Dakora-7 - Lower Levels
The elevator plunged into the hive's bowels, passing through layers of toxic smog and industrial vapors. The new captain of the guard, a macabre promotion earned over his predecessor's corpse, stared straight ahead, his face hidden behind a gas mask. In the metallic reflection of the doors, he saw the eyes of his men – not the fervent loyalty of elite guards, but the terrified resignation of condemned men.
They were descending into the Underhive, a world of darkness and despair that the Governor claimed to rule but had never had to face personally. The order was absurd, dangerous. Finding master psykers down here? It was like looking for diamonds in a pile of radioactive garbage. But the Governor's orders, now emanating from a visibly broken and possessed mind, were absolute. Frustration and disgust mingled in the captain's throat. They were no longer the protectors of Dakora-7, but the guard dogs of a growing madness.
---
Aboard the Star Walker
Julius's rest was brutally interrupted. The soft warmth of his four Pillars – Kirenna, Selene, Alana, and Vyka – intertwined with his in the gloom of his quarters was replaced by the cold glow of a holographic screen and the calm voice of Data.
"Lord Commander, a priority message from the cruiser Ouroboros. Code Black has been invoked."
Julius's eyes opened, all traces of sleep instantly gone. Code Black. Daemon. The situation on Dakora-7 had just shifted from a military annexation to an imperative purge.
He rose in a fluid motion, his imposing frame silhouetted in the dim light. "Data, lock on to the Ouroboros's position. Order the entire armada to prepare for space folding. I will not lose that cruiser."
Internally, a more pragmatic and brutal thought crossed his mind: Those are my energy units, damn it. My investment.
Without wasting a second, he continued, his voice taking on the martial tone of supreme command. "Contact Grand Admiral Thrawn. Have him prepare the battle groups for heavy engagement. And Data..."
A cold glint passed through his eyes.
"...awaken the Irons Skulls."
---
In the Hangars of the Star Walker
The general alarm blared, a strident clamor that stirred the bowels of the flagship. In their dedicated hangar, bathed in a hellish red light, the giants stirred.
The Irons Skulls.
That was the name borne by these elite warriors, Terminators encased in oversized, heavy-duty versions of CMC armor. Their carapace was ink-black, matte, absorbing light like a black hole. Their helmet, stylized into the shape of an iron skull with hollow eye sockets and a welded jaw, was more than a piece of armor; it was a symbol of imminent death. Each unit represented a colossal investment in resources and training, a definitive solution to the most tenacious problems.
With hydraulic hisses, the black colossi disengaged from their maintenance cradles. Servo-servants scurried around them, checking weapon systems, loading ammunition hoppers for the heavy rotary cannons they carried as if they were mere assault rifles. The air vibrated with the hum of generators and the metallic clatter of actuators. There were no shouts, no screamed motivations. Only a deathly silence, broken solely by the mechanical sounds of preparation.
They stood there, immobile, walls of metal and destruction, waiting for the door to the hell of Dakora-7 to open. The message was clear: where the Death Troopers and Vikings had failed to contain the threat, the Irons Skulls would bring total annihilation.