Chapter 292: The Most Miserable God (Patreon)

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Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.

With the Hive Fleet Leviathan’s Norn-Queen slain and its main command bioships annihilated, the Tyranid assault on Baal finally collapsed.

Biovessels and lesser organisms still drifted throughout the system, but without synaptic command they had degraded into little more than feral beasts, mindlessly circling debris fields or tearing into one another in instinctive feeding frenzies. Cleaning the system would still take time, for the scale of the swarm had been titanic even by Tyranid standards.

Ever since Adam informed the Burning One that the Lord of Talon would personally arrive at Baal, the C’tan-shard had simply stopped involving itself in anything, waiting idly for its target to appear.

Baal was not the Burning One’s domain, nor were the sons of Sanguinius its servants. It had every reason to ignore local affairs entirely, and its aloof stillness radiated a subtle pressure that made even seasoned warriors keep their distance.

The Talon Fleet cooperated with the Imperial Navy to hunt down the remaining biowarships, while the Sons of the Angel began the arduous purge of Baal, Baal Secundus, and Baal Primus.

Even with the Tyranid synapse network shattered, the aftermath resembled a system-wide plague: oceans of spores, drifting carcasses the size of fortresses, and ruined hives still crawling with half-alive biomass that clung to the last remnants of purpose.

Simultaneously, another operation began alongside the clean-up: the construction of an ultra-massive dimensional transit beacon.

The orbital shipyard established the beacon’s primary station near Baal’s sun.

When the station’s construction was completed, the entire system flashed with a pulse of blue light.

A rift, planet-sized and shimmering with multidimensional energies, tore open across the void.

From within it emerged a metallic world, escorted by two moon-sized satellite structures, which slowly settled into orbit around Baal’s sun.

The Celestial Engine had arrived.

One satellite rotated, its weapon arrays tracking the scattered Tyranid biovessels; the other quietly powered up its lance systems.

A communication request pinged the Angelic Fortress.

Grey was responsible for liaison with the Blood Angels.

When the connection stabilised, Grey expected to see a company captain, perhaps even someone of lesser rank. Instead, a tall figure wearing a golden death mask appeared, flanked by the upper command staff of the Blood Angels Chapter.

Phoros had mentioned Blood Angels hierarchy before; Grey immediately realized he was looking at Chapter Master Dante himself.

By etiquette he should have saluted first, but Dante spoke ahead of him:

“Your fleet and equipment have served Baal well. We are in your debt.”

“I will relay your words to the Governor,” Grey replied. “I have heard what transpired here. We offer our highest respect to all warriors who bled for Humanity this day.”

Dante nodded slightly. Then he added, “The great fortress-monastery is secure. The Lord of Talon may enter at any time via transport craft.”

Grey froze for a moment.

Nowhere in their mission plans did visiting Arx Angelicum appear, nor did meeting the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels.

Talon’s high command had assumed the Blood Angels were unlikely to view the Talon Sector with the same warmth the Lamenters did, and the presence of the Inquisition made open contact inadvisable. Better to avoid public association altogether.

Dante reaching out personally, and doing so with calm courtesy, and even suggesting that their Lord could enter the Arx Angelicum, was wholly unexpected.

Grey’s purpose in initiating contact had simply been to avoid misunderstanding: he did not want Baal thinking the Celestial Engine had arrived as a threat.

“Please convey my invitation,” Dante reminded him calmly.

Grey immediately forwarded the message and, receiving orders, replied:

“Our presence here is solely to retrieve a dangerous entity. We will not remain in the system long.”

Before Dante could respond, the Burning One manifested within the transmission feed.

It looked skyward for a heartbeat, then launched upward in a streak of fire, flying directly into the Celestial Engine.

Once the Celestial Engine had taken aboard the Burning One, the immense world-engine folded back into the dimensional rift and vanished, its departure accompanied by a sweeping storm of arcing energy that vaporized every remaining biovessel in the system.

The Talon Fleet recovered the beacon station near the sun, then activated their own dimensional engines and departed as well.

“They… simply left?” Mephiston murmured in disbelief, staring at Dante.

Karlaen glanced at the Chief Librarian, then at the Chapter Master, equally astonished.

Everyone had initially assumed the Talon had come to collect repayment.

The power armor, the fleet support, none of it looked like charity.

Surely the Celestial Engine’s arrival meant they were here to extract a price, perhaps even to pull the Blood Angels and their Successors into becoming another set of vassals like the Lamenters.

Dante had even prepared a response.

But they came, took only the flaming entity, and left without a word.

“Isn’t that for the best?” Karlaen said, palms up in disbelief. “Surely none of us planned to serve them the way the Lamenters do.”

“Of course not,” Dante responded. “But gratitude must still be expressed… and whether we like it or not… I fear we owe them a favor.”

....

The Celestial Engine and Talon Fleet did not translate far; they slipped into the neighboring Infernis System.

Here too, the Tyranid swarm had descended into chaos.

The Leviathan Iron Men mothership had departed earlier, leaving nothing behind but devastation.

The conflict between the Tyranids and the Iron Men had been so apocalyptic that no world in the system remained salvageable. No one would object if it degraded further.

The Burning One materialized on the surface of Infernis III, brought there against its will. Above, both moon-sized satellites realigned their fire control, and atop the main planetary structure of the Celestial Engine, a colossal seventy-kilometer siege cannon also locked onto the planet.

Yet even this was barely enough against a near-complete C’tan shard that had not fallen into madness.

As the Burning One stood upon the ruined surface, Qin Mo and the Shapeshifter appeared before it.

“So… only two of the Seven Who Hid Themselves remain?” the Burning One said with a flickering grin. “Perhaps being a coward was never a good long-term survival strategy after all.”

It showed no anger at being abducted here and targeted by weapons; it had, after all, finally met the “C’tan” it sought.

As for the Celestial Engine aiming at it… the Burning One considered that simply prudent vigilance, like a wary duelist watching an opponent’s blade rather than an insult.

The shard even seemed amused, as though appreciating the tactical honesty.

“Still relying on your crafted toys?” The Burning One turned its burning gaze toward the Celestial Engine. “And you’ve chosen humanity as your favored race and servants? Sharp choice. Their mouths tend to stay closed, most of the time.”

Qin Mo wasn’t sure how to respond, so he looked at the Shapeshifter.

The Shapeshifter had already shifted into its fluid, formless war-shape, prepared for battle.

But Qin Mo could feel that it was not courage radiating from it, but fear.

“The being before you is not the Forgemaster anymore,” Qin Mo said quietly. “If you wish to reminisce with an old friend, you will have to find someone else.”

The Burning One’s eyes, flames swirling like twin suns, narrowed. It stared at Qin Mo in silence.

The first moment it beheld him, it had sensed something wrong: this was the Forger, yet not the Forger. The power of a C’tan was there, but the essence was young.

Not weakened, simply… new.

This essence didn't refer to power or function, but rather a concept akin to a soul.

“But you do have the Forger’s abilities,” the Burning One murmured, almost to itself. It wanted those words to be true. “You can help me… can’t you?”

“What do you need?” Qin Mo asked.

“To make me whole.” The Burning One raised a hand.

Space tore and twisted beside it, weaving into a new scene:

Two Burning Ones trapped within a fragment of the Webway. One raving, spitting fire, screaming for all life to burn. The other seated on the ground, withdrawn and silent.

Two halves of a broken will, one consumed by fury, the other hollowed by despair.

“You don’t know how long it took me to find… myself. A full one hundred thousand years! I tried to merge the fragments myself. Even though the largest piece of me was bound by those damned usurper-slaves, it didn’t matter. As long as I could keep reassembling, there was still hope of becoming whole again. But I realized… I no longer possess the skill.”

From the Burning One’s words, Qin Mo heard not rage, but tragedy. A miserable god scattered across eternity, unable to become whole. An immortal mind trapped in its own broken reflections.