Aboard the *Endurance*.
Preparations for the assault on Galaspa were in full swing. Mortarion stood, somewhat impatiently, on the command deck overlooking the vast simulation room.
One needs patience and time to forge a blade capable of slicing through the very throat of a galaxy.
This thought momentarily soothed Mortarion's irritation.
However, the idea that every moment, the tyrant's whip might be lashing down on others reignited his discontent.
He had felt that sensation before: the deep-seated rage, the pain that seeped into one's soul, the constant erosion of his being, mocking his perceived weakness.
No one should have the audacity to lord over others, to recklessly vent their emotions upon another's life.
Someone has to overthrow tyranny.
He mulled over this, reminiscent of the time he stood amidst the poisonous gases of Barbarus, gazing at a distant lord's fortress.
If no one else would act,
Then that someone would be him.
From beneath the hood of the Death Lord, shadowed eyes, glowing a dark golden amber, observed below.
The largest simulation room of the *Endurance* was currently filled with a chemical gas mimicking that of Galaspa's main planet.
Ten thousand Deathshroud were in the midst of a military drill.
Moving silently through the gas, they were methodical, swift, and wordless. The Deathshroud seamlessly shifted formations, marching at an impressive speed.
In the original lore, the mention of Deathshroud would conjure images of heavy infantry.
But in reality, they earned their name with their unbreakable frontlines.
In infantry combat, their rapid advances were legendary.
Mortarion too valued time.
He observed the formations below, circles upon circles, mentally running through strategic analyses.
These circular formations would be their only shield on the barren wastelands.
If the war reached its third phase, this would be the Deathshroud's last means of survival.
It didn't matter.
Either the tyrant would fall, or they would.
Mortarion raised a hand, signaling.
The ever-moving formations of the Deathshroud suddenly shifted. Circles tightened, groups of three lunged out in coordinated strikes.
Spears thrust forward and retracted, tearing through imagined foes with lightning speed, before retreating back to their protective ranks.
Soon, the ground was littered with the bodies of their enemies, granting the Deathshroud a brief respite.
Moments can decide life or death.
A smile formed beneath Mortarion's gas mask, clearly pleased with the drill's outcome.
Captain Barasin approached, updating him on the fleet's modifications.
In recent months, plasma cutters had been tirelessly at work on the *Endurance*'s hull.
Techmarines and Mechanicus priests, accompanied by servitors, moved between ships, diligently fulfilling their tasks.
The extensive modifications painted a picture of Mortarion's ambition.
The *Fourth Knight* assault ship's modifications were progressing smoothly. Its propulsion system was revamped for rapid acceleration, its prow reinforced, and the entire vessel fortified to withstand extreme speeds.
Other ships had their broadsides thickened, concentrating firepower.
After Barasin's report, Vox approached, updating Mortarion on his tasks.
Vox, the first Barbaran to hold a managerial position, was a fine young man from the south. Mortarion encouraged him to continue.
"The *End Times* and its accompanying fleet have completed 63% of the asteroid collection mission. 32% of these asteroids have been fully processed and are ready for detonation."
Good, very good.
This was one of the slower steps in Mortarion's plan, and he was pleased to see Vox accelerating it to a satisfactory pace.
Mortarion patiently awaited Vox's full report, noting the pale skin characteristic of Barbarans.
A symbol of their life amidst the toxic gases.
As Vox reported, Mortarion's thoughts drifted.
Had it not been for that incident, Calas would have been an excellent choice for management.
Regrettably, after that event, Mortarion had to distance himself from Calas.
However, since then, Calas had refrained from using psychic powers, which pleased Mortarion.
Perhaps after this campaign, Calas could be reinstated as a Deathshroud.
Mortarion hoped Calas would survive the upcoming battle.
No, Calas would survive. He was the most cunning among them.
Yet, a subtle frown creased Mortarion's brow. There was still no word from Hades.
Today, Mortarion cursed the unstable communications of the warp.
On planet Sigma-373.
Hades stood atop a city wall, lost in the view before him. Rows of buildings lined the streets, and in the distance, a massive wall, built for religious purposes, revealed a dark corner.
"My lord, don't be overwhelmed. The rise and fall of civilizations are preordained," Yade, responsible for Hades' security, remarked.
Although many likened the fully mechanized, code-embedded Ecclesiarchy soldiers to high-grade servitors, they retained their personalities.
For faith or mere survival, they chose to become Ecclesiarchy soldiers.
Hades thanked Yade for his words, but in truth, he was assessing the city's streets for potential attack and defense strategies.
The streets, while interconnected, were narrow, seemingly designed for pilgrimages, all leading directly to the central plaza.
If one stood in the plaza, any building in the city could be a vantage point for an attack.
Defending would be challenging, and the modified laborers brought by the Krokland Sage would struggle to enter.
Most of the armed laborers were still slowly making their way from the forest.
Hades sighed.
If they were to stay in the plaza for research, they'd need to implement defensive measures.
Using the drone's map and his own observations, Hades marked several buildings and locations in the city that seemed suspicious.
Either their construction was notably different, or they were strategically positioned to control entire streets.
He dispatched a portion of the Ecclesiarchy soldiers to investigate these locations, while he, accompanied by the Krokland Sage and another group, headed to the central plaza.
They needed to fortify the plaza's defenses, Hades thought.
First, reinforce the surrounding buildings, then clear out distant structures to create a buffer zone for easier defense.
Despite the looming Blackstone Obelisk, Hades, with his twitching right eye, was more concerned about a potential surprise attack.
Why couldn't he shake off the feeling that this wasn't just a simple exploration?
As Hades pondered, he continued walking.
In fact, as they neared the Blackstone Obelisk, the Krokland Sage became increasingly engrossed in examining the monolith, leaving the defense entirely to Hades.
Hades shrugged, naturally taking on the responsibility.
Was he just being overly cautious?
However—
In a hidden corner of the city, resembling a hippie commune adorned with vibrant, whimsical graffiti, a faint luminescence vanished.
In the forest, the Krokland Sage's motley crew of modified heavy machinery slowly moved along the path cleared by the Ecclesiarchy soldiers.
Beside this convoy, agricultural carts methodically harvested and fertilized, performing their daily tasks.
Beneath the fallen leaves, a hand, covered in mucus, emerged from the ground.
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