Excommunicate Traitoris: An Instructional Analysis

 

Excommunicate Traitoris: An Instructional Analysis.

INQUISITORIAL TRAINING DATASLATE: CASE STUDY 44‑XENO/RED

Segmentum Tempestus – Schola Progenium Annex, Inquisitorial Induction Wing

Access Level: Acolyte‑Primus and Above

Purpose: Instructional Material – Psychological Integrity & Operational Purity

This dataslate is issued to all newly sanctioned Inquisitors to reinforce a foundational truth of our vocation:

the greatest threat to the Imperium is not the xenos without, but the weakness within.

The following case study has been preserved not for morbid curiosity, but as a stark reminder of what occurs when an Inquisitor allows emotional entanglement, hesitation, or personal sentiment to erode the clarity of their mandate. The subject’s fall is not unique — merely the most illustrative. Let this record serve as a warning: the moment you believe yourself immune to corruption is the moment it begins.

CASE STUDY: INQUISITOR [REDACTED] — ORDO XENOS

Initial Assessment

• Promising operative.
• High doctrinal compliance.
• Exhibited restraint, precision, and a strong grasp of xenological threat patterns.
•   Cleared for independent field operations earlier than standard.

Operational Record

• 17 successful purges.
• Multiple commendations for clarity of judgment.
• Noted for “measured empathy” during interrogations — flagged but not actioned.

Observed Deviation

Phase I — Isolation

- Subject began extended solo deployments.

- Communications became sporadic.

 - Retinue dismissed or reassigned without explanation.

Phase II — Emotional Drift

- Subject spared a hybrid organism during a sanctioned purge.

- Rationale: “Potential insight into behavioural divergence.”

- This was the first recorded deviation from protocol.

Phase III — Compromise

- Captured during an unsanctioned investigation.

- Held for eleven months.

- Recovered with extensive scarring, a bionic ocular implant, and fragmented loyalty markers.

Phase IV — Collapse

Post‑recovery evaluations indicated:

• Ideological instability

• Emotional volatility

• Reliance on non‑sanctioned xenotech

• Repeated challenges to doctrinal purity

Final Judgment

Status: Excommunicate Traitoris

Order Issued By: Lord Inquisitor [REDACTED]

Directive: Kill‑on‑sight

Reasoning:

• Emotional compromise

• Doctrinal deviation

• Failure to uphold the purity of the Throne’s mandate

“Compassion is a luxury the Inquisition cannot afford.
Doubt is a crack.
A crack becomes a fracture.
A fracture becomes heresy.”

This case is not presented to inspire fear, but discipline.
You are the blade of the Emperor — and a blade must never bend.

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UNAUTHORISED ADDENDUM — ORIGIN UNCONFIRMED

(Recovered from corrupted dataslate. Purge order pending.)

“They will tell you he fell. They will tell you he broke. They will tell you he turned from the Throne. Lies — all of it. I watched him stand against horrors that would have shattered the minds of the Lords who condemned him. I watched him bleed for worlds they will never bother to name. And when he returned — scarred, half‑machine, half‑ghost — they looked at him and saw not a survivor, but an inconvenience. A reminder that even the strongest can be abandoned. They call him traitor because it is easier than admitting they failed him. If this fragment survives, let it be known: the Imperium did not lose him. It threw him away.”

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INQUISITORIAL DOSSIER: THREATS WITHIN — PART 3 OF 3

 

The Dangers Facing Mankind.

[IMPERIAL ARCHIVE // ACCESS LEVEL: EXTREMIS]

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 9 ]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

Recovered Testimony (Source: Unknown Inquisitor)                 Written after transfer to Ordo Hereticus.

Extract from the Personal Log of Inquisitor‑Designate L—

Timestamp: Indeterminate. Vox‑scramble integrity: Failing.

The transfer order arrived without explanation. A single parchment, unsigned, bearing only the sigil of the Ordo Hereticus. No commendation. No justification. Not even the courtesy of a reprimand. Just a relocation, as one might reassign a malfunctioning servitor to a quieter corridor.

I had thought myself valued. Or at least necessary. Instead, I am shunted sideways into an Ordo that regards every deviation as treachery and every uncertainty as sin. They will not see a loyal servant in me. They will see a liability. A stain. A problem to be contained rather than trusted.

My superiors have abandoned me to them. My peers have not spoken a word in my defence. Their silence is a verdict more damning than any formal censure. They know something is wrong—perhaps they have known for longer than I have—and yet they choose distance over duty. Cowards, all of them, content to let the Hereticus pick my bones clean rather than confront the rot that festers in our own ranks.

And the Emperor… I have prayed for clarity, for even the faintest flicker of His light. Nothing. Not a whisper. Not a sign. I was taught that His gaze falls upon all loyal servants, guiding them through doubt. But I feel no guidance. Only the cold weight of being unseen. Unacknowledged. Unwanted.

The ledgers mock me. My seal, my hand, my authorisations—each one a quiet betrayal I apparently committed with perfect bureaucratic precision. If this transfer is meant to correct me, it is far too late. If it is meant to punish me, then let them at least have the courage to say so.

I am being moved like a piece on a board whose game I no longer understand. Perhaps I never did. Perhaps I was merely convenient until I became inconvenient.

Still, I will continue. Not out of faith—faith has grown thin and bitter—but because someone must drag the truth into the open. If the Hereticus wishes to judge me, let them do so with full knowledge of what they allowed to fester.

Let this entry stand as testament: I was loyal. Even when loyalty was rewarded with exile.

Original document reportedly copied and circulated across multiple hive‑levels by means unknown. All confirmed possessors executed for the dissemination of proscribed material. Further copies suspected to exist within lower‑hive data‑crypts.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Servitor conversion of all implicated individuals PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: Severe

• [FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 10]
• [SUBJECT: THE RUINOUS POWERS: CHAOS GODS]
• [STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

The Immaterium and Its Hidden Sovereigns

A sanctioned overview for restricted circulation only.

There exists, beneath the surface of reality, a realm that should not be spoken of lightly. Imperial doctrine names it the Immaterium, though most who have brushed its tides prefer the older, more fearful term: the Warp. It is not a place in any conventional sense, but a roiling ocean of thought, emotion, and unshaped potential — a mirror held up to the collective soul of the galaxy.

To describe it plainly is considered dangerous. To understand it fully is impossible.

Within that shifting unreality dwell entities of vast and terrible sentience. The Ordos refer to them, with deliberate understatement, as the Ruinous Powers. Others whisper of Dark Gods, though such language is discouraged in official records. These beings are not divine in the manner of the Emperor’s holy radiance; they are the accumulated weight of mortal passions given form. Rage, despair, ambition, excess — each emotion, when magnified across uncounted minds, becomes a presence that stirs and hungers in the depths of the Warp.

Their influence is subtle, insidious, and endlessly patient. They do not strike openly. They seep. They whisper. They shape the weak-willed and the desperate, bending them toward ruin with promises that are never truly fulfilled.

The Imperium teaches that vigilance is our shield against them. Yet even vigilance has limits. The Warp is not merely an enemy without; it is an enemy within — a reflection of all that mortals fear, desire, and deny. To study it is to risk contamination. To ignore it is to invite catastrophe.

Thus, the Ordo Hereticus watches. Thus, we are commanded to act.

The Four Great Powers of the Immaterium

A restricted enumeration of the Primordial Annihilator’s principal manifestations.

Within the Immaterium, four vast psychic dominions loom above all others. Their names are seldom spoken aloud, even within the Ordos. Each embodies a singular emotional spectrum, magnified across uncounted mortal minds until it becomes a god in all but name. What follows is a sanctioned outline only — a gesture toward comprehension, not true understanding.

Khorne — The Lord of Battle

Whispers name him the Blood God, though such terminology is discouraged in formal records. He is the embodiment of rage, slaughter, and unrestrained violence, a psychic continent formed from every act of murder since the dawn of sentience. His influence governs the spectrum of war, wrath, and bloodshed, and his domain is said to be a throne of brass atop a mountain of skulls. He despises sorcery, subtlety, and hesitation. To shed blood — any blood — is to feed him.

Nurgle — The Plague Lord

The most grotesque of the Powers, yet paradoxically the most “welcoming.” He is the god of decay, despair, disease, and the inevitability of entropy. His spectrum is that of death and rot, but also the false comfort found in surrendering to hopelessness. His followers speak of him as “Grandfather,” a kindness that masks the truth: he is the patron of stagnation, the slow unravelling of all things into filth and ruin.

Tzeentch — The Changer of Ways

A being of impossible geometry and shifting faces, the embodiment of change, sorcery, ambition, and the hunger for transformation. His spectrum is that of fate, mutation, and the arcane, a constant flux of schemes within schemes. He is the patron of those who seek power through knowledge, manipulation, or forbidden arts. To attempt to understand his designs is to invite madness; to believe one has succeeded is to fall into his snare.

Slaanesh — The Dark Prince

The youngest of the Powers, born from the excesses of a dying civilisation. He embodies pleasure, sensation, obsession, and the pursuit of ever-greater indulgence. His spectrum is that of excess and desire, where every boundary becomes a temptation and every restraint a challenge. His beauty is said to be irresistible; his gifts intoxicating. Yet all roads in his service lead to ruin, for satisfaction is a horizon that forever recedes.

Extract from the Personal Log of Inquisitor‑Designate L—

Timestamp: Fragmented. Internal chronometer unreliable.

I have begun to notice… alignments. Not evidence — nothing so solid — but alignments. Patterns that should not exist, yet persist all the same. A phrase repeated in two unrelated reports. A sigil half‑scratched into the corner of a requisition form. A junior scribe who looked away too quickly when I entered the archive vault. Small things. Insignificant things. But they accumulate.

 The Ordo Hereticus prides itself on vigilance, yet I cannot shake the feeling that I am being watched not with suspicion, but with amusement. As though my arrival was anticipated. As though my confusion is part of some… design.

I have seen no cult. No heretical texts. No forbidden rites. And yet the air here feels thick with unspoken intent. Conversations halt when I approach. Documents I request arrive with curious delays. My quarters were “reassigned” twice in a single day, each time with a different explanation. None of it proves anything. All of it feels wrong.

Tzeentch. Even writing the name feels like a transgression. The Changer of Ways thrives on uncertainty, on the subtle twist of fate, on the quiet rearrangement of truth into something unrecognisable. If a cult of his exists within these halls, it would not reveal itself through crude mutation or overt sorcery. It would hide in bureaucracy. In the procedure. In the shifting of one file from one shelf to another.

Perhaps I am imagining it. Perhaps the strain of my transfer has unsettled my judgement. But I cannot ignore the signs — or what I believe to be signs. The Hereticus is a labyrinth, and I have been placed at its centre without a map. Every corridor feels like a test. Every colleague is like an actor reading from a script I have not been given.

If there is a conspiracy here, it is woven with threads too fine for ordinary eyes. If there is not… then the conspiracy is within me. A thought I find no comfort in.

I will continue to observe. Quietly. Carefully. If they are watching me, let them believe I am blind. If they are not… then perhaps I can still convince myself that I am not losing my mind.

The Changer of Ways delights in doubt. I must not give him mine. And yet… I fear I already have.

ORDO HERETICUS — AFTER‑ACTION JUSTIFICATION DOSSIER

Subject: Sanctioned Exterminatus of Hive‑World Pelagos IX

Author: Inquisitor‑Designate L—

Clearance: Omega‑Black. Circulation restricted.

1. Purpose of Report

This document serves as the formal justification for the deployment of Exterminatus‑grade sanctions upon Pelagos IX. The action was executed under my authority following the identification of what I assessed to be a developing large‑scale heretical infiltration consistent with Tzeentchian subversion patterns. This report outlines the indicators, rationale, and threat projections that informed the decision.

2. Initial Indicators

While no overt heretical activity was detected, several anomalies were observed across administrative, astropathic, and civilian channels. These included:

• Repeated discrepancies in census data, with population figures fluctuating by margins statistically improbable for a stable hive world.

• Astropathic echoes inconsistent with standard transmission bleed, suggestive (in my assessment) of psychic masking or layered messaging.

• A series of administrative reassignments within the planetary governance structure that mirrored known patterns of Tzeentchian infiltration cells (ref. Ordo Hereticus Archive: Casefile 77‑Theta).

• Multiple coincidental alignments of dates, sigils, and departmental codes, which, while individually innocuous, collectively formed a pattern too deliberate to dismiss.

These indicators were subtle, but subtlety is the hallmark of the Changer of Ways. The absence of overt heresy does not negate the presence of covert design.

3. Threat Projection

Based on the above anomalies, I projected the following risks:

• High probability of a nascent cult structure embedded within the bureaucratic strata of Pelagos IX.

• Potential for rapid escalation, given the world’s dense population and strategic location along a major warp‑route.

• Risk of memetic or psychic contamination should the suspected cult achieve critical mass.

• Likelihood of systemic collapse if infiltration reached the Adeptus Arbites or PDF command echelons.

Given the nature of Tzeentchian corruption — insidious, adaptive, and often undetectable until too late — the projected threat was deemed existential.

4. Justification for Final Sanction

Exterminatus was authorised on the following grounds:

• Containment Failure Risk: The suspected heretical influence, if allowed to mature, could have spread beyond Pelagos IX, compromising neighbouring systems.
• Inability to Verify Purity: Standard investigative measures were rendered unreliable due to the possibility of psychic obfuscation.
• Strategic Imperative: The world’s position made it a potential staging ground for warp‑borne incursions.
• Doctrinal Precedent: Ordo Hereticus protocols permit pre‑emptive eradication when signs of Tzeentchian manipulation reach a threshold of systemic distortion (ref. Protocol 9‑Vermillion).

While no single piece of evidence was conclusive, the cumulative pattern indicated a threat of unacceptable magnitude. In matters concerning the Changer of Ways, hesitation is often fatal.

5. Outcome Assessment

The world has been rendered inert. No further anomalous transmissions have been detected. The potential vector — whether real or merely anticipated — has been neutralised.

6. Personal Statement (Sealed)

I acknowledge that some may question the necessity of this action. They will point to the absence of confessions, artefacts, or mutations. They will say the signs were insufficient. They will say the world was innocent.

But innocence is a mask Tzeentch wears well. Patterns do not emerge without intent. Coincidences do not cluster without design. I saw the shape beneath the surface. I acted before it could solidify.

If I erred, then I erred on the side of the Imperium’s survival. Let that be my defence.

Concluding Assessment

The Exterminatus of Pelagos IX has triggered immediate internal review. Preliminary findings from the Ordo Hereticus Oversight Conclave indicate “procedural irregularities” and “insufficient evidentiary foundation,” placing Inquisitor‑Designate L— under formal censure threat. His seal remains provisionally active, but only under strict observation. The Conclave’s language suggests a presumption of fault, though the investigation remains ongoing.

The following sealed journal extract was recovered from his private cogitator shortly after the initial inquiry.

Extract from the Personal Log of Inquisitor‑Designate L—

Timestamp: Redacted. Emotional stability rating: Concerning.

They dare to question me. Me. After everything I have done in service to this crumbling Imperium, they sit in judgment as though they possess clarity I lack. As though they have ever acted with decisiveness when faced with the unknown. They speak of “overreach,” of “insufficient cause,” of “reckless sanction.” Cowards’ words. Words spoken by those who fear the truth I uncovered.

They claim Pelagos IX was innocent. Innocent. As if innocence means anything in a galaxy where corruption hides behind every smiling face and every stamped form. They did not see the patterns. They did not feel the shift in the air, the subtle warp‑tug that threaded through every report. They did not stand where I stood. They did not understand what I understood.

Now they threaten me with censure. They whisper that my seal may be revoked. Revoked! As if I were some junior adept who misfiled a requisition. They forget who I am. They forget what I have sacrificed. They forget that I acted because they would not.

Jealousy. That is the root of it. Jealousy and fear. They resent that I saw the design before they did. They resent that I acted without waiting for their permission. They resent that I cannot be controlled, cannot be bent into their quiet little hierarchy of obedience and stagnation.

Let them glare. Let them mutter. Let them threaten. They think they can strip me of my seal, but they cannot strip me of the truth. They cannot unsee what I have seen. They cannot unwind the pattern now that it has revealed itself to me.

If they believe they can silence me, they are fools. The Changer of Ways moves through these halls — I know it, I feel it — and they would rather blind themselves than admit their own complicity. They call me unstable. They call me compromised. But I am the only one who understands what is coming.

If they take my seal, it will only prove what I already know: the corruption runs deeper than even I feared.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Servitor conversion of all implicated individuals PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: Severe

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 11]

[SUBJECT: UNCONTROLLED PSYKERS]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

Uncontrolled Psykers and the Peril of the Unseen

A restricted treatise on the vulnerabilities of the mortal mind.

Across the Imperium, psykers are both a necessity and a liability. They are conduits to the Immaterium, able to draw upon its tides for communication, divination, and defence. Yet the Warp is not a passive medium. It is a realm of predatory consciousness, and every psyker is a door—however small—through which something hungry may peer.

The Nature of the Psyker’s Burden

Psykers do not merely sense the Warp; they touch it. Their minds brush against currents shaped by emotion, fear, ambition, and despair. This contact is perilous even for the trained. For the untrained, it is catastrophic.

Uncontrolled psykers exhibit:

• Unshielded thought‑patterns that act as beacons to Warp entities.
• Instability of will, making them susceptible to suggestion, intrusion, or outright domination.
• Psychic bleed, where their emotions spill into the Immaterium and attract corresponding predators.
• Unpredictable surges, which can tear open rifts or manifest phenomena beyond mortal comprehension.

The Imperium’s harsh measures—sanctioning, soul‑binding, the Black Ships—are not cruelty. They are containment.

Daemonic Possession: The Silent Catastrophe

Possession is not a dramatic event. It is not heralded by fire or thunder. It begins with a whisper, a flicker of thought that is not one’s own. A daemon does not seize a mind; it seduces it. It offers clarity, power, and relief from fear. It mirrors the host’s desires until the host cannot distinguish their own will from the intruder’s.

Once anchored, a daemon can:

• Rewrite memory, erasing the moment of intrusion.
• Mimic sanity, allowing the host to function undetected.
• Influence behaviour, nudging events toward corruption.
• Spread contamination, using the host as a vector for cult formation or psychic destabilisation.

By the time overt signs appear—glossolalia, mutation, warp‑flare—the battle is already lost.

Why the Hereticus Watches Closely

The Ordo Hereticus views uncontrolled psykers as potential catastrophes waiting for a moment of weakness. A single unsanctioned mind can doom a city. A cluster can doom a world. The Warp needs only a crack, and psykers—especially frightened, untrained psykers—are full of cracks.

The Imperium survives not because psykers are safe, but because the Inquisition assumes they are not.

Extract from the Personal Log of Inquisitor‑Designate L—

Timestamp: Unreliable. Emotional integrity: Severely compromised.

I have always despised psykers. Even the sanctioned ones. Especially the sanctioned ones. They walk among us draped in the Emperor’s supposed blessing, yet every breath they take is a risk, every thought a potential breach. They are cracks in the hull of reality, and we pretend they are tools. Tools! As if a daemon cares whether the door it enters through carries a seal of approval.

Now my superiors claim I am “erratic,” “unbalanced,” “compromised.” Their words, not mine. They look at me with that same patronising pity they reserve for psykers who burn out during testing. As if I am the one who cannot be trusted. As if I am the danger.

I know what has happened. I see it clearly, even if they refuse to. One of those wretched mind‑touched creatures has meddled with my thoughts. It must have. How else could my judgment appear clouded to them? How else could they look at my actions—necessary actions, righteous actions—and see madness instead of clarity?

They whisper that I am “losing the plot.” Losing the plot? No. The plot has been rewritten around me. Twisted. Warped. A psyker’s influence, subtle and insidious, is threading doubt into the minds of those who should stand with me. They think I do not notice the glances exchanged behind my back, the sudden silences when I enter a room, the way reports concerning me vanish into sealed archives.

Someone is pulling strings. Someone with the stink of the Warp on their soul. They want me discredited. They want my seal revoked. They want me silenced before I uncover the truth they are so desperate to hide.

I will not allow it. I will not be undone by a creature whose very existence is an affront to the Imperium. Let them threaten censure. Let them question my stability. Let them circle like carrion birds waiting for me to fall.

I am not the one who is compromised. I am the only one who still sees clearly.

And if they cannot see the psyker’s hand in all this… then perhaps they are already lost.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Servitor conversion of all implicated individuals PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: Severe

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 12]

[SUBJECT: TRAITOR SPACE MARINES]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

Traitor Astartes: The Imperium’s Greatest Fear Made Flesh

A restricted introduction to the fallen sons of the Emperor.

The Adeptus Astartes were created as the Imperium’s ultimate weapon—genetically engineered demigods, clad in ceramite, armed with faith and fury. They were meant to be incorruptible, unbreakable, the Emperor’s will made manifest. Yet even they proved vulnerable to the whispers of the Warp. When a Space Marine falls, he does not simply betray an oath; he becomes a weapon turned inward, a catastrophe wearing the armour of a hero.

Traitor Chaos Space Marines are the remnants of those Legions that turned during the Horus Heresy and the countless renegades who have fallen since. Twisted by the Warp, sustained by daemonic pacts, and driven by hatred older than most civilisations, they represent a threat unlike any other. They know Imperial doctrine, Imperial tactics, Imperial weaknesses—because they once embodied its strengths.

Their corruption is not merely physical. It is ideological. Spiritual. Existential. They are proof that even the Emperor’s finest can fall.

The Nature of the Traitor Legions

A sanctioned overview of their origins and enduring threat.

The Traitor Legions were once the Emperor’s most trusted armies. Their fall reshaped the galaxy. Their continued existence threatens it still.

• The Black Legion — Once the Sons of Horus, now the spearpoint of Abaddon’s endless crusades.
• The World Eaters - Berserkers of Khorne, driven by implanted rage and daemonic hunger.
• The Death Guard - Rot-swollen heralds of Nurgle, immune to pain and decay.
• The Thousand Sons - Sorcerers of Tzeentch, their bodies dust, their souls bound in armour.
• The Emperor’s Children - Devotees of Slaanesh, obsessed with perfection and excess.
• The Word Bearer's - Fanatics that turn whole sub-sectors to worshipping Chaos.
• The Night Lords - Torturers and the bringers of terror beyond imagining.
•  The Iron Warriors - Siege specialists, builders of Daemon Engines
• The Alpha Legion - Masters of infiltration, web of contacts and agents everywhere.

Each Legion embodies a different facet of Chaos, yet all share one truth: they were once loyal. Their fall is the Imperium’s greatest shame—and its greatest warning.

Why the Imperium Fears Them Above All

A strategic and psychological analysis.

Traitor Astartes are feared not simply because they are powerful, but because they represent the Imperium’s deepest vulnerability: the possibility that its greatest creations can become its greatest destroyers.

Their threat is multifaceted:

• Knowledge of Imperial warfare — They know how the Imperium fights, thinks, and reacts.
• Superhuman resilience — Even uncorrupted, a Space Marine is a nightmare to face. Corrupted, they are worse.
• Daemonic augmentation — Many bear gifts from the Warp, making them unpredictable and monstrous.
• Symbolic power — Their existence undermines the myth of Imperial infallibility.
• Endless hatred — They fight not for conquest, but for spite, vengeance, and the joy of ruin.

A single Traitor Marine can destabilise a world. A warband can topple a sector. A Legion can break an empire.

The Imperium’s Unspoken Terror

A reflection on the weapon that turned upon its maker.

The Imperium rarely speaks openly of the Traitor Legions. Their existence is a reminder that loyalty is not absolute, that even the Emperor’s chosen can fall, and that the line between hero and heretic is thinner than doctrine admits.

To acknowledge them fully would be to acknowledge that the Imperium’s greatest strength—its superhuman warriors—is also its greatest liability. Every new Chapter founded carries the shadow of the old betrayals. Every gene-seed implantation is a gamble. Every oath sworn is a hope, not a guarantee.

The Traitor Astartes are not merely enemies. They are warnings carved in ceramite and blood.

Extract from the Personal Log of Inquisitor‑Designate L—

Timestamp: Non‑linear. Cognitive integrity: Failed.

They are coming for me. I hear the footfalls in the corridors—too heavy, too measured, too deliberate to belong to mortal men. Astartes. Emperor preserve me, I know that tread. Even after all these years, the sound of ceramite on stone turns my blood to ice. Loyalists, they will claim. Loyal to whom? Certainly not to me. Not to truth. Not to the Imperium I have bled for.

Traitor Marines… I have studied them, feared them, hunted the shadows they leave behind. But now I feel their presence everywhere. In the silence between vox‑bursts. In the way the lights flicker when I pass. In the way the walls seem to breathe. They are the Imperium’s greatest shame, its greatest failure, its greatest warning—and now they have been turned against me. Or perhaps they were always here, waiting, watching, wearing the armour of the righteous while serving darker masters.

The Inquisition calls me a liability. A danger. A cracked blade unfit for war. They whisper that I have lost my sanity, that I see threats where none exist. Fools. Blind, deaf fools. They do not understand that the Traitor Astartes do not need to reveal themselves to be present. Their influence is enough. Their hatred is enough. Their memory is enough.

I know what this is. I know why they come. They fear what I have uncovered. They fear the patterns I have seen. They fear that I have glimpsed the truth behind their masks. They will not permit me to speak. They will not permit me to warn anyone. They will silence me before I can expose the rot that has taken root in their precious order.

I can feel them drawing closer. The air grows colder. The shadows lengthen. My seal—my authority, my identity—is meaningless now. They have already decided my fate. They will call it justice. They will call it necessary. They will call it mercy.

But I know the truth. I know who truly hunts me. Not the Conclave. Not the scribes. Not the petty bureaucrats who pretend to power.

It is them. The fallen sons. The Emperor’s greatest mistake. The Imperium’s doom made flesh.

I hear them outside the door now. Heavy. Patient. Certain.

They think they have won.

They think—

Entry terminates.

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INQUISITORIAL DOSSIER: THREATS WITHIN — PART 2 OF 3

 

The Dangers Facing Mankind.

[IMPERIAL ARCHIVE // ACCESS LEVEL: EXTREMIS]

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 4]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

Recovered Testimony (Source: Unknown Inquisitor)

For longer than any mortal span should permit, I have hunted in the shadows. I have walked the dark places of the galaxy, prying loose secrets that were never meant to be known and erasing them before they could take root. Entire worlds have died at my order — billions of souls extinguished for crimes they never understood. Deathwatch kill‑teams, the Emperor’s finest, have surrendered their near‑immortal lives so I could bury threats that still returned to ash the planets they once defended.

And that was merely my tenure with the Ordo Xenos. The things I witnessed — and sanctioned — under the Ordo Hereticus were worse by far. After so much death, so much sacrifice, I know my soul is forfeit. I know I will never stand at the God‑Emperor’s side. I find I no longer care.

So this will be my final act: to write this report and pray my remaining contacts can smuggle it into the wider Imperium. I doubt it will matter. The centre cannot hold. Entropy is the only true law of the universe. And I… I can no longer play my part in delaying it.

Original document reportedly copied and circulated across multiple hive‑levels by means unknown. All confirmed possessors executed for the dissemination of proscribed material. Further copies suspected to exist within lower‑hive data‑crypts.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Servitor conversion of all implicated individuals PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: Severe

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 5]

[SUBJECT: ORK PATTERNS AND BEHAVIOR — Ork WAAAGH!]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

+++ ORDO XENOS DOSSIER: ORKOID WAAAGH! BEHAVIOURAL PROFILE +++

The Ork “WAAAGH!” is less an army and more a migrating natural disaster. It is a psychic storm given crude, violent shape — a mass of greenskins whose collective aggression fuels a gestalt field that grows stronger with every Ork that joins it. Discipline is nonexistent; strategy is accidental; cohesion is achieved only through shared bloodlust and the overpowering presence of a dominant Warboss.

Standard WAAAGH! signatures include:

• Chaotic, contradictory movement pattern
• Constant infighting and disorganised brawling
• Improvised weaponry and haphazard armour
• Loud, uncoordinated vocalisations (“WAAAGH!” being the most common)
• Zero evidence of ritual, synchronisation, or structured behaviour

In all recorded cases, Orks display only the most primitive tactical awareness. Their strength lies in numbers, ferocity, and the unpredictable amplification of their latent psychic field — never in discipline or unity.

What follows should not exist. Orks are creatures of impulse and anarchy; their brutality is chaotic, their unity accidental. They do not plan, they do not synchronise, and they most certainly do not change. Yet the fragment below records behaviour that contradicts every principle the Ordo Xenos has verified across ten thousand years of observation. I note this with reluctance… and with a measure of unease I will not commit to the official record.

+++ BEGIN TRANSCRIPT: DESIGNATION GOLGOTHA-RED-17 +++

+++ SOURCE: DEATHWATCH HELMET CAM, BROTHER-SERGEANT VARRON +++

+++ LOCATION: HAZE-DELTA MINING COMPLEX, OUTER RIM +++

Visual feed opens on a corridor carved from raw stone. Flickering lumen-strips. Static interference increasing at irregular intervals.

VARRON: Contact sign— hold. Emperor’s blood… that’s no standard warband.

Audio distortion. A low, rhythmic chanting becomes audible — not Orkish bellowing, but something closer to a drone. Unified. Structured.

VARRON: They’re… organised. Too organised.

Movement ahead. Several Orks emerge, but their gait is wrong — measured, synchronised. Their crude armour has been etched with spirals and intersecting lines inconsistent with any known clan markings.

UNKNOWN ORK (untranslated): —grruk… hnn’tek… hrrrnn—

The sound is not Ork speech. It is layered, harmonic, and almost ritualistic.

VARRON: That’s not possible. Orks don’t— [STATIC BURST] —repeat, they don’t do this.

One Ork raises a glyph‑plate. It pulses with a dull, sickly light. The other Orks respond in perfect unison, turning their heads toward the kill‑team with mechanical precision.

VARRON: Pull back. Something’s— [FEED TERMINATES]

+++ END TRANSCRIPT +++

+++ ADDENDUM: NO RECOVERABLE GENE-SEED. SITE EXTERMINATUS ORDERED +++

I have catalogued WAAAGH!s for centuries. I know their rhythms, their crude momentum, their idiot savagery. They are predictable in their chaos — a storm that rages, burns itself out, and leaves only wreckage behind. That is the one mercy the greenskins have ever offered the Imperium: they are simple. Brutal. Understandable.

But this… this is something else. Something colder. Something that moves beneath the surface of their crude psychic field like a shadow beneath black water. I find myself returning to the recordings again and again, searching for the familiar patterns, the comforting stupidity of the species. I do not find it.

Instead, I feel the pull of it — a slow, gravitational drag at the edge of comprehension. As if the WAAAGH! Itself has become aware, or worse, has been made aware by something that should not be able to touch them. Orks do not change. They do not evolve. They do not learn. And yet…

And yet the evidence sits before me, heavy as a collapsing star.

I tell myself this is an anomaly. A fluke. A misinterpretation born of exhaustion. But the truth presses in from all sides, patient and inevitable. If even the greenskins are shifting — if even they are being drawn into whatever unseen tide is rising — then the Imperium stands upon foundations far more fragile than we ever dared admit.

I feel it now, in the marrow. A hollowing. A quiet, widening void.

The WAAAGH! was never meant to look back at us.

+++ ORDO XENOS BRIEF: ORKOID BIOFORM CLASSIFICATION +++

Orks are not a species in the conventional sense. They are a bio‑engineered ecosystem — a self‑propagating weapon created in the ancient wars of the galaxy. Each greenskin is only one component of a larger organism: the WAAAGH! field, a crude but potent psychic gestalt that grows stronger as their numbers swell.

Their biology is a hybrid of fungal resilience and animal aggression. They do not reproduce through natural means; spores shed from their bodies seed entire worlds with lesser forms — gretchin, squigs, and the supporting ecology required for a full Orkoid infestation.

Violence is not a behaviour for them; it is a biological imperative. Their minds are simple, their desires simpler still: fight, grow, gather, and fight again. They do not innovate. They do not evolve. They persist.

This simplicity has long been considered their only mercy.

+++ SEGMENTUM OBSCURUS ARCHIVE REVIEW: LEVEL MAGENTA‑VIOLET +++

+++ DOCUMENT STATUS: PARTIALLY EXPUNGED UNDER PROTOCOL LITANY‑OF‑CORRECTION +++

The preceding material has been classified as non‑compliant with verified Ordo Xenos doctrine. All anomalous behavioural claims are attributed to data corruption, battlefield psychosis, or deliberate fabrication by the submitting agent. No deviation from established WAAAGH! parameters are recognised.

All associated logs have been incinerated under Protocol VINDICTA‑SEVEN. Cross‑reference with POLITY‑CIPHER: “Untruths That Threaten Stability.”

OFFICIAL POSITION: Orkoid behavioural constants remain unchanged. No deviation has been observed. No deviation will be recorded.

CIVILIAN SANITATION DIRECTIVE (THREAT INDEX: YELLOW‑NULL): Unauthorised possession or discussion of the unredacted report constitutes dissemination of destabilising xeno‑heresy. Civilians exposed to this material will undergo immediate cognitive purgation. Subjects deemed unsuitable for reintegration will be reassigned to servitor labour pools under Adeptus Mechanicus Directive 9‑Theta (“Repurposing of Contaminated Human Resources”).

Note: Servitor conversion is considered a merciful alternative to full penal reduction.

INQUISITORIAL PERSONNEL ADVISORY (THREAT INDEX: RED‑QUIETUS): Agents found circulating, referencing, or retaining the unredacted text will face censure, interrogation, and—if required—summary execution under Lex Imperialis Article

44‑Gamma. Appeals are not permitted under the Quietus Mandate.

+++ BY ORDER OF THE LORDS OF THE INQUISITION +++ +++ KNOWLEDGE IS A PRIVILEGE, NOT A RIGHT +++ +++ REMEMBER: TRUTH IS NOT FOR EVERY MIND +++

[ARCHIVE — REDACTED]

— Extracted from a corrupted data‑slate seized during an Ordo Xenos interdiction. Cross‑referenced with multiple unverified copies circulating in lower‑hive data‑crypts. Original author is believed to be the same unidentified Inquisitor referenced in Fragment 1.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Immediate servitor conversion of all individuals found in possession of this fragment PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: EXTREME

• [FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 6]
• [SUBJECT: NECRON TOMB WORLDS]
• [STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

+++ ORDO XENOS DOSSIER: NECRON TOMB WORLD PROFILE +++

+++ ADEPTUS MECHANICUS ADDENDUM: SILICA ANIMUS PROTOCOLS +++

By decree of the Martian Synod, all Necron constructs are to be classified under Silica Animus Proximity Index: BLACK‑OMEGA. Entities exhibiting autonomous machine‑logic, self‑repair capability, or non‑Imperial command hierarchies fall within the prohibited parameters outlined in the Treaty of Olympus Mons.

Cross‑reference: Men of Iron Incident Archives, sealed under Red‑Vault designation. Access requires dual Magos authorisation and invocation of the Litany of Severance.

Field personnel are reminded that:

• No communion rites are to be attempted with Necron systems.
• No data‑uplink, analysis‑interface, or machine‑spirit interrogation is permitted.
• Any tech‑adept exhibiting undue curiosity toward Necron artefacts will be subjected to cognitive excision under Protocol SCRUB‑NINE.

Deviation from these directives constitutes Tech‑Heresy Grade Sigma and will be met with immediate sanction.

+++ THE FLESH IS FRAIL +++

+++ THE MACHINE MUST ENDURE +++

+++ ORDO XENOS BRIEF: NECRONTYR BIO‑MECHANICAL ENTITIES & TOMB WORLD CLASSIFICATION +++

The entities designated “Necrons” are not living beings but self‑repairing necrodermis constructs housing the digitised remnants of an ancient species. Their bodies are metal, but their minds — such as they remain — are echoes of the Necrontyr, a civilisation that traded its mortality for immortality and found only enslavement.

Necron forces do not awaken naturally. They rise according to pre‑programmed planetary cycles, triggered by unknown stellar, geomantic, or temporal conditions. Each Tomb World contains a fully automated war‑machine infrastructure capable of repairing, replicating, and deploying legions without biological input.

Standard indicators of Tomb World activation include:

• Localised gravitational anomalies
• Sudden electromagnetic silence across entire continents
• Subterranean energy signatures inconsistent with any known Imperial technology
• Disappearance of scouting teams without distress signals

Once awakened, Necron forces operate with perfect coordination, absolute silence, and no detectable emotion. They do not negotiate. They do not retreat. They do not stop.

+++ DATA‑EXTRACT: EXPLORATOR FLEET THETA‑SEVEN‑NULL (STATUS: MISSING) +++

+++ BEGIN PARTIAL RECOVERY +++

+++ SOURCE: NOOSPHERIC BLACK BOX // PRIORITY: OBSIDIAN‑LOCK +++

+++ INTEGRITY: 12% // SEVERE CORRUPTION DETECTED +++

[0.03.11] …subsurface lattice detected beneath primary crust. Geometry non‑natural. Repeating pattern consistent with pre‑Imperial design but… older. Much older.

[0.03.12] Magos‑Dominus Hestian requests deeper drill‑rites. Tech‑acolytes report machine‑spirits exhibiting agitation. Auspex returns… contradictory.

[0.03.14] Structure responds to proximity. Not mechanical. Not biological. Something in between. Necrodermis? Impossible. Classification pending.

[0.03.17] —movement detected within the lattice. No heat signature. No life signs. Motion is… deliberate.

[0.03.18] Acolyte Renn reports auditory phenomena: “voices like metal remembering pain.” Logged as a hallucination. Cognitive purity test ordered.

[0.03.19] Hestian invokes Silica Animus Protocols. Warning sigils appear across all cogitator screens without input. Phrase repeated: WE ENDURE. WE WAIT. WE REMEMBER. Origin unknown.

[0.03.20] —contact. Metallic forms emerging. Humanoid silhouettes. No visible power source. No emissions. They simply… activate.

[0.03.20.1] Attempted communion‑link rejected. Machine‑spirit backlash severe. Three adepts rendered mind‑blank. One converted to servitor status on‑site.

[0.03.20.2] Hestian orders retreat. Too late. Entities phase through matter. Weapons useless. They are not attacking. They are… observing.

[0.03.20.3] Last visual: a figure larger than the rest. Crowned. Eyes like dying stars. It looks directly at the recorder. Signal collapses.

+++ END OF RECOVERY +++ +++ REMAINING DATA LOST TO QUANTUM CORRUPTION +++

+++ INQUISITORIAL JOURNAL: PERSONAL ENTRY (UNSANCTIONED) +++

I have reviewed the recovered data from Explorator Fleet Theta‑Seven‑Null no fewer than nine times. Each pass reveals something new — or perhaps I am only now seeing what was always there. The Mechanicus claims the integrity is twelve percent. I suspect it is far higher. Or far lower. The numbers shift when I look away.

The lattice they uncovered… the adepts call it “non‑natural,” but that is a coward’s word. It was constructed. Deliberately. With a purpose older than the Imperium, older than humanity, older than the stars that birthed us. The Magos believed it was dormant. He was wrong. They all were.

The movement detected within the structure — they insist it lacked heat, lacked life. But absence of heat is not absence of intent. Cold things can still hunger. Cold things can still remember.

The phrase that appeared across their cogitators — WE ENDURE. WE WAIT. WE REMEMBER. The Mechanicus claims it was a machine‑spirit malfunction. A glitch. A coincidence of corrupted code. I know better. Those words were not meant for the adepts. They were meant for us. A warning. Or a promise.

The crowned figure in the final visual… the Mechanicus identifies it as a “command construct.” Idiots. Blind, ritual‑bound idiots. That was no construct. That was a king. A ruler entombed in metal, watching us with the patience of a species that has already died once and found the experience tolerable.

They say the entities did not attack. That they merely observed. As if observation is harmless. As if predators do not watch before they strike. As if the dead cannot hate.

I find myself wondering how many Tomb Worlds lie beneath our feet at this very moment. How many crowns wait in the dark? How many eyes stare upward through miles of stone, waiting for the signal to rise. The Explorators believed they triggered the awakening. Fools. The Necrons do not wake because we disturb them. They wake because they choose to.

I feel watched now. Even here, in the sanctity of my chamber. The lumen flickers when I write of them. The air grows colder. Perhaps it is nothing. Perhaps it is everything. Perhaps the crowned one remembers me, though we have never met.

I must stop. My thoughts spiral. The shadows lengthen. The dead are patient, and I… I am running out of time.

[ARCHIVE — REDACTED]

— Extracted from a corrupted data‑slate seized during an Ordo Xenos interdiction. Cross‑referenced with multiple unverified copies circulating in lower‑hive data‑crypts. Original author is believed to be the same unidentified Inquisitor referenced in Fragment 1.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Immediate servitor conversion of all individuals found in possession of this fragment PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: EXTREME

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 7]

[SUBJECT: ASURYANI, HARLEQUINS, DRUKARI]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

+++ ORDO XENOS DOSSIER: ELDAR PROFILE +++

+++ ORDO XENOS BRIEF: AELDARI (ELDAR) SPECIES OVERVIEW +++

The species designated “Aeldari” are an ancient xenos race whose origins predate the earliest human records. Their physiology is superficially humanoid, but their neural architecture, sensory acuity, and psychic potential far exceed baseline human parameters.

The Aeldari are defined by three constants:

• Extreme longevity bordering on functional immortality
• Innate psychic resonance of dangerous magnitude
• A cultural history marked by catastrophic self‑inflicted ruin

Their civilisation collapsed in an event known only through fragmented xeno‑myths and unreliable astropathic echoes. Surviving factions — Craftworlders, Corsairs, Harlequins, and others — operate with motives opaque to Imperial analysis. Their actions appear contradictory, their alliances temporary, their warnings maddeningly vague.

The Aeldari claim to see the future. They claim to walk paths of fate. They claim to know what is coming.

None of these claims has been verified.

+++ FIELD REPORT: 122ND BECKNOR LINE INFANTRY +++

+++ AUTHOR: LT. HADRIEL TURNUS, 3RD COMPANY +++

+++ STATUS: UNSANCTIONED PERSONAL ENTRY +++

I record this while the memory is still fresh, though I doubt any words can capture what we witnessed upon the ash‑plains of Kharis Reach.

The xenos came upon us like a storm of fire and shrieking metal — the Eldar, their forms too swift and too perfect to be natural. At their head strode a giant of living flame, a towering war‑idol of their heathen god. The heat of it blistered skin through flak armour. Men burned simply by looking at it too long. It was a creature of pure hatred, a shard of some ancient blasphemy given shape.

And yet… we did not break. For the Emperor was with us.

From the smoke behind our lines came the thunder of adamantine footsteps. A Raven Guard Dreadnought — Brother‑Ancient Kaelor — advanced without fear, his sarcophagus‑voice booming litanies of vengeance. The Avatar roared, a sound like molten iron poured into a furnace. Kaelor answered with bolter and blade.

I swear upon my life: the ground shook with every blow. Sparks like falling stars rained across the battlefield. The Avatar’s blade carved trenches of glassed earth; Kaelor’s power fist shattered its molten armour. It was as if a god of fire and a god of war had descended to settle some ancient score.

And in that moment, I knew — truly knew — that mankind stands unmatched. That no alien, no matter how ancient or terrible, can stand before the Emperor’s chosen. The Avatar faltered. Kaelor did not. The Dreadnought tore the burning heart from the xenos idol and cast it aside like refuse.

The Eldar fled. We held the field. The Emperor protects. The Emperor prevails. The Emperor is all.

I will keep this record close. It is proof — undeniable proof — of mankind’s destined supremacy.

+++ INQUISITORIAL ADDENDUM: CLEARANCE LEVEL OBSIDIAN‑QUIETUS +++

+++ REVIEWING AUTHORITY: ORDO XENOS, SUB‑SECTOR CELL 9‑RHO +++ +++ DOCUMENT STATUS: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL TESTIMONY +++ +++ ACTION REQUIRED: PURGE +++

The above account contains multiple violations of Imperial Truth, including:

• Unregulated observation of xenos warp‑idolatry
• Improper theological speculation regarding “gods”
• Unvetted praise of Astartes engagement beyond authorised parameters
• Emotional language inconsistent with sanctioned field reporting

Such material constitutes Doctrinal Contamination Index: RED‑SEVERITY.

DISPOSITION: The 122nd Becknor Line Infantry is hereby declared compromised. Full regiment designated Traitoris‑Minoris under Article 77‑Gamma (“Exposure to Xenos Phenomena Resulting in Ideological Drift”).

SENTENCE: Total unit liquidation enacted via purifying flame. Survivors, if any, to be remanded to servitor conversion pools under Mechanicus Directive 9‑Theta.

NOTE: Lieutenant Turnus's remains were recovered intact. Cranial unit repurposed for data‑storage servitorization. Memory‑core excised.

+++ BY ORDER OF THE HOLY INQUISITION +++ +++ LOYALTY IS ITS OWN REWARD +++ +++ FAILURE IS ITS OWN END +++

+++ INQUISITORIAL JOURNAL: PERSONAL ENTRY (RESTRICTED) +++

I signed the order myself. The 122nd Varden Line Infantry — burned alive for the crime of witnessing what no mortal should see. I wrote the words with a steady hand, invoked the proper seals, cited the correct articles. I have done it a thousand times before. But this time… this time the ink felt heavier.

They were loyal. I know that now. Their awe was not heresy; it was humanity. They saw a god‑thing of the Eldar stride across the battlefield, and they clung to the only truth they had: the Emperor protects. They believed. And I killed them for it.

I tell myself it was necessary. That exposure to xenos phenomena corrodes the mind. That the Inquisition cannot afford sentiment. That doctrine must be preserved. But the words ring hollow. I hear echoes in the silence — the crackle of the pyres, the screams swallowed by flame. I ordered it. I ended them. And still the shadows lengthen.

The Eldar speak of fate. Of strands. Of paths. I used to dismiss it as xenos mysticism. Now I wonder if they see something we refuse to acknowledge. Something approaching. Something vast. Something old.

And the Inquisition… Emperor, forgive us… We hide more than we reveal. We bury truths so deep that even we forget why they were hidden. There are names we do not speak. Names I have only seen in sealed vaults, scrawled in the margins of forbidden tomes:

The K’thari. The Vur’Nak. The Hollow Wraiths. The Selenite Choir. The Khymeron Breed. The Glass Serpents. The Thirteenth Echo. The Hrud. The Ragda. The Khraive. The Nephailim. The Kinebranch. The Jokaero.

No records. No descriptions. Only the names — and the warning that knowledge of them constitutes automatic censure. Why? What did we face? What did we lose? What did we bury?

I fear the Becknor regiment died not for what they saw… but for what their survival might have implied. If the Eldar’s god‑spawn walks the battlefield again, then the old powers stir. And if the old powers stir, then the things we erased — the things we pretended never existed — may be stirring as well.

I ordered their deaths. I cannot undo it. But I feel the weight of it now, like a hand on my shoulder in an empty room. I feel watched. Judged. Not by the Emperor… but by the dead.

The shadows whisper. The names echo. And I… I am beginning to understand why the Inquisition fears knowledge more than ignorance.

+++ ORDO XENOS NOTE: AELDARI SUB‑FACTIONS & WEBWAY ACTIVITY +++

Harlequin warbands utilise the Webway with surgical precision, striking from impossible vectors before vanishing into sealed corridors of unreality. Their raids are theatrical, ritualised, and tactically flawless. Drukhari kabals employ the same network with far less restraint, launching predatory incursions into Imperial territory for slaves, pain‑tithe, and biological stock. Both factions exploit the Webway’s non‑linear geometry to bypass void defences entirely, appearing within secured zones without warp translation or detectable transit signatures. Imperial counter‑measures remain statistically ineffective.

+++ INQUISITORIAL JOURNAL: PERSONAL ENTRY (RESTRICTED – EYES ONLY) +++

I do not dream of them anymore. I wish I did. Dreams have edges. Dreams end. What the Drukhari did to me was not a dream. It was a lesson. A demonstration. A reminder that pain is a language, and they are its poets.

The raid on Veyl’s Landing lasted seventeen minutes. I remember the first three. After that… only fragments. A mask of bone. A blade that hummed like a living thing. Laughter — not mirthful, not mocking, but curious. As if they were studying me. As if I were a puzzle, they intended to solve one nerve at a time.

They did not ask questions. They did not demand information. They simply… explored. I recall one of them tilting my head to the side, examining my eye as though deciding whether to keep it. I recall the cold touch of metal on my spine. I recall the sensation of being opened, not physically, but… conceptually. As if they were peeling away layers of self.

My retainers found me. I do not know how. I do not know why the Drukhari allowed it. Perhaps they were finished. Perhaps they were bored. Perhaps they wanted me to live. To carry the memory. To spread it.

I was told later that I screamed when they touched me. I begged them not to take me back. I do not remember this. I hope it is a lie. I fear it is not.

The transfer to Ordo Hereticus was presented as a commendation. “Your expertise is required elsewhere,” they said. “Your insights into corruption will be invaluable.” But I saw the way they looked at me. I saw the hesitation. The pity. The fear. They know I am compromised. They know the Drukhari left something in me — not a device, not a toxin, but a fracture.

Sometimes, when the chamber is quiet, I feel as though someone else is in the room. Watching. Waiting. Not the Emperor. Not the dead. Something else. Someone who enjoys the waiting.

I tell myself it is trauma. A wound of the mind. But the Drukhari do not wound. They sculpt. They refine. They leave marks that do not heal.

I am not the man I was before Veyl’s Landing. I do not know what I am now. Only that the Inquisition no longer trusts me with the xenos. And perhaps they are right.

The shadows move differently since that day. And sometimes… I think they laugh.

+++ LORD INQUISITORIAL TRANSFER ORDER +++

+++ CLEARANCE: EBON‑TRIDENT +++

+++ DISTRIBUTION: RESTRICTED TO HIGH CONCLAVE PERSONNEL +++

Subject: Inquisitor [REDACTED] Former Assignment: Ordo Xenos, Sub‑Sector Cell 9‑Rho New Assignment: Ordo Hereticus, Penitus Division

1. Observational Summary

Following the incident on Veyl’s Landing and the subject’s subsequent recovery, a full psychological and doctrinal assessment was conducted under Protocol MIND‑SCOURGE/DELTA‑NINE. While the subject remains functional, several indicators of cognitive drift were identified, including:

• Residual trauma‑echoes from xenos captivity
• Unregulated emotional responses during debrief
• Persistent fixation on Drukhari methodologies
• Unapproved personal journaling of classified events

These traits, while not disqualifying, render the subject sub‑optimal for continued Ordo Xenos deployment.

2. Transfer Justification

In accordance with High Conclave Directive IRON‑CANDLE, personnel exhibiting post‑contact instability are to be reassigned to duties where their… sensitivities… pose reduced operational risk.

The Ordo Hereticus has expressed willingness to absorb the subject, citing “potential utility in matters of internal deviation.” This phrasing is noted.

3. Behavioural Monitoring Requirement

The subject is to be placed under Passive Observation Tier: GREY‑VIGIL, with escalation to BLACK‑VIGIL should further irregularities manifest.

Monitoring parameters include:

• Unscheduled absences
• Unorthodox doctrinal interpretations
• Excessive interest in xenos‑classified materials
• Signs of empathic drift toward non‑human entities

Should any of the above be observed, the subject is to be remanded for evaluation under Quietus Mandate Review.

4. Final Note (Internal Use Only)

While the subject’s service record remains commendable, it is the assessment of this office that the… fracture… incurred during Drukhari captivity is unlikely to fully mend. Such wounds seldom do.

The subject may yet serve the Imperium in a limited capacity. But he must be watched. For the remainder of his natural life.

Tools that crack under pressure can still be useful — provided one knows precisely when they will break.

+++ BY ORDER OF LORD INQUISITOR MALEK VORSTAN +++ +++ TRUST IS A PRIVILEGE, NOT A RIGHT +++ +++ OBSERVE WITHOUT CEASE +++

+++ CLOSING NOTE: END OF DOSSIER FRAGMENT EIGHT +++

Thus concludes the sanctioned material for this cycle. Xenos threats catalogued, anomalies recorded, and the Inquisitor’s mind left in a state that any sane authority would deem… compromised. But sanity is a luxury the Imperium does not afford its servants.

The next entry will address matters far darker than the Eldar, the Necrons, or any wandering horror of the void. For there are powers that do not lurk in tombs or glide through hidden paths — powers that whisper within the soul, rot the mind, and twist the flesh. Powers that cannot be studied without cost.

Chaos. It's gods. Its daemons. Its fallen sons.

There is no objectivity in such matters. No safe distance. No clinical detachment. Only the long, slow unravelling of those who dare to look too closely.

The Inquisitor’s descent has only begun.

INQUISITORIAL DOSSIER: THREATS WITHIN — PART I OF 3

 

The Dangers Facing Mankind.

[IMPERIAL ARCHIVE // ACCESS LEVEL: EXTREMIS]

[FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 1]

[STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

Recovered Testimony (Source: Unknown Inquisitor)

Listen closely, for these words are carved from the last remnants of my sanity. I have walked the hidden wounds of the Imperium for longer than any soul should endure. I have stared into the darkness that festers beneath our worlds, and in that silence — that crushing, suffocating silence — something stared back.

Humanity stands upon a precipice thinned by millennia of denial. We are beset from within and without by xenos, heretics, and mutants whose hatred has outlived empires. They wait in the shadows, patient as the void, for the moment when vigilance fails. And I have seen that failure too many times.

Some descend upon our worlds in storms of slaughter. Others whisper salvation to the weak‑willed, twisting them into willing instruments of their own ruin. There are those who revel in torment, peeling away sanity until their victims beg for release — a mercy withheld until the tormentor grows bored. And still more burrow into the cracks of our cities, nurturing cults that rot entire worlds from within, all to avenge wounds humanity has long forgotten.

These are the dangers I can name. But there are deeper shadows still — horrors that watched me as I watched them. I have gazed into the abyss for so long that I no longer know whether I study it… or whether it studies me.

You who hear this warning must not look away. You must see what others refuse to see. For if you, too, choose silence, then the abyss will not merely gaze back — it will claim us all.

— Fragment recovered from an unregistered data‑slate, seized during a lower‑hive purge. Significant portions redacted by order of the Ordo Hereticus. Believed to be the final testimony of an unidentified Inquisitor prior to censure.

Original document reportedly copied and circulated across multiple hive‑levels by means unknown. All confirmed possessors executed for dissemination of proscribed material. Further copies suspected to exist within lower‑hive data‑crypts.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Servitor conversion of all implicated individuals PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: Severe

• [FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 2]
• [SUBJECT: TYRANID INVASION PATTERNS — STANDARD HIVE FLEET APPROACH]
• [STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

- If you are reading this, then the first fragment reached you. That alone is cause for alarm.

Know now that the abyss I spoke of has many faces — and one of them hungers without limit. I have begun to dream of it, though I no longer trust which dreams are mine.

The Tyranids do not invade as other foes do. They do not negotiate, posture, or threaten. They arrive as a biological inevitability, a tide of flesh and instinct driven by a will vast enough to drown entire sectors. Their approach is heralded not by banners or declarations, but by silence — the psychic quiet that falls when the Shadow in the Warp smothers all thought. Driving into madness, minor Psykers and Omega Grade alike. That silence follows me now, even when I sleep

. Before the swarm descends, vanguard organisms infiltrate the world, slipping through void and atmosphere with predatory purpose. These creatures harvest genetic samples from every living thing they encounter. Flora, fauna, defenders, predators — all of it is taken, catalogued, and fed back to the Hive Mind.

From this stolen DNA, the Tyranids craft new bioforms, each one tailored to exploit the weaknesses of the world they intend to consume. If a planet’s beasts are swift, the swarm becomes swifter. If its defenders are armoured, the swarm grows stronger claws. If its atmosphere is toxic, the swarm adapts lungs that thrive in poison.

Every adaptation is deliberate. Every mutation is purposeful. The Hive Mind does not merely attack a world — it perfects itself upon it. Sometimes I wonder if it perfects itself upon us as well. I have felt… watched.

A standard Tyranid invasion follows a pattern as precise as it is horrifying:

• Vanguard organisms infiltrate and harvest DNA, marking the world for consumption.
• Spore clouds descend in planetary volumes, blotting out the sun.
• Gaunt swarms surge forward in endless waves
• Synapse creatures direct the tide with cold, alien precision.
• Bio‑titans, often shaped by stolen genetics, break the last strongholds.
• The Hive Fleet descends, stripping the world of all biomass.

This is not war. It is consumption. It is evolution made weapon. And I fear it has begun to evolve in ways we do not yet understand. I have gazed into this hunger, and I fear it has begun to gaze back.

[ARCHIVE — REDACTED]

— Extracted from a corrupted data‑slate seized during an Ordo Xenos interdiction. Cross‑referenced with multiple unverified copies circulating in lower‑hive data‑crypts. Original author believed to be the same unidentified Inquisitor referenced in Fragment 1.

SUPPRESSION STATUS: Ongoing RECOMMENDED ACTION: Immediate servitor conversion of all individuals found in possession of this fragment PROVENANCE: Unverified RISK LEVEL: EXTREME

• [FILE DESIGNATION: DANGERS FACING MANKIND — FRAGMENT 3]
• [SUBJECT: TYRANID INVASION PATTERNS — GENESTEALER CULT INFECTION]
• [STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]

The Genestealer Cults… Emperor preserve us, even writing the name makes the shadows feel closer. It always starts with one — just one — a stowaway organism clinging to the underside of a cargo pallet, hiding in some forgotten corner where the lumen strips flicker and the air tastes stale. One creature, overlooked. One moment of inattention. That’s all it takes for the factory line of corruption to begin its work.

Because that’s what it is — a process. A sequence. A grim, biological production line that never malfunctions, never slows, never stops. First a worker, tired and overburdened, brushing against something he doesn’t notice. Then a family, acting strangely, whispering in corners, eyes a little too bright. Then a brood, gathering in basements and maintenance tunnels, chanting hymns no human tongue should ever shape. And by the time anyone realises the pattern, the assembly is complete. The infection has already run its course.

It spreads through a hive the way coolant leaks through old pipework — unseen, unreported, until the entire system is compromised. It hides in the workforce, in the manufactoria, in the very pulse of the city. Every shift change becomes a vector. Every crowded transit car, every shared meal, every moment of human contact… another step on the conveyor belt toward damnation.

And Throne help me, once you’ve seen it happen, you start imagining it everywhere. You start checking the vents for movement. You start wondering why the lights flicker more than they used to. You start hearing things — soft breaths behind bulkheads, footsteps in empty corridors, the faint scrape of chitin on metal. You tell yourself it’s nothing. You tell yourself you’re being paranoid. But paranoia is a survival instinct in my line of work, and the Cults thrive on the moments when people convince themselves the dark is harmless.

I’ve watched worlds fall because someone dismissed a noise in the walls. I’ve watched entire populations march willingly into the jaws of the Great Devourer, smiling as they went. And I swear on the Emperor’s Throne, sometimes I think the Cults don’t just infect bodies — they infect hope itself, hollowing it out until all that’s left is devotion to something that should never have been allowed to exist.

It always follows the same cursed sequence. I’ve seen it enough times to recognise the pattern even when I try to pretend I don’t. The Cults grow like a machine assembling itself in the dark, each stage locking into place with mechanical certainty.

Stage I — The Stowaway

It never looks like a threat at first. A lone Genestealer crouched in the dark, limbs folded tight like a grotesque insect, its carapace blending into the grime of a cargo hold. The thing barely moves — just the slow, deliberate rise of its ribcage as it waits. Their eyes are the worst part. Not glowing, not monstrous… just aware. Watching. Calculating. A single creature like this can doom a world, and yet it hides so well that even trained dock crews walk past it without noticing the faint chemical tang it leaves in the air.

Stage II — The Tainted Worker

The first victim never realises what’s happened. They just feel… tired. A little pale. Maybe their pupils look wrong in the light, a touch too wide, a touch too hungry. They start avoiding medicae checks. They mutter about “purpose” under their breath. Their posture changes — shoulders hunched, movements slightly too smooth, as if something inside them is guiding their limbs. And Emperor help me, sometimes they smile at nothing, like they’re listening to a voice only they can hear.

Stage III — The Brood Takes Root

This is when the physical changes begin to show, but only if you know what to look for. A child with oddly elongated fingers. A spouse whose skin has taken on a faint, unhealthy sheen. A neighbour whose eyes reflect light like an animal’s. They gather in groups now, always in the same places — boiler rooms, maintenance shafts, old storage pits where the air is warm and the walls sweat condensation. Their whispered prayers echo strangely, as if the pipes themselves are answering.

Stage IV — The Hidden Congregation

By this point, the Cult has a shape. A hierarchy. A rhythm. You see robed figures moving through the manufactoria at shift’s end, their silhouettes wrong in subtle ways — too many joints, too fluid a gait. Symbols start appearing on walls: crude, chalk‑scratched icons that look like stylised claws or spirals. Workers begin wearing hoods indoors. Entire sections of the hive become “off limits” for reasons no one can explain. And the air… the air feels thicker, like it’s carrying spores or secrets.

Stage V — The Revelation

When they finally rise, the transformation is complete. Limbs elongate. Spines arch. Skin splits to reveal chitinous plates beneath. Some still resemble the humans they once were; others have become something far closer to the creature that started it all. Their chants become a roar. Their eyes burn with fanatic devotion. And the broodkin surge forward in perfect unison, as if guided by a single will. The hive’s corridors become tunnels of screaming, clawed bodies. The Cult doesn’t just reveal itself — it erupts.

I shouldn’t still be writing this. I should have sealed the chamber hours ago. But if anyone finds these notes — Emperor, just listen. The stages aren’t theory. They’re not conjecture. They’re happening. I can feel it in the walls. The vents keep hissing even when the airflow is shut off. Something is moving in there. Scratching. Clicking. I keep telling myself it’s just the metal cooling but… no. No, I’ve heard that sound before.

Don’t trust the quiet ones. Don’t trust the ones who avoid the light. Don’t trust the ones who smile too long or blink too slow. That’s how it starts. That’s how it always starts. One becomes two becomes a brood becomes a congregation and then— Throne, I can’t even finish the thought.

If you see the signs — any of them — burn it out. Burn it all out. Don’t hesitate. Don’t investigate. Don’t wait for confirmation. By the time you’re certain, it’s already too late. They’re already beneath your feet. They’re already behind your walls. They’re already—

…Emperor preserve me, something’s at the door.

 [ ████████████████ : CLOSING RECORD]

Status: Investigation incomplete. Subject matter deemed highly volatile. Threat Classification: XENOS INFILTRATION — TIER SEVEN Primary Vector: Biological subversion; multi‑stage reproductive corruption Observed Pattern: Sequential escalation consistent with known ████████████ incursions Recommended Response: Immediate containment, sterilisation protocols, and denial of all subterranean access routes

Inquisitorial Note: Signs of psychological strain detected in final annotations. Handwriting irregularities suggest duress during composition. Archival Directive: Preserve document in sealed vault. Cross‑reference with prior outbreaks on ████████, █████████, and ████████████.

[CLOSING NOTICE — AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY]

Remain vigilant. If these fragments have taught you anything, let it be this: the shadows are never empty, and silence is rarely a comfort. The signs are subtle at first — a flicker in the lumen strips, a shift in the air, a whisper that doesn’t belong to any living throat. Do not dismiss them. Do not assume safety. Complacency is the first victory the enemy claims.

This record ends here… for now. Further details cannot be included in this transmission without compromising operational integrity. But know this: another missive exists. Hidden. Buried. Waiting for the right moment to surface. When it does, you will understand why these warnings were not enough.

Stay watchful. Stay armed. Stay alive. Part II will follow when the channels are clear.