Not even the most audacious Inquisitor or High Lord would dare suggest a widespread investigation into petty vermin or minor heresies on Holy Terra. The Throneworld is a bastion of the most powerful and entrenched interests in the galaxy; to imply that xenos could dwell so close to the Golden Throne is a sacrilege in itself—unless, of course, the rot has already become undeniable.
Thus, when the Inquisitorial fleet, assembled under the Lord Regent's personal mandate, weighed anchor and departed Holy Terra, the Skaven went with them, hidden in the very bellies of those mighty vessels.
In truth, Whitesick's Clan Verminus, had long utilized the Throneworld's unparalleled interstellar transit network to establish warrens across countless Imperial worlds. Under the Great Horned Rat's blessing, a dark intellect had awakened in the common rats of the galaxy. These "feral" Skaven, initially unorganized and driven by a blind, animalistic worship of the Ruinous Powers, were swiftly brought to heel by Clan Verminus's agents and integrated into their expanding hierarchy.
On Holy Terra, Whitesick had used systematic theft and abduction to procure the secrets of the Machine God. He had secured the means to forge plasteel, ceramite, and even, most blasphemously, Auramite.
Entire production lines for elite gear, intended for the Militarum Tempestus, were pilfered by the vermin. When terrified logistics overseers reported that the Emperor's holy ordnance had been stolen by "rats," they were promptly executed, not only for failing to protect Imperial tithes but for the perceived lunacy of their "lies."
Through a calculated campaign of assassination and data-purging, any credible legends or reports of the Skaven's rise were erased from the record. Leveraging their proximity to the seat of power and their superior organization, Clan Verminus expanded aggressively. Using the warp-routes radiating from Terra, they established hegemony over thousands of worlds in a terrifyingly short span.
True to their nature, Clan Verminus became renowned for their staggering numbers and surprising martial quality. As the sole chosen champion of the Great Horned Rat within the Imperium Sanctus, Whitesick worked tirelessly to elevate his status. He mimicked the Schola Progenium, establishing his own Claw Academies. There, psychically gifted white-furred rats and physically imposing black-furred rats were indoctrinated to serve as Whitesick's personal command echelon.
Meanwhile, the first target of Grand Inquisitor Glapas Veriel and his "Operation Vermin Blight" fleet was Trier, an industrial world a mere twenty-five light-years from Terra. It was here that reports of bipedal rat-men were most frequent and most desperate.
"The latest reports from Trier, my Lord," an officer of the Order of the Argent Shroud announced, kneeling to present the data-slates to the Inquisitor.
Veriel reclined in his command throne, relishing his newfound authority. With Astartes, Battle Sisters, and hundreds of thousands of elite mortal soldiers at his beck and call, he saw himself as a hero in the making. He began to leaf through the files. Trier had provided the most detailed intelligence, including grainy pict-captures and post-mortem biological analyses of the xenos.
"To think these wretched xenos have destroyed so much of the Emperor's property," Veriel hissed. "The population of this world should be put to the torch for such negligence!"
The reports were damning: the Skaven were linked to over two hundred industrial fires and explosions. More than three hundred storehouses had been gutted by massive thefts. Most absurd of all was the loss of the Dominator-class Battlecruiser, the Valiant Horn. The ship's captain had been executed after claiming that rat-men had swarmed out of the ship's vents, slaughtered the crew, and hijacked the vessel into the void.
The Grand Inquisitor knew the infestation on this Forge-adjacent world was severe. This was where he would draw first blood.
Months later, the Inquisitorial fleet translated from the Warp into the Trier system.
Lucius did not interfere. He watched with detached curiosity, eager to see how the humans of the 41st Millennium would handle the Skaven scourge.
The Planetary Governor and the nobility of Trier received the Terran emissaries with cautious hospitality. Veriel, however, bypassed all pleasantries, demanding absolute command over all planetary defense forces. Despite their resentment, the local elites had no choice but to surrender the PDF to him under the Lord Regent's seal.
Though driven by vanity, Veriel was a fanatically loyal servant of the Throne. He personally led teams of Astartes and Battle Sisters into the depths of Lostar, the planet's largest hive-city. Within the labyrinthine lower hive—a rusted wonder of ancient machinery slick with oil, toxic smog, and lethal radiation—he began his search.
"Here..." Veriel pointed toward a cluster of interlocking girders. Beneath a layer of industrial grime, he found them: jagged bite marks on heavy steel, exactly as described in the reports. There were dozens of them, some fresh, some oxidized by time.
"By the Emperor... we have found the nest," Veriel's voice boomed through his vox-grille. "Begin the extermination!"
When the order was given to conduct a floor-by-floor, pipe-by-pipe search of the ancient hive, the local nobility thought the Inquisitor had lost his mind. Lostar Hive was a "spaghetti-code" of architectural madness, its complexity defying mortal comprehension.
But Veriel was resolute. Any sacrifice was acceptable if it yielded results he could present to Guilliman.
The Great Purge began. Hundreds of thousands of elite troops climbed through the cracks of the hive's metal skeleton, detonating walls and dredging sewers choked with heavy-metal sludge.
Finally, the first Imperial squad made contact.
In a factory sector abandoned for centuries and buried beneath kilometers of metal, a unit of Tempestus Scions found themselves surrounded. They were ambushed by bipedal rats, outnumbering them five-to-one, wearing crude flak armor and wielding weapons that spat searing green projectiles. The skirmish was brief; the Scions' superior training prevailed after several hours of brutal close-quarters fighting.
Veriel was ecstatic at the sight of the piled xenos corpses. He ordered the carpet-search to intensify.
Over the following year, the Imperium recorded hundreds of such "victories." Yet, inexplicably, reports of Skaven sightings and sabotage did not decrease; on the contrary, they multiplied.
The Skaven grew bold, directly raiding Inquisitorial supply depots. Even common, non-sapient rats seemed to act as their accomplices. Weapon magazines frequently detonated without warning; investigations invariably revealed that rats had gnawed through shell casings, triggering catastrophic chain reactions.
"Arrogance! These foul xenos mock me!" Veriel roared, staring at a weekly report showing a thirty percent increase in sabotage.
He could feel the insult. If this continued, he wouldn't finish purging a single world in his lifetime.
"Contact the Adeptus Mechanicus immediately! I want Chem-Weapon divisions!" he screamed. "Flood their filthy tunnels with toxin! Choke them in their holes! I want every single one of them dead!!"
"At once, my Lord!"