What is truth?
Different people would give different answers to that question.
For the Magos Ulizar, truth was the pursuit and exploration of the unknown.
He had once been a great Explorator of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
In order to seek out the ancient knowledge lost across the galaxy, he had walked countless worlds filled with danger.
Praise the Omnissiah, after enduring untold hardship, he had finally obtained what he considered the most precious reward on a dead world.
True knowledge.
More precisely, it was a set of experimental data inscribed on scrolls of human skin marked with a purple eagle-claw wing emblem.
To ordinary people, the contents were bizarre and evil.
But to Ulizar, they were the key to truth.
This data came from a certain experiment conducted by a mad genius.
And the purpose of that experiment seemed to be the creation of a new kind of human, one that transcended ordinary mortals.
It was similar to the Astartes, who relied on genetic modification, yet different from them.
This new kind of human could reproduce on its own.
And to accomplish that goal, one would need to "borrow" certain special powers.
Although such an act would be seen as blasphemy by those ignorant fools ruled by fear, Ulizar had no such concerns.
All he cared about was learning more of the truth.
The opinions of mediocrities held no value in his eyes.
At this moment, he stood within the underground research facility on Ingulaba, staring with his cold augmetic eye at the mortal girl sleeping in the cultivation chamber before him.
"The genetic screening results indicate that this is the gene-seed most compatible with her... but even then, the success rate is only 0.00003%."
A Tech-Priest spoke in an emotionless synthetic voice.
"Magos, a mortal female cannot possibly withstand the hormonal levels of the demi-god organs. If we force the implantation, the probability of her even surviving to the third surgery is effectively zero..."
There was a trace of confusion in the blue glow of his augmetic eye.
Ever since he followed this Magos to Ingulaba, he had been able to sense that the atmosphere here was filled with something deeply unnatural.
What exactly was this Magos trying to research?
"Does she have psychic talent?"
The Magos did not respond to his question. Instead, he asked something that seemed completely unrelated, his tone mechanical.
"According to the scan, she possesses psychic talent somewhere between Eta and Zeta, and it is very stable."
That news gave Ulizar a slight headache.
If this mortal possessed strong psychic ability, then when they later "borrowed" the power of that place, the resonance between her mind and soul-sea could lead to unpredictable consequences.
That being the case, removing this mortal's consciousness seemed like a necessary step.
But such removal could not be done through a lobotomy.
That would destroy the body's physiological balance and affect the accuracy of the later experiment.
An experimental subject with qualifications like this was not easy to find.
Ulizar pondered for a while, then struck the ground with his mechanical staff, transmitting a special control signal through the sonic array system.
Not long after, a strange flying device shaped like a skull arrived.
It was a servo-skull fitted with the brain of a psyker, also known as a Mimir Prognosticator.
Under the Magos's control, it slowly floated before the cultivation chamber, as a dark green light gathered in its hollow eye sockets.
The next moment, the servo-skull projected its consciousness into Gaia's mind.
...
Threads of hazy light coiled through that empty stretch of space and time, with flickering scenes faintly appearing upon them.
The consciousness of the servo-skull moved forward along those strands of light.
Its mind was constrained by limiters, so it was not disturbed by the memory-information filling this mental landscape.
At this moment, it had only one thought.
Find the core of this mental space, and destroy it.
If that succeeded, it would be equivalent to erasing this mortal's consciousness.
And that was exactly what Ulizar wanted to see.
A soul without self-awareness could avoid the attention of certain beings to the greatest extent possible.
But as it continued deeper, it discovered something strange.
The memory threads of this mortal girl had clearly already come to an end, yet a vast space still remained ahead.
Moreover, for some reason, the area where the soul-core should have existed was wrapped in a dense fog.
It instinctively sensed that something was wrong, but the mental limiter controlling it forced it onward.
In the end, under absolute command, it could offer no resistance and could only fly toward that region.
The strange mist churned, ominous darkness flickered within it, and as it drew closer, certain indescribable murmurs gradually surfaced.
The limiter suppressed its fear and forced it to pass silently through the fog until it reached the core region hidden behind it.
But the instant it broke through the mist, a horrifying sight appeared.
It was a prophecy shaped like the end of all things, a wordless termination that contained an infinite terror beyond speech and beyond comprehension.
Fear so intense it reached the absolute limit tore through its mind, causing this spirit, bound by limiters, to briefly regain self-awareness.
But that was not a good thing.
Because it meant that this pitiful soul, after ages of muddled existence, was now forced to face the endless nightmare that could pierce through sanity itself.
Under twisted madness, the most agonizing death arrived together with a dreadful truth capable of corroding even the firmest faith.
And only before its body and spirit were utterly annihilated did it finally understand.
This layer of fog had never existed to protect the mind of that mortal...
...
The servo-skull released a shriek laced with psychic shockwaves. A psychic tide filled with infinite agony erupted in the chamber, instantly crippling the machine spirits of several cogitators.
Amid a scream of despair, the Mimir Prognosticator underwent a shocking mutation.
Its metal hardware and biological wetware both turned into a mud-like substance, twisting through horrifying transformations before the eyes of the two onlookers.
They continuously changed shape, at times like stone, at times like wings, at times like hands and feet.
Only when holy flames burned them to ashes did that profane mutability finally cease.
"Interesting. Very interesting..."
"By the Omnissiah, I understand what must be done now..."
Ulizar bent down and sniffed the ashes of the servo-skull on the floor, then the cold synthetic voice from the chest laced with metal tubes spoke out.
Strangely, that mechanical voice, which should have carried no emotion at all, now contained unmistakable excitement.
...
Within the domain of Chaos, where formless things ran wild, more than a dozen warships sailed onward in silence.
They were the Knights of the Holy Crusade.
These fanatical warriors were the right hand of the Ecclesiarchy, the sharp blade by which the bishops judged heresy.
And now, bearing the will of the Ecclesiarchy, they advanced toward the dead world where a profane plan was being carried out.
This was a great holy war launched to destroy the plot of certain traitors who sought to build an army through "cursed" power.
(End of Chapter)
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