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Chapter 222: Shall We Call It Hope's End?
🕑 Added 2025-10-06 12:14:44 +0000 UTCChapter 222: Shall We Call It Hope's End?
A cold hololithic projection slowly rotated in the center of the bridge. The surface of the vividly colored planet pulsed with an ominous light.
"I brought this planet under my control 146 years ago," the Fabricator-General's voice explained. "Due to the nature of my personal research, I did not bring a large force. This led to severe losses when I encountered the heretical natives on the surface."
"This native population has mastered the technology of an ancient xenos race known as the Necrons. These metal xenos possess powerful technology. Their numerous, deeply buried pyramidal tombs across the galaxy are proof of their former glory. It is known that these xenos and the Aeldari were mortal enemies for a very long time."
"The surface natives currently reside in mobile hive-cities that constantly migrate across the planet's plains. Their political entity is controlled by an Abominable Intelligence. Their primary weapons are gauss-series weaponry and units of the metal xenos. They are able to significantly suppress psychic powers through some kind of Blackstone-like technology, similar to the hereteks of Ryza. Their mobile city's shields are capable of withstanding a direct hit from a Nova Cannon. They can likely only be dealt with via boarding actions."
For the sake of the two unknown Primarchs and the massive fleet composed of several Chapters, Fabricator-General Krik's tone was unusually patient. But with every word, he was layering buffs on the surface-dwelling human natives, making the 41st-millennium commanders listening practically foam at the mouth. Xenos, A.I.... just add Chaos and you've got a full set.
Romulus let out a soft laugh. He had eyes. He would see for himself. And he had a mouth. He would speak.
"I had initially hoped to recruit them to provide raw materials for my forge-city," Krik continued. "But during our interactions, my Skitarii came under heavy attack. If not for the fact that my forge-city is built in a lava flow, my stronghold would have fallen long ago. I will dispatch a servitor to transmit the detailed data to you. After my research is complete, I will provide appropriate compensation."
"Understood," Romulus's voice was low and calm, his eyes still on the projection. The ground forces were advancing cautiously, choosing a relatively stable plain to assemble. The terrain data on the projection was constantly refreshing, showing the planet's abnormal environment. Rainforests and glaciers alternated, storms and lava raged, and the coastline changed every moment, the geological shifts far exceeding the natural laws. Only the plains between the rifts remained briefly stable, and that was where the human mobile cities were gathered.
"Thank you for your assistance," the Magos said, and then fell silent.
'That should be enough,' Krik thought, breathing a sigh of relief in the depths of his forge-city. In the current extremist Imperium, when A.I. and xenos technology were involved, a direct conflict was inevitable. After all, no Imperial commander could bear the accusation of sympathizing with xenos and attempting to control A.I. And why would they sympathize? Weren't all heretics who did not conform to the mainstream Imperial ideology to be annihilated?
As long as a fight breaks out, it will never end. This branch of humanity would be slaughtered. Their heretical ideas and their bones would be burned to fertilize the soil of the Imperium. Their technology would belong to the Adeptus Mechanicus, to fill the gaps in the Omnissiah's knowledge. And he would achieve his goal.
Krik gripped the cube, the mechadendrites connected to his innumerable wetware components computing ceaselessly, trying to breach its defenses. He had to obtain the technology that could easily manipulate an entire star system, and then bury this secret forever.
Click—
The great door behind him opened.
"Solemnas, I do not believe you should be in this location at this time," the Fabricator-General, towering like a behemoth, turned his body and stared with displeasure at the apprentice who was picking through his laboratory. He carried a uniquely shaped xenos staff, clearly a Necron relic. Not long after Krik had begun his research, this apprentice, who had also been exploring the outer reaches, had arrived on this planet and, with that staff, had successfully bridged the gap to the xenos technology that had so frustrated Krik.
"Oh, my apologies, my master. Your actions are altering a grand historical node. The thought of the magnificent events that may occur in the future... even I am often lost in contemplation," 'Solemnas' replied.
Krik didn't remember his apprentice being so flippant. His gaze fell on the staff. He wanted to take it for himself, but he was currently powerless against his apprentice. Having obtained the xenos technology, the apprentice seemed to exist in another dimension. The body that was currently moving around was like a phantom. So Krik could only endure. He was certain that the apprentice, having broken free of his control, would not share the technology with him, just as he would not share it with others. He even had a constant desire to kill anyone who touched upon the secret of the technology.
"Solemnas," Krik said, his displeasure growing.
"Oh, my lord, how can you blame me?" Solemnas said with an exaggerated, unknown gesture of courtesy. "Your computations have slowed. I have discovered some unknown information and thought to see if my dear master needed assistance."
"..."
The Fabricator-General's mechadendrites twitched again. "What did you receive?"
"Hmm—a cry that can only be described as a tragedy. Unimportant to you."
Krik stared at his apprentice, the iron plates and gears of his body beginning to vibrate at a high frequency. Solemnas shrugged indifferently.
"...You may leave," Krik's voice was suddenly frighteningly calm, all his offensive mechanical components ceasing their operation at once. "Please continue to fulfill your duties." The massive body turned back. After considering and confirming that he really had no way to deal with his apprentice, Krik continued to gaze at the endless field of tombs. To be pressured by a Primarch was one thing. To be defied by his own apprentice was another. He felt he had never been so humiliated in his entire life.
'Solemnas' vanished, leaving only a few wisps of green after-images to slowly dissipate in the air.
Unlike what the Fabricator-General imagined, the apprentice did not return to his work. In the blink of an eye, he appeared in a deep tomb that even the Fabricator-General did not dare to enter. The faint light of the xenos staff illuminated the ancient hieroglyphs on the walls. Solemnas's long fingers swept across the display racks, tossing one cold metal relic after another into the floating, deep green cube. The objects vanished as if swallowed by the surface of water the moment they touched the cube.
In the space stored within the cube, on a display stand, a piece of information was inscribed in the languages of six ancient human races.
[To those of us 40,000 years hence:]
[Is the world at peace? Has famine been eradicated? What is the span of a human life? How far have we traveled among the stars? How many friends have we made?]
[Yes, humanity is ever progressing. Perhaps you have found a better place to live, created a more advanced society. Perhaps even a shameless brigand can command a fleet that crosses the galaxy. Then please, tell me—]
[Is Earth still well?]
[Humanity, do you still remember us?]
"Ah, another great tragedy," he sighed, looking at the data on his staff. His gaze then fell on a vast, empty exhibition hall in his collection.
"Beautiful~" he said, as if seeing a premonition, a vision of the chaos of the Age of Strife and the burning galaxy of the Great Crusade intertwined. "I shall call you... Hope's End, Part Three."
His voice echoed in the empty tomb. The darkness in the depths of the tomb seemed to respond to his words. Some ancient mechanical device was still dutifully emitting a low hum.
Solemnas tilted his head, as if listening to an unseen audience.
"What do you think?"
The question slowly dissipated, and was finally gone. His figure gradually faded, the last to disappear being the stubborn green light at the tip of his staff.
