Chapter 181: Hellhound and Manticore
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—I've got no idea what's going on! Let explain—actually, I can’t explain! Let him explain instead!”
Hades was backed up against the wall, raising one hand in a show of innocence while using the index finger of his other hand to gingerly poke at the dagger tip pressed against his throat, trying—very unsuccessfully—to nudge it away.
The blade didn’t budge an inch.
“I—I’m loyal…” he stamred weakly, all the commanding presence he had shown in the cathedral earlier completely gone. Hades looked as though he were about to cry, cold sweat pouring down his face and every hair on his body standing on end.
“Stand down, sister.”
The lodic, almost divine voice of Charon, finally rescued Hades from his dire predicant.
Sister Nera, the Sister of Silence, gave a dissatisfied huff but withdrew her dagger, though her eyes remained locked firmly on Hades.
Hades breathed a sigh of relief. Being cornered in a dark alley by a mber of the Adeptus Custodes and a Sister of Silence was definitely not his idea of a good ti.
Under his helt, Charon gave Hades a complex look.
After witnessing Hades’s speech in the cathedral, and the frenzied, ecstatic response of the Graia Forge World Tech-Priest that followed, Charon felt a creeping sense of unease.
Still, their mission was to learn and understand the Blackstone technology. Charon could make his report to Terra afterward.
For now, he chose to trust his initial judgnt. He looked at the tall man in front of him—Hades, who seed to be trying to shrink into the wall like a guilty schoolboy—and concluded that this guy probably wasn’t going to cause any serious problems.
Although… Was this really the sa person who had delivered that majestic, awe-inspiring speech just monts ago in the cathedral?
Now, it felt more like they were bullying him.
And to be honest, if a real fight broke out, the outco wouldn’t be so obviously one-sided in their favor.
“My master has given his directive,” Charon said slowly, enunciating each word with deliberate care. “We choose to believe in you.”
“But we sincerely hope… not to be put in a difficult position.”
“Yes, yes, of course, absolutely!” Hades nodded so vigorously it was almost comical. “I’ll explain everything to those oil-slling lunatics myself, just—please, don’t put in the hot seat again.”
“I’m loyal. I swear. Please believe .”
With the most sincere, wide-eyed look he could muster, Hades stared at Charon, practically pleading for his trust. Believe ! Please!
Charon didn’t respond imdiately. Instead, he gave Hades a strange look. Back when his master had assigned him to interface with the Lord of the Dead, he had expected sothing solemn, powerful, fated.
The fate was clear: he would ferry the souls of the dead, and the Lord of the Underworld would be his partner in that sacred duty.
And when Hades had orchestrated the purging of Barbarus, he had lived up to that image—cold, commanding, untouchable. A true high ruler.
But now… now Charon looked back at the man cowering against a wall after being scared out of his wits by a Sister of Silence with a dagger.
For the first ti in his long, long life, Charon found himself at a loss for words.
This Astartes was… truly sothing else.
After Hades made his rather undignified retreat, the prayers in the cathedral continued. The congregation bowed their heads toward the empty throne at the altar, swearing new oaths of loyalty. One of the Magos, hands trembling, carved Hades’s recent words into the base of the statue of their god.
“For truth. For mankind.”
This phrase had never appeared in their doctrine before. The old creed had always exalted “truth” as the supre being—“mankind” had no place in it.
But now, they had one.
And those small words, now engraved into stone, would remain for eternity.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Two Days Later
“First of all, I am a normal human being.”
“I am human,” Hades emphasized, staring seriously at the group of Tech-Priest in front of him.
“Second, I am currently the liaison officer between the Death Guard and the Mint Foundry Satellite Project.”
“Do you… understand?”
He didn’t dare voice the second half of what he wanted to say: Please don’t worship like a god again.
The Magos across from him nodded enthusiastically, their faces full of reverence as they echoed in unison, “Yes, my lord! Understood, my lord! Absolutely, my lord!”
One of the servo-skulls hovering nearby gently descended and offered Hades a cup of tea.
“My lord, this tea was harvested from a planet under an Exterminatus order. There are no more than five kilograms of it in the entire galaxy. The only reason we have it is because Graia managed to seize it during a battle with another forge world…”
Hades stared down at the cup in front of him with a look of deep grief and exasperation.
The tea leaves floated and swirled gently in the cup, as if mocking everything he’d just said about wanting a normal working relationship.
“I believe you may be overdoing the hospitality a little, Magos,” Hades said flatly.
The red light flickered briefly on the face of the Magos in front of him, who then replied without the slightest sha, “Ah, apologies, my lord. I misspoke. This tea is, in fact, sothing we casually snatched from the Barbarus orbital ring. Please enjoy.”
‘You’re just going to casually say such blatant lies now?! In public?!’
Behind him, Charon and Sister Nera were still silently glaring at him like two hawks watching a wounded rabbit. He couldn’t exactly start yelling or calling anyone out. All he could do was silently accept his fate.
With the resigned air of a man awaiting execution, Hades raised the cup and took a sip.
—Huh. Actually, it tasted pretty good.
He took another sip before he could stop himself.
“I hope you all understand the nature of our relationship,” he said with a sigh, “and that we should approach our cooperation with the appropriate level of formality.”
The Magos imdiately began nodding in unison again, echoing him with their trademark chorus of “Yes, yes, of course, my lord!”
Thankfully, from that point on, the Magos toned down their absurd hospitality—at least a little.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The roar of machines filled the air. A long procession of red-robed figures moved like a river through the facility, their cybernetic limbs glinting under the overhead lights. If one looked closely, a tiny patch of pale green and white could be seen among the red—a lone, overwheld figure buried in the middle.
“Enough. Really. No more,” Hades muttered, gently pushing away yet another servo-skull trying to offer him a plate of pastries. The drone wasn’t deterred—it just hovered back down and started nudging his hand again.
The surrounding Magos, alard by the interaction, quickly stepped forward, nervously asking if the hospitality was lacking. Hades swallowed back a burp and waved off their well-aning but aggressive refreshnt service.
Say what you will about these grease-covered fanatics, but their ability to gather intel was maxed out. It hadn’t taken long for them to deduce Hades’s food preferences based on Death Guard provisioning data.
Even though most of the Magos were physically incapable of eating due to heavy cybernetic modification, that hadn’t stopped Graia from developing food.
And now… he was way too full.
Hades blinked blearily, stomach heavy and mind foggy. He was pretty sure he ca here to discuss weapons and equipnt production for the Death Guard.
So why had it turned into this…?
‘No, Hades. Stop. You have to stay focused.’
‘You’re here on official business. You can’t let yourself be defeated by one more “My lord, have another bite.”’
With steely resolve and visible anguish, Hades finally spoke up:
“Thank you for the hospitality. But I’d like to begin our discussion on cooperative manufacturing between Mint and the Death Guard.”
Translation: Stop feeding .
Hearing this, the lead Magos quickly ordered the surrounding red-robed retinue and plate-bearing servo-skulls to disperse. Once the crowd parted, Hades finally got a clear view ahead—several long production lines stretching across the massive forge hall.
“My lord, we’ve assembled several of Graia’s primary product lines here for your inspection.”
As a major forge world, Graia specialized in heavy ground vehicles and missile systems.
For example, the Graia pattern Hellhound—a tank equipped with a massive flathrower, specifically designed for aggressive assaults in confined environnts. While its range was short, the roaring inferno it unleashed could purge entire areas with terrifying efficiency.
Due to its design, the Hellhound was often nicknad “the alley-battle hound.” One particular variant swapped its fuel tanks for gas canisters, creating the Bane Wolf.
The Bane Wolf… was actually perfect for the Death Guard. In fact, one of the Death Guard's legion commanders was notorious for his obsession with customized poisons. With the ability to tailor gas mixtures to match specific enemy xenoforms, the Bane Wolf offered a highly personalized touch—true death delivered with scientific precision.
Graia’s other claim to fa was the Graia pattern Manticore, a platform known for its advanced missile systems. A similar vehicle was produced on the infamously wretched world of Stygies VIII, which had long competed with Graia in Manticore-tech.
What set the Manticore apart was its highly advanced payload system—missiles equipped with heat-seeking capabilities, incendiary payloads, and high-explosive warheads designed to devastate even heavily armored targets.
Hades examined the missile launchers with renewed interest.
If Graia had the full production lines to manufacture guided weapon systems, then…
‘These missiles didn’t have to stay mounted on a Manticore, did they?’
Hades’s mind was already spinning with possibilities.
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Tn: Graia Pattern Hellhound:
swh40k.lexicanum/diawiki/images/thumb/5/56/Graiahellhound.jpg/300px-Graiahellhound.jpg
Manticore:
swh40k.lexicanum/wiki/Manticore_(Tank)
Bane Wolf:
swarhamr40k.fandom/wiki/Bane_Wolf
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