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)
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
- 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
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]
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
[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 5]
- [SUBJECT: NECRON TOMB WORLDS]
- [STATUS: UNAUTHORISED COPY — ORIGIN UNVERIFIED]
+++ 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.
+++ 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
+++ 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
+++ 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
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 +++
- 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
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
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 SIX +++
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.












