You may rise. I see you are all here," Bastion said with a smile.
"Of course, my lord. Your request is our command," one of the generals answered.
Dressed in an over-the-top military uniform resembling that of a high-ranking Nazi officer, the man stood out. The longer Bastion observed him, the clearer it became—he would be a problem to address later.
"I see. Then shall we proceed? The might of Mordaxis is needed now more than ever," Bastion said, cutting to the chase.
'Who are Nazis?' he wondered, questioning the intrusive thought.
It must have been a fragment of his past life, though he couldn't recall specifics—only that the uniform felt wrong. But he wasn't here to nitpick. Following his gesture, the generals bowed and fell in behind him as he walked.
Draven remained silent, guiding them through the labyrinthine Astra Militarum base in the Mid-Hive.
With every step, Bastion's headache grew—the building's design was staggeringly inefficient. He understood architecture was a foreign concept here, but was it too much to ask for structures that followed 'form follows function'?
The principle applied to technology; why not construction?
After a lengthy walk, they finally reached a large chamber. An oval table dominated the space, with a small podium at the far end. Clearly a meeting room—one that stirred an odd sense of familiarity in Bastion.
Draven ushered him to the head chair, where he sat without ceremony. The generals followed suit.
"You have no idea how pleased I am to see you all so willing to uphold humanity's glory on this planet," Bastion said as they settled.
Confusion rippled through the room. They were here because he'd summoned them. Refusing a Saint's call was tantamount to suicide—especially when that Saint held direct authority over them.
"We do our best, Your Eminence," one general offered.
"I can see that. Each of you leads a division, correct?" Bastion asked, gesturing at their varied uniforms.
The planet's armed forces were numerous: Adeptus Arbites, Astra Militarum, PDF, and—judging by the uniformless group—private enforcers, given the planet's scale.
"Yes, my lord," Draven answered, launching into introductions. Bastion tuned him out.
These men would be replaced or purged during reforms. Memorizing their names was pointless.
"First, I've been told I led the army against Orks. What's the current status on that?" Bastion asked.
So far, his only intel came from the very men seated here. If Ascrius-21 had perfected the satellites and their delivery systems, he'd have a clearer picture.
"My lord, if I may… why do you refuse Exterminatus on Lorex?" a general interjected.
The man—plump, smooth-skinned, clearly living comfortably—led the PDF forces.
Lorex was the name given to the continent overrun by the orks… ThHe planet had six major continents according to its history books and record
"If your son were on the planet, would you agree to Exterminatus?" Bastion countered.
Deafening silence. The generals exchanged glances, then looked to the Lord Militant.
"…My lord, you may not realize this, but Orks reproduce rapidly. Your assault reduced their numbers, but leaving them alive risks greater consequences," the man said, dodging the question.
"Then let me ask this: Magos, is the Axule virus ready?" Bastion turned to the mechanical horror that was Magos Dominus Cyron Thal.
The mechanized voice that replied was so sterile even machines might envy it:
"The Biologis confirms a 97% success rate for the current strain. However, a reliable delivery system remains… elusive."