"Come out," Grey barked, his voice calm yet commanding.
He could clearly detect the last three Astartes hiding inside a partially-collapsed chamber on his right.
Their armor signatures were partially masked, but not enough to hide their movement.
One was preparing an EMP grenade, while the other two held meltabombs ready. They were positioned for a last-ditch ambush if Grey entered the room.
"I have no orders to kill you," Grey continued, his gaze sweeping across the wounded Minotaurs sprawled throughout the halls. "You'll notice I didn't kill your battle-brothers either. My mission is officially sanctioned by the Imperial authority of Talon."
All of them still showed vital signs, albeit some were missing limbs, others unconscious. But no one was dead.
Space Marines were absurdly resilient. Even those who had lost arms or legs were still trying to fire their boltguns, though all their shots were thwarted by the reactivated gravity shield.
Perhaps realizing that further resistance was futile, the three remaining Astartes eventually emerged from cover. However, they didn't surrender outright.
"I'll remember you," one of them growled. "You're a Thunderborn. You attacked us."
"No need to burn that into your gene-seed memory," Grey replied, shaking his head. "If the Lord of Talon chooses not to execute you and lets you go, your memories will likely be reconditioned anyway. So do you want to keep dying for this worthless planetary governor, or are you ready to cut your losses and walk away from this farce?"
The three Astartes exchanged silent glances.
No words. Only heavy, armored breathing.
"Send down ten teleportation safeguard units," Grey instructed through his vox.
Aboard the cruiser hanging in low orbit, the crew complied instantly, deploying the devices via teleportation.
Grey secured the devices onto the Astartes one by one, then gave the next command. "Teleport these prisoners into containment."
Without further delay, Grey turned away and advanced deeper into the complex.
....
Meanwhile, below...
In the manor's hidden bunker, Governor Ode and Inquisitor Eren had been monitoring the entire debacle via hololith feeds.
Surprisingly, it was Ode who maintained composure, not the Inquisitor.
He had already accepted his impending death, seated in a crimson-velvet lounge chair, sipping from a bottle of rare amasec he'd saved for just such a moment. The golden liquor shimmered faintly in the dim bunker light, its scent sharp and medicinal in the recycled air.
Inquisitor Eren, by contrast, was pacing nervously, wringing his hands.
He had no idea if the Thunderborn would spare him, or even care about his rank.
"A man like Governor Talon… in more peaceful times, in a saner Imperium, if the galaxy weren't tearing itself apart, he'd have been purged instantly, right?" Ode mused idly, taking another swig of his drink.
"Absolutely," Eren nodded in agreement. "But he chose his moment well. In these times, you can't easily remove him without creating a larger collapse."
Ode chuckled bitterly.
"The Emperor is far, and the stars are wide, my friend," he said, voice dry as dust.
Eren opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.
A beam of focused energy began cutting through the chamber's sealed blast door, forming a circular breach.
Molten ceramite hissed as it dripped from the edges, casting dancing red light on the bunker walls. The heat washed over them like a furnace's breath.
Both men watched silently as a Thunderborn stepped through the glowing breach.
"In the name of the Lord of Talon, I—"
"No need for formalities," Ode said lightly, raising his bottle in salute. His smile was weary, almost amused. "Just get it over with."
His readiness for death gave Grey pause, but only for a moment.
A heartbeat later, a point-blank scatter-laser beam blew Ode's head apart. Bone fragments and scorched brain matter painted the back wall. The bottle of amasec tumbled from his twitching hand, shattering in silence.
Grey turned to Inquisitor Eren, noting immediately that the man carried nothing to verify his identity. No authentication seal. No dataslate. Just fear.
"I'm an Inquisitor," Eren stammered quickly. "I was investigating plague activity in this sector. I have no connection to the planetary governor's actions."
"Alright," Grey nodded, lowering his weapon and speaking into his vox. "I've got another one here. Teleport both of us to the cruiser. Also, prepare the ship for return."
A mechanized voice responded:
["Warning: Subject lacks teleportation safeguard. Do you wish to proceed anyway?"]
"Yes. Proceed."
["Confirmed. Teleportation initiating."]
Both were instantly displaced from the bunker and reappeared aboard the ship.
....
One Hour Later
Talon System, aboard a cruiser in Talon system orbit.
"That hive world had no orbital defenses and no void-capable vessels. I reached orbit without resistance," Grey reported while walking beside Qin Mo, heading toward the brig.
"I was forced to engage ten Astartes, but I didn't kill any of them. They're currently detained in the ship's brig. They fought well, but not well enough. There was also an Inquisitor. His physical form might be useful, so I spared him as well. He only underwent an unshielded teleportation."
Trailing behind them was Malakim Phoros, Chapter Master of the Lamenters.
As Grey debriefed them on the mission, Phoros remained in stony silence, his expression unreadable.
"When I was discovered, my first instinct was to eliminate the Astartes," Grey admitted. "But I restrained myself. They're still Astartes, like Chapter Master Phoros here. Warriors of Humanity. It felt like a waste to have them die over this nonsense."
Phoros shot Grey a sideways glare, saying nothing.
Qin Mo shook his head. "They're Minotaurs, not Lamenters. Not the same."
"Minotaurs?" Grey looked confused. "What's the difference?"
"The Minotaurs are an Astartes Chapter with direct ties to high-level Imperial oversight. Their Chapter symbol is a bull's head. Very... special reputation," Qin Mo explained.
Grey glanced toward Phoros and noticed the shift in his mood, instantly deducing a possibility: the Lamenters and the Minotaurs had a bloodied history between them.
But Qin Mo wasn't here for revenge, nor to play diplomat. He simply wanted to know: "Why were the Minotaurs operating in this sector?"
The trio arrived outside the brig.
Inside, Ten Minotaurs, already treated for their injuries, sat inside a laser-sealed metal cell. They looked utterly defeated, slumped in silence, their power armor scorched and dented, helmets removed to reveal scarred, grim-visaged warriors.
When they heard footsteps, they looked up and froze.
"Phoros...?"
"What the hell are you doing here? Have you joined these heretics?!"
"What did they offer you?! You bastard!"
"Why are you in Talon? I thought your Lamenters were wiped out!"
One after another, the Minotaurs shouted at Phoros,.
Rage, spite, bitterness.
Phoros stood silently. Memories surged through his mind unbidden.
Over 80 years ago, during the Badab War, his Chapter, the Lamenters, were dragged into the conflict under Huron's banner, and ended up clashing head-on with the Minotaurs.
The Minotaurs had crushed them utterly, taking their ships, weapons, and pride.
He remembered the void battles, screaming hulls, breached decks, and Lamenter blood staining their once-golden halls.
And now, even decades later, the wounds had not healed, but he couldn't bring himself to curse these men. After all, it was Huron who led them into disgrace. The Lamenters bore the shame.
His silence was heavy.
One of the Minotaurs stood up and grinned at Phoros with a predator's edge.
"You cursed rejects may be poor and cursed, but at least you had some decent wargear. We made quite the haul after that war," he sneered. "Your weapons, your ships they've served us nicely. Don't worry. They're in much better hands now."
.....
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