Malakim Phoros, Chapter Master of the Lamenters, strode toward the strategic briefing room with measured, powerful steps. It had to be said that Phoros had been in a remarkably good mood lately—in fact, this was a rare period of genuine satisfaction since he had assumed command of the Chapter.
As sons of Sanguinius, the Lamenters had long been overshadowed by an indescribable streak of misfortune.
Shortages of materiel, a chronic lack of recruits, and cold shoulders from allied forces had practically become their default reality.
However, ever since they forged a "Bond of Honor" with the Astral Claws, things had undergone a earth-shattering transformation. Crates of brand-new bolters and complete sets of power armor components flowed continuously onto their strike cruisers.
What brought Phoros the greatest comfort was that this was not charity. While Chapter Master Huron provided the supplies, he also assigned corresponding combat directives.
For the Lamenters, who valued honor above life itself, this arrangement of "labor in exchange for resupply" did not wound their pride. On the contrary, they viewed it as a validation of their combat prowess.
And our brothers-in-arms for this operation— Phoros silently recited the name in his mind, —the Legion of the Helldivers.
Phoros had long respected this mortal legion. Even setting aside their feat of clashing head-on with T'au battlesuits at the Damocles Gulf, or their stand against the Tyranid Hive Fleet on Macragge, their famous origin alone—carving a bloody path out of the hive city of Perditia entirely without support—was more than enough to command the respect of an Astartes Chapter Master.
Those were true warriors, a testament to the human spirit.
As the airtight door slid open, Phoros stepped into the briefing room. There, a man clad in carapace armor had already been waiting for some time.
That was the commander of the Helldivers for this joint operation, a man known as Joker.
Phoros looked at him, a trace of solemnity flickering in his eyes. Intelligence indicated that it was this very mortal who, before the Ultramarines' main fleet arrived at Plantidium, had led a force of mere humans to pin themselves firmly to the planet amidst a sea of Tyranids, buying invaluable time for the subsequent counterattack. He was a genuine war hero.
Their eyes met, and almost simultaneously, they raised their arms in a crisp, synchronized Imperial Aquila salute.
"My greetings to you, Chapter Master Phoros," Joker said, his voice calm, devoid of the trembling trepidation typical of a mortal facing a demigod.
"And greetings to you, Hero of Plantidium," Phoros replied, returning the gesture. He then pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for the other to take a seat as well. "Time is short; let us get straight to the point. I believe you are already aware of Brother Huron's concerns, as well as the true purpose of our joint patrol."
"Naturally," Joker nodded. "To investigate those planetary governors who have suddenly become 'diligent,' and to screen for potential Genestealer Cult infestations."
Phoros spoke with absolute candor: "Though the Lamenters are veterans of countless battles, truth be told, we have spent our history deployed in other warzones. We have never truly engaged the Tyranids or Genestealer Cults. In this domain, your Helldivers are the true experts. Do you have a specific plan for rooting out those monsters hiding in the shadows?"
Hearing the word "experts," Joker offered a faint smile. For players, identifying Genestealers didn't require any complex machinery; they just had to look.
"It is actually quite simple, Lord Chapter Master," Joker held up a finger, speaking with easy confidence. "If a Genestealer presence truly exists on this planet, and even that greedy governor has changed his nature to start paying his tithes in full and on time, then there is no doubt that the infection has penetrated the absolute apex of this world. That governor, and likely the entire planetary council, has already fallen."
"Reasonable," Phoros nodded in agreement.
"Therefore, what we need to do is not rummage through the garbage dumps of the lower hives, but go directly to the spire," a sharp glint flashed in Joker's eyes. "We will find a pretext—be it a welcome banquet to celebrate our joint patrol or a supply handover ceremony—to gather all the nobility and high-ranking officials of this planet into one place."
He leaned forward, his tone turning absolute: "The moment these people appear before us, if any among them harbors treason against the Imperium, or rather, if they harbor even the slightest shred of malice toward us—"
Joker pointed to his own eyes. "The Helldivers will pick them out instantly! We possess a... unique intuition. Those souls corrupted by the alien are as glaringly obvious to our eyes as a torch in the dead of night."
In reality, it was just that the white outlines around hostile mobs were way too bright in his UI view.
Looking at the absolute confidence in Joker's eyes, Phoros was deeply moved. He interpreted this game mechanic of "seeing outlines" as a razor-sharp, anti-xenos sixth sense, forged by these veteran soldiers through countless brushes with death.
"Excellent! We will do it your way!" Phoros slammed his hand on the table without a moment's hesitation. "Since you possess such certainty, then so be it! The Lamenters Chapter will cooperate with you fully. We can provide banquet security, cordon off the venue, and even provide Astartes to serve as an honor guard to dominate the room if needed."
The Chapter Master stood up, grasping Joker's hand, and said earnestly: "Name any requirement you have. When it comes to identifying the xenos, we will be your shield, and you shall be the blade that pierces through their lies!"
---
Following a period of meticulous tactical deliberation, the joint patrol selected their first target: Rhea IV.
This was a textbook Hive World, and out of the cluster of planets that had "suddenly become cooperative" recently, it was the most resource-rich.
When the Thunderhawk gunships of the Lamenters and the transports of the Helldivers pierced through the clouds to land on the colossal pad outside the Governor's Palace, they were greeted by a grand welcoming ceremony of unprecedented scale.
A scarlet carpet stretched all the way from the landing pad to the golden gates of the palace. Confetti filled the air, and tens of thousands of civilians lined both sides of the streets, waving the double-headed Aquila banners of the Imperium while shouting praises for the Astral Claws and the Emperor.
Planetary Governor Blackwood, clad in an intricately ornate silk gown heavily adorned with medals, stood at the end of the red carpet with a face full of smiles.
To Blackwood, this was an immense honor. Not only had Lord Huron recently resolved the terrifying threat of the Drukhari for them, but now he had dispatched legendary Astartes Space Marines alongside an entire elite mortal legion of the Helldivers.
This was clearly a display of both benevolence and might from the Tyrant of the Badab—it was a show of force to tell all governors, "I am protecting you," while serving as a silent warning: "I have the power to protect you, and naturally, I have the power to crush you. Do not harbor foolish thoughts."
Such being the case, he naturally had to roll out the red carpet for these "Imperial Envoys." As long as he kept these lords pleased, his rule over Rhea IV would remain as solid as a mountain.
"Welcome! A rapturous welcome to the Angels of the Emperor! Welcome to the heroic and fearless Legion of the Helldivers!" Governor Blackwood's voice boomed across the plaza via loudspeakers, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.
However, the protagonists of the hour, Phoros and Joker, were currently standing side-by-side atop an open-topped Rhino APC, slowly driving past the cheering crowds. Neither man wore a single trace of a smile; their expressions could be described as stone-cold.
Masked by the deafening roars of the crowd, the two were conducting a deadly serious conversation via the short-range vox channel inside their helmets.
"Look at those guards," Joker said, subtly scanning the Planetary Defence Forces maintaining order along the sides of the red carpet. "Every single one of them is wearing a rigid military cap that completely covers the back of their heads, or they are using full-face helmets. I cannot see their hairlines to confirm if they have the traits of third- or fourth-generation hybrids."
Phoros nodded slightly, his gaze piercing. "Suspicious indeed. If one wishes to conceal an elongated cranial ridge or a hairless scalp, this is the most common method. Furthermore, their movements—though uniform—possess an indescribable stiffness. However, giving them the benefit of the doubt, it could also be explained away; it is normal for military personnel to wear helmets, and the PDF can hardly be considered elite."
"Now look at the governor," Joker's gaze settled on the fat man waving enthusiastically. "His hair is thick, and the roots look natural, not a wig. Most importantly—"
Joker paused, repeatedly confirming via the UI interface in his field of vision that Blackwood did not possess a hostile white outline. It wasn't a case of the solar glare being too bright for him to miss it.
"I do not detect any malice from him toward me," Joker whispered. "My intuition tells me that while this fellow looks a bit foolish and greedy, he is highly likely still human. He has not been brainwashed by that 'Great Father.'"
Hearing this, Phoros' tensed muscles relaxed marginally. "If that is the case, then we have an entry point. If the governor is loyal, we can attempt to selectively disclose some information to him, securing his cooperation for our screening operation. After all, he is the local authority; summoning the nobility requires his name."
"Agreed," Joker concurred, but he immediately shifted his tone, his voice growing more cautious. "But we must proceed with extreme care. If this is a cross-system Genestealer Cult network, they may possess some form of telepathic link or secret communication. If we startle the snake and cause the cult on Rhea IV to realize they are exposed, those dozen or so planets that suddenly started paying taxes on time might launch a simultaneous rebellion."
"If that happens, the logistics chain for the entire Maelstrom Zone will paralyze overnight," Phoros' expression grew grim. "We must play our parts well in this play."
By now, the Rhino APC had come to a halt directly in front of the governor.
Phoros and Joker leaped down simultaneously. In the very next second, the two men who had just been plotting how to run background checks switched their expressions instantly.
Phoros exuded the noble aloofness characteristic of an Astartes, while Joker put on the efficient, practiced smile of a professional soldier.
"Governor Blackwood," Phoros' voice boomed through his vox-grille, projecting immense authority. "Lord Huron expresses his appreciation for your loyalty. Our arrival on this world is both to commend you and to reinforce the defensive deployments of Rhea IV."
Hearing the word "commend," the fat on Blackwood's face squeezed together in a massive grin. "The honor is mine! The honor belongs to all of Rhea IV! I have already prepared the finest welcoming banquet for your lordships. All of our local dignitaries are eager to gaze upon the countenance of the Angels!"
Joker and Phoros exchanged a brief look, reading the exact same message in each other's eyes:
Excellent. A banquet. That is exactly what we wanted.
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T/N : A translator abandoned Cyberpunk: Anthony Stark, so I picked it up. go check it out