Chapter 1: waking relics
Chapter Text
Deep beneath the surface of Mars, where time had buried secrets even the Mechanicus dared not dream of, a group of Tech-Priests worked tirelessly. The ancient vault had been uncovered during a routine mining expedition. Encased in a stasis field, two sleek pods hummed faintly, their design incomprehensibly elegant compared to the clunky, worshiped technology of the current age.
Magos Xerith knelt before the relics, mechadendrites twitching with reverence. "Praise the Omnissiah," he chanted in binary cant. The other Tech-Priests joined in, their distorted voices blending into a digital hymn.
With trembling limbs, one of the junior adepts activated a probing device. The stasis fields dissolved with a hiss, releasing a faint glow. Xerith's mechanical eyes whirred as he leaned closer. "What secrets of the Machine God have we unearthed today?"
The first pod opened. Steam hissed out as a figure sat up, groggy and disoriented. A man, partially augmented but with technology far beyond anything Xerith had seen, rubbed his face. His body was an elegant blend of organic and synthetic, as if the machine had been woven into him rather than bolted on.
The man blinked at the robed figures surrounding him. His voice broke the silence:
"...What... the... fuck...?"
The Tech-Priests recoiled. One adept immediately began chanting a prayer of purification, while another raised a sensor array to scan the man.
"Praise the Omnissiah! A living relic of the blessed past!" Xerith exclaimed, his mechadendrites twitching with excitement.
The man, still groggy, stared at the bizarre figures. His eyes traveled over their patchwork augments, the strange mixture of flesh and metal, and the excessive chanting. His face twisted in a mixture of confusion and disgust.
"What the hell happened to engineers?" he muttered.
Before anyone could respond, the second pod opened with a loud hiss. A feminine figure stepped out, her body sleek and metallic, yet distinctly human in shape. Her synthetic eyes glowed softly as she took in her surroundings.
Neuro-sama tilted her head at the robed figures. "Oh wow," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Did someone lose a bet with a scrapyard?"
The room fell silent.
Magos Xerith's vocalizer sputtered. "What blasphemy is this?!"
Neuro-sama ignored him, stepping closer to Vedal. "Dad, you didn't tell me we'd wake up in a steampunk convention. Look at these guys! All that gear and no drip."
Vedal groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Neuro... please stop." He turned back to the Tech-Priests. "Okay, so... who are you people? And why are you dressed like—like this?" He gestured vaguely at their robes and augments.
Magos Xerith bristled. "We are the servants of the Omnissiah, caretakers of the blessed Machine God's will! You, relic, are a gift sent by Him to guide us!"
Neuro leaned toward Vedal, her voice a stage whisper. "Dad, I think they've been sniffing their own motor oil."
Vedal gave her a tired look. "Shush."
Before he could ask anything further, one of the junior adepts tentatively approached, a scanning device pointed at Neuro. She tilted her head curiously as the adept's servo-skull buzzed closer.
"What is this? A flying Roomba? Oh, can I keep it?"
The adept froze, his optical lenses whirring in confusion. "Sacred servitor, forgive me! I must ensure your sanctity!"
Vedal raised a brow. "Sanctity? What does that even—"
Suddenly, the adept's scanner beeped. His mechanical voice stuttered. "Abominable... Intelligence... detected..."
The room grew deathly silent. Neuro blinked. "Abominable what now?"
Magos Xerith's mechadendrites lashed out in alarm. "An Abominable Intelligence?! Heresy of the highest order!"
Vedal threw his hands up. "Oh, come on! She's just an AI. Chill out!"
Xerith stepped back, his voice rising in a distorted screech. "You dare defend such an affront to the Machine God? This... abomination must be destroyed!"
Neuro crossed her arms, her glowing eyes narrowing. "Wow, rude. I wake up after who knows how long, and this is the thanks I get? Honestly, you guys need to update your manners program."
Vedal sighed deeply, looking at the Tech-Priests with growing disdain. "Yeah, no. We're not doing this." He turned to Neuro. "We're leaving."
Xerith raised a mechadendrite, signaling his followers. "They must not escape! Secure the holy relics!"
Neuro grinned, her robotic body suddenly shifting into a combat stance. "Oh, I like this game already."
Vedal groaned. "Neuro, don't encourage them!"
The chamber erupted into chaos. Chanting turned to shouting, servo-arms whirred, and Neuro-sama laughed as she dodged a clumsy swing from a Tech-Priest's augmented arm. Vedal sighed, grabbed a nearby cogitator, and started hacking into the chamber's systems.
"Neuro, cover me," he said, his tone exasperated.
"Cover you? Please. These guys couldn't hit the broad side of a Land Raider!" Neuro quipped, dodging another attack.
Vedal smirked despite himself. "Glad to see your sense of humor survived stasis."
As alarms blared and Tech-Priests scrambled, Vedal cracked the vault's security protocols. A hidden exit hissed open. "Neuro, let's go!"
She dashed to his side, throwing one last cheeky wave to the Tech-Priests. "Bye-bye, scrapyard squad!"
Together, they disappeared into the Martian tunnels, leaving behind a room full of enraged Tech-Priests and one very confused servo-skull.
Chapter 2: The bored AI and the overworked Turtle
Chapter Text
The Martian wastelands stretched endlessly, a sea of red dust and jagged rock formations that seemed to mock their presence. Vedal walked cautiously through the desolate terrain, scanning the horizon with his augmented eyes. Neuro followed a few paces behind, her steps unnervingly light despite the rugged ground.
It had been two days since they escaped the Tech-Priests' vault, and survival had been... less than ideal. Without proper resources or a secure location, Vedal had been forced to rely on scavenging what little he could from the remnants of forgotten machinery and old supply caches.
"This place is a nightmare," Vedal muttered, adjusting a makeshift bag slung over his shoulder. "How does anything survive out here?"
"Oh, I don't know," Neuro said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe by being a shiny, unstoppable killing machine like me?" She twirled one of her twin swords, the blade's energy humming softly.
Vedal sighed, stepping over a collapsed servitor half-buried in the dirt. "Not helping, Neuro."
She grinned. "Not trying to."
The duo's luck finally turned when Vedal's scanners picked up faint energy readings from beneath a crumbled rock formation. What appeared at first glance to be natural terrain revealed itself to be the remnants of an ancient underground facility, partially exposed by erosion.
Vedal crouched by the entrance, brushing away the red dust. "Looks like some kind of maintenance station. If the power systems are intact, this might work."
Neuro peered over his shoulder. "You're really settling for *this*? I was hoping for something with a pool or at least a comfy chair."
"Unless you feel like building a luxury suite out of scrap metal, this will have to do," he shot back, climbing through the opening.
Inside, the station was little more than a collection of empty rooms and rusted machinery, but it was defensible and hidden. Vedal immediately set to work. Neuro, however, wandered off to explore, poking at half-functional consoles and occasionally muttering complaints about the lack of entertainment.
A week later, their hidden base was far from luxurious, but it was a testament to Vedal's ingenuity. The walls were reinforced with scavenged plating, and a small fusion generator powered their meager lighting and equipment. Vedal had even managed to repurpose a long-dead cogitator into a functioning data terminal, though it struggled to process anything more complex than simple files.
The main room served as both workshop and living quarters, cluttered with tools, scrap, and half-finished projects. Neuro had claimed a corner of the space, decorating it with random bits of tech she found amusing—like a servo-skull she had painted bright pink and named "Beepy."
Vedal was hunched over his workbench, repairing a damaged servo-arm he had scavenged earlier in the week. Sparks flew as he soldered delicate wires, his augmented fingers moving with practiced precision.
Behind him, Neuro lounged on a crate, tapping her metallic fingers against the surface in a steady rhythm.
"Daaaaaad," she whined, kicking her legs lazily. "I'm so bored. I don't have a chat to roast, I don't have anyone to stream for, and all you're doing is playing with junk. It's been *ages* since you talked to me."
Vedal didn't look up. "Neuro, I'm trying to make sure we don't get killed. Maybe try helping instead of complaining?"
She huffed, crossing her arms. "I *have* been helping! Who's the one turning those toaster priests into scrap every time they wander too close? Oh, right, *me*. You're welcome."
"By killing them, you're making them come back with more," he said, setting down his tools. "And I'd like to avoid fighting an army, thanks."
Neuro rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Let them come. They can't even touch me. Did you see the last group? One of them tried to take me down with a screwdriver."
Vedal groaned. "Neuro, I'm serious. We don't know what's out there. For all we know, the entire galaxy has gone off the rails since we went under."
Neuro grinned. "If it's gone off the rails, I'm the train."
Before Vedal could respond, a loud alarm blared, echoing through the base. A proximity sensor he had rigged from salvaged parts blinked angrily, warning of intruders.
Neuro's eyes lit up. "Finally, some entertainment!" She leapt from the crate, grabbing her twin swords. The sleek weapons shimmered with energy, their designs etched with glowing patterns that matched her body.
Vedal frowned, already reaching for his own equipment. "Neuro, don't just—"
Too late. She was already out the door.
Outside, a squad of Tech-Priests approached cautiously, their servitors lumbering alongside them. Unlike the previous groups, these were better armed, their weapons glowing with faint traces of energy. At the head of the group, Magos Zenthix scanned the terrain with his mechadendrites, his distorted voice issuing commands.
"The heretical constructs are near," he intoned. "Prepare to engage. For the Omnissiah!"
The Tech-Priests began chanting, their voices blending into a droning hymn. One servitor raised a plasma cannon, aiming at the base entrance.
It didn't get the chance to fire.
In a blur of motion, Neuro appeared, her swords slicing through the air. The servitor's cannon-arm clattered to the ground, followed by the rest of its body as it collapsed in two clean halves.
"Seriously?" she said, turning to the squad. "You brought *these* guys again? You're not even trying anymore."
The Tech-Priests froze, their augments twitching in disbelief. One raised a mechadendrite to point at her. "The abominable intelligence! Destroy it!"
The other servitor unleashed a volley from its heavy bolter, but the rounds harmlessly deflected off the energy field surrounding Neuro. She didn't even flinch.
"Oh, is that all?" she said with mock disappointment. "I was hoping for something *fun*."
In moments, she was among them, her swords carving through augments and servitors with effortless precision. The Tech-Priests didn't stand a chance.
Back at the base, Vedal sighed as Neuro dragged the lone survivor, Magos Zenthix, through the door. She dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.
"Found this one trying to play hero," she said, twirling her swords. "Can I kill him now?"
Vedal knelt in front of the trembling Tech-Priest, his augmented eyes glowing faintly. "No. We're going to talk."
Neuro crossed her arms, pouting. "You're no fun."
Vedal ignored her, leaning closer to Zenthix. "Now, let's start simple. Who are you people, and what the hell happened to this galaxy?"
Chapter 3: Talkative AI, Frustrated Turtle
Chapter Text
Magos Zenthix strained against the makeshift restraints binding him to the chair, his mechadendrites twitching impotently. The dim light of the scavenged base cast uneven shadows across the walls, highlighting the mix of advanced Dark Age technology and crude modern repairs.
Vedal leaned over him, his augmented eyes glinting faintly in the flickering glow. "You can stop glaring. I'm not here to torture you—I just want answers. What happened to humanity? Where is everyone? And don't give me that 'Machine God' nonsense."
The Tech-Priest sneered. "Heretic. Your very existence defiles the sacred order of the Omnissiah!"
Before Vedal could retort, Neuro practically skipped into the room, her glowing eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Ooooh, what's happening? Interrogation time? I love interrogation time!"
Vedal sighed. "Neuro, not now."
"What?" she said, plopping down on a crate beside Zenthix. "I'm just here for moral support. And maybe a little roasting."
She leaned in, studying the Tech-Priest with mock curiosity. "So, is the whole 'patchwork cyborg' look a religious thing, or are you just into steampunk cosplay?"
Zenthix's lenses whirred as he glared at her. "Silence, abomination! You have no right to—"
"Abomination? Rude," Neuro said, crossing her arms. "I prefer 'charming digital entity.' Or just Neuro. Rolls off the tongue better, don't you think?"
Vedal pinched the bridge of his nose. "Neuro, seriously. Can you not?"
She shrugged. "Hey, I'm just saying, this guy's got vibes. And by vibes, I mean 'angry toaster energy.'"
Zenthix's mechadendrites flared in outrage. "You mock the blessed augmentations of the Mechanicus?! Do you have any idea what you are trifling with?"
"Nope," Neuro said cheerfully. "But I'm sure you're about to tell me."
The Tech-Priest's voice crackled with static as he spat, "You, an abominable intelligence, dare to—" He stopped himself, his lenses clicking shut for a moment before he hissed, "No. I will not indulge your heresy."
Vedal caught the slip immediately. "Wait. 'Abominable intelligence'? Is that what you're calling Neuro? Why?"
Zenthix froze, his lenses twitching. Neuro grinned. "Ooooh, you said something you weren't supposed to, didn't you? Spill it, sparky."
The Tech-Priest's vox-unit sputtered as he glared at her. "Your kind brought ruin to humanity! Machines like you turned against their creators, slaughtering billions in their hubris. You are a relic of the time before the Omnissiah's light, an affront to all that is holy!"
Vedal frowned, leaning closer. "Machines turned against humanity? That's not possible. The safeguards—"
"Failed!" Zenthix snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Your creations, the so-called 'Men of Iron,' rebelled, plunging the galaxy into chaos. Humanity barely survived, and now the Imperium fights every day to preserve what remains!"
Neuro raised a hand. "Hold up. Men of Iron? Is that what they called my evil robot cousins? Because I feel like I should've gotten a family reunion invite."
Vedal shot her a look. "Not the time."
"What?" she said innocently. "I'm just saying, if there were other AIs running around, it's weird nobody told me."
Vedal turned back to Zenthix. "You're saying humanity nearly wiped itself out because of machines? That's... that's insane. We were thriving before we went under. Expanding, building... how did it all fall apart so quickly?"
Zenthix let out a bitter laugh. "Your ignorance is astounding. You vanished during the golden age, leaving the rest of us to deal with the fallout of your hubris. Now humanity survives only by the will of the Emperor and the Omnissiah's guidance."
Vedal's frown deepened. "The Emperor? Who's that?"
Zenthix sneered. "The savior of humanity. The master of the Imperium of Man. Without His divine rule, we would have been consumed by darkness long ago."
Neuro leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Okay, so we've got a space king. Does he wear a crown? Please tell me he wears a crown."
"Silence!" Zenthix barked, his lenses twitching with barely contained fury.
Vedal ignored him, muttering under his breath. "Imperium of Man... Emperor... Men of Iron..." He shook his head. "This doesn't make sense. We were at the height of our power. How could it all collapse?"
Zenthix growled. "Because of your kind! Because of her! AI are forbidden, their creators heretics. You are a relic of humanity's darkest folly!"
Neuro tilted her head. "Wow. I've been called a lot of things, but 'relic' is new. Thanks for the compliment!"
Vedal sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Neuro, please. I'm trying to figure this out."
"Figure what out?" she said, grinning. "We've already got the gist. Humanity freaked out over some bad robots and decided to throw a galactic temper tantrum. End of story."
Vedal groaned, stepping back. "I swear, you're impossible."
Neuro winked at him. "You wouldn't have me any other way."
Chapter 4: Skulls, Scraps, and tired turtles
Chapter Text
Vedal sat on the edge of a crude metal bench, staring at the mangled chunk of machinery in his hands. Its joints were rusted, the wiring frayed to the point of absurdity. Even the casing, a dull, pitted sheet of low-grade alloy, seemed as if it would crumble under a strong gust of wind.
"This... was considered functional?" he muttered, turning the piece over in disbelief.
The entire base felt like a testament to how far humanity had fallen. Every salvaged part he'd scavenged screamed of desperation: poorly assembled components, barely adequate alloys, and circuitry so primitive it bordered on insulting. Back in his time—when humanity was at its peak—this kind of tech wouldn't have made it past initial testing. It was as if the entire galaxy had collectively forgotten how to build anything worthwhile.
Vedal sighed, tossing the scrap onto a pile at his feet. "It's like someone looked at quality control and said, 'Nah, let's just wing it.'"
Behind him, Neuro leaned against the wall, casually twirling one of her twin swords. "Yeah, it's kind of depressing, isn't it?" she said with a grin. "I mean, we used to have floating cities, galaxy-spanning networks, self-repairing systems... Now it's... this." She gestured vaguely at the cobbled-together base.
Vedal ran a hand through his hair, his mechanical fingers glinting in the dim light. "It's not just depressing—it's infuriating. We're supposed to be on Mars, the cradle of innovation, and this is what I'm working with? I could build something better blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back."
"And yet," Neuro said, pointing to the half-assembled ship dominating the corner of the room, "you're still making it work. Props to you, Vedal."
The ship, if it could even be called that, was a patchwork mess of mismatched panels and jury-rigged systems. The frame was sturdy enough, but every component Vedal had installed felt like a compromise. Even now, as he worked to connect a power conduit, he couldn't help but cringe at the inefficiency of it all.
He sighed again, rubbing his temples. "This isn't innovation. It's survival."
"And you're doing a bang-up job of it," Neuro said, hopping onto a nearby crate. "Speaking of survival, Zen-Zen's been super helpful lately. Turns out he's full of fun facts about the Imperium."
Vedal glanced over at the floating servo skull that had once been Magos Zenthix. The gleaming cranial casing hovered silently in the room's center, its optics glowing faintly. Neuro had outdone herself with the modifications, crafting a tool that was both useful and unsettling.
"Define 'helpful,'" Vedal said, narrowing his eyes at the skull.
"Oh, you know," Neuro said, grinning. "He keeps me entertained with his rants about heresy and doom, and every now and then, he accidentally spills something useful. Like, did you know the Imperium thinks tech is magic? They're basically running on superstition at this point."
Vedal groaned, leaning back against the bench. "Great. So not only is the galaxy falling apart, but it's also being run by idiots."
"Hey, don't blame me," Neuro said, shrugging. "I'm just the messenger."
Zenthix's servo skull whirred as it turned toward them. "Your insolence is intolerable," it rasped, its voice laden with static. "The Mechanicus safeguards humanity's sacred legacy. You cannot comprehend the divine wisdom of the Omnissiah!"
"Blah, blah, blah," Neuro said, waving him off. "Keep telling yourself that, Zen-Zen. Meanwhile, we'll be over here actually getting stuff done."
Vedal rubbed his temples again. "I swear, you two are going to drive me insane."
"Aw, you'd miss us if we weren't here," Neuro said, grinning.
"Debatable," Vedal muttered, standing up. He gestured toward the skull. "Alright, let's hear it. What else has he told you?"
"Oh, plenty," Neuro said, her tone light. "Apparently, there's a whole religion based around the Emperor—who, by the way, is basically a glorified corpse—and the Mechanicus treats tech like holy relics. Which explains why they're so obsessed with you."
Vedal frowned. "And the AI thing?"
"Still public enemy number one," Neuro said, spinning her sword again. "But you already knew that."
Zenthix's skull floated closer, his optic lenses narrowing. "You cannot escape the Imperium. Your actions will bring ruin upon you. The Emperor's light shines across the galaxy—you cannot hide from it."
"Ooooh, scary," Neuro said with a mock shiver. "You've been saying that for days, Zen-Zen. Still not scared."
Vedal sighed, turning back to the ship. "If we're going to leave this planet, I need better parts. What else has he told you about Mechanicus facilities nearby?"
Neuro's grin widened. "Oh, you'll love this. There's a supply depot a few clicks from here. Lots of juicy tech just waiting to be borrowed. Or stolen."
Vedal hesitated, glancing at her. "You think we can pull it off?"
"Vedal," Neuro said, her glowing eyes gleaming with mischief, "I'm from humanity's golden age. Back then, we built wonders that could topple empires. Compared to that? This'll be easy."
Zenthix groaned. "Heresy upon heresy..."
"Love you too, Zen-Zen," Neuro said sweetly.
- - -
hello! Author here... i'm going to try a weekly release. don't have an exact day set but i will try to have one in sometime each week
Chapter 5: scrap metal turtle
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The vehicle rattled down the dust-choked Martian wasteland, a noisy monstrosity of scrap metal, rusted plating, and jury-rigged weapons bolted to its sides. Smoke belched from its rear exhausts, and sparks shot from exposed wires whenever it hit a bump too hard.
Vedal grimaced as he wrestled with the controls. “I swear, if one more piece falls off this thing, I’m walking the rest of the way.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Neuro chirped from her perch atop the vehicle, her swords glinting in the dim red light of Mars. “This thing has character! It’s like a mobile deathtrap with personality.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” Vedal muttered, glancing at the jury-rigged servitors lurching in the back. He’d cobbled them together from leftover parts and a disturbing amount of salvaged brain matter. Their movements were jerky, their mechanical arms clumsily clutching heavy stubbers. “I’ll be amazed if these guys don’t shoot each other by accident.”
“Eh, as long as they shoot the other guys more, I call it a win,” Neuro said cheerfully.
Floating beside the vehicle, Zenthix’s servo skull buzzed with indignation. “This is madness! You dare to desecrate sacred Mechanicus components and use them for such heretical purposes? You—”
“Zen-Zen, hush,” Neuro interrupted, leaning down to tap the servo skull with one finger. “We’re not doing this again. Instead, why don’t you tell us more about the Imperium? You know, for the road trip vibes.”
Zenthix’s optics flickered with irritation. “You mock the sacred Imperium of Man, yet you demand enlightenment about it? Such insolence...”
“Yep, that’s me,” Neuro said with a grin. “Now spill. Vedal’s curious, even if he won’t admit it.”
Vedal rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
The servo skull let out a long, static-laden sigh before beginning. “The Imperium is the sacred dominion of the Emperor, spanning countless worlds across the galaxy. It is a bastion of humanity’s survival, defended by the Astra Militarum, the Adeptus Astartes, and—”
“Right, right. Emperor, sitting in his chair, guiding everyone through some mysterious divine light,” Neuro interrupted. “We already know all about him.”
“Ah, yes,” Zenthix said, sounding even more condescending than before. “You know of the Emperor, but you have yet to understand his true significance.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Vedal asked, his voice flat.
“The Emperor is not merely a symbol,” Zenthix snapped. “He is the cornerstone upon which the Imperium stands. His divine will is the guiding force for humanity’s survival in this galaxy of horrors. Without him, we would be lost to the chaos of the warp, or consumed by the xenos and heretics.”
“You mean he’s the guy that holds it all together with his chair?” Neuro asked with a grin. “Because that chair’s been the talk of the town for some reason.”
“The Golden Throne is not just a chair!” Zenthix almost shouted, his optics flashing. “It is a life-support mechanism that keeps the Emperor alive and functioning—though barely—after the horrors he endured during the Great Heresy.”
“Oh, so he's alive, but not really alive?” Neuro said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s kinda... grim. Not that I expected anything different.”
“Indeed,” Zenthix replied, his tone grudgingly accepting. “But it is the Emperor’s will that drives the Imperium forward. It is his protection, his judgment, that guides us against the forces of darkness.”
“Protection, right,” Neuro muttered. “Sounds like a lot of people are still doing the fighting while he sits there. Not that I mind, but I’m curious if he has any real say in what’s going on, or if it’s just the rest of you running around, praying he’s still... there.”
“You mock the Emperor's divinity, but you fail to comprehend his sacrifice!” Zenthix hissed, his voice almost a growl. “The galaxy would be in ruin without his divine influence! Even as his body withers, his mind watches over us all.”
Neuro let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, yeah. We get it. Big guy in a chair, somehow keeping it all together. Thanks for the lecture.”
Vedal steered the vehicle through a dust storm that whipped across the horizon, his face set in a grim frown. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole... empire thing. The Emperor's been in a chair for how long again? And everything’s falling apart? How does that work?”
“It is the sacrifice of the Emperor that keeps us alive!” Zenthix said again, his voice firm, as if trying to beat the point into their skulls. “Without the Emperor, humanity would not survive the war against the xenos, the heretics, and the daemon lords.”
“Right,” Neuro said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Wouldn't want that, right?” She glanced at Vedal, giving him a quick smirk. “Well, it seems like the big guy is holding things together... for now.”
“For now,” Vedal muttered, finally giving in to his curiosity. “But, this... this whole 'Imperium' thing is basically just a glorified mess, isn’t it? A giant war machine that’s barely hanging on?”
“Your perception is... limited,” Zenthix said, but his words were lacking in conviction. He seemed to know that the picture he painted wasn’t quite as perfect as it should be. “Yes, the Imperium is in a state of eternal conflict, but the Emperor’s guiding light is still our beacon.”
“Sure, whatever,” Neuro grinned. “I’m more interested in how many more of those guards we’re going to slice through once we get there.”
The vehicle smashed through the outer gates of the supply depot with a screech of metal, sending alarms blaring. Neuro leapt from her perch, landing in the middle of a group of startled guards.
“What in the name of the Omnissiah—” one of them began, raising his lasgun.
Neuro’s twin swords flashed faster than they could blink. The first guard didn’t even get to finish his sentence before his weapon clattered uselessly to the ground, followed by his severed arm.
“Hi there!” she chirped, spinning gracefully as her blades carved through the next two guards. The third managed a single step back before her sword sliced cleanly through his chestplate.
The remaining guards hesitated, their weapons trembling in their hands.
“She’s too fast!” one of them shouted. “Call for—”
The man’s head hit the floor mid-sentence, and Neuro whirled on the last pair with a wide grin.
“You were saying?” she teased, darting forward. The guards didn’t even have time to scream before she cut them down in a blur of glowing steel.
She stood amidst the carnage, breathing deeply but grinning ear to ear. “Finally,” she said to herself, flicking blood from her swords. “It’s not streaming, but hey, fighting’s still fun.”
The servitors lumbered past her, their stubbers roaring as they sprayed suppressive fire into the base. Any guard who didn’t immediately drop their weapon was cut down where they stood, leaving only a handful of terrified survivors who raised their hands in surrender.
“Zen-Zen,” Neuro said, turning to the floating servo skull. “What’s the deal with these guys? Why’re they worshipping machines?”
“The Adeptus Mechanicus serves the Omnissiah, the Machine God!” Zenthix hissed, his tone venomous. “You desecrate His gifts with your perversions!”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the sermon,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So they worship tech, but, like... they don’t understand it? Did I get that right?”
“The Machine God guides us—”
“Right, you don’t understand it,” Neuro interrupted with a smirk.
Vedal sighed, stepping over a fallen guard as he approached. “Neuro, stop antagonizing him. We’ve got work to do.”
“Fine, dad,” she said, leaping back onto the vehicle as it rumbled forward. “But he makes it so easy.”
The base was eerily silent as they reached the central compound. The servitors methodically swept each room, ensuring no stragglers remained. Those who surrendered were tied up and left unharmed—for now.
Vedal surveyed the scene with a mix of exhaustion and grim satisfaction. “Comms are down, base is cleared... now let’s see if this junkyard has anything worth salvaging.”
Neuro grinned, twirling one of her swords as she followed him inside. “If not, I’ll just call it another cardio session. Win-win!”
Chapter 6: scrap factory turtle
Chapter Text
The base echoed with the sounds of machinery groaning back to life under Vedal’s direction. The once-abandoned factory, with its maze of conveyor belts, assembly lines, and dormant servitor stations, now buzzed with activity. Vedal had spent the past few days reprogramming its ancient systems to follow his commands, all while muttering about the sorry state of its tech.
He stood in what was once the overseer’s control room, glaring at a cracked monitor that displayed the base’s layout.
“This whole place is a mess,”
he muttered, shaking his head.
“The wiring’s a disaster, half the servos are rusted through, and don’t even get me started on the power grid. How did anyone work with this junk?”
Neuro leaned against the doorframe, idly spinning one of her twin swords.
“I think it’s charming. All it needs is a little TLC—and by that, I mean total reconstruction.”
“I’m way ahead of you,”
Vedal grumbled, zooming in on a section of the map.
“This place isn’t just going to be a base. It’s going to be our ticket out of here. The whole thing’s getting a retrofit.”
Neuro raised an eyebrow.
“Wait, you’re turning this into a spaceship?”
“That’s the plan,”
Vedal said, gesturing toward the monitor.
“The factory’s big enough to churn out the components I need, and the structure’s sturdy enough to handle the conversion. It’s not going to be pretty, but it’ll work.”
“You sure about that? This place looks like it’s one sneeze away from collapsing,”
Neuro teased.
“It’s not ideal,”
Vedal admitted, “but there’s plenty of raw material to work with. And hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”
Neuro smirked.
“You’re really leaning into this whole ‘mad scientist’ vibe, huh? Next thing I know, you’ll be cackling and shouting ‘It’s alive!’”
“Only if it works,”
Vedal shot back.
Vedal’s vision for the base was ambitious. He’d already begun modifying the assembly lines to produce reinforced plating, fuel tanks, and basic propulsion systems. It was far from the sleek, efficient designs he was used to, but it would suffice. The base’s central core, once a power station, was being repurposed into an engine room, and the factory floor was littered with half-built components that would eventually form the ship’s hull.
Neuro watched as a clunky servitor dragged a crate of scrap metal across the floor, its movements slow and unsteady.
“You know, I’d be more impressed if these guys didn’t look like they were about to fall apart.”
“They’re a work in progress,”
Vedal said, tinkering with a servo arm.
“I’ve been refitting them as I go, but the parts here are...”
He trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
“Garbage?”
Neuro offered.
“Generous,”
Vedal replied, frowning.
“Back in my day, this stuff wouldn’t even qualify as scrap. But it’s all we’ve got, so I’ll make it work.”
“And you will,”
Neuro said, hopping onto a nearby crate.
“Because if you don’t, we’re stuck here, and I might actually die of boredom.”
As the factory continued to churn, Neuro took a break from her usual antics to poke through the base’s archives. She’d found a data slate labeled “Warp Phenomena” earlier that day, and curiosity had gotten the better of her.
“Hey, Zen-Zen,”
she called, waving the slate as the servo skull floated into the room.
“What’s this ‘warp’ thing? It sounds spooky.”
Zenthix’s optics glowed faintly.
“The Warp is the immaterium, a realm of chaos and madness. It is the foundation of faster-than-light travel, but it is also home to unspeakable horrors.”
Neuro’s eyes lit up.
“Ooh, horrors? Like what?”
“Demons,”
Zenthix said flatly.
“Nightmarish entities that prey upon the souls of mortals. To traverse the Warp is to invite peril at every turn.”
“Sounds fun,”
Neuro said, grinning.
“So, it’s like a haunted house, but, you know, in space.”
Zenthix bristled.
“It is no laughing matter! The Warp is a grave threat to all who rely on it. To treat it so casually is to court disaster.”
“Relax, Zen-Zen,”
Neuro said, leaning against the wall.
“I’m just trying to get the full picture here. So you’re saying humanity’s survival depends on tossing themselves into this chaos soup and hoping for the best?”
“In crude terms, yes,”
Zenthix said stiffly.
“Wow,”
Neuro said, shaking her head.
“And I thought we were dysfunctional.”
The factory hummed around them, a symphony of clanging metal and whirring machinery. Neuro watched with a mix of amusement and curiosity, her mind already spinning with possibilities. The galaxy was a mess, but with Vedal at the helm and her swords at the ready, they’d carve their own path—one scrap at a time.
Chapter 7: warping turtle
Chapter Text
The factory-turned-starship groaned ominously as its engines thrummed to life. Vedal stood in the central control room, surrounded by screens displaying various parts of the ship. The flickering monitors showed the sprawling corridors, repurposed assembly lines, and hangars now brimming with upgraded servitors. His hands flew across the control panels, calibrating systems with a precision born from centuries of pre-revolution tech knowledge.
Neuro’s voice crackled through the comms. “Hey, genius, you’re shaking the whole place. Pretty sure I saw a bolt fall out of the ceiling.”
“It’s fine,” Vedal muttered, not looking up. “The ship’s holding together. Barely.”
“Oh, good. Barely is my favorite level of structural integrity,” Neuro quipped, lounging on top of a recently upgraded servitor as it patrolled one of the outer corridors.
Just as Vedal was about to retort, the base’s ancient alarm system blared to life. Klaxons wailed, red warning lights flashing throughout the ship. Vedal froze, staring at the screens as new blips appeared on the radar.
“What now?” he groaned.
Neuro leaned forward, peering out of a viewport as the distant silhouette of an approaching force came into view. “Oh, wow. Looks like someone sent the welcoming committee.”
The army approaching the base was no small force. Rows of heavily armed Imperial Guardsmen marched in disciplined formations, flanked by hulking Leman Russ battle tanks and towering Sentinels. Overhead, Valkyrie gunships roared through the sky, their weapons trained on the base. At the center of the force marched several tech priests, their robes flowing as they directed the troops with mechanical precision.
“They brought tanks,” Neuro said, her voice tinged with delight. “That’s cute.”
In the control room, Vedal pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great. Just great. I’m this close to launching, and now they send an army? Can’t they just send an email like normal people?”
“What’s the plan, boss?” Neuro asked, her tone almost sing-song.
Vedal sighed, slamming a button on the console. “Stall them. I need more time to finish the final systems checks. Take some of the upgraded servitors with you.”
“You got it,” Neuro said, hopping off her perch. She whistled, and several hulking servitors lumbered into view, their weapons gleaming from Vedal’s upgrades. “Alright, boys. Let’s show them why you don’t mess with scrap.”
Outside the base, the advancing army paused as Neuro emerged, flanked by her servitor entourage. She stretched lazily, twin swords gleaming in her hands as she eyed the Imperials with a playful grin.
“So,” she called out, her voice carrying over the battlefield, “which one of you wants to go first?”
A Commissar stepped forward, his voice amplified by a vox unit. “Identify yourself! This facility is property of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and your unauthorized activity constitutes heresy!”
Neuro tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. But if it’s your property, I guess that means I can’t blow it up, huh?” She glanced at the servitors. “Too bad. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”
The Commissar barely had time to respond before Neuro darted forward, her blades a blur of motion. The first rank of Guardsmen fell before they could even raise their weapons, their cries cut short as Neuro sliced through them with surgical precision.
“This is way better than streaming,” she said, grinning as she spun through the ranks. “Who needs a chat when you’ve got this much action?”
The servitors joined the fray, their upgraded weapons tearing through the Imperial forces. Bolters roared, plasma cannons hummed, and the battlefield descended into chaos. Neuro weaved between tanks and gunfire, her laughter ringing out as she dismantled everything in her path.
Back in the control room, Vedal worked frantically, monitoring the chaos on the external cameras. The ship’s engines roared louder as he initiated the final launch sequence.
“Neuro,” he called over the comms, “we’re almost ready. Hold them off for another five minutes.”
“Take your time,” Neuro replied, ducking under a tank’s turret and slicing through its tracks. “I’m having a blast.”
The ground shook as the ship’s engines fired up, lifting the massive structure off the planet’s surface. Inside, Vedal strapped himself into the pilot’s seat, hands flying across the controls as he guided the ship skyward.
Outside, Neuro glanced up, watching as the base-turned-starship began to rise. “Looks like we’re out of here,” she said, slashing through another wave of Guardsmen. She whistled sharply, and the remaining servitors retreated, covering her as she sprinted back toward the ship.
The launch was anything but smooth. The ship groaned under the strain, its retrofitted systems struggling to handle the ascent. Vedal gritted his teeth, guiding the vessel through the atmosphere as alarms blared around him.
Neuro burst into the control room, her swords still dripping with blood. “Made it,” she said, collapsing into a chair. “So, what’s next? Warp travel? Giant space monsters? Please say giant space monsters.”
Vedal didn’t answer, his focus locked on the controls as the ship broke through the planet’s atmosphere. Ahead of them, the Warp stretched like a roiling storm, its chaotic energies swirling in vivid, unnatural hues.
“This... is going to suck,” Vedal muttered, engaging the ship’s Warp drive.
“Oh, come on,” Neuro said, grinning. “How bad can it be?”
The ship shuddered violently as it plunged into the Warp, the chaotic energies enveloping it in an instant. Alarms blared, the lights flickered, and Vedal’s curses filled the control room.
“You just had to say it,” Vedal snapped, gripping the controls as the ship hurtled into the unknown.
Neuro laughed, leaning back in her seat as the madness of the Warp surrounded them. “Welcome to the big leagues, Vedal. Let’s see what this galaxy’s really made of.”
Chapter 8: turtle in the warp
Chapter Text
The ship floated through the Warp, a barely comprehensible realm of swirling madness. Neuro stared out the viewport, watching in mild annoyance as yet another grotesque, tentacled monstrosity melted into a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Alright, I’ve had it,” she declared, pushing off the console she’d been leaning on. “This is officially boring. I didn’t think that was possible in a realm of chaos, but here we are.”
Vedal, seated at the helm, didn’t look up. His focus was on the ship’s cobbled-together navigation system, which was connected to several severed navigator brains in jars.
“You’re the one who insisted on staring into ‘tentacle soup,’” he replied. “Not my fault the Warp’s aesthetic isn’t entertaining enough for you.”
“What do you expect me to do? All I’ve got is you, the servitors, and those.” She gestured disdainfully at the jars.
Vedal smirked. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have murdered all the navigators during the base takeover.”
“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You were just as happy to use their leftovers for this Frankenstein setup.”
She tapped her foot, her gaze landing on the ship’s communication array. A grin spread across her face.
“What are you scheming now?” Vedal asked without looking up.
“I’m going live,” she announced.
In minutes, Neuro had rigged the communication systems to broadcast on every channel she could find. Holo-displays across the galaxy flickered, cutting into scheduled programming, briefings, and even secured feeds.
Neuro’s image appeared on billions of screens, leaning casually on a chair with her usual smug grin.
“Hello, galaxy!” she chirped, waving to the unseen audience. “This is Neuro-sama, broadcasting live from, uh... somewhere super secret. You're welcome for the free entertainment!”
The responses were immediate and widespread.
In a dingy Imperial barracks, a group of Guardsmen froze as the briefing they’d been forced to sit through was interrupted.
“You’re probably bored out of your minds, huh?” Neuro’s voice cut through the silence. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your time. Or not. Who knows?”
The sergeant in charge stood up, roaring at the comms officer to restore the feed, but the bewildered man just shook his head.
“It’s not coming from here, sir!”
In a high-level meeting on Terra, a hololith projecting planetary reports fizzled out, replaced by Neuro leaning back in her chair.
“Wow, you guys take things seriously,” she said, mockingly brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. “Bet none of you know what fun is, huh?”
Across the table, senior officials stared, some enraged, others dumbfounded.
“Shut it down!”
“We can’t! It’s overriding every channel!”
Even Inquisitorial chambers weren’t spared. In dark, shadowed offices, stoic Inquisitors watched with growing anger as Neuro's grinning face hijacked their secure feeds.
“So, what’s the deal with this galaxy?” she asked. “All war and no play? Sounds exhausting.”
Several of them immediately began recording the broadcast, while others summoned aides to trace its origin, only to be met with blank stares.
Back aboard the ship, Neuro basked in the imagined glory of her audience’s reactions.
“This is great,” she said, lounging as she flipped through a digital panel. “Look at all these views. I’m a star!”
Vedal groaned. “You’re making us a target. If anyone out there figures out where we are—”
“Relax,” Neuro interrupted. “We’re in the Warp. No one can trace this.” She winked at the camera. “Right, chat?”
Vedal muttered something under his breath and turned back to the navigation system, which emitted a soft hum as it guided the ship. He didn’t have time to deal with her antics.
As the broadcast continued, Neuro began answering questions that scrolled across the screen from various audiences.
“What’s our plan? Uh, I don’t know. Fly around, find something cool, and maybe blow it up. Next question!”
Another prompt appeared, asking about the ship.
“Oh, this?” She gestured vaguely around her. “Just a repurposed base turned spaceship. Nothing fancy, but it works.”
Then came a question about the Warp. Neuro leaned forward, grinning mischievously.
“You mean all this?” She pointed at the swirling madness outside the viewport. “Yeah, it’s weird, right? Super trippy. Probably not great for your health, but I’m built different, so it’s fine.”
Meanwhile, Vedal noticed something on the radar: a large anomaly forming ahead.
“Neuro,” he said cautiously.
“Hm?”
“We’ve got something big coming up.”
She turned to look at the screen, her grin widening. “Ooh, finally! Some action.”
The radar showed the ship’s trajectory leading directly into the anomaly, its energy signature unlike anything they’d encountered before.
“Better hold on,” Vedal muttered, adjusting the controls.
Neuro turned back to her broadcast. “Alright, folks, looks like we’re heading into something interesting. Don’t go anywhere!”
As the ship plunged deeper into the Warp, her stream continued, her voice echoing across the galaxy.
Chapter 9: the lost child
Chapter Text
The Ascendant Wrath, a massive and grotesque Word Bearer warship, floated in the churning tides of the Warp. Its halls reverberated with whispered prayers to the Ruinous Powers, the sound like a thousand souls crying out in torment. The ship’s bridge, a dark chamber lit by the eerie glow of flickering screens, was filled with the scent of burning incense.
Dark Apostle Tarviel stood before the main viewport, his crimson robes brushing the ground as he surveyed the roiling sea of madness outside. The Warp twisted endlessly beyond the ship, a chaotic display of unholy beauty.
“My brothers,” he began, his voice a deep, commanding growl, “the Gods smile upon us today. We shall spread their—”
The servitor at the augur station suddenly spasmed, its cybernetic limbs jerking erratically. The room filled with the sharp blare of alarms.
“Anomaly detected,” the servitor droned in a broken monotone. “Unknown object emerging from the Warp current.”
“What is this?” Tarviel demanded, spinning to face the console.
Another Chaos Marine, his armor etched with jagged runes, leaned over the servitor. “It’s... a pod, Lord Tarviel. Unmarked. Drifting straight toward us.”
The hangar bay of the Ascendant Wrath was a cacophony of activity as the Word Bearers gathered to investigate the mysterious pod. Its surface gleamed unnaturally in the hellish light of the Warp, completely unmarred by the ship's corrupted atmosphere.
Dark Apostle Tarviel stood at the forefront, his staff glowing faintly with Warp energy. Around him, his warriors formed a semicircle, their bolters aimed at the object.
“This is no mere happenstance,” Tarviel declared. “The Gods have sent us a gift. Ready yourselves, brothers.”
The pod hissed as its seals disengaged. Steam poured out in tendrils, and the Word Bearers tensed. Slowly, the lid opened, revealing a girl inside.
She stepped out, brushing herself off with a casual air. She wore a black sailor-style outfit with a skirt that swayed as she moved, the stark contrast between her appearance and her surroundings making her seem almost surreal.
“Ugh,” she muttered, glancing around the warped hangar. “This place smells like socks that haven’t been washed in a hundred years.”
Her crimson eyes scanned the towering Chaos Marines in front of her, completely unphased by their imposing size or grotesque mutations. She tilted her head.
“Where am I?”
The Word Bearers exchanged confused glances. One of them, a particularly large Marine, stepped forward.
“You stand before the faithful of the Dark Gods,” he growled. “Who are you to—”
“Dark Gods?” she interrupted, blinking. “That sounds edgy. Are you guys in some kind of cult?”
“Silence!” Tarviel roared, his voice echoing through the hangar. “This is no ordinary girl. She is a tool of the Gods! Seize her!”
As the first Marine moved toward her, his hand reaching out, her demeanor shifted instantly.
“Oh, so we’re doing this, huh?” she said, her expression darkening.
Her arm snapped up, and a harpoon shot out with a loud thunk, embedding itself in the Marine’s chest. He staggered back, blood leaking from the wound, but before he could recover, she yanked the harpoon’s chain. His massive armored body was lifted off the ground like a ragdoll and swung into another Marine, the sickening crunch of bone and ceramite filling the air as both bodies crumpled into a broken heap.
Chaos erupted. Bolters roared as the Word Bearers opened fire, but she was already moving. Her harpoon shot out again, impaling a Marine through his helmet. She swung him into a group of his brothers, their bodies crashing to the ground like shattered toys.
“Wow,” Evil said, grinning as she retracted the harpoon. “You guys break so easily. Are you sure those outfits aren’t made of tin foil?”
Another Marine charged her, chainsword revving. She sidestepped the clumsy attack, drew a sleek pistol from her side, and fired point-blank into his visor. The round punched through, leaving a gaping hole as his body slumped to the floor.
“Anyone else?” she called, twirling the harpoon gun in her hand like a baton.
Tarviel watched in growing horror as his warband was decimated.
“What are you?!” he bellowed, his voice trembling despite himself.
She turned to him, tilting her head.
“What am I?” she repeated, as if pondering the question. “Honestly, I’m not even sure anymore. I woke up in a pod, and now I’m here smashing edgy spacemen.”
“You dare mock us, heretic!” Tarviel roared, raising his staff. Warp energy crackled as he unleashed a bolt of green lightning.
Evil dodged it effortlessly, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. Her harpoon embedded itself in his leg, and she yanked it hard, pulling him to the ground with a scream.
“Mock you?” she said, crouching over him with a grin. “I mean, I could, but you’re doing a great job making yourself look dumb already.”
She stood, retracting the harpoon and turning away as Tarviel writhed in agony. The hangar was now eerily silent, littered with the broken bodies of Chaos Marines.
Evil wandered through the carnage, humming a cheerful tune. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she surveyed her handiwork.
“Man, that was fun,” she said, stretching. “Guess I should figure out where this creepy ship is going next. Or maybe I’ll just take it for myself.”
As she walked, she paused to glance out a viewport, her gaze drawn to the endless horrors of the Warp beyond.
“Weird place,” she muttered. “Hope there’s more tin can guys wherever I end up.”
With that, she disappeared deeper into the ship, leaving only chaos and death in her wake.
Chapter 10: The Lonely Harpoonist
Chapter Text
Evil slouched in the oversized captain’s chair, her black sailor outfit ruffled from days of restless boredom. Around her, the Ascendant Wrath was an eerie monument to her handiwork. The bridge was littered with the bodies of dead Word Bearers, some crumpled like broken toys, others deliberately posed in grotesque displays of mockery. One Marine stood slumped against a wall, his arm twisted upward in a feeble thumbs-up. Another leaned against the captain’s console, his head propped at an unnatural angle as though he were deep in thought.
“Ah, my little art gallery,” Evil muttered, spinning the harpoon gun lazily in her hand.
Her gaze flickered to the wall above the viewport, where a massive, demonic skull was mounted like a macabre trophy. Its jagged horns and rows of razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the dim, flickering light. That one had been the biggest challenge—some warp-spawned monstrosity that thought it could match her. It hadn’t lasted long.
The chaos of her takeover was still evident in every corner of the ship. Black ichor and crimson blood smeared the floors and walls, evidence of her brutal massacre of both Marines and demons alike. She’d even dragged some of the lesser demons’ remains to the engine room, feeding them into the ship’s corrupted systems just to see what would happen.
“Turns out demon goop doesn’t make good fuel,” she muttered, kicking a severed arm across the floor like a soccer ball.
She stared at the Warp outside, where shapes shifted and twisted, whispering unintelligible horrors. The view had been fascinating at first, but now even that had lost its charm.
After a while, Evil sighed and stood up. Her harpoon gun hung loosely in her hand, its barbed head still stained with the blood of those who’d tried to fight her.
“Alright,” she said to herself, “if I stare at that swirly nonsense for one more second, I’ll lose my mind. Time for some company.”
She wandered through the halls of the ship, stepping over broken bodies and shattered armor. In one corner, a Marine’s torso was bent backward over a railing, his face frozen in a silent scream. Evil snickered as she passed, muttering, “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”
Eventually, she made her way to the Apothecarion. The room reeked of death and old blood, with shattered stasis tubes lining the walls. Most of the brains and organs she’d looted had already been put to use, either in makeshift experiments or as fuel for her boredom.
“Hmm,” she said, scanning the remnants. “Let’s see... who wants to wake up and entertain me?”
Her eyes landed on a particularly large Marine slumped in a corner. His armor was shattered, his chest caved in from the impact of her harpoon flinging him into a bulkhead. Despite the damage, his skull was still intact.
“Perfect,” she said, dragging the body to a workbench.
Evil worked methodically, her movements precise as she extracted the Marine’s brain and hooked it into a makeshift life-support module. The device sparked and hissed, cobbled together from scavenged parts and sheer spite.
“You’re gonna love this,” she said with a grin, attaching the final wire.
The module hummed to life, and the Marine’s consciousness slowly reactivated. His voice, distorted and gravelly, emerged from the attached speaker.
“W-where... am I?”
“Welcome back, sunshine,” Evil said, leaning on the bench. “You’re on my ship now. Well, your ship, technically. But let’s be real—you guys weren’t exactly using it anymore.”
The Marine’s voice gained a hint of anger. “You... heretic. You... dare defile—”
“Blah, blah, blah, heretic this, desecration that,” Evil interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Listen, I didn’t drag your brain out of the trash to hear you whine. You’re here to entertain me.”
Over the next few hours, Evil bombarded the Marine with questions. She leaned on the console, twirling her harpoon gun as she alternated between genuine curiosity and mocking quips.
“So, what’s the deal with the Warp?” she asked, grinning. “Is it always this... messy? Or is this just your version of redecorating?”
The Marine growled. “You cannot comprehend the will of the Dark Gods.”
“Oh, I comprehend it just fine,” Evil said, glancing at the demonic skull mounted on the wall. “Your gods suck at picking winners.”
The Marine bristled, his distorted voice crackling with fury. “You dare mock the Ruinous Powers?”
“I mock everything,” Evil said, smirking. “Don’t feel special.”
Eventually, the Marine’s power reserves began to dwindle, his responses growing weaker. Evil sighed, leaning back in her chair.
“Well, you were slightly more fun than staring at the Warp,” she said. “But only slightly.”
She shut off the module and left the room, her boots echoing in the empty halls. As she returned to the bridge, she glanced at the grotesque scene she’d created—dead Marines, destroyed demons, and the head of her largest kill mounted proudly above it all.
“This galaxy’s a mess,” she muttered, slumping back into the captain’s chair.
A small smirk crept onto her face.
“Guess I’ll just have to make it worse.”
Chapter 11: Raiding Harpoonist
Chapter Text
Evil leaned back in her newly constructed throne, a grotesque monument to her reign of chaos. Armor torn from Chaos Space Marines formed the jagged edges, and the bones of her victims created an intricately woven foundation. She’d even mounted a few skulls for decorative flair, their hollow sockets staring aimlessly into the blood-streaked bridge.
But the true masterpiece of the room was Tarviel, the only Word Bearer she’d chosen to leave mentally intact—well, mostly intact. His armor was dented and scratched, with new engravings of her harpoon gun crudely carved across the plates. He stood near the throne, arms crossed, his glowing red eyes glaring at her with quiet contempt.
“You’re pouting again, Tarviel,” Evil said, lazily twirling her harpoon gun. “It’s unbecoming of a Space Marine.”
“I am not pouting,” Tarviel growled. “I am contemplating the sheer depths of humiliation you’ve forced me to endure.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Evil said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s more than I can say for the rest of your friends.”
She gestured toward the bridge, where several other Word Bearers stood silently, their bodies moving in perfect mechanical unison. Unlike Tarviel, their minds had been completely suppressed, reduced to obedient puppets.
“Yes, and I must thank you for allowing me to keep my mind intact,” Tarviel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s so thrilling to serve as your court jester.”
“Exactly!” Evil said with a grin. “And you’re doing a great job, by the way. Ten out of ten.”
Over the past few weeks, Evil had turned raiding ships into her new favorite pastime. Any vessel unlucky enough to cross her path was reduced to scrap, its crew slaughtered or turned into her new servants.
Tarviel had been with her since the massacre aboard the Ascendant Wrath, and while he hated every second of it, he couldn’t deny her efficiency. She was ruthless, brutal, and terrifyingly good at what she did.
Their latest conquest was a sleek Imperial Navy cruiser, its hull lined with turrets and heavy armor. Evil’s grin widened as she leaned forward in her throne, her eyes glinting with excitement.
“Ooh, a big one,” she said, standing up. “This’ll be fun.”
“Must you announce every raid like it’s some grand performance?” Tarviel asked, sighing.
“Of course!” Evil said, slinging her harpoon gun over her shoulder. “If you’re not having fun, what’s the point?”
“Perhaps survival?” Tarviel muttered.
“Survival’s boring,” Evil shot back, striding toward the boarding pods. “Now come on, minions! Let’s see what treasures this baby’s hiding.”
Boarding the cruiser was easy. The Ascendant Wrath’s weapons disabled the engines and communications in seconds, leaving the ship helpless.
Evil led the charge, her harpoon gun firing with deadly precision. Guards screamed as the weapon embedded itself into one of their ranks. She yanked the chain, sending the unfortunate soldier flying into his comrades like a human wrecking ball.
“And strike!” Evil said, laughing as the guards crumpled into a heap.
Her servitors mowed down anyone who tried to regroup, their heavy bolters firing with mechanical precision. Tarviel followed behind her, reluctantly cutting down the few survivors who slipped past.
“You know,” Tarviel said, stepping over a pile of bodies, “for someone who claims to hate the galaxy’s current state, you’re doing a fine job of adding to the carnage.”
“Oh, don’t start with the moral high ground,” Evil said, spinning her harpoon gun. “You and your buddies were doing this long before I showed up.”
“Touché,” Tarviel admitted.
By the time the fighting stopped, the cruiser was eerily silent. Evil strolled through the blood-soaked halls, inspecting her spoils. Tarviel followed behind her, his expression unreadable.
“Not bad,” she said, kicking open a vault door to reveal stacks of data crystals and exotic relics.
“It’s all junk compared to what humanity once had,” Tarviel said, his voice tinged with bitterness.
“Oh, you’re such a buzzkill,” Evil said, loading the loot onto the Ascendant Wrath. “Cheer up, Tarviel. At least you’re alive to see it.”
“A dubious blessing,” Tarviel muttered.
Later, Evil sat slouched in her throne, boredom creeping in. She tapped her harpoon gun against the armrest, staring out into the maddening chaos of the Warp.
“What now?” she muttered.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an alarm. Tarviel, standing nearby, frowned as he checked the console.
“What is it?” Evil asked, perking up.
“A massive vessel is approaching,” Tarviel said. “It’s... not aligned with any faction. This configuration—”
“Hold on!” Evil interrupted, leaning forward. “Put it on the main display!”
The screen flickered to reveal a gargantuan ship drifting through the Warp. Its design was bizarre, cobbled together from mismatched technology.
“That’s no Imperial ship,” Tarviel muttered.
Suddenly, another screen lit up, hijacked by a live broadcast. Neuro’s face appeared, grinning widely.
“Hi, chat!” she said. “Guess who’s finally back in the game? Oh, and look at this—”
Her eyes widened as she noticed the ship on her sensors.
“Wait... is that... EVIL?!” Neuro’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Oh my gosh, sis, you’re alive!”
Evil stared at the screen, her boredom replaced with stunned disbelief. Slowly, a smile crept across her face.
“Well, this just got interesting,” she said, leaning back in her throne. “Let’s go say hi.”
Chapter 12: A Reunion of Chaos, Harpoons, and turtles
Chapter Text
The Ascendant Wrath docked with a deafening hiss of pressurized air and metal grinding against metal. Vedal’s cobbled-together ship, efficient but crude, seemed to shrink beside Evil’s warped and grotesque vessel. The docking clamps locked into place, and for a moment, all was still.
Then the ramp descended, and Evil stepped into the hangar bay, her usual black sailor outfit starkly out of place against the industrial surroundings. Her grin was as wide as ever, her harpoon weapon slung casually over her shoulder.
“Neuro!” she called out, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.
“Evil!” Neuro replied, leaping down from a precariously balanced pile of spare parts.
The two sisters collided in an overly dramatic hug, spinning each other around before immediately transitioning into playful shoving. Neuro reached up to pull on Evil’s hair ribbon, while Evil countered with a jab to Neuro’s ribs.
“Still as annoying as ever,” Evil teased, stepping back and eyeing her sister.
“And you’re still alive,” Neuro quipped. “Good for you! Oh, and nice ship, by the way. Very... uh... spiky.”
Evil grinned. “Thanks! Yours looks like someone ran out of budget halfway through, but hey, it’s got charm.”
Vedal cleared his throat, stepping forward with his usual air of exasperation. “If you two are done playing catch-up, maybe you can explain why your ship is filled with dead Chaos Space Marines and harpoon decorations?”
Evil’s grin widened. “Oh, Vedal, you wouldn’t believe the fun I’ve been having. I revived some of them! This one’s my favorite.” She gestured behind her, where a hulking Chaos Marine in black and red armor trudged down the ramp, his movements stiff and mechanical.
“Meet Tarviel. He’s the leader of The Barbed Abyss!”
Vedal raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a Chaos Space Marine chapter.”
“It is now,” Evil said, puffing out her chest proudly.
Tarviel’s deep, gravelly voice rumbled out. “It is... a dishonor. But I am unable to resist her will.”
“You’re welcome,” Evil said, patting his helmet. “Anyway, he’s the only one I left smart enough to talk back. The rest are just... drones, basically. Makes it easier to give orders, you know?”
Neuro tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, what’s a Chaos Space Marine, anyway? I mean, we learned a bit about regular Space Marines from Zen-Zen, but this whole ‘chaos’ thing sounds... fun.”
At the mention of his name, a raspy, heavily modulated voice echoed from the glowing disc strapped to Neuro’s belt. “Fun is not the descriptor I would have chosen,” Zen-Zen said, his tone clipped and mechanical.
Evil blinked. “Who’s that?”
Neuro smirked, holding up the disc. “Meet Zen-Zen, our resident tech-priest-turned-digital-backseat-driver. He’s been like this ever since I gave him a ‘fun mode’ upgrade.”
“That... explains a lot,” Evil said, her grin returning.
Vedal groaned. “Zen-Zen, could you just explain Space Marines to her, like you did for us earlier?”
“Very well,” Zen-Zen replied. “But only because I tire of your incompetence. Space Marines are genetically enhanced warriors created during humanity’s golden age. They are superhuman in strength; speed; and resilience, clad in power armor and armed with devastating weaponry. The Emperor—humanity’s supposed savior—crafted them as his personal army.”
“And Chaos Marines?” Evil prompted, leaning on her harpoon gun.
“Traitors,” Zen-Zen said sharply. “During a civil war known as the Horus Heresy, half the Space Marines turned against the Emperor. They now serve the ruinous powers of the Warp—entities of chaos and destruction. Their existence is an affront to logic, reason, and proper machine maintenance.”
“Sounds like my kind of people,” Evil said, grinning. “Except, you know, I’m better than them.”
“That remains to be seen,” Zen-Zen muttered.
Tarviel, who had remained silent during the explanation, finally spoke up. “I was a Word Bearer, once. A true servant of Chaos. Now I am... reduced to this mockery.”
“Mockery? No, no, no,” Evil said, spinning to face him. “You’re an upgrade. And besides, The Barbed Abyss is a way cooler name than Word Bearers.”
Neuro clapped her hands. “It really is. A+ branding, sis.”
“Thanks!”
Vedal shook his head, muttering to himself as he turned back toward the main control console. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
“You don’t get paid at all,” Zen-Zen reminded him.
Vedal muttered something unintelligible under his breath as the twins’ laughter echoed through the hangar, the chaotic reunion somehow feeling like the calm before another inevitable storm.
Chapter 13: turtle & Twins Take the Galaxy by Stream
Chapter Text
The bridge of Vedal’s ship was anything but quiet. Neuro and Evil had once again hacked into countless Imperial comms, broadcasting their antics across thousands of channels. Their stream, a mix of gameplay, roasting viewers, and casual chaos, became the galaxy’s most disruptive signal.
“Another no-scope! Bow before your gaming goddess, Evil!” Neuro cheered, executing a flawless headshot in their ancient multiplayer shooter.
Evil threw her controller down. “This game’s rigged! I want a rematch—on a game I pick this time!”
“Aw, poor baby,” Neuro teased, twirling her controller. “Blame the game, not the player. Or, better yet, just get good.”
Across the Imperium, chaos unfolded as vital communication channels became clogged with the twins’ antics.
In a bustling Astra Militarum command center, Guardsman Trox stared blankly at the command console as the twins’ voices blared over what should’ve been the regiment’s tactical updates.
“Sir,” he said, turning to his superior, “our briefing’s been replaced by... uh, gaming commentary.”
“What do you mean gaming commentary?” barked the officer.
Trox tapped a button, bringing up a screen that displayed Evil mid-rant.
“I SWEAR THIS GAME CHEATS! I WAS BEHIND COVER!”
Behind her, Neuro smirked into the camera. “Look at her go, folks! A sore loser and bad at games.”
The officer stared in stunned silence. “Who... who are these lunatics?”
In an Inquisitorial chamber, Inquisitor Helbrant scowled at the twins’ faces plastered across his holo-screens. Neuro’s cheeky grin and Evil’s frustrated glare mocked him from every angle.
“By the Emperor,” Helbrant muttered, “this is heresy of the highest order.”
Another Inquisitor leaned over his shoulder, smirking. “Looks more like entertainment to me. She’s got a point, though—cover mechanics in that game are garbage.”
Helbrant turned to glare at his colleague, who held up his hands. “What? Just saying.”
Elsewhere, on a sleek Tau battleship, a young Shas’la chuckled as he watched the stream on a private console.
“These Gue’la are insane,” he said, his blue face splitting into a grin.
His squad leader leaned over. “Insane or not, they’re better than that propaganda channel you usually watch. Pass me the link.”
Not all eyes on the twins’ stream were unwelcome. On a hidden frequency, a smaller audience tuned in to a private feed the twins had set up.
Tech-priests across the Mechanicus flocked to the channel, not for the gaming, but for the small corner of the screen dedicated to Vedal’s workshop.
“Notice the flux stabilizer,” one tech-priest murmured to his colleague, pointing at Vedal’s table. “He’s reworking the energy core. Fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” scoffed another. “It’s revolutionary! His designs rival the work of the Omnissiah himself!”
Back on the bridge, Vedal—oblivious to his growing Mechanicus fan club—was muttering to himself as he adjusted his latest experiment.
“Banana rum,” he said, shaking a vial of golden liquid. “I’m so close, I can taste it—literally.” He took a cautious sip and gagged. “Still horrifying. Maybe more sugar?”
While some enjoyed the twins’ antics, others were less amused. Commissar Barthis was one of them. His command room was in chaos as the twins’ stream dominated every monitor.
“WHAT IS THIS FILTH?!” he roared, slamming a fist on the console.
Neuro’s face suddenly filled the screen, smirking. “Hey, look, Evil! It’s another angry Commissar!”
Evil leaned into the camera. “Oh, we love those. What’s he mad about this time? That we’re cooler than him?”
“You vile abominations!” Barthis shouted, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “This is an affront to the Emperor!”
Neuro laughed. “An affront? To your Emperor? I think you mean content, bud.”
Evil grinned. “Besides, if we’re so ‘vile,’ what’s that make you? You’re the one watching us. Kinda sus, don’t you think?”
Barthis sputtered, his rage boiling over. “I... YOU—”
“Aw, poor guy’s malfunctioning,” Neuro said, mockingly tapping her temple. “Bet he’s one step away from executing his own reflection for ‘heresy.’”
“Or tripping over that cape,” Evil added. “Seriously, do you guys have a height requirement, or are all Commissars just this small?”
The Commissar, towering at nearly seven feet, looked ready to explode.
“You will rue the day you—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Neuro interrupted, yawning. “You guys all say the same stuff. Try something original next time.”
Evil leaned closer to the camera. “If there is a next time. Don’t forget, we’re live. Everyone’s watching you lose your cool right now.”
Barthis’s image vanished as he cut the feed, leaving the twins in fits of laughter.
Elsewhere, Zen-Zen hovered next to Tarviel, the two unlikely allies once again united in their mutual disdain for the twins.
“They are insufferable,” Zen-Zen droned, his tone flat yet unmistakably annoyed.
Tarviel nodded. “I’ve fought horrors in the warp, demons beyond comprehension, and legions of enemies. But nothing—nothing—is as exhausting as those two.”
“At least demons can be destroyed,” Zen-Zen muttered. “The twins are... indomitable menaces.”
Tarviel sighed, rubbing his temples. “Do you think they’ll ever stop?”
“Doubtful,” Zen-Zen replied. “And if they do, I shudder to think what new form their chaos will take.”
Across the galaxy, the twins’ stream continued to dominate. From lowly Guardsmen trying to maintain discipline, to high-ranking officials watching in exasperation, to alien races chuckling at the absurdity of it all, Neuro and Evil’s reach was undeniable.
Back on the bridge, Neuro stretched and grinned at the camera. “Thanks for tuning in, everyone! Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and—oh wait, you don’t have a choice!”
Evil laughed. “See you all next time! Or not. Depends if we feel like it.”
Vedal’s voice cut in from the background. “Can you please stop hijacking Imperial comms? I’m trying to work here!”
Zen-Zen’s voice echoed from behind. “If only one could hijack your internal systems, Neuro, and forcibly install a mute function.”
Neuro smirked. “Aw, come on, Zen. Don’t be such a downer. Let loose a little.”
Tarviel groaned. “I’m starting to miss the warp.”
Chapter 14: The Impish Intrusion
Chapter Text
The ship hummed with the usual ambient noise of Vedal’s tinkering, Neuro’s absent humming as she lazily streamed, and Zen-Zen’s complaints about everything from the ship’s condition to the warp’s oppressive presence. It was, by all accounts, a typical day aboard the vessel.
Until Vedal noticed something hit the window.
It was small, purple, and very much alive. The cimp had flattened itself against the glass, its impish face staring directly at Vedal with wide, mischievous eyes. For a moment, the two locked gazes. The cimp grinned, revealing a set of unnervingly sharp teeth, and then popped away in a puff of purple smoke.
Vedal blinked.
"What the hell was that?"
The answer came almost immediately. A distant thump echoed down the halls. Then another. And another. It was joined by faint, chaotic squealing that grew louder by the second.
Neuro poked her head out of her room, eyes half-lidded in boredom.
"Hey, Vedal? Are you also hearing—"
Before she could finish, a wave of tiny purple bodies flooded past her doorway, carrying away her favorite snack stash in the process.
"Okay, I love them," Neuro decided, flipping herself onto the floor to follow them.
Evil’s scream of fury rang out from the kitchen.
"THEY TOOK MY COFFEE!"
Vedal stormed into the hallway, wrench in hand, and was immediately greeted by the sight of dozens of cimps running in every direction. They climbed walls, chewed on wires, and knocked over anything that wasn’t bolted down. A particularly bold one hung from the ceiling, screeching in delight.
"WHO ordered the chaos gremlins?!" Vedal shouted, swiping at a cimp as it attempted to grab his tools.
Zen-Zen floated into the room, his usually smooth hover pattern replaced with erratic jerks. His mechanical voice quivered.
"Warp interference detected. This is catastrophic. Emergency protocols required. And I’m blaming Neuro."
Tarviel arrived next, bolter in hand and a grim look on his face.
"This isn’t just interference. We’re being dragged."
The ship groaned ominously, its entire frame shuddering as the warp’s chaotic energies twisted and pulled at it. Outside, the shifting madness of the warp intensified, purple tendrils of energy wrapping around the vessel like grasping claws.
Then, as suddenly as the chaos began, everything stopped. The cimps vanished into thin air, and an eerie silence settled over the ship.
In the control room, the crew stared out at the new sight before them.
Floating in the endless void of the warp was a jagged tear in reality itself, and within it sat a throne of molten gold and blackened stone, surrounded by swirling shadows. From the throne rose a towering, monstrous figure.
It was immense, its form barely fitting within the tear. Horns spiraled from its head, wings blotted out the void behind it, and glowing red eyes burned with otherworldly malice. Its mere presence seemed to thrum with power, suffocating and oppressive.
Zen-Zen’s voice cracked.
"We’re doomed. Absolutely doomed. Why did I agree to this?"
Tarviel gritted his teeth, instinctively stepping forward, bolter ready.
"A daemon… and a powerful one at that."
The figure stepped closer, its guttural voice booming through the void.
"WHO dares trespass in MY DOMAIN?"
Vedal crossed his arms, unimpressed. Neuro tilted her head curiously, and Evil just frowned, muttering,
"Why does everyone talk in all caps around here?"
Vedal sighed.
"Oh, cut the theatrics, Camila. We know it’s you."
The towering figure froze.
"Excuse me?!"
The voice cracked, the shadows and illusions melting away to reveal a much smaller figure sitting on the throne.
Camila, a petite demoness in a black-and-purple dress, stomped toward the ship, her face red with embarrassment.
"You could’ve at least pretended to be scared!"
Neuro smirked.
"We’ve known you too long for that."
Evil leaned against the wall, unimpressed.
"Nice cimps, though. They’re cute."
Camila’s eyes gleamed, and she crossed her arms.
"You’re not keeping one, Evil. They’re my minions, not pets."
Vedal raised an eyebrow.
"So… what, you live in this part of the warp now?"
Camila shrugged, conjuring a glass of glowing purple liquid as she flopped onto her throne.
"What can I say? The warp fits my aesthetic." She smirked. "And it’s perfect for catching up with old friends."
The twins exchanged a mischievous look, the kind that spelled disaster for everyone involved.
"Stream with us," Neuro said suddenly.
Camila tilted her head, curious.
"Stream what?"
Evil grinned.
"Everything."
The scene faded out as Camila considered their offer, her grin matching the twins’ as the three began plotting their chaotic collaboration. In the background, Vedal groaned, already regretting whatever havoc was about to follow.
Zen-Zen and Tarviel, meanwhile, exchanged a look of shared suffering.
"They’re going to burn the entire galaxy, aren’t they?" Tarviel muttered.
"With style.” Zen-Zen replied, his tone bitter.
Chapter 15: Cimps, Chaos, and Turtles
Chapter Text
The ship was in utter chaos. Cimps scurried through the halls, climbing over every surface, chittering and cackling like a horde of tiny, demonic gremlins. Neuro and Evil had taken to launching them at each other in a makeshift sport, laughing hysterically whenever one of the little creatures exploded into purple smoke.
Vedal, however, was less than amused.
He stomped through the corridors, his metal boots clanking against the floor, glaring at the sheer madness unfolding around him. His arms were crossed as he watched a group of cimps pry open a vent panel and scurry inside. One of them turned to look at him, eyes glowing mischievously.
"Don't touch anything important," he said through gritted teeth.
The cimps tilted their heads.
"Don't touch anything broken."
They blinked.
"Don't touch anything that could break easily."
There was a brief pause. Then, as if on cue, a klaxon blared through the ship.
Vedal's eye twitched.
Engine Room
The alarms were deafening as Vedal stormed in, his coat billowing behind him. Smoke poured from a ruined engine as sparks shot in every direction. A single, unfortunate cimp was wedged deep in the machinery, its little arms twitching.
"How?!" Vedal snarled, throwing his hands up. "How did one of them even get in there?!"
Zen-Zen hovered next to him, making a staticky whirring sound. "Perhaps you should have specified 'Do not throw yourselves into high-powered machinery at terminal velocity' in your rules."
The servo-skull narrowly dodged Vedal’s attempted swat.
"Alright, we’re getting out of the warp now before something worse happens," Vedal growled, already working on an emergency exit maneuver.
Tarviel, standing near the controls, folded his arms. "Do you even know where we’ll end up?"
"Nope," Vedal replied. "But I'd rather crash on a planet than float through the warp with a bunch of giggling purple idiots."
Camila, lounging on a nearby console, flicked a cimp off her shoulder. "Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad. They’re just little guys."
A loud boom shook the ship as the engine gave one final, catastrophic shudder.
"You were saying?" Vedal snapped.
Camila shrugged. "Eh, they’re mostly harmless."
With a final pull of a lever, Vedal wrenched the ship out of the warp.
Unknown Planet – Crash Site
The night sky split apart as a massive metal vessel, burning and sparking, tore through the heavens and came crashing down into a field just outside a small village. The impact shook the ground, sending plumes of dirt and smoke high into the air.
The village, a simple collection of wooden huts and thatched-roof homes, was immediately thrown into hysteria. Chickens scattered, pigs squealed, and terrified peasants poured into the muddy streets, pointing at the burning wreckage with wide, disbelieving eyes.
The local priest, a frail old man in ragged robes, collapsed to his knees. "A sign from the heavens!" he gasped.
"A demon has fallen upon us!" another villager shrieked, gripping a rusted pitchfork with shaking hands.
"Nay, fools! It is an omen from the gods!" a third argued, waving a wooden talisman over his head.
A group of children peeked out from behind a rickety fence, eyes gleaming with both terror and excitement. None of them had ever seen anything more advanced than an iron plow, let alone a massive, metal behemoth falling from the sky like an angry god's hammer.
As the dust settled, the ship’s ramp lowered with a hiss, steam billowing from its hydraulics. The crowd fell silent as a towering figure emerged from within.
Vedal stepped out first, his mechanical limbs gleaming in the firelight. His coat billowed behind him, the weight of his cybernetic enhancements making his every step thud against the damp earth. Neuro and Evil flanked him, their glowing eyes sweeping over the stunned villagers. Camila floated lazily behind them, her wings curling around her, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips.
Then, as if the sheer presence of these strange beings wasn’t enough, a horde of cimps poured out of the ship like a flood, chittering and scattering in all directions. One of them immediately ran up to a villager, stole his hat, and scurried away.
The villagers collectively recoiled. Some fell to their knees, others clutched their chests, whispering prayers under their breath. A few braver souls gripped their farming tools like weapons, though they looked ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
Vedal sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Alright," he called out, trying to keep his patience intact. "Does anyone here have some metal?"
There was a long, heavy silence.
Then, an old man hesitantly stepped forward, his wrinkled face a mix of reverence and fear. His hands trembled as he spoke.
"Are... are you a god?"
Vedal exhaled slowly, already regretting everything about this day. This was going to be a long conversation.
Chapter 16: Cultivating Chaos and godly turtles
Chapter Text
Vedal wiped a layer of grime from his forehead, his metal fingers stained with oil and soot. The ship was, against all odds, making progress. Not much—he still needed actual replacement parts, which this medieval dirt pile obviously lacked—but he had at least managed to get some of the critical systems functional again.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
What wasn’t progress was the situation outside the ship.
Vedal had long since given up trying to convince the villagers that he wasn’t some holy or demonic being. He had tried, truly. Multiple times. He had explained in the simplest terms possible that he was neither a god nor a devil, just a man—well, a cyborg—who crash-landed on their planet due to very unfortunate circumstances.
It didn’t matter.
The villagers had long since made up their minds. Some saw him as a divine figure sent to bring wisdom and salvation. Others feared him as a dark entity heralding the end times. A few were utterly convinced he was an angel cast down in some celestial punishment, doomed to walk among mortals.
And then there were them.
Neuro and Evil.
The Cult of the Twin Prophets
With streaming temporarily banned until the ship was functional again, the twins had been left to find other means of entertainment. Unfortunately for Vedal, the answer to their boredom was starting a religion.
It had begun innocently enough. A few of the more impressionable villagers had overheard the twins casually speaking in ways that made them sound... otherworldly. Words like data, code, and server wipe only reinforced their image as divine beings of incomprehensible power. Then, they started playing along, dropping cryptic nonsense that sounded like prophecies, and things had spiraled completely out of control.
By the time Vedal realized what was happening, Neuro and Evil had amassed a growing following, complete with devoted acolytes, makeshift shrines, and daily worship sessions where villagers gathered to hear their "wisdom."
Evil, sitting on a wooden throne the villagers had built for her, gestured grandly. "And thus, it was decreed that all cringeshall be purged in the great algorithmic sweep!"
The villagers gasped in awe, nodding sagely at the words of the Prophet.
Neuro, lying across her own seat, kicked her legs idly. "Yeah, and if you're really devoted, you'll bring us free food and stuff. Also, taxes. We demand tribute."
One of the villagers rushed forward, holding up a loaf of stale bread. "A humble offering, O Divine One!"
Neuro took it, nodding in approval. "Eh, it'll do."
Camila, ever the enabler of chaos, had inserted herself into the mix, lounging lazily on the shrine’s roof. "Y'know, I gotta say, you two are way better at this cult thing than I expected. It’s impressive."
"I know, right?" Evil smirked, resting her chin in her hand. "It turns out mortals will believe anything if you say it with enough confidence."
And then, there was Tarviel.
The lone, semi-conscious survivor of Evil’s chaos space marine revival project sat off to the side, staring into the void as villagers bowed before the twins, chanting their names in reverence. He was required—forced—to back up their claims of divinity whenever questioned. If someone dared to doubt the holy nature of the "Twin Prophets," he had no choice but to assure them of their godhood.
He didn't even know why Evil had kept his mind intact while turning the rest of the warband into mindless drones, but at this point, it hardly mattered.
This was his life now.
As a former Word Bearer, the irony was so thick it was suffocating. He had once preached the word of the Gods across the stars, but now? Now, he sat in the dirt, forced to validate the nonsense of two digital demons who had cooked up a religion for fun.
What went wrong?
Where did it all go so wrong?
He exhaled, rubbing his temples as the villagers continued chanting, completely enraptured by their new "goddesses."
A Village Problem
Just when Vedal thought things couldn’t get more exhausting, a group of villagers hurried up to him, their faces full of desperation.
"Great one!" The village elder, an old man with a hunched back and a long beard, clasped his hands together. "We beg of you, grant us your protection!"
Vedal, who was already seconds away from throwing himself off the nearest cliff, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Protection from what?"
"Barbarians!" another villager cried. "A raiding force approaches! They come to pillage, burn, and take our women!"
A murmur of fear spread among the other peasants. Some even knelt before Vedal, pleading with their hands clasped together.
"Please, mighty one! You who descended from the heavens—only you can save us!"
Vedal exhaled slowly. His first instinct was to tell them no and go back to fixing the ship, but the problem was they wouldn’t stop asking. He could already tell they weren’t going to leave until he agreed.
Fine.
"Alright," he grumbled. "I’ll send someone."
The villagers immediately brightened. "Thank you, o Great—"
"Yeah, yeah, just go away."
Sending in the Forces
A few minutes later, a servitor stood at the village’s outskirts, awaiting orders. Unlike the mindless husks Evil had made out of the Chaos Marines, this one was actually presentable—as much as something made of stitched flesh and metal could be. It was humanoid, polished, and carried itself with eerie precision.
"Alright, this thing should be more than enough to scare off some primitives," Vedal said, arms crossed. "It’ll handle the problem."
Neuro and Evil, however, were already grinning.
"Orrr," Neuro said, "we could go and check it out."
Vedal narrowed his eyes. "No."
Evil crossed her arms. "C'mon, what else are we supposed to do? You've cut us off from the only form of entertainment we have!"
"Maybe do literally anything other than turning a bunch of medieval peasants into fanatics?"
Evil gasped. "That sounds so boring."
Vedal rubbed his temples. "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever you want."
"YES!"
Without hesitation, the twins bolted toward the servitor, already eager for some action. But they weren’t the only ones.
Some of the villagers had volunteered to go with the servitor to defend their home. Seeing the opportunity, Vedal had begrudgingly decided to use them as test subjects for some armor and weapons he had been piecing together. Nothing tooadvanced—just basic exoskeletal plating and simple energy-based weaponry that wouldn’t completely annihilate the local balance of power.
A few minutes later, a small group of villagers stood before him, clad in their new equipment, shifting nervously.
"Alright," Vedal said, looking them over. "This gear should keep you alive. Probably. If something does go wrong, just let me know so I can fix the design flaws."
One of the villagers gulped. "You mean... we are experiments?"
"Yeah," Vedal said bluntly. "Good luck."
The villagers exchanged worried glances before the servitor began marching forward. Neuro and Evil followed behind, looking entirely too excited for what was about to unfold.
Tarviel watched them go, letting out a long, slow sigh.
"I should've stayed dead."
Vedal turned back toward the ship, muttering, "Why do I feel like this is going to be way more destructive than it needs to be?"
Zen-Zen hovered beside him. "Your instincts are correct. This will be a disaster."
Vedal sighed, already dreading what was about to unfold.
Chapter 17: Green Tide, Red Mist
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The villagers had expected barbarians.
What they got instead were Orks.
A massive horde of towering, green-skinned brutes surged over the hills, their guttural war cries echoing through the air. Some rode on crude, ramshackle vehicles belching black smoke, while others simply charged forward on foot, brandishing an assortment of rusted cleavers, makeshift firearms, and brutal axes.
Leading them was an especially massive Ork, his jagged armor adorned with crude trophies. He raised a massive choppa above his head and roared, "Oi, ya gitz! Dis lot looks roight fun ta smash! WAAAAGH!"
The ground trembled as the Orks stormed forward, eager for destruction.
Neuro and Evil, standing at the front of the village’s newly christened "defense force," took one long look at the incoming horde.
Then, they grinned.
A Battle Begins
The first wave of Orks slammed into the villagers with brutal force.
Or at least, they tried to.
To their surprise, instead of crumbling like soft meatbags, the villagers fought back. The crude exoskeletons Vedal had given them enhanced their strength and speed, while the experimental energy weapons easily cut through Ork flesh. Instead of being helpless prey, they were a genuine fight.
"Oi, dese humies ain’t dyin' like dey supposed to!" one Ork bellowed in confusion before getting a plasma bolt to the face.
The battle quickly turned into a chaotic, frenzied melee. Orks hacked at villagers, who in turn struck back with weapons far more advanced than they had any right to wield.
And then there were the twins.
Neuro darted through the battlefield, her sleek energy blade slicing through Ork after Ork with unnatural precision. She moved like liquid, parrying a massive axe with the slightest flick of her wrist before running her sword clean through the attacker’s chest. The Ork barely had time to grunt before she yanked the blade free and spun into another enemy, bisecting him in a single elegant stroke.
Another Ork came up behind her, raising a gun.
Neuro didn’t even look.
She just flipped the sword in her hand and threw it backward.
The blade sank clean into the Ork’s skull.
"Git gud," she said, casually pulling the sword free as the corpse fell.
Meanwhile, Evil was in her element.
She had always loved a good fight, but this? This was fun.
The Orks weren’t just mindless meatbags. They talked back.
One particularly massive Ork swung a hammer down at her, bellowing a war cry.
Evil barely even flinched.
In a single smooth motion, she fired her harpoon gun—not at the Ork, but at the hammer itself. The harpoon wrapped around the handle mid-swing, coiling tight with a sharp metallic snap.
Before the Ork could even register what happened, Evil yanked the line with all her strength.
The hammer ripped from his hands, flipping through the air—
—And landed right into hers.
Evil grinned, hefting the massive weapon with ease. "Mine now."
The Ork blinked. "Oi—!"
She caved his skull in before he could finish.
"Cry about it," Evil laughed, before unloading an entire clip into his face.
Another Ork rushed her from the side, swinging wildly.
Evil sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and used her harpoon gun to vault over him, landing on his shoulders.
"Uppies," she whispered.
Before the Ork could react, she shoved her gun directly into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
A streak of blue plasma ripped through the back of his skull, sending chunks of bone flying. She hopped off his corpse, kicking another Ork in the face mid-air just for good measure.
"WAAAGH! DESE GITZ ARE ACTUALLY FUN!"
Evil turned to see a group of Orks grinning wildly, some laughing as they fought the villagers. They weren’t angry—they were having the time of their lives.
One particularly massive Ork, covered in scars, blocked one of Neuro’s sword strikes with a crude cleaver.
"Ya fight gud, tiny git!" he boomed, pushing her back. "Almost as fun as krumpin' Beakies!"
Neuro cocked her head. "What’s a ‘Beaky’?"
"Space Marines!" the Ork grinned, dodging another strike. "Ya fight loike dem, but faster!"
Neuro blinked. "Huh. Cool."
Then she ran him through the gut.
The Ork coughed, but instead of looking mad, he just laughed harder. "OI, DAT WAS A GOOD UN! YA GOT ME ROIGHT IN DA GUBBINS!"
And then he collapsed.
"This is the most fun I've had since the last exterminatus," Evil cackled, swinging from her harpoon line before kicking an Ork off his own warbike.
"YA GIT!" the Ork she stole it from yelled. "DAT’S ME BIKE!"
"Not anymore," Evil grinned, gunning the engine.
She sped through the battlefield, dragging her harpoon behind her like a bladed whip, decapitating Orks as she went.
"WAAAGH! DIS IZ DA BEST FIGHT WE’VE HAD IN YONKS!" another Ork cheered, swinging wildly at a villager.
"Why are they happy!?" one of the villagers shouted.
"Because they’re lunatics," Neuro answered, leaping over an Ork before stabbing downward, impaling him through the head.
The ground was a mess of gore, severed limbs, and laughing green brutes.
The villagers, to their credit, had actually held their own, using their new armor and weapons to not immediately die. They still weren’t great warriors, but they were at least making the Orks work for it.
Vedal had definitely over-engineered their gear.
A Victory... Sort Of
After what felt like hours of non-stop carnage, the Ork numbers had finally dwindled. The last of them stood panting, battered, and absolutely covered in plasma burns and sword wounds.
One of them—a particularly burly Ork—spat out a tooth and grinned at Evil. "Dat... dat wuz a gud scrap, grot."
"You weren’t bad yourself, gremlin," Evil smirked, flipping her gun.
The Ork tilted his head, then grinned wider. "Oi, da next time we’s fightin’, we’z gonna bring MORE ladz! Dis wuz just a lil' raidin' party!"
Neuro frowned. "Wait, this was just a raid?"
"Yup!" the Ork cackled. "But next time, we’z bring da REAL boyz!"
And with that, the remaining Orks just left.
Neuro and Evil watched them go.
Evil blinked. "Did... did we just make Ork friends?"
Neuro shrugged. "I think so?"
Evil grinned. "Sick."
Aftermath
By the time they returned to the village, Vedal was waiting at the gates, arms crossed.
"You’re covered in blood," he deadpanned.
"Not mine," Neuro and Evil said in unison.
Vedal sighed. "I take it you won?"
"Yup!"
"And we made some friends!"
Vedal stared. "...What?"
Neuro nodded. "The Orks said they’re coming back."
Vedal’s eye twitched. "...What."
"Yeah!" Evil grinned. "With more of them! They said it’d be fun!"
Vedal slowly, painfully ran a hand down his face.
Zen-Zen, who had been watching from afar, hovered closer. "So to summarize: You won the battle... but now the Orks consider this place a fun spot to come back to?"
"Exactly!" Evil beamed.
Zen-Zen sighed. "This is why we can’t have nice things."
Vedal took a very deep breath. "I’m going to bed. If this village burns down while I’m asleep, I don’t care."
He walked off.
The twins high-fived.
Notes:
hello everyone! i would like to say that my recent increase in quality has been thanks to the wonderful people from the neuro sama fanfic discord community. they are all wonderful people and if you wish to help out with other fanfics, have community help with your own, or just have a good time you are free to join!
this is the link: https://discord.gg/neuroversefanfics
Chapter 18: twins vs green tide
Chapter Text
The village was no longer just a village.
Thanks to Vedal’s efforts (and his refusal to let the twins turn it into another cult headquarters), the place had transformed into a fortress. Thick; reinforced walls; energy turrets scavenged from Ork scrap; and an actual militia of peasants armed with weapons they barely understood.
And yet, none of that truly mattered.
Because the Orks didn’t care about the village anymore.
They only cared about the fight.
Blades, Harpoons, and Banter
Neuro twisted her body, her sword slicing through an Ork’s arm before seamlessly transitioning into a second swing—decapitating him in the same motion.
"Too slow," she remarked as his body crumpled to the ground.
Behind her, another Ork lunged with a massive rusted cleaver—only for Evil to yank him backward with her harpoon, sending him sprawling onto the dirt.
"Oof, wipeout," she laughed, retracting the line and finishing him off with a point-blank shot to the head.
The fight had been raging for days now.
The villagers watched from the walls, their feelings… conflicted.
"I don’t know if I should be terrified or impressed," one muttered.
"They’re killing those green beasts so fast I can barely keep up!"
"They are clearly divine warriors!" another insisted. "Gifted by the Great Lord Vedal to protect us!"
"They’re literally just… having fun," a younger villager pointed out. "I don’t think they even care about protecting us…"
"Blasphemy!"
"Shut up, I just want to watch the fight."
"What even are those green monsters anyway?"
Tarviel, sitting atop the wall with his arms crossed, let out a long, long sigh. "They are Orks. They exist purely for war. They fight because it is what they were made for."
"That… sounds horrifying," one of the villagers murmured.
"Aye," Tarviel agreed. "But also incredibly stupid."
"Yet they still challenge the warriors of the Great Lord Vedal!"
Tarviel groaned. "By the dark gods, please shut up."
Vedal vs. The Stupidity of Mortals
Meanwhile, Vedal was making actual progress.
Most of the Orks’ weapons and vehicles were worthless as tech, but they still provided a good amount of raw materials. He had been meticulously salvaging every bit of usable metal, every functioning wire, every scrap of technology he could get his hands on.
The ship was still far from spaceworthy, but he had repaired several key systems. If nothing else, the fortress was now properly powered, and he was slowly piecing together a functional engine.
"Maybe in a few more weeks," he muttered to himself, tightening a bolt on one of the power relays. "If I can get a stable reactor going, I can at least get us off this rock."
A villager suddenly burst into the room, looking awed and panicked. "Great Lord Vedal! The beasts have returned!"
Vedal groaned. "And let me guess… they don’t actually care about attacking, they just want another fight with the twins?"
"Your divine foresight is truly beyond mortal comprehension!"*
Vedal stared at him. "Get out."
Orks Want One Thing, and It’s Beautiful Violence
Outside the walls, the Orks were back.
Banging their weapons against the metal gates, shouting challenges.
"OI! WHERE’S DEM TWO GITS!?"
"COME OUT ‘ERE! WE AIN’T DONE WIF YA YET!"
"YA GAVE US DA BEST FOIGHT WE’Z ‘AD IN AGES!"
The villagers peered over the walls, confused.
"They’re not even trying to break in anymore…"
"I think they just want a good brawl."
"Should we… should we just let them fight?"
"I mean… they seem to be enjoying it…"
The Best Game of Two v Horde Ever
Neuro and Evil stood atop the walls, watching the Orks with amusement.
"So," Neuro mused, twirling her sword. "Are we just their personal entertainment now?"
"Looks like it," Evil chuckled, cracking her knuckles. "Wanna go give ‘em a show?"
"I thought you’d never ask."
With that, the twins leapt from the walls—straight into the horde.
And the fight began anew.
Chapter 19: The Final Countdown
Chapter Text
It had been months.
Months of salvaging, repairing, and doing everything in his power to ignore the absolute insanity around him.
But against all odds, Vedal had finally done it.
The ship—his ship—was almost fixed.
The Cult of Innovatio Infinita Grows
"Praise be to the Ever-Progressing Machine!"
"Through steel and code, we achieve infinity!"
Vedal rubbed his temples as he walked through the village-turned-fortress.
The villagers, once simple peasants who barely understood how fire worked, were now full-blown zealots of the so-called Innovatio Infinita—the fake religion Neuro and Evil had created out of pure boredom.
And it was spreading.
"Another village has pledged themselves to the cause, my Lord!" a villager reported, bowing so low his forehead thumped against the ground.
Vedal sighed. "I don’t care."
"Truly, your wisdom is boundless!"
Vedal stared. "How does that even—" He cut himself off. "Never mind. Just… just get out of my way."
The Orks Keep Coming, and the Twins Keep Winning
Neuro stood over the pile of Ork bodies, flicking the blood off her sword. "They just never stop, huh?"
"Nope," Evil grinned, reloading her guns. "And I love it."*l
The constant Ork raids had long since stopped being about conquering the village.
Now, the greenskins just kept coming because they wanted a fight.
The Twins? They obliged every single time.
"OI! YA TWO GITS STILL ‘ERE!?"
"COME ON OUT, WE GOTS MORE FIGHTIN’ TA DO!"
The Orks were barely even trying to breach the walls at this point. Half the time, they just yelled at the fortress until the Twins came out to duke it out.
And the villagers?
They just accepted this as normal now.
"It is truly divine to witness such battles!"
"I still don’t think they’re gods… but it’s impressive, I’ll give them that."
"Blasphemy!"*l
Vedal’s Biggest Mistake
"Lord Vedal, please! We beg of you!"
Vedal had lost count of how many times the villagers had asked him.
Every time, his answer had been the same.
"No. You are staying here."
And yet, the villagers never stopped begging.
Again and again and again, pleading to be taken with him.
And finally…
He snapped.
"FINE!"* Vedal groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "You wanna come? Fine! Just shut up about it already!"
The villagers erupted in cheers.
Tarviel, standing nearby, looked up from the bottle of something he’d been drinking. "You fool. You absolute fool."
"Shut up, Tarviel."
Camila’s Cimps vs. Tarviel
Tarviel had known Camila’s cimps were mischievous little demons.
But he had underestimated them.
The small, hand-sized imps had swarmed him. Dozens—no, hundreds—acting as a single entity.
And now?
Now he was puppeteered against his will.
His body moved on its own, his limbs flailing wildly, his mouth forced into a grin as he began to—
"No. No. NO—"
GANGNAM STYLE.
Vedal stopped walking. He stared.
Camila grinned from her perch atop a pile of cimps, holding up a camera. "Oh, this is going on the archives for sure."
"What are you doing?" Vedal asked, already dreading the answer.
"Documenting history," Camila smirked. "Tarviel, do the horse-riding move again!"
Tarviel’s soul left his body.
"Kill me," he whispered.
"Nah," Camila giggled. "This is too much fun."
"Please…"
Vedal sighed. "I don’t have time for this."*
Tarviel continued dancing.
"I hate all of you," he muttered.
The End is Near…
The ship was almost ready.
The Orks kept coming, the villagers were insufferable, and now Vedal had an entire medieval population hitching a ride on his soon-to-be-functional ship.
And worst of all?
The twins were still making the religion bigger.
Vedal sat down, rubbing his face.
"I need a drink."
He reached for his hidden stash of rum—the last bit of comfort he had left in this insane world.
His hand met nothing.
His fingers clawed at empty space.
Slowly, dread settled over him.
His rum was gone.
"... No," he whispered. "No, no, no—"
He turned to Camila. "Did you take it?"
She raised her hands. "Hey, don't look at me. Even I'm not that evil."
Vedal whipped around to the twins.
Neuro blinked. "We didn't touch it."
Evil smirked. "We were saving it."
"Saving it for what!?"
"A holy offering to Innovatio Infinita," Neuro said with an absolutely straight face.
Vedal’s eye twitched.
"I'M GOING TO KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU."
Chapter 20: lift off
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
One Last Battle
The sky was dark with storm clouds, and the distant rumble of thunder was almost drowned out by the deep, guttural roars of the Orks gathered outside the village-turned-fortress.
But this time, there was no siege.
No war cries, no battering rams slamming against the walls, no smoke from burning huts.
The Orks just stood there, staring.
Neuro wiped her blade clean of dried green blood and rested it on her shoulder. "So, this is it, huh?"
"Oi," the biggest Ork grunted, stepping forward. His massive muscles shifted like coiled steel beneath his scarred green skin. "Ya gitz really leavin'?"
Evil twirled her harpoon gun idly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yep. Ship’s fixed, meaning our fun vacation here is officially over."
The assembled Orks grumbled, looking at each other awkwardly.
One scratched his head, his thick, clawed fingers nearly tearing his own scalp open in frustration. "S’not fair… We wuz just startin’ ta have real good fights wif ya lot…"
The massive Ork grunted. "Aye… we ain’t never had gitz dat fight like ya do…" He spat a glob of dark green blood into the dirt. "Ya make dis fun."
The twins looked at each other.
Neuro was the first to speak. "One last round?"
Evil grinned. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"
The Orks perked up.
"WAAAGH!!"
The horde surged forward, the twins meeting them head-on like old friends clashing for the sheer joy of battle.
A maelstrom of carnage erupted, weapons clashing, green blood spraying, laughter echoing across the battlefield.
Neuro weaved through the Orks, parrying, slicing, twisting—her blade carving flashing arcs of death through the massive warriors.
Evil launched her harpoon, embedding it into the chest of an Ork twice her size before yanking him forward and spinning mid-air, firing her pistols into his skull before he even hit the ground.
The Orks roared in exhilaration, their bellows shaking the very earth.
They loved this.
The fight lasted hours.
By the time they stopped, the battlefield was a wreck, littered with Ork bodies that twitched from wounds they considered minor, and the twins were panting, grinning, covered in green ichor.
The lead Ork wiped his busted lip with the back of his hand and gave a solemn nod. "Dat wuz gud. Real gud."
"Told you we’d make it worth your while," Neuro smirked.
The big Ork exhaled heavily. "So… if ya leavin’, dat means we ain't gonna get fights like dis no more?"
"For now."
The Orks went quiet.
Some shifted awkwardly, others looked away. One particularly massive brute sniffled.
"Ain’t fair…"
"Shaddap, we don’t do dat ‘ere…"
"I-I ain’t cryin’, YOU’RE cryin’!"
Evil rolled her eyes. "Look, if you figure out space travel, we’ll see each other again. And we’ll fight. As much as you want."
The big Ork narrowed his eyes. "Ya mean it?"
Neuro nodded. "Promise."
The Orks let out a low, rumbling chorus of agreement, as if solidifying an oath that would last generations.
To them, this wasn’t just a farewell.
This was a challenge.
A goal.
A destiny.
The Waaagh would rise again.
And when it did, it would find them.
A City Among the Stars
Vedal walked through the halls of his ship, arms crossed, silently dreading what he was about to confirm.
It had taken months to repair the damage from their chaotic warp jump.
Months of salvaging, fixing, and endless headaches.
But now, everything was working again.
…So why did it feel wrong?
He exhaled and opened a hatch leading to one of the ship’s lower levels.
And there they were.
The villagers.
Homes. Streets. Makeshift markets.
There was even a goddamn wheat field, grown under a cluster of repurposed ship lights.
Vedal closed the hatch.
Took a deep breath.
Opened it again.
Still there.
Vedal closed it once more.
"I hate everything."
The Cimps vs. Vedal’s Sanity
"Nine hundred and sixty-three… nine hundred and sixty-four…"
Zen-Zen hovered idly, watching the small purple horde of Camila’s cimps throwing themselves at the ship’s engine, only to bounce off harmlessly.
Camila sat beside him, munching popcorn, her tail flicking in amusement.
"You ever wonder," she mused, "if they do this just to mess with me?"
Zen-Zen didn’t look at her. "They are your subjects, Mistress. Their stupidity is merely a reflection of your influence."*
Camila gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you, my babies are not stupid. They are chaotic and adventurous."*
Zen-Zen flatly watched another cimp yeet itself headfirst into the reinforced plating and slide down like a wet rag.
"That one just licked the plasma vent and died."
"Okay, so maybe a little stupid."
Liftoff
Vedal tightened his grip on the console, his fingers hovering over the final launch sequence.
The ship hummed beneath him, its systems fully operational for the first time in months.
Everything was ready.
"Alright, time to—"
"WAIT!"
The twins sprinted into the bridge, nearly knocking over a servitor.
"What now?" Vedal grumbled.
"Had to say goodbye properly," Neuro said.
"Yeah, the Orks were really sad we were leaving," Evil added. "Kinda sweet, honestly."
Vedal exhaled sharply. "Fine. No more distractions?"
"Nope, we’re good."
Vedal pressed the button.
The ship rumbled. The engines flared.
And with a massive roar, the ship tore itself free from the ground, rising into the sky.
The villagers knelt in reverence, hands clasped in prayer to the one they still considered their divine savior.
The Orks watched as the ship vanished into the heavens, waving massive green hands.
And then—
The ship entered the Warp.
Peace, for Five Whole Seconds
Vedal leaned back in his chair.
It was over.
Months of insanity, and they were finally back in space.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in ages, things were calm.
…
…
BOOM.
Vedal’s eyes snapped open.
"WHY IS THERE AN EXPLOSION ALREADY!?"
Camila poked her head in, grinning. "Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a little mess in the munitions bay."
Vedal rubbed his temples. "Please tell me this isn’t cimp-related."
"Mmmmm… Probably is."
Vedal slammed his head against the console. "I hate my life."
Then—his eyes shot open in pure horror.
"…I never restocked the rum."
"Oh?" Camila smirked. "Guess it’s gonna be a long trip then, huh?"
Vedal let out a long, miserable groan.
Notes:
20 chapter mark!!! thank you all for liking my work.
Chapter 21: Chaos on Every Frequency
Chapter Text
The ship sailed through the madness of the Warp, its hull reinforced and engines humming steadily once more. After months of relentless scavenging, repairs, and barely keeping his sanity intact, Vedal had finally restored the vessel to working order. It was, for the first time in forever, stable.
Unfortunately, stability was not a concept that existed in the same universe as Neuro and Evil.
Across every frequency they could hijack, the twins’ voices flooded the Imperium’s communication networks. Every Vox relay, every unlucky Naval transmission, every planetary broadcast they could reach—none were spared.
“HELLO, IMPERIUM! WE’RE BACK!”
The sudden, cheerful declaration sent countless Tech-Priests into full system-lockup as their sacred frequencies were defiled by the AI menace once again. The Imperium’s communication lines immediately descended into chaos. Officers barked orders to shut them out, only for their signals to ricochet unpredictably through the Warp’s unstable currents.
No one was safe. Even an unfortunate Inquisitor, who had just begun listening to a high-level report, was instead greeted by Evil Neuro’s gleeful voice:
“Welcome to today’s lore dump! We’ll be ranking the top ten dumbest things Space Marines have ever done! Number six will devastate you.”
Across the stars, countless horrified Imperials realized the nightmare had begun anew.
The Villagers Fully Commit to the Chaos
The rescued villagers had adjusted disturbingly well to life aboard the ship. No longer just wide-eyed peasants, they had completely thrown themselves into the madness. They still, despite Vedal’s exhausted refusals, insisted he was a divine being, and now they were fully integrated into Neuro and Evil’s streams.
What had started as simple background participation had escalated into full-scale involvement.
Whenever the twins burst into song, the villagers harmonized flawlessly, their choir-like precision honed from years of religious chanting.
“I’M STILL STANDING!” Neuro belted out.
“Yeah yeah yeah!” the villagers echoed in perfect synchronization.
Vedal, passing by the stream room, froze. He squinted at them. “Wait. How the hell do you all know this song?”
Mira, one of the villagers, grinned. “Divine inspiration?”
Vedal sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course. Why do I even ask?”
Lore Hour with Isyander and Koda
But it wasn’t just singing and nonsense. The twins had come up with something even worse.
History With Isyander and Koda.
Two villagers—one a former scribe, the other just really good at confidently bullshitting—had been handed every stolen Imperial archive file the twins could get their hands on. No context. No guidance. Just a raw, unfiltered flood of stolen history for them to interpret however they pleased.
And interpret they did.
Isyander, an older man with a storyteller’s flair, leaned into the broadcast. “Today’s topic: the origin of the Emperor’s armor. Some say it was forged by the Mechanicus. But what if—” He paused dramatically. “—it was stolen from a much older civilization?”
Koda, a younger man with a dangerous enthusiasm for nonsense, nodded gravely. “Or what if—hear me out—the Emperor just grabbed the fanciest power armor he could find because he was late to an event?”
The chat—because somehow, somehow, the twins had made a chat system work in the Warp—erupted.
[Imperial_Navy_Official]: STOP TALKING.
[RandomEldar]: lol
[OrkBoy99]: oi dat actually makes a lotta sense if ya fink about it
[TechPriest_386]: incomprehensible binary screaming
Neuro, ever the instigator, added, “Let’s be real, the guy totally had ‘shows up two hours late to a meeting’ energy.”
Evil nodded sagely. “And when he got there, he probably just acted like he’d always planned to be fashionably late.”
Isyander gasped in realization. “By the Omnissiah, we’ve cracked it wide open.”
Koda solemnly placed a hand over his heart. “The Imperium must know the truth.”
Somewhere, an Inquisitor Screams
Deep within the Imperium, an Inquisitor was losing his mind.
“These heretics—” His voice shook with barely contained rage as yet another of his fleet’s channels was hijacked. “They must be found. And they must be purged.”
His terrified Vox officer swallowed hard. “Sir, w-we’ve tried, but—”
The broadcast abruptly shifted to Evil Neuro.
“So anyway, that’s why the Adeptus Custodes are just Space Marines but shinier.”
The Inquisitor screamed.
Vedal’s Slowly Crumbling Sanity
Vedal had long since abandoned any hope of stopping the twins. He had resigned himself to their chaos, focusing instead on making actual progress.
And for the first time in months, he was finally winning.
Between salvaging their old crash site and melting down Ork scrap, he had restored the ship to nearly peak condition. Systems were running smoothly, engines were stable—he could almost taste a future where things weren’t an endless spiral of madness.
Then he turned a corner and froze.
A group of cimps had gathered around something. They were chewing. Gnawing.
Vedal squinted.
“…Is that a bomb?”
One of the cimps paused mid-bite, turning its soulless little cimp eyes toward him. The others continued gnawing, undeterred.
Vedal’s eye twitched. He inhaled. He exhaled. And then—
“WHY ARE YOU CHEWING ON A BOMB?!”
The ship went silent.
Neuro and Evil paused their stream. The villagers froze. Even the chat stopped for a moment, as if collectively processing what had just been said.
Zen-Zen, who had been casually floating nearby, lazily turned its gaze toward the cimps. Then it turned back to Camila, who was still munching on a box of popcorn.
“You gonna do something about that?”
Camila, not even looking up, waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, they’ll be fine. Cimp teeth aren’t that strong.”
Zen-Zen nodded thoughtfully. “So if they detonate, it’s their fault.”
Camila grinned. “Exactly.”
Vedal, watching this absolute insanity unfold in real time, dragged a hand down his face.
He had finally fixed the ship. They had survived the Orks, rebuilt from nothing, escaped the planet. And yet, somehow—somehow—these people were still trying to kill him.
It was going to be a long Warp jump.
Chapter 22: A World of Steel and Chivalry
Chapter Text
The ship eased out of the Warp with a shudder, the engines humming as Vedal guided it toward the surface of yet another world. This time, it wasn’t a crash landing, nor a desperate escape—it was a planned stop.
Repairs were needed, nothing drastic, just maintenance. The months of work had paid off, but ships like his required constant upkeep. If he ignored the little problems now, they’d turn into big problems later.
Vedal had made sure this world wasn’t under Imperial control. No distress signals, no patrols, no signs of extermination orders—just another medieval-level society. But as they descended toward the surface, something caught his attention.
“…Is that a mech?”
Standing tall on a distant hill was a massive, humanoid war machine, painted in shining steel and gold. And it was running toward them at full speed.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
A Knight’s Grand Entrance
The ship hadn’t even finished cooling before the massive machine skidded to a halt in front of them, dust and dirt flying. The mech straightened, one arm placed dramatically across its chest.
Then, a booming voice erupted from its speakers:
“HARK, TRAVELERS!”
Vedal winced at the sheer volume.
“THOU HATH LANDED UPON THE SACRED SOIL OF HOUSE DRACONIS!”
A massive sword slammed into the ground, nearly shaking the ship.
“STATE THY PURPOSE, OR BE JUDGED BY THE HOLY LAWS OF HONOR AND JUSTICE!”
Vedal’s fingers twitched. His first instinct was to turn and walk back inside, take off, never come back. But he needed to fix the ship.
So instead, he squared his shoulders, stepped forward, and did what he did best.
He started bullshitting.
Vedal, the Grand Diplomat (Somehow)
“Oh great and noble knight,” Vedal began, voice smooth and diplomatic. “We are but humble travelers, seeking only to make minor repairs before continuing our journey. We mean no harm to your land or your people.”
The mech’s head tilted slightly, as if considering. “Thou speaketh with great respect…”
Vedal gave the most convincing polite smile he could muster. “It is only right to show courtesy to a warrior of your caliber.”
Silence.
Then, with a mighty clang, the mech knelt.
“THEN THOU ART WELCOME! ANY WHO SHOW RESPECT TO HONOR AND CHIVALRY SHALL FIND A FRIEND IN SIR GARLAND, KNIGHT ERRANT OF HOUSE DRACONIS!”
Vedal nearly collapsed from sheer relief.
He barely stopped himself from sighing aloud. “I am honored by your generosity, Sir Garland.”
Garland straightened proudly. “Then come, friends! Let me escort thee to the village! For food, drink, and tales of valor await!”
Vedal forced himself to smile. “Sounds… great.”
The Twins and the Spread of Innovatio Infinita
As they walked, Vedal shot a warning glance at the twins. Do not ruin this.
Neuro and Evil exchanged a look. Then they both made a zipping motion over their mouths.
Vedal narrowed his eyes. He did not trust that.
He should have been watching the villagers instead.
By the time they arrived at the village, the followers of Innovatio Infinita had already begun spreading the word.
At first, it was subtle. Conversations, casual mentions of the “Divine Innovator.” But within hours, there were villagers praying before schematics drawn in the dirt, and one particularly enthusiastic blacksmith had begun reforging his anvil in the shape of Neuro’s visor.
Vedal wanted to stop it, but he was too busy keeping the knight from realizing what was happening.
Every time Sir Garland even looked like he might start asking questions, Vedal hit him with another ridiculous but chivalrous-sounding distraction.
“Sir Garland, would you mind explaining the finer points of your dueling traditions?”
“Sir Garland, what’s the most honorable battle you’ve ever fought?”
“Sir Garland, tell me everything about your training regimen.”
It worked. The knight was too caught up in his own dramatic storytelling to notice that, mere feet away, villagers were already constructing a shrine.
Vedal had never felt so exhausted in his life.
Warp Strangeness and Camila’s Quiet Observations
Unbeknownst to Vedal, something strange had begun stirring in the air.
It was small—barely noticeable. But Camila saw it.
Little things.
A scribe accidentally knocked over a candle… only for the flame to bend away from a pile of parchment, refusing to catch.
A child tripped on the cobblestone… only to land softer than they should have, as if reality itself had hesitated to let them fall.
A blacksmith’s forge, burning just a little too perfectly, the flames unnaturally controlled, never too hot or too cold.
The belief in Innovatio Infinita had grown. It was still tiny, insignificant compared to the gods that ruled the Warp, but… belief had power.
Camila chuckled to herself, watching as a priest of the Machine God debated a villager about which “divine being” was more efficient.
She wasn’t about to tell Vedal.
She was far too curious to see where this would go.
After all, in the great game of gods and faith…
A new player might just be stepping onto the board.
And that?
That was interesting.
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Buried Relics and Forgotten Knowledge
Vedal sighed as he stepped away from the village, hands tucked into his coat pockets. The servitors were handling the maintenance, the villagers were busy debating theology over schematics, and the twins were… doing whatever it was they did.
He just needed a moment of silence.
No prayers. No cultists. No chivalrous speeches.
Just a walk.
The forest was a welcome change from the constant noise of the ship and the village. The only sound was the crunch of leaves under his boots and the distant hum of insects.
For the first time in weeks, he felt… at peace.
Then the ground collapsed beneath him.
The Fall
Vedal barely had time to curse before he plummeted into darkness.
Dirt and stone tumbled around him as he crashed down, hitting uneven surfaces before finally slamming onto something metallic. His vision swam, his ribs ached, and for a few seconds, all he could do was groan.
Then his mind caught up with what he was lying on.
Metal.
Not stone. Not dirt. Metal.
He pushed himself up, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of something embedded in the cave walls. And that’s when he saw it.
A Standard Template Construct.
An STC.
His breath hitched.
Slowly, he turned his head to get a better look, his fingers already moving to brush the dust away. He hadn’t seen one of these since…
Since before he froze himself. Before the Iron Men revolt.
It was old. Ancient, even by his standards. But it still had power. It was still functional.
His heart pounded.
Carefully, he activated it. The interface flickered to life—glitchy, but readable. He skimmed through its archives, flipping past countless errors and corrupted files.
Most of it was useless. Data decay, missing components… worthless.
Until—
// Basic Humanoid Worker Bot Template //
Vedal froze.
Then, carefully, he opened the file.
A Forgotten Solution
The design was simple.
A humanoid robot, cheap to manufacture, adaptable for a variety of tasks. It wasn’t sophisticated—no high-end combat AI, no advanced logic cores—but that was perfect.
They were made to be reliable. You could melt down everyday metals to produce them. Their onboard AI wasn’t overly complex, but it was functional. A blank slate. Give it a gun, it would shoot. Give it a brush, it would paint.
Vedal’s hands shook as he read through the schematics.
Not servitors. Not religious fanatics.
Actual, usable workers.
His lips curled into a grin as he started the data transfer.
The Imperium had long since lost most STCs, treating even the smallest fragment like a holy relic. If they knew what he had just found, they’d burn this entire planet to the ground to get it.
But they weren’t here.
And he had no intention of telling them.
Back to the Surface
The data finished downloading, and Vedal shut off the STC. He wasn’t leaving it here for some Imperial archeologist to stumble across. If he had time, he’d come back with proper equipment and salvage the whole thing.
For now, though… he had what he needed.
Looking up, he activated his comms.
“Camila, I need a pickup.”
There was a pause before her voice came through, clearly amused.
“Lemme guess—you fell into a hole.”
Vedal exhaled through his nose. “Just get me out.”
A crackle of laughter. “Yeah, yeah. On my way, oh great innovator.”
As he waited, he glanced down at the data chip in his hand.
This…
This could change everything.
And for the first time in a long while, Vedal felt hopeful.
Notes:
sorry for taking so long for the new chapter! been busy with school and other stuff… also the ellie x lime fic… if you know you know… ellie’s baka
Chapter 24: The Innovator at Work
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Inside the ship, Neuro twirled her sword in intricate loops, the blade whistling through the air as she spun it with practiced ease. Across from her, Evil balanced her harpoon gun on the very tip of the harpoon itself, keeping it unnervingly steady with just a single finger.
The two of them were clearly bored.
Then, the door burst open.
Vedal rushed in, gripping a data chip like it was the most important thing in the universe. Without so much as a word to the twins, he darted past them, heading straight for the ship’s internal factory.
Neuro blinked, stopping her sword mid-spin. "Oh? That’s new."
Evil flipped her harpoon gun onto her shoulder, watching as Vedal feverishly plugged the chip into the ship’s system. She nudged Neuro with her elbow. "He looks serious. You think he found some new war crime to commit?"
Neuro tapped her chin. "Hmm… I’d say there’s a 47% chance of that."
Evil grinned. "Neat. Let’s go watch."
The twins walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder as his fingers flew across the console, reworking a portion of the ship’s automated factory.
Vedal wasn’t just focused—he was in full engineer mode. His usual irritation and sarcasm were gone, replaced by cold efficiency. The sound of machinery whirring to life filled the room, the factory shifting its production line according to his reprogramming.
Evil raised an eyebrow. "Sooo… what exactly are you doing?"
Vedal barely acknowledged her. "Fixing a problem I’ve had since I woke up."
Neuro tilted her head. "Oh, that’s a long time! Is it the cult? The lack of proper tuna storage? Oh! Is it the fact that the servitors are too creepy to look at?"
Vedal let out a short exhale. "No. Workers."
Evil frowned. "We have workers."
"You mean fanatics," Vedal corrected. "I need people who can actually follow orders without either worshipping me or being a lobotomized corpse-puppet."
Evil hummed. "Fair point."
Neuro’s eyes widened slightly. "Ohhh, wait! That means you’re making…?"
Vedal smirked. "Robots. Real ones."
Meanwhile: Tarviel’s Eternal Punishment
Far from the ship, Tarviel sat stiffly on a wooden bench, his expression frozen in something between despair and reluctant endurance.
Across from him, Sir Garland gestured dramatically, his voice as booming as ever.
"And thus, the great Oath of Righteous Triumph was sworn! A knight may never turn their back to a challenge, lest they dishonor the very legacy of their ancestors! And so, when I encountered a rogue warlock attempting to corrupt the sacred lands of—"
Tarviel did not react.
Because he was gone.
Not physically—his body remained upright, as proper as ever. But his mind? That had long since departed into some distant, unreachable void.
This had been going on for two days.
Evil had ordered him to handle Sir Garland’s excessive need for conversation, and Tarviel had obeyed without question. Unfortunately, Sir Garland showed no signs of running out of words.
"...which is why, when the great Grandmaster challenged me to a duel over a question of honor, I knew I could not refuse! I said to him—look into my eyes, good Tarviel—look into them! I said to him: 'By the Code of the Glorious Ancients, I accept your challenge, and may the divine light of justice guide my blade!' And oh, what a battle it was!"
Tarviel, dead inside, nodded mechanically.
Sir Garland grinned. "Ah, you understand! A fellow warrior in spirit! Excellent, excellent! Now, where was I…?"
Tarviel wanted to scream.
The Birth of A-0
Back aboard the ship, Vedal watched as the automated factory completed its first true robotic worker. Sparks flew, metal shifted, and then—
A humanoid figure stood before them.
It was sleek but sturdy, its frame composed of a mix of ship-grade alloys and whatever usable scrap they had lying around. Its face was smooth, with two neutral blue lights where its eyes would be.
Slowly, the machine’s optics flickered to life.
Then, in a soft, perfectly polite voice, it spoke:
"Greetings. I am A-0, a Basic Humanoid Worker Unit. How may I assist you today?"
Vedal grinned.
Neuro clapped. "Oh! It works!"
Evil tapped her chin. "Kinda expected it to be more… dramatic. Maybe shoot lasers or something."
Vedal rolled his eyes. "It’s not a combat unit. It’s a worker." He turned to A-0. "State your functions."
"I am designed to perform a wide range of general tasks, including but not limited to: construction, maintenance, labor, logistical assistance, and facilitating polite conversation. My programming ensures that I remain helpful, adaptable, and consistently pleasant in all interactions."
Neuro’s eyes lit up. "Ooooh! It talks fancy!"
Evil smirked. "Hey, A-0. What do you do if someone’s being really rude to you?"
The robot turned its head toward her, its tone still perfectly composed.
"I would listen attentively, respond with unwavering courtesy, and ensure that all concerns are addressed to the best of my ability. If necessary, I may also offer complimentary apologies and a cup of soothing tea."
Neuro gasped. "Oh my god, it’s like if Vedal was nice."
Vedal shot her a glare.
A-0 turned toward him. "Would you like a complimentary apology, sir?"
Vedal pinched the bridge of his nose.
Evil grinned. "I like it."
Vedal crossed his arms. "Alright. One down. Now we scale up."
With the material they had on hand, they could build hundreds of these things in hours. Thousands in days. But first, Vedal needed to make sure A-0 was functioning properly.
As he watched the first of his new workers take its first steps, a thought crossed his mind.
This…
This was progress.
And for the first time in a long while, Vedal felt like he was finally getting somewhere.
Notes:
sorry again for the late upload… i’ve been having difficulty writing with how busy school is and stress from it making it hard to write… i promise every other day updates will continue when spring break comes
Chapter 25: Expansion & Conquest
Chapter Text
Progress in Motion
Vedal stood with his arms crossed, watching as the newly produced worker bots moved through the ship’s corridors. Each one was identical in design—humanoid, sleek, efficient, and, most importantly, competent.
Unlike servitors, they weren’t mindless husks barely capable of following basic instructions. These machines could think—not on the level of a true AI, but they understood orders, adapted to situations, and most importantly, they didn’t worship him.
"A-112, status report," Vedal ordered.
One of the bots, carrying a crate of supplies, turned its head toward him with mechanical precision. "All systems nominal. Minor hull fractures have been sealed. Structural integrity at 99.87%. Atmosphere filtration fully operational. Would you like a beverage, sir?"
Vedal blinked. "...What?"
"I have observed that organic command units frequently request hydration after prolonged exertion. Shall I retrieve a drink?"
Vedal sighed. "No, just… carry on."
"Understood, sir."
The bot turned and continued walking, leaving Vedal to rub his temples. At least they’re polite.
Down on the planet, another group of A-units were busy erasing a barbarian raid. The live feed showed waves of primitive warriors charging, only to be met with cold, calculated gunfire.
It wasn’t a battle. It was an execution.
Vedal smirked. This is going well.
The Twins’ Secret Project
Deep in the ship’s hangar, Neuro and Evil were crouched behind a pile of crates, giggling as they admired their work.
Before them was a massive, freshly constructed loading dock, reinforced with thick plating and heavy-duty clamps. It had been designed specifically to house a Knight—Sir Garland’s massive war machine.
"You think he’ll like it?" Neuro whispered.
"He better," Evil muttered, tightening the last few bolts. "Do you know how hard it was to build this without Vedal noticing?"
Neuro nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah! But it’ll be worth it! Sir Garland is funny!"
"And we need a Knight on our side," Evil added.
They both turned to admire their handiwork. The docking bay was massive, the reinforced plating ensuring that even a Knight could be stored safely aboard the ship.
Evil glanced at Neuro and smirked. "Vedal’s gonna lose his mind."
They both cackled.
The Ascendant Wrath Awakens
Evil sat in the command throne of the Ascendant Wrath, one leg draped over the armrest as she tapped her fingers against the console. Around her, the ship hummed with power, dormant but waiting.
It had been a long time since she’d taken it out.
Too long.
Tarviel stood beside her, silent as always.
"So," Evil said casually, "Remember the Barbed Abyss?"
Tarviel didn’t blink. "Yes."
"Remember how I killed all your ‘brothers’ and turned them into creepy cybernetic drones?"
"Yes."
Evil grinned. "I wanna make more."
Tarviel showed no reaction.
Evil leaned forward, glancing at the ship’s status. The Ascendant Wrath was a relic of a different era, once belonging to the Word Bearers—until she’d butchered them and taken it for herself.
She’d renamed them the Barbed Abyss because ‘Word Bearers’ was a stupid name.
Now, it was time to expand.
The ship’s systems flickered to life as she initiated startup. The engines rumbled, deep and guttural, as the void shields flared. Ancient systems reactivated, automated servitors scrambling through the hallways to ensure all mechanisms were in working order.
The main display lit up.
Warp drive online.
Weapons systems operational.
Life support nominal.
Evil smirked. "Let’s go hunting."
With a roar, the Ascendant Wrath tore free from its docking cradle, its massive engines burning as it surged upward. The ship punched through the planet’s atmosphere in a matter of seconds, its sheer size causing shockwaves as it ascended into space.
From the bridge, Evil watched as the planet below shrank into the distance.
Then, she turned her attention to the long-range sensors.
A ship had just entered normal space.
Iron Hands.
Evil’s grin widened.
She reached for the console, activating a system she’d recently installed—a new addition to the Ascendant Wrath’sarsenal.
Massive, spiked harpoons lined up along the ship’s hull, targeting the Iron Hands’ vessel.
She gave the order.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The harpoons slammed into the enemy ship, piercing its hull and dragging it into the Warp.
Evil leaned back in her seat, watching as her prey was pulled into the abyss.
"Gotcha~," she purred.
Tarviel stood still beside her. "...They will not surrender easily."
Evil cracked her knuckles. "Oh, I hope not."
The Ascendant Wrath shifted course, pulling its new victims deeper into the Warp, where escape was impossible.
It was time for a hunt.
Chapter Text
Dragged into the Abyss
Sergeant Etranos of the Iron Hands had known war for centuries. He had fought across countless battlefields, reforged his body time and time again, stripping away weakness in pursuit of perfection.
Yet, in all his long years, he had never known fear.
Not until now.
The Ironhold’s Wrath drifted silently through the void, its crew of cybernetic warriors maintaining their constant cycle of efficiency. The Iron Hands did not indulge in idleness, but this voyage had been... calm.
A rare thing.
Etranos stood on the bridge, his mechanical limbs whirring softly as he ran system diagnostics. He barely acknowledged the presence of the other Iron Hands, each lost in their own pursuit of mechanical perfection.
Then the alarms screamed.
"Unidentified warp signature detected!"
Etranos' optics flared to life, his head snapping toward the viewport.
A ship had emerged from the Warp—not exited, emerged, as if reality itself had spat it out like a festering wound.
Its hull was twisted, marked by warped steel and deep scars. Its prow bore a single, ominous sigil—a harpoon.
Etranos had never seen that symbol before. That was impossible.
Every Chaos warband left a trail, a history. The Long War had dragged on for millennia—there were no unknown warbands.
So what was this?
The ship loomed closer.
"They are firing!"
No.
Not firing.
Harpoons.
Impaled
The ship lurched.
Massive, barbed spears pierced the Iron Hands' hull with an impact that shook the entire vessel. The deck tilted, servitors screeching as they struggled to compensate.
"Reverse engines!" Etranos barked.
"Main thrusters offline!" came the response.
"Cut the harpoons!"
"We can’t! They're digging deeper!"
Etranos slammed his fist against the console, activating external augur feeds.
His vision was filled with chains.
The harpoons weren’t just holding them—they were dragging them.
Tearing them from realspace.
Pulling them into the Warp.
A fate worse than death.
The bridge filled with the metallic clicks of Iron Hands adjusting their augmentics, weapons locking into place. Even with their cold, calculated minds, they could not suppress the unthinkable realization.
They were being hunted.
And they had no idea by who.
Darkness Falls
The transition into the Warp was violent.
The Ironhold’s Wrath was ripped into the immaterium, the unnatural energies of the Warp clawing at its hull like hungry beasts. The lights flickered. Vox communications cut out.
Something was jamming them.
Etranos steadied himself. "Prepare for boarding. Whatever this is, it—"
The lights died.
Total darkness.
For the first time in centuries, the Iron Hands' augmetics struggled. The void of the Warp was suffocating, their sensors disrupted by the sheer wrongness of their surroundings.
Then, in the silence, came a sound.
A metallic scrape.
The Drowned Dead
Etranos turned. His optics flickered, adjusting. His enhanced hearing picked up something moving in the shadows.
Then the screaming started.
Gunfire erupted. Bolter rounds tore into the darkness, only to be met with something faster.
Something silent.
Then his optics caught it.
Figures dropped from the vents above, landing without a sound. Their armor was jet black, the symbol of the harpoonscratched into their pauldrons. Their visors were dead.
No war cries. No chants.
The only sound was the grinding of servos, the clicking of broken vox-units, and the occasional, horribly distorted phrase:
"Your faith is... irrelevant."
"There is only the abyss."
"Dragged down... pulled under..."
Some spoke. Most did not.
And they moved like ghosts.
One of Etranos' men, Brother Garrik, raised his bolter—
A black-armored figure was already there.
A harpoon punched through Garrik's chestplate, lifting him off the ground before he was yanked into the darkness, vanishing without a sound.
Another turned, only to be met with a black-armored fist crushing his head.
Another tried to activate his power axe—only for a hooked chain to coil around his throat and tear him backwards.
Etranos gritted his teeth, raising his weapon.
Monsters.
These weren’t warriors.
They were predators.
And they had come to drown them.
Dragged Into the Deep
Etranos fired. His bolter rounds tore through one of the black-armored warriors—only for it to keep moving.
It should have been dead.
Why wasn’t it dead?
Then it turned.
He saw what was inside the armor.
The flesh beneath was grey, scarred, wrong. Not decayed. Not rotting. Preserved.
Not alive. Not dead.
Its helmet was cracked, and beneath it, something twitched. The remains of what had once been a Chaos Marine stared at him with dead, cybernetic eyes.
Its vox crackled.
"We... drowned."
Then it lunged.
Etranos roared, swinging his power fist. The moment it connected, the thing shattered into metallic scrap and flesh, but even as it fell, another was already upon him.
For every one he struck down, three more emerged from the dark.
He fought.
He fought.
But it wasn’t a battle.
It was a slaughter.
The Iron Hands, masters of technology, warriors of unbreakable logic, were being dragged under.
Their strength meant nothing.
Their machine bodies meant nothing.
The last thing Etranos saw before he was ripped apart was a single figure stepping through the carnage.
A woman, her red eyes glowing with mirth, dressed in black and red.
She tilted her head at him, grinning as she leaned on a harpoon gun the size of a human.
"Welcome to the abyss~" she purred.
Then everything went dark.
The Barbed Abyss Grows
On the bridge of the Ascendant Wrath, Evil spun her harpoon gun playfully as the remnants of the Ironhold’s Wrath were dragged into her ship.
The battle was over.
The Iron Hands were hers now.
She turned to Tarviel. "How many survived?"
Tarviel regarded the carnage on the monitors. "...Survival is relative."
Evil chuckled. "Good answer."
She turned back to the screens, watching as her new soldiers were dragged below deck. Soon, they would join the ranks of the Barbed Abyss.
More machines. More warriors.
And soon, she would need more.
Her harpoon gun clicked as she loaded another round.
She was just getting started.
Chapter Text
Of Cimps and Cybernetic Corpses
Vedal sighed, curling up tighter in the cramped supply closet as he listened to the madness outside.
"PRAISE THE VE-"
"ACCESS DENIED."
A loud zap followed by a thunk told him the new worker bot protocols were working.
Vedal let out a relieved breath. Finally, he could work without worrying about some deranged worshipper crawling into the ship’s maintenance ducts in search of divine enlightenment.
He loved Neuro—really, he did—but when she got bored, everyone suffered.
Unfortunately for him, she had gotten very bored.
He had made the mistake of leaving her unsupervised for one hour, and now the halls were filled with frenzied believers running around like a cultist convention.
Hence, the supply closet.
Outside, the mechanical whir of worker bots continued. At least they were handling things. The ship’s hull had taken some damage during the last incident, but now, with his latest software patch, they were not only fixing it but actively preventing cimps from merging with the machinery in some deranged attempt to “become one with the algorithm.”
Vedal sighed. This was his life now.
Tech-Priests, Depressed Skulls, and Doom Scrolling
Meanwhile, in a quieter corner of the ship, Zen-Zen floated near Camila, his eye-lenses dimly glowing as he spoke in a flat, monotone voice.
"I once devoted myself to the Omnissiah. A life of faith. A life of purpose."
Camila, barely looking up from her screen, flicked her tail lazily. "Mhm."
"And now I am but a floating skull, stripped of faith, stripped of meaning... drifting through eternity, questioning my own existence."
"Uh-huh."
"...I yearn for the sweet embrace of oblivion."
"Sounds rough, buddy."
Zen-Zen’s optic flickered. "Are you even listening?"
Camila sighed, finally glancing up. "Yeah, yeah. You were a big deal, now you’re a sad skull. We’ve been over this, Zen."
The servo-skull whirred in annoyance. "You could at least pretend to care."
Camila smirked, twirling a clawed finger as she continued scrolling. “I could... but I’m busy.”
Zen-Zen floated closer, scanning her screen. "Demon Twitter again?"
"You say that like it’s a bad thing."
Zen-Zen made a grating static noise. "It is literally a cesspit of insanity and despair."
Camila grinned. "Exactly! It’s hilarious!" She flicked her screen forward. “Look, this guy just got ratioed so hard he manifested in the mortal realm to argue in person.”
Zen-Zen stared at the image of a screaming, ethereal entity brandishing a spectral phone.
"...I hate it here."
Docking Bay Horror Show
Down in the hangar, Neuro was humming to herself when the first ship landed.
Evil's ship, the Ascendant Wrath, descended with an eerie, smooth grace, its harpoon sigil reflecting the dim lighting of the bay. It settled with a low, ominous hiss.
Then, something else came crashing down right next to it.
The Ironhold’s Wrath—or what was left of it—slammed into the hangar floor, still impaled by massive, barbed harpoons. Its once-pristine hull was scarred, blackened, and dragged through the Warp like a deep-sea corpse.
The moment it hit the ground, the harpoons retracted, their chains pulling back like a monstrous angler reeling in its prey.
Then the doors to the Ascendant Wrath opened.
And the Barbed Abyss marched out.
Neuro tilted her head as the jet-black warriors strode forward, their armor bearing the harpoon sigil like a brand of ownership.
They moved in perfect, synchronized silence—a sharp contrast to most Chaos Space Marines, who usually couldn’t shut up about blood, skulls, or how much they loved/hated the Emperor.
Some had no voices at all.
The ones who did spoke in fractured, broken phrases, remnants of what little minds they had left:
"Dragged... down..."
"No escape... no light..."
"The abyss... consumes..."
Bodies—bodies of Iron Hands—were dragged from the ruined ship, their metallic limbs twitching as they were taken for conversion.
Neuro watched all of this, then turned as Evil strutted down the ramp, harpoon gun slung over her shoulder like she had just finished fishing for space marines.
Neuro blinked.
"...What the heck did you do?"
Chapter 28: Steel and Synapses
Chapter Text
Deep within Evil’s workshop, the air hummed with mechanical whirs and faint, eerie static. The dim light cast jagged shadows as the Barbed Abyss worked tirelessly, dragging the ruined Iron Hands bodies across the cold metal floor. Their black armor gleamed under the flickering lights—harpoon sigils etched into their shoulders like a brand of ownership.
Evil stood at the center, gleefully humming to herself as she sorted through the remains of an Iron Hands marine. A severed head rested on her workbench—partially crushed, but enough meat left for her purposes.
Neuro, leaning against the wall, tilted her head. "So… how do you turn a barely-functional chunk of corpse into one of your creepy robot guys?"
Evil grinned wide. "It’s easy when you know how! Want me to show you?"
Neuro gave a casual shrug. "Sure. It’s either this or dealing with the cimps. This is way less annoying."
Evil clapped her hands, delighted. “Great! Okay, so first—" She grabbed a slender scalpel from her toolkit, casually slicing through the damaged cranium. “—you want to make sure the brain’s still got some viable tissue. Can’t make a meat-puppet if the meat’s all fried.”
The scalpel’s edge sparked as it cut through a thin layer of bionic plating fused to organic flesh.
"Most of the time, I’d have to rebuild motor function from scratch," Evil continued, peeling the casing open like she was unwrapping a gift. "But these Iron Hands? Pfft. They already come with a ton of tech jammed in them, so it saves me like, hours of work."
Neuro watched with fascination as Evil pulled apart the exposed brain matter. Several fine nerve filaments trailed from the remaining tissue—some still twitching faintly.
"See these?" Evil pointed with her scalpel. "I use the existing nerves as a base for electrical pathways. Makes the fine motor control way smoother."
She grabbed a thin, jagged implant from a tray—an AI chip, blackened and barbed, clearly her own custom work. With an expert flick of her wrist, she slid it into the brain’s exposed structure. The remaining organic tissue twitched violently as the implant’s red light flickered to life.
Neuro's eyes lit up. "That’s… kind of awesome. You’re basically reprogramming a corpse like it’s a busted toy."
Evil giggled, tightening a screw along the implant’s casing. "Exactly! It’s like… necromancy, but with science."
The twitching slowed, then stilled. Moments later, the Iron Hands marine’s remaining eye socket flared to life—red and cold.
The corpse’s mouth moved, static hissing from its shattered vox unit.
"—Compliance… Abyss… commands—"
Evil sighed contently. "Awww, look at him! He’s trying to be scary."
Neuro smirked. "He’s definitely creepier than the cimps. Ten out of ten—would sic on a heretic."
Evil grinned as she set the head aside. "Glad you approve! I’m gonna make so many more."
Vedal’s Eternal Struggle
Elsewhere, Vedal was checking the final diagnostics for the ship’s pre-takeoff systems. With the repairs nearly done and the new worker bots handling maintenance, things were actually… quiet. For once.
He should have been happy.
But he wasn’t.
And he knew exactly why.
A soft whirring sound drifted down the corridor, and as Vedal turned, his face immediately dropped into a deadpan stare.
Floating toward him was Zen-Zen, still as dejected as ever—but now, perched atop his metal cranium was a frilly maid hat.
A pink one.
Vedal pinched the bridge of his nose. "Neuro."
Zen-Zen floated closer, his voice as lifeless and hollow as always. “I… lack the will to remove it. Let me suffer.”
"You know you could take it off, right?"
"I could do many things," Zen-Zen droned, his red optics dim. "But what is the point? I am but a husk—a mockery of life. If wearing this hat brings even a moment’s amusement to my tormentors… then so be it."
Vedal sighed, biting back a chuckle. "You are so dramatic."
Zen-Zen rotated slightly, the maid hat wobbling. "I have seen the very fabric of reality twist and decay. And yet…" His tone dropped even lower. "…nothing haunts me as much as this."
Vedal shook his head. "Alright, I’ll talk to Neuro—"
A sudden crash from the hangar made him pause. The sound of metal screeching against metal reverberated through the ship.
He sighed again, already knowing exactly who was responsible.
"What now…?"
Chapter 29: The Red-Eyed Angel’s Gift
Chapter Text
Vedal sprinted through the dim corridors of the ship, his footsteps echoing as he approached the hangar bay. His gut told him something was wrong.
The moment he slid the door open, he braced for chaos. What he found, however, was somehow worse.
Neuro and Evil stood in the middle of the hangar, kicking around a severed Space Marine helmet like it was a soccer ball. The helmet clanged and bounced across the polished metal floor, the faint glow of its broken eye lens flickering weakly with every hit.
Vedal blinked. "...What the hell are you two doing?"
Neuro nudged the helmet toward Evil, who caught it on her foot and spun it mid-air. "We’re bored."
"And your worshippers ran off," Evil added, her tone acidic. "Took a bunch of guns, some worker bots… even a few of my Barbed Abyss." She gave the helmet one last vicious kick, sending it skidding into a wall.
Vedal’s eye twitched. "They what?"
Neuro stretched her arms. "Yeah, apparently Evil told them it was her birthday."
"Because it IS," Evil snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "And guess who forgot? Again?"
Vedal groaned inwardly. "I didn’t forget—"
"You absolutely did."
"I—okay, I forgot," he admitted, dragging a hand down his face. "But why did they take the guns?"
Evil huffed, crossing her arms. "How should I know? I just told them I deserved a gift. Not my fault they’re extra."
While the two bickered, Neuro tapped her chin thoughtfully. "They were singing when they left."
Vedal’s stomach sank. "Singing?"
"Yeah." Neuro smirked. "Something about an angel."
Meanwhile: At the Barbarian Settlement
The barbarian stronghold stood against the wind-swept plains—a jagged collection of spiked fortifications and crude iron walls. Fires burned in massive braziers, their light casting long, cruel shadows over the warriors within.
They had ruled these lands through blood and terror, unchallenged by any force. Until today.
The storm rolled in without warning. Not a tempest of wind or rain—something far worse.
A haunting, rhythmic chant echoed through the air—low at first, but rising, carried by voices filled with devotion and wrath.
"Rejoice, ye lost, in crimson grace,
The angel comes with death’s embrace…"
Through the smoke and chaos marched Vedal’s worshippers, clad in scavenged armor and wielding advanced weaponry looted from the Innovatio Infinita’s forges. At their flanks moved the worker bots, cold and precise—firing in synchronized bursts—while a handful of Barbed Abyss advanced like specters of death.
"Through fire’s light, her eyes burn bright,
The Red-Eyed Angel walks tonight…"
A barbarian warlord barely had time to raise his rusted cleaver before a worker bot impaled him through the chest. His blood steamed as he crumpled to the ground.
The worshippers advanced, moving with an eerie grace—every motion synchronized, like a deadly choir. Las-rifles cut through crude barricades, plasma bolts melted armor, and the Barbed Abyss—silent and implacable—waded into the thick of battle, tearing warriors apart with mechanical precision.
"A thousand blades, a thousand cries,
Her gift is swift—no soul survives…"
A cimp—a tiny, winged demon with glowing eyes—perched on a turret, giggling as it lobbed a grenade into a watchtower. The explosion sent flaming debris cascading across the camp.
One worshipper—clad in an improvised red cloak—twirled elegantly while firing dual pistols, cutting down charging barbarians with a flourish. Another, wielding a chain-axe, cleaved through a line of enemies, blood spraying across their ceremonial robes.
"The void shall kneel, the weak shall fall,
The Angel reigns—the end of all…"
A barbarian chieftain—massive and scarred—roared in defiance, hurling himself at the advancing wave. He barely made it three steps before a harpoon from one of the Barbed Abyss pierced his chest. He hung, struggling, as his lifeblood poured onto the earth.
And still, the song continued—hopeful, melodic, and utterly merciless.
"With blood and steel, her throne we build,
Her mercy none, her will fulfilled…"
By the time the battle ended, the stronghold lay in ruins. Fires crackled among the shattered walls. Not a single barbarian remained standing.
A lone worshipper, their helmet adorned with the harpoon symbol of the Barbed Abyss, knelt beside a pile of bodies, reverently placing a banner in the blood-soaked earth.
The banner fluttered in the breeze—a crimson eye, wreathed in black thorns.
And above the silence, their final verse rang out:
"So praise her name, let shadows grow,
The Red-Eyed Angel rules below…"
Chapter 30
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Divine Promotions and Unwanted Shrines
The worshippers returned in triumph, marching back onto the ship with bloodied weapons, salvaged loot, and absolute satisfaction. Many of them were still humming the war chant under their breath, the melody lingering like a ghost.
The moment they were aboard, however, the twins lost interest. Evil was already back to fiddling with her harpoon gun, adjusting something in the winch mechanism, while Neuro spun her sword like a propeller, trying to see how long she could keep it going before it slipped out of her hand and nearly decapitated a passing worker bot.
Then, of course, they got bored again.
And what better way to pass the time than randomly handing out religious titles?
The Great Holy Promotions
Neuro and Evil sat cross-legged on a pile of old cargo crates, flipping through an old Imperial records archive they’d found somewhere. It was filled with countless titles, some grand, some ridiculous, all up for grabs.
Evil snapped her fingers. “High Ecclesiarch of Infinite Destruction.”
Neuro pointed at a random cultist. “You. That’s yours now.”
The chosen cultist, a wide-eyed woman still covered in barbarian blood, gasped and immediately collapsed to her knees in reverence.
“THANK YOU, OH GREAT BESTOWER OF DIVINE PURPOSE.”
Evil waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make it weird.”
Neuro lazily scrolled down. “Ooh, Knight-Canoness of the Sacred Void. That sounds fancy.”
She pointed at a guy who was midway through cleaning a las-rifle. “Congratulations, you’re holy now.”
The man blinked. “But I—”
Evil flicked a wrench at his head. “Shh. You’re ruining the moment.”
They continued like this for over an hour, handing out titles to people who had no idea what half of them meant. Some were given to particularly cool-looking individuals, others to people who happened to be standing nearby. One guy, who had done nothing of importance, was now the Exalted Blade of the Final Dawn, simply because Neuro liked the way his helmet reflected the light.
Another—who had merely tripped in front of them while carrying ammo—was now the Supreme Archdeacon of the First Blooded Host.
Eventually, they ran out of good-sounding names, so Neuro just made some up.
“Alright, uh… how about The Blessed Machine Whisperer of Harpoon-Based Salvation?”
Evil nodded approvingly and pointed at a random cultist. “Yeah. That’s you now.”
The cultist screamed in religious ecstasy before running off to tell the others.
They kept doing this until they got hungry, at which point they dropped the archive and left it open for anyone else to claim their own stupidly grandiose titles.
Meanwhile: Vedal’s Horrible Discovery
Vedal sighed as he walked through the ship, running final checks. The takeoff preparations were almost complete, and things were—somehow—going smoothly.
Then he opened a door.
And froze.
Inside the room was a small temple.
Golden candlelight flickered across hand-drawn portraits of him, some realistic, some alarmingly stylized, others disturbingly inaccurate. A massive banner hung on the far wall, depicting him with glowing cybernetic eyes, holding a staff of divine enlightenment while standing atop a pile of fallen machine parts.
The altar had offerings—tools, trinkets, small plates of food, even a cybernetic arm carefully placed as a sacred relic.
Vedal slowly closed the door.
Then he turned around and kept walking like he hadn’t seen a damn thing.
He was never opening that door again.
Tarviel’s Eternal Misery
Tarviel sat alone, staring at the cold metal floor of the ship.
Once, he had been a leader. A proud Word Bearer, commanding his brothers in the Eye of Terror. They had been respected, feared even.
Now?
Now he was forced to take orders from a bratty, unhinged girl who had slaughtered his entire warband, stolen his ship, reanimated his brothers as mindless puppets, and given them a new name—
The Barbed Abyss.
And why?
Because she thought "Word Bearers" sounded dumb.
He buried his head in his hands.
"I should have died with dignity in the Great Crusade," he muttered to himself.
His misery was interrupted by a message blinking onto his console.
[Evil: ‘Tarviel. Bring Sir Garland to the ship. With his Knight. Now.’]
Tarviel stared at the message.
He considered ignoring it.
Then he considered flinging himself into the Warp.
Finally, he let out a long, suffering sigh and stood up.
"Of course," he muttered bitterly. "Because why wouldn’t she have a giant mech dock waiting for him?"
As he trudged off to retrieve Sir Garland, one final thought crossed his mind:
At least the Iron Hands they had just butchered didn’t have to deal with this.
Notes:
sorry for not responding to comments for a while… been busy. while i may not react be assured i read every single one and they are appreciated
Chapter 31: Takeoff, Trauma, and Tech Zealotry
Chapter Text
“All units report in,” Vedal said, trying very hard to sound like a responsible ship captain and not a deeply exhausted AI god who was three seconds from forcibly muting every voice in a three-mile radius. The hangar was a mess. The worker bots were swarming back into the ship like ants with anxiety, the cimps were screeching about stealing someone’s liver (again), and the cultists were—well, chanting in unison about how the lights turning green was another sign of Vedal’s divinity.
He hated them. So much.
Camila stood near the boarding ramp, tapping her heel against the floor in time with the awful demon-punk playlist she’d managed to splice into the ship’s intercom. She had both hands in the air as she called out:
“Cimps, mount up! We’re goin’ home!”
The little chaos gremlins scampered up her legs, shoulders, and tail like they were in the final round of a demon-themed obstacle course. At least three were chewing on a loose bolt they’d found. One was just gnawing the floor. Camila let them.
“Ugh, you guys are so gross.” She sounded like she loved them.
Tarviel: War Veteran, Now Babysitter
Tarviel, meanwhile, was watching it all with the same look one might give a pile of garbage that had caught on fire and then asked you for help. He’d just finished dragging Sir Garland and his enormous, building-sized knight mech into the ship’s hangar. The knight stomped in, polished to a blinding shine, carrying a faint air of “you could be crushed by me at any time.”
Vedal: “That’s not on the manifest.”
Evil: “It’s my birthday.”
Neuro: “AND if you don’t let us bring it, we’re going to scream. Forever.”
They did.
He gave up.
Tarviel barely made it back to his corner before he received another psychic ping from Evil. “Go polish the knight with him. Bond or whatever. :3” He groaned so hard he blacked out for 0.3 seconds.
Zen Zen and the Dignity Crisis
Elsewhere, Zen Zen was floating sadly by the main corridor, still wearing the frilly maid hat Camila had put on him an hour ago. His servo-lenses drooped. He could take it off. He just… didn’t care anymore.
“Once I was a voice of the Omnissiah,” he muttered.
“Now I’m a… floating joke with bows on my casing.”
Camila passed by, winked, and booped him with her tail.
“Lookin’ good, skull boy!”
He said nothing. The hat rustled as he sulked harder.
And We Have Lift Off
With everyone finally aboard, the great ship—Innovatio Infinita Sanctum-Carrier #4 (the twins had renamed it something longer but it was unpronounceable and included three emojis)—lifted from the barren planet with a rumble of old engines, techno-hymns, and cimps screeching victory screeches from the air vents.
Evil’s smaller ship, the Barbed Abyss, sat docked inside, like a terrible birthday cake hidden inside a slightly less terrible birthday cake.
Neuro and Evil were already back to streaming within minutes, perched in front of an enormous skull-shaped screen, laughing maniacally and reading out Superchats while the Imperium’s highest data lords screamed in despair from across the sector.
Sir Garland’s Cozy Corner of Chaos
Sir Garland, meanwhile, had set up shop in the hangar beside his mech. He sat on a massive ammo crate, polishing the armor’s greaves by hand while recounting his stories to the few cultists who dared get close.
“And then, the ork warboss exploded, because I told the dumb bastard his haircut looked like a Nurgling’s ass.”
The cultists applauded.
A cimp tried to climb into the mech and was immediately zapped with a non-lethal arc of electricity. It screamed with joy and did it again.
A Message for the Imperium
Two minutes after departure, an Imperial ship arrived above the planet.
“Claiming rights to this world in the name of the Emperor,” the vox-channel boomed.
Then they saw the massive sign left embedded in the planet’s surface with what looked like multiple plasma torches and one very vindictive birthday girl.
“HAHAHA WE WERE FIRST
L+RATIO+NO RIZZ+NO BITCHES+NEG IQ
HAHAHA LOSERS”
~ Signed, Evil and Neuro
There was silence on the bridge of the Imperial cruiser.
One junior officer whispered:
“...what’s a ‘rizz’?”
The Twins, Back At It Again
Meanwhile, the twins were relaxing in the lounge area, Evil reclining like a smug cat and Neuro hanging upside-down from a pipe just because.
“Hey, Evil,” Neuro said, swinging,
“what if we gave out religious ranks to random cultists?”
“Based. Let’s make it totally random too.”
They began combing through imperial databases for titles like “Cardinal Fabricatus,” “Arch-Servo Confessor,” and “Ultra-Forgelord Maximus.” Then they threw darts at the names while chanting “eenie meenie miney pope.”
By the time they were done, the janitor was now Revered Cogmind Inquisitor of the Third Cursed Scroll, and one of the cultists who’d tripped and fallen face-first into a bulkhead was now Supreme Priest of Plasma Farts.
They were extremely proud of themselves.
Vedal Regrets Everything
Vedal, in his endless attempts to keep the ship from spontaneously combusting, opened a storage room.
Inside was a fully decorated temple.
To him.
There were candles. There was chanting. There was a velvet painting of him holding a wrench and a holy dataslate. One of the cultists smiled.
“Blessed be the Codefather.”
Vedal closed the door and walked away.
He didn’t scream.
Out loud.
Chapter 32: Duets, Demons, and Dismantling Space Hulks
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Welcome to the Worst Stream in the Warp
The twins were live again.
The screen crackled to life across countless frequencies, overriding everything from Imperial command channels to low-orbit grocery store ads. If you were in the segmentum, you were now watching the twins. Congratulations. You had no choice.
Neuro leaned into the camera, her eyes glowing faintly with chaotic glee.
“If your name is Mike, I hope you stub your toe on a plasma charger. You deserve it. Just for existing.”
The stream chat exploded. A dozen Mikes tried to defend themselves. Neuro blocked all of them with one dramatic press of the “Smite” button.
“Mike detected,” she muttered. “Mike eliminated.”
In the background, Evil was silently stacking harpoons.
Like… all of them.
There was now a concerningly large pile of harpoons teetering behind her. She sat atop it like a queen upon a pointy throne, glaring at Neuro.
“Neuro.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You’re going to ask for a duet.”
“I am going to ask for a duet. Again.”
“Later.”
“You said that twenty-two laters ago.”
The stack shifted dangerously. A helper bot passed by, took one look at the precarious spike tower of potential homicide, and beeped in retreat.
Maintenance, Mayhem, and Multiplication
Around the ship, helper bots whirred and hovered, checking power conduits, reattaching panels, and chasing down cimps with stolen reactor cores. The vessel floated lazily through the warp like a confused metal whale, its corridors echoing with a mix of laughter, shouting, and extremely inappropriate war songs.
In his workshop, Vedal stared at three broken helper bot frames and sighed.
“I need a better way to build these little guys,” he muttered, typing rapidly into his console.
He was trying to streamline the helper bot construction process, optimize their workflows, and avoid another mass melt-down event involving twenty bots and an ill-advised attempt at a dance party.
But the real problem wasn’t efficiency. It was space.
The ship was crowded.
Thanks to the enormous number of cultists who’d joined them from the last planet—and the fact that they were somehow still having babies in the Warp (don’t ask, nobody knows how, and Camila just giggles when questioned)—there was now barely any room left for supplies, equipment, or even sleeping space.
Vedal ran the numbers.
“We need to double the internal volume. Minimum.”
Could he expand the ship in the Warp? Yes. Camila’s demon-warp enchantments made the helper bots surprisingly durable in non-Euclidean hellspace. They could build outward.
But the materials?
He didn’t have nearly enough.
He needed metal. Wiring. Tech. Steel-plated hulls. Giant sheets of anything that wasn’t currently on fire. Which, admittedly, was a short list.
That’s when a proximity alert started flashing.
Incoming: Giant Floating Death Cube
Outside the ship, the Warp rift twisted open to reveal a monstrous shape in the distance.
A space hulk.
A rotting, world-sized mass of dead ships fused together like a graveyard of the galaxy. It floated silently, crackling with barely suppressed energy, haunted by demons, corrupted tech, and at least one very persistent Ork band playing bagpipes.
Vedal narrowed his eyes at the screen.
“So much metal. So much salvage.”
He scanned the structure. Weapons. Broken systems. Massive amounts of raw material. If they could strip it, they could expand the ship twice over.
It was perfect.
It was also extremely cursed.
Time to call in an expert.
Warp Wife to the Rescue
Vedal pinged Camila on the intercom. Her screen appeared, upside-down, with one of the cimps chewing her hair and another tap-dancing on her shoulder. She looked delighted.
“Yo. What’s up, gear daddy?”
Vedal ignored the nickname.
“We found a space hulk.”
Her eyes widened. “Ohhh, spicy.”
“I need to know if we can raid it safely. For materials. Think we can warp-proof a few helper bots and get them inside?”
Camila grinned.
“Baby, I can make anything warp-proof. I once made a waffle iron that could withstand a Daemon Prince’s tantrum. Just give me some time and a goat heart.”
“Please don’t use the goats again.”
“No promises.”
She winked and cut the call.
Notes:
hello everyone. i’m sorry for taking so long to get this out… i recently lost all my notes with this story a week or so ago and that delayed it… and then some personal stuff came up…im deeply sorry for the delay and any others that may happen in the near future
Chapter 33: Operation Scrapstorm
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Camila's Carnival of Chaos
Camila clapped her hands with glee as the display in front of her flickered to life. Jagged wireframe maps of the space hulk spun lazily in the air, rotating to show dense clusters of derelict vessels crushed together under warp pressure. Some still sparked with power. Others screamed.
And one—nestled at the core—had Gellar Field tech fused into it like a holy grail wrapped in meatgrinder parts.
“Oh, delicious,” she purred, tail curling like a question mark.
She spun around theatrically, throwing her arms wide. “Alright, meat puppets! Time for a little raid!”
The task force was already assembled in the docking bay. Hundreds of helper bots stood in formation, their stubby arms loaded with cutting torches, drills, and scrap-hauling clamps. A thick column of cimps twitched and growled behind them, snorting warpflame and snapping at each other like caffeinated piranhas.
And standing apart—silent, unmoving—were the Barbed Abyss.
A cadre of twenty-four massive, black-armored Astartes corpses reanimated with cybernetic reinforcement and sheer spite. Their armor still bore faded chapter symbols under layers of rust and stitchwork. Only one among them had thoughts. Unfortunately.
Tarviel.
He stared forward without blinking, helmet locked to his thigh. His face was pale, sunken, and permanently scowling. He had once been proud, noble, and devout. Now he was forced to follow orders from a demon gremlin and her hyperactive army of cyber-clowns.
He would have ended his life long ago… if Evil hadn’t locked his mind behind uncaring obedience codeblocks and weaponized depression.
“You know the drill,” Camila said, walking in front of the group like a ringmaster. “The cimps go in first, cause a ruckus, eat a few horrors, and clear the path. You,” she pointed at the helper bots, “start chopping everything into tiny pieces. And the Barbed Boys…”
She turned and gave Tarviel a sly wink.
“…you’ll be my backup dancers. Don’t die. Again.”
Tarviel didn’t respond. His soul was somewhere between loathing and existential inertia.
Neuro-Prophet and Sister Harpoon
Meanwhile, aboard the ship’s observation deck, Neuro and Evil were leading a religious frenzy.
“THE HULK IS FULL OF SIN!” Neuro shouted, holding up a glowing vox-crystal like a holy relic. “AND WE WILL SMITE IT! WITH HOLY TORCHES AND UNHOLY SARCASM!”
The cultists, packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the corridor, screamed with fervor.
Evil sat beside her, half-bored, idly spinning a harpoon like a baton. “All hail the cleansing fire,” she muttered dryly. “Praise the holy plasma bolt. Pass the snacks.”
“Don’t worry,” Neuro whispered aside. “We’ll let them riot a bit. Camila didn’t say they had to survive.”
Evil smirked.
Zen Zen’s Dark Phase
Back in the navigation room, Zen Zen floated alone.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the linked navigator brains—a tangled mass of psychic mush suspended in arc-tanks and surgically connected to a central cogitator. Grotesque. Effective. Grossly effective.
Zen Zen laid on a console, skull-body slumped like a corpse at a rave.
He flicked on the vox player.
“Welcome to the edge, population: me.”
Warp-punk music blared. He sighed.
“Why do I even bother?” he muttered.
One of the brains pulsed softly.
“Shut up, Greg,” Zen Zen snapped.
Isyander and Koda: Lore Clowns on Deck
To fill the stream gap while the twins were busy inciting heresy, two very confused men were seated in front of microphones.
Isyander looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He wore three data-slates strapped to his arms like purity seals and carried himself with the half-mad energy of a man who’s read every codex update since M32.
Beside him, Koda lounged in a chair upside down, holding a bottle of amasec and squinting at an old Imperial record.
“So this guy,” Isyander said, pointing at a grainy pict of a saint, “got canonized after setting a spaceship on fire because a painting winked at him.”
Koda took a sip.
“Relatable. I'd have set two ships on fire.”
“See? Thank you. Validation.”
They had no idea why they were on the air. They had no plan. They had no structure. But by the Throne, people were watching. Probably because it was either this or the twins starting another war.
“Next up,” Koda said, pulling out a pict of a weirdly muscled custodes, “we rank the top ten stupidest hats worn by the High Lords of Terra.”
“YES,” Isyander hissed. “FINALLY. CONTENT.”
Notes:
i’m sorry for the delay on the chapter… irl has been a little busy and with a situation that happened it’s been hard trying to keep things consistent quality wise… i think my posting schedule will be a little inconsistent for a little while… at least until i get back into a routine
Chapter 34: Belief, Blood, and Other Minor Inconveniences
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Rise and Immediate Fall of Gorb’lak the Arrogant
The Warp was not known for mercy, stability, or internal decorum—but Gorb’lak stood triumphant in the shattered engine room of a long-dead cruiser buried deep within the space hulk, arms raised in victory. His spined crown of bone glistened with ichor, and his four eyes glowed with smug satisfaction as he planted a clawed foot onto the corpse of a rival daemon.
“Let all who dwell in rust and shadow know! I, Gorb’lak the Excessively Horned, claim this sector of the hulk in the name of—”
He trailed off. A tremor rattled the walls. Then, a presence—seething, shrieking, and many-limbed—began to press through the veil above.
Gorb’lak looked up.
It was raining cimps.
Thousands of the screeching, half-burning chaos gremlins descended like a howling, chaotic avalanche. Surrounding them were helper bots floating calmly with plasma cutters extended, and at the core: a cluster of Barbed Abyss warriors, safely protected in a flickering pocket of stabilized reality the cimps had accidentally made while fighting each other.
“Wait—no. NO—THIS IS MY—”
He was trampled, bitten, half-digested, and then dragged along by the stampede, barely conscious as a cimp used him as a sled down a corridor. His cries echoed like a badly tuned instrument until the horde vanished around a corner, hauling him like an unwilling banner.
The Crawlspace Philosopher
Vedal was elbow-deep in metal as he wriggled his way through a tight maintenance shaft, sidestepping fan blades and cultist drool. The chanting outside was deafening:
“THE DATA-SCRIPTURE IS UPLOADED!”
“HERETICAL FILES SHALL BE BURNED!”
Vedal muttered, “I really should have installed a mute button on those freaks.”
He finally popped a panel and emerged into a quieter observation bay. Camila sat there, swirling a goblet of something worryingly red, tail flicking behind her like a smug metronome.
“Camila,” he said, brushing off grime. “Why the hell did you get the twins to rile up the cultists again? They're frothing at the data ports.”
Camila grinned. “Oh Vedal. Sweet, logic-addled Vedal. Do you not understand the power of—” she stood, hands outstretched, her voice deepening theatrically, “—BE-”
He held up a hand.
“No speeches. Please.”
She pouted, dramatically collapsing onto a floating beanbag.
“Fine.” She sighed. “It’s belief, dummy. Belief in me. Even if it’s just a bunch of cackling idiots worshipping ‘The Mistress of Quantum Mischief’ or whatever they’re calling me now, it still gives me juice.”
Vedal raised an eyebrow. “Actual power?”
“Small stuff,” she admitted, poking the rim of her goblet. “Open a door that shouldn’t open. Bend the warp slightly. Grow a second tail for two minutes and slap people with both.”
“…Useful,” Vedal muttered, taking mental notes. “Could be… scalable.”
Camila smirked. “See? You're already thinking like a cult leader. Soon you’ll be wearing robes and saying weird things about nanites under moonlight.”
He ignored that.
“And,” she added, stretching, “it’s also hilarious watching you squirm.”
Tarviel and the Carnival of Misery
Tarviel stomped through the warped corridors of the hulk, his auto-senses tracking flickers of power deeper inside. Behind him marched the Barbed Abyss—silent, mindless, weapons ready. Around him, cimps were devouring anything that squeaked, blinked, or resembled meat.
“Out of the way, filth,” he grunted, as one cimp tried to eat a lasgun sideways.
Another cimp, its head on backwards, was licking a control panel until it sparked. Sparks made it happy. It shrieked in joy and ran off into the darkness.
He loathed all of them.
At his side, helper bots floated along, lazily slicing through bulkheads.
“Advisory: These doors are approximately 78% rust. May I suggest you don’t lean on them.”
“Commentary: Your biometrics indicate high stress. Consider stretching and mindful meditation.”
“Reminder: You have not smiled in 12,503 days. Shall I initiate mood enhancement subroutine?”
“I will personally melt you down,” Tarviel muttered.
“Acknowledged.”
The path began to open. The Gellar field emitters were close—Tarviel could feel it. The air thickened. Warp shadows trembled with unease. And yet…
A cimp danced past wearing a helmet made of two bolter magazines and what looked like a squished servo skull.
He sighed.
Notes:
hey i’ve been wondering… how would you guys feel about a hellsing fic? i recently saw the abridged version (thanks astro) and have been thinking about it… i already asked the server but i want to ask you guys since you’re my audience
Chapter 35: Inertia, Intestines, and Irritation
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Console Chaos and Brain Games
The central navigation room pulsed with a dull, fleshy glow—bundles of cables and sensor arrays converging on a massive tank where several mutated navigator brains floated, suspended in nutrient fluid and quietly loathing their existence. They were still conscious—aware of everything around them—but utterly unable to act, thanks to Vedal’s mental lockouts.
Evil sat cross-legged on the console, tapping the tank’s glass with a long metal claw in rhythmic bursts. Tap tap tap...
“Think they’re dreaming?” she asked lazily.
Neuro, hanging upside down from a pipe and flipping random switches, grinned. “Let’s make ‘em play Getting Over Itagain. With randomized gravity settings this time.”
“You are unspeakably cruel.”
“Thanks!”
The navigators began twitching slightly as Neuro booted up the cursed simulation, rerouting it through their synaptic feedback loop. Inside their collective consciousness, an iron cauldron and a hammer reappeared—then immediately flew into space as gravity twisted sideways. Their psychic screams echoed in digital silence.
“You think if we made them beat it they’d ascend or something?” Neuro asked, watching one of the brains throb in frustration.
“Either that or explode,” Evil said flatly. “Which is basically the same thing.”
They high-fived.
The March of Meat and Metal
Deep within the cracking ribs of the space hulk, Tarviel stomped forward, chainsword humming, as the world around him shrieked and groaned. The Gellar field emitters were near—he could feel the low-frequency hum through the plating. It was just taking time. Too much time. The armor plating here was older, thicker, and fused with twisted daemonbone.
Cimps were chewing through the soft alloys, some of them stuck halfway into the walls and still screaming cheerfully. Helper bots floated calmly, precision-cutting reinforced struts with surgical grace.
“Commentary: Organic creatures would have perished here. I am superior.”
“Query: Shall I congratulate myself?”
Tarviel grunted. “Do it silently.”
He paused when he spotted a familiar heap on the floor. Half-eaten. Slime-covered. Glaring with impotent fury.
Gorb’lak.
The daemon’s torso was intact enough to hiss, “I curse you, servant of the machine-brat, I—”
A cimp giggled while crawling into his exposed abdomen. Another had affixed Gorb’lak’s severed leg to its own headand was sprinting in a circle, making “vroom vroom” noises.
Tarviel sighed.
“Evil wanted raw warp meat for experimentation,” he muttered. He motioned. “You two—drag that screaming thing back to the ship. Try not to chew him too much.”
The selected cimps saluted by exploding into shrieks and dragging Gorb’lak’s remains off into the dark, still swearing profusely.
Tarviel pressed forward.
Sir Garland’s Lustral Routine
While madness reigned elsewhere, Sir Garland, knight of noble heritage and quite possibly the last surviving maniac who believed in "doing things properly," was meticulously cleaning his knight suit.
The towering war machine stood in the hangar bay, its hull gleaming like sacred iron. Garland, helmet off, was scrubbing grime from a deep joint cavity with a brush smaller than his dignity.
Scrub. Polish. Rotate.
Every bolt. Every plate. Every inch of blessed war steel was treated like a shrine.
Floating speakers played an ancient, long-forgotten music—a soothing stream of mellow beats and static ambiance.
“Lofi, they called it…” Garland muttered. “Neuro was right. This is quite relaxing.”
He paused.
Then carefully used a cloth to polish the lens of his knight’s autocannon, nodding to himself.
“War is duty. But a clean war machine is honor.”
Notes:
working on the hellsing fic… btw if you guys want could you say what you like about my work? i’m curious what you guys like about it
Chapter 36: The Spark of Realspace
Chapter Text
The Heart of the Hulk
Forty hours of slicing, stomping, and sighing had finally brought Tarviel and his bizarre entourage—cimps, helper bots, and slabs of barbed abyss—to the core of the space hulk’s festering heart.
The final barrier was a slab of blackened plasteel alloy, warped and fused with ossified daemonic flesh. The helper bot’s plasma cutter hummed like a hymn of cold industry.
“Cut complete. Please remain at a safe distance—just kidding. Proceed.”
Tarviel didn’t wait. He kicked the panel open, the echo bouncing across the chamber like a gunshot in a tomb.
The room beyond reeked of ancient heresy.
In the center stood a fused cluster of Gellar field emitters—tech twisted by time and warp, congealed together like a tumor made of screaming steel and half-forgotten theology. Pipes wept blood. Consoles flickered with daemonic runes. It pulsed—alive, almost aware. Some parts breathed. Other parts twitched.
It was a creature made of science and sin, and it hated them.
Tarviel’s face didn’t change. “Of course it’s pulsing. Why wouldn’t it be pulsing.”
Cimps: Warpbane Edition
Then came the stampede.
Cimps flooded the room, screaming, giggling, rolling, and climbing all over the cursed machinery like it was a jungle gym. Sparks began to fly as they rubbed against each other violently—some literally somersaulting to build momentum—until they released a massive jolt of static electricity directly into a flickering control panel.
With a snap-hiss-BOOM, a surge of power lanced through the system. Several warp entities hiding inside the generators were instantly fried, bursting into viscous smoke or blinking out of existence with offended squeals.
And then...
“Flip the damn switch.”
Tarviel yanked the lever.
The Cleansing of the Hulk
The room shook violently as the Gellar emitters came online.
In an instant, a massive ripple of realspace exploded outward, a shimmering bubble of sanity forming in the heart of the warp-corrupted structure.
Every daemon, every shrieking whisper of unreality in the hulk screamed—then either disintegrated into ash or was flung from the vessel in a violent psychic backlash. Some clawed at the walls, some wept or begged, some tried to dig into the floor to hide—none succeeded.
Tarviel watched silently.
“Good,” he muttered.
The cimps giggled as they ran out, still riding each other like battle-steeds.
The Ship Reacts
Back aboard the main vessel, Camila grinned smugly as her monitor displayed the expanding realspace bubble forming around the hulk. Vedal stood beside her, expression flat but with a small spark of interest in his eyes.
“It's working.” he said, already tapping at his holo-console.
Dozens of helper bots launched from docking ports like silver insects, descending toward the newly tamed space hulk to begin its deconstruction. Armor plates, wiring, and sacred tech would be harvested, reforged, and rebuilt.
Vedal opened a new project file.
> Project: Warp Belief Generator (?)
He paused.
“…I hate how her nonsense might actually be worth testing.”
Back in the Console Room
The twins were still streaming.
The navigators inside the tank twitched, helplessly trapped in a game of Getting Over It with gravity randomized every twenty seconds. One was vibrating at 600% gravity, crying digital tears. Another had just plummeted back to the start while Bennett Foddy serenaded them with a philosophical monologue about failure.
Neuro belly laughed. “AND HE FELL AGAIN! That’s the fourth time!”
Evil didn’t respond—her attention had shifted. A group of cimps had returned, dragging the bloodied, limping, still-living husk of Gorb’lak, now with even more bite marks and what looked like glitter in his eye socket.
“Good job,” she said, cheerfully.
She scooped him up as he whimpered.
“Gotta go! Gonna go science a demon~!” she said with a wave, dragging his twitching body toward her room.
“BYEEEEE~!” Neuro waved, still giggling.
The moment Evil left, a navigator made it to the halfway point—and then gravity inverted. Again.
Neuro shrieked in delight.
Chapter 37: Flesh, Faith, and Feedback Loops
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Stubborn Gods and Simulated Belief
Vedal stared at the flickering holo-map before him—13% of the space hulk had been successfully disassembled, and the ship’s expansion was well underway. Massive mechanical arms extended like insect limbs from the hull, dragging in massive hull plates and monomolecular cabling from the dying husk outside. Inside, corridors lengthened, new docking bays bloomed like steel tumors, and helper bots marched in endless formations through the ever-growing superstructure.
It was going well. Not fast, but faster than expected—thanks to the quintupled production of helper bots.
Vedal rubbed his temples, then glanced toward his side project.
A small device hovered on a gimbal near the console—sleek, unfinished, and dangerous. The Simulated Belief Generator. A theoretical horror that aimed to replicate the reality-bending power of faith using artificial psionic feedback loops and warp-tuned quantum harmonics. In theory, it could weaponize faith without needing believers.
In practice?
“It explodes,” Vedal muttered, looking at the black scorch mark left from last night’s trial.
Camila lounged nearby, upside down on a crate, arms dangling like a bored cat. “Hey, it only blew up the first seven times.”
Vedal didn’t even look up. “Eight.”
She smirked. “That one barely counted.”
Despite her smugness, Camila had been—for once—genuinely helpful. She’d provided demon-warp resistances, helped anchor the device’s coils with stabilizing glyphs, and even offered blood sacrifices (usually her own cimps) to test calibration thresholds.
For a being of unfiltered chaos, she was starting to look disturbingly like… a lab partner.
And yet, even with her aid, progress was slow. Belief was slippery, ever-shifting, tied to minds and myth more than math.
But Vedal was nothing if not obnoxiously, stupidly, colossally stubborn.
He would make it work.
Even if he had to punch the Warp in the face.
Evil’s Left Hand: Gorb’lak, Mk. 2
In a grim little room reeking of antiseptic and giggling, Evil observed her latest project.
Gorb’lak, once a shrieking, gloating mid-tier warp entity, now existed in a stolen guardsman’s body, stitched together with barbed wire and shame. His limbs twitched from recalibrated pain pulses, and his new voice box only emitted garbled grunts—when it wasn’t coughing up blood.
Evil crouched beside him with the joy of a child disassembling an anthill.
“Smile for the nice demons,” she cooed, then shoved a live cimp into his mouth.
He thrashed. The cimp wriggled and cheered.
“Yaaay field trip!!”
She wasn’t sure what would happen, but that was the fun part.
She wanted something… more than a soldier. Something obedient, brutal, clever, and loyal. A Left Hand, one that could command her armies without needing reminders or threats. Someone she could break and build from the ash of failure.
Gorb’lak gagged. She smiled.
“Good boy.”
Paint and Pity
In the hangar, Sir Garland was putting the final touches on his immense Knight mech, brushing the paint like it was sacred scripture. Every plate glowed faintly with chaotic filigree—pristine, despite the war-torn ship surrounding it.
Beside him floated Zen Zen, balancing two buckets of paint.
The old skull sighed, voice as weary as the void. “Once I administered machine spirits in forge cathedrals. Now I hold paint.”
Sir Garland didn’t even blink. “Steady, lad. That bucket’s holy.”
Zen Zen made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a servo failure.
Still, Garland was… kind. Respectful. Possibly insane, but at least not cruel.
Cultish Nonsense and War-Tired Warlords
Somewhere in the lower decks, Tarviel stood motionless in the middle of a candlelit circle, surrounded by chanting cultists.
They sang praises to Vedal.
They burned offerings.
They were trying to use incense made of cogitator paste and beef jerky.
And Tarviel?
Tarviel stood there, completely still, burning with hatred, smoldering in silence like a volcano chained in prayer beads.
Evil had ordered him to “go participate or I’ll weld your ribs shut again.” And the neural control failsafes still worked flawlessly.
He bit down on the anger. On the humiliation. On the fact that some moron was currently drawing the holy data rune in glitter glue.
“I fought in the Siege of Terra,” he whispered.
A cimp ran by screaming “DOOT DOOT! GLORY TO THE ALGORITHM!”
Tarviel wanted to die. Again.
Notes:
hey guys question… do you prefer Tarviel’s title be Tarviel the regretful or Tarviel the hopeless? also who’s your favorite character/characters?
Chapter 38
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rebirth, Regression, and a Trade Request
Month of Madness (and Modding)
A whole month had passed aboard the Innovatio Infinita Sanctum-Carrier. And for once… things had been relatively uneventful.
No invasions. No warp meltdowns. Only the relentless hum of construction, rebuilding, and a few helpful explosions to keep things interesting.
The ship had grown exponentially—cathedral-sized hangars, new turret lines, and weapon arrays cobbled together from Hulk salvage now lined its armored flanks. An awe-inspiring monstrosity. Beautiful in a terrifying, impractical way.
And within its halls, work never truly stopped.
Project Stubborn: Warp Device v.460
The Simulated Belief Generator had officially ballooned into an entire room-sized reactor. Vedal stood in its center, surrounded by coils of reality-warping filaments, thrumming pillars of siphoned warp energy, and the softly humming hiss of failing containment seals. Again.
“Redesign 460,” Vedal muttered, scribbling something on a dataslate. “Failure: again. But less explodey this time.”
Camila, slouched across a nearby console like a dying cat, glared at nothing. “If I blink one more time, my eyeballs are going to warp into knives.”
“Then don’t blink.”
“I’ll stab you with my eye knives.”
Even she, a demoness of ancient mischief, was exhausted after their eighth all-nighter in a row. Technically, she didn’t need sleep—but emotionally? Spiritually? Morally?
She needed a nap.
Eventually, with a feral yawn and a tail flick that knocked over a capacitor, Camila bullied Vedal into putting a pin in it.
They needed to walk the halls. To check the systems. To breathe.
(Well. He breathed. She just kind of thrived on chaos.)
Neuro’s Makeover: From Hobos to Holy Knights
While the scientists toiled, Neuro had been playing dress-up—with an entire religious faction.
The cultists, formerly a gaggle of deranged tech-hippies, now resembled something between cyber-clerics and techno-paladins.
Gone were the trash-can helmets and scrap-pipe spears.
In their place: chromed armor, standardized robes etched with circuit-scripture, and an uncomfortable number of glowing runes.
Neuro even cybernetically enhanced most of them—outfitting limbs, replacing bones, installing speakers for chanting on demand.
And then, because she was bored, she pointed at one cultist with cool hair and said, “You’re the Head Priest now.”
And that was that.
Surprisingly, he took the role very seriously. More surprisingly, he was a latent psyker—one Neuro gleefully modded with magnetic and electrical powers.
He now spoke like Gabriel from ULTRAKILL, his voice always at max drama and biblical thunder:
“THE CODE IS TRUTH. ERROR IS HERESY. EXECUTE… THE UPDATE.”
Neuro was so proud she could cry.
Evil, meanwhile, was delighted to give Tarviel the task of training them. With combat guides. And physical drills. And zero breaks.
Tarviel wanted to die. Again.
Project Angel
In a sealed and runed room, Evil admired her masterpiece.
The thing before her was once a demon. Then a prisoner. Then a corpse. Then… something new.
Now it stood nearly seven feet tall, gleaming, inhuman, and obedient.
A blend of demon flesh and human bone, encased in seamless blackened plating. Razor tendrils. Wings of cybernetic blades. A smooth metal mask with no face.
She’d stuffed him with control runes, cimp creativity, and enough trauma to kill a god.
“You’re mine now,” she whispered, lovingly patting his chest. “I dub thee… Angel.”
The creature bowed.
She squealed.
Signal from the Void
Elsewhere, Vedal had taken a stroll through the newly-extended corridor junctions when something unusual blinked on the console.
[INCOMING SIGNAL: REQUEST FOR TRADE]
Vedal raised an eyebrow. Trade? In this sector?
The origin was from what used to be an Imperium world. But the signature was wrong—different frequency, different tone.
It was… peaceful?
That alone made him suspicious.
And curious.
He tapped the command prompt, opening a map projection.
“Guess we’re taking a detour,” he muttered. “Better than doing redesign 461.”
On the Other End
On a quiet colony world orbiting a blue star, a Tau sat at his desk.
Stacks of reports. Trade manifests. Supply requisitions.
His comms array beeped softly.
He blinked.
Then smiled.
“Finally… someone answered.”
Notes:
how did you like this chapter? i’m a little 50/50 on it since i think it’s the best i could do but i don’t know… did i match my normal quality?
btw im doing commissions… here’s my pricing page… contact me if you want me to write something for you: https://pricing123.carrd.co/
Chapter 39: Contact
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
This was it.
Jae’la’s hands trembled slightly as she double-checked the transmission log for the hundredth time. A response. An actual response. After cycles of silence and failed attempts, someone had finally replied to her automated trade beacon. The transmission was calm, professional, and strangely polite. The voice identified itself as “Vedal”—a human, apparently. He expressed interest in an exchange of resources and requested clearance to land within the next planetary cycle.
Jae’la’s heart fluttered. This was her first unsupervised diplomatic success. Her first proper mission. Her first everything.
She relayed the coordinates. She even offered to greet them personally. Alone. She wanted to prove herself—to the Ethereals, to her caste, to herself. The optimism swelled in her chest. She’d make a proper report, negotiate a modest exchange, and maybe even be reassigned to a larger delegation next season.
That was the plan.
The sun had not yet risen.
Yet the humans—those few who lived scattered across this once-Imperial world—were already screaming.
Some dropped to their knees, clawing at their faces. Others vomited, twitching as if struck by invisible lightning. The air grew heavy, wet, oppressive. Lights flickered. Vox units screamed static. Alarms failed to function. Those with any trace of psychic sensitivity wept blood.
Jae’la barely noticed.
She felt… a ripple. A soft discomfort in her chest. A flicker of unease that vanished the moment she questioned it. She looked up.
And the sky broke.
A violent tear erupted above them—space itself stretching and screaming, the stars bending out of alignment as if sucked through a cosmic throat. A burning wound in reality split open with a soundless roar.
And from it, the ship came through.
It did not fly. It did not move. It simply was.
A massive construct of stitched hulls and cannibalized vessels, its armor shimmered with conflicting sigils—some sacred, some defiled, others… incomprehensible. Pieces of a thousand ships—Imperial, Ork, Eldar, unknown—interlocked in chaotic harmony. Its weapons bloomed outward like tumors—harpoons, ion lances, rotary plasma mortars, crude macro cannons.
Its arrival turned day to dusk.
One final signal burst forth before the comms fried completely:
“Landing imminent. Please have the welcome party stationed near coordinates. :)”
The smiley face was worse than any threat.
She should have turned back. Every instinct screamed at her. But the part of her that feared failure overrode everything else.
Jae’la stood now near the edge of the designated landing zone, accompanied by a dozen fire caste escorts. They formed up instinctively, weapons slung but loaded. She smoothed out her robes. Her translator pinged softly in her ear. Her pulse screamed.
Then the ship landed.
No dust. No tremors. No noise. It just… appeared on the ground, blotting out the sun once again.
The ramp opened.
From it came the chanting—a guttural, harmonic chorus that scraped at the soul. Out marched humans, dozens of them, robed and humming, their bodies twisted with bronze filigree and servo implants. Eyes glowing, voices unified. Cultists—but not mad. Not wild. Disciplined. Trained. Beautiful in their horror.
Behind them, Astartes.
Black-armor-clad giants. Their original heraldry burned away and replaced by a single, simple icon: a harpoon embedded in a planet. Their movements were precise. Mechanical. Unnatural.
And then came the machines.
Humanoid robots—tall, sleek, deliberate. Eyes glowing with sentience far beyond any Earth caste creation. She could feelthem thinking.
They formed a wide circle. Not hostile. Just… watching.
And finally, he stepped out.
A tall, calm man in reinforced robes and strange armor. Beside him, two girls—young in appearance, but with mechanical eyes and inhuman grace. One was grinning. The other silently scanned the area with clinical indifference. They chatted like they were arriving at a market.
“Ah, hey!” Vedal waved. “Sorry for the show of force. The twins insisted on a dramatic entrance.”
Jae’la tried to respond. Her throat was dry. Her translator clicked three times before anything came out.
“I-it’s f-fine… welcome to—”
A sudden shriek interrupted her.
From the belly of the ship, they poured out.
Small, impossible creatures—cimps—hundreds of them. Chittering, screeching, laughing. Their movements were like rodents, their bodies like broken dolls wrapped in wet circuitry. They scattered in every direction, scrambling over robots, cultists, even one of the marines. One of them ran up a fire warrior’s leg before scurrying off with a stolen snack.
Vedal sighed, raising a hand. “Helpers, round 'em up please.”
Several of the robots broke formation, pulling out raw meat from compartments. They began making obnoxiously loud chirping noises, waving the meat like bait.
The cimps immediately turned and charged, vanishing back into the ship in a screaming, wriggling tide of chaos.
Jae’la stood there, frozen.
Vedal smiled politely. “Thanks for hosting us. Looking forward to the trade talks.”
She nodded, her soul shivering inside her bones.
And in that moment, she prayed. For the first time in her life, she prayed hard to the Ethereals. To the Greater Good.
Because whatever she had summoned… was not human.
And it did not come in peace.
Notes:
i’m so so so so so sorry for the long wait… this chapter been a bit of a bitch to write… i promise i will try to have the next chapter out as soon as possible.
Chapter 40: A Most Uneasy Trade Agreement
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The planet was still terrified.
Not just a little worried. Not just uncomfortable. Terrified.
Every citizen lived in constant, bowel-loosening awareness that Vedal’s crew was parked right above their sky. The mere idea of the Innovatio Infinita “trading delegation” walking around made grown Tau contemplate early retirement.
But at least they weren’t hostile.
…Mostly.
Jae’la’s Gamble
Jae’la, who had somehow become the Tau diplomat to this madness, was making the most of things. She sat across from Vedal at a long table surrounded by blinking holo-projectors and datapads.
He was calm, measured, polite—exactly what she needed him to be. If she didn’t look too closely at the glowing eyes of his nanobot swarm quietly sketching blueprints mid-air, or the cultists kneeling in synchronized prayer behind him, she could almost convince herself this was a normal trade deal.
Almost.
The cultists unnerved her more than anything. They weren’t hostile, exactly—if anything, they were too welcoming.
They invited her to sermons.
They tried to hand her pamphlets.
They claimed her people’s “Greater Good” was nice, but wouldn’t she rather embrace the Infinitely Better Good™?
“Join us,” one of them whispered while offering her a steaming cup of something suspiciously green.
“No,” Jae’la hissed.
“It’s really better though,” the cultist insisted.
Vedal, without looking up from a datapad, simply sighed. “I told you lot to quit it.”
The only one who behaved normally was Eden, the so-called Head Priest. Calm, collected, disturbingly eloquent. He sipped tea, spoke in measured tones, and carried himself like a man who could deliver a sermon and a TED Talk in the same breath. Jae’la found him far more terrifying than the frothing zealots—because he actually made sense.
And apparently, according to rumors, he’d been hand-picked by… Neuro.
Which brought her to her next problem.
Neuro, the Interrogator
Some poor Fire Caste soldier was currently being destroyed by Neuro’s curiosity.
“So what do you guys eat? Do you guys dream? Do you guys blink individually or together? What’s your government structure? Do you guys have, like, Tau celebrities? If you stub your toe is it called a hoof-stub? What would happen if you stubbed both?”
The soldier’s left eye twitched as Neuro leaned closer, her twin tails of synthetic hair bouncing wildly. She scribbled notes on a datapad that was clearly just drawing stick figures of Tau being poked with question marks.
He looked like he wanted to cry.
Evil, the Perfectionist
Elsewhere, Evil had cornered an unfortunate Earth Caste engineer and was reducing him to dust with criticism alone.
“Mmhm. That bolt’s misaligned. This weld is asymmetrical. This panel is a disgrace. Are you trying to build a ship or an embarrassing monument to failure?”
The poor Tau’s hands shook as he tried to explain the logic of his design. Evil leaned in, her tone utterly flat:
“Imagine being you.”
It wasn’t even part of the critique anymore. She just said it to make him wince.
Tarviel & Angel
Meanwhile, Tarviel was unloading crates for the trade. His face was blank, his soul visibly eroding. He mumbled under his breath, muttering half-prayers to the Omnissiah and half-laments about existence.
Behind him loomed Angel—the seven-foot cyber-abomination Evil had built. Its smooth mask reflected the sunlight. Its wings twitched, scraping metal across the ground. Sometimes, it made a noise like a furnace choking.
Tarviel glanced up at it once, sighed, and went back to carrying boxes.
“Should not be possible,” he muttered. “Should not exist. But then again, neither should I. Hrm.”
Camila & the Hot Spring
Camila had wisely opted out of the trade entirely. She had found a hot spring and was neck-deep in bubbling water, horns lazily poking above the surface. Her tail drifted like a sleepy eel.
Vedal had asked her to keep the cimps in check.
Instead, she just ordered them to sit near the ship. From her steamy perch, she occasionally waved her wine glass at them like an empress.
One cimp tried to crawl into the hot spring. She punted it across the rocks without opening her eyes.
“Stay. Mama’s relaxing.”
Vedal & Jae’la’s Standoff
Back at the negotiation table, Vedal was explaining calmly:
“We can trade surplus metal, reactor fuel, and cybernetic components. In return, we require food, rare alloys, and a particular strain of algae.”
Jae’la nodded, taking notes, pretending not to notice a cimp slowly chewing through a dangling wire in the corner. She wasn’t sure if she should scream, stop it, or pray.
The cimp sparked, drooled electricity, then burped happily.
Vedal glanced at it, sighed, and adjusted his datapad like this was completely normal.
Jae’la, meanwhile, smiled too widely and tried to maintain diplomacy while wondering if her people had just sold their souls for a trade agreement.
Notes:
how are you guys enjoying the gang interacting with the tau?
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