Forces of WARMACHINE - Cephalyx

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Credits WARMACHINE created and designed by

Miniature Painters

Matthew D. Wilson

Matt DiPietro Geordie Hicks

Lead Designer, WARMACHINE

Studio Administration Assistant

Designer, Cephalyx

Hobby Manager & Terrain

Project Director

Hobby & Terrain Specialist

Creative Director

Photography

Jason Soles David Carl

Bryan Cutler Ed Bourelle

Stuart Spengler Michael Archer Matt Ferbrache

Lead Writer

Project Manager

Writing

Licensing & Contract Manager

Douglas Seacat Matt DiPietro Matt Goetz William Shick

Additional Writing Aeryn Rudel Jason Soles

Continuity

Douglas Seacat Jason Soles

Editorial Manager Darla Kennerud

Editing

Dan Henderson Darla Kennerud

Graphic Design Director Josh Manderville

Graphic Design & Layout Richard Anderson Bryan Cutler Shona Fahland Matt Ferbrache Laine Garrett Josh Manderville

Art Director

Mike Vaillancourt

Cover Illustration Andrea Uderzo

Illustrations

Nick Kay Raphael Lübke Néstor Ossandón Andrea Uderzo

Shona Fahland

Brent Waldher

President

Sherry Yeary

Chief Creative Officer Matthew D. Wilson

Director of Business & Branding Development William Shick

Executive Assistant Michelle Horton

Marketing Manager Lyle Lowery

Web/IT Professional Micah Scott Ralston

Retail Support & Development Charles Agel

Convention Coordinator Michael Plummer

Marketing Coordinator Simon Berman

Organized Play & Volunteer Coordinator William Hungerford

Quartermaster Assistant Dianne Ferrer

Customer Service Adam Johnson

Customer Support

Lead Concept Artist

Justin Cottom Gabriel Waluconis

Studio Director

Writing & Continuity Manager

Nick Kay

Ron Kruzie

Staff Sculptors Brian Dugas Doug Hamilton Michael Jenkins Ben Misenar

Douglas Seacat

Video Producer Tony Konichek

Publications Manager Aeryn Rudel

Additional Sculpting

No Quarter EIC

Studio Modelers

No Quarter Assistant

Steve Saunders

Nate Scott James A. Thomas

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Charles Foster III

Michael G. Ryan Michael Sanbeg

Director of Operations

Development Manager

Production Director

Roleplaying Game Producer

Jason Martin

Mark Christensen

Mold Manager Kelly Yeager

Packing/Shipping Manager Joe Lee

Vendor Coordinator Geoffrey Konkel

Metal Casting Supervisor Marcus Rodriguez

Lead Quality Control Cody Ellis

Production

Jon Adams Mark Arreola Oren Ashkenazi Ryan Baldonado Nelson Baltzo Felisha Bolzenthal Thomas Cawby Johan Cea Henry Chac Chris Crespo Bryan Dasalla Alfonso Falco Joel Falkenhagen Juanita Garcia-Lovato Maddie Gill Trevor Hancock Mike Harshbarger Armond Haydel Bryan Klemm Nick Lara Mark Lawson Chris Lester David Lima Clayton Links Keith Loree Christopher Matthews Bryan McClaflin Mike McIntosh Chris McLeroy Antonio Mora Reece Nash Phuong Nguyen Bo Olthoff Scott Paschall Soroth Pehn Antwan Porter Sam Rattanavong Erik Reiersen John Roth Rob Seamount Jesse Sterland Tu Thanh Chris Tiemeyer Ben Tracy Dara Vann Matt Warren Michele Wheeler

David Carl

Matt Goetz

Game Developer William Schoonover

Playtest Coordinator Jack Coleman

Infernals

Peter Gaublomme John Morin Gilles Reynaud D. Anthony Robinson Donald Sullivan

Internal Playtesters Ed Bourelle David Carl Leo Carson Johan Cea Jack Coleman Cody Ellis Bill French William Hungerford Tony Konichek Chris Lester Lyle Lowery Bryan Maclaflin Chris McLeroy Michael Plummer Erik Reierson William Schoonover William Shick Jason Soles Jacob Stanley Jesse Sterland Gabriel Waluconis Matt Warren

External Playtesters Ray Bailey Alice Bettoli Cody Brown Corey Brown Peter Gaublomme Tommy Geuns Andrew Hartland Kristin Hartland Thomas Hoffman Federico Ingrosso Stu Liming Klass Luyckx Wout Maerschalck James Moreland Shane Philippi Dirk Pintjens Andrew Ready Owen Rehrauer Josh Saulter Tim Simpson

Proofreading David Carl Dan Henderson Geoffrey Konkel William Shick

A Mind is a terrible thing to lose Faction Background

Playing Cephalyx

The society of these purely cerebral beings depends on a steady influx of living prisoners for use as experimental test subjects and to become heavily modified laborers and warrior slaves within their vast underground hives. The need for fresh flesh leads these alien beings to emerge for raids against the people of the Iron Kingdoms. Innocent victims are hauled away and soon find themselves strapped to cold metal operating tables before receiving the cruel surgical ministrations of their new masters.

Cephalyx leaders are all about control and manipulation. Whether it’s a Mind Bender channeling spells through its drudges, an Agitator empowering all nearby drudges and monstrosities to hit harder, or Exulon Thexus telekinetically moving nearly every model on the table at once to clear charge lanes, disrupt unit coherency, or redefine the control of scenario objectives, Cephalyx excel at influence and exploitation.

Lurking deep below the earth, the dreaded and inscrutable beings called cephalyx tirelessly perform diabolical experiments on their captives within blood-soaked laboratories. Masters of powerful psychic energies and advanced surgery, the cephalyx shape both the minds and bodies of lesser creatures to suit their sinister agenda.

Once a subject’s will has been cut away and the body altered and augmented through cephalomek—the cephalyx’s hybrid of surgery and engineering—a victim becomes a wholly enslaved drudge. Some are selected for more extensive procedures and are transformed into hulking monstrosities. These enslaved creatures are sent forth by their masters to help capture their fellow countrymen, who will endure the same horrifying fate.

Cephalyx armies have two distinct elements: the Cephalyx themselves and their mind slaves (the drudges and monstrosities). With high STR and ARM values, the mind slaves function as the muscle for the army, while the Cephalyx function as the army’s brain. They act as nodes of influence and power that radiate outward to their hapless slaves. The army’s duality extends to its operation on the table as well.

The drudges and monstrosities, on the other hand, are the faction’s tools. Whereas the Cephalyx deal in subtlety and dominance, the mind slaves embody raw force and brutality. They wield their strength in utter deference to their masters, often suffering damage in their place to keep the Cephalyx war machine intact. Enslave lesser creatures to your indomitable will and lay waste to those who would hinder your plans!

Table of Contents A Battle of Wills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Model Entries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .36

Will to Dominate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

Painting Guide. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

Cephalyx Rules & Theme Force. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34

Model Gallery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

Visit: www.privateerpress.com Privateer Press, Inc. 13434 NE 16th St. Suite 120 • Bellevue, WA 98005 Tel (425) 643-5900 • Fax (425) 643-5902 For online customer service, email [email protected] This book is printed under the copyright laws of the United States of America and retains all of the protections thereof. All Rights Reserved. All trademarks herein including Privateer Press®, Iron Kingdoms®, Full Metal Fantasy, Immoren, WARMACHINE®, Forces of WARMACHINE, Steam-Powered Miniatures Combat, Convergence of Cyriss®, Convergence, Cygnar, Cryx, Khador, Protectorate of Menoth, Protectorate, Retribution of Scyrah, Retribution, warjack®, warcaster, HORDES®, Forces of HORDES, Monstrous Miniatures Combat, Circle Orboros, Circle, Legion of Everblight, Legion, Skorne, Trollbloods, Trollblood, warbeast, Formula P3, Formula P3 Hobby Series, and all associated logos are property of Privateer Press, Inc. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form without written permission from Privateer Press. Duplicating any portion of the materials herein, unless specifically addressed within the work or by written permission from Privateer Press, is strictly prohibited. In the event that permissions are granted, such duplications shall be intended solely for personal, noncommercial use and must maintain all copyrights, trademarks, or other notices contained therein or preserve all marks associated therewith. The process for converting living, breathing people into mindless drudge servants is agonizing, insufferable, and definitely morally abhorrent. Unless it is affecting copyright violators, in which case it is perfect. First digital edition: August 2014.

Forces of WARMACHINE: Cephalyx. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PIP 1057e

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A Battle of Wills

The Foundry of Astroseismology, Below Occupied Llael, 608 AR The powerful pulsing heart fueling the Foundry of Astroseismology was buried deep within the soil and rock of Caen, deeper even than the halls and workshops to which it fed its energies. It occupied a massive expanded cylindrical crevice that soared hundreds of feet above the foundry and plunged thousands of feet below it, into the very mantle of Caen. The monolithic tower formed a perfect concentric circle within the wider chamber around it. Pale blue light shone from various nodes and conduits upon the structure’s metallic surface, illuminating the darkness and pulsing to the rhythmic thrum of machinery. Exulon Thexus floated alone above a steel platform ringing the titanic machine the Cyrissists called a nexus generator. The multiple lenses on the helm encasing his bulbous augmented brain glowed with their own light as he studied the machine heart of the Cyrissist facility. Once, this place had frustrated Thexus, the enigma of its creation and the means by which it functioned impenetrable even to his prodigious intellect. The mechanisms of the Convergence had always confounded the cephalyx, as though fundamentally incompatible with their understanding of science. On numerous occasions cephalyx had driven the Convergence from their machine lairs, seizing their power generators to use for themselves. They did not know how such machines operated, but they had learned how to exploit the flows of energy they produced. Yet every time, the machines eventually failed and could not be restored. Thexus hoped to break this cycle, to re-create Convergence power sources and make them his own. Others of his kind shunned such knowledge as tainted by Cyrissist methodologies, but Thexus saw this as ignorance. He intended to give his hive access to nearly inexhaustible energy, which would afford them the leverage and strength they needed to attain unrivaled supremacy. If Thexus achieved this, his dominance over the other exulons would be assured. Thexus let his attention return to the battle that raged above in the foundry complex. Such was his ability that he could clearly discern the emotionally broadcast surface thoughts of the enemy. Fear, pain, anger, loss, bravery, sacrifice, death—each was a note amid a cacophonous maelstrom, one he found stimulating rather than overwhelming. The humans fought to save their fellows from his grasp, reacting to the survival instinct every living thing knew. Such creatures were pitiful in their unthinking resistance. Each believed the illusion of free will, while true autonomy was impossible for such lesser minds. Though they would never accept it, they were better off as drudges or monstrosities within a hive, where their lives could at least be useful, where the endless possibility in their malleable

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flesh could be exploited. He could increase muscle mass and size to incredible proportions through electrical and alchemical stimulation. He could fortify bone to be as resilient as steel. He could augment reaction time through manipulating and rerouting autonomic nervous systems. He could rapidly grow and expand dermal thickness and surface area to suit alterations in form while making skin almost impervious. Finally and most importantly, he could restructure the brain and give such creatures a better purpose—fulfillment through autonomic obedience to the cephalyx. No more would the anxieties of a weak and only partially sentient mind trouble them. Cryxian necrotechs and necrosurgeons had some intimation of the energy potential of organic structures. Thexus had watched them within their necrofactoriums beneath the Thornwood with amusement. Their necromancy was interesting but flawed. The true power was not within rotted putrefaction but rather in living tissue, within the electrical firing of neurons, the endothermic heat of mitochondrial reactions, and the pumping of blood through the cardiovascular system as it delivered precious fuel to the organs. Death robbed flesh of its potential. Thexus and his subordinates had been here for years, repurposing the Cyrissist machines for their hive, which was centered below the Thornwood. The few hundred humans and their warjacks far above were a mere annoyance compared to the force Thexus could summon. But there was something else above, something on the fringes of his telepathic range that was elusive and yet familiar. It scratched at the periphery of his awareness. The mental voice of Overlord Crathos reached him. <> Initiating contact with an exulon without permission was a potentially deadly breach in etiquette for the lower castes. An offending cephalyx might have his mind instantly obliterated for failing to show proper deference. Thexus acknowledged the overlord with the briefest of thoughts, then lowered his mental barriers to allow the lesser cephalyx to reach into the outermost folds of his mind. The two established a stronger information conduit. Words were highly inefficient for any significant transfer of information, and Crathos had much to share. Thexus experienced a flood of the overlord’s recent memories. So Lucant returns to reclaim what he lost, Thexus thought. He now recognized what had been disturbing his telepathic senses—the clockwork minds of the Convergence of Cyriss, led by one he had faced in battle before. They were here in strength.

Nothing was more antithetical to the cephalyx than the Convergence, yet Thexus had been forced to scrutinize their work over many years. What he had discovered was disquieting but also tantalizing. Loathsome as they might be, their knowledge had to be confronted, not avoided, though he was alone among the exulons in believing this. Thexus pondered for a moment, listening to the mental emanations from those embattled above while focusing his gaze on the pulsing lights of the nexus generator. Even as a portion of his mind remained on those thoughts, he turned the majority of his attention to a small cylinder sitting upon one of the nearby consoles. It, too, glowed with its own light. Years ago that light had mirrored the soft blue luminance that permeated this facility; now it swirled with an angry mixture of orange and red. The exulon caressed the essence chamber with a tendril of his psyche. <> he mentally whispered. A red glow within the metal housing flared briefly. Thexus studied the essence chamber and its swirl of colors. <> Thexus telekinetically flicked switches and turned knobs across the control console in front of him. In response, the light within the essence chamber became an orange-red storm. As Thexus worked, he imparted commands to Crathos. Thexus finished his work and picked up the essence chamber with one of his spidery metal prostheses. Intense blue lights now blazed across the control console. He slowly turned to

leave the chamber, thinking it would be unfortunate to lose the facility now, so close to his goal.

Eight Years Earlier (600 AR)

Exulon Thexus drifted silently through the gloom of the Thornwood hive, threading his way along a labyrinthine system of tunnels many hundreds of feet beneath the surface of Caen. In his mind he could see the hive’s entire network of passages, a map recalled from long memory

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A Battle of Wills and given vivid detail by his sublime intellect. He moved quickly, driven by an emotion he had not experienced for some time: excitement. Thexus reached a passageway branching off the main tunnel and followed it until it ended in a small chamber. The prison cell contained a low table fitted with manacles as well as an assortment of racks along the walls that held surgical tools equally adaptable to inflicting pain as to performing other procedures. They were displayed as much for their unsettling impact on the subject as for any pragmatic purpose, as this chamber was utilized primarily for the extraction of information from mortal minds. Thexus considered such physical ministrations crude but acknowledged they had their uses. Scouring lesser minds telepathically frequently resulted in irreparable damage to them. A priority subject was currently bound to the table. Overlord Crathos floated at the head of the table next to a pair of drudges. The augmented slaves were not equipped for combat. Instead their arms were fitted with more subtle instruments: barbed pincers, hooked scalpel-like blades, and spiked rods designed for agonizing penetration. The various implements wielded by Crathos himself were extended and ready over the subject. Opening the communication <>

conduit,

Thexus

sent,

<> Crathos’ telepathic greeting carried the appropriate respectful deference. Thexus floated to the foot of the table, his metal prostheses moving forward in anticipation around the large oblong metal encasement surrounding his skull. The bound human was an adult male with skin as pale as the attending drudges. He was a member of the Convergence, most of whom lived a subterranean existence as the cephalyx did. His body was strong, corded with muscle from years of labor hauling heavy equipment. That the Convergence subjugated its members to menial work was but one of their many loathsome aspects. The cephalyx had fought the Convergence for centuries; Thexus and his hive had warred with them many times. Their clockwork soldiers underwent an aberrant transformation into machinery, which served to put their minds beyond ordinary psychic manipulation. Fortunately it was a state they had to earn. The captive was an optifex, a priest. This was a high caste among them, but he was a junior member and had not made the transition to a machine body. Most of what the cephalyx had learned of the foe came from captives like this. His living brain awaited their perusal, and Thexus hungered to add its energies to his own. Crathos had removed the optifex’s helmet, revealing a bluntfeatured face beneath a shaven pate. The machine-priest’s

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eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and his mouth moved with silent words. Thexus extended a slender tendril of his psyche toward the optifex and encountered a barrier of mathematical theory repeated like a mantra or a prayer. The loop of dense formulae served to shield the man’s deeper thoughts. <> Thexus noted. <> Crathos agreed. <> Thexus felt a surge of irritation that Crathos assumed he needed to resort to such crude methods. The overlord felt his displeasure, experienced as a roiling mental storm across the conduit between them. Crathos shrank back and offered mental obeisance. Thexus sent, <> He could have chosen to send the subject’s brain to the preservers, a caste that could carefully slice and disassemble a mind to absorb its component pieces, but Thexus disdained those lowly beings and their slow methods. He preferred to handle the matter himself. Thexus reached out again with several sharper and stronger mental probes. The optifex’s mind was strong, his conditioning with the Convergence impressive, but he was only human. The first probe was deflected, but before the barrier recovered, three more daggers of mental force thrust deeply through the priest’s outer mind, and his defenses crumbled. A wave of terror and revulsion rose within the optifex's mind and he writhed on the table. With another part of his intellect, Thexus had the drudges hold the man still. He burrowed deeper, picking up bits of information about the optifex as he did. The man’s name: Hestus. Unimportant. His position: part of a minor directive within the Temple of the Prime Harmonic, recently transferred to a newer priority facility. Intriguing. Thexus wormed deeper still, and then he heard the man speak, giving voice to his torment for the first time. “Will not . . .” The voice was a ragged whisper, and the cords on the man’s neck stood out with the strain of trying to fight off Thexus’ probing assault. “Must not . . .” Louder, more desperate. He was hiding something, guarding it. Thexus calmly exerted more pressure, slowly bringing additional tendrils of his towering intellect to bear against the inferior mind. He withheld his full psychic strength, as it would be quite easy to erase the man’s mind utterly. A single stray surge of energy could sever delicate connections between neurons. The optifex still fought, trying to force Thexus out and keep something hidden. The attempt was feeble and did nothing more than damage his own brain. Thexus could feel blood vessels rupturing, and he quickly stemmed the bleeding while he simultaneously tapped into

the man’s neurochemistry and released endorphins and dopamine to calm his victim and make him more pliable. The teachings of the enemy saturated the optifex’s thoughts and memories: the Nine Harmonics that were the sacred principles of his religion, the inner workings of dozens of clockwork vessel designs. Thexus found such information repulsive and misguided. The stamp of the Convergence was everywhere within the man’s mind, a metaphysical stain that spoiled the pleasure of filtering for new information. Yet even this tainted consciousness held sustaining energies, which Thexus gathered to nourish his own mind. The more the optifex struggled, the more energy flowed to Thexus, like a draught of refreshing water after a long thirst. As he pushed aside the last vestige of the optifex’s defenses, shattering what little remained of the man’s identity, Thexus finally freed what the human was hiding. It came in a rush of images. The first was a huge machine, a tower of shining steel plunging deep beneath the earth. He already knew the name of part of this machinery; it was connected to several nexus generators, the power sources of Convergence facilities. There was something different about this configuration, however. The optifex’s memories suggested tremendous demands for power at this place. The requirements of this facility necessitated the relaxing of certain engineering safety thresholds, a fact that excited Thexus, who had long sought to unlock the key to reverse engineering these devices. This facility’s nexus generators were vulnerable. He learned the name of the facility itself: the Foundry of Astroseismology. The subject did not understand its primary function, but what information he did possess flowed from the shattered husk of the optifex’s psyche into Thexus’ own—names, locations, strengths and weaknesses of the fortified complex, and hints that the defensive measures here were well within the capability of his hive to overwhelm. Thexus had what he needed. The optifex lay limp on the table, his head lolling to one side. His eyes were open, but they were glazed, unfocused; his brain was no longer capable of processing stimulus of any kind. Thexus flooded the man’s brain with serotonin, inducing a coma. The exulon withdrew before the man’s life force dwindled entirely. He sent to the overlord, <> In this condition, the subject would be useless for most experiments. <> Crathos asked. It was an impertinence, one Thexus might have used as an excuse to slay or punish the overlord. But he found himself in a forgiving mood. Instead, he deigned to reply, <>

The assembly of the hive’s few exulons demonstrated the varied ways such higher cephalyx might augment themselves. Each of the six exulons had crafted his body over many decades, enhancing his form with closely guarded experimental processes. Such techniques could be shared as a means of political currency, but each exulon was wary of empowering his rivals. Every leading cephalyx considered himself a philosopher-surgeon, an artist of cephalomek, and the changes wrought both outwardly and inwardly upon his own body were the pinnacle of such work. Each exulon boasted formidable psychic capabilities, tremendous ambition, and a vast intellect. Although the exulons preferred to spend time overseeing their private projects free from the influence of peers, they periodically assembled to resolve issues affecting the collective hive. This was particularly necessary for military matters, including campaigns to expand the hive’s territory. Such efforts required consensus. It was for such a campaign that Thexus had called this assembly. <>

He pushed his mental voice to broadcast his thoughts to all the exulons in the chamber. <> The crisis to which he referred had been a sharp downturn in the hive’s strength and power a few decades ago, one that had nearly destroyed it. <> Thexus selectively revealed the knowledge he had gained. The initial images were memories he had excised from the captured optifex. He allowed his fellow exulons to review the information from his mind, while at the same time using the mental connection with them to subtly probe their thoughts. He could feel the other exulons doing the same to him and the others. A multitude of subtle mental tendrils knotted and extended between them, probing and tangling in an unspoken skirmish war of mental influence,

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A Battle of Wills which was customary for these gatherings. Few among the other exulons could match Thexus’ mental strength and precision, and it caused him little strain to avert their probes while sending out his own. Exulon Pyrexus was the first to be heard. <> Thexus felt agreement from the other exulons, threatening an immediate shift toward consensus against him. In the aggregate the others could overpower him, but as yet they lacked shared conviction. He chose to display his strength. Using the small footholds he had made while probing the others’ minds, he weakened their defenses so his telepathic voice could drown out theirs. <>

Designed to melt steel, the torch’s flame reduced the

the Cryxian alliance. Let me expend that strength for the advancement of the hive.>> Thexus waited and monitored the ripples his proposal caused within the assembly. Two of his less-astute rivals immediately reversed themselves, seeing his proposal as a way to weaken him. Reminding the assembly of his current strength had been calculated to elicit this response. The shrewder exulons, however, were wary. They saw the calculated gamble for what it was. Thexus knew they were trying to determine his broader gambit. Despite their hesitation, a new rapidly interweaving structure of mental accord was falling into place. The other exulons continued to debate in rapid exchanges of thought, but Thexus already knew the outcome: consensus, with his thoughts dominant. Those exulons Thexus considered true rivals betrayed their unease. He felt particular satisfaction at their suspicion he had outmaneuvered them, though they could not see how. He almost regretted that they could not apprehend the full extent of his plans. He would take the Cyrissist complex alone, and its spoils and eventual production would be his to allocate. His plan was dangerous, but nothing of worth was gained without risk.

drudge’s exposed skin to ash, revealing white bone beneath.

Exulon Taciron came next. <> This was met with more agreement, a tightening and strengthening net of mental tendrils reinforcing one another. Thexus could sense the pleasure the others took at the chance to undermine him. He was losing the debate, but this was not a surprise. He had anticipated that the exulons who typically supported him would vote against him in this matter. To them it was a logical way to reign in his growing influence after his work to spearhead the alliance with Cryx had proven so beneficial to the hive. <> said Exulon Graximor. Thexus could taste the overconfidence in his longtime rival’s thought. <> Thexus replied, savoring Graximor’s surprise at the statement. The prospect of his sudden retreat caused ripples and gaps throughout the closing mental net as others reevaluated. Consensus was forestalled. <
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Thexus watched with anticipation as his drudges continued to tunnel into the bedrock. The whine of drills biting into stone and the rhythmic thud of hammers filled his ears. There was no light within the tunnel, but the drudges were designed to work in the darkness of the hive and had no need of illumination. Thexus’ eyes could not see in the dark, but he was accustomed to seeing the world around him through the minds of his many slaves, including his monstrosities, each of which boasted sensory enhancements. They had been able to get close to their target position thanks to tunnels bored into this region a century ago as part of the hive’s gradual expansion before their fortunes had fallen. Above them on the surface world were mountains that occupied the northern portion of a human kingdom called Llael. His hive had already done population surveys of the nearby region in preparation for future raids. It had been during this reconnaissance they had stumbled upon a relatively new Convergence facility. Drudges equipped with the proper tools had been tunneling for weeks, working tirelessly within the hot, lightless confines of the earth. Thexus had mapped out a trajectory that would intersect with a section of the Convergence facility currently under development. The unfinished zone represented a vulnerability he intended to exploit. With no automated defenses or warning systems, the area would

be perfect for staging his invading force. Once established, Thexus’ subordinates could overwhelm the sentries before the Convergence could organize a proper defense. It was this knowledge that had convinced him victory was possible without the aid of the entire hive, whose numbers he would otherwise have required. Not for the first time since leaving the exulon assembly, Thexus enjoyed the anticipation of the gamble he had made in coming here. There was risk. Even if he was victorious in the short run, he could still face eventual defeat. Were he to lose too many resources, his position and influence among the assembly could be dangerously compromised. A remote facility like this would be manned almost entirely by clockwork soldiers and priests, with few living members. For the work he intended to do to convert this facility to his use he needed a large supply of able drudges. He had to rely on Cryx to provide these, lest he be forced to beg for support from the other exulons, giving them access to his hard-won reward. It was a precarious balance. Entire sections of his divided intellect were devoted to the planning of these future tasks, including calculating odds, contingencies, and possible—if unlikely—scenarios. Other sections of his mind were occupied with cephalomek projects still underway, which he had left in the hands of capable subordinates but which he feared his rivals might interfere with during his absence. There had been little else to occupy him over the many days of tunneling. That would soon end; the drudges were just minutes away from breaching the outer walls of the Convergence complex. He had the drudges at the front make way for a pair of warden monstrosities, which brought their own strength to bear on the wall. When his force broke through into the facility, the monstrosities would be in place to quickly neutralize any Convergence workers. An early alarm would be catastrophic. Thexus’ thoughts flowed into the monstrosities’ brains to activate adrenal glands and manipulate aggression responses. Through this connection Thexus felt thick strands of artificially grown muscle flexing and straining and the heady rush of blood pumping through enhanced vascular systems. As information flowed back through his link with the monstrosities, Thexus analyzed the data. Pulse 190. Increase levels of norepinephrine utilizing tyrosine module. Lactic acid buildup significant. Reduction in performance predicted as high as thirty percent. Increase vascular flow to anterior and posterior arm and shoulder compartments. Release additional stores of sarcolemma proteins to speed lactic acid removal. Use Jihaxian bypass conduits to speed transit of blood to heart for oxidization. Increase flow of epinephrine to promote

increased glycolysis utilizing xyreuan reservoir. Increase in performance over forty-five percent. Thexus carefully analyzed each organic and cephalomek system. He made slight adjustments through various customized pathways installed in each monstrosity, ensuring peak performance. With one final blow the monstrosities smashed through the last earthen barrier and into the Convergence complex beyond. Thexus’ subordinate cephalyx pushed their drudges forward as one. They surged around the monstrosities, who stepped back to allow their smaller counterparts into the facility. Thexus heard the whir of drudge weaponry and mechanical shouts of alarm ahead. Over these voices came the booming sounds of the Cyrissists’ own tunneling equipment. Thexus watched through his connection with his monstrosities. There were a number of clockwork vessels within the room, most of them bearing little resemblance to humans. Instead these vessels were designed for subterranean construction work. The majority were large, squat, multi-legged entities that boasted an array of demolition and construction tools upon multi-functional, geared arm arrays. Other clockwork beings were moving debris at the behest of the engineers. Thexus recognized their frames from previous engagements with the Convergence; they possessed the same warrior bodies as the ones employed by combat units such as reciprocators and eradicators, but these were not presently armed for combat. This matched the information he had wrested from the optifex. Even considering the drudges’ artificially enhanced skeletal frames and musculature, the Convergence constructs towered over them, but the enemy was unprepared and significantly outnumbered. Thexus kept his monstrosities in reserve, unwilling to risk damage to them with the real conflict yet to come. Thexus watched as several drudges engaged one of the engineers. Though the engineer lacked true combat weapons, the construction tools upon its limbs were quite capable of inflicting harm. It brought down a welding torch and swept a blue-white spear of flame at an incoming drudge. Designed to melt steel, the torch’s flame reduced the drudge’s exposed skin to ash, revealing white bone beneath, while the skin farther away bubbled and sloughed off. The drudge was incapable of thoughts of self-preservation, and neural implants and synapse blockers rendered it immune to pain. At its cephalyx’s bidding, it pushed forward, its right clamp closing upon the strut attaching the torch to the engineer’s multi-tool arm. Eliciting a squeal of protesting metal, the drudge bent the strut back

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A Battle of Wills to point harmlessly at the ceiling. With its other clamp, the drudge gripped one of the engineer’s crab-like legs, mangling an exposed gear joint. Other drudges swarmed over the larger engineer, drills, saws, and blades tearing through its chromed steel and into the delicate clockwork mechanisms beneath. The scene was similar across the unfinished chamber, with drudges dismantling the clockwork vessels with brutal efficiency. The engineering vessels put up considerable resistance, but they had been caught off guard and their forms were not optimized for combat. Within minutes, only piles of torn steel and smashed servos remained of them. Thexus sent a mental command for his subordinates to destroy the Cyrissists’ essence chambers, which served as their seats of reason. The manner in which the Convergence inhabited their clockwork vessels left their psyches as sterile and unfathomable as their loathsome metal bodies. Because he could not touch or feed upon their minds, he took little pleasure in their eradication, necessary as it was. With the chamber secured, Thexus moved into the Convergence foundry. His wardens remained in front, ready to shield their master from retaliation. Behind him came the footfalls of more monstrosities, the rhythmic thumping of their heavy tread amplified by the acoustics of the tunnel. He also heard the harsh sound of steel scraping against stone: the wreckers dragging their massive chain weapons behind them. Though Thexus preferred the carnage the wreckers could inflict, he had brought only two, knowing they would likely have insufficient room to swing their devastating weapons in the complex’s halls. He relied more on the four subduers marching behind; their net launchers gave him considerable tactical flexibility. The exulon set his army to their tasks. He had mapped out several key objectives for his forces based on the layout he had discerned in the dying mind of the optifex. Thexus paused and watched his forces pour into the pale blue corridors beyond the breach. He extended his consciousness, seeking others. He could sense them, even those trapped within their metal shells, but the facility had that familiar wrongness that pervaded the Convergence. The emanations here were stale and unsavory. There were some few living minds, but even they seemed diminished, as their indoctrination created rigid and sterile mental patterns. As he sifted through the echoes of awareness above, a unique note piqued his curiosity. He sensed something no less stale and dead but strangely powerful. It reminded him of encountering Lich Lord Asphyxious, whose formidable intellect was trapped in bone and blackened iron. The entity he sensed now flared brightly, suggesting thoughts with individuality and complexity beyond all others within the facility. He focused on this, intrigued. The mental energy

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was comprised of an infinitude of interlocking geometrical patterns whose motions were strangely hypnotic. He felt the strange consciousness become aware of him and he recoiled. A lesser intellect might have failed to conceal itself in that moment of vulnerability, but Thexus instantly brought up his mental barriers and obfuscated his presence. He sensed the anomalous consciousness sweep through the complex. It searches for me, Thexus thought. Interesting.

The once-spotless chromed steel walls in the halls of the Foundry of Astroseismology were stained with sprays of arterial crimson and greasy brown hydraulic fluid. Drudge corpses—bronze helmets smashed, bodies sliced open, bones splintered—were a contrast to the crumpled steel and shattered gears of their clockwork foes. The whine of saw blades and combat drills screeched through the halls, answered by the rhythmic click of machine gears and the buzzing of voltaic generators. Cephalyx agitators focused their psyches to activate neural implants in nearby drudges and monstrosities. Their invisible touch within the sympathetic nervous systems and amygdalae of their subjects released a rush of hormones that pushed them far beyond their ordinary capabilities. In addition, the agitators’ touch opened the morpherus gland, a cephalomek enhancement that dampened certain neural pathways to make the drudges even more receptive to fine-tuned mind slaver control. Each endured a sudden, explosive adrenal release, creating a surge in muscular power that vastly augmented its fighting abilities. Whipped into momentary frenzy, the drudges rushed the gleaming ranks of obstructors seeking to block their progress further into the facility. The riled drudges tore into the Convergence soldiers’ wall of mechanikally interlocked shields, using their own bulk and cephalomek weaponry to smash through the shields and the clockwork vessels behind them. The heavy heads of teleflails whistled over the broken shield wall to strike with bone-cracking thumps. Despite the trauma, few drudges fell, their surgically enhanced bodies absorbing blows that would be fatal to less well-designed beings. As the line of obstructors disintegrated, a chattering like that of a swarm of mechanikal insects filled the hall, and a glittering silver cloud obscured the melee. Thousands of intricately constructed steel clockwork mechanisms barely larger than houseflies descended upon the drudges. Each tiny construct was armed with a set of razor-sharp spring blades that chewed inexorably through anything in its path.

One such mechanism would pose little danger, but the swarm of buzzing clockwork weapons reduced drudges to strips of bloody meat clinging to gnawed bone. Thexus commanded one of his wreckers forward, feeling rising irritation at the Convergence resistance. Despite the monstrosities’ size, the wide hallway was easily able to fit two of the hulking organic constructs shoulderto-shoulder. Unfortunately, the size of the hallway also meant the Convergence was able to bring more of their numbers to bear. Wanting to keep the enemy off-balance, Thexus summoned a blast of dark psychic energy, using the rapidly advancing wrecker as a conduit. The mental conjuration seared the monstrosity, scoring its pale skin with black lines, before shooting a ball of crackling ebon force at the reductors, who were reloading their swarm projectors. The rending psychic power impacted them with a boom like thunder and rapidly expanded, ripping apart multiple reductors. Before the remaining Convergence soldiers could recover, the wrecker was upon them, its giant flails whirring through the air and landing with staggering force. Clockwork vessels not crushed beneath its blows were sent flying. Their chromed bodies crashed into the walls of the complex hard enough to buckle the steel plating before exploding in a spray of gears and servos. Pulse 210. Muscle fatigue minimum. Lactic acid buildup within standard parameters. Norepinephrine and epinephrine levels at peak. Physical trauma superficial. Thexus took a moment to search the wrecker’s mind for its creator’s imprint. Lexulus. Admirable work. The exulon signaled for his forces to press the advantage now that the wrecker had broken the Convergence line. He could sense the approach of further Cyrissist reinforcements. Taking advantage of the pause, Thexus extended his psyche to contact his subordinate overlords who were overseeing fighting elsewhere in the complex. The size of the facility strained even his considerable telepathic reach. Overlords Gravita and Hiraximor were making excellent progress, and images of their successes flashed through Thexus’ awareness. Overlord Moximortir, however, was clearly waging a losing battle. Thexus focused on his connection with the beleaguered overlord to get a better sense of the tactical situation. Images of the Convergence fighting machines called vectors appeared. A tall, intricately designed clockwork vessel with spider-like legs stood beside the larger vectors, directing their implacable assault. Thexus saw the projected thoughts of this being manifest as intricate geometrical shapes similar to those he had sensed upon entering the complex. This was the powerful leader whose mind had first caught

his attention. Thexus felt a surge of curiosity. At nearly the same moment, Thexus felt the Convergence warcaster’s reciprocal awareness of him. They shared a brief moment of indirect mental contact. Pouring his energy into the connection, Thexus forced a single focused thought at the Convergence warcaster, an image of the cephalyx assault forces combined with a single message. <> To Thexus’ surprise he felt a white-hot flare of indignation from the Convergence warcaster, a burst of pure emotion such as he rarely felt within the clockwork ranks, clear even across the distance that separated them. He watched through Overlord Moximortir’s eyes as the warcaster charged alongside two vectors he recognized as Ciphers. Their piston spikes punched through the drudges protecting Moximortir in explosions of crimson gore and viscera. Capitalizing on the opening, the warcaster pushed past the remaining drudges, ignoring the blows flickering off his power field. Thexus heard Moximortir’s desperate mental command for his drudges to stop the advancing warcaster. Moximortir pushed forward his mechanikal prostheses in an attempt to shield himself, and with a single sweep of his staff the Convergence leader shattered them. The impact did not slow the fatal blow, and before the mental connection with Moximortir faded to nothing, Thexus heard the warcaster’s mechanical audio vox reply. “No. I am coming for you.” Their piston spikes punched through the drudges protecting Moximortir in explosions of crimson gore.

Thexus remained motionless for several moments, lost in contemplation over the last mental notes he had pulled from Moximortir before the overlord’s destruction. The thoughts had carried an identity—Lucant. He considered the name as he planned his next move. This Cyrissist was intriguing, his mental aspect much more vibrant than any clockwork being he had faced before—and so much more vigorous when incited. The exulon looked at the corpse-littered hallway and saw a pulsing essence chamber in the wreckage of a clockwork soldier’s metal form. The Mask of Cyriss that marked the chamber had been rent and twisted, and only half the goddess’ face remained. Thexus reached out to the consciousness inside the chamber. He could feel the soldier’s surface thoughts, but the deeper mind was dead

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A Battle of Wills to his touch. There were no neural pathways to grasp, no tingle of electrical current as synapses fired with living thought. No invigorating pump of blood, no sympathetic nervous system to manipulate. The Cyrissist’s soul was little more than a collection of preserved memories, a trapped echo. Thexus’ race had mastered the domination of life over millennia. Flesh was theirs to control and shape as they saw fit in pursuit of their ultimate goal, the transcendence of the mind. What the Convergence of Cyriss offered was a false mirror of that goal, a form of undeath, little different from the necromechanika of Cryx.

Thexus savored the human flavor of the Cyrissist’s righteous indignation.

Thexus turned his vast cognitive strength upon the essence chamber, exploring it with his most powerful probes. He could discern nothing useful, only meaningless flows of turbulent energy, and the realization only fueled his disgust. The pale blue glow intensified as he focused his will into the chamber. He heard a disembodied scream, and the blue glow became a blinding bright white. The essence chamber began to sizzle, and then glass shattered as the housing came apart, unable to contain the immense psychic power poured into it. Such loathsome beings. Thexus turned his attention away from the shattered essence chamber. He thought back to the flash of emotion he had felt from the warcaster Lucant. But perhaps some of them are worthy of study.

Lucant had wasted no time in hunting him down. Thexus saw that the Convergence warcaster had pulled every available warrior to his side to confront him, a calculated gamble. He must know that cephalyx forces were spread around the foundry as Thexus attempted to rapidly secure it and empty it of its original owners. Glittering ranks of chromed steel glinted in the cold blue light that illuminated the facility. Thexus noted with some interest that the majority of the clockwork vessels standing with Lucant were of the heavier reciprocator class. In addition to those Convergence soldiers armed with protean halberds and hefty interlocking shields, several units of eradicators and perforators marched in perfect step toward the cephalyx forces. The distinct sound emitted by the power generators of Convergence vectors also mingled with the sounds of Lucant’s soldiers. A pair of Ciphers flanked a single

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Inverter, while a half-dozen lighter three-legged vectors moved behind their larger counterparts. This was to be Lucant’s last stand. Thexus felt keen anticipation as he observed the more numerous Convergence forces approach. While Thexus’ battlegroup boasted all eight of his hulking monstrosities, aside from those he had only a handful of drudge units controlled by their cephalyx masters. This confrontation would decide the fate of this facility—and very likely the fates of the two opposing leaders. Lucant raised his staff, which had so recently obliterated Overlord Moximortir, and the glowing orb at its head flashed three times in rapid succession. The front line of heavy Convergence infantry broke into a charge, the perforators’ arm-mounted javelin throwers firing at the cephalyx line. Thexus focused on the incoming projectiles, creating a barrier field of rippling force that slowed their deadly trajectories as if the air had become a thick fluid. The multiple thumps of a Cipher’s hull-mounted cannons sounded, but Thexus’ telekinetic emanations dulled the force of the blasts. He watched impassively as Mind Bender Utoxian urged his drudges toward the overwhelming Convergence force. Before the Cyrissist troopers closed the distance, steel iris apertures on three of the drudges’ helms opened and released bolts of invigoration. The bolts struck the front rank of drudges, accelerating their adrenal functions and motor neuron responses. They raced forward to meet the heavy clockwork soldiers. Utilizing their temporarily augmented physiology, the drudges delivered crushing blows against the metallic frames of the Convergence soldiers, buckling steel plating and obliterating the delicate servos beneath. Two of the forward perforators fell, sparks spitting from their crushed vessels, and the rest moved in to avenge their fallen comrades. Mind Bender Utoxian fell back and overloaded the metabolic systems of the remaining drudges, causing them to explode as the destructive psychic energies consumed them. Though the individual blasts lacked the force necessary to take down the heavily armored clockwork soldiers, several combined to obliterate the nearest one. The destruction of these few perforators was a small loss to Lucant, and it had come at the cost of one of the exulon’s precious few units. The Convergence forces pushed forward upon Thexus’ line with increased speed, perhaps eager to take retribution against the cephalyx and purge them from the complex. Lucant leveled his staff and arcane fire flared from his ocular lenses, mirrored in the optical arrays of his vectors. Thexus sensed the regular transfer of power arcing from one vector to the next, amplifying the performance of the whole battlegroup. He called for his troops to give ground before the onrushing Convergence forces. Lucant moved

steadily behind his small army, a contingent of guarding reciprocators clustered around his clockwork form. Thexus did not want Lucant to believe he was in full retreat; instead, he urged a measured withdrawal, luring the Convergence forces forward. He continued to spend the lives of his drudges, but each assault was only a shallow cut to his enemy in exchange for a more telling blow in return. His constant harrying kept the Convergence on the attack, each minor triumph focusing their attention on their impending victory. Finally, Thexus’ force fell back into a large chamber that was a central hub for the facility. Overlord Hiraximor had directed him here when Thexus had conceived of his plan to confront Lucant. Though most of his attention was focused on the battle, the exulon allowed a portion of his easily divided mind to appreciate and examine the colossal machinery at the center of the chamber. The machine was a towering chromed-steel cylindrical construct. Softly glowing conduits crisscrossed its surface and terminated at larger glowing nodes before branching off once more to reach from the ground to the impressively high ceiling. Upon closer inspection, Thexus realized the cylinder was not one solid piece but comprised several sections, each independently rotating to bring new conduit pathways in line upon the machine’s surface. He sensed immense conversions of energy from one state to another radiating through it. His hive would harness that power once this facility was his. Thexus mentally commanded his forces to halt their retreat once the Cyrissists entered the chamber. Unable to resist, he reached out. Though he could not penetrate Lucant’s metal-encased mind, the warcaster was projecting his surface thoughts clearly. The geometrical patterns of his mental energy had become jagged and full of acute angles. Thexus savored the human flavor of the Cyrissist’s righteous indignation. <> <> Thexus replied. The minds of ordinary mortals flinched from his telepathic voice as it overloaded their nervous systems and burned their tissues, but he sensed no such discomfort from Lucant. A shout went up from the Convergence line as they became aware of hundreds of drudges pouring in from the various passageways that flanked the chamber. Thexus had kept these forces in reserve before their initial ingress into the Convergence facility. The first part of his trap sprung, Thexus prepared to close it completely. Pulsing purple energy swirled about him

as he drew upon the full store of his psychic potential. Tendrils of pure manifest will shot forth and wound around the Convergence troops, their ambient light giving an otherworldly hue to the steel vessels. Thexus moved his enemies as he desired, scattering their perfect formations, sending their lines into chaos, and—most importantly— separating Lucant from his forces. As one, the cephalyx forces charged, flashes of mind bender augmentations rippling through the ranks of the ambushing drudges. Thexus directed his monstrosities to attack, driving them like a wedge between Lucant and his troops. The exulon commanded one of his wardens to engage an Inverter whose meteor hammer was pulping drudges with each blow. As the warden brought its heavy clamps up to strike, the vector spun around and its macropummeler shot forward with the loud ratcheting noise of a tightly wound gear being released. The warden was hit squarely in the chest and driven to the ground. Thexus observed the impact with particular fascination. Extensive trauma to the thoracic region. Ribs shattered, left lung punctured, right lung burst. Severe internal bleeding. Corixian conduits destroyed, artificial adrenal reservoirs burst. Heartbeat erratic. Initiate endorphin flood to override tissue shock. Release adrenaline boosters. Combat efficiency restored by fifty percent. High likelihood of specimen death. Specimen expendable. Exposed, the Inverter had no defense against the wrecker’s retaliatory onslaught. The monstrosity stepped over the crushed and bleeding form of its counterpart and hammered blow after blow into the Convergence machine. The repeated impacts stove in the vector’s armor plating and sent sparks, shattered clockwork components, and machine oil flying in all directions. In moments, the Inverter was a pile of scrap. Thexus sent a mental order, and his subduers fired their net launchers into the ranks of clockwork soldiers. The heavy weighted nets knocked the clustered Convergence soldiers to the ground, making them easy prey for the onrushing drudges. The augmented slaves, spurred on by the abilities of the mind benders and agitators, ripped apart their helpless foes. The exulon turned his attention back to Lucant, who was now surrounded by several drudges that struck at him with blades, saws, and drills. It was simply a matter of time before Thexus held the warcaster’s essence chamber. He would discover if this Cyrissist’s essence was indeed different from the others’. He felt certain there had to be a way to extract information from this foe. After emitting so much psychic energy Thexus was filled with a desire to consume the minds of his enemies, yet he was stymied by their machine state. His abyssal hunger was almost enough to compel him to reach out to his remaining

13

A Battle of Wills

cephalyx and rend their minds instead. With a start, Thexus noticed he had drifted closer to the warcaster in anticipation. He realized his mistake too late. Circles of blue runes connected by crackling electricity surrounded Lucant and then expanded to engulf the rest of his forces. Thexus watched as blows from drudges and monstrosities were deflected by the arcane protections Lucant had set in place. A pair of warded Galvanizers broke away from the swirling melee and rushed to aid the warcaster, their circular saws easily slashing through drudge limbs, necks, and torsos. Lucant charged toward Thexus through the opening his Galvanizers created, his battle staff glowing with a crackling blue nimbus. Dread gripped Thexus at the sudden turn of events, and he realized he had let his hubris expose him to this wild gambit from his enemy. He was confronted by the stark reality of his own mortality. Other portions of his mind were actively analyzing and evaluating possibilities. Thexus summoned all his will and poured it into his telekinetic defenses. Lucant reached him an instant later. The Cyrissist’s energy-charged weapon struck Thexus’ psychic barrier with a tremendous explosion of force. The exulon was distantly aware of dull, throbbing pain as the kinetic feedback from the staff lanced through his neural networks. The notion of a physical

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blow impacting the outer casing of his cranial protections sickened him, but he reminded himself that any such damage could be regenerated if he survived. He continued to put everything into his defenses. Lucant struck again, resulting in another concussive burst of opposing energies that wreaked additional trauma to delicate tissues buried beneath armor. Thexus calculated the odds and decided he must take a desperate risk. He drained his reserves, dropping his defenses to deliver a telekinetic blow that pushed Lucant away before the Convergence warcaster could make the fatal thrust. Thexus felt the crackle of energy and the hiss of wind as Lucant’s strike missed by mere inches. Seizing the advantage, he fled from the warcaster while commanding the nearest monstrosity, a wrecker, to intercept the Cyrissist. Lucant’s eyes blazed at Thexus as he retreated, and again the Convergence leader's form was surrounded by the changing patterns of his thoughts and emotions. Thexus could sense Lucant’s desire to press the attack and finish his hated foe even though doing so would end him. Survival instincts won out. With a final lingering glare, Lucant withdrew, directing his remaining forces into the path of the onrushing monstrosity.

<> Hiraximor communicated. <