Warhammer [533-535] (Patreon)

Chapter 533: Chaotic Vigilus

After a flash of golden light, Rhodes and Tartarus arrived at their destination: Vigilus, a key world in the shrouded Nachmund Gauntlet.

Vigilus is a world desperately short on water and wracked by political chaos—a miniature version of the galaxy, so to speak. Why? Because it's a complete free-for-all: local noble houses, the Imperial Cult, the Adeptus Mechanicus, xenos factions, Orks, and the Tyranids' sneaky ilk have all dug in here.

Before the Great Rift tore open, this planet drew far less attention. But after the Imperium Nihilus appeared, the Nachmund Gauntlet—humanity's main artery into the dark half of the Imperium—became crucial.

The Aeldari webway can also bridge into the Imperium Nihilus, but its use is limited and, critically, not under human control. That makes Vigilus's location extremely important.

Vigilus's atmosphere is like a rag torn by countless hands, the air reeking of stench. Compared to Rhodes's Cosmic Beast world, this place is a dump.

The Cosmic Beast world's environment surpasses many garden worlds, even Aeldari maiden worlds.

By Imperial classification, Vigilus should be a hive world, but in some respects it's also a forge world—the Mechanicus has deeply infiltrated it.

They discovered STC units here capable of producing fortress-grade energy shields.

Planetary-scale shield tech that can protect entire hives practically sells itself. On Vigilus, nearly every hive city has a fortress-class energy shield installed.

The Mechanicus' arrival rocketed this world's industrial level past that of many ordinary forges.

To rule more effectively, the dominant noble house, House Agamemnus, formed an alliance with the Mechanicus faction from the forge world Stygia-8.

Only the Omnissiah's followers know how to maintain these ancient shield-production systems—and only they can supply the planet with ample water.

Rhodes's Pedanium energy shield, once mass-produced by the Imperium, did undercut Vigilus's shield business somewhat.

But not much—Pedanium shields are used mainly on battleships and Titans.

They pair with void array fissures, while these fortress shields are for planets and hive cities.

"Great master, intel says the true ruling family here is House Agamemnus, but their power's been heavily squeezed.

"The northern continent is occupied by a Mechanicus faction from Stygia-8.

"A thousand years ago, House Agamemnus traded the northern continent for Mechanicus support.

"Now the Mechanicus isn't content with just the north—they're expanding elsewhere. The Imperial Cult also wields significant influence here," Tartarus reported.

The Stygia-8 Mechanicus practically holds this world's lifeline. Water now comes entirely from their orbital elevators, harvesting ice crystals from cometary clouds.

And the Mechanicus doesn't share resources with other factions. Civilians drink foul, stinking water.

Forget outside powers—internal ones alone (Cult, Mechanicus, and House Agamemnus) are locked in a power struggle.

"What a spectacularly absurd world," Rhodes sighed.

"Master, the Regent's fleet needs a few months to arrive. What do you plan to do in the meantime?" Tartarus asked.

"First order of business: wipe out the Tyranid genestealer cult," Rhodes said.

The planet is chaotic, with civilians living worse than dogs—perfect breeding ground for genestealer infiltration. Here, the cult is called the Pauper Princes, led by the Genestealer Patriarch.

Two hundred years ago, the cult took root, growing into a massive sect in the deepest hive levels.

Rhodes loathes the Tyranids. Genestealers are scum—filth that must be purged.

"Master, just the two of us can't quietly remove an entire cult. We must keep our identities hidden," Tartarus cautioned.

"I know. That's why I brought a very special monster," Rhodes smiled.

The Indomitus Crusade continues, and with the Ork world's demon ranch, Rhodes's system coins keep piling up.

So he keeps rolling the gacha—saving tens of millions as reserve, spending the rest whenever it stacks up. He's pulled some strong beasts—and one system gift box containing exactly what he needed.

This time, he'll unleash something unprecedented against the cult.

"Master, what will you use against the genestealers?" Tartarus asked.

"Ever heard of the Spheres?" Rhodes asked.

"The Spheres? Of course. They're highly assimilative lifeforms—attach them to a Mars rock and it becomes a monster," Tartarus said.

He knew them well—studying every Ultraman across parallel universes to fight the Land of Light. The Spheres are among the nastiest parasitic infections short of the Zettonian biobeasts.

They're the main foes in Ultraman Dyna. The Sphere Mother can even manipulate black holes.

They can fuse with nearly any matter.

"Master, you plan to have a Sphere fuse with the Patriarch?" Tartarus guessed immediately.

The master intends to use a Sphere's special ability to absorb the genestealers.

"Not just the Patriarch. I'll fuse the entire cult and brood," Rhodes said.

"Excellent plan, master. One host wouldn't reach true kaiju-level power. But an entire cult and brood? That will," Tartarus nodded.

Once fused, the genestealers will lose all intellect, becoming slaves to the Sphere—and to the master.

Rhodes smiled and summoned a five-meter-long orb radiating strange white light.

This was his Sphere lifeform—a marvelous cosmic entity that can reproduce by fission as long as it has energy.

Since drawing it, Rhodes had been cultivating it in his system space. Now he had over a dozen.

"Go. Possess the Pauper Princes below. Absorb their entire brood. Erase the cult," Rhodes commanded.

The Sphere flared, then sank into the ground to hunt.

Like a ghost, it slipped through the hive's tangled ducts and ruins, a faint white glow cutting the dark, tracking the cult.

The underhive was a pit of despair—rotting sewage, mountains of industrial waste, and the forgotten cult festering within, spreading like a plague.

Two centuries of growth had infiltrated almost the entire underhive; nearly all the lower classes were believers.

They'd even seeded the water supply with their gene-virus, infecting drinkers into the cult to accelerate spread.

The Patriarch's propaganda worked on the downtrodden: worship the Four-Armed Emperor; believe the Great Emperor will lead mankind to the light.

They preached the Day of Ascension, when the Star-Child would arrive with his fleet to carry his people to paradise—no suffering, no class—only equality and endless food. No more toil; they'd be the Emperor's heavenly flock.

Absurd, laughable—and yet it drew the masses. Underhivers know nothing, care nothing for Imperial Truth.

The cult had even reached into the nobility; some aristocratic houses now sheltered genestealers.

They only care about surviving tomorrow, a full belly today. With the Rift's opening, the warp surged rich and strong. The Patriarch sensed ascension was near—his true master was coming.

The Sphere found a target—a hunched, bald man with an eerie gleam in his eyes.

He knelt before an altar of scrap and bone, muttering warped prayers before a massive idol of the Four-Armed Emperor.

More Devourer than Emperor.

Rhodes and Tartarus watched through their powerful psychic senses.

Target genome: Tyranid-human hybrid detected… Initiating fusion.

The Sphere drifted in, split tendrils of silver-white, and lanced into the man's spine. He didn't even scream—just convulsed.

White luminescent veins crawled under his skin. Flesh twisted and reknit; bones cracked. His body collapsed into a writhing silver mass.

Nearby worshippers were snared by pale tendrils, dragged into the orb as nourishment.

In moments, dozens were eaten.

Then the single Sphere split into a dozen.

Each offspring was independent, hatched through genestealer hosts.

In the deepest caverns, the Patriarch snapped open scarlet compound eyes. Some of his brood had dropped off the network.

As a Tyranid offshoot, genestealers maintain a broodmind network linking all progeny.

Genome parsed… Broodnest locked… Commence operation.

Spheres delved deeper, infecting more believers. Any touched were assimilated within seconds, subsumed into the Sphere network.

Fused hosts grew tall and powerful, firing beams, overpowering genestealers in strength and speed.

Soon, the cult sensed something was wrong—members vanished, reappearing as white orbs that infected their kin.

What took 200 years to build, the Spheres dismantled in hours.

Within minutes, a third of the Patriarch's bloodline winked out.

As broodmaster, he had a powerful body and could sense the network via psychic links.

Now that network was being… eaten.

"Heretical intrusion… someone is invading the brood."

Chapter 534: The Terrifying Sphere, True Parasite

The Patriarch roared, psychic tendrils lashing, hunting the source. Someone dared offend their great brood.

His second- and third-generation scions received the signal: the family network was under attack.

A chorus of screams spread. Purestrains and hybrids armed up.

"Enemies in our midst! Members of the Pauper Princes, beware! White monsters can merge into us—stealing our sacred bodies! For the Four-Armed Emperor—hold fast and destroy them!" a cultist shouted.

"For the Patriarch! For the Four-Armed Emperor! Kill the monsters!"

Genestealers grabbed weapons—bolters, lasguns, even plasma. Some had human carapace armor.

A few wore void-capable power armor. Many joined the fight.

The cavern wall split; a silver-white mass oozed in and pooled into spheres.

A thousand throats roared.

Weapons flashed, but the Spheres ignored such trifles and plunged into the ranks.

No gore—white orbs leapt onto hosts, devouring them and reshaping into pale humanoids.

Those pale humanoids turned and attacked their former kin.

"Don't let them touch you! They'll steal your bodies!" the Patriarch's mind-voice rang through the purestrain ranks.

"Keep distance! Fire at range! Use las and bolts!"

Some purestrains unleashed psychic shrieks, trying to halt the advance.

"Raise the wards!" The Patriarch's command boomed. Third-generation purestrains formed ranks; violet barriers layered the passages.

The Spheres slipped through like mist. They are ultimate cosmic parasites.

A fourth-generation hybrid shrieked. His carapace swelled obscenely. He tore at it to reveal writhing silver underneath. "Help me—" His skull melted like wax, replaced by a smooth white orb.

Another fell, transformed, then turned on his own.

Some Sphere-fused hosts combined, forming a four- to five-meter white behemoth.

It fired red beams from its eyes, striking from range.

"For the Four-Armed Emperor!" Three elder hybrids in power armor opened up; plasma washed the mutant away.

But more Spheres seeped from cracks, flowing like sentient quicksilver along walls and ceilings, skirting fire.

"They're below! Watch your feet!"

Too late.

The floor flashed silver. Dozens were swallowed whole. One hacked off his legs, but white tendrils sprouted from the stump.

The Patriarch trembled—when had genestealers become hosts?

He crushed five Spheres with psychic tendrils to rally morale.

If he did nothing, his 200-year brood would be finished.

Damn it—what are these things, and why here?

Useful—but only briefly.

The shards on the ground grew into new Spheres. The eldest second-gen elder fell to his knees—silver leaked from his armor seams.

"Father… they're… rewriting our genes—ah!"

His armor exploded.

A three-meter white giant stood up, its back bristling with plasma-organ cannons.

The Spheres parasitized not only flesh but gear.

In the Sphere's grasp, even Martian rocks become monsters.

"Retreat! Back to the sacred nest!" For the first time, fear cracked the Patriarch's mind-voice.

Survivors blasted the ceiling to collapse tunnels, hurled melta bombs.

In the roaring flames, pale shapes writhed back together. Shattered bits crawled toward hosts.

The Patriarch unleashed psychic shockwaves, trying to shatter their core minds.

But the infected were no longer his children—something worse. Bodies warped, bones inverted, skin overrun by silver. Limbs stretched into pointed tendrils.

Weapons were assimilated—las-barrels became living organs; bolt mags pulsed with white slurry; even armor squirmed as if alive.

Nearby steel and guns were devoured, reformed into biomechanical horrors.

They kept growing; some topped ten meters, with terrifying offense and defense.

"They're… evolving!" a third-gen gasped. His sight showed the truth: the Spheres weren't just parasitizing; they were rewriting DNA, optimizing for war.

It was unforgettable horror.

The ground shook. From the depths came a sickening rumble. The infected stopped acting alone—an unseen will compelled fusion.

Five infected hybrids slammed together, silver glue welding them into one. Bones twisted, muscle bulged—a six-meter white juggernaut rose.

Its head was a knot of fused skulls; four arms sprouted plasma-organ cannons; tendrils arced with laser light.

The same scene unfolded elsewhere. More giants appeared.

"Open fire!" Bolts and beams hammered the beast, only staggering it.

Its skin flowed like liquid metal; wounds sealed at once. Worse, broken Sphere fragments didn't die—they crawled, hunting hosts.

A wounded hybrid stepped on a shard; silver raced up his leg and consumed him in seconds.

Despair broke many—plebeian believers and lightly tainted humans alike froze in terror.

Wasn't this a family blessed by the Emperor? Where is the Four-Armed Emperor?

Rhodes had no mercy for infected humans—he ordered the Spheres to exterminate them.

"Father! We can't hold!" a second-gen elder screamed. Half his armor was Sphere-white; his right arm a tendril. He was being taken, powerless to stop it.

The Patriarch hurled a deafening psychic scream, aiming to crush the Sphere mind.

He touched only boundless hunger—cosmic parasites whose sole purpose is devour, evolve, spread, evolve again.

He had no idea how fearsome they were—threats that even Ultraman Dyna must face in earnest.

"Retreat! Detonate the melta bombs! Bring the hive down!" he finally commanded.

They fell back. Melta charges turned rock to slag, air to fire. Sphere monsters twisted in the heat.

As the flames died, the Patriarch stared—Spheres still wriggled. Charred white slime gathered again.

Worse, they'd adapted—new forms wore heat-resistant shells, even absorbing thermal energy.

"Impossible…"

For the first time, true fear.

Rhodes watched, smiling coldly. Genestealers—just another link in the food chain.

Purestrains were seized and assimilated en masse. A Sphere hovered before the Patriarch, cold light glinting.

White giants—seven to ten meters tall—flooded in, surrounding the brood.

Target confirmed… The old one with strong psychic force is the designated prey. Devour him and the brood loses all resistance. This species uses a strange psychic network to command all kin.

The Patriarch roared; a shockwave shook the cavern.

The Sphere didn't budge—tendrils exploded outward, lancing into him.

He slashed bone blades, severing some, but more silver latched onto his carapace.

The Sphere core flashed, shifting fusion mode. Agony—his flesh was being dismantled; genes forcibly rewritten.

It wasn't just altering his body—it was overwriting his will. No—devouring it whole.

"No… Great Hive Mind… save me!!!"

His roar went silent.

Silver light engulfed him. His shape swelled and twisted into something new—carapace studded with Sphere crystals, four arms turned to energy tendrils. His consciousness was erased.

Horror rippled through the brood.

Fusion complete… Commencing broodwide assimilation.

With the Patriarch fallen, the cult went mad. Believers were infected one after another, flesh and machine melted into biomech abominations.

They merged into a towering seventy-meter white terror. In under a day, the Spheres annihilated the underground cult.

What lurked in the shadows became a monster—not Tyranid thrall, but a Sphere puppet.

The genestealer cult that hid beneath Vigilus for over two centuries was gone.

Target cleared… Awaiting further orders, the Sphere network reported to Rhodes.

Chapter 535: Vigilus in Turmoil, Strategic Aims

From a high perch over the hive, Rhodes watched the spreading silver giant below, smiling.

This fused Sphere-beast was immensely powerful. One pity: once a Sphere finalizes its form, its outer shape no longer changes.

Only the primordial Sphere state can infinitely split and keep fusing with new targets.

"Tartarus, our cleaner works well."

Tartarus nodded. "Master, what will you do with this genestealer-fusion beast?"

Rhodes chuckled. "It has its uses. Next, it's going to fight another enemy."

They'd wiped the cult HQ and Patriarch, but many hybrids remained, some hidden in other continents or among the nobility.

For genestealers, Rhodes had zero tolerance—found means destroyed. Better to kill by mistake than let one slip.

Hunting them one by one among nobles and commoners would waste time he didn't have.

That's where the monster comes in. By devouring the Patriarch, it effectively seized the brood network.

Using that network, it can locate all hidden genestealers among humans.

"Master, you'll identify them all, then use something like a psychic resonance to pop their skulls?" Tartarus ventured.

"No. The Pauper Princes' penetration is too deep. If we kill them all at once, Vigilus will be thrown into chaos.

"We can't do that," Rhodes said.

This isn't simple. Rhodes intends to turn Vigilus into a net—a trap. And traps mustn't be obvious.

If something big happens before Guilliman arrives, that's bad. The Chaos godshard must be handled—this is about humanity's survival.

"Then you intend…?" Tartarus hesitated.

There were only two of them here unless more monsters were summoned. None of Rhodes's other assets could appear on Vigilus; otherwise, Fulgrim might smell a trap.

"Feel out there—a greenskin fleet is inbound," Rhodes said with a sly smile.

The genestealers had to go to prevent them summoning the Tyranids.

As for the other invaders—Orks are the perfect tools and temp labor. Rhodes has ways to control them.

He commands Warlord Gromm of the Ultra-Orks; his mob no longer worships Gork or Mork.

That gives Rhodes room to maneuver. The Advanced Shop is open, and he can buy outright.

The mid-tier shop has plenty of monsters for mind-control.

"Use Orks to cull the remaining cult?" Tartarus realized.

Using Orks is ideal: with minimal nudging, they'll fight humans upon arrival.

Orks brawling humans won't tip Chaos off to a trap; if this were a sprung snare, you wouldn't start by letting Orks trigger it.

Who would suspect Rhodes can control the greenskins? When both sides are bloodied, he steps in and seizes them.

"Right. And I'll do more than purge leftovers. The remaining genestealers aren't a huge threat—some nobles hosting them, that's all.

"Vigilus's problems are far worse. The chaos here needs proper correction," Rhodes said.

"Perfect plan, master! In that case, why not deploy Spheres to assimilate the Orks too? If they can eat the cult, they can eat greenskins," Tartarus suggested.

"We'll fuse them—just not yet. Watch. I'm setting a colossal pocket to bag Fulgrim," Rhodes said.

…

Days later, Mechanicus personnel on Vigilus detected an Ork junk-fleet inbound.

Everyone in the Imperium loathes the Orks.

Upon learning of the greenskins, local authorities alerted the Imperial Navy to intercept—under strict orders not to let greenskins ruin the Regent's welcome.

The Navy was speechless—intercept Ork fleets?

The Indomitus Crusade had drawn off major naval assets. Locally, only small craft remained.

Not even one battleship—just escorts, destroyers, light cruisers. Against Ork fleets?

Ork ships look like scrapyard junk, but don't doubt their performance. With the Waaagh! field, they're the stablest ships in the galaxy and can do bugged things—if Orks believe a ship works, it works; if they believe guns hit, they hit; if they believe their gravity ram can pancake a human cruiser, it does.

To fight Orks, you want a line of Imperial battleships.

Send these tin cans, and not only won't they crack Ork shields, they'll be harvested as parts to upgrade Ork junks.

So the Navy decided to ping Holy Terra for help.

Terra responded immediately, with the Emperor's directive.

The Navy was both relieved and baffled. Relieved they wouldn't be sent to die.

Baffled because the Emperor ordered them to hold position, defend their new port, wait for Guilliman's main fleet, then coordinate to destroy the Orks.

If the Orks land, the planetary Guard handles the ground war.

The Navy relayed the order to Vigilus's nobles.

All factions convened—nobility, Mechanicus, and the Imperial Cult—in a joint council established centuries ago by House Agamemnus to coordinate Vigilus.

"The Mechanicus must field all Skitarii and protectors. Vigilus cannot fall. It anchors the Nachmund Gauntlet, and the Regent will arrive soon. If we hold, we win," a noble declared.

"No problem. The Mechanicus can field many cohorts. But our numbers are thin—send us your private troops. We'll refit them for free into protectors and throw them into the fight," a tech-priest said coldly.

Yes, they could deploy—but lacked bodies. Send your house troops to be upgraded.

After cybernetics, they'd be better than your rabble.

Silence. Hand over private armies? Lose them to Mechanicus control and, even if they win, the nobles would be purged later.

"Our house troops must defend our interests. Instead, let the Ecclesiarchy deploy Sisters and Frateris. The Ecclesiarchy has been reforged; High Ecclesiarch Lorgar will aid us," another noble said.

Aside from the Mechanicus, the Ecclesiarchy is strong on Vigilus. With Lorgar's recent ascent, local cults restructured.

Battle Sisters are formidable—now even stronger than old Primaris Astartes in some respects. Vigilus's Sororitas aren't gene-daughters of the Imperial Princess, but their faith is iron.

The Frateris are being fully reequipped—new-era Frateris as Astartes-grade. But Vigilus's units lag behind the refit; they're still the old type.

The Imperium is vast. Even with cutting-edge tech, rollout takes ages; the next generation arrives before the current one is fully deployed. That's with the Emperor and Primarchs boosting efficiency—otherwise it'd be slower.

"The Frateris and Sisters will fight. But we have only a few hundred thousand Frateris, fewer than ten thousand Sisters. Even at full commitment, we can't annihilate this Ork horde," the Ecclesiarchal representative said.

They couldn't refuse, given the new doctrine—but the nobles had to bleed too.

"How about this—hive underclassers are idle anyway. Rather than let Orks butcher them, send them to the Mechanicus for conversion into protectors, to serve their highest purpose. Even in death, they return to the Golden Throne," a noble suggested.

The nobles approved—civilian lives are cheap, the Imperium's coin. The Cult and Mechanicus tacitly agreed.

"Decided. The lower-hive masses will be converted into Skitarii thralls," the tech-priest concluded.

As they deliberated, a warp-tear opened. Imperial reinforcements and the Ork fleet arrived almost simultaneously.

Blue battle-barges translated in—Ultramarines.

A psychic broadcast reached all powers planetside: Captain Calgar had arrived.

The Ork junk-fleet and the Ultramarines were within a light-year.

War was about to explode.