Everchosen : Prologue-Chapter 20

Prologue 

It is 990.M41 by Imperial Calendar and Terran Measure. He has no way of knowing that date, but he knows its implications. 

He is sitting in a luxuriously comfortable prison cell. It has been seven days since he was first bound to it. The walls are polished marble and the floor is an extinct species of hardwood. The furnishings are bound in gold and studded with jewels, and every surface is draped with silks and luxurious furs. 

He is blind, his eyes burned out of their sockets. 

There are women in the room with him, silent and watchful. They have not attempted to interact with him once, save to prevent injury, and respond to nothing else he does or says. They wear mechanized armor of plated gold and dye their hair as richly as blood. They have an anti-presence in the world, a muting that causes pains in his chest whenever they get too close. They are his- they are His quiet handmaidens.

The door leading out of the cell is guarded by two giants. Demigods both, standing twice as tall as a normal man and wearing arms and armor wrought from stars and ichor. They shine like golden beacons in even the faintest light, and the gems on their ornamentation catch light with uncanny vibrancy. They have not moved once since he had been locked within, not to shift position, not to stretch, nothing but the faintest flexings required to breathe. 

Beyond the room is a grand palace, miles long in all directions, crawling like a megalithic hand pressed down upon a dead-battered world. Nothing lives on the planet, nothing but teething masses of mankind, who dwell in uncountable numbers like locusts swarming long-devoured jungles of petrified redwoods. But there are no locusts, only mankind, and there are no jungles, only tower-cities that start in choked deserts and rose high into smog-strangled skies.

Masses that number more than millions, more than billions, more than trillions. Certainly at least quadrillions, but he wouldn’t be surprised to hear Quintillions instead. The planet was never designed to handle this much life of so little variety, bearing the weight of humanity with buckling metal legs and respiring solely with machine-support. 

There is gold behind his eyes. In his skull and his brain and down into his heart and lungs and guts and bones. It follows his motions like a phantom and writhes around unsteadily. It is a living gold that flexes with the beating of his heart and straining of his lungs. There is a gold he knows is there, lurking under his skin and coiling and uncoiling and burning.

It is his- His gold. 

A gold that he was filled with. 

He was a pysker, captured and escorted about on a black starship across a tempestuous galaxy, skipping along a modern hellscape like a rock on water. He followed their instructions dutifully, he did their exercises, their training, without complaint. He was a perfect, model agent- it was far better than a pointless struggle to face even more hardship. A futile resistance for additional pain, even if he knew the torment that was awaiting him at the end.

Because he knew. He knew more than anyone else on that ship did. He knew exactly where he had woken up to, and what was awaiting him.

He was a Psyker in the Imperium of Man. Unbound and unshielded, with whispers in his mind from entities he knew the names and faces to. Whispers from dumb, idiot gods that grew like senseless cancer across the galaxy and made everything worse for everyone, ever. 

Anything was preferable to Chaos. He hated those assholes. 

It helped that being compliant meant he didn’t really suffer anything for the longest time. The worst thing experienced onboard a blackship was chest pains when he got too close to the Sisters of Silence and mediocre food. The rest of it wasn’t much different from being back in school again, except with teachers quick to resort to physical punishment. 

Then came time for the Soul Binding. Months of fasting and prayer, organized and strictly watched by silent women who click their heels when they walk. Then, in a line of a hundred similar men and women, he was brought before an immense throne and the titanic skeleton that slept upon it. 

They were told it was the God-Emperor. It was not the God-Emperor, merely an image for pilgrims and propagandists. The real God-Emperor was further below, the pulsing half-dead heartbeat of the miles-long palace they walked within. The grandeur of the corpse on the throne was still enough to silence them.

Then they were bid to kneel, and the priests prayed for their souls, and bid the God-Emperor to reshape their souls. To make them impervious to the depravations of Chaos. 

He knew that it would be painful. A searing, screaming agony as they were briefly touched by the nexus of torment that burned in the heart of the Imperium of Man, the ever-dying, never-dead Master of Mankind. A brief moment of eternal pain that would either render them dead or forever beyond the reach of the Great Enemy currently making reality worse for everyone- because they were assholes like that.

He had not been prepared for the pain- although he had thought himself ready. The pain was not unexpected, in either case. 

What was not expected, though he should have anticipated it, was that the Master of Mankind would read his soul.

And know what he knew.

And he, a young psyker, knew what it was like for the God Emperor to look upon your face as you looked upon his. 

-A corpse fifty thousand feet tall, with empty eyes that blaze like suns and a voice of fire that shattered rock. His soul is burnished like Auramite and a thousand-thousand layers thick, for he has yoked the wheel and bound himself to it, and looks out upon the edge as its all-burning spoke-

‘WE HAVE WORK TO DO.’

“And that asshole told people to not worship him.” He muttered, the terrible heat of His Word on his brow as he stared at the table top. Upon the table was a board, and upon the board were a thousand tiny handcrafted figurines, a battle written in miniature. Next to the board and the table top was a deck of cards, each card depicting an important sign of cosmic confluence, the Emperor’s own tarot and alleged means of communicating with his followers. 

He did not draw from the deck. He already knew what order the cards were in. Months spent training and memorizing what each specific outcome of that stupid set of cards now wasted with prescience great enough to supersede anything gleaned from a reading. 

He stared at the table knowing full well that his eyes were burnt and useless, and he wasn’t actually looking at anything. 

He just knew. 

Just like he knew that he was still mostly naked. One of the sheets from his bedding used as an improvised skirt. Improvised clothing that vanished whenever he slept and awoke again, replaced with fresh bedding and a lingering sense of unease. 

There is a heat on his brow that has nothing to do with fever. Gold sitting there, just between and above his eyes, blazing like an invisible star. He could feel it. It was above his skin and also not there at all. There was gold in his soul. Stuffed between layers he didn’t know he had and filling him with an energy that made his skin itch and muscles twitch. 

There are two silent women behind him, hovering like ghosts in the quiet room. Not once have they attempted to communicate with him and they answered no communication he had attempted in the past several days. 

He raised a hand, reaching out slowly in the direction of the one on the left. The hand touched nothing but air, as the woman silently moved out of the way of the hand and continued her noiseless vigil over him. If he couldn’t see without seeing, then he’d have no indication that she was ever there. A dark outline where a person should be, the kind that sucked in light and hope and gave nothing back but cold and fear.

“You’re probably sassing me in your head right now.” He grumbled in her direction, ruined eyes squinting in a blind glare towards the living void. 

She did not react, only continuing to stare at him. 

He pushed up from the chair, walking away from the table and towards his meal. A perfectly balanced dish made from various scientifically calculated ingredients designed to maximum nutritional benefit, taste, texture, and caloric efficiency. It tasted like heavy baked chicken with a pinch of spice, with a side of mixed greens and a chocolate nutrient bar.

He didn’t even really like chocolate.

There were cameras in the corners of the room, staring down at him, watching his every move. There were wires in the walls that transmitted energy throughout the glowing, burning electrical palace. Like a yellow ghost that mirrored the crude matter of the world, thrumming with power drawn from geothermal vents, harvested from the skies, and drawn from the captured decay of rare minerals. 

He reached down to the little table, grabbing at the fork while watched by the careful eyes of the living voids behind him, and stabbing the not-chicken. He carried it with him, munching on the cooled meal while he paced around the spacious prison. He couldn’t see any of it, but his feet knew exactly where to go. 

He could feel the electric thrum in the walls and floor and ceiling. He could follow its paths and trace its signals. He knew that with mastery, he could command it to do his bidding. He knew this as surely as he knew there was gold under his skin.

There was a spiritual superreactor where his soul should be. A form he was familiar with, that he was comfortable with, that He knew about because he knew about it because they were facing each other at the table.

Pawn Promotes to King. 

He snarled, raising a fist and smacking his forehead with it, trying to beat his thoughts into something resembling order. He couldn’t even explain himself to himself at the moment. 

Again, and again, and again, and-

His wrist was caught. Firmly but delicately. His chest throbbed with pain from the contact, and he stopped his frustrated motions at once. The living void gently pushed his hand back down to his side, then let go and stepped away. 

As soon as she stepped away, the pain vanished, and the void returned to nothing. Ghostlike and invisible to all but his unnatural senses.

He stared at nothing for some time, for his eyes were ruined, burned away by a Vision of Gold. He glanced down at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers, watching the wraithmail he was surrounded with. A layer of golden phantoms set in rigid rows like scales, wrapped around his flesh like skin. 

He took a quiet bite of his not-chicken, still suspended by fork in his hand. It didn’t have any bones, like someone baked a strip instead of breading and frying it. 

“Honestly, kinda gross.” He muttered through a mouthful, chewing, swallowing, and then taking the final bite to finish it off. He stepped backwards, dropping the fork on the plate again and quickly downing the chalky chocolate bar. With it eaten, he dropped to the floor.

One, two, three…

Pushups. The most primitive and reliable way to build muscle without on-hand equipment. It was about all he could do while blind and imprisoned as he was. It was what he had been told to do. He could do a hundred of them now.

Then squats, then a rigorous round of stretching, then another period of completely silent and still rest. Staring at nothing, speaking to no one.

‘YOU ARE NOT YET STRONG ENOUGH.’

He knows- you don’t have to keep reminding him.

He would say that he would go insane, sooner or later, but he was pretty sure having a voice in your head already qualified one for insanity. 

There was someone new at the door. Several lifetimes older than he should be, supported by a constant influx of cellular treatments and machine-assisted regeneration. He was quickly joined by a second person, just as old as the first and equally sustained by unnatural means. Or perhaps too-natural means?

The giant demigods at the doors did nothing to stop their passing, and the gilded door leading into his prison opened, and the two utterly ancient men stepped into the room. The silent ghosts behind him greeted them with moving hands and wiggled fingers.

They returned the greeting with silent nods, staring down at him upon the floor as he stretched, tips of his fingers hooked around the ends of his toes and blind eyes staring at nothing. 

After a few long moments, he finished that stretch and moved onto the next. 

“Ordained Psyker. Rise from the floor, if you would.” One of the ancient men spoke with a withered drawl. 

“I have not completed the stretches He wants.” He replied calmly, shifting the position of his hands to stretch out a different section of his ligaments. “You arrived a bit over halfway, I’ll be done with the set soon enough.”

The ancient men stared down at him. Several long minutes passed before the stretching was complete, and he slumped back on the floor with eyes closed. Then, he huffed and pushed his way up from the floor, looking towards them with blind eyes. 

They were ancient in the extreme, heads adored with wires and bodies riddled with tubing beneath ornate robes. They were clad in the badges and iconography of their office, and were taller than him even hunched half over as they were- with how extreme their modifications were beneath their concealing garbs. 

“Ordained Psyker, do you have any knowledge of us?” The one on the left asked, head burdened by an immense crown of gold, silk, and jewels. His eyes were partially covered by lethargically drooped brows and his jowls hung low on his face. 

“The tarot proclaims you to be lords of great significance, who will shape the course of my fate to follow our meeting.” He answered simply, with a small shrug. “In specific though- no. I know not who you are, either of you.”

“You have not drawn from the Tarot, not once today, nor any day.” The other one spoke with a low and suspicious growl. “You only touch it to shuffle the deck each morning, when you awaken.”

“I no longer need to draw from the deck. I already know what the cards will be.” He pulled his lips into a frown. “My draw for this occasion would’ve been the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth cards, if you want to check it yourself.” He gestured towards the shuffled but otherwise untouched deck.

The suspicious old man walked over with a careful plod, delicately reaching for the deck and removing the top twelve cards. Then, he drew the next three cards, flipped them around, and placed them on the table in the correct order. 

The room was silent for a few moments. 

“We are here today to evaluate you, Ordained Psyker, and the event that occurred during your Soul Binding.” The one weighed down by the crown explained simply. 

“My veracity as a Living Saint and how you might utilize me as a political asset.” He cut through the explanation with one that was both blunt and sharp at the same time. Had he more patience, he probably wouldn’t have been quite so abrasive. 

“We seek only to gather evidence of your nature, young Psyker. It is a delicate process, and we must be sure of these things before any public announcement is made.”

He almost replied with a sharp, biting retort, before stopping himself and taking a calming breath. After a few moments, he replied. “Not a Living Saint- the process isn’t the same.” He shook his head, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “A Living Saint requires death, to unshackle the soul from mortal limits in readiness for its infusion and ascension. I’m still alive.” He tapped at his chest with a heavy hand, feeling his heart beating in reassuring patterns.

The patterns were golden.

He shook his head, grimacing. “I’m not a Living Saint- I’m something else.”

The two ancient men glanced at each other, then back to him. “You are sure of this? What have you been taught of the nature of Living Saints?”

“Nothing. The church of my home only mentioned them in passing.” Ah Necromunda, what a shithole. He was glad he didn’t live there anymore. “The Lord Emperor- he put a shard- a fragment in my-” He tapped at his brow insistently, frown deepening as he tried to explain in terms he understood. “There’s gold in my soul- between layers I didn’t know I had- a presence and words and a reactor.” 

He cut himself off, staring at nothing before shaking his head. “I can’t explain it. I don’t have the words for it, and you don’t have any reason to believe anything I say anyways.”

“...The words. What are they?” The old suspicious man asked, stepping back to his original position and glaring at him.

“Depends on what He’s telling me to do.” He sighed. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“What do they tell you right now?” The old suspicious man clarified with a strengthened glare.

‘A SWORD AND THE HAND THAT WIELDS IT.’

He frowned, reaching down to curl his fingers around an invisible hilt.

“He wants me to learn swordplay.”

He stared at an unseen blade for a few moments more, then dropped the hand and reached up to point at his ruined eyes. 

“Can I get replacement eyes? I’m still blind and I’d really rather not be.”

Chapter 1

-990.M41-

-Holy Terra, Sol System-

-The Ordained Psyker-

His new eyes fit smoothly into the old sockets, machine-optics that expanded and contracted with levels of magnification that organics could never match. They glowed a faint blue, and were minimalist in fashion at his own request, not like the much bulkier, more robust, and more effective models that were more often mass produced for soldiers in the field. 

In some ways, the further integration made the eye slip into more uncanny territory. With a bulkier optic he could probably at least pretend that he was wearing goggles or similar- with the smaller machine-eyes, he just had to live with gunmetal grey sclera and gloaming irises. He let the irises expand, zooming out his view to encompass the rest of body in the mirror, taking stock of himself once more. 

His hair was getting long, straight at the top and growing increasingly curled and twisted at the ends. His torso and arms were beginning to define themselves with faint outlines of muscle on a terribly thin and boney frame. He was still firmly in the awkward stage between boyhood and manhood, with paltry facial hair beginning to creep forth on his jaw, chin, and upper lip. He’d probably make a pretty good Jesus impersonation in a decade. 

His skin was a hair more tanned than before, his brow a hair heavier, and his shoulders wider. Changes that should be impossible with mere diet and exercise, and could only be a result of the Gold he could not-see coursing under his skin.

There was a sunburst on his brow, burning a brilliant and terrible shade of gold, just under physical perception. The jewel of an ethereal crown, a thin halo of fire that wrapped around his head, held in place by a gravity unseen. But the jewel and the crown was not there- hidden in the depths of his gilded soul.

He exhaled slowly, turning his head to nod at the man slightly behind and to his right. “The new eyes are lovely, Lord Magos, thank you for your work.” 

The man was mostly machine by weight, eight feet tall and more similar to a mantis than any human figure. His frame was covered in storage containers, secondary manipulators, needles, tubing, and yet more. A walking medical facility in only semi-human shape, the only handful of biological systems remaining being a scrap of flesh that served as a face, a brain, one terribly misplaced and withered arm, and perhaps a handful of organs somewhere within. 

The tech-priest who had been so kind as to sedate him and painlessly replace his burnt-out eyes with replacements. He didn’t even wake up woozy after.

The tech-priest inclined his hooded face, glowing optics shining from under the darkness of the hood. “The pleasure is mine, Ordained Psyker. Your minimally-deviant biology was a rare delight you work upon- a canvas unspoiled by rampant mutation.”

He didn’t know exactly how to respond to that. He nodded. “I’m glad. If I need any further implants in the future, I’ll ask for your work.”

The tech-priest bowed. He turned from the mirror and walked towards the doorway leading out of the medical theater, followed by two Sisters of Silence, and stepping between two Custodes. Golden-clad guardians and wardens that had been his near constant companions since his Soul Binding. 

He stopped between the two giants clad in gold, glancing between them for evaluation. Nine feet tall apiece, with tall helmets and long flowing ornamentation that made them seem even taller. Perhaps unclad he’d reach their naval, but in their armor he was only as tall as their hips, and they loomed with every terrifyingly smooth movement they made. 

He glanced back to the Sisters of Silence, clad in similar gold and heads shaved bare save for a single high tail bound in metal. They were of similar height to himself, with much thinner, form-fitting plates and ornamentation. They stared at him with stony expressions, revealing nothing of their thoughts to his eyes. 

The Tarot encouraged initiative in unsteady conditions. His lips pulled down into a slightly pained grimace, and he started to walk the steps leading back to his cell. 

‘SPEAK.’

He closed his new eyes, ignoring how they shifted from blue to gold with the words that resonated through his mind. There were no cameras or audio recorders in the next section of hallway. The Sisters of Silence muted psychic phenomena in their immediate vicinity. This was his first moment actually alone with his guards.

“The revival of Roboute Guilliman is required for the Imperium’s long-term survival.” He started, almost against his will, speaking calmly and quietly to the demigods he walked between. Their helmets inclined ever so slightly down towards him. “For his revival, two individuals and their retinues must be allowed to cooperate. The Tech-Priest Bellisarius Cawl and the Eldar Eldrad Ulthran.”

The giants in gold stared down at him, the only sound made being the near-silent whir of the servos in their armor as they walked. Every step produced little noise, but abundant, bone-shaking vibration through the floor. The stares of the women in gold burned into the back of his head. 

“If these conditions are not met, Cadia will be broken, and half the Galaxy will fall into darkness. We have five years before the end begins, and at least ten years before it concludes.” Words of doom spoken to four mostly random individuals. Two of the ten-thousand Custodes, and two of the countless unknown of the Sisters of Silence.

The High Lords of Terra, nominal supreme authorities of the Imperium, could not be trusted. At least a third would treasonously oppose the return of Roboute Guilliman, and he wasn’t sure which ones they were. They would oppose his return for one simple reason- he was a Primarch, a son of the Emperor, and they were not. Their power would be gravely diminished for his return to power, even if his steady hand was necessary for the tumult to come. 

They’d prevent the conditions from being completed even as the Imperium around them collapsed. 

The only way to work around their influence was to undercut them. “The Master of Assassins can be trusted. Please relay my words to the Captain-General-” They were approaching a section of hallway that had visual and audio recorders. “-The Lord Emperor demands I learn the martial ways, and I am sure he would know an adequate tutor for someone as pallid and frail as I.”

They walked in silence for a few more moments, before one of the golden giants spoke in a low and tremendous rumble. “...We will consider this.”

“My thanks. That is all I ask.” The Ordained Psyker responded with a low nod of his head, and a return to silence. Several minutes of walking through quiet halls and past occasional others later, and he was returned to his gilded cage. The luxurious room that served as his prison while those with power tried to figure out how to best make use of him.

He lowered himself into his chair again, and stared at the board full of miniature men. 

It had been several years since he had been thrown into the future, a freshly young body and terrible whispers a constant presence in his mind. Several years of living on a dystopian planet before having sufficient psychic power to demonstrate himself to the authorities and get off said planet and on a one-way trip to Terra.

As much as the Sisters of Silence were discomforting to be around- they also muted the whispers in his mind, and that was a tremendous relief. It was difficult to explain how blissful a return to actual silence was after so many years in such a noisy megacity. 

He imagined most psykers, having no knowledge of what actual quiet was, would be incredibly freaked out by the absence of background noise. 

“Thank you for existing.” He spoke suddenly and sincerely, angling his head back to address the silent voids in the shape of women behind him. “For being alive and near me. I appreciate it immensely.”

They stared at him quietly for a few more moments. Finally, after all this time, they reacted to something he said. 

The two women clad in gold exchanged a wordless glance with one another, too brief to notice unless one was looking for it, then turned back to stare at him stonily. He gave a little laugh, shaking his head and turning around again, leaning his head back to stare listlessly at the ceiling. 

One exchange of words with the giant demigods outside his room, and he potentially irrevocably changed the course of the galaxy. The thought was making his stomach knot itself up in stress and building a headache behind his brow. 

His skin itched, golden spiders under his skin hard at work weaving his soul and flesh. 

‘TRAIN.’

He grunted, pushing himself up from the chair and walking over to the cleared floor, falling into a series of push-ups against the hardwood floor. One, two, three…

Every moment wasted before the apocalypse was a sin, and all that. A sin that the great golden god in his head glared at and judged him for.

—

His ability to influence the future was both massively broad and incredibly narrow. A thousand potential paths to take, but he was only ever a single man. He could only choose one course of action to pursue, one in a sea of countless possibilities, and endeavour to make that single course of action as influential as possible. 

Choice paralysis would get to him if he spent too much time contemplating all potential paths, tying his hands and making him ultimately useless anyways. Perhaps before, when he was just another Astropath-to-be, he could’ve afforded to just keep his head down and guide ships knowing full well that he’d be one of the most protected assets on any given kilometer-long warmachine. A nice, safe position in middle management. 

The gold that filled his soul meant that he absolutely could not afford to simply hang around being useless. At best he’d be turned into a sockpuppet for one faction or another, at worst he’d be turned inside out by Chaos and then murder-fucked until he started singing praises for his captors. 

That would be less than ideal. 

“I’d suggest using me as a propaganda piece, Lord Ecclesiarch.” The Ordained Psyker suggested calmly, now exercising by a series of lifts from a suspended bar. The ancient Ecclesiarch, grand master of the Imperial Cult, raised one tremendous eye at him from his seat at the table. 

“Is that so?” The High Lord calmly replied, slowly turning another aged page in the immense golden book placed upon the table. His eyes trailed across the words, searching for passages to conclusively devise what the Psyker before him was in theory, but most likely just wasting time to evaluate him as an individual longer. “My… what makes you say that, Ordained Psyker?”

“My knowledge of politics extends as far as gang wars and little more- trying to use me as a political lever upon Terra is putting weight upon a fragile beam. Putting me far from your political machinations, and with your agents around me to manipulate the news that comes back about my doings, is far less risky.” He could almost do a pull up with a single arm now- but not quite. Whenever he tried he just hung in place uselessly with elbow shaking about. 

“Further- if I prove to be troublesome or deviate from Canon too much, my death can be easily explained as enemy action and further your military endeavours against an enemy of your choosing.” He dropped from the pole with arms burning, falling back against the hardwood floor and staring up at the ceiling. The Sisters of Silence stared down at him in a nonplussed fashion. “Minimal risk, minimal fuss, moderate benefits, and time to further evaluate me, my abilities, and my inclinations. It’s an ideal position to put an unknown variable such as myself into.”

He tilted his head to the side. “And should I just happen to die as a martyr by happenstance anyways, you’ve removed a potential problem with minimal effort.”

“A boy your age with such a cynical mind…” The Ecclesiarch muttered with a little shake of his well-wired head, turning another page. “The Emperor Protects, Ordained Psyker. We must have faith in his will, and I must be careful in interpreting his miracles accurately.”

He swung his body around on the floor, hooking his feet against the base of the table while crossing his arms over his chest. Then, he began to curl inwards in a series of crunches.

“Hmm… Ordained Psyker. We have only your Black Ship Identification Number… can you tell me your name?” The Ecclesiarch spoke in such a grandfatherly and kindly manner that for a moment one could believe he wouldn’t condemn millions to death without a second thought.

“I don’t know it yet.” The Ordained Psyker replied between repetitions of the exercise.

“...You don’t know it yet?” The Ecclesiarch looked down at him, eyes glowing with an electric light.

“My name upon Necromunda was a product of the gang culture that proliferated upon it.” The Ordained Psyker explained with a frown. “A name that simply won’t be enough for my role to come- the name of… whatever I am, it cannot be gangish or strange. It must resonate with the hearts of those who speak it. It must be the name of a Hero of the Imperium, as much as there are countless many who are more deserving of such a title.”

There was silence in the room for a few moments, before the Ecclesiarch slowly nodded in contemplation. “I understand. The position you have been bestowed- you feel obligated to become a man capable of holding it.”

“The Lord Emperor demands it of me.” He grumbled, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow. “And I especially can’t tell Him ‘no’, not even if I wanted to- I can feel His eyes watching over my shoulder.”

“The correct form of address is ‘God Emperor’, Ordained Psyker.” The Ecclesiarch gently corrected, flipping over to another page. “If you are to be in the company of the Orders Militant of the Ecclesiarchy, as you suggest, you must be exacting in your forms of address to Him.”

The Ordained Psyker grunted at that, before nodding at his position on the floor. That the Ecclesiarch was even mentioning it in such a fashion was a good sign. One step closer to having the power and freedom to actually help in a significant fashion.

He needed time away from Terra, to build a reputation and followers of his own, otherwise he’d remain a pawn forever. 

“Would you like suggestions for a new name, Ordained Psyker?” The Ecclesiarch asked with a calm and wobbling nod. “My memory is not as it used to be, but my knowledge of scripture has yet to fade, and there are a great many names of exceptional significance in the pages of our holy books.”

The Ordained Psyker fell back against the floor, chest heaving with the effort of his exercises.

“...I would appreciate such, Lord Ecclesiarch.” He eventually replied.

As long as it wasn’t something exceptionally silly, he’d probably go with whatever the man ended up suggesting. Out of convenience if nothing else-

“The names of many ancient Terran heroes would prove suitable here- One such hero, Luakin Sky-Walker was renowned for his abilities with the blade. You claimed that the God Emperor desires mastery of such from you, yes?”

“I can’t do that name.” He replied very bluntly, face falling into a nonplussed expression, a sense of befuddled amusement coming upon him. 

“Hm?”

“I can’t explain why- but I really can’t do that name.” He shook his head, clumsily pushing up from the floor and taking a seat on the other side of the table. 

The Ecclesiarch raised a brow before nodding slowly and flipping another page. “I see… then perhaps James-Luc Kirkard?”

He considered that for a moment, before bringing his hands up and pinching his brow. There was a war between exasperation and amusement in his heart. “No- that one wouldn’t be good either.”

“...Leto Atreides.”

“...No… that’s probably not a good idea.”

“...Well, let me hear where your heart lies first. Perhaps that will aid my memory of the holy books.” The Ecclesiarch declared, clearly slightly fed up by the quick dismissal of his suggestions without explanation. 

He stared at nothing in particular for a few moments, folding his fingers and resting his chin upon them. Would it be slightly heretical or presumptuous to take the name of another empowered champion of a supreme god? The gold thrumming through his led his thoughts in specific directions.

The Tarot advised conviction in the path chosen, whatever that path might be. Hesitance is worse than a bad decision.

“I was thinking of the name ‘Joshua’.”

The Ecclesiarch raised his brows, before nodding slowly. “A simple name with a long history. One that could feasibly come from almost any world in the Imperium, and means a great many different things to a great many different individuals.”

“Yes, something like that would be ideal in this situation.” He nodded, hiding his grimace behind his fingers. It certainly felt downright bizarre to all-but declare himself a god-in-flesh like that, but the gold in his blood felt like little else. “Most of humanity would recognize it- it would feel familiar no matter where I walk or where my propaganda is aired.”

And maybe it would serve as a constant reminder to stay humble about the unfathomable power lurking in his spirit. 

“Hm. In that case, you will almost require a strong name to stand out- a last name and title both, to mark you as distinct among countless others bearing your name.” The Ecclesiarch nodded gently. “Perhaps- for one of our many most-ancient heroes of Holy Terra- Pendrarc.”

The Ordained Psyker considered that name for a few moments, trying to figure out where he had heard that once before.

Then he stopped and sighed as he recognized the portmanteau of ‘Pendragon’ and ‘D’arc’. “That one is fine, yes.” He would’ve denied it again, but that would probably just get the Ecclesiarch mad at him. Besides, it was more or less unrecognizable from its origin with how mangled it was.

The Ecclesiarch raised a brow at his tired expression, before nodding genially. “Joshua Pendrarc, a most-blessed psyker indeed.”

He was almost immediately starting to regret agreeing to the name. 

Chapter 2

-990.M41-

-Holy Terra, Sol System-

-Joshua Pendrarc-

“Ordained Pysker Pendrarc, allow me to formally introduce the Prioress of Covenant Prioris, Tryphaena, and the Canoness Superior of the Order of Ebon Chalice, Cleopatra.” The Ecclesiarch waved a wrinkled hand to the pair of women, leaned slightly towards him in a patronly manner. The meeting was taking place in a much smaller, private chapel within the halls of the Imperial Palace. This meant it was still an intimidatingly monolithic chamber that would dwarf any church from the Terra of thirty-eight thousand years prior. 

If Joshua’s memory held true- that was the second and third ranks in the overall command structure of the Sisters of Battle, just below the actual Abbess herself. There must have been a reason that she in particular was missing from this meeting, but he didn’t quite remember what it was. 

The Prioress was an old woman, with long gray hair tied back in a tight formal bun and one glaring bionic eye. She wore the robes and tights of formality, and stared at him with an inscrutable eye, hands folded tightly before her. Her skin was wrinkled less than he might expect, mostly apparent around the corners of her eyes and lips. Evidence of either a good facial health regime or biological modification.

The Canoness Superior was significantly more martial in general appearance, owing to her position of frontline command. She wore the powered armor of the Sisters of Battle with trails of formal cloth dangling from her arms and waist. Her armor was a deep black, her cloth was white on the exterior and red on the interior, with faint golden trim and ornamentation covering every plate. 

The symbol of her Order, a black chalice containing a bright orange flame, was emblazoned across her white skirt and tattooed upon her cheek. Her hair was black, cropped diagonally at the shoulders with two long tails left to dangle. 

“Prioress, Canoness.” He greeted both in turn,  raising his hands in the twin-eagle salute of the Imperium as he nodded his head. “I am honored by this encounter.”

“This is he, the not-quite Living Saint, Lord Ecclesiarch?” The Prioress asked, squinting eye glancing towards the ancient bag of luxurious robes and bones that hovered near to him. The Canoness maintained a focused stare upon him, eyes trailing up and down his body, searching for something indeterminate upon him.

He was dressed in the humble robes of a monk, with pale sandy short-robes and pants under a long brown cloak of synthetic burlap. His waist was tied with a simple sash and a series of charms hung from it- most predominately the symbols of the Aquila, the Astropathic Eye, and Skull. Around his neck was a Rosarius- a rare and treasured gift from the Ecclesiarch himself.

It was easily his most valuable possession now- and it was frankly obvious that the Ecclesiarch was trying to endear himself to the new potential political pawn. It was also working- because a Rosarius came with a tiny conversion field generator and Joshua was very glad for the extra protection. It was hard to not appreciate something like this. 

Overall, his new outfit made him look like a Jedi, which was half the reason he chose it. A blade-wielding psychic warrior with a penchant for divination? He’d be missing out on a great joke if he didn’t play into it at least a little bit. 

There was a vague sense of amusement not his own, lurking in the back of his mind. His organs itched with gold.

“Yes… I suppose you must have heard of him already. Rumor travels faster than any ship, after all.” The Ecclesiarch nodded, reaching up to rub four fingers across his wrinkled jaw, minding the tubes that emerged from his collar and trailed around over his shoulders. “Brought before the body of our Lord God-Emperor by the Sisters of Silence, to be bound as any other Astropath-to-be, and bestowed with an unmistakably miraculous blessing.”

The Ecclesiarch sighed, forming the Aquila with both withered hands. “Were only I there to witness it with my own eyes, rather than the recordings- the body of our God-Emperor, moving.”

The eyes of the sisters widened in no small shock, turning to regard him with renewed curiosity. Joshua gave a somewhat awkward smile in return, bowing his head slightly.

The Ecclesiarch continued after a moment of silent prayer. “Moving- his holy visage turning to regard one among a hundred…” The Ecclesiarch turned his ancient head towards him again, a precisely measured look of regard upon his face. “One in a hundred, the only one to survive, enveloped in the Emperor’s own golden light for twelve full hours.”

Joshua didn’t remember much of that period, besides the terrifying visage of a half-living God. The terrible soreness in his throat and body afterwards was evidence enough for him that it happened.

“He matches no prior Living Saint, and yet an exceptionally blessed individual he clearly remains.” The Ecclesiarch continued, rubbing at his lower face once more. “And more- he reports commandments booming through his mind, and in these moments his eyes fill with a golden light.”

The immense chamber was silent, save the distant chiming of bells and the songs of a neverending choir. Song never ended upon Terra, even if that song was accompanied by horrors that only man could make. 

“...What- what do they tell you..?” The Canoness softly asked, a fanatical gaze burning into him, searchingly. 

Joshua regarded her with a small amount of apprehension, wondering what he should even say. The Tarot advised caution when surrounded by strangers. 

“The first thing I remember them saying…” He spoke slowly, steadily as not to stutter or fumble. “...A booming voice that deafened me to all else, saying ‘We have work to do’.” He nodded slowly. “The words are infrequent, and almost always come in short phrases.”

“Lord Ecclesiarch, You believe him to be possessed by the spirit of the God-Emperor?” The Prioress asked the Ecclesiarch sharply. 

The Ecclesiarch nodded his head back and forth in an indeterminate manner. “In truth, I am unsure. These things require a great deal of careful evaluation and consideration, and it would be remiss of my duty to the God-Emperor to be needlessly hasty when making judgement.” He nodded much more firmly. “Yet it is doubtless that, whatever the nature of his blessing, the young man is well-blessed indeed. For this reason, I believe it would be best for him to travel alongside your Order.” 

The Ecclesiarch reached out a careful hand to rest upon his shoulder, patting it firmly. “The voice commands him to wield a sword, after all, and there is no better place for him to wield such a sword than among the Orders Militant.” The Ecclesiarch smiled gently, heavy brows lifting slightly. “None would I trust with this task more than the Order of Ebon Chalice.”

“And with the ban of Men under Arms, Lord Ecclesiarch?” The Prioress asked carefully.

“I’ve already spoken with the other High Lords on the matter- they recognize well the exceptional nature of the circumstances.” The Ecclesiarch smiled and nodded, patting him on the shoulder once more before letting his hand fall. “He will need to be trained, of course, and outfitted with good arms and armor. The coffers of the Ecclesiarchy will cover all expenses related, so long as the good Sisters can organize and requisition the required assets for his development.”

The Prioress nodded slowly. “It will be done, Lord Ecclesiarch… although…” She grimaced as she regarded him. “He is still a Psyker, yes?”

The Ecclesiarch raised a brow, glancing towards him to answer. Joshua nodded, and spoke. “I was trained upon the Black Ships as an Astropath for six months, Lady Prioress. Before that I grew up upon Hiveworld Necromunda, learning my letters and scripture from a small local Chapel.”

She nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “Six months? The time for Astropaths to be trained is normally measured in years, is it not?”

Here he gave a small shrug. “I was given an accelerated course, for reasons unknown to me. You’d have to inquire with my instructors aboard Black Ship Misery.”

“We will need to requisition a tutor for psykery then as well, Lord Ecclesiarch. Heretical witchcraft remains an everpresent danger, especially to a half-trained Astropath.” The Prioress crossed her arms before her chest. “Regardless of how blessed he may be.”

God knows he’d appreciate it.

Or should he be thinking ‘God-Emperor knows he’d appreciate it’?

A faint warming of irritation grew in the back of his mind. He almost gave an amused smirk, barely keeping in mind the deeply suspicious people around him and strangling the expression before it appeared. 

It would be embarrassing if he got all this way and then got executed for making a stupid smile at an inappropriate moment.

—

As he had been anticipating, they were almost immediately ordered to make for their ships and depart. Suspiciously quickly, with the Sisters bringing up concerns over armament and preparation for the upcoming patrol that were dismissed in a grandfatherly manner by the ancient Ecclesiarch. 

Joshua was almost certain that the reason was to prevent easy interference in his handling by any parties outside of the Ecclesiarchy. If he was gone on a ship and off Terra before any other interested party could assign a member to watch over him, then the Ecclesiarchy would have uncontested authority over him. It wouldn’t be ideal, for certain, but there was very little he could do to actually stop this.

He needed time to grow and expand his influence before he could start making any moves or countermoves of his own. All the personal power in the world meant nothing if someone decided to drop an army on his head- even the greatest champions are eventually felled by sufficiently large conventional forces, and he was not exactly a great champion yet.

The Prioress walked with them to see them off, the trip to the transport taking nearly ten minutes of walking. He was bid to enter, and the Canoness Superior slid in after him, and the Prioress took her own seat near the front of the passenger space. It was not a small transport, by any means, with an interior large enough to fit most tanks and covered in the lush fineries of extraordinary wealth. The Canoness sitting so close to him when there were other seats available was fairly awkward. 

“Bring us to the docks, pilot.” The Prioress ordered through the door leading to the front of the craft. Several moments passed as the transport shuttle warmed to lift. Several more, much more awkward seconds passed as the transport did not move. The Prioress raised her brow and lip in an annoyed sneer. “Pilot, what is the delay?”

“Air Command is delaying our permission to fly, Lady Prioress.” A beleaguered voice called back. A male by the sounds of it, and disturbingly more British in accent than he was anticipating. “Lifting off without it and they’d be in rights to blow us out of the sky.”

“Ask them why we’re being delayed.” The Prioress responded back with the tone of condescension that only an old woman used to getting her way could muster.

Air Command around the Imperial Palace… the only two factions he’d be aware of to have that particular authority would be either the Navy or the Custodians, and he wasn’t quite certain which…

“They say we need to wait for additional passengers, Lady Prioress.” The beleaguered pilot responded with a cautious scowl clearly communicated through his tone.  The Prioress’ eye narrowed into a sharp slit, and she cast a brief glance towards the Canoness. The Canoness’ hand drifted down to her sidearm, a Boltgun strapped to her thigh.

The Tarot advised patience in uncertain circumstances. 

He laced his fingers in his lap and maintained a cautiously calm expression. 

A minute or so passed in tense atmosphere, with the Prioress stepping forwards into the cockpit to personally speak to Air Command. He and the Canoness sat quietly in the spacious transport hold, eyes looking out the reinforced windows and to the surrounding liftoff chamber. 

The faintest sensation of an approaching void and rolling thunder came about him. His eyes narrowed, and his head tilted as if listening to something. 

‘MY FAITHFUL TALONS.’

The Canoness was looking out the window, and missed the flash of gold in his machine-eyes. 

“Lady Prioress, they approach.” She spoke quickly, the Prioress returning from the cockpit and stepping over to the window on the far side of the transport. Her bionic red eye glared out of the reinforced glass, then she let out a huff and leaned back. “Open the transport door, pilot.”

The large transport door opened up again, as two golden-clad figures appeared. One towering nine feet, clad in heavy plates and lush black cloth, a massive shield mounted upon one arm in the fashion of a joust, and a sword as long as Joshua was tall strapped to his waist. The other, slightly smaller than himself, with head shaved bald save for one bright red tail, and a distinctly feminine form. She carried an overlarge handgun at her waist, and one gauntlet was equipped with a distinctly intimidating drill and array of needles. 

A Custodian and Sister of Silence.

“Prioress, you almost left without us.” The Custodian rumbled at the opened door, the bulk of his frame almost too large to fit through the passageway. 

“Custodian, Sister… Why are you here?” The Prioress asked with a distinctly uncomfortable but professional sneer on her face. 

“The Captain-General and Sister-Commander were in full agreement- a detachment to aid in the guarding and protection of the Blessed-Psyker. Unto this, the two of us were commanded to fulfill this obligation.” The Custodian explained with the simple, kindly arrogance of a demigod speaking to a mortal. He tilted his head forwards. “It would shame our duty to the Lord Emperor to not invest even a token force to the task.”

The Prioress looked extremely reluctant to step aside and allow them passage onto the transport. She looked even more reluctant to defy one of the ten-thousand most-trusted and honored warriors in the whole of the Imperium. With a sour expression, she bowed her head slightly and stepped back, allowing the massive Custodian to bend and squeeze his way into the immense transport, followed shortly by the Sister of Silence. 

The Sister of Silence immediately stepped forwards, taking a seat next to him and preventing the Canoness Superior from reclaiming it. The Custodian loomed in the center of the transport, dominating the space with his mere immensity. He turned a helmet down and towards Joshua, before inclining his head in slight satisfaction.

Joshua gave a slight nod of greeting in turn.

“...We have permission to fly now, Lady Prioress.” The pilot called out from the cockpit. 

The Prioress and Canoness both looked distinctly ill at the presence of the two figures clad in heavy gold. The Prioress recovered with a sniff. “Close the doors and lift- the Ecclesiarch called for as few delays as possible in the Canoness’ return to regular patrols.” The obvious exposition in the statement was a clear poke at their unexpected guests, which the Custodian bore with statue-like countenance. 

Silently, the Canoness took a seat opposite to him, and across the bulk of the transport, burning a suspicious glare into both himself and the silent woman next to him. About as close to him as she could be without also being within brawling range of the Sister of Silence, he noted.

Soon, the transport lifted off from the ground with the rolling rumble of antigrav engines, and made its way out of the liftoff chamber with smooth machine grace. It began to move up, picking up speed that he could only notice through the increased velocity of exterior sights, and how rapidly the manifold spires of Terra began to pass and disappear into the distance. 

They rose faster and faster, breeching into a layer of choking smog and greenhouse gasses that gave Holy Terra its signature golden glow when viewed from space. The acceleration was more immense than any conventional craft he had experience with, and yet the systems within the vehicle ensured he felt none of it.

“Approaching the Exorcist-Class Grand Cruiser Miracle of Suffering now.” The pilot called out. Joshua would call the name fairly worrying, but that was how almost every Imperial ship was named. Grandiose declarations of how awesome their violence was.

It was, admittedly, pretty dang cool most of the time.

“Your earlier request for a martial educator was forwarded to Captain-General Valoris, and subsequently approved.” The giant Custodian rumbled down at him, before nodding a head towards the Canoness. “Worry not for his bladesmanship, Canoness, I will personally oversee it.”

“You have yet to introduce yourself, Honored Custodian.” The Canoness spoke bluntly.

“Indeed.” The Custodian replied. A silence lingered for a moment, to emphasize the gulf that existed between them, and then he spoke. “My proper name would take eight minutes to speak in full, for the sake of expediency, you may refer to me as Hercule, Shield Captain of the Sentinel Guard. My companion is Denaira, Knight-Vestal.”

Meaning a ‘giant guy with shield’ and ‘medic with antimagic aura’ in terms of actual battlefield roles. A very obvious and pragmatic set of bodyguards to have.

As an instructor…

Joshua felt no small amount of worried anticipation as they pulled into dock at the Grand Cruiser. A ship the size of a city, like most standard ships of the Imperium, large enough to lose entire generations of people in its depths. 

The Miracle of Suffering greeted him with a charmingly masochistic techno-psychic impression. 

Chapter 3

-990.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc-

The Prioress did not end up coming with them. She, as the highest representative of her covenant, had to stay on Holy Terra to play office politics. She was only there to see them off, wave goodbye, and give some foreboding words about watching out for heresy and traitors. The Canoness Superior was to be his long-term warden for the next few years.

The Miracle of Suffering, as it was explained to him, was something of a combination Schola-Penitentiary. It served as a normal Schola Progenium for the most part, picking up various orphans and unattended children on worlds it visited and subjecting them to a normal Schola experience. The female orphans would go on to good the Sisterhood as fresh new recruits, while the male orphans would go on to become various elite units such as Commissars, Stormtroopers, Arbites, Naval Officers, and so on.

With fresh new Sisters of Battle, the ship would then travel around linking with the other active tactical units of the Order of Ebon Chalice to make sure everything was going well, provide support when needed, and exchange their fresh recruits for any dishonored and imprisoned Sisters they had. Sisters who had failed in some manner traditionally became Repentia, zealous unarmored maniacs looking for redemption for their crimes on the battlefield, and either dying in battle or rejoining the normal Sisterhood forces after it was agreed that they were redeemed. 

This kind of school culture explained a great deal about the impression the ship gave him. He should’ve expected something like this.

Breakfast was a very communal affair, it seems. The tactical unit he was attached to, called a Preceptory, was one of a handful available to the Order of Ebon Chalice. It numbered about one-thousand fully trained Sisters, and about half again as many in fresh recruits with no actual battlefield experience. This was a terrifyingly small number for an actual battlefield army, which the Sisterhood technically wasn’t. 

Meaning that all of them could fit in the same gigantic dining hall full of statues, holy symbols, and burning incense during meals. He stood out rather immensely, with his distinctly male nature, tray of what looked like half-decent food, and bionic eyes scanning around for an empty seat. 

He probably stood out even more with the golden-clad giant and woman standing behind him.

“You may sit wherever you wish, save the officers’ table.” The Canoness Superior explained with a little forward wave of her hand, the other hand holding a tray of hard bread, fruit jam, dried meats, and similar long-preservation foodstuffs. “Breakfast is concluded in half an hour. Midday prayers will be several hours afterwards, followed by lunch, then another few hours until Evening prayer and dinner.” She tilted her head to the side. “I will organize an assessment test for you tomorrow, so that a baseline of your abilities can be established.”

“Yes, Canoness. Thank you.” Joshua bowed his head in thanks, to which she made a little sniff and walked off, towards said Officers’ Table. Leaving him standing in place, staring at a sea of curious Sisters, most of which were bending around and stretching to get a better look at the golden giant that stood behind him. Hundreds of women in modest robes mingling about, eating breakfast, and muttering fervently about the presence of a golden demigod in their presence. 

“You’re rather popular with the ladies, Lord Hercule.” Joshua leaned back slightly and muttered behind himself. 

“I have enjoyed the company of many throughout my life.” The giant rumbled quietly back.

Joshua couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be innuendo or not. He elected to simply walk forwards and wait for an open spot to present itself. The Sister of Silence and Custodes followed behind him quietly, soon making it apparent that they were escorting him in particular and not just hanging out. 

Almost immediately, a gap in the lines of dining Sisters presented itself, and somewhat insistent waves and gestures followed to lure him over. Having very little better choices for a place to sit and eat, Joshua made his way over and took a seat among them. Hercule and Denaira took up flanking positions behind his seat, silent and vigilant. 

And Joshua was seated among quiet stares. “Hello.” He opened the conversation with a polite bow of his head, reaching for his utensils as he spoke. He took a bite of the slightly dry and tough meat slice, which tasted like a slightly more gamey chicken. 

They stared for a few moments longer, most with gazes flickering between himself and his golden-clad escorts. Eventually, one spoke, a slightly older woman with long brown hair. “Rare times that an honored Custodes departs from Holy Terra- is he escorting you?”

“I am.” Hercule rumbled on his behalf. “Myself and the Sister with me. We have been assigned to escort and tutor Bestowed Pendrarc.”

“You have?” A younger woman with greenish hair spoke up, leaning forwards interestedly, eyes flashing from the massive Custodian and down towards him. “Bestowed Pendrarc?”

“Lord Custodian, may we inquire the reason for this?” Another woman asked with fiddling fingers, not quite brave enough to look up at the golden demigod as she spoke. 

“I’m not sure how much should be said here.” Joshua interjected with a little frown, and a backwards glance towards the golden giant. The giant looked down at him and gave a tiny nod, and Joshua turned forwards again to continue speaking. “I was trained as an Astropath, and my Soul-Binding to the God-Emperor was significantly more… vigorous, let’s say, than normal. Anything more should probably be inquired about with the Canoness Superior.”

“An Astropath?” The first woman who spoke, spoke again, leaning back slightly and with cautious furrow growing in her brow. Her reverent glances towards the golden demigod turned somewhat more cool when directed towards him. The Sisters sitting on either side of him slightly leaned away. “If you’re here- then you’re not a witch, certainly.”

“You don’t seem like an Astropath.” A more distant Sister chimed in, black locks falling in waves around her face. “I’ve spoken to the Astropaths and Psykers before, upon our own ships and among Guardsmen regiments.” The long scar trailing from her neck and up across her left eye and face spoke of a rather grisly injury. Her head was tilted to the side in a curious manner.

“Don’t be foolish, Sister!’ Another spoke with bright white locks and a sour look on her face. “The presence of a Sister of Silence is blunting the foul whispers of the warp, of course this one is more stable.”

Psykers were not particularly known for their sanity. A stereotype that was one hundred percent correct and reliable, and any psyker who told you they were fully stable and in control should be shot immediately. 

Joshua nodded at the second woman. “She speaks correctly, Knight-Vestal Denaira’s presence is a void in the warp, and mutes a great deal of cacophony. Her presence makes it… much easier to think clearly.” He took another bite of the meat-slice, followed by the vegetable mash. It tasted like potatoes and onions without salt.

“Her presence doesn’t… harm you? Cause pain or castigate?” The woman with faintly green hair asked, leaning forwards slightly. “I’ve seen their effect on psykers before- shrieking and wailing witches acting as if aflame long before we lit the bonfires.”

“There is some discomfort.” He nodded. “And it grows with proximity, but the relief that the silence brings is far greater. I’m exceptionally grateful for her existence and presence, lest I live with the constant noise of the warp in my ears.”

The Sisters looked back and forth between the Sister of Silence and himself, strange looks and glances as they tried to work out what exactly he was like, and how they should treat him. A psyker on one hand, which the zealous Sisters of Battle hated as witches as a general rule, and blessed enough to be escorted personally by an honored Custodian.

Joshua smiled in an apologetic manner, closing his eyes and inclining his head slightly. “I’m sorry, I suppose my circumstances must be fairly confusing from an outside point of view.”

“They certainly are, Psyker. I’ll pray for your soul tonight.” A woman with vaguely blue hair, who sat adjacent to him with a suspicious demeanor about her, spoke up. “A swift God-Emperor’s mercy upon you, if you’re ever possessed by dark spirits.” 

That was a clever metaphor for shooting someone in the head. He quirked a lip back and nodded in swift, serious agreement. That gesture provoked a little laughter among other Sisters, and seemed to earn their tentative acceptance at their table. 

Which was good, because he’d rather not deal with excessive drama while eating, at least.

—

“You will need wargear, if you are to fight alongside us, and the standard equipment of the Sisters will not be a fit for your frame.” The Canoness Superior explained calmly as she led him and his escorts along shipway halls. As they passed other people in the corridors, each stopped and performed the imperial salute before the Canoness and then again to the striding demigod behind him. Sisters in burlap robes, naval officers, serfs, it mattered not. All stopped fully to show their respect to the two honored heroes of the Imperium.

Joshua and Denaira were lucky to get a glance. It was almost amusing how thoroughly they were dismissed in the presence of a nine foot beloved superhuman.

“I know not what Lord Hercule will train you in-”

“Swordsmanship and general fitness.” The Custodian interrupted. “Anything else will be left to the Sisterhood and his own initiative.”

The Canoness did not respond directly, but Joshua could feel distinctly her fervent annoyance at being interrupted warring with her reverence for the golden-clad hero. “But your armament will take time to be manufactured, and so it will have to be decided upon immediately. If the God-Emperor wills, it will be finished in time for you to familiarize yourself with it before our first battle of this patrol.”

“I see. Will I be required to utilize specific wargear or…?” Joshua asked, polite and dutiful in tone. His fingers came up to fiddle with the Rosarius around his neck, absentmindedly playing with the literal protective charm.

“Your limits will be the limits of the Magi onboard the Miracle of Suffering. Anything the Ecclesiarchy can afford and that the learned masters of Mars can produce will be yours to wield. So saith the Lord Ecclesiarch.” The Canoness nodded back at him, robed armor swishing about as she walked. 

There were many obvious exceptions to such a statement that he could think of. No Magi was about to drop everything simply to produce a Titan for him, and the Sisters would firmly but politely ask him to reconsider such a request. Similarly, he probably wasn’t going to get a Volkite gun or a Gravity Cannon anytime soon- such weapons were expensive even for the masters of technology, the Techpriests of Mars, to produce in any abundance.

With that in mind-

‘A SWORD, YOU CAN TRUST.’

He knows damnit! He was going to ask for a sword! He didn’t forget!

Joshua closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in an annoyed manner, gold flashing through his veins at the renewed pulse of activity from the sun-colored centipedes in his soul. 

“Keep in mind the eccentricities of the Magi- they are testy on the best of days.” The Canoness turned slightly back towards him, a small frown on her face. “Lest we are forced to equip you in a woman’s armor, chestplate and all.”

“Lady Canoness, that almost sounds like a joke.” Joshua replied with a little smile on his face.

“It is not.” She replied and quickly turned forwards again, clearly trying to give the impression that she was being stern and uncompromising with the unknown psyker. Unfortunately for her, he was a psyker, and he could feel the amusement in her, even with Denaira’s muting presence so close.

Eventually, the corridors changed into spacious chambers once more, balconies overlooking yet-larger-still chambers of immense scale, within with dozens of factory lines and cubical workplaces crawled. Thousands of tiny men and woman stalked the steam-choked chambers, the vast majority of which were little more than corpse and bionics performing crude tasks again and again. Some of which were acolytes, moving with very little machine-replacements, and overseeing the thronging masses of zombie-serfs.

And a scant handful of which were far more machine than human, and they stood in this smaller chamber that served as a grand balcony. Four of them in the bright red robes of Mars, and concealing bodies of only vaguely human shape. Hunchbacked and multi-armed and more- one didn’t even have a proper head, just arms on either side of a thicker-than-normal torso.

With the exception of the rightmost one, which was almost unnatural in how perfect their humanoid form was beneath their robes. For as far as he could see, there was nothing visibly inhuman or machine about him, which was almost more disturbing to see among techpriests. 

A constant stream of chattering, buzzing binary was about them, growing louder and more obvious as they approached and eventually stopped a short distance aways. As far as Joshua could see, they were simply standing at the edge of the overlook, staring down at the masses of working zombies and lower-ranking techpriests in human silence, buzzing with machine-speak.

It was difficult to feel out someone with Denaira’s close presence, doubly difficult to feel out Techpriests, with how their machine-components tattered and dimmed their souls.

“Honored Magi.” The Canoness spoke out, drawing clear attention to herself. The Magi shifted slightly, finally one turned to address her. A mostly-human form, feminine in rough with trailing manipulator-tendrils and secondary arms across her chest. Like some kind of macabre bra made of severed robot arms.

The female stared at them for a couple seconds, noting the golden giant standing silently behind him with a slight shift of her hood-shadowed head. She turned slightly to her fellows, buzzed once with machine-fuzz-noise, then stepped to turn fully around to address them. “Canoness Superior, Lord Custodes, Sister of Silence, and unknown male. What brings you to us?”

“Asking for some other secret of Mars, no doubt.” The headless male chimed disdainfully, crossing his broad arms over his armored torso, a single tendril shifting around to reveal a glaring red optic mounted at the end. “Honored Custodes.” He bowed forwards slightly, addressing the golden demigod with significantly more respect in his tone.

The disturbingly-human male turned, a handsome face hidden in shadows beneath a heavy red robe. He performed a greeting of Mars, a kind of twelve-spoke gesture of prayer performed in a circling fashion before the breast. “Canoness, Custodian, others.” Unlike his peers, his voice was perfectly organic.

The last Techpriest did not turn from the thronging masses of laboring people, hunchbacked and leaning on his overlarge gear-toothed halberd. Several long machine-tendrils emerged from gaps in his robes, and interfaced directly with a row of computers.

A childlike servitor greeted them with a little bow and curtsey. Machines replaced a full half of the skull, with wires extending down and back, and one long flexible cable connecting the back of its head to one of the hunchbacked figure’s own machine-tendrils. “The Lord Dogma greets the visitors, and expresses curiosity for their arrival.” The boy said in a manner so charming and innocent that one could almost forget that it was so horrifying.

Or maybe it was just a kid with some cybernetic parts. That was also certainly possible, Joshua supposed, he had no real evidence to suggest it was a proper Servitor like that. Maybe he was a Skitarii or something.

“This is Joshua Pendrarc.” The Canoness introduced with a wave of her hand towards him. “Most-Blessed by the Emperor’s Will, and commanded to fight alongside the Sisters by the Ecclesiarch himself. He will need to be armed and armored for this task.”

“And the standard arms and armor won’t do- not with the male frame so diverged from female.” The human-looking techpriest said in a voice that Joshua could only imagine on a flexing man.

“By the Ecclesiarch’s own command, whatever he requests to be armed and armored in will be paid for by the Ecclesiarchy. There are no limits to the budget for his wargear.” The Canoness continued, making the Techpriests pause, stare at him, and then briefly buzz in machine-speak. “This is a high priority- all non-critical projects will come after this.”

“Another delay, she commands!” The headless priest complained, throwing up one hand. “A backlog ten slates long already exists, it will be another century before the replacement stock of Penitent Engines are completed at this rate.”

“Calm yourself, Artisan. If needs must-”

“Easy for you to say- you damned Levelist!” The headless Techpriest hissed, poking a tendril aggressively towards the human-looking Techpriest. 

He scoffed in turn. “Castellite.”

The seething disdain between the two was felt even in absence of any psychic impressions. It was almost impressive, in that sorta way.

“The Lord Dogma reminds the honored Magi to keep argumentation within the confines of Binaric Cant.” The childlike cyborg spoke, looking up at the two. They glanced down, then away with scattered, angry buzzing. 

“What will the Most-Blessed require for his wargear?” The well-robed woman questioned, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him. 

The Canoness turned towards him with a raised brow. Joshua nodded and stepped forwards once. He hesitated at first, somewhat intimidated by the small group of highly dangerous cyborgs-

‘SPEAK.’

His eyes flashed with gold.

“Foremost- the God-Emperor demands I use a sword, so a blade of your finest craftswork I ask. Next, I will require some manner of Mind-Machine interface, whether a Mind-Impulse Unit, Interface plugs, or similar. I will require armor- of the powered kind similar to but not identical to the armor of the Sisters…”

The Magi gradually focused more and more upon him as he spoke. 

“I’ve yet to complete any serious physical conditioning- so the armor will need to be somewhat adjustable or constructed later in the process, as my proportions are sure to change between then and now. I have on my person a Rosarius already, and I know not how different kinds of protective fields will interact. If possible, I would like a shield to strap to my upper left arm, the smaller kind to the Storm Shields. I’d also like a jump-pack- the smallest and least obtrusive pattern you have.”

He paused for a moment, licking his teeth in thought, then continued. “A helmet is mandatory, with the armor. I don’t know why so many forgo their helmets on the battlefield, but I certainly will not. I will also need a ranged weapon that leaves both of my hands free for my blade- integrated somewhere upon the armor would be most convenient, perhaps the forearm, hips, or shoulders- or any combination of the above. A weapon suitable both for clearing out large numbers of chaff units and also singular heavy-armored targets would be best- two weapons if this is not feasible…”

The Lord Dogma slowly turned as he continued to ramble about weaponry and armor.

Interlude 1

-990.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Canoness Superior Cleopatra-

“This is him?” Sister Madonna asked quietly, leaning slightly towards her. The quaint private training chamber was still more than large enough to banish any echo, muffling her words to errant listeners. A beautiful face heightened by the faint white scars of prior flagellation. A former Repentia, like so many of their veterans.

Cleopatra inclined her head slightly, gaze fixed towards the private training ring, and the two figures that occupied its center. They were under the watchful gaze of the statue of Saintess Thelia, patron of personal struggle, and cast in the bright light of her electric radiance. 

The taller figure was a splendid edifice of a man. A towering figure of nine feet, clad in nothing more than rippling sinew, oil, and white loin wraps. His skin was a brazen hue, with golden sockets arrayed about his flesh in complementary locations. His form was human perfection writ large, with limbs as wide around as her power armor and a chest broad enough to sleep fully upon. His hair was cropped short and curled about, vibrant orange locks making his head appear aflame, and eyes shadowed by their depths beneath his brows. 

A Custodes, a resplendent champion of the God-Emperor. A noble son of Holy Terra subject to masterfully crafted bio-alchemies and given the greatest training and honors that any in the Imperium could bestow. For he was a champion of their most-righteous Master, beyond even the Angels, and his was the honor of centuries of unblemished service to the Golden Throne.

It was difficult to maintain her composure around him, lest she crumble into some girlish awe at the figure, made more difficult by his current state of dress. Feelings that she didn’t know she still had crawled up through her stomach and around her throat at having an honored Custodes to travel with their Order. 

Currently, he was knelt in the center of the training circle, staring down at a much smaller and significantly less impressive figure. Bony almost to the point of looking underfed, with what muscles he did have reasonably defined under smooth and barely-tanned skin. His torso was stretched with the impressions of abdominal muscles and visible ribs both, and currently heaved with desperate, gasping breaths.

His hands and feet were a hair too big for his skinny frame, and a number of random, incidental scars littered his body. His hair was long enough to reach the shoulders, straight dark brown that twisted into curls at the ends, and fuzzy tufts of beard creeping out of a youthful face. The only thing the figures shared was a depth of eye, sockets far enough back into the skull to shroud the eyes in shadow, making the bright blue bionics shine all that much brighter. 

The ‘him’ that Sister Madonna referred to was the smaller of the two figures, the only currently attempting to not hurl over the floor after a moderate amount of exercise. 

He was more robust in physique than she was anticipating, perhaps, but still only on par with middling students of any competent Schola. A body more suitable for running and hiding in cracks between buildings than proper battle.

Far from a supposed chosen champion of the God-Emperor himself. “By the word of the Ecclesiarch.” She responded carefully, a frown on her lips and furrow to her brow as she watched the Custodes quietly coach the bony boy on idea breathing ratios.

“...You sound doubtful, Canoness.” Sister Madonna quietly muttered. Her position as Imagifier, as standard-carrier and battlefield-preacher, afforded the veteran a great deal of leniency in protocol. More important than that, however, was that Madonna was an old friend of hers, and Cleopatra knew she wasn’t being accusatory with the statement.

“I trust the word of the Ecclesiarch, and the honor of the Custodes, that they would speak truth to us in this matter…” Cleopatra began, slowly trailing off near the end as she watched the thin young man stagger up on shaking limbs and be pushed into a series of walking laps around the ring. Each step something of a stumble as his wearied limbs force him to press on.

“...But this is not who I would anticipate the God-Emperor to bestow favor upon.” She slowly finished, making a sign of the Aquilia as she spoke his hallowed name. “A failing on my part, for daring to anticipate the plan of our Great Master. I will know what truth he requires me to know, in time.”

“Hmh.” Madonna responded with a faint hum and nod of agreement. “Our Lord works in mysterious ways. Even his humblest servant can be risen to great acts of heroism, if properly provoked.”

“The boy wouldn’t be out of place as an acolyte scribe.” Cleopatra murmured. 

“Whatever his purpose, it must be great indeed. The pict-recording of his Soul Binding was evident enough of great favor.” Madonna reassured with a gentle smile and a slight nod of her head.

Cleopatra nodded, just in time to see the young man stumble, fall forwards, and land directly on his face. 

“Gah!” A short, startled yelp of pain was let out of his strangely accented voice. Woozily, the young man pushed himself up, blood pouring from his nostrils and down across his lips. After a few moments, he pushed himself up again, and touched at his upper lip to check for blood, before shaking his head and starting the stumbling jog once more.

“...He complains less than a Schola student, at least.” Cleopatra muttered.

“I know not whether to envy or pity him. The attention of an honored Custodes and such a human performance to offer.” Madonna smiled with brows furrowed. “I will pray for his quick improvement regardless.”

“He will need it, I think.” Cleopatra agreed. Feet and hands too big for his thin frame- like she was staring at a young hound. 

“Lady Canoness..?” A voice called out from behind. Cleopatra turned slightly, seeing a young Sister standing behind her with a scroll of parchment in hand. The young Sister was doing her best to not stare at the Lord Custodes, eyes flickering back and forth between herself and the towering ideal of masculine humanity. 

“What is it, Sister?” Cleopatra asked with a firm, reprising tone. It would not do to have the younger battle-sisters lavish the Lord Custodes with such constant, crude stares. 

“A message from the Astropaths-” The young sister coughed into her fist, holding up the scroll. “From the Pandemonium System. I was told to bring it to you…”

Cleopatra nodded, reaching out a hand to take the scroll. “A reply from my inquiry then, I had been expecting it.” Scroll taken, she almost readied herself to dismiss the young sister, then quirked a lip to the side. She turned, unfurling the scroll as she did. “Be careful not to stare at the Lord Custodes, Sister.”

The young woman audibly startled behind her. “Er- ah- yes, Lady Canoness, I- I won’t.”

With a last reproachful glance towards the young sister, she unfurled the scroll and read through the reply.

“Our cousin-order in the Pandemonium system, then?” Madonna asked with a raised brow and something of a wry scowl. “The Commandery of Maiden Unmarred?” The name was a very intentional slight on the part of the normally genial veteran. 

“The Order of Maiden Unmarred, yes.” Cleopatra responded with a scowl on her lips, reading through the letter. “Their current troubles are no reason to belittle them, they are a descendent-Order and we will be gracious to them as such.”

“Barely more than a hundred Sisters does not an Order make, Lady Canoness.” Madonna pointed out dryly. 

Cleopatra did not acknowledge the point, because privately she agreed with it. The Order of the Maiden Unmarred was terribly understrength, and has been so for as long as she had known of them. A long and gradual decline brought upon them by their own stubbornness.

Case in point, she furrowed her brows and sighed, lowering the letter and making a one-handed Aquilla. The reply wasn’t unexpected, but it was frustrating. 

“I suppose they’re once more denying our offers of transferred Sisters?” 

“They are.” Cleopatra replied, looking up at Saintess Thelia and making a silent prayer for strength of character. 

“So we are to pass by the Pandemonium System for this patrol?”

“No. They have another Sister-Penitent they wish for us to take.” Cleopatra corrected with a shake of her head. “Already bound and ready to serve as a Penitent Engine. It would be wasteful to not let her find penance upon a proper field, rather than waste in their holding cells.”

Madonna sighed and shook her head. “Another- Never a Repentia with them, only ever Penitent. Does the letter say what her crime was?”

“Attempting to depart the order’s grounds without authorization.” Cleopatra muttered, shaking her head. “Relics in her possession and confessing to plans to depart for another Order.”

“The same old story then.” Madonna reached up, rubbing her face with one hand. “Awful, just awful all around.”

They silently watched the struggling, skinny man for a time, as he was bid to take up a weighted training blade and swing it in precise manners by the lord Custodes.

“...Lady Canoness, may I ask a question- about the Order you and the Lady Imagifier were speaking of?”

“You may.” Cleopatra could already figure what the question was.

The young Sister swallowed nervously, then spoke. “A Sister-Penitent is a terrible tragedy- of course- but this- surely a crime such as relic-theft would… eh… justify it. Why is-”

“Why are mine and the Imagifier’s reactions so muted then?” Cleopatra completed the question, making the young Sister nod her head quickly. Bright blonde curls bouncing on either side of her head as she did. Cleopatra frowned, before turning her gaze forwards again tiredly. “Because we expected nothing much else from our Daughter-Order.”

“They split off in M37 over an ultimately minor dispute- over whether or not the fingers should be splayed when making the sign of the Aquila or not.” Madonna raised her hands up, making the sign of the Aquila the correct way at first, then splaying her fingers to demonstrate the other way to the young Sister. “In time it was settled by the Ecclesiarch and a grand council that the fingers should be closed when performing the sign- but they were separate enough at the time that it was simply easier to keep operating as two groups.”

“But that same stubborn streak has seeped into everything they do.” Cleopatra shook her head. “Their standards for new Sisters grew higher and higher, their parameters for action grew stricter and stricter, and willingness to involve themselves in any affair but sequestered prayer and meditation decreased more and more.”

“They’re barely an Order Militant anymore.” Madonna sighed, folding her arms over her generous chest. “They spend all their time locked in their fortress, and every few years one of their members grows so crazed from not being able to deliver the Emperor’s justice that they go rogue. Then they capture her, subject her to the Penitentiary Implants, and hand the poor girl over to us when we visit.”

“It’s certainly no sin to spend all one’s time devoted to prayers to the God-Emperor.” Cleopatra clarified with a decisive nod, then a scowl. “But prayer is best delivered to him on the battlefield, the ashes of heretics in the wind around you.”

“Give it another century and they won’t exist any more- is my bet.” Madonna declared with a grumble. “They certainly aren’t going to be replenishing their numbers anytime soon.”

“Remember to hold your tongue when we arrive.” Cleopatra reminded with a grumble of her own.

“I see. So we’re going to the Pandemonium System next… I don’t think I’ve ever been, lady Canoness.”

“You have- once when you were young.” Madonna corrected. “You were maybe… maybe ten years old then, too busy with Schola to be worried about our patrols.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you Lady Imagifier.” The young Sister nodded. “What kind of place is the Pandemonium system?”

Cleopatra frowned. Madonna left out a huff.

Almost in unison, they responded. “Cursed.”

The skinny teen, well-blessed by the God-Emperor, lost strength in his limbs and collapsed again. A mere hundred swings, by the timing of it.

It was… a start.

—

“We will be visiting our daughter-order, the Order of the Maiden Unmarred, firstly.” She explained to the scrawny would-be saint. Presently, they were within his assigned personal chambers. It was much the same as her own, a three-room affair used for particularly important guests and afforded a number of smaller comforts. 

He was laying in his bed, still bereft of his shirt, eyes focused on her and body drooped with exhaustion. The honored Sister of Silence was going through a routine examination of his state using her arm-mounted medical cogitator and a series of medical sensors mounted upon his chest. The prognosis being severe exhaustion, a significant nosebleed, and a single instance of vomiting. He did end up completing the initial testing course provided by the honored Custodian, but the bodily cost was rather apparent.

Personally, Cleopatra didn’t see the need for a medical evaluation in the particular instance, it was fairly obvious what he was suffering from, but who was she to dictate medical procedure to a medicae? The distinctly, unnerving silent Knight-Vestal could perform whatever scans she wanted to upon her charge, Cleopatra had very little desire to speak with her.

Even being around her was spine-chilling enough. The sheer… quietude of the woman was unnerving in ways indescribable.

“...that’s good…” The saint-apparent responded with a terribly hoarse voice. “...huge?”

She raised a brow before shaking her head. “No, they are not particularly large- I would advise bringing up such a matter when you are introduced to their Canoness Superior, do you understand?”

The saint-apparent looked slightly confused for a moment, before giving a tiny jerk of his head in something resembling a nod. “...time to arrive…?”

“”It will be some time- perhaps a hundred days before we properly arrive in the Pandemonium system.” Cleopatra nodded with a stern frown. “I’d suggest using the time wisely- in training and meditative prayer to our God-Emperor, while we have it. We will not always have such generously distributed rations of time, and evil is ever-growing.”

He looked considerate of such even through the immense exhaustion he suffered from. His eyes focused on nothing in particular, and then-

-They glowed a vibrant, burning gold. Blue machine eyes suddenly flickering to a color akin to the honored Custodes own plate, shining with an gloriously radiant glow.

The saint-apparent flinched, brows furrowing up and staring at nothing before his head rolled over to face her again. “A psyker- a marine librarian. To teach me.” He gasped out through an effort-ravaged voice, twinged with a kind of desperation and irritation.

And then the glow was gone, and gold returned to an unnatural blue.

She’d occasionally considered, in her idle fantasies, what it would be like to hear the voice of the God-Emperor. Even if only once in her life- a single word for her to selfishly hold and cherish would be enough. Something as small as that would be a treasure greater than all the wealth in a sector.

And here was a saint-apparent, a scrap of a boy from one of countless hive-cities, only notable for his potential as a psyker, who was apparently privy to dozens of such words. The voice of the God Emperor in his mind actively guiding and shaping his life, selected for such for no reason that she could intuit. 

There was an ugly, awful, black jealousy in her heart.

She tried to keep it from her voice, and she turned towards the wall of the room- towards the painting of Jovia, Patron Saintess of Ships. “There is a chapter of His Angels who make their home in the Pandemonium system- the Night Hunters. We can inquire about a potential tutor for you from their ranks when we arrive.”

“...thanks…” He hoarsely gasped out, laying back against the pillow and staring up at the ceiling again. 

“Make no mistake- I have no authority to command them.” She continued, tilting her head back and giving a side-eye towards the saint-apparent. “We can make a request, we can elaborate upon your circumstances and blessing, but we cannot force them to offer up one of their own as tutor. Should they refuse, we will have to wait to make contact with another Chapter and repeat the request with them.”

She found herself almost hoping that all would refuse.

Catching the thought, she closed her eyes and took a steady breath. Such a weakness of hers, she’d flagellate herself tonight for the thought. 

“...understand… no worries…”

She glanced over and down at the young man. So easily dismissing whatever worries he had- the voice of the God-Emperor himself commanding an action, and upon being told that the action may not be completed, he maintains a casual air. Did he even care? Where was his vigor and zeal…?

…It must be bereft due to his current state. He had just completed a rather thorough gauntlet. He must barely have the energy to remain awake, as human and untrained as he was. No properly trained warrior- otherwise he’d maintain vigor up until the moment he collapsed entirely.

She took a private satisfaction from being his physical superior for the foreseeable future. “Gunnery drills will be once a day until you reach an acceptable level of accuracy and swiftness. You know where the dining chambers are- I expect you present at every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Do you understand?”

“...understand…” His arm flopped up to make a thumb-raised gesture, before the arm flopped down again. 

She turned away swiftly, ignoring the eyes of the Sister of Silence and making for the pneumatic door. She paused at the doorway, knowing that she should give some words in farewell, but cursed with a suddenly-still and heavy tongue. No matter how swiftly her mind raced, she could not find anything to say that seemed suitable.

Eventually, she just opened the door and left, letting it slide closed behind her. The Lord Custodes was at the doorside, once more clad in his glamorous plate armor, polearm resting against one shoulder, and standing as still as any statue. 

“Lord Custodian.” She got out with a nod, as she walked past.

“Canoness.” He returned, voice a great and beautiful rumble tinted with the machinery of his helmet. 

It sounded much like how she imagined the God-Emperor’s voice to sound.

Not that she’d know.

Her right hand curled into a fist, and her face scrunched up unpleasantly. 

Flagellation for a week, for this. 

Chapter 5

-990.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc-

“Do you know where the marines are?” He asked.

“No.” The Canoness replied, reaching into her robes and pulling out a photograph to look upon.

The photograph depicted an Ultramarine. He was leaning forwards and away from the viewer, exaggeratedly large posterior bulging in his armor. The Canoness smiled.

—

His eyes opened. He was staring at the ceiling of his room, eyes crusted with sleep but vision perfect on account of their machine nature. 

He pushed up from his bed, groggily rising into a seated position and blanket falling to pool upon his lap. He stared at nothing in particular, before glancing around the room. The Sister of Silence greeted him as normal, sitting down upon her corner-chair and calmly cleaning her sidearm. An incense-burner was by her side, filling the room with a pleasantly industrial scent.

He let his gaze continue, wandering nowhere in particular before returning to the wall. There was a digital clock interface glowing red with the indication that he was awake about an hour before breakfast. 

Awoken by a strange dream.

“What the fuck.” He muttered in bafflement, face scrunching up as he worked to interpret the dream. A moment later he shook his head and decided that he didn’t really want to interpret that dream. He groggily pushed the covers away from his legs, slipping his legs out and letting them touch the cool metal floor. 

He let his hands stay in his lap, slowly flexing and unflexing muscle groups in order to get blood flowing and bring him to full wakefulness faster. The Sister of Silence stared at him blankly, paused in her cleaning-work of the advanced pistol-thing she carried.

“You ever have a really weird dream, Denaira?” He asked her, smacking his lips in thought and brows still furrowed. She shook her head calmly. He tilted his head to the side. “You don’t have dreams?”

She nodded, turning her gaze back down to the partially-dissembled weapon and continuing to work a wirebrush into the opened space. 

He supposed he never thought about it before, whether or not blanks could have dreams. If the warp was the psychic plane, it stood to reason that there was some connection between dreaming and it. And if there was such a connection, a blank’s inverted soul would naturally interfere with the normal dreaming process in some manner. 

Of course, that meant that it was entirely possible some sort of daemon made an active decision to send that dream to him specifically. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and doing his best to will his morning drowsiness away. 

Right. He was just going to ignore it. 

With that decision made, he dropped forwards onto the cold floor and began his morning calisthenics. A near constant of his daily routine over the last few months- exercise, stretching, and eating. Anything to further develop his skinny frame into something vaguely respectable. 

He was still pretty thin- but hey, he had abs now.

—

“You’ll be glad to note that we are soon to arrive in the Pandemonium system.” The Canoness Superior mentioned with the same stern deliberateness that he always knew her to have. 

He waved a hello and nodded at a passing group of Sisters- these ones bearing the coarse, ragged burlap of the Repentia, as he replied. “Oh, that’s good.” The Repentia ducked their heads and made the sign of the Aquila as they passed. Hercule’s massive steps behind him made it very clear why they were saluting. “That journey felt quicker than I was expecting.”

“You were busy.” The Canoness Superior statedly bluntly. “The Captain has extended an invitation for you to be present upon the bridge as we arrive into the system. I have taken the initiative to accept his offer upon your behalf.”

“Understandable.” Joshua nodded idly, folding his hands behind his back. Having a Canoness being responsible for your general education and safety was a lot like having a mom, by his experience. A particularly pushy one that wanted you to go out and do productive things like meet with important people while maintaining a consistent schedule. If he was actually some kind of young wastrel orphan from the streets, he’d probably chaff under her stern wardening or imprint pretty hard.

As he was a grownass man who had a mom in a past life and no particular psychological hangups involving her, this was more or less just a nostalgic routine. “Anything I should know before I meet with him?”

“He is intimately fond of the Navigator. Refrain from insulting the mutant in his presence.”

Joshua raised a brow. Gossip survives even into the far flung future of war, huh? He was pretty sure he didn’t need to know anything more than ‘don’t insult the navigator’ there. “I see.” He responded after a moment, letting his thoughts wander towards the subject. 

Navigators were the other half of what made long-distance travel through the warp feasible and reliable. The other being Astropaths like he was supposed to be. 

An Astropath uses their power to perform two critical functions, transmission of FTL communications, and divination via the Emperor’s Tarot. A ship or fleet will receive a message through their Astropaths about a particular command or distress signal. The Astropath will then draw the Emperor’s Tarot related to each potential route to that location from the ship’s current position, and relay that information to the Captain. If there is only one charted warp-route to a location, they aren’t particularly helpful. 

The Captain will then select one of the previously-charted routes, communicate that to the Navigator, and the Navigator will use their phenomenal mutant third-eye power to refine a general route through the warp into a precise route. Taking note of all the potential dangers along the path they needed to go upon and making the micro-adjustments on the course needed to avoid as many of them as possible. They are most critical for telling a Captain that they’ve been blown off course by warp-currents, for only they can see into the warp for extended periods and not go insane.

A ship could travel without either of these things, with a greatly experienced captain, crew, and lots of time-consuming math. A ship could travel with only one of these things, if they really needed to, sacrificing either macro-precision or micro-precision. But using both in conjunction was generally the safest, fastest way to travel through the psychic hell-dimension that FTL relied upon. 

A military vessel needs an Astropathic Choir for knowing where the high command wanted them to move around anyways- so using one of them to also divine potential routes through the warp to said location was no additional cost. Some ships will employ Theomancers, psykers who are specifically specialized in reading the Emperor’s Tarot, instead of more-common Astropaths for the second function. Normally only the Inquisitors get to splurge on extra psykers like that though.

The door opened to the bridge, at least what he was assuming was the bridge. 

The Tarot read renewed confidence in one’s judgement. 

So yes, probably the bridge of the ship.

The bridge was as massive as any other part of the colossal ship. The Miracle of Suffering was a seven kilometer long, one kilometer wide and tall, venerable monster of a ship. It crewed over a hundred thousand servicemen and carried four hangars worth of huge ‘fighter’ craft as a complement. Larger than the average ship in the Imperium, nowhere close to the largest.

In the far off year of forty-thousand and change, they made ridiculously large ships, welcome to the galaxy.

The bridge was at least as large as a football field, the far end dominated by a section of what looked like reinforced glass two or three stories tall and much wider still. Currently, there were panels dropped down in front of the glass, preventing anyone from seeing out into the madness of the warp that lurked beyond. The bridge was divided into three great sections, upper, middle, and lower, which formed three large steps that descended in elevation the closer one got to the massive windows.

Naturally, the uppermost terrace was dominated by a series of large thrones, followed by a series of computer-stations and chairs with various men and women seated within. The largest chair was empty, and a man wearing a long, well-decorated greatcoat stood over the shoulder of a man typing away at a cogitator. 

Joshua glanced over. The second-largest throne was occupied by a feminine figure almost entirely swathed and concealed behind ornate robes. There was a point of gleaming light on her glossy black helmet, behind material perception, which unfolded out like a funhouse mirror made of stained glass. It was attached to a long and ichthyic soul, which in turn was only loosely contained by its flesh. 

A set of golden cogs twisted in his chest, friction heating up something deeper than organs.

The man in the long coat turned with their approach. He was a very old man, with a mustache almost larger than his face with how magnificently bushy it was. His hat was adorned with the imperial skull and aquila, and he grinned widely at the sight of them. “Canoness! Good of you to arrive, The helmsman here tells me we're just about to arrive- we had to divert course to sail around that awful grav-wake.” His voice was strong despite his age, and he carried both a pistol and a sword at his hip. A trio of golden medals covered his breast, and his left arm was entirely mechanical. 

“Captain Bruno.” The Canoness greeted significantly less enthusiastically, before stepping to the side slightly and gesturing towards him with an open palm. “This is Joshua Pendrarc.”

The Captain paid her stiff demeanor no mind, grinning and stepping forward with an offered hand. Joshua smiled back and took it for a firm shake. “So this is that ward you’ve been having us carry about? I’d have met you earlier, my boy, but the Canoness was dodgy about you and your honored-escort!”

“Well- it’s one of those things, you understand?” Joshua replied with an apologetic shrug. He wasn’t sure exactly how the Captain would take that, but it was a good way to ‘explain’ his absence and let the captain fill in the rest of the details on his own. The Captain’s face was filled with a wry understanding, nodding with a toothy little smile. 

“Of course, of course. Those kinds of things happen from time to time…” The Captain chuckled with amusement. “Well, have no fear of lacking zeal, everyone on this ship will die before seeing a Prince of Terra harmed, you understand?”

“That’s certainly reassuring- but please make sure it’s actually worth your lives before jumping in front of a las-blast, I’d feel guilty about that for the rest of my days otherwise.” Joshua nodded with a somewhat more serious scowl and concerned furrow to his brow. They thought he was a noble’s son then? It was as good of a cover as any, he supposed.

“What do you think we are- Guardsmen? Ahaha!” The Captain laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Joshua laughed along, and the captain pulled back merrily. He was about to speak again, before a distant groan cut him off. Immediately his gaze snapped to the side, and Joshua’s eyes followed to the navigator-throne.

The Navigator had a hand raised to their helmet, shaking their head and starting to stretch. “My work is done.” The voice was lightly distorted from the helm, with female tones and almost serpentine undertone. The Navigator rose slowly and stretched, before shaking her head and stepping down from the raised platform of the throne and onto the main floor, using a kneeling man as a stepping-stool in the process. 

“Excellent work as always, Lady Locarno!” The Captain complemented with a grin and a fist brushed against his broad chest. 

“I will retire to my chambers, have you further need of me-” The Navigator stopped for a few moments, and the slowly-closing mirror of stained glass on her forehead reversed its retreat, opening wide open once more.

Focused dead on him. He gave a polite smile and nodded, all-too-aware of the magnificent sun that burned on his brow and the golden reactor that pulsed in his core. 

“...What are you?” The Navigator stated bluntly, utterly still.

His smile widened. “I am Joshua. I’m glad to meet you, Lady Navigator.”

The Navigator continued to stare for several long seconds, the kaleidoscope-lens on her brow twisting, focusing, unfocusing, and moving in thousands of tiny evalulatory patterns. 

“...Lady Locarno?” The Captain asked with a wary glance between them. His hand twitched down for his sword. The massive golden demigod behind Joshua leaned forwards slightly. 

“...I have changed my mind. I will remain here, for the moment.” The Navigator eventually answered, stepping back onto her throne and slowly lowering herself into it, all three eyes still fixed dead upon Joshua.

“I see…?” The Captain spoke, eyes suspiciously bouncing around.

Joshua turned away from the navigator, towards the captain, and shrugged in an apologetic fashion. He didn’t explain further, instead turning forwards towards the thin metal curtain that separated their material eyes from the twisting chaos their ship was immersed within. The Canoness had a distinctly annoyed expression on her face at the interaction. 

“We’re coming out of the warp now, Captain!” A man from ahead called out. The Captain glanced that way, back to Joshua, then turned fully ahead. 

“Good, good! Ready to open shutters!”

“Shutters ready, Captain!” Another voice called, a woman on the far left.

“Open when we drop out of Warpspace!” 

Several long moments passed. 

The male voice from before called out. “Dropping out now! Approaching Mandeville Point!”

“Opening shutters!” And the immense sheet of metal began to slowly fall away from the windows, disappearing into the ship inch by inch. The captain leaned towards him. 

“The Pandemonium System- it leaves a kind of gravitational wake in its path.” He waved a hand at the window. “You have to enter the system from the front to not get caught up in that and torn apart. It makes the system terrifically defensible, one of the best natural protections I’ve ever seen.”

“Is that so? Good that we’re the ones holding it then.” Joshua nodded, raising his hand to scratch at his chin. It was shaved now- part of a daily routine that the Canoness insisted upon. “I heard there was a group of Space Marines who made their home here?”

“Hm? Oh yes, the Night Hunters.” The Captain rolled his hand. “They’re no Ultramarines- but they’re nice enough and reliable sorts. You can trust them to send at least a company to investigate if they hear a distress signal.”

The shutters fell away enough to reveal a distant pair of stars, a set of luminous yellow twins that danced around each other and illuminated the system. Tiny dots of light in the distance glinted as jewels in the tapestry of space.

“There’s a ship dead ahead, Captain.” A woman called out.

“We’re being hailed.” Another man, half of his head replaced by wires, spoke. “Over the intra-system vox comms.”

The Captain frowned, raising a hand to stroke his magnificent moustache. The shutters fell away enough to reveal the ship that was apparently before them- the very recognizable shape of a Battle-Barge. A seven-kilometer ship normally reserved for use by Space Marines. This one in particular was painted with generally blue and black tones, highlighted in gold, with immense high-gothic lettering gleaming on its side.

Hammer of Silver Castigation

“That’s a Space Marine ship alright…” The Captain mused. “Answer the hails.”

A few moments passed. 

“Identify yourself, Grand Cruiser.” Came the rumbling, mechanically-tinted voice of a Space Marine. 

“This is the Miracle of Suffering, sworn to carry the first Preceptory of the Order of Ebon Chalice, under the sacred command of our lord God-Emperor on Holy Terra! You are speaking to Captain Bruno, what is the meaning of this hail!?” The Captain boomed back, crossing his arms and leaning back slightly.

A few long moments passed.

“...I am Brother Kellus, Second-Company Captain of the Night Hunters. I speak on behalf of my Chapter- this system is currently under lockdown by our authority. We have detected a perfidious Xeno-Cult upon these worlds, and are working to uproot and annihilate it.” The Space Marine’s contempt for the alien could be heard in every syllable he spoke. “Should you wish to enter, we will not stop you. But no ship can be allowed to leave until the system is cleared and all traces of the cult eliminated- lest it spread to other systems and infest them as well.”

The bridge erupted into hushed whispers and nervous glances. The Captain adjusted his position, listening carefully to the words while brushing at his mustache. “...How long do you expect this purgation to take?” He called out again.

Another delay from the distance between the ships.

“...Time indeterminate- the Xeno-Cult has been found on multiple worlds in the system.”

The Captain nodded slowly, before glancing over to the Canoness. The Canoness nodded and stepped forwards. “Marine Captain! I am Cleopatra, Canoness Superior of the Order of Ebon Chalice! If a Xeno-Cult has been detected upon these worlds, it is our sacred duty to burn it out! We are demanded to join in this righteous purge of xeno-taint!”

It wasn’t quite a command, but it was pretty close. Joshua closed his eyes in mild frustration.

Tarot suggested that working together to achieve a common goal would be fortuitous. 

“...I will relay your offer of assistance to our Chapter Master. You may make your way to Pandemonium IV, the Chapter Master will hear you out in our Fortress-Monastary. Do not carelessly disperse into the system beyond Pandemonium IV for the moment.”

“We have a daughter-order upon Pandemonium IIIB- we maintain the right to contact and communicate with them for this period.” The Canoness growled, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“...You maintain that right, but do not make a physical landing before speaking to our Chapter-Master, lest you breach quarantine by mistake and spread xeno-taint further through the Imperium.” 

“Acknowledged.”

It was impressive how much disdain two people could put in their voices without being outright hostile towards each other. 

Chapter 6

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc-

The Monastery-Fortress of the Night Hunters was located on the north pole of the fourth world in the system. The world had a sort of upbeat feeling to its psychic impression, with mostly clear skies and no towering hive-structures anywhere he could see as they flew over its surface in the Thunderhawk. The cities and streets were largely familiar to his second-millenium sensibilities, save the occasional airship and truly enormous ground-to-orbit gun batteries.

The enhanced zoom feature of these bionic eyes took a great deal of getting used to, but he couldn’t deny the utility. 

The weather turned greyer and colder as they approached the northern pole, with dense clouds of ice and snow scattered between a painfully clear sky. The light of the twin suns burned off the sheets of white, and he’d be worried about snow-blindness if his eyes were still flesh.

Or… whatever the material that eyes were was called. That kind of… hard jelly stuff. He didn’t know it off the top of his head.

The Fortress-Monastary looked to be half-castle and half-airbase, with immense walls stretching around fields of airstrips and landing pads, and surrounded by yet more gun batteries in all directions. The center of the fortress was akin to an immense brick, half-buried in the ice at lower levels and filling the sky with heated steam from valves and heating tubes.

The fortress was predominately black, with dark blue windows and vehicles moving throughout its larger exterior sections, and flags that displayed their heraldry in prominence. A great grey wheel with red lines falling from its sides, upon a field of blue and red. Their words were prominently writ across the top and bottom of the flags in High Gothic, translating roughly to ‘we’re here for you!’ or ‘we arrive on your behalf!’

Joshua wasn’t familiar with this Chapter of marines, but that wasn’t too surprising. There were something like a thousand chapters and only a hundred or so were ever written down anywhere, this was almost certainly one of the many that simply weren’t remarkable enough to get mention and overpriced plastic figurines made about them. 

The Thunderhawk circled twice over the landing pad, before slowly descending towards the field of heated plascrete. A number of figures could be seen in the outer reaches of the landing pad- some giant figures in heavy armor plates and some smaller figures in thick winter attire using shovels to chip away at slush in the stone courtyard. 

Menials and serfs, no doubt. Most Space Marine chapters had some tens of thousands of normal humans performing much of the basic work required to keep their operation running. 

They landed with a heavy jolt, shaking him around slightly. He straightened up quickly enough, ignoring the glances sent his way from the Canoness’ command-squad. He was wearing his normal robes, and knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be prepared for the intense chill of the north pole, but there wasn’t much to be done for it. He didn’t own any other clothes.

The bay door hissed as it unlatched, then fell forwards to form a new ramp down to the stone. The Canoness Superior nodded, then stepped forwards through the wide bay doors. She was in turn followed by her four-woman command squad, and then by himself.

The Sister of Silence and Custodes followed in his wake, immediately drawing fervent gazes and astonished looks from the many menials of the landing yard. 

Immediately he was buffeted by the cold, and shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The hood and his long hair was barely enough to keep his head warm, and his breaths came out in hot, steaming exhales compared to the frigid air. He slipped his hands into his sleeves and held them together in front of his chest, trying to keep his fingers at an acceptable temperature. 

No one else seemed to even notice the cold, mostly because they were a great deal more badass than he was. 

They were walking towards giant men clad in heavy plates of armor, much like the golden demigod behind him, but most of which were not quite as tall. Some were- which was fairly surprising to him, and altogether they ranged from seven feet to twelve feet or so. Battle-ready giants that towered over any normal man, looming like larger-than-life statues that decided to step off their podiums and stride around.

Their armor was painted a dark blue save for the right arm, which was a matte black. 

“Canoness.” The one in the front was bereft of helmet to reveal a pale face riddled with scars and brow adorned with five silver studs. He was perhaps eight feet in total, and carried a white-winged helmet and sword on his hip. He was flanked by the two giants-among-giants, both of which were well over ten feet and maintained a steady but not motionless stance. He turned his cold stare over and up, briefly towards him, and then to the massive Custodian and Sister of Silence behind him. There was a distinctly lingered stare towards the two before his gaze returned to the woman in front. “The Chapter Master awaits you in the Chamber of War.”

“Captain.” The Canoness-Superior greeted back equally cool. “Guide us.”

Nods were exchanged, the Captain-apparent turned around, and began to walk from the landing pad and towards the great gates that led into the building proper. Four serfs stood by the gates, warmly-garbed with a pistol and sword at their belts, and they hoisted the immense gates open by two thick cables on either end. The gate was just barely tall enough for the giant-marines that flanked the captain to pass under, and barely wide enough for them to both pass through at the same time.

Joshua realized in a slightly unamused fashion that he would need to think of more ways to describe very large people other than ‘giant’, because that descriptor applied to most superhumans in the galaxy. As a mostly normal person, he was going to have to get used to fighting alongside giants of various scales.

The interior was downright toasty compared to the arctic chill of the outside, and thousands of tiny charms and strips of paper hung from the ceiling through the hall. They came with what looked like oil-braziers and little onion-shaped orbs with holes in them- the ones used to contain burning incense that he didn’t know the name of off the top of his head. 

They passed by dozens of serfs through the halls, men, women, children, all garbed in the same colors and emblems as the marines-proper, but most bereft of any arms or armor of their own. Some of them carried bundles of weapons, crates of ammo, books and papers, dataslates, and any number of other miscellaneous items of utility. A handful of them had obvious cybernetics, machinery that replaced limbs or parts of their heads and faces, and trailing cables from the sides of their necks. 

Not one was much older than about mid-thirties, from his quick estimations. 

All in all, pretty cool looking in a future-gothic sorta way. The galaxy may be full of horrors and tragedies, but at least the imagery was usually pretty striking. 

There was a hum of warm-cold gold in the back of his mind. Joshua kept his arms folded together and hands tucked into his sleeves. Doing so and keeping his hood up made him look much more mysterious than he really was.

They were led to another set of massive doors- opened by a pair of guard-serfs to allow them passage and closed behind them. Inside there was a long table which glowed with pale green holographic imagery displaying a compressed solar system- the pandemonium system from his view of it- with red blotches over several of the worlds.

Around this table, a number of well-decorated marines stood. Most were only seven to eight feet, as a normal marine was supposed to be, but one was of the giant-scale, with armor that almost looked cobbled together from several other sets of armor. Each piece was a slightly different shade of the blue-and-black scheme, none of the insignias matched each other, and each was littered with dozens of tiny superficial battle-scars. 

The hooded, skull-faced helm did not move towards him, but Joshua could feel the eyes of that giant marine lock onto his through the shadow of his hood. 

The most-decorated Marine turned towards them, head uncovered to reveal a grim, unsmiling face with short white hair. His armor was thick, with a raised gorget hiding his lower jaw and chest covered in strangely circular chains, looped around the front and connecting somewhere in the back like a golden sash. A pair of pistol-sized guns were integrated into his gauntlets, a tank-scale autocannon hung from his back ready to swing forwards, and a golden-haired serf silently carried a long-barreled gun by his side. The gun was almost as big as she was.

“Canoness Superior of the Ebon Chalice.” The high-gorget marine greeted with a scowling face, pulling back and smacking a fist against his plated chest in salute. His eyes flashed to the Custodes behind them. “I am Milton, Chapter Master of the Night Hunters. You declared intent to aid our purgation effort, I’m told.”

“Indeed, however-” Canoness Cleopatra raised a gauntleted hand holding two fingers up. “We came to this system for two other reasons. Foremost- we are here to meet with our daughter-order on Pandemonium IIIB, and retrieve the Sister-Penitent in their hands. Secondly-” She brought the hand back, stepped slightly to the side, and gestured towards him. “To request one of your Librarians for a period to further educate Blessed Psyker Pendrarc.”

A hulking mountain of metal with a man’s face at the far end of the table let out an audible scoff, a sneer on his lips. He was not any taller than standard, but his armor had clearly been heavily modified beyond the standard thick plates. More akin to a walking tungsten cube than a man in armor. “Educating a mortal? You-”

“Brother Librarian.” The Chapter Master interrupted with a glance and a flat tone. The Librarian closed his mouth at once, scowling and leaning back. The Chapter Master let his stare linger for a moment before turning back to look at him.

Joshua inclined his head in greeting, glad for the voluminous hood he wore.

“We will consider this second request.” Milton stated in a tone that didn’t indicate any particular disdain or enthusiasm. “More pressingly… Pandemonium IIIB is one of the planets potentially infected by this xenos-cult. I cannot allow it to spread further-” He raised a becalming hand before Cleopatra snapped at him. “-Which is why I will ask you to submit this sister to a round of testing to determine if she is infected or not.”

Cleopatra looked annoyed but not closed off at the statement, crossing her arms over her breastplate. “What do these tests entail?” She asked with a furrowed brow. 

The Chapter Master nodded, raising an explanatory hand. “The xeno-cult spreads by a gene-component, which then links the infected to a kind of psychic enthrallment. If the infected were to breed, the resulting spawn is hybridized with xeno-taint, which has various levels of corruption. At the lowest levels, a gene-test is no longer sufficient to detect the infection. Neither a gene testing nor a psychic reading are entirely reliable on their own, but in combination it becomes impossible for the infested to hide.”

“A gene-analysis and a psychic reading… How invasive is this reading?” Cleopatra asked, leaning forwards and resting a palm on the table.

“Barely more than surface- the enthrallment is obvious with a moment of effort and focus.” The hulking slab of armor near the back waved a dismissive gauntlet. “There’s a foreign chatter in the back of their mind that’s unmistakable.”

Cleopatra nodded sharply, a grim look on her face. “If you speak truth- then I can allow this. What do these filth look like?”

The Chapter-Master reached forwards, tapping the console connected to the table a few times to bring up grisly images of exceptionally mutant humans. Their heads were bulbous and bald, their features often flattened and froglike, and pronounced ridges were seen on their foreheads. The most obvious mutation were the arms, all three of them, which usually ended in clawed hands.

Ah, Genestealers. Yeah that would be the obvious answer, wouldn’t it? Joshua let out a little hum of recognition. 

A few moments later, with the gazes of many turning towards him, he realized that he shouldn’t have made that hum if he wanted to stay unnoticed. Cleopatra had narrowed eyes, several of the marines had suspicious glints in their eyes, and the Custodes shifted behind him.

“...Lord Pendrarc, do you perhaps recognize something?” Hercule helpfully asked, which gave Joshua the kick in the pants needed to realize that he should probably start explaining before the soldiers started getting heated.

But how much does he say…?

The Tarot suggested honesty with allies will lead to fortune. 

He stepped forwards, reaching up to pull his hood back in the process. “Ah- yes… I believe I recognize this particular brand of xeno-infection…” He hesitated at the redoubled focusing of stares around him. Very large and powerful warriors who would not hesitate to inflict violence on him if they thought it necessary were quite intimidating, who would’ve figured? He did his best to swallow back his nerves and continue with the explanation. “From the evidence presented, they look to be Genestealers, a kind of vanguard-”

“Vanguard for what?” The Chapter Master asked immediately, leaning forwards slightly and placing a hand on the table. Joshua’s legs tensed and untensed with the interruption. 

“Ah- one of the Hive-Fleets of the Tyranids, they’re a kind of-”

‘FOCUS.’

His eyes flashed gold. He frowned, brows furrowing as he shook his head. “The Tyranids and the Genestealers operate fairly differently, they aren’t immediately relevant at the moment. I’ll relay what I know of the Genestealers first.”

The Chapter Master nodded sharply, features sharpened into one of intent listening.

“The infestation begins with a Genestealer- from where they get their name- who arrives on a planet and begins to prepare it for invasion by the primary fleet. The genestealer has the ability to infect any subject on the planet with a sort of virus that enthralls it to the genestealer’s will. From there, the subject will be compelled to seek out a mate, and infect the mate during intercourse. Now that a breeding pair is established, the genestealer will compel them to reproduce. Infected individuals aren’t significantly altered- but the virus will alter their offspring to result in a hybrid between the genestealer itself and the host species.”

He rolled a hand with a scowl. “The infected breeding pair cannot see the hybrid for what it is, the virus suppresses normal cognitive function and makes them see it as a perfectly normal member of their species, and any further children they have will be uninfected. The hybrid, unlike the infected pair, will possess a true hivemind link to the original genestealer, allowing near perfect coordination. The genestealer will continue to infect individuals and create breeding pairs of first-generation hybrids, who will then produce offspring of their own that look more akin to the host species.”

“By the fourth or fifth generation, the hybrids are almost indistinguishable from the host species save for their hivemind with the original. The next generation after them is always another true Genestealer though- and it stows away on ships to reach new planets and create new cults.” He frowned, reaching up to tap his forehead. “The hybrids have a higher than average amount of psychic potential, and they can infest any species, not just humans.”

“What is their goal?” Cleopatra had a look somewhere between furious and disgusted on her face, and growled out the question with an apoplectic hiss. 

“Attain positions of authority in the host species and form a large enough psychic cult to attract a Tyranid Swarm to the system.” Joshua explained simply. “The Tyranids themselves, however, don’t care about their new worshippers. Their only consideration is consuming absolutely all the biomass they find then moving on- they will usually do their best to devour the Genestealers as well as everything else if they arrive.” 

“How do you know this?” The Chapter Master asked very clearly and deliberately.

Now, there was no way he could tell them that they were all just game characters in his past life, because that would be stupid and no one would believe that. “My Soul-Binding to the God-Emperor was… not typical…” Joshua explained with a sort of hesitance in his frame and tone, trailing off at the end. He waited a moment, then continued with a new statement. “I know a great deal of things that I don’t think I should. Very few precise details, but many, many broad sweeps.”

“You claim that the God-Emperor bestowed you with this knowledge?” One of the marines asked with an exceptionally skeptical tone in his voice.

“I can’t explain it beyond that. I don’t have the words for it.” Joshua shook his head, reaching up to tap his breast.

It was an exceptionally lame answer, but it was the only one he could really give here. They didn’t look like they-

“I believe this one.” The massive, skull-helmed marine rumbled. His voice was dark and immense, and crackled with machine-impulse.

“Chaplain?” The Librarian leaned forwards. The Chapter Master leaned back with a look that requested further explanation.

The skull-helmed giant of a marine nodded. “What use to lie at this juncture? In the presence of a Custodian? In the company of the Sisters? Before His Angels?” The giant marine shook his head. 

The Chapter Master gave a considering nod, lips pulling down into a scowl. “...It doesn’t change our purgation protocols regardless- we will have to test all populations and thoroughly eradicate the infected in any case.”

“What measures have you already taken?” Cleopatra asked, turning her gaze from the side of his head to the marines again. 

“Currently, we are devising a means for standard gene-kits to detect the infection- when that is complete a mandatory screening for the entire population should root out most of these insidious hybrids- we’ll maintain such testings for the next century to ensure the infect never has a chance to return.” He waved a hand, then clenched it into a fist. “And all those who refuse and resist to be tested will be obvious suspects. Our librarians have divined outbreaks of violence among the infected soon enough, all that’s left is to provoke it…”

“Provoke it?” The Canoness asked with a tone eager for alien blood. 

The Captain smiled grimly. “How else do you root out vermin? With bait and traps.”

Chapter 7

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium System, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc-

The first order of business after the little war-meeting was heading off to retrieve the sister-penitent, something that the Canoness insisted upon as the first order of business. Verifying the current purity of her fellow Sisters of Battle seemed to weigh heavy on her mind, and the Marines didn’t plan to start their purgation-traps for a few days anyways, so they agreed to send someone over.

Pandemonium IIIB was the second moon of the third planet in the system, which in turn had three moons of its own. Pandemonium III was a massive, high-gravity, rocky world that served as the effective capital of the entire system. From the feel of it at least- they had the largest population of any world in the system by an order of magnitude or two. 

That population, from his glance at the tactical maps and information breakdowns under them, was mostly ogryn and squats. Both abhuman lines being well-suited to the higher than standard gravity and thus, requiring no special considerations to live on the planet. Of course- this brought up the potential issue of genestealer-ogryn, which Joshua was mildly terrified by the thought of.

Pandemonium IIIB, compared to the planet it orbited, felt incredibly dull. Joshua’s eyes narrowed as they approached the world, scowling and staring right through the walls of the transport at it. Golden spiders wove threads behind his eyes- a nauseating sensation.

He almost wanted to ask how many people lived there- but the cargo section of the thunderhawk was silent at the moment and he didn’t feel confident enough to break tha-

“You feel it, then.” The silence was then broken by one of their two guests. Joshua blinked, turning to the voice. Three Marines stood with them in the transport, one apothecary carrying medical equipment, one squad-captain, and a librarian with psychic-amplification hood mounted around his head. He was standing as physically far away as he could from the Sister of Silence by his side, and doing his best to not look at her.

Which was understandable, because Sisters of Silence are known to be rather scary to most psykers. 

Joshua was distinctly aware of the glances directed his way by the Canoness and her command-squad, but nodded. “The planet- er, moon- it’s not quite as bright as I’d anticipate. Does it have a small population?”

“It does.” The Librarian nodded, face concealed behind his helmet. “One settlement of five-thousand, including the Order of Sisters.” He leaned forwards slightly and raised a finger. “But that sharp dullness- that is the result of the xenos who inhabit it.”

“...They haven’t been purged yet?” Joshua asked with a somewhat nonplussed tone. “I’d expect that to be the first thing any Imperial force does when arriving anywhere.”

“Unfortunately, they have proven highly resistant to all more expedient purgation protocols.” The Librarian began, before the Canoness interjected.

“They are called Gargoyles by the locals.” She spoke with a deep disdain. “Souless, Stone-skinned, acid-blooded, winged things that do not age and have no need for food. Intelligent as a man and with twice the cruelty. They disguise themselves as imperial statues and kill lone individuals for the thrill of ambush.”

“They live solitary lives save to breed. They cannot be found by psychic sense, they cannot be starved, they cannot be tracked back to shared lairs. It is suspected that they would survive even virus-bombardment.” The Librarian shook his helmet in old frustration. “Were it not for their presence, Pandemonium IIIB would be an ideal world for colonization. As it stands, they prove to be a persistent and stubborn obstruction.”

“Until such a time where a more total campaign of annihilation can be mounted, they serve as consistent fodder to train battlesquads.” The Canoness concluded, crossing her arms and giving a dark glance towards the marines. 

“They have thus survived, too troublesome to eradicate swiftly, and with more pressing threats constantly demanding the Emperor’s wrath.” The Librarian concluded, ignoring the Canoness.

“Well that’s not good.” Joshua stated mildly, turning his head back to glance at the world through the wall. The increased turbulence in the interior told him they were starting to breach through the atmosphere and descend onto the world properly. “How many inquisitors come around sniffing about them?”

“Entirely too many.” The Marine-captain immediately replied with a much more personal and fresh irritation in his voice. “One of them thinks he can use them as shock-troops, and ordered a dozen to be captured on his behalf upon last arrival.”

“Using xenos.” The Canoness scoffed disdainfully. “Proof that incompetence exists anywhere one cares to look.”

“We maintain contact with an inquisitorial liaison.” The Captain began with a low tone. “One of our routine data-requests regards Inquisitor Xanatos and whether or not he’s been killed in action yet.”

There was a grim, mocking sort of humor that flashed over the eyes of the Canoness. Two of her command-squad had their shoulders shake slightly. 

Proof that making fun of a third group is the easiest way to bring people together, he supposed. Inquisitor Xanatos sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he had heard the name.

The turbulence increased further, shaking the hull around with a dull roar that made it difficult to speak. The transport returned to silence as the ship began the rockiest part of the trip, but this silence was somewhat less tense than before.

After a minute or so of descent, they had breached into the atmosphere, and the not-windows of the transport began to project the surroundings through exterior cameras again. Through them Joshua could see abundant, lush greenery and broad expanses of lovely blue water. It was rather nice to see, though he supposed he’d have to thank the Gargoyles for keeping humans from urbanizing the place so far.

But thanking xenos was heretical, and all that, so he’d be better just enjoying the scene for what it was and moving along. 

“Did you not know of Tyranids previously, Marines?” One of the command squad spoke up, a sister wearing a helmet with the visor pulled back to reveal a raven-haired, red-eyed face. 

“We know well of Tyranids, Sister.” The Captain corrected bluntly. “Our Chapter has faced them on three occasions previous, which is why we did not require further elaboration on your psyker’s part. These Genestealers are a new enemy to us- or rather, an old enemy attacking with a new face, it seems.”

Joshua would ask how long ago the first Tyrannic Wars were, but he didn’t want to spoil the mysterious and well informed pysker impression he had been giving off. It could be anywhere from a hundred to a thousand years ago and he wouldn’t find it surprising. 

He was glad that he had a lot of time to come to terms with the imminent blood, death, and conflict that was going to subsume his entire life to follow, otherwise he’d be a lot more jittery about everything. As it stood, he mostly felt an ambient dread with no specific source.

The Tarot foretold great struggle and great reward. 

…His eyes narrowed. He was pretty sure that draw was just the God-Emperor trying to reassure him, not actual prediction.

The chapel-fortress of the Order of the Maiden Unmarred was fairly obvious even from this distance, on account of the massive statue of a veiled woman holding a torch. The statue towered enormously over its surroundings, the chapel-fortress itself being a relatively small structure built onto the hill next to the statue’s base, and surrounded by a town of sturdy fortification. The streets were wide and straight, unnaturally so, cutting straight through hillside and over river in order to maintain their perfect intersections. The roofs had absolutely no overhangs, and the buildings were well spaced from one another. Probably on account of those gargoyles he had just been informed of. 

They lowered to an outer courtyard of the chapel-fortress after several moments, transport shaking as they touched base stonework again, and bay doors hissing as they opened. They walked out in a lines, the Canoness ahead, her command squad behind her, the space marines behind them, and himself in the rear.

The Librarian walked past as far away from the Sister of Silence as he could.

The Order of the Maiden Unmarred wore nothing but white as their robe-color of choice,it seemed, with thin white veils over their faces. Even through the veils, Joshua got a sense of unease and worry at their appearance.

Though- that was very understandable. They had been expecting other sisters of battle, not space marines, a sister of silence, and a custodian.

Also him, he supposed, but he was the least intimidating person here by a wide margin.

“...Cleopatra… What is this?” The apparent leader of the Order spoke with a tension in her voice, glancing back at the accompaniment. 

Cleopatra nodded, turning back to gesture at him in specific. “The Lord Custodes and Sister of Silence are present to escort Joshua of Terra, who is accompanying the Miracle of Suffering’s patrol. Pay them no mind.”

“And the Night Hunters?” 

Cleopatra turned to face her more directly. “I suppose you must not have been told yet- a parasitic xeno-cult has taken root in this system, spreading by infection. The Order of Ebon Chalice will be working with them to uproot and eradicate this infestation, and I would remind my fellow Canoness of our duties to the God-Emperor in this.”

“And we remember them!” The veiled Canoness replied sharply. “The Order of the Maiden Unmarred will aid this purgation, most certainly!”

An invisible tension left Cleopatra’s shoulders, and she nodded. “Good. They have devised a means of detecting this xeno-infection, a simple gene-testing. My Preceptory and the crew will all submit to this testing, and that will necessitate a test of the Sister-Penitent.”

“You doubt the purity of my Order?” The veiled Canoness asked with the righteous fury of a zealot simmering in the back of her voice.

“I do not- but the God-Emperor does not hesitate to test the righteous, does he?” Cleopatra refuted sharply. “I myself will be tested as well- make no mistake of this.”

“Of course- the Order of the Maiden Unmarred will do the same.” The veiled Canoness replied, anger still lingering in her voice. “But the presumption that we’d be tainted is most loathsome, Cleopatra.”

“You know there is no insult meant by this, Thera.” Cleopatra replied with an annoyed frown.

Thera maintained the stare for a few more moments, before giving a huffish nod and turn back to her fellow sisters. “Gather all from the Oder, not just the Sister-Penitent.”

“Yes Lady Canoness.” The veiled woman replied with a quick bow and scamper away from the landing pad. Perhaps a minute later, a group of sisters with white robes and veiled faces brought forth a woman.

Her face was largely concealed behind an opaque metal visor and helmet, with bulky connection ports visible on the back. She was bound in a pillory, wearing naught but a thin white sheet as a dress around the torso. 

Most disturbing was how she shook despairingly and muttered apologies over and over. It was rather impossible to not feel pity for the poor woman, wires installed in her brain to overcharge her feelings of guilt and remorse, to ensure that she felt adequately pliable to whatever gruesome punishment that would be leveled upon her.

In the case of the Sisters of Battle, that punishment was to pilot a walking warmachine until she died in battle. 

The apothecary-marine stepped forwards, a sort of device with a long needle in one hand. Carefully, he pressed a gauntleted thumb onto one arm, held the penitent-sister very still, and inserted the needle of the device.

Several moments passed, and then the device flashed green and gave a happy little beep. The marine nodded and withdrew the needle, blood starting to spill from the vein as he pulled back. 

“No infection detected.” He declared, which dispelled yet-more of the tension in the scene. The needle in his hand hissed, retracted into the machine, then burst out again with a tiny spray of fluid. A kind of sterilizing agent, Joshua was hoping. 

The librarian gave a very subtle shake of his head. Joshua would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it. 

“Everyone in order- we will all be tested.”

Joshua almost shivered. God, he hated needles.

There was a very unimpressed feeling in the back of his mind. Unfortunately, he didn’t know of any particular mundane fear that the God-Emperor had, so he had to concede defeat. 

—

The plan of the Night Hunters turned out to be pretty laughably simple in actual effect. Working with the Planetary Defense Forces and Arbites, they’d set up blockades and testing facilities around each city. The Arbites teams would then go in, hab-block by hab-block, and round up absolutely everyone for gene-testing at the facilities. If the individual was somehow unable to move on their own power, they’d be tested on the spot.

An incredibly systematic testing and eradication that was impossible to miss for the cult, who would naturally make moves to avoid or counter it. The battlebarge of the marines was waiting in orbit, powerful sensors turned down to the city in question. With these sensors, any movement overland would be detected, logged, tracked, and followed if they tried to escape the testing-perimeter.

And once they got far enough- a squad of Night Hunters would home in on the location and put down the attempted escapees. After one or a few such squad eradications, the cult would probably escalate into more open violence, attacking any number of potentially key locations. Whereupon a prepared reactionary force was waiting to defend the site and attack back

It wasn’t so much ‘baiting a trap’ as it was just ‘go in and start purging them’ if Joshua was being honest. There wasn’t much of an actual trap here and the strategy mostly relied upon having a metric fuckton of dudes with guns doing a lot of the grunt work of standing around and testing while the marines did the cool stuff like fly around and shoot people who may or may not be xeno-infected.

They apparently wanted to do this for the entire planet- which was two billion people in all. It would take months even with the absolute best organization to actually accomplish such a massive logistical task.

And that would be for only one planet- there were multiple planets in this system with hundreds of millions or billions of people on it.

Knowing this, the Canoness decided that they would help by expediting the escalation process. The highest concentration of the hivemind that the space marine could detect would be attacked directly by the fully-mustered force of the Preceptory. With their primary hive being attacked, the Genestealers would be forced to ‘go loud’ and thus give everyone targets to shoot at, was the logic.

Joshua honestly liked the slow and steady idea better, even with the problems he could see with it, but he wasn’t the one calling the shots here. He also didn’t have any real better ideas, Genestealers are always going to be tricky to deal with.

Especially because his commissioned equipment wasn’t actually complete, forcing him to borrow from the Voidsmen armory for his gear. Carapace, a laspistol, and a monosaber. 

“You are to guard him with your lives, do you understand?” Cleopatra ordered the elite sisters around him. Celestians, they were called, carrying power-halberds and bolt-pistols strapped to the inner-side of their rectangular shields. “By orders of his Holiness the Ecclesiarch himself, his life is to come before each of yours.”

“Yes Lady Canoness!” The helmeted Sisters declared, stamping the ends of their polearms into the plascrete ground in unison. A crew of sisters in one of their tanks saluted at the top of the vehicle. It was one of those conventional tanks with a single large gun as a turret and several smaller guns mounted along the hull. Cleopatra stared at them for several long seconds, before nodding sharply and turning towards him.

“I will be leaving you to their care for the battle.” She stopped, before glancing around at the street they were on. Slightly off to the side of the primary push of the preceptory, along a route that led towards nothing in particular. “You are certain this is where you wish to be for the battle to come?”

“This is the best place for me, according to the Tarot.” Joshua nodded with a scowl. “Whether that’s safest or where I’m going to be most effective is something I haven’t found out yet.” 

She stared for a few seconds, before nodding stiffly. “God-Emperor with you.” She got out, before immediately turning and powerwalking towards the smaller transport, hopping on and commanding the pilot to bring them back towards the bulk of the preceptory forces. 

Joshua watched her go with a slightly nonplussed expression, before shaking his head and sighing through his respirator. The air over most of Pandemonium IV was slightly toxic, as it turned out. “Well Hercule, Denaira, now we wait for battle.” He said, turning forwards along the dead-silent streets and nervously glancing at the alleyways in the distance. 

They were looking a whole lot like Necromundan alleys right now, which was a very bad thing.

“Steel yourself, Lord Pendrarc. One or one thousand, neither will be sufficient to overcome us.” Hercule rumbled out.

“Overcome you, you giant golden demigod.” Joshua shot back immediately, scowling up at the man. He reached up to pat himself on the chest. “I on the other hand, am a rather squishy mortal in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.” Hercule replied immediately. “It is difficult to miss, in truth. I would suggest a quick prayer to the Lord Emperor.”

Denaira gave a blank-faced nod in support of the idea. 

The problem was that if Joshua asked Him for protection, he’d receive harder battles to toughen him up instead. He sighed, reaching up to remove the respirator and dropping the visor of his voidsman helm. As it was meant for the void, it worked perfectly fine as a helmet in-atmosphere as well. 

“Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.” Joshua quietly sung to himself, knuckles rolling on the grip of his saber. 

The Tarot warned of imminent danger and his efforts being undermined by the enemy.

His eyes widened as he looked to the ground. It rumbled ominously.

“Below!” He shouted, just in time for the street to start caving inwards.

Chapter 8

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc-

There was a terrible sensation of falling for several seconds, as the street collapsed beneath their feet. A dull roar of fragmented stone rolling down some subterranean chasms drowned out a great deal of the panicked yelps of Sisters as they fell with him.

Suddenly he was yanked upwards by the scruff of his armor, and there was a tremendous crash of metal on stone. His stomach rolled uneasily from the sudden adjustment, and then he was hanging limping by some unseen hand. All around him hung the dust of shattered plascrete, and below his dangling feet lay irregular mounds of gravel.  

A moment later, he was dropped, making him stagger for a moment as he regained his sense of weight and orientation. Pulling himself straight and blinking, he glanced to the golden giant whose hand was returning to his side. “Thank you Hercule.”

Hercule dipped his head in acknowledgement, silent and focused on scanning their surroundings. Joshua followed suit, calling out as he took stock of their changed environment. “Sisters! Are you injured?!” 

The street had been collapsed in its entirety, sending them some hundred feet down into a great canyon or trench carved in the earth below. Perhaps a former sewer, now buried by thick layers of road rubble. The walls of the artificial canyon loomed around them, blocking out light and holding back heat, leaving them in the cool shade of a killing-valley.

“We live, Lord Joshua!” One of the Sisters called out, pushing up from the rubble. One, two, three… ten standing. He turned his gaze to the tank and hissed at what he saw, quickly moving over rubble and to the side of the heavy vehicle.

It had been flipped over entirely in the fall, now laying halfway on its head and with several guns now buried beneath gravel. The hatch of the tank was inaccessible on account of its new position in the artificial hill. “Sisters of the tank!” He called out, pounding the pommel of his monosaber on the underside hull. “Do you live?” 

After a few moments of no reaction, he pulled his lips into a frown and pulled from the Tarot again.

Faith in one’s allies will be rewarded.

“The fall must have thrown them around in the interior.” One of the Sisters on the outside spoke with a grim tone. “One sufficiently hard jostle into the interior walls and they’d crack their skulls…”

“They’re alive.” Joshua refuted simply, pulling up and staring at the vehicle with pressed lips. “We need to extract them-”

The movement was almost too fast to notice, a sudden shadow and flash of gold at his side followed by a hail of bullets. The sound was like hail on a thin steel roof, and almost as deafening. He threw himself back and away from the sound of gunfire, down against the hill of rubble’s other side. Hands reached for him, and he was dragged further down along the gravel hill by the Sisters. 

Denaira took a spot next to him, and Hercule slowly stepped back with the shield still raised. Bullets crashing against the heavy plate of golden metal bouncing off like hot lead droplets. There was little place for him to take cover against the stream of bullets coming from that end of the valley, and so he simply knelt and held his shield against the gravel hill at an upwards angle. 

“Traitors!” One of the Sisters, the one with a little metal ornament on her helmet marking her as important, hissed. 

Joshua glanced behind them and pulled from the Tarot again.

Great danger will come to one who does not prepare.

“We need to get the tank flipped.” Joshua immediately declared, heart pounding loudly in his chest. “There’s another threat coming from behind us- Hercule, would you be strong enough to do this if the Sisters helped you?!” He had to hell to be heard over the gunfire.

Hercule shield braced on a steady arm, did not turn away from the threat. “I am strong enough to accomplish that on my lonesome, Lord Joshua.” The Custodian sounded like he was discussing the weather. Denaira lifted herself next to the Custodes and brought up her bolt-pistol, taking steady, measured shots with the rocket-powered explosive rounds. 

Joshua was pretty sure most tanks weighed several dozen tons. “We need to take them out quickly- we can’t afford to be slow.” He glanced nervously behind himself again, and the long, empty valley of urban gravel. There wouldn’t be any real cover for hundreds of feet, perfect sightlines for being suppressed.

Joshua had been in the occasional firefight back on Necromunda, no real way to avoid it when you live on the cyberpunk dystopia planet rife with gang wars. The correct solution was usually to find cover, take potshots, and never stop moving. Not moving is how mutant giants with huge blade arms and subdermal armor rip you in half. 

“I understan-” The Sister began with a growl in the back of her throat, Joshua very quickly made sure to interrupt her. 

“Do not do a charge over open ground!” He all-but yelled the plea, a terrible knot twisting up in his chest. He knew exactly what Sisters of Battle were like, and letting them do their normal thing of fantatical zealotry would get them all killed. She pulled back slightly, helm turning towards him silently. “Hercule- any ideas?” He asked quickly, nervously holding up his laspistol like that was going to accomplish anything from this range. 

Hercule held out a hand. “Denaira, a grenade if you would.”

Denaira pulled back from taking occasional shots, lifting her bolt-pistol and pulling a grenade from her belt, placing it in his massive hand. 

“Thank you, Denaira.” He responded while hooking the ring around a raised section of his armor. He pulled it and threw in one smooth twist-snapping motion, and the grenade practically disappeared from sight.

A full second or so of travel later, and one stream of bullets went up and then wide, and a muffled scream of pain echoed through gunfire. Practically that same instant, a terribly loud explosion rocked the end of the urban valley.

“I will need time to work.” Hercule stated simply, turning his helmet slightly to look down at the rest of them.

“Sisters! Move up and suppress them!” The Sister-Superior ordered immediately, the sisters pushing up from the gravel and aiming the guns mounted on the inner side of their shields forwards, occasionally shooting as they took the gravel hill and pushed forwards beyond that.

“Hold this for a moment.” Hercule handed his shield off to the Sister-Superior as they passed, and he walked towards the tank. She almost threw her own shield away in the process to catch it, and staggered under the weight. Her arms visibly shook as she struggled to keep it up and off the ground.

Joshua scampered up over the gravel hill, taking up a position next to the Sister-Superior and behind Hercule’s shield. Denaira followed suit, making her own occasional potshot at the incredibly distant targets. 

He kept an eye on their backs, glancing over the hill again and again, feeling horribly exposed to danger at the moment. 

Hercule braced himself, dropping into a wide squat and punching his hands through gravel to curl fingers around some unseen edge and the faintest sounds of exertion issuing forth from his helmet. A few moments later, the tank began to shift, gravel falling away from the sides and the massive, multi-ton warmachine beginning to rise like a mechanical zombie. 

“They’re coming!” One of the Sisters shouted out. Joshua flinched and peaked around the shield, fears of big mutants coming at him with sharp blades confirmed. Three-armed, bulbous-headed, shrieking men and women began to throw themselves over barricades and cover and do exactly what he had advised the Sisters to not do seconds earlier- a charge over open ground.

“They’re trying to stop Lord Custodian from flipping the Castigator!” The Sister-Superior screamed furiously. “Shatter them under the weight of our bolters! Every inch they take will be met with fire! Every inch!”

That would be way more impressive if they weren’t currently working with handguns. 

Joshua peaked around the shield with his laspistol, leveling it towards the charging hybrids and doing his best to keep his arms from shaking. They were hulking, corded with muscle and with faintly purple-tinted skin. They would stagger under the fire from the Sisters, tremendous holes blowing open in their torsos and limbs turning into messy pulp with each shot that landed. The power of a boltgun of any kind made mockery of mere flesh.

He, on the other hand, was using a laser. He held down the trigger, aiming for mutants with raised guns, and recoilless beams of red-orange light began to lance out of the handgun with a steady twhue-twhue. As a laspistol, it shared a similar battery to a proper lasgun, and thus would not be running out of ammo for many, many shots.

He aimed for heads, subdermal armor made small arms effectively useless, you had to aim for the weakpoints.

Did they have subdermal- it didn’t matter. Aim for the heads. 

It took him several shots each time to trace his way to the heads, even with the last few months of practice he had been forced to undertake. Their erratic movements and his relatively inexperience made his tracking inconsistent. 

Beams of light spot-vaporized flesh it landed upon, staggering and then pulping skulls that it landed upon. The burst of viscera was substantially less impressive than showers produced by the bolt pistols, but still enough for his magnified vision to detect.

A splash of light blinded him for a moment. He flinched back, taking a moment to scan for threat before realizing that it was the light of the Conversion Field from his Rosarius. Hyperadvanced technology he didn’t understand that automatically converted certain profiles of energy and mass into light, and thus protect the wearer from gunfire.

Which meant someone almost domed him and the conversion field saved him from it. He glanced back to check on Hercule’s progress, only to be delighted by the tank finally flipping over and landing with a terrible thump against the gravel of the valley. It rocked heavily back and forth for a moment, before settling down with a wave of dust.

There were people inside. “Denaira! Get in and get those Sisters up!” Joshua turned and made another urgent plea, the Sister of Silence glancing his way, then towards Hercule, then nodded. She moved smoothly across the gravel, flipping up to the top of the tank while half-pressed against it and throwing open the latch before slipping in. 

Hercule reached out to heft his shield out of the Sister-Superior’s hands, which she resisted for a half-moment before realizing who it was, and then dropping it as if it was burning. He didn’t seem to notice, raising the shield in front of Joshua and drawing his sword. Pointing it down range, he pulled some unseen trigger and caused the bulky hilt to spit out bolter-round after bolter-round. 

A quirk of Custodes weapons were that they wouldn’t be out of place in a JRPG. Gunblades were exceptionally silly and hard to do practically.

The golden demigods somehow made it work. Hefty rounds hissed out of the short-barrels of his gunblade, screaming forwards and turning mutants into showers of gore and scraps of cloth. It was roughly handgun scale for the golden giant, which meant battle rifle scale for the rest of them, and fired appropriately hefty rounds.

The largest and most-dangeous mutants were cut down after a handful of shots, whereupon he stopped firing and lowered his sword into a ready position.

There were still enemies- evidenced by the Sisters still firing and the occasional enemy bullet that bounced off their armor. A frankly unreasonable number of enemies, speaking honestly. Joshua raised the laspistol again and held down the trigger, aiming vaguely for the heads but being rather unable to miss with the masses of flesh that were starting to pile up.

Then, terrifyingly, one bolt-pistol clicked empty. Then another. Then another. 

“Ready halberds!” The Sister-Superior ordered, having taken up her own shield again and still firing the pistol mounted to its underside. The tide of enemies, no longer stemmed by massed guns, grew closer and closer.

He kept the trigger held down, letting lasfire splash against the tops of the heads of the slowly-thinning wave of hivemind hybrids, doing his best to not flinch and shake with every bullet that splashed against his protective field or bounced off Hercule’s raised shield. 

He glanced behind again, keeping the aim steady and trigger held, and drew again from the Tarot. When will the tank be usable again?

Your expectations will soon be met.

Gold was beginning to pour out of his eyes and nose, the reactor warming with every draw, energy spilling over and pouring out. The star and the crown began to bleed into realspace. Golden termites dug through his bones and erected new scaffolding. He did his best to ignore it, limbs shaking with the sensation.

Another thing rounded the corner of the gravel-filled alleyway, a lumbering, bestial thing. Fifteen feet or more in length, lizardlike, with a spiked back and gnashing lipless teeth. Several more hybrids rode astride its back, guns raised and ready.

“Hercule, behind us, hold it back!” Joshua smacked at his shield with the pommel of his sword for emphasis. “Tank is almost up again!” 

Hercule glanced behind, then made a sort of annoyed noise through his helmet. “Hold this.” He stated simply, the shield suddenly crashing down on the gravel before him and tipping back. The weight was immense even just leaning against him, and the size made it more akin to a barricade than a shield.

With the massive slab of metal now held upright by one skinny half-trained psyker, Hercule turned and began to charge. A furious, bullish pace that kicked up gravel and dust in his wake. Almost horizontal for how far forwards he leaned, and quicker than any human of that scale should be. 

Joshua pulled his gaze away and decided to trust that the golden demigod could handle it, and was met with sight of a heavily thinned horde of mutants crashing straight into the braced polearms and shields of the Sisters. Two lines of five with overlapping shields and stabbing tips that crackled with disruptive energies. 

“MUTANT FILTH!”

There were still so many- he fired up, trying to avoid the sisters in his lines of orange-red fire, and aiming for the heads of the shrouded with cloaks and scarves who were aiming guns at them.

“I SMITE YOU IN HIS NAME!”

Behind him, he heard the tremendous boom of flesh and steel colliding, and a startled animal-roar. It was halfway between a bull’s bray and a crocodile’s rumbling, familiar but alien. In front of him, the sisters continued to roar out warcries. 

“YOUR SIN IS YOUR TAINTED LIFE, THE PUNISHMENT IS DEATH!”

The wave used its own bodies in terrifying coordinated ways, mutants in the front throwing themselves onto the weapons to pull them down and freeing up hybrids behind them to push a little further. The halberds would pulse with power, tearing flesh and thin armor apart, and the sisters would barely bring their weapons up in time for the next set of bodies to toss themselves forwards and grab for their handles. 

All the while, gunfire from hybrids in the back continued to pelt them, bouncing off the plates of power armor the sisters wore but riddling their cloth with holes and carving scratches aplenty.

Mutants pressed forwards further and further by the moment, before finally overwhelming one Sister and pulling her forwards. She fell, feet slipping on the gravel and immediately dragged back into the teething masses of clawed hands.

Joshua focused his lasfire on the ones in that region- just in time for his laspistol to beep in the aggressive, furious manner that indicated it was empty of charge. 

“HANDS OFF ME, YOU FILTH!”

They’d get away with her- he cursed as he swapped out power packs as fast as he could, dropping the old and forcing a new battery into the laspistols socket. He raised it immediately again, holding down the trigger to pour lasfire in the direction that she was being dragged to-

A deafening boom occurred behind him, followed by a shifting of treads and a roar of an engine. The Castigator turned on the spot, heavy bolters mounted on the sides and hull screaming to life as it did so. Sprays of heavy fire came over the heads of the Sisters and turned waves of mutants into purple-red mists. 

He kept the trigger held down, even as a stressed grin overtook his face, and a strained laughter bubbled up in his throat. Stragglers and those too close to the sisters for the tank to fire upon were targeted first, namely those who were still holding down the struggling sister through massed bodies. 

Another moment later, and the immense shield was lifted from him, hefted in the massive hand of the returned Custodes. His normally golden armor was painted in a distinct layer of dark red-purple viscera. 

The Sisters were already giving out barking, zealous screams of rage as the last few hybrids attempted to pull back. It was far too late now that the tank was active again- and the last hybrid dropped when a sister stabbed it in the side, making it drop the captured sister it was using as a shield. 

The cloth that normally covered large parts of her armor had been torn off entirely, leaving her power armor bare and painted with scratches as she was hefted to her feet and handed her halberd again. 

“We have to keep moving.” Joshua said immediately, Necromundan instinct clawing at his mind. He drew again- when is the next battle?

Anticipate early harvests.

The reactor pulsed, yet more gold poured out of his soul. There was a halo around his head, holding the sun-jewel in place over his forehead. Golden ants were marching through his capillaries.

“We can’t stay here.” He reached down to pick up the spent powerpack and tuck it into his belt. He drew the Tarot again- which direction is preferable?

Find wisdom in what now lies behind you.

“This way.” He said, turning to face the other direction as the reactor pulsed again. “Come on!” He could hear every beat of his heart and had to force himself to breath, powerwalking around the side of the tank and forwards through the horrible artificial valley they had fallen into. 

The walls were no longer shaded, the gold shining from him now intense enough to banish the darkness in his vicinity. 

No worries of needing lights when they get further underground, at least.

His arms were shaking. He wasn’t blinking- his cybernetic optics didn’t need it. 

The inside of his helmet was dyed yellow instead of blue.

Thankfully, they didn’t argue with his suggestions for which direction they needed to go. Denaira hopped out of the tank and gracefully slid down next to him, while Hercule took a stance on the other end.

The Sisters of Battle ran to the front of the line, hastily reloading as they moved, zeal driving their actions.

And gradually, the tank began to growl as it crawled over broken gravel hills in shattered streetbed. 

Interlude 2

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Calistra, Seraphim Sister Superior of the Ebon Chalice ‘Quasimodo’ Commandery-

Her earliest memory was a golden statue. It towered over the streets, and she could see it from one corner of the alleyway she lived in. An imposing visage of a massive man, with straight hair, a long sword, and eyes that always seemed to look right at her. No one else would ever look at her, even the ones that threw scraps her way and shooed her off would do so without ever lowering their gazes.

But He would always look at her. 

She used to spend hours at her perch in that alley, sitting and staring at the giant golden man who would look back at her.

Someone noticed her habit eventually, a balding man in robes and wearing well-fashioned jewels. He walked into her alley with a pair of men in armor, and she knew that she should have ran from them… But the old balding man was looking at her, and so she stayed nervously atop her perch, staring down at them warily and ready to leap and run as far as she could away.

She knew what happened to other children who weren’t good at running. The snatchers got them.

“You spend many hours looking at Him.” The balding man spoke, nodding his head over the fence and towards the golden statue. 

She nodded nervously.

“Do you know who he is?” The balding man asked.

She slowly shook her head. 

The balding man smiled sadly. “He is the God-Emperor of Mankind, and his love for mankind is why you’re alive today.” She didn’t understand. “...Would you like to learn of him?” He said, reaching up to offer a hand out to her. 

She knew that she shouldn’t… but he was looking at her, and she wanted to know. She slowly climbed down from her perch, approaching the balding man, and nodded.

The balding man smiled, and gestured out of the alley. “Come- to the Schola. A warm meal is the least of his mercies.” She would be coaxed out of the alley, and towards the golden statue, and into the intimidating grey-walled building that the statue stood in the courtyard of. She would be brought inside, given a bowl of warm soup, and her first-ever sermon.

She owed much to Father Claude, for everything he gave her. Food, shelter, knowledge of the God-Emperor, and a purpose divine.

The Heavy Boltrifle barked in her hands, a delightful kick smashing its stock into her armored shoulder as a heavy bolt screamed forwards. Hundreds of feet away, a hulking three-armed giant covered in chitin and bleeding purple lost its life. A spray of red-blue viscera painting its fellows.

Heavy Bolts from her fellow sisters turned the other mutants into gore and component limbs, stopping the sudden charge of those aberrant abominations in its tracks. A sharp grin was on her face as she looked at the disappointed Repentia through her scope, who were just about to charge back into those hulking mutants and earn redemption in death. The moment of private humor passing, she swiveled her scope to find new large targets to purge.

She’d very much like to be down there herself, swords in hand and praises on her lips as she cut into mutant filth, but the God-Emperor had other plans for her. For she was an abhuman, and the Canonesses did not care to have abhumans on the frontline and earning glory in His Name. 

How she yearned to be His Bayonet…

“Seraphim, jump forwards and face north-west.” The voice of their Canoness-Commander called through the helm-vox. She was a Lazul, one of the lucky abhumans who were only barely such, her only deviance being her pretty pale-blue skin. Not like her, with her beastly ears and wild mane. “Their witches hide from our flamers like the cowards they are, see them annihilated, amen.”

“Ave, Amen.” She growled back over the half-helm vox. Her ears were too long, and her hair grew too thick and wild to fit within any normal helmet. She turned to her fellows, abhumans of mostly human proportion crouching with her on the rooftop, and waved a hand forwards. “Forwards and facing north-west till we spot their craven witches!” She commanded, waiting a moment for them to lift their long guns and then jumping forwards.

The jump pack on her back roared to lift, carrying her through the sky on wings of fire. She soared over battlelines that choked the streets below, waves of vile mutants covered in abnormalities and wielding crude weapons smashing into lines of Repentia. The Repentia were wearing naught but prayer-strips and the damned gore of those filthy cultists, each two-handed swing of their mighty chainswords turning another arc of corruption into corpses. 

Every time one was not fast enough, the mutants would get through the arcs of their swings, and the Repentia would find her redemption in death.

Tanks and armored carriers rolled behind the lines of Repentia, carrying Battle Sisters and firing heavy guns into the largest masses of accumulated monstrosities. They were forced into narrow channels and specific lines through the streets- the mutants having prepared some sewers for total collapse and now crawling out of their disgusting tunnels in shrieking, unthinkable waves. 

Drowning out their shrieking, the beautiful hymns and roaring battlecries of the Sisterhood. The booming of bolt and cannonfire, the burning of flamers and meltas, and the columns of smoke that rose like arms towards the heavens.

She landed on the next roof, boots smashing through thin layers of tile and sending scattered blocks off the side. Her mechanical leg-braces groaned and flexed with the force of the impact. North-West, the Canoness Commander said, look for their witches.

The others in her squad landed shortly after, roof shattering under their heavy landing, visors roaming back and forth on the lookout for their targets.

A wave of sickly blue-black light pulsed in the distance, tossing waves of rubble into the side of a line of tanks, two streets further forwards. She waved a hand forwards and jumped again. 

This time her fiery leap took her over one of the collapsed streets, a canyon a hundred feet deep and filled with gravel and crawling with wretched mutants. They crawled their way up the sides and over into the alleyways in perfect, loathsome synchronization. Like some crawling army of malodorous machines. 

They landed on the next roofs, denting the thin metal plating and cracking the frame beneath. She leveled her boltrifle forwards, spying through the magnified scope towards the north-west.

There she could see them, behind hulking brutes wielding clubs of plascrete and steel beams, inhuman figures with skulls bloated to great extremes and resting heavy on their hunched backs. They held staffs up and threw out waves of loathsome black energies at anything that approached. Repentia and penitent engines were thrown back into gunlines of battle sisters and tanks, disrupting the unity and rhythm of their hymns and purging march. 

She fired, the heavy recoil smashing into her shoulder again, making her entire body quake with the impact. A moment later, the rest of her squad fired, filling the rooftops with a thundering boom-echo like a flash of lightning. 

A half-second later, a quintet of rounds smashed into the psychic barriers of those xeno witches. The first three rounds smashed into it uselessly, the fourth round shattered it, and the fifth round turned one of the three abominations into a rain of gore. 

Half a moment later still, the combined fire of the nearby battle sisters tore the remaining two witches apart, free to smite their targets now that their protections were overwhelmed. They probably didn’t even notice the contribution of her squad.

She pushed her irritation aside and focused on her boiling wrath. Another round fired, ripping an arm off one of the hulking mutants, followed quickly by her sisters tearing more grievous miracles into the bodies of other towering monstrosities. The weight of the heavy bolts staggered their howling charges, and the chainswords of the repentia fell upon them moments later. 

A shout came through the vox. “They’re- Behind us!” 

She turned just in time to raise her boltrifle and smash its stock into the face of a hooded mutant. The wastrel staggered with the blow and rolled, tumbling over the side of the battered roof and falling to its death a hundred feet below. Others were upon the roof, falling upon her sisters and clawing at them with taloned hands.

She dropped her rifle and drew her long knives, leaping forwards with a roar on her lips. “TO HIS ENEMIES- DEATH!” 

To be the tip of His Bolter, driven into the heart of His enemies…

Feeble armor did not protect them from a foot of steel backed by the weight of her armor. She tore into the ones clawing at the nearest sister, blades punching through scarves and thin plates and tearing out waves of purple-red blood to splash across the roof. A raised arm threw off a swung hatchet, and a heavy thrust shattered bone and punctured whatever passed for lungs in a mutant.

She threw herself forwards again, her fellow sister rising and drawing her bolt pistol. The skittering hordes were attempting to pull the others down and away, towards their loathsome pits, but her sisters were too strong for any one or two to drag. They needed to be in groups of three or more to overwhelm them.

A sharp grin covered her face with heavy blow, every thrust and stab and deflection, her bones shaking with the impacts and their mutant viscera painting the roof in alien bloods. Another sister was freed, and another, and they fought towards the last.

She was too far away from them now, their limbs pulling her down off the roof even as she punched a limb through the roof and tore long grooves in the metal plating in effort to hold on. The rest of the horde threw bodies at them, weight of flesh and blood keeping them from their last sister.

“SISTER!” Calistra roared out with a snarl on her face, blades ripping through another pair of mutants. “DON’T LET THEM TAKE YOU!”

Sister Nejem understood, pulling her hand out and letting them pull her. Hand freed, she reached for the grenades at her belt and ripped out their pins.

“WE WILL BE MARTYRS!” She roared as she disappeared over the side of the roofing. 

A moment later, the building was rocked by a massive explosion. The bulk of the horde died in an instant as shrapnel and fire engulfed them, and the stragglers died almost immediately after. Dazed by the unexpected explosion, the remaining sisters ripped them apart, took up discarded arms, and immediately jumped away from the roof.

She wanted to stay and fight, but the preemptive orders of the Canoness bid them to reposition when set upon in melee by the enemy. Behind them, the gore-stained building began to collapse. She memorized it to retrieve her sister’s corpse and wargear later. 

They landed on the next roof, immediately jumping away again to make distance between the horde and themselves. Both of her knives in one hand, her heavy boltrifle in the other, and armor painted in hot new gore. Her seal of oath was newly stained- something that kept her fury for these traitors at a hot simmer.

On the streets below- the Preceptory continued to consolidate into defensive circles as enemies poured out of collapsed streets. The battle raged for a thousand feet in all directions, and the rising smoke of burning alien began to cast a grim shadow over the city. The shadow of the Emperor’s Judgement was upon them, darkening their hives and malign hopes. 

“What’s that light?” Sister Tabitha asked with a tone of bewilderment and fascination, staring into the distance. Calistra glanced back at the woman as they landed on the rooftop and cracked it under the weight of their impact. She was looking towards…

Calistra’s own thoughts trailed off as she caught up with the sight. There in one of the darkest sections of the warfield, where the smoke and ash was thickest in the sky above, was a pillar of faint golden radiance. It was stronger closer to the ground, and through bare cracks in hab-blocks she could see its magnificence like a golden sunrise. 

The boom of a tank cannon firing snapped her out of it. “Canoness! There is a golden light to the west! A pillar that rises from the earth in the midst of their shadows! Amen!” calistra reported quickly through the helm-vox. 

A moment later, the voice of the Lazul Canoness called back through the vox. “Ave, Maneuver into a position to regard it while still being capable of providing fire-support, then report back to me, Amen.”

She nodded and waved her hand forwards, towards the pillar of faint golden light. Rooftop over rooftop, flying over the warfare of the streets on wings of fire. Several rooftops away, she could see another squad of seraphim doing similar. Their closed helms and lovely golden ornamentation told her that they were of the First Commandery.

Sisters of the Quasimodo Commandery were denoted with steel ornamentation. 

The light intensified as they approached, a ripple rolling through it and disappearing into the smoke above. Her ears twitched with the faint sound of drums and the intensified chorus of sisterly hymns. The boom of gunfire and cannons taking on the rhythm of a song she knew but didn’t remember. 

She swallowed as they jumped again, a tension in her throat and in her breast as she looked upon the pillar of rolling light. It descended deeper than the base earth, into one of the many chasms created by the collapsed roads, drowning out the shadows around it and revealing teeming hordes of the mutants doing their best to rush down to the source.

They leapt a final time, across the chasm and giving them a view of the urban valley’s base. The pillar of light condensed into a nearly solid aura at that place, surrounded on all sides by brightly-illuminated hordes. There was a lone squad of sacresants there, stabbing forwards at a chittering mass of straggler-mutants with lockstep thrusts, slowly pushing their way forwards through claws and hails of primitive gunfire. 

There was the Lord Custodes and an Honored Sister of Silence near the back, the pair of them alone holding off a force even larger than the ten sacresents could manage. Blade, shield, and boltfire turning hordes into heaps of gore and flesh, creating fresh barricades to yet more mutants coming in from behind.

A Castigator was between these two forces, main cannon booming every so often to turn some gigantic beast into red splatter and secondary guns firing in constant bursts to cut thick waves of enemies down into manageable chunks for the sacresants to manage. 

And there on top of the Catisgator, lasgun barking a constant stream at anything that tried to climb upon the tank, was a lone figure. He wore armor of the common voidsmen, and a cloak of burlap. 

But there was a golden pillar about him, and the flames flickered in patterns that she could never forget.

A golden man, towering over the streets, with eyes that stared at her. His hair was long and straight, his hand gripped a sword, and the enemies of mankind arrayed themselves around him for as far as the eyes could see. 

“THE GOD-EMPEROR IS WITH US!” Calistra roared, both aloud and through her helm-vox, raising her gun and immediately finding targets among the thronging masses of mutant flesh. The seraphim of the First Commandery immediately jumped down, paired hand-flamers in hand and prayers on their lips as they descended into a mutant hell. 

Her mind was filled with the sound of drums and thunder.

She barely stopped to aim, trusting her training and the god-emperor to guide her shots as she unloaded at whatever mutant seemed most obvious at the moment. She could hear the booming gunfire of her sisters doing the same, and the hordes in the chasm quickly cleared as waves of fire and boltgun cut the horde into messy mounds. The tank rolled across them, turning them into greased paste in its tread and creating new mud with gravel and gore. 

The figure on the tank looked up to them, and raised his swordarm up, then pulled it back down. The pillar of light around him did not diminish at any point, even as he turned to shout further orders at the first commandery and the golden custodian. 

A clear command to approach. She nearly tripped her way off the roof in her haste to obey, the jumppack on her back roaring to slow her descent down. Her mechanical braces wheezed with the impact, gore staining her lower half further as she landed before the sacresants. Her sisters soon followed, sister Blake tripping forwards on her face before pushing herself up again. 

The sisters of the First Commandery tensed disdainfully, protectively, with their appearance. Her knees shook, should she not fall to prayer before this light?

The humbly-clad figure on the tank didn’t heed her internal struggle. “Long guns! With me on the tank, shoot anything big!” He ordered, using his sword to point at them and then on the top of the Castigator. There was a rolling undertone to his voice, a much deeper and stronger voice echoing his own. 

She took a moment to process the order, before all but scrambling her way forwards towards the tank and up on its side. The light enveloped her with its radiance as she approached, and her skin prickled dreadfully. 

She felt like she was in a dream, a heady sensation bubbling through her breast and filling her head with hot air. 

The figure cloaked in light waited only long enough for the rest of her squad to secure themselves on the back of the Castigator, turning to give another commandment. “Forwards- right hand path next! We have to keep moving!”

She almost jumped again at the order, before recalling that he bid her to stay upon the tank. A desperation she had never known filled her heart.

“Seraphim! Where are you?” The Lazul Canoness called through the vox.

She almost didn’t notice it. “Western Light, Lady Canoness. He is with us.”

The heavy boltrifle shook with her anticipation.

The humble saint stood behind her, watching over her shoulder as the tank rolled slowly across the goreheaps.

He was looking at her, she could feel it.

Chapter 9

-990.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

His lasgun was empty, his arms were sore, his forehead was burning hot. Vision blurred and swayed, and the world was rolling under his feet. Waves of crawling flesh and chittering screams echoed all around him. They were coming, all around him they were coming, they wouldn’t stop.

He turned, a monster was there, four armed and serpent-tongued. It leapt at him through the air with wicked paired swords and a furious hunger. It would be too late-

His eyes opened, finger twitching harshly to pull the trigger of his-

…He raised his hand in front of his face, dragging it up through the blanket. It was empty, his laspistol nowhere to be seen, and neither the leaping monster. He groggily pushed himself up, reaching up to rub at his face and eyes.

Four armed, serpent tongued, sword wielding demon terrorizing his dreams? Very funny prank Slaanesh, you big fucking nerd, go get an actual hobby. He let out a long sigh, rubbing the accumulated crust out of the corners of his eyelids, then slapping his cheeks to get the blood flowing. 

He dropped his hands and looked around, absentmindedly glancing at the bandages on his arms and pushing aside the general soreness in his body. It was no worse than one of Hercule’s slightly more comprehensive exercise regimes. 

He was on the ship again. Some manner of sterilized medical chamber, his only company being Denaira and a cyborg-zombie that was integrated into the wall on the opposite side of the bed. Denaira was looking at him with the same placid calm as she always did.

“We won then?” He asked with a yawn hiding in the back of his throat. Denaira nodded calmly, raising her hand to flash one raised finger, then five, then a swooping gesture that pulled down to the other wrist. 

“Fifteen hours huh?” He asked for clarification, and received a nod in confirmation. He flopped back against the bad frame, sleepily staring at the ceiling. Pipes and wires trailed over every inch, each with a purpose he didn’t want to bother to figure out. He rolled his head around to stare at the wall-integrated servitor, extending his senses out to the machinery and gently prodding for purpose. 

Visual sensors, autoinjectors, canisters… an autodoctor of some kind. Macabre for the fact that they made it out of a person or lobotomized clone, but pretty mundane in actual purpose. Joshua knew that the majority of servitors were made from vat-grown clones, the demand was simply too high to rely on processing criminals for all the automation the Imperium needed.

Keyword all. Becoming a servitor was still an acceptable punishment for many crimes. He raised a thumbs-up towards it. “Thanks for keeping watch, servitor.” He said with a wry smile, pushing aside the ambient dread towards the zombie-cyborg’s potential origin. He couldn’t do much to help the poor fellow, if indeed he was ever a person, but Joshua could always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. 

The cyborg’s gruesome eye brightened as it replied. “It is my pleasure to serve, important guest.”

Yep. Pretty much what he expected. He smacked his lips, then turned to Denaira. She was staring blankly at him, but he got the impression that she was amused. Not a psychic-impression, because she was impossible to cheat-read through such means on account of being a blank, but the more mundane kind of impression. “I suppose most everyone saw the lightshow.” He asked with a sort of wary frown, reaching up to tap the side of his head.

She nodded, raising her hands and slowly spreading them apart, miming an explosion. He grimaced awkwardly, reaching up to scratch at his neck. “And uh… the casualties on our end? I confess, I don’t remember much of how the battle concluded.”

She raised her fingers, pinched together but not close enough to touch. Small casualties then. He’d have to ask in more detail later, from someone who could actually communicate specifics without sign language. 

“That’s good, that’s good…” He nodded slowly, staring at nothing in particular. He remembered a great deal of shooting his pistol at rather intimidating hybrids, and panickingly reloading a few times, and pulling from the tarot a great many times. But at a certain point the violence began to blur together, and he lost track of any one particular moment. Just waves of gore and warfare.

It was really cool now that he wasn’t currently in the middle of a fight and could die horribly. He was still a boy at heart, and no boy thought shooting waves of ‘the bad guys’ was uncool. Riding on a tank, surrounded by people in power armor, and gunning down waves of neat looking monsters was an inherently thrilling idea to his masculine sensibilities. 

Joshua supposed he was still too cowardly to consider it cool in the moment, rather than only after the fact. 

A faint sense of patient judgement sat in the back of his head. The God-Emperor didn’t need to communicate anything to him on this, Joshua already knew where his deficiency was and just needed to work on it. Like your dad watching you learn to drive a car and you stomping on the brakes too hard.

The patient judgement twinged with a faint amusement. Joshua rolled his eyes. “Denaira, where is my Tarot Deck?” He asked, the Sister of Silence reaching down into a bag to retrieve the deck in question and handing it over. He had run out of ‘pulls’ the other day, the deck needing to be reshuffled before he could pull from it again. There was no time to do that in the middle of a warzone.

He absentmindedly shuffled the deck. Once he was done, he put the deck back into the case and pushed out of bed, shivering as bare feet met metal panel floor. He glanced around for clothes, only for Denaira to once again be prepared with a set of his robes and a hairbrush. 

“Thank you Denaira.”

She nodded and turned his gaze to the side, just enough for him to feel more comfortable being nude but not enough that he disappeared from the corner of her vision. A compromise he bargained for once it became clear that his nudity was not a big issue to her keeping watch over him.

It wasn’t for Hercule either- it was frankly kinda awkward. 

He pulled from the Tarot again as he got dressed. Would now be a good time to convey that information to the ranking Techpriest?

Seize the moment while opportunity shines.

He blinked. Oh.

Months of asking that same question every time he woke up and now it registers as a good time? He must have done well enough in the battle to earn a bit of legitimacy, just enough to be taken seriously. That was excellent news- he could finally scratch a task off his ‘to do’ list and not have to worry about it anymore. 

Delegation was truly the most blessed of human abilities. 

He rushed through the rest of his change, making for the door and letting it slide open. Hercule lurked just on the other side, armor already spotless again. Joshua commented on this as he walked out. “Already immaculate again, huh?”

“Within the hour of your fainting spell.”

“Please don’t call it a fainting spell, call it something more respectable than that.” Joshua grumbled up at the demigod with a dry look, waving a little hand at him.

“A case of the vapors, then.” Hercule corrected steadily.

Joshua sighed heavily, starting to walk through the ship hall and out of the medical section, not really certain of where he was going yet but confident his bodyguards would correct him if he was about to get lost. “Thank you, Hercule. I’m glad someone is keeping me modest.” He grumbled.

“You seem to be in a rush, Lord Joshua.” Hercule commented idly as they stepped through unnervingly empty halls. 

“Do I? I suppose I am.” Joshua nodded consideringly, casting a glance back at the towering man. “I need to speak to the ranking Techpriest, and now is an opportune time if the Tarot is to be believed.”

“If that is your goal, Lord Joshua, we will need to take the right path on the next fork, then proceed downwards to the machine-chapel.” 

Sure enough, his intuition about their capabilities was proven correct once again. He passed by a number of servitors roaming through on routine inspection of the wall paneling, nodding in greeting as he passed. 

With Hercule’s expert directions, they made their way from what was apparently some kind of private medical wing and towards the manufacturing section of the ship. Menials practically tripped over themselves to give hasty salutes and fervent whispers as they passed, as did the occasional voidsman in fine armor.

He thought they had gotten over their ‘tripping’ stage with Hercule, but he supposed this was a pretty big ship and they didn’t come down this way that often. Probably just those who weren’t used to the golden demigod’s presence by now. 

Voidsmen gave way to yet more servitors, skitarii, and younger techpriests. Red-robed men and women from Mars learned in the techno-arcana of the ancient past. The sheer amount of institutional decay in science over the course of the last… fifteen thousand years or so, leading to cargo-cultism becoming not only prevalent, but indeed the most currently successful and widespread means by which knowledge was preserved and passed onto future generations.

Scraps of knowledge continually destroyed by machine-rebellions, massive psychic storms, schismatic civil wars, and thousands of years of constant, grinding warfare with everything in the galaxy.

The current state of the galaxy was awful, and it was awful for a very large number of reasons, with almost no hope that anything could be fixed in it. No one in the right places with the right information to work with to even start to get things back onto a brighter future.

Which why he was here, he supposed.

“Skitarii.” He nodded at the guards outside the doors leading deeper into the machine-chapel where the techpriests resided. 

The pair of red-robed cyborgs had masked lenses blankly fixed upon him, guns on their hips and a pair of long axes crossed to prevent any entry into the door itself. A ceremonial gesture, because the door was also locked.

“Designate Pendrarc.” One of the Skitarii replied with a faintly masculine voice under layers of machine-filtering. “State Intention.”

There was no boy alive who didn’t like robots and cyborgs, so Joshua was already fairly fond of these skitarii guards. “I’d like to speak with the ranking techpriest, Lord Dogma, about a sensitive topic. Can you forward this information to him?”

They stared at him blankly for several long moments of silence. If he didn’t know how data-transfer worked, he’d probably assume they were being rude right now.

“What is the nature of this topic?” The skitarii asked after a moment. Probably forwarding a question from the Lord Dogma and back to him.

He reached up to rub at his chin in thought, considering how he should convey this in a way that doesn’t just outright leak the information. “...It regards the Quest for Knowledge.” He settled on after a second’s thought.

They stared blankly for a few seconds, then pulled their axes back. “Proceed along path Alpha-Four.”

He nodded. “Thank you.” And stepped through the doors into the foremost room of the machine chapel. Younger techpriests and skitarii were abound in this place, as were a number of hallways and paths with clearly marked signs dictating which path was which in high gothic. The signs looked distinctly out of place, for the benefit of those who were not inducted into the cult he supposed. 

He found the path quickly enough, proceeding uninterrupted along into the deeper chambers of the machine-chapel. 

“I’ll need to speak with him privately.” He said, glancing back at the Custodian and Sister of Silence. 

“That would be a breach of our sworn duty.” Hercule immediately countered with a shake of his head. 

“No- this is important Hercule.” Joshua shot back with a frown. “It is possibly the most important thing. I need to speak with him in privacy on this. Both yourself and Denaira can await me just outside the chamber doors.”

He stopped just outside the door at the end of the hall, hesitating before the imposing machine-bulwark. It was more akin to a vault door than anything a normal human would use. He frowned, then turned back to face the Custodian and waved his hands down in a calming gesture. “Remain here, please. Subject me to a full battery of checks afterwards if you must.”

They stared at him, and he got the feeling they were distinctly displeased by the firm request. He sighed and turned back to the door, raising a hand and knocking on it with heavy thuds. 

A moment passed, and then the door hissed as its hydraulics relaxed and silently swung away. A very intimidating way to seal a chamber, but what did he know?

He stepped through, into the chamber. Almost immediately he found the form of the ancient Magos, the highest ranking one from his previous meeting with the priesthood, sitting on one side of a short table. The child cyborg sat on the otherside, and there was a game that looked a lot like chess sat between them. It was substantially more complex, with many more pieces and three boards instead of one, but it was mostly just chess.

He walked in, the door remained open behind him. A small gesture from the techpriest to comfort his bodyguards?

“Saint Indetermatus.” The childborg greeted plainly, looking over and up at him with a placid expression. The Magos reached forwards to make a single move on the board with a mechanical, grasping tentacle. “The Lord Dogma greets you in good spirit, and inquires about the truth you bring.”

Joshua nodded, hesitating for a moment, before quietly replying. “It… there is…” He trailed off as he worked out how to begin. Eventually, he found a summary. “...I know where a damaged but functional STC is.” 

A combination supercomputer and three-dimensional printer, capable of analyzing location conditions and telling the requester, step by step, how to build nearly anything. The holy grail of technology itself. The key to fixing every gap in understanding that the Imperium had.

A very big deal, in short. 

The Lord Dogma stopped just before placing the piece. The tendril slowly returned the piece to its original place as the childborg rose from his seat. 

“My most recent logs have been wiped.” The Childborg stated while bowing towards him. “I apologize, but I will be unable to facilitate your communication with the Lord Dogma about this matter, whatever it may be.” With that the tendril connecting the boy to the ancient techpriest disconnected, and the boy walked out of the chamber. Slowly, the massive vault doors of the chamber slid closed, and every light in the room blinked thrice. 

“Be SeAtEd.” A voice more akin to record scratching came from under the hood of the Lord Dogma. A mechanical tendril waved at the chair that the boyborg vacated. Joshua nodded, stepping over carefully and settling down into the slightly small and uncomfortable chair. The optics of the Lord Dogma glowed under a shadowed hood, connected to a face that barely had a nose, cheeks, and upper lips. The chin was dominated by countless mechanical tendrils, and they flexed and writhed with some subconscious impulse.

In other words, an old man cyborg with a beard of cables. His biological hands were folded together in his lap, ancient and traced with thin wires. 

“ElAbOrAtE.” His voice grated out, not unkindly, but certainly firm and a bit painful to listen to. 

“Upon Necromunda, under the Hive Primus Spaceport to hide the radiation it leaks, is a functional STC.” Joshua spoke with all the gravity that such a thing deserved, slowly and deliberately. “Damaged, but functional. Not a print out, or a library of print outs, a functional STC. House Van Saar began as an arcology-ship from the earliest wave of human colonization, but was caught in a warp-storm only to drop out upon Necromunda in M35. They have maintained and safeguarded it ever since.”

He nodded shortly. “I’d suggest forwarding this to the Fabricator-General of Mars- I know little of the steps ye learned men will take to secure this, but I trust your wisdom in the matter.”

“HoW dO yOu KnOw ThIs?” The Lord Dogma questioned with a focused stare in his machine-eyes. 

“I grew up upon Necromunda.” Joshua replied easily. “My Soul-Binding has provided a greater perspective on past truths- a broader base of wisdom unlocking further wisdom.”

“...WhY rEvEaL tHiS nOw, AnD wHy To I?” The machine eyes narrowed in a suspicious stare.

‘WE HAVE WORK TO DO.’

His eyes flashed gold. He closed them, letting the gold fade back to blue before opening them again. No need to intimidate the poor fellow here, you big booming skeleton.

“...The God-Emperor told me to.” Joshua stated very plainly, before giving a little smile and furrowed brow. A rather literal interpretation of his own general ideas, the faint sense of approval in the back of his mind when thinking about it, and the pulls of the tarot. True from a certain point of view, and all that. “I know not why- beyond that He trusts you to succeed in this task.”

It was mostly so he could hand off the hard work involved to someone else, just like the whole ‘reviving Guilliman’ thing. Giving other people specific details and letting them work it out from there was the fastest way to get things slightly less fucked long term. 

The Lord Dogma leaned back in his chair slightly, miniscule movement for a normal person, but tremendous compared to his previous still. 

“That- and this is the first time I’ve gotten a private meeting with anyone of high rank in the Cult Mechanicus.” Joshua mentioned in a faint amusement. “I had no opportunity back on Terra, and I’ve been busy and watched every day here on the ship.”

The Lord Dogma nodded slowly at this, withered hand slowly coming up to gently tug at his mechanical beard. 

“If ThIs PrOvEs To Be TrUe… ThE MeChAnIcUs WiLl OwE yOu MuCh…”

“All I’d ask if that they keep me in mind, regarding it.” He nodded back. “There’s a great many actors who’d like to use me to their own ends- and I’d certainly appreciate having a friend or two in regards to the political gnashing of Sol. A lone psyker is a vulnerable thing.”

The Lord Dogma’s machine eyes rolled in their sockets, before glancing over to the side. A heavy thumping echoed through the immense steel doors. 

“Lord Dogma! Open in the name of the God-Emperor!”

Joshua sighed. “She sounds irritated.” He’d have to weather her anger once that door opened, wouldn’t he? Was it because he-

…That was a stupid question, yeah it was probably because he left the medical chamber without telling anyone, too excited he was by getting this STC affair off his mind. 

“InDeEd.”

Chapter 10

-990.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

“You will be eating at the officers table or in your chambers, from now on.” 

He raised a brow at the Canoness, whose irritation at him still lingered in her shoulders and sharp tone. He had managed to alleviate the bulk of her fury with apologies for leaving the medical bay so quickly, but his refusal to explain in precise detail what he was talking with the venerable techpriest about kept her simmering. 

“I’m not sure how much time I’ll have for eating, with the ongoing purgation action and all that.” Joshua commented mildly back with a quirked lip. “Better to get that handled sooner than later, after all.”

The Canoness glanced at him as they passed a pair of menials, who fell to their knees as soon as they noticed them. She turned forwards again after a slightly awkward pause and replied stiffly. “You will still need to eat, lest your body fails you at an inopportune moment.”

He almost rolled his eyes. Humans were practically designed to operate in starvation in the cold plains of ancient Terra, one or two skipped meals won’t get him killed. There’s a reason that building muscle required exercise for humans and didn’t for most animals. “Do we have any nutrient blocks? I’ll carry one of those and snack on them throughout the campaign.”

“N-nutrient blocks?” She pulled her head back, turning a much more bewildered gaze towards him. 

“Yeah they’re… maybe you have a different name for them.” Joshua furrowed his brow and raised his hands into a square shape. “They look like bricks, filled with nutrients and calories, fairly dry and crumbly. One block is enough to keep a man fed for a day-”

“You’re referring to carb-bars?” She asked with a troubled sneer and furrowed brows. “You’re asking to subsist off carb-bars instead of regular meals?”

Joshua pulled back with a vaguely offended emotion. “They-They’re a perfectly acceptable, filling snack food. It’s nutrients and calories and artificial flavoring-”

“They’re blocks of compressed, crumbly sand that taste vaguely of corpse-sugar.” The Canoness refuted with a disdainful tone and precise emphasis. “They’re an acceptable desert for serfs who live off starch and broth, they’re unacceptable for anyone of proper standing.”

“I was one of those serfs up until this year, you know?” Joshua wagged a finger at her. “Besides- it’s far less hassle to eat one throughout the day than going through the whole process of sitting down with a fork and knife and-”

“Absolutely not.” The Canoness turned forwards and away from his compelling argumentation. “I will arrange for a snacking food to be provided- it will be slab-jerky and biscuits at the absolute worst. Do you prefer recaff or tea?”

He sighed heavily, reaching up to rub his forehead. No respect for his snack choices, huh? “I should probably just drink water.” Thankfully he still had at least a little control over his meals, because she only huffed and nodded sharply at that. 

They walked by a voidsman patrol, who dropped into kneels and muttered prayers with their passing. 

“How did the battle go- in absolute?” Joshua spoke up, rolling a hand in thought. “I lost my sense of things partway through, and my helm isn’t connected to the command feed so I couldn’t keep track that way.”

“The first battle went well.” Cleopatra replied easily, turning around a corner and reaching forwards to press a button to call an elevator down. There was a little skull built into the computer feed that scanned her over before beeping with a green light. “The mutants attempted to scatter after their loathsome hives were exposed and put to the flame, and were met with the lasguns of the schola graduates at the city-perimeters.”

“Were they given extra school credit for that?” Joshua asked dryly.

“They were graded on their performance, yes.” She answered with a voice that indicated she didn’t really get the wit in his statement. “The Marines tell us that the rest of the hives were driven into similar frenzies by the direct assault, and the PDFs have enacted successful lockdowns around the agitated regions. All battles have become attritional, and other planets in the system are conducting similar lockdowns.”

“Losses among the sisters?” He asked with a little frown, tempering his expectations pre-emptively. 

“A bare handful among the veterans. Perhaps a tenth of the Repentia have found forgiveness, and half of those rejoined the ranks of battle sisters. Losses among the younger sisters were within expectations.” The elevator finally reached them, allowing them to step forwards on the large open-air lift. The Canoness pressed a handful of buttons again and started the lift upwards.

A handful, a tenth divided two ways, and an expected number. Can she be any more vague with this sorta thing? Right so, that meant… less than five or ten veterans, plus several dozen repentia, and an unknown number of rookie sisters in actual losses. Something like that.

A preceptory was traditionally about one thousand sisters, the Ebon Chalice command preceptory was somewhat larger than normal. “Something like five to ten percent losses, then?” He asked, scrunching up his face in thought. 

“Closer to five than ten.” She responded with a patient tone. “The younger sisters performed exceptionally well for their lacking experience, and the losses should be replaced within the next schola graduation wave.”

Five percent losses in a single battle was an absolutely brutal attritional rate. The fact that replacements were already lined up was perhaps even more brutal. Joshua let out a short breath through his nose, staring at nothing in particular for a moment.

“I should apologize to the Canonesses and squads, I think.” He eventually declared, reaching up to scratch at his chin. “For pulling their squads away from whatever their orders were to protect me.”

“I can forward your condolences for their losses-”

“Eugh- no don’t do that, that’s gross.” He cut her off with a grimace and furrowed brow. “All clinical and distant makes it seem like I don’t care at all.”

She glanced his way with a complicated expression. He shook his head disapprovingly. “I’m a grown-ass man, I can offer my gratitude and apologies in person like one. I don’t need some intermediary to relay basic courtesy.”

The elevator stepped at the top of the lift, and the grates at the side lowered to allow them to step off and into the high-roofed VIP dorms. 

“Most of those who you pulled away were sisters of the first Commandery- under my own command. Your words are appreciated in the spirit they were offered.” Cleopatra eventually replied, facing forwards again. 

“Oh.” He replied, feeling slightly dumb. Then he tilted his head. “Most you said- what of the others? I should speak with them too, at least.”

She grunted disagreeably at that. “The rest were of the Quasimodo Commandery.” She turned to watch his reaction with a deliberate eye. “Our… abhuman commandery.”

He blinked. “You have an abhuman commandery?” He didn’t remember any particularly standout features from the squad that joined him- except the giant manes of wild hair they had. Which he was just presuming to be a fashion choice, in all honesty. It’s not like being stupid and going without your helmet wasn’t a thing these chuckleheads did on a regular basis.

“One, yes.” She sounded very much like she’d prefer that number to be zero instead. Which wasn’t surprising considering that she was a zealot taught from childhood to hate mutants. “As legally-recognized abhumans, they are considered humans and therefore have a place in the God-Emperor’s Imperium. The Ecclesiarchy maintains special groups for their kind to serve and prove themselves, in accordance with the holy canon.”

“Hmh, I see, I see.” He responded mildly, then nodded. “Right- I’ll have to go deliver my words to their Canoness at some point, preferably sooner than later. Is she deployed at the moment?”

“...Were there not an abundance of abhumans upon Necromunda, perhaps?” She asked with a raised brow. She seemed to be expecting something from him- probably for him to have a stronger reaction than he did.

“Half of Necromunda’s population was horrible mutants, drugged-up gangers, and what I’m fairly certain were actual xenos in the deepest bowels.” Joshua replied flatly. “An abhuman is just a human with a slightly divergent genetic profile- if I was going to be fearful of that then Hercule and Denaira would have me constantly terrified.”

Hercule leaned in somewhat from behind. “Please clarify your words, Lord Joshua.” It was a very intimidating thing for him to say, making him flinch briefly before casting a slightly irritable glance back at the man.

“You’re a Terran-born noble boy who has been subjected to a battery of the most comprehensive and advanced genetic alterations known to humanity. You’re a nine-foot immortal demigod with superhuman physical ability- that’s in no way the result of a basal human genecode.” Joshua waved a hand at him with a frown, then towards Denaria. Denaira had her own flat expression on as he continued to speak. “Denaira was born from a cultivated geneline of people with an inverted soul-structure that makes them a living shield against warpcraft. Normal humans absolutely do not have such a phenomenal ability.”

He raised the hand to thump his chest, glaring up at the gold-helmed demigod. “I’m a psyker- she causes actual, physical pain just by being near me. It’s a dull headache that never goes away, and explodes into hot flashes whenever she has to wrangle me before I injure myself. She also keeps the whispers of archenemy out of my mind, and for that I’m incredibly glad that she exists and is near enough to give me headaches. If I’m not going to be fearful of the woman who hurts to be around, then I’m certainly not going to be fearful of the rest.”

He shook his head and turned forwards again, this time facing towards the squinting Canoness. Being called upon to explain his very reasonable stance had made him downright sour. “Most abhumans are just gene-mods from the Dark Age of Technology that ended up breeding true- That could be as insignificant as a silly hair color or being really short, I have much more pressing things to worry about, like… like…” He trailed off, turning his gaze towards the entrance of his room. “Uh…” 

The hallway leading to his door was not as clean as he remembered it being. Where once was mostly bare steel plating and floor grates had been given over to an outrageous field of lit candles, incense burners, offering shrines, and curtains of prayer-strips mounted along all walls. Skulls and eagles featured strongly in the motifs of the offerings, and there was barely a path through all the religious memorabilia.

A trio of Sisters in burlap robes were kneeling before the doorway, hands clasped together and muttered prayers on their lips. 

It was a frankly obnoxious amount of obstacles to be put before his modest bedchambers. He glanced back at the Canoness, who regarded him with a carefully blank expression, and pointed a thumb at the offerings before his door. “What’s- what’s with all this?” He leaned in to whisper, nervously regarding the mounds of fire, smoke, and strange women.

“Offerings to an Imperial Saint.” She tilted her head back slightly, face still carefully still. “Were you not expecting this?”

“...I’ve been here for months.” Joshua pointed out with a bewildered scrunch to his face. Golden threads twisted up stressfully in his gut. “Did you tell them of my Soul-Binding or something? Surely panicked shouting, a little glowing, and a brief repose didn’t cause this!”

She stared at him for a moment, before ignoring his question and turning towards the sisters in burlap. She called out to them across the choking field of candles and incense. “Sisters! Rise and regard yourselves before the Saint!”

Joshua gave the Canoness a betrayed expression as the sisters practically fell over themselves to stand and approach.

—

It was exceptionally difficult to tell how much light was around you when you were the source, as it turned out. After one somewhat awkward conversation with a trio of sisters who had vowed to keep the thousand candles ‘that represented the thousand psykers that lose their lives in His holy chorus each day’ lit and continually burning, the Canoness had dismissed them and shown him a battle-vod of him on the battlefield.

As it turned out, drawing through a full deck worth of Tarot in less than an hour made him do an exceptionally good impression of the Astronomicon but in realspace. A pillar of golden radiance that could probably be seen by everyone within a mile radius which turned into an almost blinding bonfire of psychic energies within a hundred feet or so of him. 

A giant pillar of golden fire was a fairly blinding and obvious indication that he was special. It would be very difficult to miss such a thing, and there was pretty much only a single interpretation of that light that a ship full of militant-zealots was going to make. Which meant that the renewed bows and prayers weren’t actually being directed towards Hercule. They were actually, most likely, being directed towards him.

Golden gears churred against each other in his chest thinking about it. Like a stomach ache and heartburn and some other third thing that made something feel ill- like he had eaten a bad shrimp or something. 

Joshua had gotten kinda comfortable being fairly unobtrusive and unremarkable in these past few months, and he found that he wasn’t quite ready to receive so much direct attention and reverence yet. He wasn’t stupid- he could feel the aurum reactor between his lungs and heart and spine, he knew full well that it would happen eventually.

“Lord Saint.” The blue-skinned Canoness bowed low and long before him. A somewhat older woman, with face unmarred by scarring and hood restraining a curtain of bright orange locks. Her voice was reverential in the extreme, and he could see the barely restrained shaking of her shoulders in his presence. 

She was a Canoness Commander- two ranks down from Cleopatra.

Behind her, some dozens of women had dropped to their hands and knees before his presence. Some of them were unnaturally tall and lanky- towering as tall as Hercule but only barely thicker than a normal woman. Some of them had unnatural blue, blue-green, and purple shades to their skin. Some of them had wild, enormous manes of hair that could not be restrained by hood or helmet, and pairs of long bestial ears that poked up near the top. And so on.

“You wished to speak with Canoness Commander Nila.” Cleopatra spoke to him calmly, hands folded together and a glint of humor in her gaze as she looked upon him. He was in his best, and only, set of clothes. A calm smile on his face to cover up the unease he was currently feeling with all attention currently on him.

It was rather important that he presented himself well, otherwise the zealots might murder him for being a false prophet, and that was an immensely stressful position to be in. It was good that he had been in theater in a past life, so acting was something he had a bit of amateur experience in.

“I did.” He did his best to speak serenely and deliberately, nodding towards Cleopatra and then turning back to the deeply-bowing blue-skinned Canoness. “Rise if you would, Canoness Nila.” 

She rose, about as visibly tense and nervous as he currently felt. 

“I have to offer my thanks- and my apologies. To you and your Battle Sisters both.” He inclined his head forwards. 

She looked like she wanted to protest that immensely, but also didn’t know what the hell he was talking about in order to protest it. “Lord Saint? What do you mean?”

“I had commandeered one or two of your squads during the battle, I’ve been told.” He shook his head in a very deliberate fashion, doing his best to not have his neck tense up. “For the sake of my own protection, and they had not your leave to do so- and for that I must offer a sincere apology, both to you and to them.”

“My- Lord Saint! There is no apology needed! Their service to you was far in a way the best use of their time!” She spoke that like she believed it, despite that probably not being true.

“I have no formal authority over them- and thereby no real right to command them.” Joshua did his best to give a gentle reprimand, raising a hand to still her immediate reaction and abs tensing under his nice concealing robes. “It’s important to remember these things- lest your God-Emperor given rights be trampled by those with non-administrative powers.” What the fuck was he saying?

“Further- I must offer my sincere thanks to you and them, for indulging my temporary usurpation of your command over them.” He shook his head with a self-recriminating smile. “It helped me a great deal among those hybrids and mutants, and it is only proper to express my gratitude in person.”

She stared at him dumbly for a few moments, before doing something akin to a little seizure then snapping into a fervent salute with bowed head. “Yes Lord Saint!” She practically shouted towards his feet.

He almost flinched, eyelids twitching back and bionic pupils dilating. What the hell are you doing woman? That startled him!

He glanced around, towards the kneeling sisters behind her and briefly trying to spot the ones who had helped him. Almost immediately he realized that all the women with giant fluffy manes of hair looked identical upon initial inspection and he probably wasn’t going to find them quickly. “The squad that aided me- are they present?”

She swallowed almost fearfully. “They- they are currently being punished for going rogue during the battle, Lord Saint. Lightly- for their service to you but…”

He frowned and furrowed his brow. “What is their punishment? Nothing too harsh, I should hope?”

“Not too harsh!” The Canoness rapidly shook her head. “Half a day bare in the stockades and fifty spanks with the paddle, then a week of gruel. Nothing more!”

“Ah.” He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. That sounded like it would suck, but compared to the caliber of punishments the Sisters of Battle were capable of… “I’d still like to thank them in person, if you’d allow it.”

“Of course! Of course, Lord Saint!” She declared at once, then bowed again. “Please- Let me lead you to them. Their time in the stockades is almost concluded!”

Faintly, he realized that he was going to have to offer sincere thanks to women who were bound and nude. He forced a serene smile onto his face even as his brows urged to furrow awkwardly. “Of course, lead me well, Lady Canoness.”

He did his best to ignore the many focused stares and reverential whispers aimed at his back. He wasn’t even good at taking basic compliments, so outright worship was almost nauseating to experience for the first time.

Chapter 11

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

It was shortly after that somewhat awkward conversation that he found himself in the Fortress-Monastary of the Night Hunters once more. They had called upon the Canoness for another strategic meeting, and the Canoness seemed reluctant to let him out of her sight at the moment, so Joshua was brought along.

“Your attack on the primary hive was enough to stir the rest into a frenzy.” The Night Hunters Chapter Master stated plainly, reaching forwards to point at the blotch of red against the green holographic backdrop. “Reports about their movements have since flooded PDF voxlines, and the entire Chapter has been at work to respond to the worst of these buildups.”

The large man leaned back, dropping the hand and turning to glance in their direction. “This frenzy has increased the activity of their hive mind sufficiently that our Librarians have discovered their nexus-point, in the center of Macrocity Primus. This, we believe, is where their brood-chieftain skulks. We are in the process of preparing a strike force to enter and eliminate it. The aid of Sisterhood would be welcome in this.”

“And you shall have it.” Cleopatra nodded firmly, glaring at the holographic display of the ‘macrocity’ in question. It looked a whole lot like a normal city to his eyes, but he supposed it wouldn’t be the far future if mundane things weren’t labeled in new and confusing ways. “Another perimeter will have to be established, to ensure the wretch does not escape our wrath. Does the PDF remain overstretched?”

“They do.” The Chapter Master nodded.

“Bah.” The Canoness crossed her arms over her chest disdainfully. “We will handle the perimeter work then. It will fall to your marines to make sure the parasite dies.”

“I will be leading them personally.” The Chapter Master responded with a sympathetic glower at the holographic planet. “Once their leader is slain, the cult will be unable to coordinate its actions as it has. That will leave them vulnerable enough for the PDF and our reservist companies to handle, and the infestation will be eliminated within a generation of genetic testing and monitoring.”

“The taint of xeno-corruption is never that simple to wash away.” Cleopatra hissed with a deep scowl.

“Indeed.” The Chapter Master Milton agreed, reaching forwards to tap several spots on the holographic. “The cult will not stand idle and await their eradication- we anticipate attempts to breach quarantine zones through subterfuge as well as an assault on the spaceports, attempting to flee the system to survive and spread elsewhere.”

He had highlighted three sections on the holographic display, each with a moderate level of reddish staining and all near the equator of the planet. “The two smaller spaceports have been cleared of any shuttles, moved to the primary spaceport for the time being, narrowing their potential vectors of assault. If they seek to escape the world, we know precisely where they must strike. One problem remains, however…”

The largest of the three spaceports was in Macrocity Primus. It was plainly obvious why this might be an issue, with the leader of the genestealers being detected in that same city.

“Why were the ships moved there?” Cleopatra asked with an annoyed, somewhat accusatory tone.

“They were moved before your assault, and therefore before the brood-commander was located.” Milton growled back, glancing warningly over at the Canoness before his gaze returned to the holographic. “I suspect that its presence in the macrocity is because the shuttles were moved there, rather than coincidentally.” 

He leaned to the side and waved a hand at the image, zooming into the holographic display and into the built up defenses of the spaceport. Said defensives consisted of many temporary barriers, gun emplacements, and a garrison of hundreds. Milton continued speaking with a grim look to the image. “In either case- a secondary force will be required to reinforce the PDF, the present defenses are woefully underequipped to handle a full scale assault by the hybrids, should they attempt it.” 

“How many can you spare, space marine?” Cleopatra asked with a considering look towards the site.

“One ten-man squad, perhaps two.” Milton responded with a gruff shake of his head. “Macrocity Tertius has almost been totally tested and cleared, in another ten hours the entire second company will become available once more.”

“The spaceport will not hold for ten hours, if they attack en masse now.” Cleopatra declared with a shake of her head. “But neither will the perimeter if I dedicate too many Sisters away from it.” 

“Send thy Psyker unto the spaceport.” The gigantic chaplain rumbled through his skull-faced helmet. He had not spoken this entire meeting yet, and had almost faded into the background of awareness despite his massive size. The helm tilted slightly, looking straight at him briefly before continuing to the irritable looking canoness. “He, his guardians, and one squad of sisters to accompany them. The Night Hunters will spare a squad of our own, and a librarian to accompany them. That will be enough.”

Twenty three or so people in power armor, one of which was capable of spacemagic, and another of which could mute people with spacemagic. That wasn’t an insubstantial force by any means, especially when backed by a decently large PDF. He frowned and furrowed his brows, pulling from the Tarot as he did. 

Faith in one’s allies will be rewarded.

He nodded slowly. “In truth- the bulk of my value is simply bringing Lord Hercule. He alone would likely be sufficient to hold the port- at least long enough for reinforcements to arrive.” He stated plainly, gesturing back at the demigod. “The Tarot supports the plan.”

“The Tarot?” The Chief Librarian spoke up from the other end of the table, a furrow to his silver-studded brow. “The Emperor’s Tarot, you mean? You didn’t draw.” He pointed out while raising a gauntlet and gesturing at Joshua’s folded hands.

The rest of the Marines were looking at him now, helmets fashioned into the usual grimace and glowering expression. Joshua shook his head and unfolding his hands. “I did, I just…” He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his belt and withdrew the deck in question. “My draw would’ve been cards ten, eleven, and twelve- if you wish to check for yourself.”

“You could have set the cards in a favorable pattern ahead of time.” The Librarian pointed out with an unimpressed expression.

He licked his teeth thoughtfully, before nodding in acquiescence. “That is true. I could have done such a thing, and you’d have no real evidence otherwise.” He tucked the deck back into its container, and then back into his pocket. “In any case- I have no complaint about being positioned according to the Chaplain’s plan.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence, as superhumans stared at him and said nothing. Eventually, the Canoness broke the silence. “How are the other worlds in the system faring? Can a unit be requisitioned from any of them?”

“Pandemonium II and IIIBA remain thoroughly infested, and have been stricken with planetside rioting. Almost certainly the work of the xenos.” Milton reported with a scowl. “The Squatlords of Pandemonium III may be able to send support. Their planet remains firmly under their control from their most recent report.”

“Pandemonium III is the most populated, is it not? How have they managed that?” The Canoness asked with narrowed eyes.

“They offered paid leisure time to all workers who submitted to weekly genetic testing, and assigned indefinite unpaid shifts and armed overseers to all who did not. They say they expect to work the xeno infestation to death within three standard labor weeks.” The Chapter Master had a note of cruel humor in his voice as he relayed that. 

The Canoness let out a reluctantly approving huff of laughter. Joshua gave a heavier-than-usual exhale through his nose and had a little smile creep over his face. 

It was a pretty goofy solution to having an apocalyptic alien cult in your midst.

—

“Under no circumstances are you to allow harm to the Imperial Saint.” The Canoness spoke loudly and clearly to the gathered Sisters, ten more sacrestans with their shields and halberds, but Joshua didn’t know if they were the same ones as before or not. Her voice carried over the landing pad, clearly audible to the squad of Marines that occupied the other half of the space, and the PDF who stood around the edges of the wide painted circle. “Not a single injury can be allowed to befall him, even if it costs you your lives. Sisters, do you understand?”

“Our Lives for Him!” They shouted, pounding the hilt of their halberds against the plascrete and shields against their breastplates. The only addition from before was the presence of a Sister holding a massive banner high, upon which the depiction of a white-haired woman holding a black grail. The banner caught light in unnatural ways, and the women seemed to stare at him from the shadows of her hair.

A depiction of their founding saintess- Alicia Dominica, executioner of Anticclesiarch Vandire and bearer of the Grail of Ages. 

‘THE HEART OF THE DRAGON’

What an ominous thing to say. Joshua tried to disregard the phantasmal bees filling his bones with honey. 

Cleopatra stared at them for a moment, then turned to regard him. He was clad much the same as before, with the armor of a common voidsman and a robe of brown burlap. His shoulders felt much heavier now, however, burdened as he was with the weight of expectations to conduct himself as a saint. The intense gazes of everyone around him was troubling enough on their own.

“Keep yourself safe, Saint Pendrarc.” She spoke firm and low, a complicated expression in her eyes. “Everything here can be sacrificed should it be required for your survival. You are too important to lose.”

“A secondary objective with the noble Night Hunters main force mere minutes away should we require reinforcement.” He smiled at her in a reassuring manner. “I’d worry more for yourself, Lady Canoness. Your burdens will be far greater than mine.”

She maintained a firm stare for several moments longer, then turned sharply away and loaded back onto the transport. The Thunderhawk slowly lifted into the sky, then burned away towards the outer perimeter of the city. He watched it go for several long moments, then let out a low and restrained sigh. “She’s too hard on herself, I think. What say you, Lord Hercule?”

“I’d suspect your view of her is warped by proximity.” He stated plainly, casting his gaze around and ignoring the amazed whispers of the PDF around them. “I’d recommend proper introductions to the present commanders before the hybrids arrive in force.”

He pulled from the tarot again. When will the attack come?

Use times of leisure to prepare for approaching dooms.

He pulled the tarot deck out and reshuffled it steadily, folding cards through his hands again and again as he considered the response. Best to have a full deck ready, if the Tarot were to recommend something like that. After he was done shuffling the deck again, he slipped it back into its container. 

“That’s a good idea, methinks.” He finally replied to Hercule, turning to regard the Space Marines. Seven and a half feet tall in their armor, laden with a myomer bodysuit and dark-blue plates of ceramite. They cut an imposing figure among the mostly normal-humans around. Joshua stepped forward, towards the sergeant wearing the distinctive red helmet.

At least, that’s how he remembered sergeants being distinguished, and there was only one marine present with a non-blue helmet. 

“Sergeant, I believe?” Joshua greeted with a raised hand and an implied question.

The Sergeant turned to regard him, then turned back to his fellow marines and waved at them to fan out. He then turned back and replied through the machine-filter of his helmet. “You are correct. The Sisters say you are a Saint, though I have seen no evidence of this.”

Joshua raised a hand, guessing that perhaps the fanatics behind him might not take such a statement very well. Sure enough, he could practically feel their bristling, even with Denaira so close to his other side. He shook his head and smiled as he dropped his hand. “Worry not about such a thing, Sergeant. Simply regard me as another human, and that will be more than enough. My name is Joshua, I’ll be glad to have you by our side for the battle to come.”

The Sergeant stared blankly down at him for several long moments, then nodded once. “Sergeant Corinth.” He turned his helmet to the side, then back. “We should coordinate a defense with the PDF commander.” He stated bluntly, stepping away and towards the man with a fancy coat and hat.

The man’s most distinguishing feature was the rather impressive mustache and his relative confidence compared to all the exceptionally nervous PDF troopers around him. 

“Commander!” Joshua greeted with a relaxed smile.

“Ah- Colonel will do. Colonel Manline, at the God-Emperor’s service!” The man replied with a cheeky smile and a formal salute. “Honored to work with the Lord Angel and…” He trailed off and tilted his head questioningly.

Joshua was about to answer, but was cut off by Hercule rumbling behind his shoulder. “Saint Joshua of Terra, Colonel.”

Joshua maintained his serene smile while feeling a sharp and distinct annoyance at the Custodian. Golden ants ripped out tiny chunks of flesh from the pores of his face- just behind the skin. 

“By Throne, a Saint?!” The Colonel exclaimed, turning back to his men. “Men of the Ninety-First! Every damn one of you salute!”

The hundred or so men present saluted- as did many men further away who were readying sandbags and setting up stubber guns. The Colonel turned back with a smile, holding the salute for a long moment. “Honored to have you with us, Lord Saint!”

“No need to grow so formal on my behalf, Colonel Manline.” Joshua waved off with a smile. 

“I’ll try for your sake, Lord Saint, but it’s hard to shake respect out of a bunch of backwater boys like us.” The Colonel grinned and nodded his head. “The ninety-first Pandemonium Infantry Group, ready to gun these mutants down as they come!”

“You sound confident.” 

“Heh- well it might be a mite bit presumptuous, but an old drinking buddy of mine is in the Imperial Guard proper, and hooked my boys up with a few crates of the Uplifting Primer. I’ve had 'em reading it damn near every day ever since, right after drills and dinner and just before bed.” The Colonel sounded exceptionally proud of himself at such an accomplishment, reaching up to stroke his mustache with both hands. “I’ve made sure my men were accredited to read such first, naturally.”

“Naturally.” Joshua nodded slowly. He was pretty sure the opening crawl of the book stated that anyone who wasn’t approved to receive those books was to be executed for spying, but he was also pretty sure those books weren’t very helpful anyways and it also wasn’t his job to do that. “It’s good to hear that we’ll have such well-drilled men then- I’m sure you were informed of how critical holding this spaceport and all the ships present is?”

“Verily so, Lord Saint!” The man nodded firmly. “I’ve been having my men work around the clock to set up defenses on this spot- in accordance with the good primer. We ran out of fortification supplies two hours back, and we’ve been improvising additional layers since.”

“And the sewers? The Genestealers have been using those.” Joshua interrogated further.

“First thing we thought of!” The Colonel grinned, teeth half hidden beneath his mustache, reaching up to buff his knuckles against his inner coat. “One of my good old demolitionists brought it up- and we rigged every tunnel outside the spaceport to blow, with a rotating sentry with a detonation trigger to watch each.”

Joshua was finding himself pleasantly surprised by the seeming competence coming from this group. He had set his expectations much lower than this, in preparation for disaster to come, but this was downright solid so far. 

“The primary assault will begin eight and a half minutes from now. We should anticipate their attack soon, most likely right before or soon after my brothers begin the attack.” The Marine Sergeant declared with a mechanized sort of growl, glancing around to his fellow marines in their established positions. It was relatively easy to spot them for their size and dark armor. “Are there any regions that are particularly weak by your estimate, Colonel?”

“Hm.” The Colonel thought about that for a moment. “The weakest point in the defenses is perhaps… That space over there, by the Villa-class shuttles. We ran out of explosives before establishing a third line of tripwires and landmines along those two streets beyond the retaining wall. I’ve had one more stubber set up to watch it, but it’s still not as fortified as I’d like it.”

“The Sisters and I can station ourselves there.” Joshua nodded. “Move the stubbers to reinforce other regions- they’ll need the support more than we.”

“Are you sure, Lord Saint?” The colonel asked for clarification, then nodded firmly when Joshua bobbed his head. “Right so- Stubbers! Move to the west side and central positions!”

The deference without too zealous reverence was frankly fairly nice- Joshua was already finding himself liking this PDF commander more than most of the Sisters, simply for the casual air he projected. 

He made a note to not get too attached, in case of the man and all of his troopers dying horribly in the next few hours. That was entirely possible when fighting hordes of alien bug-hybrids as mostly normal men. 

He nodded with a smile. “We’ll go ahead and move over into position, Colonel. Perhaps a game of cards after this is settled?”

“I’d be honored, Lord Saint!” The Colonel smiled broadly, cheeks getting downright rosy from his visible merriment. The man saluted and nodded his head. “God-Emperor be with you, and may we stack a hundred of those rotten bastards up apiece!”

A hundred apiece was a rather conservative estimate on the Colonel's part, from Joshua’s recent experience. 

He glanced to the side and drew again. When will the attack arrive?

Anticipate Early Harvests.

“They’ll be here soon.” Joshua declared, smile dropping from his face. His brow began to warm with gold. “Into positions!” He shouted to everyone, immediately starting to powerwalk over to his planned position. 

“How do you know, Lord Saint?!”

Joshua was about to answer- and then a muffled explosion rumbled through the ground as buildings two streets over started to collapse. The sentries had collapsed a sewer tunnel already. They were almost here.

Chapter 12

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

“The Alien broke treaty with Man, setting his camp-fires near the wide plains, trembling at his host! He himself, shaking his head in fury, rode round the walls of Man on spirited steed, and gauged their fear!” 

The chanting of the Imagifier, the Sister who bore the standard of Alicia, rolled across the battlefield with a steady intonation. A fervent but unhurried sermon that wound its way through bolter shots and lasfire. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of more conventional guns, and see them occasionally whizz through the air and splash across his conversion field. The autoguns of the PDF and and the civilian arms of the insurgent hybrids warring for space in his ears.

They were standing and kneeling behind barricades, stacks of sandbags braced with fencing and stacked bricks. Every second or two a sister would fire and a messy burst of blue-red blood would splash into existence some distance away. Hercule was likewise crouched, and would occasionally fire, but exclusively for the sake of shooting some sort of explosive munition out of the air before it reached them. Grenades, both fired and hurled, gunned down like a rural man shooting birds.

Every now and then he’d take aim much higher and further away, and shoot something that Joshua could barely see even with magnified vision, and cause a terrible explosion in the process. Man-portable mortars blown out of the air by the absurd reaction and aim of the demigod Joshua knelt next to. 

“He ordered them to open their gates at once, and quit the ramparts, for they were besieged and treaty forgotten, and Terra was far away! They should not hope for quarter, and should they be defeated they would be utterly within the power and laws of the Alien!”

Having a fortified position to shoot from made the battle a lot less stressful, as it turned out. He was staring down at a local map of the spaceport and holding a vox-caster, which was connected to the vox of the sergeant’s helmet and the pdf colonel’s own vox officer. He pulled from the Tarot again, the pillar of light around his form pulsing once as he did. Where is the most threatening attacker?

Enemies gather under moonlight.

He glanced up. It was still bright evening, but one of the planet’s moons was out, and hung in the south-eastern sky. A spot of pale against blue. He pressed the vox and called through.

“Priority target to the south-east.”

All the while, the Imagifier continued to cry out her sermon. 

“A javelin Man hurled from the walls, by the hand of eager Casus, and it pierced the armor of the Alien’s commander! Skewered by missile deep in his entrails, he fell, limbs giving way at once!”

A few moments later, the vox growled with the voice of the marine-sergeant. “Target sighted, brother-librarian, annihilate their pilfered engine.”

A few seconds after that, a tremendous crack-boom of thunder echoed across the battlefield, followed by the distinct sound of an engine exploding and the rumble of a building beginning to shake and crumble several streets away. The voice of the librarian came over the vox shortly after. “It is done.”

Using his divination in such a manner wasn’t exactly the most flashy or exciting thing, but Joshua was intelligent enough to leave most of the actual fighting to the trained professionals and supersoldiers. Next to him, Hercule shot another grenade out of the sky, and a salvo of bolter-fire from the Sisters turned the thin concrete corner that the assaillant had chucked the explosive from into bloody rock-dust. 

The genestealers seemed much more reluctant to use wave-tactics like they had before, and all of the sewers being collapsed prevented them from deeper strikes into their defenses. Or perhaps they simply weren’t using wave tactics because this wasn’t their primary hive and had much more time to organize a careful offense?

“Then with a shout, the host of Men followed their leader’s example, and hurled javelin and insult from the walls of the fortress, and cut down the foremost Aliens among them! The Aliens marched forwards from their camp-fires, and they fell upon the gates as dark clouds of spears, and Man fought back!”

The end result was more or less the same, in this case, they just didn’t have the equipment or surprise necessary to effectively assault them as in the previous battle. A fortified position with an enemy that can predict where their breakthrough units are going to be arriving from. Joshua was rather glad he wasn’t on the other side of this battle. 

“I’m not sure if they can actually do anything here.” Joshua mused, raising his hand to chew on his thumb, staring at the map before him. It wasn’t a live-feed tablet like the colonel had- or that the marines no doubt had installed in their helmets, but he didn’t need much more than a paper map to orient his predictions with. 

“Of course not, Lord Saint.” The Sister-Superior replied at once. “The fate of the xeno is utter destruction and failure before mankind!”

“Yes but in a more pragmatic sense.” He replied offhandedly, still staring at the map. He glanced up and around, surrounded by fortified walls and people in power armor. Even with active, nonstop attacks from all sides, he felt remarkably safe. Which he probably shouldn’t get in the habit of feeling any time soon. 

He pulled from the Tarot again. The column of fire rolled with fresh energy and renewed in strength. Where is the most threatening attacker?

The Enemy undermines your efforts in mirrored paths.

Mirrored would mean the opposite to him, he was on the south-western end. He pressed his thumb on the vox-caster again. “Watch the north-eastern tunnels for attempted breaches.”

A few moments passed before the slightly-static twinged voice of the Colonel came over the vox. “I hear you, Lord Saint! I’ll send another group of lads down to watch the end at once!”

“The bright courage of Man was not dimmed by their numbers, and each Man fought as if they were the only one to remain! One hurled a rain of bullets from his Baleric bolter! Another hurled stones with his strong arm! A third flung lances with aid of a leather strap!”

Everything was going smoothly. It scratched at the part of his instincts developed in the tunnels and alleys of Necromunda, the part that kept him alive in spite of regular gang violence that infested that loathsome place. Some sense that was almost but not quite psychic, a premonition less than certain that nagged at the back of his mind.

Their position was fortified, their ability to deliver heavy ordinance was highly limited, and the various superhumans that patrolled around ensured no wave or group could build up sufficient strength to overtake the walls. His own regular draws ensured that nothing could surprise them, and they were soon to have an entire company of marines to relieve them. Only a few more hours by his measure.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his slab jerky, flinching as a shrapnel splashed against the upper left of his conversion field in a bright flash. “Warn a man if you would, Hercule.” He complained, taking a bite of the dried meat after. It was chewy in the extreme, and spicy enough to warm his entire upper torso, but definitely tasty. 

There were skittering golden things in his teeth and jaw- drilling through bone and filling the holes in with their secretions. Joshua almost wretched, gut rolling at the sensation as he slowly worked through his snack. 

Hercule glanced his direction through the peaked golden helm. “...My apologies.” He replied before turning forwards again.

Joshua raised a brow. He was expecting much more sass than that. He chewed gradually, then glanced around at the shadowless surroundings. The golden radiance that poured off his form and drowned out the lesser lights of his vicinity probably had something to do with the Custodian’s current attitude. 

Not even a golden demigod was unaffected by the aura of… whatever he was now, he supposed. The thought was saddening.

He returned his gaze to the map, and drew the Tarot again. The golden pillar writhed as fresh energy was pulled up into it. Where is the most threatening attacker?

The monster walks before the tower of light.

“Priority target dead ahead- Hercule, if you would.”

“Their leader, before them all, conspicuous in his father’s armor, with vigor hurled brands of burning pitch, and attacked with stake and spear and stone and arrow dipped in serpent’s poison! So the Daci, in hostile Alien lands, delighted in tipping their darts with the venom of their native worlds, and sent sudden flights over the walls unto the Alien!”

The giant shifted, stepping back once before kicking off the plascrete ground. Deep cracks appeared in the artificial stone as he shot through the air, well over the barricades and crashing just before the nearest line of landmines. Another tremendous, bounding gallop brought him over the section barricade and into lines of petty autogun fire. 

He disappeared behind a building soon after. 

Several long moments passed, as gunfire and alien screams echoed in the distance. Then came an animal, bestial roar followed by a booming of thunder. One of the hab-blocks in the distance shook and rumbled, then began to tip over and collapse with a dull groan of sliding stone and snapping metal.

Shortly after, Hercule’s form appeared in vision again, the entire front of his golden armor now painted with steaming red gore. A handful of bounding hops brought him over the barricades to land with another stone-cracking impact. 

“Thank you, Hercule.” Joshua nodded respectfully, turning his gaze back to the map. 

“The Alien’s next task was to encircle the hill with a line of turrets, surround the city with a ring of forts. For Foedus, once a power among ancient peoples, now only a name here among the Stars!”

No matter how well the defenses held, Joshua couldn’t shake the ominous feeling of impending tragedy. Golden maggots burrowed their way through his throat, nibbling at deadened strips.

He leaned forwards and briefly focused on not vomiting. 

All around him, the sounds of gunfire and battle-hymns made a messy song.

—

Thunderhawks burned through the skies some hours later, bodies stacked around the spaceport like cordwood and the worst of the fighting long behind them. Joshua imagined it was fairly easy to see where they were on account of the giant pillar of light and flame that surrounded him. Every building around their position was now rubble, and the streets now scarring valleys of gravel, and there wasn’t a place to hide from their guns anywhere within a two block radius.

Joshua hadn’t ended up firing his laspistol even once that entire time. 

“Lord Saint. The second company is come to relieve us.” The Marine-Seargent explained quietly, red helm carried on his hip and stern features awash in shadow-murdering light. Short black hair, pale flesh, and a single silver stud embedded in his brow. Joshua nodded calmly, watching the pair of dark blue thunderhawks screaming through the air towards them.

“The broodlord has been slain then?” Joshua asked with a little tilt of his head, glad for the helmet to conceal his expression. The PDF had fallen to their hands and knees already, and even the Colonel refused to look anywhere but his feet. 

‘AN IDOL. A THING CONSIGNED TO CLOISTERED SANCTUARIES.’

The voice of the Emperor rolled through his mind like a distant storm. Joshua could not see if his eyes turned from blue to gold from the interior of his helmet, the pillar of light that surrounded him had a way of washing such minor colors. Maybe his bionic eyes were already filled with gold right now?

“There’s no need to be so dumbfounded, Sergeant.” Joshua tried with a smile in his voice. “I did very little to be impressed with in this battle, can’t you save the awe for when I’m actually remarkable?”

The sergeant’s eyes flickered about in an uncertain fashion, and he did not respond. Joshua let the little smile slowly fall from his face beneath the comfort of his helmet.

He very carefully did not sigh or slump. Joshua turned his gaze forwards again, towards the thunderhawk with a nod of his head. “Sergeant, forward a request to the pilot if you would. If they’re not otherwise occupied after unloading their marines here, would they be willing to ferry me and my retinue to the Canoness Superior?”

The sergeant nodded sharply, immediately, reaching down to grab his helmet and slot it over his face once more. He turned away slightly, raising a hand up to the side of his helmet to indicate a vox-connection. Several long moments passed as the thunderhawk touched down and opened up to allow the thirty marines inside to come marching out, each group of ten led by a red-helmed sergeant, and all of them with gazes fixed upon his standing form.

The light around him, more like.

They snapped into simultaneous salutes, gauntlets knocking against their breastplates as they stood before him.

The Sergeant dropped his hand and spoke outwardly. “They will be honored to deliver you and your accompaniment, Lord Saint.”

Joshua nodded. “Then I must take my leave. It has been a pleasure to fight alongside your men- you and the colonel both.”

Two simultaneous salutes were his answer. The colonel’s arms were all but shaking as he held a stiff aquila before his chest.

Joshua regarded them for a moment longer, then nodded and began to walk towards the Thunderhawk’s opened transport bay. He almost moved to walk around, but the rows of marines performed a synchronized step away and opened a direct path in their midst. 

The regard was uncanny. 

He stepped along the path laid out to him, and loaded into the transport bay. Purity seals and prayer-strips hung from the sides and ceiling of the interior, somehow more noticeable now than ever. Hercule and Denaira followed behind him, and the Sisters of Battle followed behind them. The final thing that entered the bay was the standard-banner.

“Lord pilots, we are ready to depart.” Joshua called out and up through the hatch. The bay doors slowly closed, and the interior now fully enclosed the burning light coming from his form. 

He folded his hands together behind his back. Not feeling much like talking at the moment.

The thunderhawk soon shifted and rocked as it rose up again, and then began to speed towards their destination. Joshua refrained from pulling the Tarot, not wishing to reinvigorate the light around him. He wasn’t sure how much longer it would last, as he had been unconscious last time, but he was suspecting ‘more than an hour’.

Still, the ominous feeling of impending doom lingered on his back. 

They touched down a mere ten or so minutes later, the bay doors opening and allowing them to spill out in a mostly silent procession. There were cheers and salutes as he left the transport and appeared before the bulk of the Sisters- the command element of them at least. 

Almost immediately he took note of the sheer overwhelming abundance of corpses and fires. Stacks and stacks of corpses of presumed hybrids, tall enough to be mistaken for mounds of industrial material and thoroughly doused in greased flame. The stench of burning flesh choked through his nose and snaked down into his lungs- had he not spent so many years upon Necromunda, he’d be on the ground from the smell alone.

He raised a hand in greeting, which intensified the cheers and prayers, then dropped it shortly as his gaze roamed for the Canoness.

He found her nowhere. He frowned, the dreadful feeling tightening its grip on his shoulders. He stepped forwards, towards the nearest and most-official looking Sister of Battle. “Sister- where is the Canoness Superior? Is she well?”

The cheers and prayers died down into a somber quiet, the sound of crackling corpse-fires all that could be heard for a few moments. One sister stepped forwards, reaching up to take off her helmet and ducking her head low before him. Pale blonde hair and faint green eyes painted a beautiful, mournful face. “I will take you to her, Lord Saint.”

He nodded sharply, walking after the woman at once. She hadn’t said anything yet- nothing of substance.

They walked past one of the corpse-fires, past a row of tanks, past a series of medical tents, and finally to an open space. A space cleared of corpses, where sisters with textiles adorned in cups of water and lone torches worked, and where official looking sisters stood with heads bowed in sadness.

They bowed and parted as he approached, and allowed him to see what they surrounded. 

The Canoness Superior was there, laid out against rubble with jaw absolutely covered in red-blue gore. Her gaze was unfocused, but her chest rose and fell in regular, shallow breaths. Joshua pushed forwards, and the golden light brought some hysteric vigor to the fallen warrior.

“Nouh!” She cried, voice burbling in a wet, messy fashion and hand raising in an urgent motion to stop. He paused and lingered above her, hands not quite understanding what they should be doing at the moment. He knelt near her, reaching up and throwing his helmet away so she could see his face. 

Her gaze focused sharply, almost as sternly as ever, then smoothed out in something between relief and misery. Her lips twitched up in an almost apologetic expression, and her hand dropped back to the ground. “Theygh taihnted mhe… Dhon’t… dhon’t touch… dhon’t…” She burbled out with exhausted, pained exhales.

Tainted? Against genestealers… that could only really mean one thing. He reached out with his mind, in the manner of astropaths, and prodded at the corners of her spirit.

A burning, hateful resolve greeted him, as did a backdrop of crawling, maddening chatter. She had been infected during the battle, and connected to the surviving broodmind. The death of the broodlord left the hive too disorganized to command her for the moment, but that certainly wouldn’t last. It was only that and her incredible will that kept her independent.

The sense of doom tolled like a bell through his mind, and he pulled back from her thoughts. His brows furrowed harshly, and a frustrated scowl came over his lips. “You’ve refused treatment then.” The terrible mangling of her throat left no particular doubt as to what she was dying from- probably the same thing that infected her in the first place.

The Genestealer’s kiss.

She nodded ever so shallowly, eyes rapidly beginning to unfocus once more. “Stahy… shtay… phure…” She weakly burbled.

“I’ll stay with you.” Joshua assured, leaning back and sitting properly upon the earth by her side. Close enough for the mere bonfire of golden light around him to encompass her entirely. “I won’t leave.”

He was terrible at comforting people. 

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Emperor, and let perpetual light shine upon them.” Joshua softly began to pray, eyes fixed on the unfocused gaze of the Canoness. “May their souls and the souls of all faithful be among you, and through your mercy, be given the peace.”

“Ahmen…” She gasped out, breathlessly. “Ah…”

He reached out for her mind once more. An astropathic knock on the doors of her mental home.

Silence was his answer.

He closed his golden eyes. 

How frustrating.

Interlude 3

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Apollyon Aloysius,Canoness Preceptor of the Order of Ebon Chalice, First Preceptory-

“Her death has been filed, and the message delivered to the astropaths.” The veteran imagifier Madonna spoke quietly, not quite grim, but certainly not joyful. Her mentor had not been shaken by the death of her long-friend, but it was obvious to all who cared to look that she was mourning. 

Apollyon almost wanted to grab her by the shoulders, to shake her about and demand her fury at the death of their Canoness-Superior. A boiling rage rolled in her breast at the thought that any mere mutant had the audacity to strike down such a woman, a rage that seethed and coiled in the back of her mind like a burning serpent. It was her great respect for the woman and long familiarity that restrained her. “Thank you, Imagifier Madonna.” She replied shortly, staring at the long list of casualties in her bionic hand. A dataslate filled with names and positions. 

Every fallen sister was a clawed scratch against an open wound, infuriating and painful. That such meager hybrids thought they had the right to strike them down twisted around in her gut. Much more important than her rage and rankled pride, however, was…

“The Lord-Saint… has he…?” She asked, tongue numb in her mouth as she struggled to form a sufficiently respectful way to ask. 

A mountain of light. A twister of fire. A tower of gold. None of those things. 

His gaze upon her. Every secret stripped bare before His sight. 

A song of clashing steel.

The radiance had faded a bit more than an hour prior, but its memory could not be erased from her mind, even if she wanted to discard it. The sight was burned into her eyes, and she saw flashes of its memory with each blink. The vision made her shoulders quake and knees buckle, long after it had become memory. 

“He has requested nothing.” Madonna shook her head. “He is occupied with sitting and eating, and the sacresants with him have warded away the frantic curiosity of the younger Sisters.”

“It has not stopped their crowding around, has it?” Apollyon asked, lowering the paper in her hands.

“It has not.” Madonna confirmed with a shake of her head. 

“A hundred lashes for all of them, for harassment of the Saint.” Apollyon turned her head and ordered Legatine Farah. Farah nodded sharply and saluted in acknowledgement. 

With the death of lady Cleopatra, command of the First Preceptory once more returned to her, and command of the Order of Ebon Chalice as a whole was left uncertain. There were many candidate-canonesses to choose from, but that choice would remain in the hands of the Lady Prioress on Holy Terra. In the meanwhile… “We will continue to operate in accordance with the Mission, and the Canoness-Superior’s last orders, until a new Canoness-Superior is selected.” Apollyon declared, a frown tugging on her lips. “The extermination of these mutants, and our continued patrol between Preceptories.”

“...Will you heed the counsel of the Saint?” Madonna asked calmly.

“Of course!” Apollyon snapped defensively, brows furrowed and features twisted up. “Of course…” She continued, forcing herself to calm under her mentor’s gaze. “...In a moment… After I finish reading these.” She finished, returning her gaze down to the list in her hands. Total losses numbered a mere thirty nine, for this battle. One hundred and eighteen in total since this campaign of eradication had begun, half of which were Repentia. 

They’d be diminished in strength for a short while hereafter. What could she do to reinvigorate their order quickly? “What of the losses among the Order of the Maiden Unmarred?” She asked idly, setting the dataslate aside and resting her large bionic hand against the table, tapping a finger in annoyed consideration. The so-called Order was already less than half of a Commandery before this campaign had begun, so now they were…

“Six in the first battle, three in this battle, last I was informed.” Her Legatine answered plainly. 

“That’s a tenth of their number.” Madonna pointed out with a deep scowl on her face. “If they still refuse new sisters…”

Ten percent losses without any new recruits to offset it. Her tapping intensified from vague annoyance into outright frustration. Lady Cleopatra had always respected their wishes to remain a slowly dying branch, all too patient with their cowardly ways. 

Apollyon stopped tapping. “They have been allowed to irresponsibly meander for entirely too long.” She declared, pulling up and resting her hands on her hips. “Half of a Commandery and they demand the respect of an Order- no.” She shook her head. “The Ebon Chalice will re-incorporate their wayward daughters, they won’t survive this campaign if we don’t.”

“They will resist.”

“All rebellious children do.” The statement wasn’t met with any refutation. She glanced at the dataslate, then closed her eyes. A pain was behind her eyes and in her breast. “...Tell the techpriests to manufacture a servo-skull with Lady Cleopatra’s remains, we will present it to the Lord Saint.”

“She has more than earned the honor.” Madonna nodded with a dull sort of sorrow, eyes downcast.  “...Will you consult the Lord Saint on the matter of the Order of the Maiden Unmarred?”

“I-!” Apollyon almost snapped, before forcing herself to calm. She took a deep breath and grabbed herself by the biceps. “...I already said that I will, Lady Imagifier.” She ground out in a deliberate, annoyed fashion.

“My apologies, Canoness-Preceptor.” Madonna shook her head lightly. “You’ve always been quiet about your sorrows, I should’ve known that Lady Cleopatra’s death was weighing on you as much as it does myself.”

She supposed that was true, in a distant manner. “I feel no grief, Lady Imagifier. Only a sense of righteous and terrible vengeance.” She proclaimed with a glowering expression, turning in full and hefting her bionic, flexing its weighty bulk into an energy-wreathed fist. “Pleasure is not my foremost concern, but I will enjoy delivering the Emperor’s justice upon these abominations a great deal.”

Madonna nodded, a sharper, more wroth glint entering her eyes. 

Apollyon held the gaze for a few moments, before sighing and shaking her head. “But first- to speak with the Lord Saint, and explain to him the need to incorporate our wayward daughters again.”

—

“Hm.” The Lord Saint hummed in thought, eyes drifting to the side and hand rubbing at his shaven chin. He was young, young and with a face utterly untouched by scarring or pox. His skin was smooth and carried a barest tan, his eyes were deep-set, his cheeks were high, his nose was straight and strong, and his jawline was just strong enough to notice. 

His hair was dark, and fell straight at first before twisting into large drill-like spirals at the ends. It seemed to naturally form into these drills, stray strands ordering themselves according to some native principle of his biology. 

It was exceptionally cute hair. The faint ash that settled on its top flickered and danced in the breeze of so many corpse-piles that still burned. 

The humble robes he clad himself in accented his natural, modest beauty. Like the princeling of some feudal world, untouched by the horrors of common labor and the void both. 

The faint but burning memory of his brow crowned in a golden star reminded her that he was anything but a humble princeling. Or perhaps he was exactly that, but in a different sense, a gross and impossibly glorious light hiding under his skin, just beyond her mortal sight. Her more selfish side wanted nothing more than to see it again, and again, and never look away.

She wanted to see His wrath, desperately so.

“I see. That is indeed a situation.” The Lord Saint nodded eventually, lowering his hand from his jaw and opening his eyes. They were deep, dark bionics with a bearing core of martian-blue, and peered unerringly from deep under his brow. “I hope it can be resolved peacefully- there is war enough among the stars, little need for there to be war to be among Sisters as well.”

She nodded sharply, committing the words to memory. The advice of a saint was not something to simply discard, no matter how mundane. “Would you like to accompany us, Lord Saint?”

He raised a brow at her, and the Lord Custodes shifted slightly behind him, reminding Apollyon of his looming presence. A demigod protector from Holy Terra itself- how utterly obvious it was that the Lord Saint was remarkable, even from the beginning. She had thought him some noble son in her ignorance, when he had first arrived. 

The common jest was that he was the Canoness-Superior’s own bastard.

“I can, if you’d like for me to.” The Lord Saint replied lightly, tilting his head to one side. “I’m not sure if my presence would actually help the situation, however.”

She kept her face calm, hiding the faint sense that she had suggested something foolish as best as she could. “Of course. You are still welcome to join with us. If you’d desire something, please declare it, so that it can be accommodated.” She hesitated for a moment, then inclined her head. “Is there anything you desire before I leave?”

“Hm… We will have to speak with the Night Hunters again relatively soon. Once this blockade is finished and after some rest to regroup, to coordinate further. I’d like to be present at the next meeting, again.” He nodded.

“It will be done, Lord Saint.” He had such a calm, placid expression as she saluted him. It was difficult to match his gaze for long. She turned and waved a hand. “Second Commandery! Guard the Saint with your lives! First Commandery, call the thunderhawks and prepare for a flight!”

All present snapped into salutes. 

With that, and some strangled reluctance, she moved away from the Saint and began to prepare for a flight. She’d take only the freshest, and least-injured Sisters with her for this.

—

“Sisters! Did Cleopatra send you to reinforce us?” The Canoness-Superior of the Maidens Unmarred greeted them with a weary cheer as the thunderhawks touched down and they unloaded from them in neat rows. Their section of the perimeter was a bare stretch, less than even a single preceptory would normally be responsible for, and the Sisters within had their stark white clothes stained in reds, purples, and ashy browns. Blood and fire, for the most part.

Apollyon hesitated for a moment, then turned to glance at Imagifier Madonna. The Canoness Superior Thera noticed this immediately, the weary smile dropping from her veiled face at the hesitation. “Is- is something amiss?”

Madonna shook her head mournfully. “Lady Cleopatra has fallen in battle, throat savaged as one of the abominations infected her. She chose to die loyal rather than submit to their hivemind.”

There was a grim, sad silence that fell over their camp, heads were bowed and prayers of sorrow muttered. 

“...The light… that light was that of a Living Saint, certainly? Was one among us so blessed as to fight on past death?” Apollyon could almost hear the desperation in her voice, and the question that went unasked. ‘Was that Cleopatra’s light?’

“Our guest from Holy Terra, the one escorted by the Lord Custodes.” She replied with a short denial. “That light came from him, and it was the God-Emperor’s. Of that we have no doubt.”

“Joshua of Terra…” Thera replied with a whisper, halfway between reverence and despair. She shook herself as the camp erupted into whispers and mutters. Their injuries were numerous, Apollyon noted idly, she could not see a single one among them that had not been wounded in some manner or another. “A wondrous thing- may we see him, speak with him before your Preceptory leaves us?”

Apollyon maintained a calm stare for a few moments. “Less than ninety Sisters now, is that correct?”

“...It is.” Thera grew suddenly defensive, as did the rest of her Order in the camp. They began to stand, and suspicious stares were cast around. 

“Will you accept new recruits trained by the Miracle of Suffering’s Schola? Or otherwise dramatically increase your own recruiting efforts after this campaign?” Apollyon asked with a carefully neutral tone. 

“Our standards are strict as they are for a reason, Preceptor- anything less than ideal candidates would be shameful before the God-Emperor.” Thera stood up straighter, glaring now and hand on her chainsword. “We will endure this the same as we always have!”

There was silence for a few moments, Apollyon cast her gaze deliberately to the injured sisters among them, and the rows and rows of uninjured sisters behind herself. Then, she turned back to the Canoness-Superior. “In total, the Order of the Ebon Chalice has lost one hundred and eighteen Sisters since this campaign began. It would be to the benefit of both Orders for the Order of the Maiden Unmarred to rejoin its mother-order as one of its Preceptories.”

“You do not have the authority to order such, Preceptor.” Thera hissed pridefully. “Don’t presume her duties the moment she passes, the Abbess certainly hasn’t declared for you yet!”

“Which is why it isn’t an order.” Apollyon nodded calmly, keeping her temper firmly under check. “It is a suggestion on my part, and the hopes of the Lord Saint that a peaceful accord can be reached herein.”

“And should I refuse this suggestion of yours? What then? Will you strike us down as heretics for refusing to submit to gross overreach?” 

“...What are you hiding?” Apollyon ignored her accusation with a clenched fist and a smoldering stare. “Were it only the quality of recruits, you would not deny any from our schola. Not for centuries as you have been.”

“We hide nothing-”

“Were you not hiding something, you would give to us the occasional Repentia, not just Sister-Penitents.” Apollyon barreled over the denial with a slightly louder but still very observation. “Were you not hoarding some secret- you would be more willing to travel and respond to heresies, xenos, and mutants as you should be.”

Apollyon took one step forward. Thera maintained her veiled ground with a silent glare through thin white material.

“...What are you accusing us of, Preceptor?” Thera’s voice implied that she should choose her next words very carefully.

Apollyon had nothing to fear from this woman. “An order that wastes resources, refuses to do the emperor’s warring, and hoards secrets sounds like nothing heresy, does it not?”

“We are not heretics.”

“Then you will submit to an audit of your chapel, will you not?”

“Absolutely not, the-”

“Machinations 12:16. The Righteous do not Fear Interrogation.” Apollyon quoted with a glower. 

“You are not interested in seeking truth! You are looking for an excuse to purge us, rob our chapels, and incorporate the survivors!” Thera accused back, stepping forwards with a hateful jab with a raised finger. 

Apollyon maintained the stare for a few moments more, then slowly closed her eyes with a long, slow sigh. 

“Your secrets, whatever they are, will be respected should they prove to be non-heretical. Any who learn of them for this investigation will swear to take knowledge of them to death. Your traditions will be maintained within the new Preceptory, and your relics as safeguarded as any of our own.  I urge you to consider my suggestion, Sister.”

Thera’s expression of hot, defensive rage bleed off slightly, cooling into an expression of barely contained frustration.

“...Sisters of the first, second, and third squads. Come stand with me. Sisters of the fourth, fifth, and sixth squads, stand to the side- by that ridge and away.” Thera ordered deliberately, separating out her forces between elites and younger members. A dreadful horror began to settle over the gathered.

The First Preceptory outnumbered them more than three to one, with three of their squads remaining as garrison for their chapel. The Preceptory was fresh, uninjured, and ready for action, with almost all of them suffering one injury or another.

And most damning of all to their morale, was the tacit admittance of guilt in the Canoness’ voice as she gave these commands. Apollyon took one step back, and Madonna bowed her head in respect. 

The veiled sisters gathered with their canoness, a bare twenty or so in total. They stood tall and straight despite their injuries, and their tattered, bloodied veils hid stony expressions. 

“...You will be remembered as martyrs.” Apollyon promised with a grim countenance.

Thera bowed her head. “Thank you.”

The sounds of two-hundred bolters firing again and again filled the air, followed by the sound of bodies falling and grief-stricken sobbing.

“The Order of the Maiden Unmarred has taken decisive losses against the Genestealers of Pandemonium IV, and to their survivors was made an offer of consolidation, which was accepted.” Apollyon dictated aloud, so that all present would be aware of what the ‘truth’ of this event was. “In the aftermath, their Chapel was stripped bare of objects and relics, and rendered a memorial for the righteous dead.”

Whatever they were hiding in that Chapel, she would soon discover.

It was worth dying for, whatever it was. 

“...anoness! Canoness-Preceptor Apollyon, can you read me?!” A voice quietly growled through the vox on her helmet. She glanced down at it, before reaching down and slipping it over her head. 

“I heard you, what is it?” She asked once the helmet was on again.

“The Night Hunters voxed it in- their authority to maintain the system-quarantine has been overruled!”

“What?!” Apollyon hissed, leaning forwards and tilting her head to the side. What kind of-

“A fleet has arrived in the system- each ship bearing the Rosette! The Inquisition is here in force!”

She almost immediately removed the helmet, waving a hand to order all present. “The inquisition is here- work quickly!”

Sisters of the Ebon Chalice and survivors of the Maiden Unmarred both jumped to disguise the specific tragedy of this battle, and load back up into the thunderhawks. A terrible, panicked momentum set upon them at the news.

All present knew that it was preferable to handle affairs among yourselves than to draw the terrible gaze of the Inquisition. 

Chapter 13

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

The Holy Orders of the Emperor’s Inquisition was perhaps the single most powerful faction within the entirety of the Imperium. They were founded at some point before the Emperor was bound to the Golden Throne, though the exact specifics of how and why has since been lost to the historical record. Tasked with seeking out any and all threats to the Imperium and eliminating it, they exist beyond and adjacent to all normal chains of command, and maintain the privilege to requisition troops, gear, and other assets from the rest of the Imperium in service of this great mission.

They, unlike the rest of the Imperium, do not ultimately answer to the High Lords of Terra. They are not bound by the laws of the Imperium, and are charged with policing themselves in the event of bad actors being uncovered. They possess no formal hierarchy or leadership, and are given reign to pursue the goal of humanities’ survival by whatever means the individual sees fit. Answerable only to juries of their peer inquisitors and the God-Emperor himself.

They were, in common parlance, a bunch of very powerful people with the authority to kill whoever they wished and questionable levels of utility and sanity. Seeing their ships descending upon the world overhead was greatly concerning, even with the massive array of defenders currently arrayed about his position. 

Because, as was made very clear over their inter-system communication devices, the Inquisitoral fleet was here for him. A conclave assembled by the ‘Inquisitoral Representative Vult’ from Holy Terra, and sent off to follow the Miracle of Suffering’s declared patrol-route. The Ecclesiarch had clearly attempted to sneak him away some months prior, and were it not for the genestealers upon this world then the Inquisition would still be trailing behind them in the Warp.

For want of a nail, and all that. 

A thunderhawk in dark blue roared over to their position, slowing gradually on the approach before eventually coming to a pause overhead, and then gently descending to the ground once more. The bay-hatch opened almost before it landed, and thirty odd Night Hunters exited from the vehicle. Their Chapter Master was among them, along with three of their captains, and a dozen lieutenants. 

Milton approached them steadily, reaching up to remove his winged helm as he got near. The sacresants bristled irritably around, as did the Legatines that were charged with escorting him ever since the Inquisition arrived in the system. The Chapter Master ignored the subtle hostility with a raised fist. 

“Saint Joshua! Know that the Night Hunters are with you.” He declared loudly, the marines behind him all pounding mailed fists against breastplates in a soldier’s salute. “You have the support of our Chapter, we know of your good character.”

A rather public declaration of their support, implied to be against the Inquisition. The Sisters relaxed imperceptibly at the declaration, and Joshua raised his hand with a nod in reply. “I am glad for it, Chapter Master!” He replied, walking over to the man, to include him in the circle of fanatical people in power armor that currently surrounded him. 

It had been a little over two hours since the Inquisition fleet had arrived in the system, and it had been a very stressful two hours. The uncertainty about what they intended for him was almost worse than actually being captured and tortured. 

Almost worse, not actually worse. Joshua could live with being a little bit stressed, it was much better than being subject to beatings, flayings, and who knows what else. “I confess, I should have anticipated something like this, though I remain somehow surprised at the scale of their… host.”

“Anticipated?” The Chapter Master asked with a tone of polite curiosity. “In general or in specific, Saint Joshua?”

“Both, I suppose.” Joshua replied, glancing up at the inquisitorial fleet in the sky. Three larger ships, surrounded by nine smaller ships, all of which were currently pale and desaturated while filtered through the layers of atmosphere as they were. The fact that they were so visible in the sky above spoke both of their immense scale and proximity. “For a particular incident, my Soul-Binding almost certainly provoked this…”

“The Lord Emperor moved.” Hercule declared shortly, providing support to his claim. There was an immediate hush and sharp inhales of breath at the statement. “His head turned to regard Saint Joshua in particular, and maintained that stare for twelve full hours, before his head returned to its normal position.”

The God-Emperor was currently doing a very good impression of a corpse, body only holding itself together from the arcane mechanisms of the Golden Throne itself while his spirit was busied with operation of the gigantic psychic lighthouse that made long-distance warp travel even remotely safe. As it turned out, being able to see where you were going helped a lot for staying on course.

To hear that the God-Emperor himself had actually moved, and moved to look at one person in particular, was almost unthinkable among the fanatical Imperium.

Joshua didn’t like remembering what his Soul-Binding was like. 

“Th-then we have nothing to worry about.” One of the Legatines declared, hands locked into a salute. “The Lord Saint’s blessing is blatant- too blatant for any to disregard! The Inquisition will see this!”

“The Inquisition sees many things, real and imagined.” Hercule stated bluntly back, head turning up to the sky above. “Have Faith, Mortal.”

Joshua followed the gaze upwards, and spied a series of smaller ships descending from the atmosphere. Like a flock of gigantic crows, with sharp shapes so unlike the typically-blocky appearance of most Imperial crafts and pitch-black colorations. Twelve ships in all, descending quickly towards them and circling twice overhead. Gradually they began to touch down on one side of the open field. 

As open as a field of broken rubble and burned mounds of corpse-ash could be, honestly. There weren’t any tall buildings around, at least. Clouds of dust and ash were kicked up by the landing of the Inquisitorial ships, obscuring them somewhat ominously. 

“Where is Lady Apollyon?” He heard one of the Legatines whisper to another. 

“She left to gather our Daughter-Order.” Another replied, whispering tinged with uncertainty.

“Clear a way for them to approach.” Hercule suggested in a way that was clearly an order. The Chapter Master took a step back and behind to stand slightly behind the gigantic Custodian, and his marines followed suit in well-ordered rows. The Legatines hesitated for a moment, then took up positions behind Denaira, letting the two-hundred or so Sisters spill out in all directions around the center.

Joshua glanced back at Denaira. She turned slightly to regard him, then gave a tiny, affirming nod.

That was more comforting that a completely silent gesture really should’ve been, honestly. He squared his shoulders and faced ahead again. Golden spiders wove reinforcing patterns under his skin. The crawling sensation was almost a comfort at the moment.

Hatches hissed open menacingly on the sides of the angular black ships, and bright-polished ramps fell forwards, allowing a procession of figures clad predominantly in black and gold to step forth. 

From the three largest ships, a veritable swarm emerged. Sharp-looking soldiers in dark armor and glowing optics fanned out in protective fashions, guns sweeping across the field before falling into sharp salutes. Some of the men were featureless, others wore sobbing masks, others were burdened with heavy augmentation, and any number of other tiny patterns set each group apart from the other. Then, with heavy mechanical stomps, men and women bearing the Rosette began to emerge from their ships.

The foremost among them was clad in heavy black plates. The collar plate sat inflexibly atop his broad shoulders, from which a light-devouring cloak hung and obscured much of his lower body. Occasional glimpses of gauntlets and boots could be seen through the swishing of the cloak, plates of dark grey with wickedly sharp blades mounted on their exteriors. His rosette glowed a distinct red on his belt, like an ominous electric buckle. 

His head was almost normal atop this immense frame of armor and concealing cloak. An older man with black hair thoroughly streaked in greys and whites, but losing none of his handsome contours despite his age. Two women flanked him, each one gorgeous beyond any natural happenstance, the product of some extreme juvenant or other rigorous modifications. 

The next foremost inquisitor walked with a seething bend to his back, leaning forwards and stepping tall like a vulture, with a long black coat hanging off his shoulders and sweeping back like tattered wings. He leaned forwards on sturdy wooden cane, one great bionic eye sweeping around and glaring into any who dared to make eye contact. Nothing about his outfit was inexpensive, and yet it was utterly without ornamentation beyond the rosette hanging from his necklace. 

A tall black hat completed the look of a miserly gentleman as he stalked forwards, and he was followed by a gaggle of menials and servants chattering in low tongues and carrying heavy tomes and folders overburdened with papers. One carried a banner, upon which were the bold words ‘DEATH AND TAXES’ writ in High Gothic.

The next inquisitor was the most eye-catching yet, for he did not walk. He was seated upon a white throne, which was covered in symbols of the inquisition, holy writs, and human skulls. Two long torches were mounted on either side of this throne, burning over the heads of two men on slightly smaller sub-thrones next to him, one holding a long scroll and the other with hands upon a mounted double-barreled gun. These three thrones stomped forwards of their own will, mounted upon two thick robotic legs.

The man himself was bald, with a long white beard and a natural glare so deep that his eyes were nothing more than black shadows upon his face. He wore a combination of modest burlap robes and ostentatious golden plates of armor, from which a pair of purity-writs dangled. A sword was in his lap, and his eyes screamed silent judgements upon everything he looked upon. A plate on the front of the throne boldly declared ‘REPENT’ in High Gothic.

And yet-more inquisitors came from their ships and walked in lines behind the three foremost men. Each one distinct and eye-catching in their own ways. One wore white robes with red gloves and was followed by men with gas-masks. One wore the weeping-masks of his bodyguards, and was indistinguishable from them save his prominent rosette. Suave men, fabulous women, hateful liches, wretched crones, and one that was nothing but a black robe and a prominent white mask. 

The inquisitorial procession gradually fanned out as they approached, the inquisitors forming into a rough semicircle before him and their retinues forming spokes and blobs behind them. 

“Where is the Canoness-Superior, charged with the safeguarding of the subject?” The man on the throne called out with a distinct impatience in his growling voice. His walking throne rumbled to a stop a reasonable distance away, then knelt to steady itself before them. Sitting atop the throne, the bald inquisitor was the tallest person in the entire field. 

“Lady Cleopatra has fallen in battle- mere hours before your fleet arrived, lord Inquisitor.” One of the Sister-Legatines explained with a mournful shake of her head. “Infected by the enemy and choosing to die pure rather than to live as a traitor.”

“Loathsome genestealers.” The man replied with a distinct snarl, leaning back in his throne. “For the infection and murder of a Canoness, execution by fire.” The man in the sub-throne next to him quickly penned the declaration down on the parchment he carried. 

“That is unfortunate.” The greying inquisitor with the broad black collar plate replied with a deepened frown on his lips. He turned to face the giant in golden power armor that stood behind Joshua. “Lord Custodian, Lady Anathema.” He then continued his sweeping gaze. “Marines, Sisters. You have my thanks for safeguarding the subject in her stead.”

“Lord Inquisitors… None of us anticipated a conclave to arrive in the system. I don’t suppose you’ve arrived to aid us against the Genestealers.” Chapter Master Milton greeted with a frown. 

“We are not, no.” The cane-leaning Inquisitor declared with a grumble. “Their time will come- Let it not be thought that the Night Hunters will be left without aid for their long service to the Throne.” 

“We are here for he.” The man on the mechanical throne declared sharply, leaning forwards and pointing directly at Joshua. “The Ecclesiarch attempted to spirit him away for his own uses, but nothing escapes the gaze of the Holy Inquisition, nothing! Judgement must be rendered on any would-be saint, and there will be no nullification of jury on a matter such as this!” 

“He is blessed, to execute him would be heresy-!” 

“That will be for the Inquisition to decide, girl!” The man on the throne roared, leaning forwards with one hand furiously clutching at the armrest. “It is our duty to investigate and cast judgement, none other!” There was a heavy, tense silence for a few moments. The man in the throne leaned back, settling down. “You, boy, come. Our interrogations have already been delayed enough.”

“This is a fine spot for the interrogation.” Hercule rumbled over the field, helmet firmly locked upon the man in the mechanical throne. “You will hold the trial here.”

“Custodian…” The man in the throne growled, head tilting. “You would interfere with our investigations?”

“I’d kill each and every one of you before I allow Lord Joshua to be harmed.” Hercule stated bluntly. “I’d kill all upon your ships, and all that the inquisition sends thereafter, and I’d continue until the Captain-General himself commands me to cease.”

“Fortunately-” The inquisitor with the broad collar declared, cutting through the rapidly-rising tension. “-Our conclave is gathered to determine the precise nature of the subject, nothing more. We have all seen the vod of his soul-binding, and have received the testimony of Inquisitoral Representative Vult already.”

He shook his head. “No greater than fifth-stage action will be required for this interrogation, I should think.”

“Seventh at minimum.” The man on the throne growled, leaning back.

“I concur with Lord Inquisitor Rayne.” The vulture-like man growled, then turned back to regard the other inquisitors. “Two-thirds majority from the gathered Lords. All in agreement say ‘aye’!” 

A series of ‘ayes’ called out, and the vulture nodded with a distinct sneer, turning forwards again. “Subject, come to the center of the circle. This place is as good as any.”

Joshua nodded, hiding the rolling unease he felt as best as he could, and stepped forwards to be roughly in the center of everyone gathered. “Lord Inquisitors.” He greeted with a nod and the sign of the aquila. 

“State your full name for official record.” The man on the throne growled.

Full name? He supposed it was better to lean on transparency and hope for the best here. “Joshua, formerly ‘Prettyboy Joe’. Bearing the name ‘Pendrarc’ by advice of the Ecclesiarch.”

“The reason for this change of name?” The man leaned forwards with a hard glare. 

“I took up the name ‘Joshua’ after my soul-binding. My previous name was given to me by ganger associates upon Necromunda, where I grew up, and it felt entirely insufficient for… whatever I had become.” He explained with a vague gesture towards himself. 

“Hmmm…” The inquisitor upon the throne let out a long and low grumble, leaning back as his menial quickly scratched out lines upon a fresh sheet of parchment. 

“For the duration of this interrogation, you will be subject to stage five inquisitorial action.” The ‘Inquisitor Rayne’ declared bluntly, drawing Joshua’s gaze over to him. “Meaning verbal interrogation combined with psychic reading, and potential for light torture if the subject proves uncooperative. Do you understand?”

Joshua nodded. He hated mind-readers in general, mostly because they were usually scumbags, but he also didn’t really see any way to not be subject to it here. Another thing he was just going to have to grit his teeth and bear, and hopefully not reveal anything galaxy-shattering in the process. “I understand.”

“Lady Anathema, please step at least three meters away from the subject.” Rayne asked Denaira with a very polite tone of voice. She stared at him for several long moments, then exchanged a glance with Hercule. After, she took several large and deliberate steps away from him. 

Beautiful boy, golden boy. You’re perfect. 

Almost immediately, the whispers crept back into his mind. Louder than ever before, but decidingly easier to ignore than the golden bugs crawling around inside of his body.

You must be furious. Take up your sword.

“For the first round of questioning, Sanctioned Psyker Emmae will be monitoring your mind.” Rayne continued calmly, gesturing towards one of the unnaturally beautiful women besides him, the one with the collar and hood of machinery. She smiled slightly under the shadows of her hood. “You are advised to not resist her.”

You don’t deserve this treatment from them. You did nothing wrong.

Golden spiders continued to weave threads through his brain. Joshua focused on them and nodded in reply. A few moments later, a brush came across the forefront of his mind. This brush was followed by a heavy knock at the mental door, and a metaphorical jiggling of the knob. He opened the curtains, to let her look inside. 

Open the door. You don’t want to be impolite do you? What if they kill you for this? Open up.

None of these metaphors really applied, but he found them useful during his lessons upon the Blackship. She gave a little nod to the Inquisitor, and the inquisitor in turn gave a brief nod of his own. 

Let her in.

“Question the first.” The man in the throne growled. “What is the nature of your connection to the Emperor, as you know it?”

Start with the hard questions immediately, huh? Joshua frowned, somewhat uncertain. “I…” His stumbling was interrupted, and the voices that battered at his mental doors drowned out, as his brow warmed with the terrible heat of a voice he had grown increasingly familiar with over these last few months.

‘A CHOSEN VESSEL’

His eyes lit with gold, and Joshua closed them reactively. He can’t just say that, literally no one would believe him. Sharp inhales of breath came from the flash of gold in his eyes, and he ignored them as best he could.

“He has blessed me to be an agent of his will, I know.” Joshua nodded after a moment. “Though his great plan is still a mystery to me.” Both were entirely true statements.

“Why did your eyes flash gold?” The inquisitor on the throne hissed suspiciously.

“Because he heard a voice.” The psyker answered before he could. Joshua glanced over to her, vaguely surprised by the notion that she had heard that. Her gaze was fixed on his, blinkless and machinery glowing with a fading yellow hue. “A voice that burned like fire and rolled like thunder.”

“What did that voice say?!” The Inquisitor on the throne demanded.

“A Chosen Vessal.” She answered simply, still blinkless.

Joshua sadly closed his eyes as the field erupted into shouts and commotion. 

Thank you, you big oafish corpse, he definitely wanted to deal with riled-up Inquisitors.

You don’t deserve this.

Shut the fuck up, he didn’t have the patience for you.

Chapter 14

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

It took considerable time for the gathered to actually settle down for the interrogation to continue, shouting and murmuring and threats exchanged as many rushed to get their questions out all at the same time, which eventually died down into an energetic tension. In part because the lord inquisitors made very clear threats to everyone involved to get them to quiet down, and in part because Joshua simply stayed silent and placid until order had been returned to the scene.

He did his best to not express too much annoyance towards the betitted psyker peering through his mental windows, though he was pretty sure she could tell. From her continued refusal to blink or look away from his head, he wasn’t sure that she really cared either. 

We care. 

“Subject…” The inquisitor on the throne growled down, now that the scene had been returned to some degree of order. “The words you heard, ‘A Chosen Vessel’, elaborate upon them as you know them.”

Joshua nodded, reaching up to tap his chest. “My Soul-Binding… I’m not sure if I have the words to describe it. I was one among hundreds brought before his throne, bid to kneel in readiness to be bound as just another Astropath, and something… he decided on a different purpose for me, I suppose, when my mind touched his.”

He frowned, a crawling sensation of golden insects trailing his spine. The psyker reading his mind shuddered violently, and staggered once. “He changed me, when I had recovered there was, I could feel…” He shook his head. “There’s gold between the upper and lower parts of my soul- I didn’t know I had distinct halves like that before his work. There’s words and a will and a reactor within that gold. Sometimes this gold is akin to insects that crawl within my flesh, making changes and boring tunnels, sometimes this gold is the gears of some long-rusted machine that turns intermittently and grinds against itself.”

He reached up to tap at his forehead, vision drifting down towards the ground. “Sometimes this gold is a terrible, burning heat upon my brow, and lightning coursing through my veins.”

You could be so much more. A brilliant star.

“You sound uncertain, subject.” The seated inquisitor pointed out with a suspicious scrunching to his features.

“I am very uncertain.” Joshua confessed easily. “I was trained as an astropath aboard blackship Misery, and that course included astropathic telepathy, the emperor’s tarot, and proper prayers. I know just enough about psykery to know that I know exceptionally little about it. I’m sure that just about every Inquisitor present knows more about Immaterial mechanics than I do.” He shook his head. “I will do my best to answer, but I do not know proper terminology or references in this subject.”

Would you like to know? Would you like to learn?

“Mhm.” The throned Inquisitor leaned back in his chair with a permanent glower on his face. “Your soul-binding. Elaborate upon it, leave nothing unspoken.”

..A ghostfire god. A golden worldtree. A titan of gilded bones. A constant, screaming agony. Pain. Pain. Pain. A hundred voices, all the same, all slightly different. Each one speaking, demanding slightly different things from him. Being torn in every direction at once. Being crushed from all directions…

The psyker shuddered again, reaching up to clutch her temple. Joshua grimaced at the recollection, and did his best to shake the phantom agony away.

“It was… painful.” He eventually started. “Painful beyond anything I could imagine- I would’ve resisted more had I known the pain that would come, and now all lesser pains feel so easy to ignore. I remember the voice of the God-Emperor…”

You’ve endured so much already… Poor child… 

He frowned, clenching his fist in frustration. “No- that’s not quite right. I remember one version of His voice- clear and distinct as day, but I also remember a hundred others were present, all of which spoke with different inflections, and demanded different things, and although I know this I cannot remember anything about them or their commandments. As if some… color-lens had been placed in my mind, filtering out all but a single voice and commandments from that moment. As if of a thousand potential commandments, one had been chosen for me in specific.”

He raised his hands and looked down at them, and stared right through his skin to see the crawling machine-insects below. “...It’s akin to the Tarot, I suppose. I drew the cards, the many possible answers were laid before me, but my mind refuses to remember any but one as ‘correct’.”

He looked up to the Inquisitor upon the throne again. “I cannot tell you why or how that is- I do not know.”

“And what did this voice tell you?” The throned inquisitor demanded with a furrowed brow and dark eyes. At this demand, the voice of the Emperor returned to his mind, the reactor in his core pulsing with energy as it declared. 

‘WE HAVE WORK TO DO.’

His eyes flashed gold. The machine-hood of the psyker burst into bright gold that slowly began to fade into yellow and then pale white. Joshua smiled sympathetically, glancing over at her. She looked breathless, as if the words had punched her in the gut. Simultaneously, he and the psyker spoke, his voice calm with familiarity and hers breathy and pained, echoing the booming words that had rolled through his mind a moment prior. 

“”We have Work to Do.””

“Do not speak out of line, girl.” The Inquisitor upon the throne hissed, leaning over and looming towards the hooded psyker. “Lest your unprompted interference-”

“Fyodor.” Inquisitor Rayne said warningly, raising a hand before the beautiful psyker by his side.

You could take her. You have the strength for it.

Fyodor grumbled irritably, leaning back in his throne with a look of equal warning, dragging his gaze forwards again. “Subject, elaborate on the changes that you have experienced since your soul-binding.”

He didn’t even bother to ask if he had experienced any changes or not, simply assuming that Joshua had in fact experienced nebulous changes since. Which was accurate, as it turned out, but it still felt like skipping a step there. “My ability to read the Emperor’s Tarot is greatly enhanced.” He began. “I know without looking upon them what the correct interpretation is- or at least, what my mind stubbornly insists is the correct interpretation. I’ve been relying on it a great deal ever since.”

“Demostrate this ability.” Fyodor demanded with a raised finger and a sneer. “Samael will hold your Tarot deck for you.” 

“Make no orders of me, Fyodor.” The Inquisitor Lord with the wooden cane snarled up at his associate, but stalked forwards all the same. Joshua pulled out his tarot deck in a very deliberate fashion, shuffling it clearly before the gathered inquisitors, and then handing it over to the vulture of a man. Sameal took the deck with gnarled hands and stepped back.

There was an awkward silence as Joshua stared at the man, then glanced at the throned inquisitor.

“Well?” Fyodor growled with a raised brow.

“What question would you like me to draw for?” Joshua asked back with his own raised brow.

“I have one, if the Lord Karamazov would please.” One of the inquisitors spoke up at that. He was the one that wore an identical mask and outfit to all of his retinue. Fyodor glanced to the side at that, unable to actually look at the inquisitor in question, and instead curling a mustached lip up.

“Proceed.” He hissed.

“Where is the Inquisitor Spartoi?” The masked man asked clearly and deliberately. It was a question that he clearly already knew a ‘correct’ answer to.

Joshua drew from the deck, psychic energy sent to the wafers, then reaching out to the cosmos like an ethereal net, then pulling back and leaving images on the surface of the cards. The gears in his soul fell forwards one notch. 

The battleship that supplicates before the star

Joshua glanced up. Supplicate would be to kneel forwards, towards the star of the system would be… He pointed up at the Inquisitorial Fleet. “That ship that leans furthest towards the local suns- it’s top most brightly illuminated.”

There was a distinct pause in the air. A slightly awkward quiet as men and women glanced at each other, then at the masked inquisitor.

The masked inquisitor raised his fist towards his neck, putting a prominent jeweled ring under his chin. A bright light flashed, followed by the masked man’s head exploding in a splatter of charred gore and brain-matter. Joshua flinched back harshly, as did a number of others. The Inquisitors glared suspiciously over at the retinue, and the body of the inquisitor that crumbled headlessly to the floor.

One of the dead inquisitor’s retinue reached down and took the ring and rosette from the corpse, before declaring. “As Inquisitor Spartoi is not present, he will be abstaining from the rest of the Interrogation.”

“Noted.” Fyodor huffed in no small annoyance. Other inquisitors had similar grumblings to the sudden death and subsequent reveal. It seemed like a habit of that particular inquisitor. “Check the cards.”

Sameal pulled the top three cards of the Tarot-Deck, flipping them over in his hand and staring at them a moment. His lip curled as he looked up and announced the result. “The Battleship, The Supplicant, Star.” A side-eye was given to him for a moment, then the cards returned to the top of the deck and offered back to him.

Joshua nodded his head gratefully, taking the deck back and putting it away again.

We have such sights to show you. Let us in. 

“Scribe, make a note in the record. This ability will be tested exhaustively at the end of questioning.” Fyodor growled, causing the scribe in the smaller chair to glance over, nod, and silently pull up another sheet of parchment to scratch something upon. “Subject, continue with the observed changes.”

Joshua nodded, licking his teeth. “Perhaps most dramatic- There is a kind of glow about me, that grows stronger and stronger as I utilize more and more psychic energy. It grows softly at first, then brighter and brighter, until it has become a column of golden light. The light takes roughly an hour and a half to fade, save a very soft glow that takes a few hours longer still.” He shook his head. “I do not know why this light comes to me, save that it correlates to rapid utilization of psychic abilities. I did not have such a light before my soul-binding.”

“Do not demonstrate this ability. Not yet.” Fyodor declared sharply, leaning forwards again with a sudden vigor and wide-eyed glare. “At the end of the questioning, and after all retinues have been readied to banish any potential daemon that might tear its way through your mind.”

His worries are without substance. You’re too clever for something like that.

There were vaguely outraged sounds from behind him, but Joshua nodded calmly, finding himself in general agreement with the prudence of the measure. There was absolutely no reason to not be as safe as possible when dealing with the warp, if you had the time for it. “Drawing the Tarot again and again has been the most consistent manner I’ve yet found for producing this light, if you’d like to ready the retinues for incursion during the testing of that ability, Lord Inquisitor.”

“Make note of that, scribe.” Fyodor declared. There was a brief scratching of pen on parchment, and then the throned Inquisitor spoke again. “Continue with observed changes.” 

Joshua nodded slowly, looking down at his hands thoughtfully. “...I’ve developed a slight tan since, despite not having much time near any particular star. My hair is a shade darker, and my face is a tad stronger. My fitness has improved a great deal, though I’d personally attribute that to regular exercise and foodstuffs.”

He looked at nothing in particular as he mentally scanned his recent schedule and habits. “...I’ve been sleeping fewer hours each night, and feeling no less energetic for it during the days. I’ve needed to relieve myself less and less frequently, and I wake without any soreness after a day of harsh training.” 

He nodded conclusively. “There are perhaps more changes than this, but I have not noticed them if there are.”

We have noticed. We know you better than you know yourself.

“Fyodor.” Brutus said bluntly.

Fyodor grumbled, leaning to the side on his throne. “That concludes my first round of questioning. Tell your psyker to retreat from his mind, and record everything she saw.” He raised withered finger authoritatively. 

The beautiful psyker slumped back with a long exhale and short, choppy inhales. The faint white light of her hood-array faded into a dull grey. She took a moment to rest, before pulling herself up again woozily and shaking her head. The other woman handed her a dataslate, and the psyker began to type away with an extendable keyboard.

“The next inquisitor may begin their questioning.” Fyodor declared with a wave of his hand. “Inquisitor Jonfry, Knight-Sergeant of the Amal System, step forward.”

One inquisitor stepped forwards. The tall man with the long white coat and red gloves, carrying a jug. He walked into the middle of the circle and offered the jug to Joshua.

“A jug of holy water, drawn from the wells of Ophelia VII, blessed by the previous Ecclesiarch himself.” The Inquisitor declared, handing it over. “You must drink all of it.”

Joshua stared at the weighty jug in his hands, then raised a brow at the patient inquisitor, then back to the jug. Maybe about a quart of fluid in all, in a jug of solid silver and wreathed in prayer-seals. He reached up to uncork the top, pausing slightly as it gave a hiss of escaping air.

“Is holy water supposed to hiss when opened?” He asked with furrowed brows and a vaguely concerned tone in his voice.

“It is, yes.” The white-coated Inquisitor replied. Joshua didn’t really trust that.

He drew from the Tarot. Was this going to kill him?

Yes.

Long life lies on the path ahead

He furrowed his brows, distinctly annoyed at the fuckers who won’t shut up outside his mind. He brought the water up to his lips, jug shaking in his grip from its weight, and began to drink. Holy water, as it turned out, tasted a lot like carbonated grape juice. 

He did his best to chug back the container, distinctly aware of the possibility that if he didn’t do it all in one go, the inquisitor might take it as a sign of corruption. 

He felt slightly woozy and bloated by the end, restraining a low belch as he handed the jug back. 

The white-coated Inquisitor stared at him for a few long moments, then nodded sharply. “My questioning is concluded.” He declared, turning and walking back to his place among his fellow Inquisitors.

What the hell kind of questioning was that? Joshua felt vaguely befuddled by the strange event.

“The next inquisitor may begin their questioning.” Fyodor continued without skipping a beat. “Inquisitor Rita, Keeper of the Sword of Russ, step forwards.”

A dark-clad woman with sharp white hair stepped forwards, hard stare leveled at everything she looked at. Behind here followed four gigantic slaves, bodies rippling with muscle and machinery, and between them they carried a robust platform.

That robust platform had a heavy stone upon it, covered over in shattered runes and surrounded by a row of prayer-seals three layers deep. The stone had a sword impaled upon it, which was followed by a layer of mist.

Pull the sword from the stone test, got it.

She walked forwards, then turned to the giants and pointed at the ground. They set the podium done before him. “The sword rejects the hand of any impure individual.” She declared authoritatively. “If you are corrupt, it will cause you great pain.” She waved a hand at it with a sneer on her face.

“The Sword of Russ? Leman Russ?” Joshua asked with a raised brow, looking up and down along the blade. Said blade was about as large as he was, looking akin to a fancy zweihander more than anything, and etched with runes. He wasn’t sure if he could pull it out even without being corrupt, it was a big damn sword. “Primarch of the Space Wolves?”

“The same.” She declared, tilting her head back. “It was retrieved centuries prior, and safeguarded by the Inquisition ever since.”

She notably did not answer the obvious question of ‘why wasn’t it returned to the Space Wolves?’ but Joshua could guess that one particular ‘Months of Shame’ incident might be the reason there. The Inquisition didn’t exactly like the Space Wolves after that.

He sighed, gingerly stepping over the line of prayer-seals, up upon the rock, and raised his hands. He hesitated for a moment…

Do not touch it. It will kill you.

Will you actually fuck off? He took hold of the hilt, stomach rolling with annoyance. 

It was simultaneously warm and cold, a bizarre mix of icy exterior and rolling currents of warmth beneath. Like volcanic rivers locked beneath glaciers, or something equally dramatic. For a moment, the warmth writhed furiously with the sword, racing up to his hand, rolling against the palm for a few moments, then settling down into a circuitous path beneath the surface.

So it didn’t kill him, that’s good. Now just to get the damn thing out. He then heaved at it, straining to move the frankly massive blade with his skinny arms. 

Inch by inch, he dragged it out of the rock. Groaning with the exertion involved and suddenly very glad that Hercule had forced him to go through so many niche exercises.

Halfway out he had to shift his grip, setting his palms beneath the handle and now pushing up and out. The sword loudly groaned against the stone, mineral grinding sharply against mineral in a way that made his ears hurt.

Then, all at once, the sword popped loose, and Joshua went tumbling forwards with it. He yelped, hands on the hilt, flopping off the rock and down to the ash-covered ground. He laid there for a moment, feeling very unimpressed with himself.

“...Are you harmed, Lord Joshua?” Hercule asked dryly.

“Only my dignity, Lord Hercule.” Joshua replied, turning his face over on the ground to look up at the golden giant. He sighed, pushing up to his knees and then heaving the sword up with him. It was a truly mammothine blade, perhaps fifty pounds or more of sheer material, and Joshua had to lean it back against one of his shoulders to keep it upright.

He rubbed the ash off his face, and nodded at the Lady Inquisitor. 

She stared at him for a few moments, then at the sword, then at the rock. “My questioning is concluded!” She declared sharply, turning and strutting back to her place among the inquisitors, giant slaves following after her with plodding steps and dumb expressions. 

…Did he have to hold his sword the whole time? It was really fucking heavy.

“The next inquisitor may begin their questioning!”

Chapter 15

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

There were almost a dozen trials before the next round of questioning began, all of which were just as bewildering as the first few. Reading passages out of a book written by Saint Eugenios the Incandescent, laying a hand on the severed leg of Saint Brannicus and swearing to truthfulness during the trial, cutting his palm and letting the blood drip into a sacred vessel, and similar.

The next round of questioning, as it turned out, was all the same questions as before but now they had a different psyker looking through his mental windows and reading for truthfulness. Those questions were followed by another round of esoteric trials, followed by another round of questioning with a third psyker reading his surface thoughts, and finally another round of esoteric test-trials. 

At a certain point the interrogation stopped being tense and started being a slog to get through, not helped by the faint buzz he was feeling at the moment. Joshua suspected that the holy water was more like communion wine, and chugging it all at once like that had upset his normal sobriety. Throughout all of these trials, he had to lug this frankly ridiculous sword around because that particular Inquisitor didn’t take it back and the atmosphere was too awkward for him to offer it to her.

This brought them to the final demonstration, a display of the golden aura he was capable of producing. It was now far into the night, the moons of the planet shining overhead and the field filled with burning incense and the lights of a thousand electric displays. He was sitting in the middle of a circle of purified salts and candles, and several servitors surrounded him with thuribles shedding strong-smelling vapors alleged to weaken demons.

To their credit, being in this position did in fact weaken the whispers outside his mental doors. They were only loud enough for him to hear if he decided to pay attention, and he had no desire to do any such thing as that. He made a note to ask for a similar setup for his personal use later, even if just so Denaira didn’t have to constantly hover around him to shunt the voices out.

The only downside with this setup was that the incense smelled weird and he wouldn’t be able to move it around.

“Subject.” Fyodor growled from atop his throne, now thoroughly shrouded in the darkness of the night, illuminated by the faint electronics and screens mounted elsewhere upon his mechanical walker and the various candles arrayed in concentric circles through the field. “All retinues stand ready for ruinous incursion- proceed with the demonstration at will.”

Joshua nodded, feeling slightly sleepy as he sat crosslegged. “My only real ability at the moment is the Tarot, Lord Inquisitor. Would the gathered like for me to draw on their behalf, or simply read the cards of my own whim?” One hand held the psychoactive wafers, and the other hand rested upon his knee.

“Hmph. In seniority then.” Fyodor declared, casting his dimly-lit head around for any arguments to the contrary. Seeing none among the night-shrouded masses, he nodded and turned back to regard Joshua. “I abstain from my first question, and pass the floor to Inquisitor Rayne.”

The inquisitor in dark power armor and flanked by beautiful women nodded shallowly, barely more than a dimly-lit face in the night. “Subject, my question for you is- Who is my chosen successor?”

Joshua nodded to show that he had heard and understood, placed his other hand on top of the deck, and set three cards before him. A little bit of the traditional ritual for these draws felt in-order. Who was that Inquisitor’s chosen successor?

The Young Warrior. The Star. The Tower.

He flipped the cards over, even knowing already what the full intended meaning was. “Son of the vigorous one.” He replied calmly, pushing the cards aside, not bothering to look at the images now imprinted upon them. The reactor began to spool up.

The Inquisitor nodded, leaning back a tad. “I pass the floor onto Inquisitor Samael.”

The old vulture of an Inquisitor was almost completely invisible in the darkness of the night. Nothing about him could be seen save a vague outline cast down by moon and starlight, and highlights of electric blue, green, and red. His face was completely shrouded in black.

“Subject. My question for you is this. What is my greatest failure?” Sameal growled out in the night. A rather fearless thing to simply put out in the air like that.

Joshua drew from the deck. Gold began to flood through his veins, building beneath his skin. 

Reversed Judgement. The Lantern. The Star.

“Failure of judgement upon the lantern-star.” He declared, pushing the cards aside.

Samael was silent for a few moments, though it was impossible to tell what his expression was in the darkness. “I pass the floor onto Inquisitor Craune.” His tone was short and clipped.

A withered old woman leaned forwards in the night, face curled into a suspicious sneer and body illuminated by a shining Rosette worn as a necklace. “Subject- Answer this- Where does the High Traitor Lorg-”

“That is subject to an Edict of Obliteration!” Fyodor roared over the rest of the question, drowning it out and preventing any in the field from hearing specifics of the question. He leaned forwards in on his throne like a furious gargoyle. “You will speak no more of it to any present, Inquisitor!” 

Inquisitor Craune sneered visibly, dismissively up towards the righteously furious Inquisitor Lord. She cast a hateful glare around the gathered inquisitors, all of whom had hands on weapons and pointed looks on their faces, direct towards her. She scoffed, turning back to him. “Where can I go to further my objectives?” She called out a secondary, safer question.

Joshua drew from the deck. Gold started to overflow, pouring out of his skin and collecting into a newborn star above his brow. An inch or so suspended before his forehead, the terrible heat of His light within it. 

Reversed Fortress of Faith. The Shattered World. The Eye of Chaos.

Several inquisitors twitched and shifted uneasily as he replied, pushing the cards aside and staring straight at her. “The stained temple upon the sickle world in the eye of chaos.”

She glared around at the clearly-riled Inquisitors around her, before hissing out her reply. “I pass the floor to Inquisitor Gregor.” She retreated back to the shadows between her retinue with that.

Inquisitor Gregor was an older man with both eyes replaced by glowing red optics, and withered lips pulled down into a stiff grimace. His head tilted up and down once, before he slowly enunciated his chosen question. “What is in… the left pocket of my spare coat?”

Joshua pulled from the deck. The sun on his brow began to bleed, light spilling out from either side and curving around his head to connect in the back. The glow intensified, and the dim candles were made useless for the light of the shining crown upon his head. 

The Silver Door. The Gateway. The Rogue Trader.

“The silver ring of a rogue trader.” He answered, pushing the cards aside calmly. 

Inquisitor Gregor nodded dispassionately. “I cede the floor to Inquisitor Jonfrey.”

Inquisitor Jonfrey was the one with the white coat and red gloves. The light from Joshua’s aura was strong enough to illuminate most of his features, and because of it Joshua could see the look of restrained suspicion directed his way. “...Which… which xenos is the largest threat to Mankind?” He asked after a moment, reaching up to rub at his strong chin.

Joshua drew from the deck. Gold began to leak through the cracks of his body, ethereal flames licking off his limbs and drifting upwards. The glow continued to grow, his crown of light thickening and radiance removing any shadows from his immediate vicinity. The reactor pulsed strongly in his core. 

The Monster. The Abyss. Reversed Galaxy.

“The devouring swarms from beyond the galaxy.” Joshua answered, gently setting the cards atop the growing pile beside him. 

“I cede the floor to Inquisitor Harleigh.” He replied, bowing his head and stepping back.

Harleigh stepped forwards, the inquisitor clad in black and wearing a white mask, looming at seven feet or so amongst his retinue. “My question is this- What is the nature of the light you emit?”

Oh that was clever, why didn’t he think of that? Joshua kept the question in mind, and drew from the deck. The reactor pulsed, the fire rose, and the gold around his form grew into a bright yellow bonfire. All inquisitors around were cast into sharp relief by the golden light, the darkness of the night driven behind them and hiding from the brimming lights.

The Machine. The Candle. The Lightning Tower.

“A machine in the soul that channels power.” He answered, stacking the cards in the used pile after flipping them, now enlightened a tad bit more about the aura. It was a kind of… release-valve, it seemed. A psyker who drew on too much power would normally die violently, but the mechanism the Emperor had put in his soul would bleed that accumulated power off in the form of light.

He made a mental note to investigate himself further using the tarot, at a later date. It was something he simply hadn’t considered before this moment, for whatever reason.

The tall masked inquisitor nodded. “I cede the floor to Inquisitor Jones.”

The next inquisitor stepped forwards with a sharp grin painted onto his face, squinting slightly before the bonfire of light, hand raised to hold his battered hat. “What is the most strategically important artifact to retrieve for the Imperium?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

Joshua nodded and drew the cards, the reactor pulsed, the bonfire increased in scale.

The God Emperor. The Emperor’s Throne. The Battleship.

“The Emperor’s First Flagship.” He declared, the gold not quite sufficient to drown out his nonplussed feelings at the revelation. He was almost certain that answer just came from the Emperor wanting his original flagship back and not that it was actually the most critical thing in the Imperium.

Inquisitor Jones nodded, tipping his hat and stepping back to his retinue again. “I cede the floor to Inquisitor Rita.” He stated plainly. 

Rita, the inquisitor that didn’t take the incredibly heavy sword back after he pulled it out, took a moment to realize that she had been called upon, staring at him with an unblinking glare and tense shoulders. She stepped forwards with a straight-leg-stomp. “Where is the nearest servant of the Archenemy?” She asked sharply.

All inquisitors tensed at the question. Joshua drew from the deck.

The bonfire grew into a pillar. 

The Crone. The Spyndle. Reversed Inquisitor.

“Old woman. A witch. A traitor Inquisitor.” He declared, shoulders tensing up as he read out the results. There would only really be one result from something like this.

The next few moments were rather loud and confusing. White light splashed across his field of vision, gunfire exploded through the field, a crackle of lightning and hissing of exotic lasers, and many other, less distinct sounds. 

He stayed perfectly still, trusting the conversion field and Hercule’s superhuman physicality to keep him safe, even as his heart jumped into his throat and reactor pulsed angrily. 

Explosions rocked the field, bullets splashed against forcefields, and all of it happened without a single actual word. Just furious, seething exhales and gunfire.

Then, just as instantly as it began, the violence ended. Bodies littered the field inconsistently, save for one great accumulation centered around the left of Inquisitor Fyodor’s throne. Crumbled corpses rapidly turning to ash under the weight of exotic fires.

The Inquisitor Craune did not pass the vibe check, it seemed. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what she had done prior, but her immediate attempt on his life after the apparent accusation was enough to seal the deal, apparently.

“For the attempted murder of the subject of an Inquisitorial Interrogation, Inquisitor Craune is sentenced to death by fire.” Fyodor rumbled atop his throne, the walker having turned just enough for the large gun mounted on one side-carriage to blast the woman with a wave of superheated light. The walker rumbled, and the scribe patiently changed to an older sheet of parchment and recorded the quick sentencing upon it. 

The walker turned back around with two tremendous stomps. “Are there any Inquisitors who dispute this sentencing?”

A chorus of ‘nays’ rang out.

Fyodor sniffed disdainfully, cast in bright yellow light, gradually turning back to face Joshua.

“...I will take my question after Inquisitor Rita cedes the floor, if there are no disputes.” Fyodor called out with a great scowl. 

“I cede the floor.” Inquisitor Rita called out immediately after. Fyodor glanced over at her, then forwards again.

He stared down at Joshua for a long moment, then slowly, almost reluctantly, ground out a question. “If you are a Divine Avatar, subject, why would the God-Emperor create you now?” It was a very deliberate and precise question, from the sounds of it.

Joshua nodded, and drew from the tarot.

The tower of light pulsed, and grew again. Sharp inhales came from the gathered Inquisitors and their retinues, and he could hear the sound of armored knees hitting the earth behind him. Reverential bows and kneels before the pillar of fire that so thoroughly enveloped him.

The Inquisitor. Reversed Illumination. The Revelation.

Joshua smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t understand.” He said, flipping the cards one by one and leaving them before his crossed legs.

Despite it being a total non-answer, the Inquisitor Lord seemed oddly satisfied by it. He simply leaned back in his throne and declared to the gathered. “I need no further demonstration of his ability. I am ready to proceed to deliberations when the gathered are likewise finished.”

The trial seemed to be peetering out after that sudden outburst of violence among themselves.

—

There were a few more questions after that, but the Inquisitors eventually all elected to proceed to the next phase of their interrogations, which was the ‘debate about what this means among ourselves’ phase. As none of the rest of them were Inquisitors, that meant that no one else would be privy to the talks, and Joshua in particular would be required to ‘stay in place’.

Which meant within fifty meters of his exact, current position, with a servo skull following and recording his every move. He looked nonplussed at the floating cyborg skull, which hummed innocently at eye level and just out of arms reach. 

“So how long do you think it will take for them to finish deliberating?” Joshua asked idly, reaching up to scratch at his chin, glancing at the stars above and the faintest black outlines of the inquisitorial ships among them. They could only be seen by looking at where obvious gaps in star coverage was, and that was complicated by the industrial lights of the planet itself and his own golden aura.

“Knowing the Inquisition?” Hercule started to reply after a few moments of rather awkward silence. “They’re already made a judgement, the bulk of their debate relates to how they will take advantage of it, and what Inquisitor will have the honor of proclaiming it. A process that can take anywhere from five seconds to five weeks.”

“Yeah that sounds about right.” Joshua sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I should ready myself for a long wait then.” He dropped the hand back to his side.

“Sisters, send for a field tent and all the amenities required.” Hercule ordered, turning his head and waving a hand.

“I’ve already sent for such.” The Chapter Master of the Night Hunters declared with a shake of his head and wave of his own hand. “A thunderhawk with supplies and some of most trusted serfs is on its way.”

“I really don’t need that much, so long as it doesn’t rain.” Joshua tried to explain with a raised palm and a furrowed brow. “It’s pretty warm out, being a summer night…”

Unfortunately, they were quickly getting into the semantics of what should be brought over to cater to his needs. Custodian and Legatine and Chapter Master all exchanging strong words over what they would provide and whose responsibility it was. He watched with no small irritation at being so thoroughly annoyed, before turning to Denaira, who was watching as silently as ever.

“They don listen to me- I don get no respec’, no respec’ I say!” Joshua declared with a funny accent, raising his hands to tap at his chest and trying to contain a small smile. 

Denaira had the decency to sadly nod in agreement, the mildest sarcasm in her expression. Joshua chuckled with a shake of his head, smile slowly falling from his face while the servo skull circled around him.

“...I’m going to bed.” He said, shrugging off his overcoat and stepping over to a soft looking section of dry ground, laying out the brown burlap and laying down atop of it. He let the oversized sword he was stuck with flop over onto the ground next to him, which it did with an audible ‘thumping’ noise.

“Lord Saint!? P-please let us get you a bedroll!” The Legatine shouted in a panic from somewhere vaguely behind him. 

He waved a hand, using his other hand as an improvised pillow. The armor had enough cushioning already. “I’ll survive a nap on the ground, Sister.” He replied with closed eyes. “Besides- the hard earth is good for my back.”

His brief stint on the nice ground lasted all of two minutes before the sisters had collected a dozen bedrolls, blankets, and creature comforts to force upon him. Their terribly sad and worried eyes made it incredibly difficult to actually refuse their offerings.

So now he was on a stack of bedrolls thick enough to be an actual mattress, sunk beneath field blankets piled thick enough to calm an autistic child, and a vaguely disgruntled expression on his face as he stared up at the stars. All the while he was well-illuminated from the golden radiance that had yet to completely fade from around his form.

The Legatines continued to fret around him nervously.

“Do you require dinner before sleep, Milord?”

“Are they soft enough- we can get more bedding if you need it!”

“It’s- Lord Vessel- Would you require a Sister or two to keep your bed war-”

“I will be fine, thank you!” He called out in an annoyed fashion, eyes screwed shut. “Please let me sleep, Sisters!”

Unfortunately, that just meant that they watched him in silence instead.

This was, of course, all the God-Emperor’s fault and Joshua would cast blame on him appropriately. 

The Reactor pulsed once. 

Chapter 16

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

His awakening was met first with the hovering skull intended to record his every action, and next by the stares of kneeling men and women alike. Sleepily, he glared through the massive amount of cushion that enveloped him, before slowly forcing his hands up to rub crust away. This was followed by a long, bone-cracking stretch, and a long jaw-popping yawn. 

He settled back into the veritable nest he was in, squinting up at the new roof. He was pretty sure he had fallen asleep under open sky, but now a massive fabric canopy stretched over his head, and dozens of cyborg-skulls flew about in busy silence. Some carried faint lights, others held cameras pointed down at him, and others still circled with thuribles hanging from mechanical claws.

A cyborg baby flew gently overhead, a faint mechanical lullaby emitting from a machine-mask as it flapped little robotic wings.

Alright, he couldn’t sleep here anymore. He groggily forced himself forwards, pushing the thick layers of bedding away as he rose. He let his gaze wander until he found the reassuring presence of his constant guards- Denaira and Hercule sat slightly behind the head of his bedplace. Denaira was asleep, eyes closed and leaning back, resting her head against the broad golden plate of Hercule’s armor.

Hercule was wearing his helmet, and therefore Joshua couldn’t immediately tell if he was awake too or not. He shifted his head to the side, questioningly. 

Hercule’s helmet tilted in a tiny nod, indicating that he was indeed awake. 

Feeling slightly mischievous, Joshua raised his hands up to his face and curled his fingers into a heart shape, framing the two of them between his fingers. “Cute!” He mouthed silently before his smile twisted into a crooked little half-grin. 

Hercule deepened the tilt of his helmet just a tad, a gleam of light rolling across the eye-lenses as he did. Joshua let out a slightly-heavier than normal breath through his nose, amused, and then began the somewhat arduous process of extracting his legs from many pounds of blanket and cushion. 

He idly looked around for his clothes, placing his feet across the… He glanced down.

Carpet. They put carpet on the ash-covered ground? That’s just going to ruin it. He sighed and returned to his search for clothes. There was nothing over that direction, so he let his gaze continue wandering until he had exhausted all spaces in his immediate vicinity. With a somewhat heavy heart, he let his gaze drift upwards to the small crowd of kneeling men and women, and the candles that flickered intermittently between them.

“...Where are my clothes?” He whispered, eyes flickering around and brows furrowed. 

A large hand came into view, Hercule stretching out one gold-plated arm and pointing forwards. Joshua glanced over to him, then followed the point towards its apparent target.

Ah. No wonder he didn’t recognize that as clothes. It was some outrageously frilly, obnoxious looking thing. He stared at the mess of lace and fabric for a few very long seconds, doing his best to figure out how exactly it was supposed to go on his body, before deciding on a much more humble affair. 

He stood up, gathered one field-blanket around his waist as a kind of skirt, and gathered another around his shoulders as a kind of poncho. He stepped gingerly over to the frilly mess, stole a pair of aquila-shaped pins from some part or another, and used them to hold his skirt and cloak in place. 

They took his nice jedi robes and tried to make him wear… seventeenth century nobleboy attire? He let a befuddled grimace overtake his face, before turning away from the silk stockings and lace collar and back to his improvised bedding. Hercule had a distinctly amused tilt to his helmet, and Denaira was now awake with slightly bleary eyes. 

“Breakfast?” He asked with a raised brow and shrug.

They stared at him for a moment, then gave brief nods, and pushed up from the shared bench. 

“Breakfast can certainly be arranged.” Hercule responded, reaching over to take up his massive shield again. 

Joshua waited a moment for them to step over to him, then began to walk out of the tent he was now within. The small legion of people who were bowing and kneeling immediately leapt up to get out of his way, heads ducked low and arms locked into salutes. The knowledge that they were doing this for him instead of Hercule prickled at the back of his mind.

Denaira stepped before him, pushing open the flap of the massive tent and allowing him to step past, into the outside once more. His bionics automatically adjusted to the light, dilating and shifting to greet the morning sun.

And the rings of fortifications that surrounded him. Fortifications and altars and men and women and cherubs and distant aircraft and more. Dozens of eyes raised and looked over to him as he emerged from the tent, and softly muttered prayers came from their lips as Hercule emerged from the tent after him. 

It was good that his face was unused to expression, lest he reveal a troublesome emotion at times like these.

“...You inquired about breakfast, Lord Joshua?” Hercule reminded from slightly behind.

“...Yes. I did.” Joshua eventually replied with a short nod. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Jerky or somesuch, I think. Carb-bars and recaf if they have them.”

“It will be quite a battle to convince them of such a humble breakfast.” Hercule spoke with good humor in his voice. “A feast I heard them planning, the night before.”

“Leave me my wild dreamings, Lord Hercule.” Joshua replied with a faint humor of his own. 

—

The Inquisitors descended upon the world again shortly before midday, having apparently stayed up all through the night to debate the results of the trial. They had apparently been calling upon eyewitnesses to testify all throughout the night, a constant stream of shuttles traveling to and from their primary ship that he had simply slept through.

Joshua had managed to negotiate the cooks away from an extravagant feast and down to a reasonable ‘full pandemonium breakfast’, which included a gargantuan fried egg, a heap of shredded root-vegetable, three types of grox meat, a serving of alien-fruit, and something akin to a pancake with honey.

It was, in all honesty, absolutely delicious. He made a note of the breakfast in question so he could ask for it at a later date- it wasn’t as obnoxiously fancy as the chefs tried to prepare for him, but it was just enough effort that their services weren’t being wasted on him. He probably would’ve been perfectly happy with just something to snack on and a glass of water, but they would be terribly disappointed if he pushed for that. 

The atmosphere was still tense as they re-arranged into the circle of the trial, now thoroughly surrounded by fortifications and turrets that could conveniently swivel inwards mounted on long walls of quietly packed earth.

“The Conclave has finished with its deliberations, and the observations of we ten gathered Inquisitors are unanimous.” Fyodor declared with a loud and authoritative rumble in his voice, looming on his throne of marble and machinery. Joshua idly noted that they had removed two inquisitors since this trial had begun, and that was apparently noted in the official records from how furiously the scribe worked by Fyodor’s side. 

“It is in accordance with our best judgement, citation of all known prior records, and the evidence gathered from the questionings, trials, and gathered recordings, that Joshua ‘Prettyboy Joe’ Pendrarc is not a Saint, Living or otherwise.” Fyodor rolled out with a steady glower, still clearly building up to something. An invisible tension began to grow among the gathered, worry building up as the Inquisitor continued.

Joshua found himself distinctly calm. After all…

Is he in danger?

Walk onwards with confidence. 

He already had a strong hunch about what the outcome of the trial would be. 

He stood patiently before the gathered inquisitors, one hand holding up the tremendous blade of Russ, and the other set against the small of his back. His rosette gleamed around his neck, and the faint breeze that rolled through the region made his locks flicker intermittently.

“The qualifications for a saint are as such. A lifetime of great faith, pious action, and records of miracles following in the wake of their deeds. They are declared as saints only after their death and journey to the God-Emperor’s side.” Fyodor continued, the engine of his throne rumbling idly. “The qualifications of a living saint are as such- a saint whose death is recorded and accounted for, who is then resurrected by the will of the God-Emperor, and infused with his divine and awesome power. While the subject meets the last criteria, he only partially fulfills several previous criteria and fails several others.”

Such as the whole ‘being dead’ thing. Joshua nodded, mostly to himself. The tension of the field continued to grow as the Lord Inquisitor continued in the same, growling tone he had maintained this entire time. No weapons were yet drawn, although it felt like a nearer and nearer thing as the judgement was further elaborated upon. 

At this, the Lord Inquisitor flanked by beautiful women stepped forwards, and began to speak. “While the subject fails to qualify as a Saint or Living Saint, he does meet all criteria to qualify as something else. I will list these qualifications in order.”

Brutus raised a hand, palm up, slightly turning so that his gaze can sweep across the gathered crowd. “First, for his his obvious aura of power, which is congruent with the divine light as observed by the Navis Nobilite regarding Holy Terra, and the divine aura as displayed by Living Saints, and for the passing of all saintly trials, he is most certainly blessed by the God-Emperor.”

A great deal of building tension was dispelled with the foremost criteria, sighs and slackened shoulders followed after Brutus had made such a thing apparent. 

“Second, for coming at a time amid great upheaval and war- there is no era more wrought by battle than this one. The conflicts logged by the Adimistratum have long since surpassed the capacity of any one man to fully comprehend, and every day more worlds are lost to alien menace and heretical rebellion, while just as many worlds are reconquered and brought into the fold by the Imperium’s many countless soldiers and heroes. It can be safely said to be a time of great conflict, both external and internal.” Brutus had an almost-amused tone in his voice, as if what he was saying was so obvious as to be ironic to actually point out. This further dispelled the tension of the scene, with a bare handful of distant chuckles quietly rolling over the field.

“Third, is the subject’s phenomenal psychic power. Evidenced in his gifts of winnowed theopnuestos-” Wha-? “-and astronomatic psykana immaterianetics.” What? “It is beyond obvious that the subject is possessed of psychic abilities with far fewer obstacles and dangers than those possessed of a standard psyker.”

Joshua had no idea what the Inquisitor was talking about when he said that. He certainly looked very certain about whatever jargon was coming out of his mouth, but it might as well have been a different language to an initiate like him. He glanced to the side, towards the present librarian of the Night Hunters only to see the space marine nodding in thoughtful agreement. He turned his gaze forwards again, and resolved to ask what those words actually meant at a later date. 

“Fourth, the subject’s alteration of form from recorded template. As records from Terra show, when the subject was fitted for his replacement optics, a full body scan and baseline was taken. This was a mere week after the God-Emperor first turned his gaze upon the subject. Now, three months later, the subject’s body has deviated by an observable percentage further still. When paired with the subject’s testimony of altered physiological baselines, it is inarguable that the subject is qualifies as ‘possessing an altered form’.”

It was something he had noticed himself, yeah. Probably why those bugs are working so hard under his skin.

A golden spider spun silk between his ribs.

“Lastly-” Brutus gestured at this. “The subject’s ability and predilection to speak with animals.” 

When he had displayed anything like that? He raised a brow. 

“-Gathered from recordings and testimonies aboard the Miracle of Suffering- the subject maintains a habit of greeting, thanking, and farewelling servitors, machines, and abhumans as equally as any human. More than five thousand recorded instances of this persist throughout the provided records, which the Conclave determined as sufficient evidence.”

…Ah. Right. Joshua supposed that tracked by Imperial standards. 

The vulture-like Lord Inquisitor stepped forwards at this, and Brutus stepped back. “The gathered evidence is sufficient enough to draw an absolute conclusion.” Samael growled, seeming to force himself into a proper posture as he rolled out the concluding statements. “These qualifications are native to a controversial ideology among certain members of the Inquisition, the core ideal being that the God-Emperor, who once took the form of a Mortal Man to walk among us, can do so once again.”

Breathing ceased among the gathered. 

Samael’s eyes fell squarely upon his as he drew out the next lines. “The principles of this ideal has long been formally outlawed among we Inquisitors, for fear that if such a thing were to pass, then the Astronomicon may fall, the subject could be captured by heretical warp powers, and that the subject may be slain and thus take the God-Emperor’s essence with it. Despite this, the ideal persisted in our formal records of heresies, and we find no other branch of theological inquiry as fitting as it in this instance.”

Here it comes.

“It is the conclusion of this Conclave of the Holy Orders of the Emperor’s Inquisitor, that the subject Joshua ‘Prettyboy Joe’ Pendrarc, is what is known as a God-Incarnate. Potentially one of many, potentially the only one of his like, a living vessel of the God-Emperor’s own voice and will.”

“Rejoice, I bring glorious news.” Samael called out across a still and silent field. “God walks among us!”

The first line of the first book of the holy canon of the Cult Imperialis. A direct quote, the meaning of which couldn’t be clearer in meaning to the gathered. 

In a great wave, men and women began to fall to their hands and knees. A thundering sound like the trample of horses across a field as thousands in attendance began to bow around him. The sound grew louder and louder as it passed from menial to soldier to sister to marine. Finally, to either side of him, he heard the heavy thumps of Hercule and Denaira taking a knee.

The Inquisitors did likewise, Lord Inquisitors gently lowering themselves to the ground and making the sign of the aquila- even Fyodor descended from his throne of judgement in order to perform the sign properly. The retinues dropped to their knees with much more vigor, heads bowed low before him.

All the while, Joshua stood wearing two field-blankets and a pair of golden pins. 

He had no idea how he should respond to this.

‘SPEAK.’

His eyes flashed gold. He tilted his head slightly forwards. Yeah that would probably be a good place to start, huh?

“Rise, if you would.” Joshua called out, as normally as he could manage. “I have a ways to go before kneeling is warranted.” He tried to smile, casting his eyes across the gathered.

“Indeed.” Fyodor responded in his growling manner, pulling himself up from the ground, using his thick powersword as an improvised cane. “The formal procedure is thus- We are to announce you through the Astropathic Relay in all directions, so that the entire Imperium may hear of your dawning as soon as possible. We are to escort you back to Holy Terra, so that you may be formally crowned and recognized as Emperor Reborn, and thus acting Lord-Commander of the Imperium and all within it.”

“There is a formal procedure for the core event of a controversial ideology coming to pass?” Joshua asked, faintly bemused.

“The Holy Orders of the Emperor’s Inquisition pride ourselves in our readiness.” Fyodor responded with a sharp nod. “We will announce your dawning just before you are ready to leave, Your Divinity, to blunt enemy action that will no doubt arise to oppose you.”

Joshua considered that with a slow nod, before his brows furrowed. “Why announce my existence before we reach Holy Terra? If the aim is to delay enemy action.”

“So that the High Lords can prepare for your return, coronation, and to cede power to your risen authority.” Fyodor responded with a grimace. “Further- so that any who overhear through the Astropathic Choirs may maketh pilgrimage to Holy Terra to behold the ceremony, and offer their arms in service to you.”

“It would be best to anticipate many enemies.” Hercule rumbled behind him. “Both foreign and domestic. There exist some High Lords that would rather see a Divine Heir strangled in the crib than tolerate a threat to their power.”

“That’s- Heresy!” The Legatine called out with a voice of unspeakable offense. Cries for purgation and hateful zealotry followed in the wake of Hercules simple statement.

“Indeed- and the Imperium is unfortunately infested with such heresies.” Fyodor hissed hatefully. “By our word, Your Divinity, we will gather as great of a force as can be spared from this system, and each and every one within it will be sacrificed to pave your road back to Holy Terra.”

“Back to Terra…” Joshua muttered thoughtfully, a vague sense of disappointment in his voice. “I suppose that would be proper- although in some senses it feels as if I just left, and now I’m being escorted in a circle.”

“My apologies, Your Divinity.” Fyodor bowed his old head with a grimace under his beard. “But the procedure is exacting in this circumstance.”

“No apology is needed, Lord Inquisitor. You did nothing wrong.” Joshua shook his head, feeling vaguely tired. “I suppose we should get to work, there exists genestealers in this system yet, and all present will need to be tested for genetic purity before leaving the system, and we’ll further need to tally up all who would like to accompany us-”

He sighed. “I’ll have to apologize to the Canoness and Captain- for interrupting their regular patrol in such a manner.”

There was silence for a moment.

“...Was that a jest, Lord Joshua?” Hercule asked faintly.

Joshua raised his brow, looking up at the golden demigod. “...No? I’m simply aware of how inconvenient it must be to one’s schedule- to have a ‘God-Incarnate’ suddenly appear on one’s ship.”

“I’m confident they will accept your apology in the spirit it is given, Lord Joshua.” Hercule’s voice was rather dry now.

“I hope so, they were quite busy before, I remember.” Joshua decided to completely ignore the absurdity of the situation. It was probably funnier that way. 

Interlude 4

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Arist ‘The Broad’ O’Klen, Chief Librarian of the Night Hunters-

The fortress-monastary was abuzz with activity, marine and menial both walking quickly through the halls with crates and chests in hand, working at a frenzied pace to finish loading all necessary supplies into their transports. Those transports, in turn, were constantly working to move this cargo from the surface into orbit, to fill the holds of their three battle-barges in readiness for the campaign to come.

Despite the constant work, complaints from the younger brothers and menials were as low as they had ever been, energized as they were by the news they had received.

The Emperor Walks Among them, or so the Inquisitors say. Arist found himself significantly more hesitant to simply accept that. Standing upon one of the long walkways that overlooked their inner monastery, watching the activities below, he wasn’t sure if anyone else felt his same skepticism. 

“Brother Librarian.” A familiar rumble called out to him. He turned his head just enough to look down the length of the cloister, beholding the form at the end. Towering as tall as any of the Gigantes Company, clad in simple robes and a patchwork cloak of quilted fabrics, the ever-helmeted form of their venerable Master of Sanctity.

“Chaplain Shamonus.” Arist greeted with a nod. The skull-faced helm nodded his way in turn, and the gigantic, ancient chaplain strode easily over to him, taking a resting stance by his side and following his gaze out to the inner monastery. Under the quilted cloak and simple robes, Arist could see the black lines of the machine-muscle suit that made their power armor actuate. Of course, without the powerpack to enable it, the black form-fitting suit was simply fashion. 

The sight would perhaps be comical to one unfamiliar with the marine- a helmet sans any plating, a bodysuit sans any power, a simple robe, and a thick cloak of a thousand tiny patches of fabric. 

“Librarian Arist.” Shamonus greeted in a simple, familiar fashion. The same bearing and tone that Arist had always known from the venerable marine, from his first meeting with the man during his training some three hundred years prior to now. Even, inevitable, and well-tempered. Not even the most fearsome of battle could rouse that voice from a state of untroubled righteousness. 

“I suppose you’ve come for me.” Arist concluded easily, turning his gaze fully forwards again, a tiny downward tilt to his thin lips. “Your sense for unease is as remarkable as ever.”

“An art like any oth’r.” Shamonus replied simply. “Honed with time and practice, and I’ve plenty of both by now.”

An underestimation if Arist had ever heard one. None knew quite how long venerable Shamonus had been their Master of Sanctity, even the dreadnoughts of their chapter could not recall a time before he had been among them. As sure and as constant as their ships, monatasy, and rites themselves- Shamonus had been with them. His quilted cloak and patchwork power-armor was a testament to this, each section of cloth and plate came from one of their many honored fallen.

A living amalgam of their history- some battle brothers said that the most-ancient Chaplain was no marine at all, but the embodied spirit of their very chapter itself.

Arist knew enough about the immaterium to hesitate in dismissing the thought.

There was quiet for a few long seconds. The Chaplain waited patiently, knowing perhaps that Arist wasn’t going to keep his tongue still for too long, or perhaps unwilling to put pressure upon the younger marine’s thoughts. He was grateful for it in either case.

“The Inquisitors say that the God-Emperor walks among us again- but…” Arist began with a furrow to his brow and deepening of his frown. “Blessed I can accept without hesitation. The… vessel… he is certainly that. That’s without question.” He paused for a moment, corralling his thoughts into ordered rows, and refortifying the gates of his mind with brief mnemonics. 

…A giant of golden light, taller than any man, clad in heavy plates with a thousand ornate flourishes. The perfect depiction, the ideal form, identical to the most ancient and comprehensive works of the remembrances of their lord…

“But you doubt their conclusion that he is more than just blessed?” Shamonus asked quietly, reserved and without judgement on his tongue. 

“I have never studied the canonization of saints- so I cannot evaluate their thoroughness in the process.” Arist confessed with a shadow to his eyes. “If there is some esoterica that he fails to meet- then perhaps he is not a formal saint, but some manner of new saint surely? This idea of the Emperor-Reborn is…”

He trailed off, unsure of where exactly his muddled thoughts were leading in this moment. Rather than say something foolish, or without substance, it was sometimes best to simply stay silent. 

“You think it impossible of the God-Emperor?” Shamonus inquired with a tilted helm.

“Impossible no.” Arist answered at once, waving a hand in short denial. “It would not be the most remarkable thing our Lord Emperor has done, I believe. But…” He rolled his hand at the wrist, thoughtfully. “...I’ve seen many depictions of our Lord, I’ve studied deeds and canon for centuries now, and have debated the finer details of both among fellow veterans, Night Hunters and other chapters alike. I would consider myself well-learned of his lore, and the one they call the God-Incarnate…”

“Does not meet with your expectation.” Shamonus finished the thought succinctly, letting Arist drop the hand and nod in reply. 

“He does not, no.” Arist confirmed with a tilt of his head. “Perhaps it is a failure on my part, to hold such anticipations of our Lord at all. The connotations of something named ‘God-Incarnate’... they do not align with the young man that I have seen.”

There was a period of long silence after that, and Arist wondered if perhaps he had said something foolish. He wasn’t sure if it could be said to be heretical, as this situation was frankly unprecedented, but were there something he had overlooked in arrogant experience…

“...What is the foremost tenant of the Cult Imperialis, Brother Librarian?” The giant chaplain asked, clearly leading into something.

“Lo! Though the Emperor once didst tread 'mongst men, a god he was, and e’er shall be.” Arist quoted with practiced ease, idly wondering where the Chaplain was heading with this line of dialogue.

“Thy observations are not unfounded, Brother Librarian, for little of the one they call the God-Incarnate matches with the anticipations of the Emperor as we know him.” Shamonus nodded, and raised a hand before his chest, as if holding some idea in his palm. “Remember the Galen Wars, and the vision of Living Saint Justine?”

“Aye. We beheld her golden shadow as well, and his shadow is its peer by my eyes.” 

“It was.” Shamonus replied in a very deliberate fashion. “When first beheld by our brothers, it was equal to her own. But it was not her equal during the trial-” The chaplain turned his helmet very deliberately towards him. “-Nor, from the word of the Sisters, was either instance the equal of its first showing.”

Arist considered that for a moment, then his brows furrowed deeply. “The battle that we were not present for?” He asked for confirmation. “Are you saying that we’ve seen only glimpses of his power thus far?”

“I observe that his aura has refrained from consistency. Three instances, three scales.” Shamonus nodded. “A Living Saint’s light is steady. Powerful and distinct, but rarely in flux.”

“...As if he is not in total control of his power?” Arist leaned forwards slightly. “You liken him to a neophyte then- grappling with his own thews.” He considered the thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nay- I should ask directly- what are you saying, Brother Chaplain?”

“The God-Emperor hath always been a God.” Shamonus stated simply. “Yet once he walked among Men, in the form of a man. How do Men enter this universe?”

“...By being born…” Arist replied slowly, getting a sense of where this was going.

“Rare is the Man that emerges fully realized, at the peak of his strength and ability.” Shamonus continued with a tilt of his head. “Oft that a Man emerges first as a child, then a boy, then a young man- and only then does he become a Man. Even the astartes, cast in His image, are no different.”

“...So you believe he is the God-Emperor Incarnate?” Arist replied, for lack of more immediate thoughts, letting the words of the Chaplain roll about in his mind, careful in handling and consideration. 

“Nay.” Shamonus shook his head. “I believe he could be, in time.”

Distant, jovial shouts and the sound of burning shipfires filled the cloister, absent of any other sounds. Not even breathing could be heard among the two men.

“He came to us for a tutor.” Arist observed after a moment, doing his best to bear the sudden, dreadful weight that started to settle upon his shoulders. It was a simple observation on the venerable Chaplain’s part, one that Arist had overlooked in his ponderings.

Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to note such a possibility, with how great and terrible the consequences could be if such were true. A young God-Emperor, grappling and unsure of his own power, in a galaxy such as theirs…

A million-million enemies would delight in despoiling such a thing.

“Nine-hundred of our number will be with him. It will not be enough.” Shamonus declared.

“Nine-hundred? Who will remain?” 

“By Chapter Master’s word- The ninth and tenth companies shall remain. The eleventh company shall be brought from stasis, and accompany us. Should all of us fall- the rest will remain to rebuild.”

“The eleventh- the Inquisition has agreed to overlook this breach in the Codex then?” Arist asked, leaning forwards and deliberately not thinking about the full extent of their stasis-reserves, lest something be lurking in his mind.

“In this case.” Shamonus stated softly. He turned and reached down, clapping a hand on his shoulder and patting it twice. “Stand firm, Brother Librarian. The trials to come will require each of us to fight as ten.”

“You have foreseen this?” Arist asked as Shamonus began to walk away.

“One needs no psykery to see the storm to come. Only wisdom.” The giant chaplain called out behind himself. Arist watched him as he walked, down the walkway and then around the corner, and out of his mortal sight. 

Arist looked down at his palm, gaze wandering to something unseen.

‘Could be, in time.’

His hand closed into a fist, shaking with the invisible pressures upon his shoulders. A terribly ominous thing to say. It availed him of no worries and gave him altogether new, far grander ones.

Regardless of his concerns and doubts- they were far too small and frail compared to the consequences of misjudgement and failure. Meaningless irritations before the potential calamity that loomed.

Chaplain Shamonus was well-practiced indeed, Arist had never felt so motivated.

—

-990.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Apollyon Aloysius,Canoness Preceptor of the Order of Ebon Chalice, First Preceptory-

It rankled her spirit, to be burdened with cleaning the work of their daughter-order like this, a matter she had to attend to while the Inquisition proclaimed Lord Joshua as the Emperor-Reborn.

She had not dared to dream of such a thing prior, and yet there was something so right about the idea, so wonderful and awesome that it could not possibly be fiction- for fiction would tread the bounds of believability more thoroughly. That she would live to see such a momentous occasion, that she would have the honors of being in his company, among his defenders…

So she worked quickly, tirelessly, and without complaint. If the Inquisition were to stumble upon whatever their daughter-order had locked away before they had the opportunity to purge it, and condemned their entire order as a result- they could interfere with the protection of the God-Incarnate.

They could try to send them away, and the inevitable conflict would surely endanger him, and that was unacceptable. 

“Continue loading the above.” She ordered her second legatine with a wave of her hand, before turning to the highest ranking sister of the now-collapsing order. White-veiled but laviscously-robed, the sister superior was all that remained after the purgation of their veterans. 

Less than a hundred in all- they’d form the core of a new preceptory, honored with the same white veils to remember their old selves, but with new recruits to fill their ranks and swell them to proper size. Shameful that any of this even had to occur, that they were so incompetent to collapse in number as they had.

All Orders had their secrets- only a bare few Orders allowed their secrets to cause them to dwindle into dissolution like this. “Take us to the vaults.” She commanded.

The sister-superior bowed and turned, leading them from the primary chapel and through secondary halls. They passed veiled sisters along the way, each carrying little bundles of personal belongings, furnishings, or modest decorations. The mood was simultaneously morose and giddy, the sisters saddened by their dissolution outweigh by a drowning excitement at the good news that had come a mere day prior.

‘Rejoice, I bring glorious news. God walks among us!’

The mere memory of the words from a vox-recording was enough to send delighted, giddy shivers through her body. Like some divine feather brushing along her bare skin. She kept herself contained as she and her command-squad were led to the deeper chambers of the chapel.

“It will be in here, lady Preceptor.” The sister superior said, activating the mechanical door and stepping into what looked to be an inner ritual chamber. The Miracle of Suffering had several of this style- mostly used for punishments or meetings of administrative purpose. She stepped over to the stone altar at the back, and rested a hand upon it. “Through the altar, there is a stairwell leading down into the deeper vaults- though I was never told how to open it.”

“You were not told how to open it? Yet you know that the pathway is here?” Imagifier Madonna asked with a raised brow, looking up and down at the fairly standard altar. A depiction of the God-Emperor in polished and painted stone, staring sternly down upon whoever would kneel in the center of the chamber, and flanked by long-dead saints.

It would be a simple matter to destroy the altar with her heavy mechanical hand- but to damage an image of the Emperor was a heresy most loathsome. An unacceptable solution in this instance. 

“I was punished in this chamber once- candles across my back and allowed to melt completely.” The veiled sister confessed with a bowed head. “It was during this time that I heard the sound of voices behind the altar, and the faint stirring of winds in the chamber. If the deeper vaults are not behind it, then I know not where they could be.”

“A pass-phrase, perhaps.” Madonna mused, reaching a hand up to cup her chin, looking over the altar. 

“A hidden lever or button, would be my guess.” Celestian Yeshera offered, standing by the doorway leading into the room. 

Apollyon considered both of these for a moment, before reaching up and taking hold of the statue of the emperor with both hands. Bracing herself, she gradually tried to move it. One way, then another, and then found it shifting back and towards her steadily.

The statue was perhaps fifteen feet in height, but weighed significantly less than that. She stopped shifting it for a moment and gently rapped her knuckles against it. A hollow thunk greeted here investigations.

“Sisters- help me.” She ordered, taking a position to brace at the hollow hems of the Emperor’s robes. Madonna, Yeshera, and the veiled sister quickly moved to the corners, and together they slowly moved the great bulk of the hollow statue from its pedestal and onto the floor.

Sure enough, behind the hollow statue was an opening just large enough for a sister to slip through, leading into a chamber carved from the living rock of the mountain behind. “Significantly less complex than I was anticipating.” Madonna huffed and shook her head. 

“Surely they didn’t move the statue every time?” The veiled sister asked with furrowed brows. “That seems a… crude solution.”

“Candles, Sister- we’ll need them.” Apollyon ordered, making the veiled sister nod and step over to a particular cabinet, drawing out a number of prepared candles and small matchbox to accompany them. Each sister was given a lit candle, and Apollyon stepped up to the altar and slipped through the tunnel into the far chamber. 

She could have used the advanced sensors of her helmet- but that would leave the sister superior blind in the dark, and that was a minor unkindness that Apollyon considered herself above. She waited for them to all slip through the tunnel and then into the meager chamber with her, before beginning cautiously down the rock-stairs with candle held well above her head. 

Ever so faintly, she could hear a slight distortion of some machine flickering and humming. There was a faint glow awaiting them at the base of the stairs, which shifted intermittently between shades and hues. Blue, green, white, and yellow. 

Cautiously, she reached the base of the stairs and peaked around the corner.

A slowly rotating, pale-blue and green hololithic greeted her. 

—

So it came to pass, that late in the year of Mankind, 3.960.990.M41, an omnidirectional proclamation came from the Pandemonium System, which lies on the northerly end of Segmentum Solar, bearing the callsign of the Inquisition.

“Rejoice, I bring glorious news. God walks among us!” It began, quoting the first book of the Cult Imperialis canon. “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the Imperium will be upon his shoulders. He will be called the Voice of the Emperor, Divine Avatar, God-Incarnate, and Star Child.” It ended, citing the four foremost prophecies of the Emperor’s return among Man. 

The message spread tentatively at first, astropathic choirs hesitant, well-burned of any promise so monumental as this. As they chanted, and the message spread further and further still, it began to lose its terrible hesitation and build into a rapturous crescendo. 

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in an era of death and rebirth. To hear the good word was to feel the most insidious and terrible of all emotions.

Hope, for a better tomorrow.

Chapter 17

-991.M41-

-Pandemonium IV, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

“Thy wargear is ready, Lord Joshua.” The headless techpriest spoke with a sort of bow and gesture towards the end of the armory chamber. There stood several lower ranking techpriests and a dozen or so servitors, each handling some component of the greater whole. “We are ready to begin the rite of armoring.”

Joshua inhaled slowly once, then exhaled, glancing down along his mostly-bare form. At regular intervals along his body sat gleaming machine-ports, polished metal rings with self-sealing internals that linked directly to his nervous system. Necessary components required to operate much of the more advanced wargear known to the Imperium- power armor chiefly, but also their drones and mechs and other fancy things. 

The second bionic that he had been fitted with thus far, making him a proper cyborg now. Just having replacement eyes didn’t quite feel like enough, but having his nervous system wired up with the future equivalent USB drives was more than past that uncertain threshold. The ports were a pain to wash around during showers, itched randomly throughout the day, and occasionally ached whenever the humidity shifted too fast.

The surgical process was, as he was told, highly invasive and involved him being completely unconscious for nearly a full day as his half-flayed body was subject to extensive regeneration treatments and the wounds sealed with barely a trace of scarring. Honestly scary stuff if one was leery of being cut up and having metal put in your body.

It was, however, very cool to be a combat cyborg now. He dropped his arms and looked forwards, nodding once at the headless techpriest. “I am ready.” He replied plainly, somewhat bemused but understanding of the ceremony unfolding. The Imperium was a place where all these silly rites and traditions mattered a great deal, after all.

The headless techpriest nodded, and a pair of lower ranked techpriests stepped forwards with an enclosing black one-piece suit. Something akin to a diving suit but thoroughly lined with layers of artificial muscle, myomer, and containing a number of plugs that lined up with the ones along his own body. 

Joshua stepped forwards, hesitating a moment before slipping off his underpants on account of the many people watching him, and then slipping his feet into the padded ‘boots’ of the myomer suit. The younger techpriests immediately began to move, chanting in low tongues as the myomer layer was pulled up to his groin, then slipped over his arms, then brought together at the back-seam up until his neck.

“With this, the Machine becomes Me.” Joshua did his part in the rite- obligated to speak something esoteric but suitably meaningful at various stages of the process. Hercule and his new Librarian teacher offered their own input into the process, which ultimately boiled down to the unhelpful ‘say what feels right’. 

His face twitched uncomfortably as needle-like plugs from the myomer bodysuit extended inwards, wiring his nervous system directly into the suit through the ports along his body. His vague sense of bodily awareness suddenly extending outwards into a layer of unpowered-dead-inanimate matter. Like numb static covering his entire body but only skin-deep.

Golden centipedes began to crawl up through his nerves, poking their mandibles out of the ports and shifting wires around under his skin. 

He stepped forwards again, towards another set of techpriests kneeling with mechanical tendrils holding the plates of armored boots. He slid his ‘myomer boots’ into the armored boots, and the red-robed acolytes began to enclose and latch the plates of the armor together around his limbs. “With feet of steel, I trample upon the jeweled crowns of the enemy.”

His little speech was something he drafted up the day before, and he stressed out about it for about thirty minutes before deciding it probably didn’t matter too much and going with his gut. Something dramatic, something cool, something militaristic, call it a day. 

The legs of the armor were connected by straps up to an inner belt, and that set of acolytes stepped away with muttered chants. 

He raised his arms, and another pair of acolytes stepped forwards with armored gauntlets in hand and tendril. They slipped the armor plates over his arms and hands, latching them into place with the same sort of mechanical screw-mechanism as the rest of the armor.

“With hands of steel, I seize their horns and strangle their ambitions.” He flexed his hands in the gauntlets, testing his mobility in the new metal sheathing. Most important were the visible latch-ports for some further machinery to be mounted on either arm, just as he requested.

The next acolytes stepped forwards, one with a long, thin overcoat in white and red, one with a thicker sort of coat, and the last with a black breastplate decorated with golden trim and filigree. The white coat was slipped over his limbs first, hanging long from his forearms and waist and having an open gap in the back. Next came the thick coat, which had metal plates in the interior and was secured in the back. Finally came the breastplate, which was black with golden trim and filigree, and folded over his head and secured at the sides.

Having both brigandine and a breastplate seemed like a little overkill to him, but he wasn’t about to dismiss the extra protection. “With coat of steel, no weapon formed against me will prosper.”

There was still that distinct, terrible sensation of being covered in dead-numb-skin, but that wasn’t too bad. Better than bugs in his teeth.

Helpfully, the centipedes turned into silkworms and started threading cocoon-layers around his machine-ports. 

A pair of acolytes stepped around him, carrying the ‘extralight jump-pack’ that he had requested of them and a set of shoulder-plates. Barely larger than a standard power pack, containing a micro-reactor rated to last for the next few centuries at minimum and a series of thrusters that he was almost certainly going to hurt himself with a few times.

“With a heart of fire, my body of steel awakens, and my courage is redoubled.” 

They slotted the powerpack into place, power flooding through the myomer suit and armor components, dead-powerless layers of skin-machinery coming to life with an electric tingle that made his muscles jolt and flex erratically. His limbs shook momentarily with the new sensation of life in the previously static-numb suit, and then settled down into a new baseline.

He barely noticed them putting the shoulder plates.

Finally, the headless techpriest returned, carrying an aquila-crested helmet in his hands. Joshua leaned forwards at the waist, and mechanical tendrils came from the acolytes to pull his hair back and away from his face, and the headless techpriest fit the helm over his head and tightly around the jawline.

“My crown is steel, and sits heavy on my brow, and never shall I forget the weight of the authority I now wear.” Joshua finished, rising to his full height again. Wires trailed from either side of his helm and into his armor, and connected the suit together.

New and foreign sensations flooded through his mind, racing along his nerves and bones, as the armor finished coming to life around him. An errant tug at one such sensation excited the thrusters on his back, and another errant tug folded the visor of his helmet forwards to lock in place and hiss. Screens covered his field of view, targeting information, tactical details about his armor’s integrity, and a number of other readouts and details that he had no real understanding of. His breathing came through pressurized and steady, and the world around him was a hair sharper and clearer than before. 

He raised his hands, staring at them and flexing as acolytes swarmed around him, wiring things into place, adjusting other things, and generally going through all the ‘first time user setup’ routines that he was amused to see had lasted this long into the future. 

No one spoke for several long moments, and eventually the acolytes stepped back and bowed low. Joshua glanced at them through his helm-sensors, though they weren’t all that better than his bionic eyes, then back at the headless techpriest that he should’ve really remembered the name of. “The armoring process… will it be as lengthy each time?”

“Did you memorize the order in which the components are assembled?” The techpriest asked with a very deliberate drawl. “The armor can be girded with but a single acolyte, with such knowledge.”

Joshua nodded in understanding, thoughtfully staring down at his hands. The process wasn’t much different from plate harness, ultimately, something he had briefly dabbled with in a long-ago age. The only real difference was changing the padded layer to the myomer glove, the addition of the powerpack, and the wiring stage.

He supposed that made sense, armor mechanics were largely designed around the body, and the human body hadn’t changed much over the last fifty thousand years.

“Mech-Adept Ukey has been assigned to assist you with your wargear.” The headless techpriest assured with a machine-rumble, one machine tendril pointing at a particular techpriest with a bulky sort of machine-gauntlet on his left arm. “Please proceed to the wargear table.” The Magos gestured forwards.

Joshua nodded, stepping forwards- thunk. His step was heavier than he had intended it to be, loudly pressing into the metal flooring. He glanced down, useless as the gesture was in his helmet, and took care to step far more delicately next. The tension of his myomer made it too easy to bear the weight of the armor. 

The headless techpriest used the array of mechanical claws coming from his back to lift various devices from the table, carrying them over to him. “Left arm, Lord Joshua.”

Joshua was glad they hadn’t hopped on the ‘your divinity’ train that everyone else seemed to have recently. He turned to offer the arm in question, and the techpriest carefully mounted and wired a sort of square mechanical plate onto his bicep, near to the elbow-mounting. 

“Thy thundershield- it is lesser in strength to a stormshield, but will defend you in the same manner.” The techpriest explained as mechanical claws wove around to tighten screws and connect wires. “A destructive burst of outwards energy. Keep it facing away from yourself at all times.”

Joshua nodded sharply. A reusable plate of reactive armor being used as a shield sounded about on par for the modern galaxy.

The techpriest brought over another mechanical thing. “Right arm, Lord Joshua.”

Joshua raised his right arm, and the techpriest mounted a section of tube and machinery that was clearly a modified lasgun on the forearm, trailing a flexible cable up along the arm and then into the powerpack on his back. He felt a new sensation static its way into his mind as the wire was plugged into his armor. 

“A Hot-Shot Hellgun.” The techpriest explained briefly. “Not a Hot-Shot Las, not a Hellgun. It is both. I urge caution in pointing it at anything. This switch here is the manual safety mechanism. You must toggle it for the gun to fire, do you understand?”

“I understand.” Joshua replied with another nod, staring at the nearly foot-long lasergun that was now wired into his nervous system. “The barrel is a bit behind my hand- I’ll shoot my hand if I’m not careful, will I?”

“The safely locks the barrel back- it slides forwards when undone.” The Techpriest summarized, deliberately toggling the safely and manually sliding the gun forwards, the barrel now just slightly past his knuckles and preventing his hand from bending back. “You will lose flexibility in your wrist while active, to prevent self-mutilation.”

“That’s good, thank you, Lord Magos.” Joshua nodded his head forwards. 

The techpriest’s tendrils nodded at him, and he stepped over to the next item. Joshua raised a brow.

“A servo skull?” He asked, raising a hand and letting the cyborg-skull gently float from the table and into his hand. There was a lasgun built on one side of the skull, a powerpack built onto the other, and the entire thing supported by a buzz of antigravity. There was a long power-cable dangling down from its base, and looked like it would plug into one of the ports on his powerpack. 

He brushed a thumb against its bony brow. It stared up at him with machine-eyes. 

“The Canoness-Superior was honored with the process shortly after her death, by order of the Lady Preceptor.” The magos explained, folding his hands together. Joshua’s thumb ceased over the brow of the skull. “So that she might continue her work in protecting you, Lord Joshua.”

The cool skull iconography was significantly more morbid when he actually knew who’s skull it was. 

“I see.” He quietly responded, suddenly very aware of how easily he could crush the delicate bone in his hands. A pop-up appeared in the hud of his armor, the servoskull in his hand asking for a command link to a new user. 

He stared at it for a few moments, before letting out a slow exhale and mentally navigating to the part of his nervous system that would allow him to press a button on a text-prompt. It was rather tricky, being that he had never done this before, but he eventually managed to indicate ‘accept’ on the pop-up.

The servoskull buzzed once in confirmation, then lifted up out of his hands and started to hover near his shoulders, next to the inquisitorial servo-skull that was watching his every movement still.

It cost him nothing to be polite, he reminded himself. “Thank you, Lord Magos- I’ll have to remember to thank the Lady Preceptor as well.” 

The Magos bowed towards him, and Joshua recognized the end of the ritual for what it was. He turned, stepping towards the doorway where Hercule and Denaira patiently waited. The techpriest apparently assigned to him followed behind at a respectful distance.

Denaira was one of the only people who could hold his new sword, on account of her psykery-muting presence. More evidence to the sword being magical in some nebulous manner that it hadn’t felt like showing off yet. He took it from her, preparing for the weight again and being surprised at just how easy it was to lift now. 

Not featherlight, but the myomer made him so much stronger now. He tipped forwards slightly in hefting the blade, shifting it back quickly and reminding himself that he still wasn’t actually heavy enough to effectively use the thing anyways. 

“You didn’t need to strip away your undergarments.” Hercule informed him as they left the mechanicus prefab chamber and stepped out into a military camp again. Joshua did his best to ignore the sudden wave of people dropping to their knees as he emerged, golden maggots nibbling just behind his face.

“...Didn’t I?” Joshua asked, turning his head over and up towards the golden demigod, carefully flipping the overhuge sword around so that the point was downwards. 

“I myself wear breeches under my myomer.” Hercule nodded with a faintly amused tone. “I find it convenient for mid-mission maintenance.”

“...Oh.” Joshua replied, feeling slightly dumb. He glanced back at the chamber, before sighing and shaking his head. “Right- I’ll have to ask for another pair then.”

“It will be a treasured artifact before the night is done.” Hercule predicted.

“Gah.” He sighed, before shaking his head. “I’m ready anyways- let’s find the Chapter Master.”

A pop-up in the corner of his vision helpfully highlighted a man in power armor in the distance, standing before a large map and surrounded by various other men and women in power armor.

He glanced back at Cleopatra’s servoskull, an uncomfortable grimace tugging at his lips. He didn’t really need the targeting-highlight there, but he supposed he was glad to see that she… it was working. 

He supposed he just wasn’t quite morbid enough to think it was cool without asterisks involved.

The lines of guards stepped aside and allowed them to pass into the command-section, and Joshua gave a little wave of greeting as he approached.

Each and every individual present performed a salute as he walked up to the table.

“Your Divinity. Your wargear is without issue?” The Chapter Master Milton asked with an almost differential nod. On the other side of the command-table, Inquisitor James Jones stood, hands folded respectfully behind his back. He had been elected as liaison between the inquisitorial party and everyone else on account of lacking an Ordo-affilitation.

“None that any can find.” Joshua nodded in reply, then turned towards the command-map of the system they had drawn up. “You were discussing the final assault?” 

They could’ve left the system earlier, a week ago or so, but dooming the Pandemonium system’s pdf to handle the genestealers on their own left a rotten feeling in his gut. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to convince the inquisitors to do it- but they agreed to delay the trip back to Terra long enough to wrap up the problems here. In inquisitor terms, this meant ‘one standard week’, which he was briefly worried wouldn’t be anywhere near enough times. 

Annoyed perhaps, by his plea, they had thrown their retinues into a systematic purge of the entire system. Esoterica and psykers and targeted gene-bombs and who knows what else pulled out of inquisitorial storage and deployed against key locations.

“Indeed.” Milton replied, reaching forwards on the genuine paper map and poking at its surface. “By most-recent scans provided by the inquisition, the greatest remaining concentration of their psychic signature remains in the underjungle.”

“Unfortunately, the Underjungle, being under an immense plate of rock, is naturally defended against orbital bombardment.” Inquisitor Jones continued with a tapped finger. “Something that annoys many of my fellow Inquisitors to no end.”

He almost wanted to ask what an ‘Underjungle’ was before deciding he could figure that out later. He nodded slowly. “So what is the plan?” He asked, gesturing at the map.

“Our infiltrators have already reported a successful breach of the enemy defenses and are prepared to deploy sabotaging efforts on command.” Inquisitor Jones declared.

“The foliage will make our armored vehicles relatively ineffective, we are in the process of readying a mobile shield-force to serve as the vanguard of a direct assault.” Milton finished. “We would be honored by your presence among us, Your Divinity.”

Joshua nodded idly. “I’m unsure of how much help I’d actually be, Chapter Master, but I’ll be glad to join you. If- you don’t think I’d hamper the assault too much.”

“A squad of Celestians to accompany you, surely.” The Canoness Preceptor declared with a scrunched face.

Joshua nodded easily. He remembered that he should probably thank her for the… servoskull…

He somehow couldn’t muster the energy for it. 

“We’ll be gone from the planet in less than a day now, regardless of what happens.” He shook his head. “I might as well contribute my fair share to this war-effort, before we leave.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments there, as no one in particular wanted to say anything in response.

He huffed through his nose. “Apologies again, for the inconvenience of it all.” He waved a little hand. “I simply don’t wish to develop a habit of leaving messes everywhere I go.”

“Please don’t apologize on behalf of the Xeno-cult being present, Your Divinity.” The Canoness-Preceptor was just confident enough around him to be a little sassy, it seemed.

Better than being stiff, he supposed. “Gah.” He sighed. “So when do we attack?”

“By your word, Your Divinity.” The Chapter Master nodded, reaching over to take his autocannon from his otherwise silent serf-woman. 

“Well as soon as everyone is ready then. No need to wait up on my behalf.” 

They all looked a little bit awkward as he said that.

He wanted to sigh again. 

Chapter 18

-991.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

The ‘underjungle’ turned out to be a rather regular jungle of towering redwoods that grew underneath and partially supported a gargantuan shelf of solid rock. A kind of local nature preserve on account of its system-unique ecological idiosyncrasies, and now partially destroyed on account of the waves of supersoldiers in power armor that stomped in, shattered the cult in hiding, and then presented their leader’s head to him. 

He was still slightly bummed out at just how little he had actually done in that battle. A whole lot of walking surrounded by waves of bodyguards and hearing gunfire in the distance. The closest he got to action was when a kind of local squirrel-creature threw a pinecone at him and promptly had the tree it was hiding in utterly obliterated by his overzealous guardians. He had been escorted all the way to the cleared enemy camp, saw the stacks of burning corpses and the head of the leader, and made sure to give a proper ‘good job’ to everyone involved and a personal thanks to the marine who presented the head.

That made them pretty ecstatic and it was free to do on his part, so there was no reason not to.

He rolled the pinecone between his fingers, not really looking at it so much as staring vaguely in its direction and fiddling with it as his mind wandered. 

“Lord Joshua?” Hercule called from the doorway. Joshua glanced up from his place at his desk, away from the pinecone he was rolling around. Hercule’s helmet poked in from the upper half of the doorway. “The Captains have invited you to the bridge, for the warp-jump to come.”

Joshua considered that for a moment, then glanced back at the desk. It was covered in books, thick treatises and manuals he had asked for regarding a number of topics. Books on governance, military operation, political maneuvers, old alliances, theological debates between old dead guys, annotated books of the Cult Imperialis, and yet more. All things that would be very important for him to master if he were to become a halfway-decent master of the Imperium.

The golden spiders had come back to his brain again. Prodding and weaving strands.

He had a lot of things to study, and he was procrastinating on each and every one of them at the moment. He sighed, pushing up from the table and tucking the pinecone into the pocket of his replacement-robes. Cleopatra’s skull hummed as it rose from its charging-stand and moved to hover over his shoulder, following him as he walked to the doorway. 

Denaira followed dutifully as he stepped through the doorway and among a field of burning candles and incense. The Inquisitorial servoskull hummed as it drifted down from the ceiling and took a place by his other shoulder- they were kind enough to allow him privacy in his own chamber, at least. 

“Hello Inquisiskull.” Joshua greeted with a nod. The servoskull branded with an ‘I’ beeped at him once. 

He was careful to step around and over the candles, and did his best to ignore the supplicating men and women that knelt among clouds of incense. They had only increased in number, now forming long lines through the hallways leading up to prepared kneeling-sheets, praying for as long as they could bear before stepping away and letting the person in the line behind them have a turn at the kneeling spot. 

Were it not for Hercule’s presence at the door, Joshua would be afraid of fights breaking out among them for a chance to pry his door open. As it were, he was simply glad that the giant golden demigod sat around glaring at people while he was sleeping. 

A third servo skull descended from the high ceiling to hover over his head, this one bearing two little claws and decorative wings at its sides. It was the servo skull of his new techpriest-attendant, assigned to follow him around in case he needed to call upon the mech-adept for whatever reason.

Joshua drew from the Tarot. Will he need Ukey or his power armor anytime soon?

Enjoy times of rest.

Apparently not. “Hello Mechaniskull.” He nodded up at it. 

The winged servoskull gave a chitter in binary before assuming a position between the other two that were currently following him around. He watched it for a moment, then turned his gaze forwards again. His long walk continued to the central lift, then came a patient wait for it to be available again, then came a slightly awkward trip up along with an exceptionally nervous looking menial holding a large number of scrolls.

“To the bridge?” Joshua asked with a tilt of his head.

“O-oh! Y-yes I- I need to… bring these to the captains…” The menial stuttered out, hands fumbling to perform the sign of the aquila but not also drop the pile of scrolls he carried. “Your divinity!”

Joshua nodded in reply saying nothing in particular and staring ahead as Denaira punched in the appropriate lift-buttons. A few moments of silence passed as the lift slowly brought them up the several stories required to enter the bridge of the ship once more.

Joshua stepped out and forwards, and the guards of the bridge dropped to their knees and saluted as he passed. He nodded absentmindedly to them along the way, stepping into the bridge and taking note of how relatively crowded it was from last he had been inside.

The central ‘command shelf’ of the deck was now alight with a hololithic display of the fleet in local space, with rolls of text along the edges, and surrounded by a large number of humans and boxes with green and black screens. Each of the boxes had a servitor standing behind it, one eye replaced by a large camera and wires trailing down from their heads and into slightly smaller boxes next to the displays. 

Their purpose wasn’t immediately obvious. He could figure out what if he reached out to their minds- but reading minds randomly was a very rude thing to do and Joshua didn’t want to make a habit of it.

The captain stood at one end of the table, speaking quietly to Inquisitor Jones and Canoness Apollyon by his side. He turned after a moment, grin bouncing onto his face and hands snapping into a salute as Joshua arrived next to him.

“Your Divinity! Honored to have you aboard!” 

“Captain Bruno.” Joshua greeted lightly, stepping to the side and allowing the stressed-looking menial to lay the scrolls out upon the steel table by the captain’s side. There was a camera mounted over the table, staring down straight at an illuminated section and wired into a bulky looking machine by the side of the big hololithic display, which in turn had a wire trailing from it all the way to the comms-console on the next level down.

The various screens that were arranged around the hololithic display each had someone’s face displayed in greenscale, most looking off-screen with middling graphical fidelity. At the announcement of his presence, many of the eyes turned back to the screens, and the servitors behind them stiffened up and turned their gazes around until they landed on him.

“”“Your Divinity.””” came a large number of slightly mechanical greetings through speakers mounted upon the servitors. Joshua’s eyes scanned across the screen, seeing a large number of captains he didn’t recognize, one of which wore the helmet of a space marine, and about half of which had a little ‘I’ floating next to their heads. 

The servitors performed the imperial salute with various levels of grace. 

Joshua had the distinct feeling that he had stepped into some kind of retrofuturistic group video call. He gave them all a little nod in greeting. “I was invited to the bridge for the warp jump?” He said in a manner that was more of a question, raising his brow at the Captain next to him. 

“Mhm-hmp!” Captain Bruno coughed into his fist before nodding sharply. “That’s correct, your divinity! We’re just finishing the final coordinations and waiting for word from all Navigators to start- we’re already waiting abreast the mandeville point.” 

“From there- we’ll make our way down to Hive World Avellorn for further reinforcements, and then Sol.” The servitor behind the space marine helmet declared with Milton’s voice, reaching up to gesture twice at the hololithic, zooming out into a sub-sector, then sector, then segmentum-wide view. A bright line flashed from their current position back to Sol, with a single bend in the curve to represent a stopping point. “That is the navigation plan as it stands.”

Joshua nodded to show that he understood, looking up at the hololithic without any particular judgement in mind.

The silence lingered awkwardly for a moment. He glanced around to see that they were all staring at him through the mounted cameras of the cyborg-zombies. “Yes?” He asked with a raised brow.

“They were hoping that you would offer the Lord Emperor’s wisdom on the matter, Lord Joshua.” Hercule helpfully pointed out.

“Hmh! I see.” Joshua nodded, absentmindedly drawing from the Tarot. How safe is this route back to Terra?

You will find great suffering on the path you walk.

He stiffened up, shoulders squaring and narrowing his eyes as he stared at the hololithic. He drew from the Tarot again. Is any other route back to Terra safer?

Disappointment lies ahead of you.

He let out a slow breath, ignoring the pinprick of light that began to shine over his forehead. “It’s not a safe path, but it’s as safe as a path can be.” He answered the tense and silent bridge.

Sighs came from many, and the tension lessened a tad. Murmurs and grumbles about that being all-too-common carried across the gathered video-call of captains. The communications were not immediately, each one delayed by upwards of five or ten seconds or so, so it took a moment for his words to reach everyone. 

Captain Bruno raised a hand and swiped it twice, bringing the hololithic back to the fleet display again. Most ships were green, save one that was red. “Captain Erasm?”

“The Navigator has this great long ritual involving knucklebones they like to perform before each jump.” One of the captains with immense mutton-chops replied gruffly after several seconds of delay. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes in- Oh.” The captain looked off the screen, and the faint sounds of someone talking could be heard in the background of his vox. After a few moments, the captain nodded and chopped a hand forwards, then turned back to the screen. “Gellar Fields being raised now. We are ready for the jump, acting Admiral.”

One of the captains marked with an ‘I’ nodded after a few seconds. His face was more metal than anything else, and he spoke with a horrible machine-growl. “All ships readied. All shutters lowered. All gellar fields raised. Maintain formation and initiate Warp-Jump to Mandeville point ‘Avellorn’.”

Captain Bruno nodded, looking up and chopping a hand at the command-consoles. “Initate Warp-Jump!” He called out, pulling away from the hololithic as he ordered it. 

Warning alarms began to sound out as men and women at consoles began to pull large and dangerous looking levers, rising to an ominous crescendo before a button was pressed dramatically. 

On the hololithic display, tears in space began to open up in front of each ship, breaking the normal aesthetic bounds of green and transparent with sharp white gashes. They crackled with an ominous energy, and the fleet began to move forwards into their own individual gashes at a measured pace. The alarms continued to howl as they approached the tear in reality, and the entire ship shuddered lightly as the tip began to pierce into unreality. 

Slowly, with a great deal of rumbling and fanfare, the fleet slipped into the warp. The hololitic display grew increasingly unreliable as they entered, the lines representing navigational units and gravitational fields starting to warp and twist, spiraling in increasingly bizarre directions as they trailed away from the fleet itself.

Until, all at once, the gashes in reality and unreality closed behind them. 

All lights on the deck shut off. There was a lingering tension for a few moments.

And then the lights came back on. One after another, then all at once, and the hololithic display flickered back to life. The ships of the fleet were displayed, as was a fraction of the space around each ship, but everything around them was an ominous field of [INCOGNITUS].

High Gothic for ‘unknown’.

“Miracle of Suffering, reporting a successful transition into the warp.” Captain Bruno said, walking back over to the hololithic display and the table before him. 

The various screens of captains began to flicker back on, each one reporting a successful entrance of their own, and gellar fields holding stable as they moved through unreality. 

Joshua glanced around with raised brows and a distinct scowl, before slowly nodding to himself and turning back to Denaira. “Have I thanked you for existing recently?” He asked idly, quietly as to not disturb the captains chattering and relaying information about their current statuses.

Denaira shook her head no.

“Well I’m doing it again- I’d imagine these jumps would be a lot harder without you nearby.” Joshua nodded seriously.

Denaira exchanged a slightly amused glance with Hercule’s blank helmet. 

—

“The preparations are complete.” The massive marine-librarian declared after putting the final drop of holy water on a candle to douse it. He was around the edges of a truly massive array of runes, circles, candles, and similar within one of the training-chambers. His armor was overbuilt in the extreme, looking more akin to a particularly massive brick with an indent for a head and four sturdy trunks for limbs than a supersoldier in power armor. Every surface was covered in wrapped lines of runes and wards, practically entombing the marine within barriers to keep the warp out.

Joshua, meanwhile, was wearing a sort of collar that interfaced with the ports on his neck. A device designed to bleed off excessive warp-energies and thus make psykery just a bare bit more safe than before. His other protection was in the form of said massive ring of warp-muting wards and runes that now surrounded him, and Denaira standing off to the side, just close enough that her muting aura could reach him if he sat at the edge of the sand-ring.

Every precaution was worth taking when performing psykery during warp-transit, after all, even something as basic as this. 

“You have been trained already, I’ve been informed?” The brickish librarian asked, stepping towards him in the circle of sand to communicate more clearly. “As an astropath, chiefly.”

“That is correct, Chief Librarian Arist. On the Blackship Misery.” Joshua replied with a little nod. “I taught the basics of astropathery and bound to a Tarot deck shortly before my Soul-Binding.”

“Pathos then. Reach out to my mind.” 

Joshua focused, mustering up the intent to reach out and- Ah. That was easy. He performed a cordial knock on the surface of the marine’s mind to declare his presence.

It was impossible to not find the librarian, his old, weathered, and stonelike mind being the only thing Joshua could actually feel in the middle of this immense muting circle. 

“You are well trained.” Arist declared with a nod. It sounded like he was frowning behind the helmet, but Joshua couldn’t tell through the solid wall of impervious intent in the marine’s mind. “How long were you aboard the Blackship?”

Joshua raised a brow at that. “I certainly don’t feel well trained, Chief Librarian. I was only aboard the Misery for three months.”

“Then you are talented.” Arist amended. “Your training will be quick in either case.” With that he reached to his side and pulled out a basic bolter barrel carefully pointed away from him, extracted the magazine, extracted a single bullet, and then returned magazine to the gun and gun to his side.

He held the bullet up and then gently set it down on the sand before him, bending at the knees and barely looking down as he did. 

“The first thing I will teach you is not telepathy, as trained as you are in it. Nor divination, for it will be long before divination bears greater fruit than your use of the Tarot.” Arist explained as he returned to a standing position, waving an armored glove down at the lone bullet. “It will be Kinetikos. What do you know of it?”

“Telekinesis?” Joshua asked to clarify.

“As the layman names it.” Arist nodded, the sensation of a frown behind his helmet strengthening. 

“Well- it’s the psychic art of moving objects around, and not much more than that.” Joshua shook his head. “I can think of a great many uses such an ability would have, but I’m not informed of any greater technicalities about the art.”

“You are largely correct in generalities.” Arist rumbled. “Kinetikos, of motion, the field relates to translation of your will into movement, or the absence of it. We therefore must begin with a most fundamental step-” He gestured down at the bullet. “Tip the round over.” 

With that the librarian fell silent, dropping the hand and staring at him.

Joshua stared back, glancing at the round, then back to the much more experienced psyker. “Do I get more direction than that?”

“Not for this step.” Arist shook his head. “It is a lesson you can only teach yourself.”

Joshua nodded slowly, returning his gaze down to the bolter round. A lesson that he could only teach himself? There was probably some formative reason for that.

He pulled from the Tarot. How does he teach himself telekinesis?

Silence was his answer.

A distinctly unnerving feeling came over him, eyes darting around before landing on the massive ring of muting wards around him. The muting wards that were blocking him off from the wider warp, and therefore making it quite hard to ask the Emperor for guidance-

‘DESIRE AND COURAGE.’

There was an almost comforting sense that accompanied the rolling thunder of his voice through his mind. Joshua eyes lit with gold, and he gave a sighing smile before turning his gaze back to the bolter round. 

He supposed he wasn’t going to get away from the Big Man that easily, huh? Not with mere wards and a bit of quiet, not when there was gold in his veins. 

Desire and courage. Joshua raised a hand towards the bolter. Desire and courage. He wanted to push the bolter round over. He wanted to knock its block off. He wanted to give it a telekinetic knuckle sandwich. He wanted to…

…push it over…

He focused very hard on the bolter for a very long time, and made very little progress. 

Telekinesis was shaping up to be a bit harder than Telepathy had been.

Chapter 19

-991.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

“Your divinity- The inquisition has taken the initiative to provide the services of a remembrancer.” Inquisitor Jones said some days into their trip through the warp. He was smartly dressed and lightly armed, especially for an inquisitor, wearing what looked very much like the outfit of some particularly adventurous gentleman. A long and thin sword hung from a loop on the outside of his longcoat, and Joshua could occasionally glimpse a handgun tucked under the same coat. 

The inquisitor was gesturing at an older man, one of his eyes replaced with a robust bionic lens and a fistful of wires trailing from the back of a balding head and into his robes. He carried something that looked very much like a court typewriter, with abbreviated keys and a scroll of thick parchment trailing off and into some designated container. His other arm was mechanical- and had ten thin metal fingers at the end. 

“Your divinity.” The remembrancer bowed low at the waist, a sort of mechanical creaking coming from under his robes as he did. Joshua was immediately struck by the voice- old but highly precise and vaguely British in accent, the kind of voice that would suit a nature documentary.

A remembrancer was something between a historian, news reporter, and propagandist. A now-ancient division of the Administratum responsible for recording things of importance, making a physical record of that thing, and then carefully bringing it back to their offices to be edited to remove heretical or traitorous content and then disseminated into the wider Imperium. 

He would say that propaganda isn’t good on principle, but there were both a number of half-decent reasons for it here, and no government in the history of mankind has ever not used propaganda. Most people simply didn’t notice because, after all, it’s not propaganda if you agree with it, right? 

Joshua considered the man for a moment more, then raised a brow and glanced back at the inquisitor Jones. “I suppose that’s prudent, but why now? After so many days of travel already, that is.”

“The election process had to be restarted on two occasions on account of internal conflict between present remembrancers for the position.” Inquisitor Jones gave a slightly shamed grin. “We are now four remembrancers less wealthy. Three from assassination and one from execution for conducting assassinations upon members of the administratum.”

“...I see.” Joshua replied after a moment, reaching up to rub at his neck. “Well, remembrancer- what’s your name?”

“Remembrancer Barrowgeld, at your service.” The old man pulled up from his bow just to perform another, slightly smaller bow for emphasis. “Please, let it be my life’s work to record this first chapter of your eternal reign, your divinity.”

Joshua was almost enough of an ass to be humble on this junction, and ask what exactly he was currently doing was worth recording. He had enough common sense to restrain that instinctive modesty, and managed to refrain from asking the zealots why they were interested in the doings of their incarnated god. 

He nodded slowly. “Yes- that should be fine.” He eventually settled on. It wasn’t a particularly inspiring reply to such an earnest request to do something for him, he noted distantly. “I’m afraid most of my doings are rather boring at the moment, however. My days are consumed with study more than anything.”

“My purpose is not to comment upon history, merely record it lest it is lost.” The remembrancer replied, faced still bowed low. “Trouble yourself not with my needs, your divinity, I have need of very little indeed. I will be available if you call upon me, and scarce when you send me away.”

“It would be a boon to the historical record if, perhaps, you could deign to answer the occasional question from him.” Inquisitor Jones nodded with a bowed head of his own. “Annotations for the offices and readers.”

“I’m sure I can occasionally spare a few words-” Joshua replied with a half-amused tone, before he was cut off by a loud overhead buzzer and the static-accented voice of Captain Bruno.

“Passengers of the Miracle of Suffering. This is Captain Bruno speaking.” It began. “By testament of the Navigators, we are currently on-course with a warp-squall. In the interest of a safe passage, the fleet will be temporarily exiting the warp and proceeding with sublight thrusters until the squall passes. All muster stations stand ready, we leave the warp in ten minutes. All muster stations stand ready.”

A warp-squall was certainly bad news. The uncertain time and space of the warp could let one blow them wildly off course, both spatially and chronologically. At the same time, however, he had been anticipating something like this for a while now. 

Those great and terrible Chaos gods of the Warp, ancient enemies of mankind and the Emperor, would certainly be interested in capturing or destroying something like Joshua. The warp was their home, and weaving a storm into existence to blow them off-course was well within their power to arrange. 

The fact that he had been in the warp for upwards of months after his soul-binding and they hadn’t done anything yet was testament to how effective the muting effects of the Sisters of Silence was- Chaos had very little ability to react to something they couldn’t see, after all.

Or maybe that was bullshit and they were trying to lure him into a false sense of security. It wouldn’t be the first time they tried that to someone. 

“I think the captain will appreciate our presence in the command deck.” Joshua eventually decided upon, with a glance towards Denaira behind him. She nodded in understanding. The muting effects of a single blank was probably best dedicated towards keeping the command deck more stable.

“Verily.” Inquisitor Jones replied with a nod, gaze directed upwards at the vox. “Shall we?” He asked, gaze dropping back to him. 

Joshua nodded, turning in the hallway and starting towards the lift. Now would he need his armor? He almost just drew on the tarot for an answer, before deciding against it. He kinda felt like wearing his cool wargear again, regardless of if he needed to or not.

He glanced back up to the winged servoskull over his head. “Please ask Mech-adept Ukey to bring my wargear to the bridge.” 

The servoskull let out a buzz of binary and nodded, eye flashing with light before letting out a sharp beep. 

“Thank you.” He nodded back to it, looking ahead again. After a few moments of walking, Hercule spoke.

“Lord Joshua.”

He glanced back curiously, before seeing Denaira holding the overhuge sword out for him to take with a blank expression. He nodded in understanding, reaching out to take the massive blade and straining to hold it just above the ground.

The blade was as chilly-warm as ever. Joshua grunted down at it. “As soon as I find a Space Wolf, you’re going back to them.” He groused at it, adjusting his grip to be more comfortable with a sour grimace. While it was exceptionally cool to have a massive sword, the initial test-spars against Hercule were informative about his prospects in actually wielding it.

As it turned out, swinging a sword that was one third your weight while in armor was simply not going to be very swift or effective. He was dragged around by its heft except the most restrained and limited uses, and even the maglock boots feature of his power armor wasn’t enough to fix the issues.

“The very first Space Wolf you see?” Hercule asked dryly. “Do you loathe the blade so highly after it has chosen you?”

“I can’t use it effectively, I’m much too small for it.” Joshua replied with an equally dry tone. 

“This is true.” Hercule replied with a curt nod. “The observing Sisters were torn between grief and humor as we went through greatblade ka’tahs.”

“Better in the hands of someone vaguely related to its previous wielder, someone who can actually wield it effectively.” He continued, ignoring the sass. “Besides- they’ll probably harass me about the sword of their primarch anyways. This is simply prudence.”

“I’m sure that the neophyte you end up bestowing the sword upon will see it as a simple act of prudence.” Hercule nodded confidently, and so even was his tone that Joshua almost couldn’t tell that he was being teased still. 

“It’ll be fine.” Joshua waved off carelessly. “Besides, I have the greatest melee weapon in the galaxy already.”

“And what is that?” Hercule asked with a raised brow.

“A giant golden demigod that likes to sass me named Hercule.” He waggled a finger over his shoulder. 

“This is true.” Hercule agreed with another curt nod. “Although I’d hesitate to label myself the greatest melee weapon in the galaxy- the Captain General is still my better in all areas but strength, in which he is my equal.”

“Now who’s being modest? ‘My name is Hercule, I’m only as strong as the leader of the Custodes and I love to play instruments like the harp and lyre.” 

“That reminds me, Lord Joshua, your musical education has been lacking. We should amend that.”

Joshua sighed. 

—

“Captain.” 

“Your divinity!” Captain Bruno greeted with a cheerful salute. “And Inquisitor Jones- What can I do for you?”

“I thought my presence might be appreciated at the bridge- for this brief return to realspace.” Joshua explained with a nod, glancing behind him to see Ukey, flanked by a pair of robots, enter the bridge behind him. He looked distinctly rushed and ruffled, carrying the helmet in his hands. The robots he was flanked by were distinctly humanoid in shape, one male and one female, covered equally in plates as they were synthetic flesh, and branded with the iconography of the cult mechanicus.

Neither looked visibly armed, but that meant little for machines of the techpriests. He wasn’t sure how exactly he knew that they were automatons and not humans or servitors, but he didn’t dwell on it either.

“It certainly is.” Captain Bruno declared. “We’re just about to return- less than a minute now.”

Joshua nodded and turned to the approaching Ukey. “Thank you, Mechadept.” He nodded, handing off the massive sword to Denaira again and reaching up to remove his outer robes, shirt, and shoes. He wasn’t going to remove his pants this time, now that he knew he didn’t have to.

“Of course, Lord Joshua.” Mechadept Ukey still spoke with a mostly organic voice, gesturing at the automatons he was flanked by and provoking them to start setting up parts of the armor for him to slip into. “It is my duty, after all.”

Joshua slipped his feet into the myomer suit, the female automaton reaching low and tucking his pants into the layers as another hand ‘zipped’ up the back. The sensation of being covered in dead skin returned as soon as the suit interfaced with his ports.Joshua regarded it with a raised brow, speaking to the Mechadept as he watched them and helped slip his limbs into various sections of the power armor. “These are different from the automata that accompanied you on Pandemonium.” He observed.

Ukey nodded, half-distracted by his mechanical tendrils working to make adjustments to the armor as the robots quickly clad him. “Those were my field-automata. These are my daily-automata.”

“They look very human- I would’ve mistaken them for such if I didn’t know better.” Joshua commented as his white coat was slipped on and then the heavier coats of armor and plated sleeves. 

Ukey glanced at his eyes for a moment, then glanced back at the armor. “I inherited them from my mentor.” He explained simply. Warning sirens began to blare to signal their return to realspace.

Step right onto a landmine, huh Joshua? He bowed his head slightly. “My condolences for your loss.”

“Gratitude.” Ukey responded shortly, finishing a section near the armpit and then gesturing for the male automaton to step over with the powerpack. It was slotted into place and locked, and that sensation of boundless energy returned to his limbs. His entire body tensed and untensed, and insectile limbs reached out of his cracks to start spinning silks again. 

Joshua wrangled himself in time to accept the offered helmet from Ukey, slipping it over his head and rolling his jaw to fit in the lower segment. He kept the visor up for the moment, so that he could offer a small thankful smile towards the mechadept. “Fits like a glove. Thank you for the help.”

The entire ship began to rumble lightly.

Ukey nodded with a standard dour look, reaching down to pull a pair of bulky data-rectangles from the side of his thick mechanical gauntlet, tucking them into a bag at his waist and replacing them with another pair of rectangles. The automatons had their eyes flash twice before assuming an official, escorting stance.

The entire ship plunged into darkness. Joshua tensed, turning his gaze around with raised shoulders. Lights shone from a bare handful of armors and carried screens, and the atmosphere was thick with stress.

A few moments passed.

Then, the lights began to flicker back on. The hololithic display came back to life with a whirr, displaying the fleet surrounded by a massive field of positional and gravity lines, not a single [INCOGNITUS] in sight. 

“This is Captain Bruno, reporting that we have safely exited the warp.” The captain said, leaning forwards to press and hold a button at his desk. The displays of other captains and their faces began to turn back online, displaying various levels of disgruntlement on their faces.

“Captain Gracus, providing visual and auditory identification that we have left the warp.”

  “Captain Helfor-”

    “Captain Jelmn-”

And so on. Screen after screen flickered back to life and provided a succinct report of their safe return from the warp before the squall reached them.

Two screens did not flicker back to life. One screen still replied with the standard greeting, though their screen did not function.

The last screen never came online at all, visual or audio.

“Witness to Glory has yet to return from the warp.” Captain Bruno observed with a grim look, staring at a missing space in the fleet-array on the hololithic. One of the medium-sized ships by Joshua’s estimate, comparing the missing space to the ships around it. 

“Acting Admiral?” Chapter Master Milton asked through the screens. 

The halfmachine admiral had a face that was permanently in a deep grimace, so it was difficult to tell what he was feeling about the missing ship. “Hold position for half an hour and then proceed with sublight thrusters- maintain thrust at one point two-five gravities until this location is beyond engagement sensor-range, then increase thrust to one point five gravities."

“If they do not return to us in that time, we will leave them.” The Admiral growled, turning a half-eye to the side. “Captains Erasm, Helfort, Jelmnan. Send detachments over to Achievement in Ignorance for total inspection of onboard systems and crew.”

The four captains relevant to that command all performed a salute- or at least, Joshua assumed the captain with a still-black screen was saluting from the sound of shuffling and the ‘yes Admiral’ that came from the screen. 

“Everyone else, perform standard post-jump diagnostics and maintenance.” The admiral growled, before closing his one human eye. “...Your Dinivity. Do you have anything to add before the meeting is closed?”

Joshua raised a brow. He pulled from the Tarot. Will there be any danger within the next twenty four hours?

Expect nothing beyond routine.

He shook his head. “I have nothing to add in this instance, Admiral.”

“Acknowledged. All dismissed.” 

The screens began to flicker off. Joshua glanced around the command bridge, the functional lights and lack of any rumbling. The tarot-draw seemed pretty obvious.

“I might have asked for my wargear for nothing, Mechadept.” Joshua commented, reaching up to rub at his chin. 

“Caution is the virtue of the wise.” Ukey responded flatly. 

“But now that you are clad again- we can go through a round of powersuit ka’tahs.” Hercule declared, and Denaira offered the sword back to him. Joshua sighed, taking Russ’ sword back and carefully hefting it over his plated shoulder.

“I suppose that would be prudent.”

—

“On the matter of the Tarot deck, Your divinity, you said that you needed to reshuffle the cards after a number of draws.” The Remembrancer continued a question a few days after leaving the warp. The warp-squall had continued to rage according to the Navigators, although they were fast approaching its outer edge through vast and trackless regions of empty space. Nothing about his schedule changed in the meanwhile. “Is there a reason you do not simply carry additional decks?” Barrowgeld readied a new line in his portable typewriter as he waited for a response.

Joshua raised a finger to indicate a delay, still working through the bite of jerky in his mouth. After a long few moments of heavy chewing, he swallowed and began to answer. “There’s a kind of binding process to it- the decks are personalized and bound to the astropath as a sort of… uhh… example for what the soul-binding process is later on.” He reached up and scratched his forehead. “I believe that’s how they explai-”

A sharp crack of thunder-howling in his attached bathroom cut him off. Denaira immediately rose with her gun raised, and Joshua almost tipped over off his chair as he pulled up warily staring at the closed door.

Denaira reached over and tapped at the console for the door, opening it and hurriedly indicating that he needed to come over there at once. Joshua nodded, taking steps as quietly as he could over towards the door.

Halfway across the room, the door to the bathroom exploded out, smashing into the far wall with a boom-crack of rolling energies. Remembrancer Barrowgeld had long thrown himself to the ground and side, very spry for an old man.

A tall crested helmet of alternating blue and yellow stripes emerged from the shattered doorway, teal armor gleaming with power. A marine of distinct colors and heraldry- ones that indicated allegiance to a non-imperial power. Denaira grabbed him by the back of his robes and yanked him through the doorway

The intruding marine raised the bolter just in time for Hercule’s sword and arm to punch right through the walls of the ship and impale him. The marine staggered, mounted upon the blade, forced up into the ceiling and then back.

Joshua passed through the doorway and into the hallway in time to see Hercule yank his armored arm back through the punctured wall. A keen wail and sound of something shattering following his extraction.

The Remembrancer stumbled out of the room shortly after, eyes wide and spinning around for danger.

“Move- to the muster point.” Hercule ordered.

All through the halls of the ship- the same thundercrack-wail rang out, followed shortly by the sound of bolterfire and booms of energetic violence.

Joshua was practically being carried by his scruff as he worked to stand and run with them. “Mechiskull! Tell Ukey to bring my wargear to musterpoint primus!” He ordered in a half-panicked manner. 

He pulled on the tarot. What’s the safest route to the muster point?

The wise know to take the righteous path.

“Right path ahead!” Joshua relayed to Hercule, who nodded down at him, practically walking with shield raised and heavy boots echoing. 

The long line of supplicants looked up in shock and fear at their approach from the end of the hall.

Joshua was about to order them to flee, to run away.

He was cut off by another thundercrack-boom of marine appearing among them, several unfortunate supplicants immediately dismembered by the appearance of a marine where their limbs were connected. The marine raised a bolter-

Hercule was already among him, legs smashing heavy craters into the floor and sword turning into a sharp white arc of light. The marine was hewn immediately- as was one of the dismembered supplicants, as was the thick metal walls of the ship and a bit of the supporting pillar of that part of the hallway. All of it rent by a blurring sweep of Hercule’s blade.

“Heretic Astartes! Heretics are among us!” One of the supplicants wailed in the distance.

Joshua recognized these particular heretic astartes as well.

Thousand Sons.

Chapter 20

-991.M41-

-Miracle of Suffering, Segmentum Solar-

-Joshua Pendrarc, Everchosen-

The ship announcement system was a bit late to get started, the dry, emotionless voice of a half-robotic man starting with a sharp click as the Intravox came online. “Warning. The following systems are suffering damage. Void Shields. Warning. The Intruder-Alerts for the following sections have been activated. Engines. Gellar Fields. Attack Craft Bays. Soldier Lodgings. Noble Lodgings. Qualified Voidsmen are to travel to the affected regions and resolve present issues. This announcement will repeat in three minutes.”

Joshua was currently mostly concerned with keeping up behind Hercule’s immense, rhino-like pace down the broad corridors of the ship. His overlarge sword dragged behind him on the floor with a trail of sparks, and his eyes flashed around in a constant search for danger. A sharp crack of thunder came from the hallway behind them, and he glanced back to see another teal-colored marine stepping forth from a flash of light and raising his bolter.

Denaira’s own bolter was faster, her hand shooting up and trigger pulled almost before his head had turned. The bolt smashed into the hand of the marine, sending the tip of the barrel wide and causing the explosive shells to detonate among straggler supplicants who hadn’t quite gotten the memo that they needed to be running.

Before the marine could adjust its aim- it was swarmed by hordes of other supplicants, who had gotten the memo that they needed to be running but interpreted that as ‘towards the dangerous attackers’. The teal marine was practically drowned in a wave of screaming zealots at once, five to each limb stabbing into gaps with letter openers and other small knives, and others shooting down with bolters stolen from other traitor-marines that their fellows had swarmed in similar manners.

A dozen of them died before the marine hit the ground- a dozen more replaced them. 

Joshua smashed into the far wall of the corridor, pushing off the side with his braced forearm and kicking off the back wall to get himself moving again- faster than slowing down and turning would’ve been. Hercule was only moving fast enough to be within arms reach, barreling through supplicants with ease and clearing a path for the rest of them to follow.

It was getting easier and easier to move, as said supplicants picked up the pace in all directions, flooding through the thunder-echoing halls like zombie-waves, screaming out cries to kill the traitors and die for the god-emperor.

Hercule suddenly slammed his shield down and dropped into a kneel, skipping across the metal floor for another meter or so and completely blocking their view of the hall ahead. “Denaira!” He ordered quickly, head turning ever so slightly back to her.

Joshua stabbed the sword into the floor, barely slowing himself in time to not crash into his back. 

A moment later- the distinct whirr of some variety of chaingun came to life, and the hallway full of supplicants was turned into a wave of red gore that washed forwards like a tidal wave, crashed against Hercule’s mighty shield, and splashed the walls and ceiling around him with fine bloody pulp. Like hail falling on a thin steel rooftop- the bullets of this chaingun poured against and bounced off his shield, pushing him back incrementally along the ground. 

Denaira threw a grenade over his shoulder a half-second after. The bullets continued to fall like rain- and then an explosion engulfed the far end of the corridor. 

Hercule lifted his shield from the divot he had created in the floor, and a slushy wave of gore spilled forwards and onto his boots as he began to stomp forwards again. Like an ocean wave gently lapping upon the shores of a grey beach, washing up around his ankles and passing until it met the back wall. The smell of slaughter was nauseatingly thick in the air, and his arms quaked as he ripped the Sword of Russ out of the floor and tried to ignore the feeling of red soaking his leisure-boots. 

His steps splashed that red froth further, up across his pants and ends of his robes. Golden grubs began to chew their way through his sinuses. 

The way was clear for the moment, and they passed by the shattered armor plates of the fallen teal marine, laying in the puddle of gore and with shattered six-barrel chaingun lying by his side. 

Their footsteps trailed goopy red stains for another section of hallway- this one equally thick with murdered supplicants and the occasional servitor collapsed in gore and broken machinery. Several doors on the side of the hall were broken open, and smoke was starting to rise from lower levels and accumulate among the steel rafters. 

Gunfire could be heard ahead, somewhat distantly, echoing over their footsteps and the sounds of zealous screaming that filled the ship. Both the sharp boom-cracks of lasguns and the heavier thundering of bolters. 

They turned another corner, where stray lines of lasgun fire could be seen splashing against the far wall from someplace further down the way and out of sight. Joshua immediately pulled from the tarot. Who is down the hall from them?

Traitor Sorcerer Sons

The reactor in his chest began to spin faster.

“More enemy Astartes ahead!” Joshua called up to Hercule, careful to keep his voice relatively low so that they wouldn’t hear beyond the giant golden demigod. Hercule nodded to show that he heard, slowing his pace slightly and tossing his shield forwards.

At the same moment, he slipped through the shattered doorway leading into some unfortunate corner-room, boots rolling with the impacts and terribly quiet compared to what they should be. Joshua slid to a halt as the shield loudly smashed against the ground, almost immediately provoking a dozen salvos of explosive bolts to come from further down the hallway and engulf it in fire. 

Joshua glanced into the corner-room just in time to see Hercule’s sword flash in another blurring silver arc, carving a line straight through the wall up to the hilt with the terrible sound of screaming metal and shattering glass. 

Denaira stepped forwards, just enough to look down the hall and raise her bolt-pistol, immediately firing at targets Joshua could barely glimpse through the improvised window Hercule had carved in the wall. 

He glanced behind him, keeping his rather-wimpy laspistol raised and ready, looking out for anything coming up from behind. Barrowgeld the Remembrancer was still behind him, looking remarkably unharmed and ten-fingered hand rapidly typing away at his portable typewriter. A few moments of violence passed behind him before he heard Denaira start to move forwards, hefting the immense golden shield as she did. 

Joshua turned and followed once more, Hercule walked through the rent metal wall like plates of particularly thick clay. He stepped into the hallway and reached out to take his shield from Denaira, and once more began a brisk pace down the corridors. 

At the end of the corridors, voidsmen began to cheer and wave behind purpose-built barricades and fortifications. “By God-Emperor! The Incarnate is with us! The Incarnate and his golden hands!”

Joshua gave his best smile as he approached, keeping half an eye on the space behind them as they moved along. After several moments, they passed the barricades and were among the saluting voidsmen in the mustering-point. Joshua could see a few nobles among them- other inhabitants of the luxury rooms that he occasionally caught a glimpse of but never bothered talking to, and they looked greatly aggrieved sitting among servants who were doing their best to serve snacks and wines to the irritated men and women of high class.

Those same men and women practically leapt to their feet and saluted in attention-grabbing ways as he came into sight.

Joshua ignored them, eyes instead going to the voidsman with the fanciest hat. “What’s the status?” He demanded at once, not really sure what he was going to receive as an answer, nor what he was going to do with the information to come. 

The voidsman-leader dropped his salute and nodded. “Captain Bruno had us on rotation at there muster-points since tha warp-squall started, yer divinity. Attack came round three minutes ago, and captain’s ordered us to hold. We sent a force up to escort ye ovah.”

“We saw no such escort.” Joshua frowned, glancing back.

The voidsman shook his head. “They must’ve gotten the drop on em- those lads wouldn’t give up easy.”

“Comin up Aft!” A voidsman roared out from down the far-corridor, and fire immediately started from twenty two lasguns of various sizes, drowning that corridor in a wall of red lines for several long seconds. A few moments later they stopped firing, and a second call was made. “Aft Clear!”

“We’ve been told to getcha to safety up in the bridge over all other passengers, yer divinity.” The voidsman nodded and saluted. “We’ve been holding fer now, their attacks ain’t organized, but it’s a near thing.”

“They’re Rubrics.” Joshua shook his head, dredging up old memories about things he read years ago. “Ghosts in shells. They’re barely more than automata without their sorcerers to guide them.”

“Really? No wonder they ain’t organized.” The voidsman declared with furrowed brows on his scarred face. “Heretics sent a bunch of empty suits to attack us?”

“Their aim was elsewhere.” Hercule declared with a frown. “These shells- they only exist to slow down responses to other regions of the ship.”

That’s right, wasn’t it? The announcement came over that they were attacking elsewhere. 

“They must’ve had a traitor on the inside sabotage the voidshields- letting them teleport in like they’ve been doing!” The Voidsman declared with an irritated tug on his upper lip. “Engines and Gellar Fields- if either of those go down, tha Miracle will be a grox in the water for anything that comes after her later!”

The speaker-servitor came over the intravox again. “Warning. The following systems are suffering damage. Void Shields. Tertiary Maneuvering Thrusters. Warning. The Intruder-Alerts for the following sections have been activated. Engines. Gellar Fields. Macrocannon Batteries. Attack Craft Bays. Soldier Lodgings. Noble Lodgings. Qualified Voidsmen are to travel to the affected regions and resolve present issues. This announcement will repeat in three minutes.”

The damaged and intruded regions had only increased since last time. He grit his teeth, and started to draw.

What system is most critical to secure? Light started to spill from his brow. 

Barrier Against Warp.

Will the system fail if he doesn’t go to help it? The star on his brow began to bleed out into a ring. 

No-Denial-Refusal

Where should he go? The star and ring finished filling out into a jeweled crown of golden light.

Strength of Valliant Steeds.

Horsepower- “We need to go reinforce the engines.” He declared, reaching up to grasp at his head with a grimace. He glanced at the servo-skull with mechanical wings. “Tell Ukey to meet us along the way.”

The servoskull let out another burst of binaric squeaks. 

“Yer- Yer divinity- we we’re ordered tah…” The voidsman looked like he very much didn’t want to be speaking at the moment, but his training kept him to his prior orders. “Getcha to the bridge…”

“Certainly.” Joshua nodded, stepping around him and glancing for the passage to the lift. “And after we reinforce the engines and save the ship- we’ll go right there, how about that?”

“Aye, Yer divinity!” The voidsman saluted, before roaring to the gathered. “All but the tenth- ready up and get moving! The engine boys need our guns! Tenth- stay here and protect the winebloods!”

“”AYE!”” came the resounding shouts of the voidsmen as they quickly moved to gather up their guns and ready a formation.

“Meet us at the engine-floor lift chamber!” Joshua ordered with a heart jumping around in his chest. That same heart was being nudged back into place and massaged by spidery golden hands. 

“Yes, Yer Divinity!”

“The stairs will be faster than the lift.” Hercule stated as they briskly moved again.

“We’re not taking the lift.” Joshua replied with a shake of his head. “Hercule- how far can you fall and land safely?”

—

A golden giant smashed into the side of the wall, three people dangling from his shoulders as he held onto long beams normally reserved for heavy machinery. Below him, a kilometer-long shaft stretched into a misty underbelly, impossible to see the bottom for the distance involved. The walls were thick plates of machinery and metal, occasionally interspersed by long stretches of open air.

Hercule’s grip slackened slightly, and immediately he began to slide down the long metal pillar, fingers hooked around the edges and edge of his boot screeching against plasteel as they began to descend.

This was, admittedly, not Joshua’s best idea. But it was faster than waiting for the open-air lift to return to their position and then open up, especially in the middle of an ongoing hostile boardings, and the only risk was if Hercule was an idiot and let go for no reason. 

Or if Joshua himself was an idiot and let go for no reason. “It’s forty floors down to the engine levels.” He said, mostly reminding himself more than anything as Hercule’s grip continued to slacken and their pace down continued to accelerate. It was slightly terrifying to be going down in this manner, he almost immediately regretted suggesting it. 

“I recall.” Hercule rumbled calmly as they accelerated down the open shaft. 

Joshua glanced over at his grip on the wall. His golden-armored fingers were visibly warming from the friction of their controlled descent, and sparks trailed along the path down. “How are your fingers holding up, Hercule?” He asked with a concerned frown on his face.

“Auramite is an exceptional insulator. Rest assured, I feel nothing.” Hercule responded with a firm nod. Denaira gave a supporting nod, hanging from Hercule’s pauldron and holding the massive shield for him as they slid down and down the terrible shaft. The Remembrancer looked distinctly worried by the entire situation, clinging to Hercule's other shoulder with both arms.

Joshua was hanging off his back, hand gripped around the raised gorget, one foot braced against a raised section of his thigh-guards. 

Their speed continued to increase. The air of the lift-shaft whipping past his ears as the floors of the ship began to flash past his eyes. One, two, three… Hercule’s fingers were starting to glow a hot red and the line of sparks grew long enough to fade into the mists above before they actually disappeared. Five, six, nine? It was growing harder and harder to keep track of the spaces of air as they passed by.

Ten screaming, almost weightless seconds passed as they descended, before Hercule’s grip tightened with a scream of metal, and their pace began to slow instead. The winds whipping past his ears grew less and less intense, and it became easier and easier to distinguish individual floors.

Until, all of a sudden, Hercule slowed to a stop and then threw himself back, twisting around in the air and falling like a golden cannonball. Joshua grimaced, fingers screaming in protest as they landed and slid for a moment.

The motion and sudden stop made the blood in his body flip-flop around, like shaking a water bottle, and his vision briefly blackened as he stumbled off Hercule’s bent back. 

He shook his head out in time to see Hercule impose himself before him, shield raised as bolter-fire boomed out in front of them.  Denaira raised her boltpistol, firing just to the side of him at some threat that Joshua couldn’t see.

An electric flash arced through the air, fizzling out in the air before it reached anyone and a boom echoing in its wake.

“Loathesome pariah!” A voice called out ahead, suspended in the air by a kind of flying disk. A marine in teal, who immediately brought his ornate metal staff back defensively, raising a shield of light as his front was raked by bolter-fire, both from Denaira and Hercule’s gunblade. “Brothers! Turn and face the-”

“THE GOD-EMPEROR PROTECTS!” In the distance, far down the hall, Joshua could see the voidsmen suddenly start a dramatic bayonet-charge forwards, into the squads of rubic-marines that were currently in the process of turning around at their lead-sorcerer’s commands. A bare handful of Repentia were among them, clad in little more than prayer-strips and paint, and brandishing immense two-handed blades. 

“Damnation- half of you- killl them!” The sorcerer amended his command with a sneer in his voice, hoverboard moving around in evasive patterns for a few moments before he smashed his staff into the air like it was solid ground. 

Hercule, who was halfway to the sorcerer already and about to rip him in half, was suddenly interrupted by a tear in reality and a massive, monstrous fist emerging to deliver a haymaker. He flew to the side with the sound of a cannonball impact, smashing through the wall and into some room beyond as the creature the fist was attached to stomped out into realspace.

A horrific combination of flesh and machinery, a towering hulk of a machine half again as tall as Hercule himself, but with a center of a humanoid stretched painfully, hatefully wide and integrated into a hellish array of wires and tubes. The front was covered by a minimal breastplate and helmet, but neither could contain the cancerous flesh that spread through the machinery of the hulk like mold. 

“Hellbrute! Destroy the Saint!” The sorcerer ordered, throwing another bolt of lightning forwards to bounce across repentia and voidsmen both. The repentia staggered briefly, flashes of shining white shimmering around their form, but the voidsmen were not so lucky as a handful were suddenly turned into charged bursts of gore and smoking splatters across the floors and walls. 

The Hellbrute roared, turning one hideous cannon-arm forwards to fire upon them. 

The Hellbrute was interrupted by a furious golden demigod blurring out of the wall and tackling it hard enough to stagger them both into the wall of the opposite side. 

“Abomination!” Hercule roared, bracing himself and straining backwards.

The Hellbrute’s clawed feet clutched air as they rose. The clumsy arms began to move in panicked, feral manners to grab at the too-small thing holding it around an immense waist.

And then- it was tossed.

Hercule threw the Hellbrute over his head and back in a modified suplex, armored boots cratering the metal floor and wall as they briefly supported however many tons of weight belonged to the demon-engine.

Joshua had the distinct feeling he was witnessing the coolest thing ever.