank under his boot. He staggered, almost falling.
His body tensed—not to recover balance, but because a burst of sharp pain flared from his left abdomen.
He had not checked himself properly.
Maybe shrapnel from that explosion had clipped him. Maybe a stray shot had grazed him.
He had thrown on the power armour in a hurry, meaning to ram the tunnel-worm drill forward—only to be dumped here without warning.
At the forest's edge, beneath a tree, he finally paused to deal with the wound.
"Hm?"
The power armour would not open fully.
Parts had rusted and seized.
He had to wrench it apart by brute force, metal shrieking in protest.
Haa…
He finally climbed out of the "iron can" he had stolen from the Planetary Governor—power armour built for a normal human body.
He checked the injury.
It was not a solid slug.
A las-burn. A beam had grazed him, ripping open a long tear.
If it had been a little deeper, his intestines might have spilled out.
He took up his tactical knife and began shaving away the charred, crusted flesh.
"—!"
Grinding his teeth, he cut until healthy muscle was exposed.
The consequence was immediate: the wound split again, and fresh red blood welled up.
So why do this?
To prevent the scorched tissue from rotting and becoming infected?
That was not the main reason.
The real reason was simple: only by removing this dead, burned flesh would the injury heal faster.
Because he had already been injected with a panacea.
If these blackened, necrotic scraps remained embedded in his body, they would interfere with regeneration.
(End of Chapter)
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