Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 152: Infiltrator

The moment it touched the floor, the entire world shrank.

All sensors transitioned from silence to active states, and the lingering sensations of its residual organic flesh fragmented into data, integrating into its subconscious.

It was born to be a weapon—a killer and executioner—but it was accustomed to performing these tasks from a distance.

It was not a Castellan-type, nor a Crusader-pattern, and it even differed from a Castellax-class.

They relied not on cold mechanical circuitry and wetware logic, but rather on their un-augmented, unburied human brains to think and to judge.

The realm of emotional action was clumsy; the variables were far too subtle and prone to miscalculation.

It meant chaos. It symbolized weakness and destruction.

But occasionally, it was also necessary.

Because it possessed a flexibility far exceeding mechanical circuitry—

And it possessed ego.The pungent odor of heavily ionized air entered its olfactory sensors and was rapidly logged into its analysis queue.

Conclusion: Three weapons, energy-based, 93% probability of being las-weapons, charge-to-fire cycle time of 0.5 seconds.

It rose from its crouch, its metal frame making not a single sound.

Deduction: The opponents' training level and conditioned reflexes dictate they will issue a warning prior to firing.

It twisted its body, dropping into a crawl, splaying its limbs like a spider. Subsequently, two red energy pulses streaked across its former position.

Conclusion: One enemy has yet to fire.

Its metallic muscle bundles began to constrict.

Deduction: Delaying fire to employ explosive offensive measures.

Intelligent and dangerous.

With a twitch of its metallic fiber-muscles, it leapt from the floor just as a rocket struck, tearing the metallic decking into shrapnel.

It contorted its body mid-air while flying, both hands seizing the edge of a still-open ventilation shaft.

Conclusion: Action route comprised.

It violently hauled itself into the air duct.

Analysis: Corridor door, distance 30 meters, currently locked, the only viable exit.

It could hear the roars of the xenos in the corridor below, accompanied by heavy footsteps. Then, a recess opened in its metallic palm, dispensing a smooth sphere.

Deduction: As long as they live, escape is impossible.

The technology of this grenade hailed from an ancient era; since its creation, it had served as a backup offensive measure.

Its surface was smooth, akin to bone dust, and regardless of when it was touched, it always seemed to match the ambient temperature—neither hot nor cold.

It possessed no data regarding its origins; the only thing it knew was what would happen upon detonation.

That was sufficient.

It dropped the grenade through the grate and instantly retracted its body deeper into the duct.

Conclusion: Grenade deployment requires 1 second.

Following that, a beam of light vaporized the edge of the grate, the resultant burst of heat washing over its metallic skin.

Analysis: Silence.

Deduction: Opponents terminated.

It activated its scout-vision network, continuously cycling through the feedback transmitted by its mechanical servo-bugs scattered within the surrounding corridors.

There was not a single Humie in sight, or at least it appeared so.

Conclusion: Safe to proceed.

It slid out from the ruined vent, hanging suspended for the duration of a heartbeat.

The entire corridor was painted red. A thick layer of viscous, gelatinous gore coated the floor and ceiling, with scattered solid chunks amidst the dampness.

Count: 5 seconds.

Five seconds later, it dropped down, its metallic feet causing a slight splatter upon landing.

Count: 11 seconds.

Deduction: Estimated time for the enemy to notice casualties is 9 to 15 seconds.

It began to run. Things were bound to get messy; the mission was facing a direct threat, which meant the possibility of complete operational failure had become a very tangible reality.

Count: 13 seconds.

The sealed bulkhead leading from the corridor into the primary ventilation duct was just ahead. Its scout-vision was projecting the scenes of the surrounding compartments and passages within a certain range, while its servo-bugs reorganized into a protective perimeter around it.

Count: 14 seconds.

The servo-bugs on the opposite side of the bulkhead detected movement; a xenos had entered the opposing corridor.

It noted the uniform, as well as the wrench in its hand.

Deduction: A mechanic.

Count: 16 seconds.

It slammed the bulkhead doors open, rushing through without breaking stride.

Hearing the noise, the mechanic turned around and opened its mouth, but cold metallic hands had already closed in. One hand clamped onto the target's temple, while the other thrust into its throat.

Several micro-projectiles shredded the target's brain matter, while the suppressor in its throat choked off any sound.

The mechanic instantly collapsed.

Count: 19 seconds.

Deduction: Must depart immediately; a bloodstained corridor will cause further complications.

It needed to extract itself from here and reach the designated position, reconnect to the remote data feed, and then activate that.

Count: 23 seconds.

Deduction: Probability of the enemy discovering casualties, 64%.

It ducked into a small compartment, heaving a rusted hatch upward from the floor. A space of profound darkness stared back at it.

Count: 26 seconds.

Conclusion: Roars echoing in the distance.

Deduction: Probability of the enemy discovering casualties, 99%.

It spotted the grated door, carefully pushed it open, and stooped down, sinking into the darkness.

Count: 30 seconds.

Deduction: Distance to target coordinates, 800 meters.

Conclusion: Accelerate advance.

"Shields."

Ordering the shield wall to reform, Soshyan stared dead ahead. He could feel the singular eye of the greenskin atop the throne glaring right back at him.

It was an Ork Freebooter. A massive iron jaw supported a golden tusk that nearly reached its nose. One eye was concealed beneath a black eyepatch, while the other sized up the Space Marines that had suddenly appeared.

Then, it stood up.

"Grey Cans."

Surprisingly, what erupted from its thick throat wasn't a crude roar, but blurred yet discernable human speech—and High Gothic at that.

"Dis is just a bizness deal fer me. Da boss (the Warboss of the Vorenus system) pays da teef, I does da fightin'. So I ain't lookin' ta risk me neck wit' ya. My part's mostly done. Tell yer ships ta drop it, get off my tub, and I'll be on me way. Nobody owes nobodies nuffin'."

Soshyan had heard tell that unique individuals occasionally arose among the greenskins, possessing mindsets divergent from their kin.

They understood arbitration, they understood trade, and they would even serve as mercenaries for certain human factions.

However, as an Astartes, Soshyan held absolutely no possibility for compromise.

"Kneel, repent, and accept the penalty of death; that is the fate you must face for invading Imperial territory and slaughtering Imperial citizens."

Soshyan raised his sword, pointing it at his adversary. The Ork boss instantly flew into a rage.

"Den we fight! Ye fink I'm scared of a handful of ya?! Ye twenty-somethin' Iron Humies fink ye can turn da tide!!!"

At that moment, a signal flashed across the tactical display of Soshyan's helmet, prompting a smile to grace his lips.

"Then come."

Boom—!

A massive explosion startled all the greenskins. Before they could even turn around, the ventilation grate above the bridge crashed down, and simultaneously, a silver form slipped from the darkness.

In its hand was a blinking red teleport homer.

"Dis—"

Although clueless as to what was occurring, the Ork Freebooter boss sensed a sudden shift in air pressure, alongside an impending storm of distant noise.

Thus, he was the first—perhaps the only—greenskin to vacate his current position.

The next second, lightning flared. Arcs of static electricity and displaced air formed a tempest that sent every greenskin tumbling.

By the time they finally regained their bearings, a forest of steel had materialized behind them—

"Purge the xenos, leave none alive."

All the Castellax-class Battle-automata raised their arms in perfect unison.

Following that, the thunder of discharging weapons and the dying shrieks of the xenos echoed endlessly across the bridge.