Story

PART 15

Yakhde and Enochian looked at the ancient structures around them. For one of them they were strange, almost unfathomable, old beyond belief and radiating a profoundly alien energy that seemed to drain him of his remaining will. For the other it felt like home, a very powerful home. 

"So this is the site of our victory," he began, "my armies are ready to die protecting it for the enemy will no doubt try to strike at us at this last window of opportunity. How long will it take?"

"If uninterrupted, no longer than 17 of you hours," the monotone voice of the Cryptek replied.

"We shall give you this time. After all we went through, this has to be finished. My legacy depends on it. I mean, the Imperium depends on it."

Yekhde ignored the slip up and asked: "What about the enemy? Have they made it through the webway?"

"No they haven't. Our allies among the Aeldari held their part of the bargain and did not let them through. It does not mean we are in the clear yet. They have emerged from warp-transit at the system's Mandeville point 35 minutes ago and are battling through the prepared defensive rings. They will not hold forever, but with a bit of luck, will hold them long enough for you to finish the ritual and complete my legacy, right?"

"They will not hold. The enemy is resourceful. Expect planetfall before the end of the day. Order your units; they must protect me at all costs."

"As you say," Enochian answered and went to the vox caster. He was so excited, the thought that some 17 hours from now, the great network of Pylons would connect and throw back the warp creating a safe passage to the other side of the rift, all because of him, yes that was a very nice thought. Enochian, the savior of the Imperium. Enochian the Courageous. Enochian the Saint. Hm, saint Enochian, those words undeniably had a certain "umph" to them. Who knows, maybe this planet, this Sternbek he was standing on will one day be known as Enochia. Or perhaps Enochium? Hm, maybe even-

"Your vox-comm link is ready, sir," the officer interrupted his musings. Back to work, he told himself and grabbed the caster. 

PART 14

"It must be done. You have not been able to provide me with sufficient support and as a result I do not have enough canopteks to assist me with the ritual," the mechanical, synthesized voice of Yakhde was not pleading. It was simply stating what the Cryptek saw as facts.

"Understood," Captain Raphael responded calmly. "It must be done. I will inform the others."

---

"We have not been able to provide sufficient support. As a result you have been provided with a list of manpower that will be requisitioned from you. You will deliver the chosen personnel on the morrow," the Blood Angel captain informed several of the other generals and a few liaisons for the rest. He got a mixture of stoic affirmatives and raised voices. 

"It must be done and so it will be done," he proclaimed once more and ended the meeting.

---

"Have you heard what this work is about?" Krinm asked as he and the rest of his platoon disembarked from the transport.

"With our luck, it will be trenchwork," his sergeant answered.

They were marched inside a great structure of dark stone that was obviously ancient. Soon, an eerie atmosphere hushed down their voices. "This doesn't look like trenchwork at all," Krinm whispered, "What did the general tell you anyway?"

The sergeant clutched his pistol grip in the holster tightly and answered, "That we are needed for the success of the mission. I think he said that we are essential, but he never mentioned in what way. I never got any briefing..." his voice trailed off as they got ever deeper inside. 

The searching lights of their flashlights revealed little - narrow corridors, strange markings on the wall and from time to time, always just for a fraction of a second, movement. Something small disappearing as soon as the beam hit it. Eventually they made their way into a large room with the ceiling so far away it disappeared in the darkness. 

"Shiid, what was that," Krenm said as he hit something small yet heavy with his foot. It was propelled by this kick he gave it but as it flew away it emitted a strange buzzing sound. This sound was repeated from another direction, and another until the whole room reverberated with the it. Then they opened their eyes, or the things they had for eyes, spread their metallic wings and descended on the shrieking men and women. 

---

The levels of essential elements had risen to sufficient levels with the last batch just as he expected and just as he calculated. It is true that had he asked only for machinery, the same result would have been achieved and in a way that would not require intensive molecular-based scrubbing of the pyramid insides, but heavy weapons and vehicles are much harder to replace at this stage of the campaign. 

Yes, with this, he should have enough.

PART 13

Rotshirt was far from happy with his latest assignment. It was going to be difficult, complicated, dangerous a to top it off, the order came not from his lord and master but from Von Bane. Even though sending him to a suicide mission was also kind of his master's thing too. 

They have emerged from the Warp at the Mandeviile point of the Bullenau system just as planned. Rotshirt had to laugh inside - the fact that traveling through the madness infested realm called the warp without proper safeguards, for which he was told there was no time, was the easy part of his mission. 

He decided to go through all the data at his disposal one last time. There was the report of the assassination attempt on the Drukhari Archon. The detailed information of the assignments of all their armies throughout this three-month special operation including their success rates, witness report of the failed attempt to rescue Shai Murad and also very fresh details of a break-in into colonel Davoren's office.

It was not that difficult to connect the dots once one knew what to look for. He sighed and gave the command to contact the vessel they were approaching. 

A few seconds later, the despicable face of a Drukhari appeared on the screen. "I need to speak to the Archon, there has been a change of plans."

---

The investigator surveyed the battlefield. He was no military tactician but what he saw still made very little sense to him. The Astra militarum forces were supposed to be preparing for confrontation with the enemy. As far as they were concerned, the arriving Drukhari forces should join them on their assault.

Unbeknownst to the Imperials, their lives were already forfeit. Enochian has seen through their lies and machinations and the Drukhari were sent here not as allies but as executioners, a role they were only too eager to take. 

Rotshirt was standing in front of his Valkerie transport craft at a heightened position with magnoculars in his hand. The Drukhari made planetfall a short time ago and he was glad the talking was finally over. That was an experience he never wanted to repeat again. Somehow the Archon managed to put so much mockery, contempt and sadism into his words that he would put even Enochian to shame and that was telling something. 

A sound of grav engines warned him of an incoming craft. 'Emperor protects!' he thought as he saw the Archon jump down from his craft along with his personal retinue. Rotshirt expected him to lead from the front and was caught more than a bit off-guard, 

"I was under the impression you like to taste combat first hand," he said cautiously as the Drukhari approached.

"Oh yes, very much so," the xenos leader answered, "there is nothing sweeter than seeing all hope leave your victim's eyes and to fill that void with suffering and pain." 

His words were oddly melodic and repulsive at the same time and he couldn't help himself but shudder. He quickly raised his magnoculars to draw attention away from his weakness and looked at the advancing drukhari forces. They were quickly approaching the imperials. Maybe even too quickly if they wanted to fire on the move, but -  no shots were fired. The twisted sadists no doubt wanted to make the first kill in hand-to-hand combat. Rotshirt almost pitied the traitorous scum serving under Davoren. 

"Come to think of it," the Archon continued stepping right besides Rotshirt, "there is one thing sweeter than that -," he made a short pause, "seeing the hunter realize, he has just become the prey." He smiled at Rotshirt as he gently took his magnoculars away. "You were so focused on finding your traitor you never even considered that there might be more than one."

The seasoned, veteran investigator was frozen in shock and fear unable to move as the Archon circled him and eventually stopped right in front of him, looking him in the eyes, "Now, Colonel Davoren and I would very much like to know, where we could find this Raphael." He put his armored index finger across Rotshirt's lips and continued: "But please, be brave, little man. It would be no fun if you just told me without any ... convincing." Archon Marudhar licked his lips in excitement. This moment was very much worth all those silly maneuvers his forces had to make before returning to orbit and leaving to slaughter some Blood Angels. 

PART 12

02:00 - The ventilation emitted a noisy sound as it changed its intensity as it did every night cycle. A metal cover fell on the floor in the nearby kitchen at that exact time.

02:04 - As the fresh breeze got to him, the guard left his post to do his walk around the corridor. Soft footsteps could be heard by a very keen listener a few meters ahead of the guard.

2:07 - A short stop. The caffein machine starts making its burbly sounds as the guard waits patiently. A door is opened just behind the corner. 

2:08 - The guard swears as he burns himself. A small light shines from underneath the door. The sound of rustling paper can also be heard.

2:14 - Still occasionally swearing, the guard finishes his round and stops in front of the door. A shadow can be seen climbing up the kitchen ceiling.

3:40 - A small EMP device goes off near the security center rendering all surveillance unusable for days. 

6:30 - Colonel Davoren is informed about a potential breach but no documents are found missing. 

PART 9

Enochian dismissed the alert that appeared on his dataslate. He put it there himself, to remind him he must deal with it, sooner or later. For now, he preferred the latter. She can wait.

It was better to observe his grand plan come to fruition. Everything was going more or less well, despite the efforts of his unexpected opposition. The Pylons were half way to their final destination, travelling safely through the Carnivaal system now the T'au threat has been taken care of. 

His misguided enemies thought that attacking the Empire's holy site would somehow distract him and make him redirect his forces? It was an unfortunate, yet wholly acceptable sacrifice. What's more, the Imperial forces in the sector can deal with that without any help from him anyways. 

A more pressing matter was at hand. Though he was fit enough to take to the field again, and boy how great had it felt, he wanted more. A secret plan was unfolding, one that would see the greatest enemy asset destroyed. A victory that would start a chain reaction resulting in the collapse of the Coalition. 

It wouldn't be him though if he had just a single plan in mind, already he began to evaluate the next step. He could either satisfy the demands of Yakhde and help him secure more help for the final ritual or he can protect the great batteries built on the surface of the planet of his great success. The enemy would surely target them prior to any mass landing attempts. He was more inclined to get his Necron ally all the help that was asked for, but the logistics were not in favor of that. The world where this help was hidden was about as far as one can imagine within the sector. Additionally, there were reports of fighting there. Yet still, the ritual was the most important thing, he will have to make up his mind soon. 

He looked at the blinking alarm message at the dataslate, it read "Deathwatch debacle - response?". He shook his head slightly and dismissed the alarm; that bitch deserves no apologies. Not now. Not from him. 

PART 8

The dataslate clanked as it hit the table and a pair of immaculately designed boots soon appeared right next to it. A glass with a sparkly liquid the color of honey was raised from the desk and returned after a while, empty. 

Enochian was in a good mood, not only was the attempt to attack Nordlit’s rest thwarted and all the mutant scum destroyed, but his new favorite tools, the Titan’s knights, left little to no souls there to tell the tale. Well, the second part probably should not make him content in any way, he reflected, but still it sort of did. The cleanliness of their work and the efficiency was what likely appealed to him, he thought. 

What prevented him from enjoying the moment fully, though, was that he still had no idea how his own crucial mission had gone. They had identified a T’au threat in a key system along the path his transported pylons must travel and he sent word to his liaison with the Aeldari with instructions to deal with that. That was a week ago. 

As if on cue, an assistant arrived with a transcript from his astropath. “A message from investigator Lyrig” the sealed envelope read. Enochian’s heart jumped and he quickly tore the seal off and began reading. 

My master,

This is a report of the military venture on Gassimon 88, Carnivaal zone. 

Please pardon my handwriting since my hands are still shaking after what I wittnessed with my very own eyes. 

At first everything seemed to go according to the plans and visions of the farseer. The toxic swamp bothered the Aeldari little as they flew over it in attacking formation. The T’au were taken completely by surprise. I have seen myself how their pilots were shredded or vaporized before they even entered their battlesuits. The few that managed it were disposed by the lascannons of our xenos along with their craft. Soon, the remaining enemies started fleeing. Some were taken by the swamp, others shot down by the flying tanks of the Aeldari and only a few of them made it.  And then, in the moment of glorious victory, tragedy struck. All along our right flank, a new force appeared. With their black armor and a single silver should pad, they were unmistakable - the Deathwatch arrived teleporting likely from orbit. I was shocked. I saw the servants of the Emperor strike at our allies and then, these, they retaliated, killing several of the space marines. 

I tried to plead to the farseer to disengage and flee but he would not listen. He was all about avenging the initial losses. The clash was intense, yet short. As quickly as they came, they disappeared again. 

I am terrified for we have committed heresy by striking against the elite xenos hunters. 

Please believe I have done everything I could to stop that. I swear, my lord. 

Your most faithful servant,

Lyrig

Enochian leaned back on his chair and thought about what he just learned. His emotions were mixed but mostly positive he found out. ‘Who could have thought, there was nothing I could have done’ he told himself and then froze as he remembered something. 

Taking his dataslate he quickly searched through the incoming encrypted messages until he found the one he was looking for. He finally opened it and read -

All members of the inquisition, be advised that there will be an imminent operation in the Carnivaal zone. Should you have interests in that zone, contact me immediately so that we can avoid any complications. Inquisitor Jeremiah von der Horth, Ordo Xenos. 

‘Frag!’ He thought. 

PART 7

"Have you certified this request, my lord?" Rotshirt asked.

"Of course!" Enochian dismissed what he saw as almost an insulting question. He was about to ask, why his investigor even voiced his doubt but then realized he did not care and let him leave with the latest messages to his associates. Some were requests for help, some were orders, some were offers. Every member of his group, of his Pact, needed a little different motivation. And different use.  

Look at colonel Davoren, so eager to please, yet so... ineffective.  And so he was sent to Sharane ahead of the mass of his forces. If he secures the zone, good. If he fails, the reinforcements will do it anyways.

...

Rotshirt still could not understand the logic of his master's request. Nordlit's Rest, the holiest of all worlds in the sub-sector was coming under attack. The priests, the faithful who spent all their money just to set foot on this world, were at risk. And who does his master ask for help? The Titanites? He knew enough about them to know not to talk about them. As far as the wider Imperium is concerned, they do not even exist. And the problem is, they like to keep it that way. They really, really do. So what does the inquisitor think will happen if they successfully defend the world? In plain sight of all the pilgrims! Wave the goodbye? Oh no, the poor souls are doomed either way ... 

PART 6

Inquisitor Enochian found himself alone in his private suite on board his starship, the hum of the engines providing a constant background drone. He glanced at the ornate gift on his table, a small artifact given to him by Neyem Shai Murad, his trusted friend who had likely met a grim fate at the hands of the Night Lords. His health had improved significantly, his broken ribs having mostly healed by then, but he couldn't help but feel the weight of his friend's absence.

With a heavy heart, he whispered a final goodbye to Neyem. He had always thought that their fates were intricately entwined, and their paths would converge again. Apparently, he was wrong. It was a moment of silent reflection before his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Investigator Rotshirt.

The Inquisitor turned his attention to Rotshirt as they discussed the latest developments. Rotshirt delivered promising news—reinforcements deployed from other zones had shifted the balance in favor of their forces on Aracacea. The extraction of the Necron blackstone pylons was in progress, and preparations for their transit were well underway. It was a significant achievement that had yet gone unnoticed by their enemy, their cunning moves concealed within the broader theater of war.

Enochian was a blaze of calculated intensity, his mind focused and sharp as he delved into the intricacies of planning. He seemed to possess an exceptional level of detail retention, a transformation that had occurred since the acquisition of Yakhde's artifact. His ability to analyze and recall information had reached new heights, leaving Rotshirt in awe of his Inquisitor's capabilities.

Deep in thought, Enochian gazed at the holographic projection of the galaxy. The Pylons, his coveted key to unlocking the final stages of his plan, had begun their journey to their ultimate destination. He trusted in Yakhde's word; the Cryptek would fulfill his part of the bargain. Yet, a nagging realization gnawed at him—there were adversaries determined to thwart his ambitions.

As he contemplated his next move, Enochian spotted a dataslate left by Rotshirt. It contained valuable intelligence on a xenos empire poised to disrupt the transit of the pylons. With the same sharp focus he had applied to planning, he swiftly formulated a plan of action. Who better to confront the xenos than other xenos? Enochian was determined to see his plan through, and with one of his trusted agents tasked with the mission, he could finally find some respite, knowing that the next phase of his grand design was well underway.

Furthermore, he thought he should really root out the enemy once and for all. Time to pay for that weak little assassination attempt. Time to pay for Shaid Murad. He glanced at the galactic map and picked the zone in the south where he still had enough contacts and influence. Time to strike, he thought.

Suddenly there was a flash of light on his personal dataslate - a message from the ship's astropath. He glanced at the name of the sender -  inquisitor Jeremiah van der Horth, ordo Xenos. He scoffed and put it away having no interest in reading whatever that bitch had to say. They were done. 

And he had work. So much work to do. Soon, he'll show her. He'll be the hero of the Imperium. He'll make her regret what she did. Such a nobody. Bitch. Back to work. Back. To. Work.  

PART 5

Inquisitor Enochian slumped heavily onto his bed, every step still an ordeal of pain. Yet, compared to the agony of lying incapacitated, he relished the modest relief that standing offered. The haze of medication clouded his thoughts, making it difficult to think clearly.

When he finally mustered the strength to assess the progress of his project, a wave of despair threatened to overwhelm him. His close friend and aide, Shai Murad, had been abducted by the Night Lords. His valuable assets were scattered haphazardly across the sector, devoid of a higher purpose, and his highest-priority missions were being systematically ignored.

To be frank, it might have helped if he had disclosed the missions' critical nature to someone, but he harbored doubts about that. Secrecy had its merits. The thought of Murad crossed his mind, and he couldn't help but worry. She possessed knowledge of many of his plans, and should the rescue attempt come too late...

Suddenly, a recollection jolted him. There was a report—fresh, unexamined. He retrieved the dataslate with a sense of trepidation, and as soon as he glimpsed the header, his heart sank – Colonel Davoren. By the Emperor! Who had conceived the notion of sending Guardsmen on a rescue mission against a Night Lord hideout? He slumped further into his bed, and he didn't need to read the rest of the report; connecting the dots was painfully simple.

"Let me guess," he mused, "the captive was not rescued, and the allied forces suffered 40% casualties." He opened the report with morbid curiosity, reading through it with a resigned nod. There were a few moments when he raised an eyebrow, but ultimately, he let the slate fall from his fingers.

"57 percent," he muttered with a wry tone. "Colonel really outdid himself this time."

PART 4

Investigator Rotshirt made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the facility, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut since the moment he received the call. Inquisitor Enochian had been gravely injured during the mission, and Rotshirt feared the worst.

As he approached the door to Enochian's room, he took a deep breath and pushed it open. The sight that greeted him made his heart sink. Enochian lay in the sterile, white room, hooked up to various monitors and medical equipment. His body was battered and bruised, and his face was pale, but at least he was conscious.

Rotshirt couldn't help but smile in relief as he approached the bedside. "Inquisitor," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern, "I'm glad to see you're awake."

Enochian managed a weak smile in return. "Rotshirt," he rasped, his voice hoarse from the injuries, "report."

Rotshirt nodded, his relief giving way to business. "The artifacts have been successfully handed over to Yakhde," he said, "the mission was an overall success." He waited for a second and then gave way to his curiousity: "How did you manage to survive, sir? The reports I read seemed rather bleak."

Enochian's eyes narrowed slightly as he struggled to speak. "PDF," he managed to say, his words labored.

Rotshirt blinked in surprise. "The Planetary Defense Force?" he asked, puzzled.

Enochian's breathing was heavy, but he corrected the agent with effort. "Personal Displacer Field," he clarified.

Understanding dawned on Rotshirt's face. "Ah, I see," he said with a nod. "But then, how come are you so hurt?"

A faint chuckle escaped Enochian's lips, despite the pain. "Freakin' PDF teleported me right under a collapsing building," he explained.

Rotshirt couldn't help but smile lightly at the irony of the situation. "Well, I'm glad you made it out, Inquisitor."

Enochian nodded, his eyes serious. "Now, what other news do you have?"

Rotshirt's expression grew somber as he hesitated. "There's mostly bad news," he began. "Shai Murad has been captured during the attack on Dopplix. What's more, the Coalition forces have won victories at Sternbek and Butcher's Triumph."

Enochian's face remained stoic as he absorbed the information. "And our plans?" he asked.

Rotshirt sighed, his worry evident. "The Pylon extraction at Aracacea has already started and is proceeding as planned," he reported. "But I'm concerned about our transportation now that the Coalition forces are so active."

With the last vestiges of his strength, Enochian issued his orders. "Mobilize all friendly fleets," he commanded, his voice growing weaker. "Secure the route from Aracacea westward."

Rotshirt nodded, his resolve firm. "I'll see to it, Inquisitor," he promised. As he was about to leave, Enochian whispered one more command: "Murad. Bring her back."

The inqusitor then closed his eyes and sighed in relief as the darkness of unconsciousness overtook him. Rotshirt left the room, his mind racing with the weight of his new responsibilities, determined to carry out his orders to the best of his abilities.

PART 3

Inquisitorial agent Rotshirt sat alone in the dimly lit chamber, his senses on high alert. He had been waiting for hours, the weight of anticipation hanging heavily on his shoulders. His mind couldn't help but drift back to the mission that had brought him to this point—a daring raid to capture ancient Necron artifacts from the revered Three Hundred Falcons Space Marine chapter. He had been chosen as a liaison to Inquisitor Enochian, a mission that had thrust him into the heart of darkness.

During the operation, he had hidden in the shadows, his heart pounding as the Drukhari performed their nefarious deeds. He had witnessed and heard unspeakable horrors that would forever haunt his nightmares. As he waited in that chamber, he questioned the wisdom of forming alliances with these Xenos. The memories of that mission weighed heavily on him, and even the artifacts themselves left him with an unsettling feeling of unease.

Just as Rotshirt was lost in his disturbing memories, the chamber's entrance slid open, and to his surprise, Yakhde himself appeared. The Cryptek's form was an eerie amalgamation of living metal and ancient wisdom, and his presence sent a chill down Rotshirt's spine. He had expected to meet with a proxy, not the enigmatic Necron leader in the flesh.

Without a word, Rotshirt presented Yakhde with a collection of artifacts wrapped in shimmering cloths. The Inquisitorial agent's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he offered up the items. These were the very artifacts he had retrieved from the Drukhari on that fateful mission, and he hoped that they held secrets that could aid the Imperium's cause.

In a surprising gesture of gratitude, Yakhde reached into his metallic form and retrieved a set of small, ornate tesseracts. He placed them in Rotshirt's outstretched hand and spoke in a metallic whisper, "These mini tesseracts will aid you in achieving clarity of thought when opened. They are a gift to show our appreciation."

Rotshirt examined the intricate devices with a mixture of fascination and suspicion. He had heard of the enigmatic properties of Necron technology, and these tesseracts were no exception. With a nod of thanks, he pocketed them, fully aware that his dealings with the Necron Cryptek were far from over.

As Yakhde retreated into the shadows, the chamber's door closed behind him, leaving Rotshirt alone once more. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was just a pawn in a much larger game, but for now, he had fulfilled his part of the bargain. With the artifacts given to Yakhde and the cryptic tesseracts by his side, he knew that he and his master were one step closer to achieveing their goal.

PART 2
<Dopplix, Insiderius Sub-Sector, Ultima Segmentum>

Enochian sat at a small table in the bustling marketplace of Dopplix, his eyes fixed on the hooded figure across from him. He knew that the human was merely a proxy, controlled by Cryptek Yakhde through some twisted way he would rather stay ignorant of, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut.

"I require your assistance," Enochian said, his voice low and even. 

The figure nodded, its hood falling back to reveal a pale, scarred face. "And you have what I want," it replied in a voice that sounded both human and inhuman at the same time.

Enochian leaned forward, his gaze intense. "The Pylons," he said. "I need your help in controlling them."

The figure nodded again. "I know why you seek them," it said. "You wish to establish a new path through the Great Rift."

Enochian's eyes narrowed. He had kept his plan secret, even from his most trusted allies. "What do you know of it?" he demanded.

The figure smiled, a cold, calculating expression that made Enochian's skin crawl. "I know more than you might think," it said. "But I can help you achieve your goal. For a price."

Enochian bristled. He made a mental note to himself to find and deal with anyone responsible for the leak. Then his mind went back to the matters at hand and soon he realized what the Cryptek would want in return. "The artifacts," he said, gritting his teeth. "The ones we took from you in the Mons Infirmum system."

The figure nodded again. "Not exactly from me, but yes, the artifacts. They are of great value to my kind," it said. "And they are the price you have to pay for my help."

Enochian hesitated for a moment. They have given them for safekeeping to the 300 Falcons. No doubt they put them in their safest vaults on Spartrax. Eventually, he nodded his agreement. He despised the thought of working with the xenos, but he knew that he needed their help to achieve his goal. "Agreed," he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

The figure smiled again, a cruel expression that made Enochian's blood run cold. "Then we have a deal," it said. "Contact me as soon as you have them in your possession."

Enochian stood up, his eyes fixed on the figure for a moment longer before turning and walking away, his mind already racing with plans for what lay ahead. He hated the fact that he was working with the Necrons, but he knew that he had no other choice. His goal was way too important. If he succeds it will be a tremendous boost to Imperium Nihilis, another route established. He will be able to stand proudly alonsgide the greatest heroes of the Imperium of Men and his name and deeds will be remembered forever.

But first he needs to plan his moves. The pylons have to be secured, his trusted servants and allies will be sent to the planet where his team had discovered them decades ago and start getting them read for extraction. And then there is the other task.

He recalled the stoic and grim chapter master of the 300 Falcons. There is little to no chance of him handing the artifacts over just because Enochian asks nicely. Especially as he stressed that they should never leave their vaults. That comment turned out to be a bit short-sighted now. Unfortunately, his road to immortality has to start with orchestrating a massive attack on a Space marine home world. Luckily, he has some contacts who would be more than willing to do that. He just has to make sure his name stays clean. It wouldn’t look good in the history books if his story started with an order to sack a space marine home world.

He needed to reach out to his old ... contact, friend was not a word to be used in his field of work. Ms Murad had a very wide web of contacts and as he had used them before, he knew some of them were very untraditional. Luckily, those were exactly what he now needed. Just to be sure, he also sent a word to Bastion, where he had a safe house with attached top security prisons. Some of the inhabitants might now something useful. 

In other words, so much to do and so little time.

PART 1.

<Dopplix, Insiderius Sub-Sector, Ultima Segmentum>

Enochian, a veteran Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, was sitting at his desk in a dimly lit chamber of his secret lair and smoking a cigar. He had just received a message from his team, who had been scouring the galaxy for information on a long-awaited discovery. If he was being frank, which was rare enough, he never expected to hear from them again once he sent them on their mission, just as it happened with the previous teams assigned the same task.

In fact, Enochian had been waiting for some good news for decades, and now that it had finally arrived, he could hardly contain his excitement. He had long suspected that the discovery would open up new possibilities, new paths for the Imperium (figurative as well as literal) and aid in the fight against the encroaching darkness of the galaxy, but to transform from the realm of vague and distant hope to something almost tangible, that really had his blood running. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his chamber doors opening. In walked his team of acolytes led by interrogator Rotshirt, their faces bearing expressions of both excitement and exhaustion. Their master hardly noticed how their numbers had dwindled. 

Enochian rose from his chair and welcomed them with a nod. "What news do you bring?" he asked straight away. He was never a man to waste time on pointless pleasantries. His usual calm composure showed some cracks though as  his voice betrayed his anticipation for he knew the news about to be delivered were of great importance. 

Rotshirt stepped forward and handed him a data-slate with her new artificial arm. "We have it, Inquisitor," she said, there would certainly have been at least a hint of triumph in her words, had they not been produced by a crude vox-box recently attached to her disfigured throat. 

Enochian's eyes scanned the information on the slate, his mind racing with the possibilities that this discovery would bring. "This is incredible," he murmured, barely able to contain his excitement as he was scrolling through the report.

The acolytes watched as a smile slowly spread across their leader's face. They knew how important this discovery was to him, and were relieved that their tireless work had paid off.

But as Enochian's expression suddenlydarkened the excitement began to fade, "We will need to test it, it is a great start, yet still a start. And we will also need someone to assist us," he said. "Someone who was there when it was made."

The few remaining acolytes exchanged nervous glances. Not only did they know who Enochian was referring to, and how dangerous it was to deal with him. Especially after what happened last time. They also were not sure if they accidentally overheard something above their clearance for if that were the case, their fate was all but sealed.

Enochian stood up from his chair and strode towards the door. "Prepare the ship," he said. "We have a meeting to attend."

As the door closed behind him, the interrogator and the acolytes were left to ponder the magnitude of what they had just accomplished. No one would ever learn of the path that led them here, of all the dangers they had to overcome and losses they suffered. It would always remain a secret to most of humanity and as it seemed, those that actually had the clearance, did not care. No sooner had the greatest adventure of their lives ended that a new one loomed over them. They knew it would be perilous, they knew more of them would pay with their lives, but they also knew that Enochian was the best hope the Imperium had. Or, as one of the less zealous followers thought, possibly the worst nightmare if things go bad.

Enochian was already preparing for the next several steps. A journey awaited him. A journey that would see him branded a radical at best and a heretic at worst. A journey that, if he was right, would eventually make his name stand amongst the most revered individuals of the Empire. Yet to ascend so high he must first sink very, very deep. He must contact the xenos, without him, this whole endeavor stands no chance. But most importantly, he must remain vigilant, for there are enemies all around him and his own allies can't be trusted either. 'I should probably have Rotshirt's whole team mind-cleansed, just to be sure,' he thought as he was walking towards his special investigation-room. It was a large room, windowless, with multiple levels of security where he kept all the resources connected to project Pathway. 

He sat down and connected the dataslate from Rotshirt and as its projection appeared on the opposite wall, surrounded by sketches, notes, picts and small artefacts, he took a deep breath.

'Let's begin,' he said to himself and started working.