The Shadow of the Uninvited Guest
"Forced breakthrough?"
Roboute Guilliman repeated the words evenly.
But behind that composure, killing intent rose like magma beneath a sealed crust.
This was Hera Fortress—the monastery-fortress of the Ultramarines. The heart of the Five Hundred Worlds. Even Abaddon the Despoiler would not lightly boast of forcing entry here.
On Korquan's retinal display, the corridor threat level glowed amber: Unauthorized Armed Presence—not yet Hostile.
The reason was clear. The intruders had submitted Terran authorization upon entry: Extinction-Omega-77. At that clearance level, even fortress security protocols were compelled to allow passage—while issuing a maximum alert.
"It seems our guests are not merely impolite," Korquan said coldly, activating his halberd. "They arrive with teeth. Regent, grant the order. Whoever they serve, drawing arms before you is a capital offense."
"No," Guilliman replied, lifting a hand.
"If they intended war, they would not display identification so openly. This is theater. Political leverage." His gaze hardened. "If we butcher an Inquisitorial delegation at our gates, Terra's bureaucratic carrion birds will descend upon Ultramar. The Imperium cannot endure such fracture."
He glanced down.
Eileen was clutching his fingers tightly. The faint blush from earlier had vanished. She didn't know what the Inquisition was—but she knew danger. The air felt like the underhive before a gang war erupted.
"Don't be afraid," Guilliman said softly, his tone shifting with paternal ease. "Stay behind me. Whatever happens, do not let go."
"Okay…" she whispered, still holding the marble shard.
Guilliman pressed the door rune.
The blast doors parted.
The sight beyond was unmistakable provocation.
A formation of black-armored Tempestus Scions blocked the corridor, hellguns lowered but ready. Fingers rested along trigger guards with disciplined precision.
At their center stood Inquisitor Herman.
This time, he had come prepared.
Two servo-skulls hovered at his flanks, projecting a personal field shield around him. At his rear stood a tall woman with a bronze half-mask and a greatblade resting at her side.
A Sister of Silence.
Her presence bled color from the air.
For Guilliman, whose soul burned like a star, her null aura felt like coarse sand dragged across raw nerve. For any psyker, it would be suffocation incarnate.
"Inquisitor," Guilliman said, striding forward. Each step landed like a measured artillery strike. He stopped five meters away, his towering frame shielding Eileen entirely. "Storm troopers. A null-maiden. Personal shielding active."
His eyes were glacial.
"Have you come to declare war?"
Herman did not bow.
"No, my lord," he answered, voice sharp but steady. "I have come to prevent one."
He withdrew a parchment scroll, its red wax bearing the sigil of the High Lords of Terra.
"Authorization: Annihilation-Omega-77."
He held it high.
"This decree empowers the Inquisition to exercise ultimate scrutiny over any 'undetermined psychic entity' that may threaten Imperial security. Even those sheltered by… exalted authority."
Guilliman did not look at it.
"This is Ultramar. Terra's decrees require my assent."
"Under ordinary circumstances, yes." Herman stepped forward—an audacity that made the Ultramarines bristle. "But do you remember Gataramor?"
His voice trembled—not with weakness, but fury.
"The self-proclaimed saint. Adored by billions. Crowned in light."
His eyes reddened.
"On the day of ascension, he became a warp gate. A daemon prince tore through him. Forty billion souls devoured in a single night. The sector remains a scar in the Immaterium."
Silence thickened.
"I was there," Herman rasped. "My family. My comrades. My daughter—Nyss."
The name fractured his composure.
"They were consumed in that 'miracle.'"
He pointed past Guilliman.
"I swore that day I would never allow another saint to rise unchecked. Execute me if you must—but I will not permit history to repeat itself."
Eileen peeked from behind Guilliman's cloak.
She didn't understand warp breaches or sectors lost to Chaos.
But she understood that look.
Not greed. Not cruelty.
Fear.
The kind that hollowed people out. The kind she had seen in the Nest City—men who had lost everything, gripping knives because they had nothing left but rage and guilt.
"Robert…" she tugged gently. "That uncle… he's shaking."
Guilliman remained silent.
He knew of Gataramor. One of countless tragedies birthed by blind faith and uncontrolled psychic manifestation. Herman's caution was rational.
A child of unknown origin. Psychic resonance. Growing religious fervor around her.
An unstable variable.
And yet—
On Iax, Guilliman had heard his father's voice.
That could not be falsified.
"I understand your fear, Herman," Guilliman said at last. "But I trust my judgment. She is neither daemon nor false prophet."
"What assures you?" Herman snapped. "Instinct? The hysteria of priests? Chaos deceives all. Mortals. Astartes. Even—"
His eyes locked onto the Primarch.
"—even a son of the Emperor."
"How dare you!" An Ultramarine stepped forward, halberd striking Herman's shield in a burst of crackling energy. "Accuse the Regent of corruption? For that alone—"
"Then kill me!" Herman roared. "Just as those who warned Gataramor were silenced! If my death awakens you, do it!"
Weapons rose.
Storm troopers adjusted aim.
Ultramarines powered their armor to full readiness.
One misstep—
And blood would drown the corridor.
Within Eileen's mind, I observed with clinical interest.
[He is sincere. Trauma responses evident. Survivor's guilt, paternal fixation. His aggression is defensive.]
[Unfortunately for him, attempting a 'purity test' on you would yield results he is unprepared to interpret.]
I had no intention of letting Guilliman fracture the Imperium over this.
[Little Eileen, he's not evil. He's terrified. Like that neighbor who screamed at plush toys after a mutant rat bit him.]
She blinked faintly at the memory.
[If fear drives him, then we show him there is nothing to fear. Help Guilliman.]
In the corridor, tension reached breaking point.
Then—
A small hand slipped from behind Guilliman's cloak.
And gently pushed against the armored greave of the Ultramarine whose halberd pressed against Herman's shield.