Imperium of Man Terra Aeterna Season 01: Rise of Humanity's War Machin

Astra Militarum Military Base – Haneda Airport, Tokyo (Coastal Perimeter)

The sea breeze drifted in gently, carrying the salty scent of the coast. Under the scorching morning sun, the scene felt oddly at odds with a world consumed by plague and war. On the beach—now secured and fortified by the might of the Astra Militarum—Reuel sat atop a large rock, watching little Alice and Airi running across the sand. Their laughter rang out freely, a small puppy chasing the footprints they left behind. Their world was simple, untouched by the weight of power and blood.

Reuel leaned back, his gaze never leaving Alice as she laughed, face splattered by a playful spray of sand from Airi.

"Better to be children," he thought quietly. "No one asks them to make hard choices. No blood on their hands."

Heavy footsteps and the clinking of armor shattered his moment of calm. A Cadia Shock Trooper officer approached with rigid military posture and offered a salute.

"Lord Emperor," the officer reported firmly, "we've located a group of survivors at a police station in the old city sector. They've been relocated to this base."

Reuel shifted his gaze from the shoreline to the officer.

"Order the intel team to begin preliminary interrogation immediately," he said, voice firm and cold. "Find out if they recognize anyone involved in the attack on Astra Militarum units... and ask if they've seen a man named Takashi Komuro."

"Understood, Lord Emperor." The officer saluted again and turned to leave.

"Wait."

The officer froze mid-step.

Reuel exhaled slowly. The image of Takagi Yuriko and her daughter, Saya, flashed through his mind—faces lined with anxiety and the burden of loss. He knew that for the Takagi family, the search for Takashi wasn't just about intelligence anymore… it had become something personal.

"Inform Lady Yuriko Takagi. Let her handle the initial approach. And… report the findings to me directly, without informing anyone else."

"Yes, Lord Emperor."

The officer bowed in respect, then briskly made his way back toward the command post.

Reuel turned his eyes back to the waves. For a moment, Alice's laughter sounded like music from a time almost forgotten. But behind it all, his thoughts remained restless.

"First, the Takagi family. Then Rika Minami's unit. And now these unknown survivors… Tokyo's still crawling with the walking dead, and we're running out of time."

He leaned back slowly, trying to steal a few precious seconds of peace—before the world demanded his next decision.

---

When Takagi Yuriko received the report from the Cadia Shock Troopers, she immediately learned that the survivors had been brought to Haneda Airport. Wasting no time, she took Takagi Saya and Miyamoto Rei with her to meet the refugees, who had been placed in emergency tents set up by the Astra Militarum not far from the main military barracks.

In the camp area, Officer Tajima and his fellow policemen had just been dropped off. They, along with civilians gathered from various parts of Tokyo, stood in stunned silence as they took in the sight of the once-civilian airport, now transformed into a massive military stronghold. No one knew exactly which country these green-uniformed soldiers were from.

Hundreds of starfighters of various types were lined up along the runway. Heavy military vehicles moved back and forth, while Astra Militarum recruits were undergoing harsh retraining under the direct supervision of Cadia Shock Troopers.

"Officer Tajima, what are they going to do with us?" asked Asami Nakaoka, anxious and confused. She felt more like a detainee than a rescued civilian—after all, they had been brought to a military barracks by soldiers they had once thought were saviors.

"I don't know," Tajima replied, sitting on the ground, eyes sharply watching the troop movements. "But so far, they don't seem to mean us harm."

The soldiers moved with precision and discipline. From their gear and posture, it was clear they were elite troops. But none of the police officers or civilians had any idea who they really were—or where they came from.

Suddenly, the tension skyrocketed. Dozens of green-clad soldiers began surrounding them, weapons pointed straight at the survivors. Panic spread like wildfire. Some screamed, others sat down in silence, resigned to the worst.

"Officer… I'm scared…" whispered Marina, clutching Asami tightly.

"It's okay, Marina. Don't worry… they're not going to hurt us," Asami replied, trying to soothe the little girl—even though her own heart was pounding with fear.

Asami and the other officers formed a perimeter around the civilians, but inside, a gnawing question echoed: Is this the end for us?

"We're survivors… is your commander here? I want to speak with them!" Tajima called out loudly.

No response. The Astra Militarum soldiers stood motionless, rifles at the ready, their expressions cold and indifferent. Not one of them spoke—they were waiting for orders from Major Hellsker.

Suddenly, the rumble of approaching engines filled the air. The survivors turned their heads instinctively, and the tension thickened. Six Chimera armored transports pulled up and stopped right in front of them. From the vehicles, more green-armored soldiers disembarked in tight formation.

From one of the Chimeras, a woman stepped down—elegant, dressed in a formal purple gown. Her appearance was striking: poised, commanding, and utterly unlike the grim soldiers surrounding her. All troops instantly saluted the moment she appeared. There was no doubt—this woman held power.

"Ma'am, these are the survivors we recovered from the Tokyo city district," one Astra Militarum officer reported to Takagi Yuriko, gesturing toward the crowd.

"Bring me their leaders," Yuriko ordered curtly.

"Yes, ma'am." The officer walked toward the survivors. "Which of you is in charge? Our commander would like to speak with you directly."

"I am," said Tajima.

"So am I," added Asami.

The officer gave a small nod, then escorted both without another word. The other officers stayed behind, keeping a wary eye on the situation.

"Ma'am, these are the leaders of the group," the officer reported to Takagi Yuriko.

"Hello, ma'am. My name is Watanabe Tajima, police officer from Tokyo."

"Hello as well, ma'am. I'm Asami Nakaoka, also a police officer."

Both of them stood tall, introducing themselves politely to the mysterious woman who now held their fate in her hands.

"I hope this woman doesn't humiliate these civilians," thought Officer Tajima, his eyes fixed on the noblewoman standing arrogantly in the middle of the military grounds.

From inside the Chimera transport, Miyamoto Rei froze. She spotted a familiar face—her father's old friend, Uncle Tajima—alive and seemingly unharmed. Without a second thought, Rei flung the vehicle door open and ran toward him. Technically, she and Takagi Saya weren't yet cleared to disembark, but Rei's emotions overrode any protocol.

"Rei? What are you doing here?" Officer Tajima heard the familiar voice behind him. He turned, eyes widening as he saw his daughter's friend rushing toward him.

"Uncle Tajima, you're okay? I thought you were—" Rei threw her arms around him, breaking into tears. Her voice trembled as she spoke of her father's death, each word heavy enough to shake even the hardest heart.

Takagi Yuriko, standing not far from them, was surprised to learn the man was an acquaintance of the Miyamoto family. She chose not to interrupt the emotional reunion. Instead, she turned to Asami Nakaoka and asked calmly:

"Have you seen a young man named Takashi Komuro?"

"Yes, he was with us at the police station," Asami replied, eyeing Takagi Yuriko cautiously. "But he disappeared after a shootout with a Yakuza group."

Takagi Saya, having overheard, stepped closer with an irritated huff. "He ran again? Probably ran off the moment he saw our soldiers," she said bitterly.

"Calm down, Saya," said Takagi Yuriko, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Our forces are already sweeping that area. He will be found."

Then, Takagi Yuriko turned back to Asami Nakaoka. Her face remained composed, but her tone carried clear authority.

"Asami Nakaoka, since you are among the last remaining officers, we won't force your hand. You can choose: stay here, or leave. But if you choose to join us, you will follow our rules."

"May I discuss this with Officer Tajima first?" Asami asked, keeping her tone respectful, though something about all this felt... off.

Takagi Yuriko nodded. She could tell Asami had realized this wasn't just standard military chain of command—it was something far deeper, far more complex.

"Of course. When you're ready, inform the sentries. They'll pass your decision along to me," she said. Then she turned, pulling Saya aside.

"Let Rei finish her moment with her uncle."

Several soldiers moved to follow them, while a handful remained behind to maintain the perimeter.

Officer Tajima, still visibly stunned, watched as Takagi Yuriko walked away. He turned to Rei, his voice filled with uncertainty.

"Rei, who is she? How can that woman command these soldiers? They look like hardened veterans, not some regular army."

Asami Nakaoka was listening too, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

Rei let out a breath, still trying to collect herself. "I don't know exactly why they follow her. But one thing's for sure—she can mobilize every soldier on this base."

"What?" Tajima and Asami exclaimed almost in unison. Their gazes swept over the vast military installation—one housing thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of troops. And that woman… had authority over all of them?

"Uncle, you should stay here. It's too dangerous out there now," Rei said firmly.

Tajima looked around, then back at her. "But Rei, I don't see any other survivors. Will they even accept us here?"

Rei nodded. "There are others. But this is a military zone, not a civilian safe haven. Back then, a few survivors were brought here—mostly Japan's elite. But some of them caused trouble, so they were transferred to the Takagi estate."

She paused, voice dropping slightly.

"But now... everyone there is dead."

Tajima's eyes widened slightly, but Rei continued, stressing what mattered most:

"Thankfully, Reuel—our leader—still cares about the survivors. He still takes responsibility for those left behind. If it weren't for him, we'd all be out there on our own, without direction… or hope."

"I see… So they didn't exactly welcome the elite survivors here," Miyamoto Rei explained, her voice calm but resolute. "After all, this is a military zone, not a civilian area. So it's likely the other survivors were relocated somewhere else."

She paused, then added quietly, "I also just heard… they're looking for Takashi Komuro. Uncle, do you know why they're after him?"

Officer Tajima nodded slowly, starting to piece together the larger picture. But he still didn't understand—why would the military go after a teenager like Takashi Komuro?

"Uncle… here's the thing," Rei said, taking a deep breath. Her expression turned heavy, burdened by something she clearly didn't want to speak of, but could no longer hold back.

She began explaining to Officer Tajima and Asami Nakaoka what had happened at the Takagi estate. About Takashi Komuro's reckless decision. About how, in panic and selfishness, he had allowed survivors inside without going through proper infection screening. How one mistake had unraveled an entire defensive system that had taken so much effort to build.

"That bastard… one guy caused thousands of deaths!" Asami Nakaoka snapped, her voice shaking with rage. Her face flushed, eyes glassy—caught between fury and devastation.

The other police officers nearby, who had been listening, were just as shaken. They exchanged glances, their expressions tense, silent for a moment as they processed the fact that someone they once knew—a teenager they may have trusted—had caused destruction on an unforgivable scale.

In the middle of a zombie siege, Takashi's impulsive act—letting survivors in without clearance—had led to total collapse. Not just of physical defenses, but of trust, of what little order humanity still clung to.

"I never thought Takashi Komuro would turn out like this..." Officer Tajima muttered, slowly shaking his head. "He used to be a good kid. Quiet. Responsible."

His voice was hollow. There was disappointment there, and deep regret. To him, Takashi had always seemed like a boy with potential—not someone who would send countless others to their deaths.

And the worst part was... when it all went to hell—

He ran.

---

A few days later, Takeda Shimada and his Yakuza faction were finally located by Cadia Shock Troopers. A brutal battle broke out in a ruined industrial zone controlled by the armed criminals. Despite fierce resistance, Takeda and most of his men were captured alive—including Takashi Komuro.

Takeda was stunned. He never imagined that Takashi, a boy once known as just another average student, would end up standing in the same ranks as the Yakuza.

But it wasn't only the Astra Militarum who had been hunting them.

The Inquisitors had been pursuing Takashi Komuro for days. This mortal had cheated death more than once—under circumstances deemed impossible. That anomaly, by the doctrine of the Imperium, could only mean one thing: heresy.

One of the Inquisitors, a towering figure clad in obsidian-black power armor adorned with purity seals, personally led the capture. Without mercy, he ordered the torture of the Yakuza—including Takashi—before transferring them to Haneda Airport, now a full-fledged military bastion of the Imperium. The orders from the God-Emperor were clear: capture alive—but pain before judgment was not prohibited.

"At last, we have you... heretic."

"You're a slippery one—always escaping. But Divine Judgment… never fails to find its prey."

"Please… let me go! I didn't do anything! I'm innocent!"

Takashi screamed in panic, almost hysterical. His voice echoed off cracked concrete walls and the still-smoldering ruins.

The Yakuza only stared at him coldly. They knew all too well—begging an Inquisitor was as pointless as begging a statue of the Aquila. They had already seen the interrogations—screams, blood, and the smell of charred flesh testified to what awaited them.

The Inquisitor slowly turned. His long robe rustled as he stepped forward, crimson eyes glowing beneath bionic optics—burning with hatred sharpened by decades of indoctrination.

"Enough."

A fist crashed into Takashi's face—brutal, sudden, unforgiving.

BAAMM!

"Silence, heretic. You will stand before the Holy Tribunal of the Imperium. Let the God-Emperor Himself decide your fate… and you will pray He chooses fire."

After beating them to a pulp, Astra Militarum soldiers forced the prisoners into standard-issue Penal Legion gear—faded orange jumpsuits. Explosive collars were locked around their necks. Heavy iron balls and chains bound their ankles. Their status was sealed: instruments of atonement.

One by one, the captives were thrown into transport vehicles: Penal Legion Transport Trucks, Repressor Arbites, and Takashi—specifically—was locked inside a Prison Rhino: a cruelly modified variant designed by the Adeptus Arbites, equipped with isolation cells, magnetic restraints, and automated pain-delivery systems.

All of them—Takeda, Takashi, and the rest—were now Penal Legionnaires, bound for the front lines, where they would pay their debts in blood. They had been declared guilty of killing Astra Militarum recruits—a crime that could only be repaid with repeated death in battle.

At the heart of the convoy, the Prison Rhino carrying Takashi roared like a caged beast. Its reinforced armor bore the twin-headed Aquila and the cog-skull of the Mechanicus. Inside, Takashi slumped, his face blank—like a soul that had lost everything, even the hope of a swift death.

The convoy was tightly escorted. Ahead and behind, Adeptus Arbites Bikes rode in tight formation, red lights flashing and sirens whining—a metallic hymn to Imperial justice.

On either side, two Inquisitorial Interceptor Bikes flanked the column. Fusing the destructive power of Space Marine and Arbites combat tech, these monstrous machines were adorned with purity seals and a miniature throne at the rear—symbols of the absolute supremacy of the Ordo Hereticus.

Two black-robed Inquisitors rode them, expressionless. They looked like angels of death—wrapped in doctrine, vengeance, and sanctioned fury. Their eyes were sharp, cold—this world to them, nothing more than a waiting room for execution.

The convoy sped toward Haneda Airport—now a fortress of the Imperium—where a heretic would stand trial.

All under the gaze of the Master of Mankind Himself.

Continue next chapter

---

Penal Legion

"The Emperor loves me," someone once said. Perhaps He does. Otherwise, why would He be so determined to keep me alive?

The Penal Legion—one of the Penitent Legions, as they are known in High Gothic—is composed of convicts pulled from the ranks of the Astra Militarum and Planetary Defense Forces. These are individuals guilty of severe crimes whose death sentences have been commuted to a lifetime of service on the battlefield.

In a grimdark universe bereft of hope, justice is harsh and swift, sparing little for criminals or the unfortunate. Within the Imperium's rigid societal structure, there is no place for those who deviate. Their fate is sealed in the blood-soaked trenches of the Penal Legions.

Imperial Law recognizes countless forms of criminality, ensuring an endless stream of "volunteers" for the Penal ranks. Here, murderers and psychopaths fight shoulder to shoulder with petty thieves and zealots. Street scum, madmen, heretics—none are spared. In this melting pot of misery, a pickpocket from a hive slum might march alongside a regicide and a cannibal from the death worlds.

New recruits have their heads shaved, necks tattooed with unit insignia, and explosive slave collars fastened tightly around their throats. These collars aren't designed to turn the wearer into a bomb—they're inward-facing, engineered to obliterate the head without harming anyone nearby.

These collars are monitored by accompanying Adeptus Mechanicus personnel, detonated with precision only when discipline demands it—brutal, but necessary to maintain order without destroying morale.

To the Imperium, the Penal Legion is an expendable resource. These soldiers are thrown into the meat grinder: deployed in high-intensity assaults, used to probe enemy defenses, or serve as living shields. Most die within moments of their first engagement, herded into the heart of enemy fire like cattle to the slaughter.

But among the hundred who fall weeping or screaming, there's always one who survives. The most unhinged, the most dangerous—true killers, laughing in the face of death and emerging from hell covered in blood and madness.

The Penal Legion is part of the regular Astra Militarum order of battle, and any commander foolish enough to squander their lives needlessly may soon find themselves transferred into their ranks. The Imperium does not tolerate waste—not even of cannon fodder.

Within the Penal Legions dwell the lowest of the low: deserters, drunkards, traitors, cowards, and murderers. Whether they want to or not, they fight—and die—for the Emperor, on the most hellish battlefields imaginable. These units are the product of the Astra Militarum's uncompromising discipline. With billions under arms, all trained to kill for the God-Emperor, no infraction can be tolerated if cohesion and combat effectiveness are to be preserved.

Offenses ranging from theft to full-blown mutiny are punishable by death—or service in the Penal battalions.

Convicts are rarely motivated by pious devotion, so alternative methods are used to motivate compliance: electro-lash beatings, chemical coercion via combat drugs like Frenzon and Slaught, or direct neural stimulants that turn terrified men into blood-drunk berserkers.

Failure to advance is often punished by the wholesale detonation of explosive collars. Some legions even assign overseers who walk with their finger hovering over the detonator, a silent reminder that fear can be deadlier than the enemy's guns.

Penal Legionnaires are thrown into suicide missions where survival is a miracle. Some march with trembling limbs, haunted by regret. Others walk like the living dead. And a few embrace their slaughter with a madness born of sheer terror.

Most are killed within moments, their sentence paid in full through death. But there are rare survivors—broken beasts who can walk through fire and return, screaming defiance at the universe. Eventually, death finds even them—but not before they are hurled into the fire again, to see if the Emperor is truly finished with their penance.

Those who survive long enough may even attract the attention of the Inquisition. Their brutality, endurance, and utter expendability make them ideal tools for missions that no sane soul would accept.

In the war-torn 41st millennium, law and order are fragile dreams. On a million worlds, the thin veil of civilization is enforced by the Adeptus Arbites, grim enforcers of Imperial Justice who hunt rebels, heretics, and criminals with relentless precision. Rebellion is not a crime—it is a sin against humanity itself.

The harshest criminals apprehended by the Arbites are not executed immediately. Instead, they are conscripted into the Astra Militarum's Penal Legions: mass murderers, mutineers, pirates, apostates—all are granted one final chance to serve through bloodshed.

Even within the Astra Militarum, there are cowards and traitors—soldiers who abandon their posts, disobey orders, or flee in battle. These are war criminals. Those given the "choice" may serve in a Penal Legion rather than face execution by firing squad or a bolt pistol to the head from a Commissar.

In rare cases, individuals from these Penal units may be selected to serve directly under an Inquisitor—dead men turned weapons.

The Adeptus Ministorum also plays a vital role across war zones such as the Spinward Front. Their preachers tend to the spiritual wounds of both civilians and guardsmen alike. Among them are the Praecentors of Penance—fiery orators who shepherd the guilty toward some form of redemption.

Praecentors are more than priests—they are agitators and redeemers, drawing to them the desperate and damned like moths to flame. Within the Penal Legions, they offer the condemned not forgiveness, but purpose. Though their sins cannot be erased, their souls might still be saved through sacrifice.

The Spinward Front, like much of the Calixis Sector, has seen wide use of such cursed units. While some commanders hurl them against xenos, others prefer to unleash them upon the Severan Dominate—where terror tactics prove unusually effective.

One notable unit, the Brontian Longknives, earned a second chance after disgrace—sent on a suicide mission across the Hervara wastes to assassinate a Severan Legatus. They succeeded: breaching enemy lines, redirecting volcanic flows, and returning with the commander's head. All of them died shortly after—from wounds or exposure—but their names were carved into memory.

A monument of hundreds of knives still stands above the ash dunes of Hervara, honoring the "Heartrippers."

"Through toil and fire shall you be redeemed. Through blood, you shall find forgiveness. The blood of your enemy—and your own."

—Isaiah, Praecentor of the 289th Orcan Penal Legion