On the holographic deck of the Doomsday, the green hologram of Typhon flickered out, replaced by a grey-black planet.
Meridian.
If Typhon was a natural paradise, then Meridian was an industrial tomb.
Alex stood at the edge of the tactical table, staring at the sphere enveloped in thick clouds.
The holographic projection couldn’t convey smell, but he felt as if he could already smell the sour stench of billions of people crowded together.
There wasn’t a trace of green on the entire planet’s surface; it was all densely packed spires and chimneys spewing toxic exhaust into the atmosphere.
“This is Meridian.” Tarkus stood by the projection, his voice even more solemn than when facing the Tyranid swarms.
“The capital of the Aurelia Sector.
And the core of Imperial industry.” “Looks quite prosperous.” Alex, who had been dragged over, commented casually, “Compared to those mud pits on Typhon, at least there are paved roads here.” “Don’t be fooled by appearances, Soldier.” “The battlefield here isn’t in the trenches, but in the offices at the tops of those high towers.
We haven’t engaged in political activities with the rulers here for a long time.” Alex raised an eyebrow.
“Meaning they don’t welcome a savior?” Avitus snorted coldly from the side.
“Politicians are more disgusting than Greenskins.
A Greenskin only wants to chop your head off; a politician wants to take your head and sell it for money.” Alex shrugged.
He understood all too well.
Back home, those executives were the same way.
While brains were being blown out on the front lines, the rear was still cutting the maintenance budget for Titans for the sake of the next quarter’s financial report.
Some things are universal even across universes—like goddamn bureaucracy.
The communication array lit up.
The face of Governor Vandis, which they had expected, did not appear on the screen.
The image flickered a few times, and a woman appeared wearing a black and gold administrative uniform with an Aquila emblem on her chest.
Her hair was meticulously styled, and her background was an office piled with data slates and parchment scrolls; outside the window, the lower Hive City was burning.
Elena Derosa, the Adjutant of the Meridian Governor’s Palace.
“Commanders of the Blood Ravens Chapter.” Derosa’s voice came through the jammed channel.
She nodded slightly, performing a standard Imperial salute.
“I am Adjutant Derosa.
Governor Vandis is currently handling an emergency in the lower Hive City and has specifically ordered me to…
coordinate your needs.” She paused on the word “coordinate,” her tone a bit softer than the insect-like high-level officials Alex had expected.
Tarkus stepped forward.
“Adjutant.
We are here by order of Gabriel Angelos to requisition the Angel Forge.” “We need the forge’s production lines to synthesize weapons against the Tyranids.
This concerns the survival of the entire sector.” Alex stood behind them, arms crossed, watching the show.
According to normal logic, at this point, the other party should be tearfully handing over the keys while kneeling and begging the big shots to carry them.
But Derosa only sighed softly, her fingers sliding across the data slate on the desk.
“The Angel Forge is a strategic asset of Meridian, Commander.” Her tone carried a hint of helplessness.
“Its activation authority is controlled by Governor Vandis and the Sector Privy Council.
According to Article 78 of the ‘Codex of Astartes and Administratum Coordination’…
I do not have the authority to directly approve this request.” “We are talking about an Exterminatus-level threat!” Avitus couldn’t help but roar, “And you’re talking to us about articles?!” Derosa’s expression didn’t turn into the kind of political arrogance Alex had expected.
Instead, she looked…
a bit bitter.
“I understand your position, Commander.” She looked up, staring directly into Avitus’s lenses, but her gaze wasn’t confrontational; it was a kind of weary honesty.
“But this is Meridian.
There are billions of people here who depend on the normal operation of that forge.
There are members of the Privy Council watching every movement of strategic resources.
There are…” She paused as another muffled bang sounded outside, like something exploding, the firelight reddening half of her face.
“There are too many procedures that cannot be bypassed directly.” This was a bit different from the “arrogant bureaucrat” Alex had imagined.
This woman looked…
more like a poor soul caught in the middle.
“Isn’t this just typical buck-passing?” Alex whispered to Matellus beside him, “Though the one passing the buck this time looks pretty tired too.” Matellus’s servo-arm clicked, raising a claw in agreement…
“But.” Derosa’s tone suddenly shifted.
“While procedures are procedures, Governor Vandis also understands…
that extraordinary times require extraordinary measures.” Derosa’s fingers swept across the table, bringing up a tactical map.
“Recently…
Meridian has encountered some ‘problems’.” The dense red dots on the map indicated that this wasn’t some minor trouble; it was a spreading disaster.
“The communication tower arrays in the lower Hive City have lost contact.
The Imperial Guard is exhausted from trying to suppress civilian riots in the lower levels.
The chain of command is broken, and each area is fighting its own battle.
And…” Derosa’s eyes were solemn.
“Our scouts report that there is Eldar activity.” “Eldar?” Tarkus’s body visibly tensed.
Alex noticed that this word caused all the Astartes present to enter a different state—if facing Greenskins was disgust and facing bugs was vigilance, then facing the Eldar was a hatred that went deep into their bones.
“Yes.
Those…
Xenos sabotaged our defense network, leaving the Guard unable to coordinate their operations.” Derosa looked at Tarkus and finally revealed her hand—but her tone didn’t sound like she was setting conditions; it sounded more like a plea.
“If you can help us retake the communication arrays, repel those Eldar raiders, and restore the Guard’s chain of command…
I will personally speak to Governor Vandis to prioritize the approval of the Angel Forge’s usage rights.” She paused and added: “I know this looks like a deal.
But I swear by the Emperor, this isn’t stalling.
We really…
need your help.” Alex looked at Derosa’s expression.
She didn’t seem to be acting.
The firelight outside, the mountain of documents on the desk, the barely perceptible trace of fatigue in the corner of her eye—all of it indicated that this woman had been pushed into a corner.
A politician?
Maybe.
But also a politician on the verge of being crushed.
Tarkus was silent for a few seconds.
“We are not mercenaries, Adjutant.” “I know.” Derosa lowered her eyes slightly.
“You are the Emperor’s Angels of Death.
You are here to save his subjects.” “I just…
hope that before you save the sector, you can save this planet first.” Avitus let out a low growl, “I’ll wring your head off afterward.” Tarkus turned around and looked at Alex and Matellus.
“Prepare the Drop Pods.” He looked back at Derosa, his voice cold as ice.
“We will deal with the Eldar.
But as for the forge—” “Once it’s done, I will contact the Governor immediately.” Derosa nodded.
“That is my promise.” (Happy New Year) ————————
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”