"Big brother, I'm awake!"
Little Alice ran in excitedly, holding her small puppy in her arms, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food on the table.
Kenthelion walked over and gently picked her up.
"Little Alice, did you brush your teeth, wash your face, and make your bed like I asked?"
"Alice did everything you told me to do, big brother!" she said proudly.
"Good girl. Then you can eat now."
Alice climbed into a chair and began eating cheerfully.
"Where did this little girl come from?"
A sleepy Shizuka Marikawa walked in, rubbing her eyes, and noticed Alice sitting at the table. Without hesitation, she sat down and joined her.
"Wow, this is so delicious! So good!" Shizuka exclaimed, stuffing her cheeks like a child, looking as excited as Alice.
Soon, Saeko Busujima came downstairs. Kenthelion immediately pulled out a chair for her and invited her to sit.
Saeko blushed faintly as she looked at him.
This bastard went way too far last night... and didn't even let me rest until morning.
She sat down quietly, trying to hide her embarrassment as Kenthelion calmly poured her tea like nothing had happened.
"Saeko, come and eat. The food is really delicious," Kenthelion said with a warm smile.
He glanced at Shizuka Marikawa, who was eating like there was no tomorrow. Every bit of food on her plate vanished into her mouth nonstop—like a living vacuum.
Shizuka, the busty girl, looked like she was truly enjoying herself. No wonder her chest was so… well-endowed. With how much she was eating, it was no surprise if all the calories went straight there. Watching her eat at the table, Kenthelion couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.
After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room. They sat down on the couch and started chatting casually.
"Mister Kenthelion, what are we going to do next?" Shizuka asked innocently.
"Stay here for a few days. Some of my subordinates will be arriving soon," Kenthelion replied calmly.
"You have subordinates? Who are you, really?" Saeko Busujima looked at him with mild surprise.
"Well… I was just an unemployed guy during the final days of peace," Kenthelion said, smiling mischievously.
Shizuka, acting like a curious little girl again, asked with wide eyes, "You still have subordinates? How many? Why didn't you call them earlier to protect us?"
Kenthelion chuckled and gently ruffled her hair, "Don't worry. They'll come soon… and everything will be fine."
Bark!… Bark!… Bark!
"Big brother, someone's outside!" little Alice called out from the balcony, hugging her tiny dog with worry in her eyes.
Kenthelion rushed to the balcony, with Saeko Busujima following close behind. What they saw below made Saeko's grip tighten.
A group of about fifty thugs were roaming the streets—muscle-bound men covered in tattoos, wielding firearms and blunt weapons. They were the kind who bullied the weak but cowered before real strength. Right now, they were harassing helpless women and dragging a few people away.
Saeko clenched her wooden sword, ready to jump in. "These bastards…"
But Kenthelion gently placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in place.
"There's no need for you to get involved," he said calmly. "Someone else will deal with them."
"You sure?" she asked, her tone laced with doubt and anger.
"Trust me. Go back inside. This will be over quickly."
Reluctantly, Saeko nodded and stepped away, placing her faith in Kenthelion's words.
Kenthelion then activated a sleek, dark communicator on his wrist. A soft blue glow lit up the screen as a distorted voice came through.
"My Lord, do you have orders for us?"
"Yes," Kenthelion replied coldly. "There's trash loitering near my territory. Clean them up—don't let them die too easily."
"As you command, My Lord."
---------
"Heavy footsteps echoed through the rubble-strewn streets."
Cold mist clung to the ruined buildings as dark-robed figures emerged from the alleyways, their faces hidden behind metal helms engraved with the double-headed Aquila. The Inquisitors had arrived.
Without a word, they descended upon the tattooed thugs like a divine execution. Steel-clad hands grabbed collars, slammed bodies to the ground, and dragged them like sacks of rot. Screams and curses filled the night air—mercy was not part of the ritual.
In the scorched city roundabout, the instruments of purification were set up: iron crosses, restraint tables, plasma-laced confession spikes, and neural interrogators.
"You harmed unarmed civilians," one Inquisitor intoned, his voice like thunder behind a vox-filter.
"Then your blood shall ink your confession."
The first scream tore through the night as electro-needles were driven into spinal columns. One by one, the criminals writhed, begged, cried—while the Inquisitors recorded, judged... and continued the rite.
"Faith is the light. You are the darkness."
"Let your bodies be torches to guide humanity forward."
That night, the sky was choked with the scent of burning flesh and sins purged by holy flame.
A battered man, once shouting obscenities, now hung limp by his wrists, suspended on a rusted iron frame. His tattoos—symbols of violence and chaos—were being peeled from his skin, layer by layer.
"Please… please stop—!"
An Inquisitor leaned in, his breath hissing through the respirator grille.
"You seek mercy?"
He raised a sanctified brand glowing with crimson heat.
"Then confess."
The man sobbed.
"I—I didn't kill anyone—I just followed orders—"
CRACK.
The brand pressed against flesh, searing bone. The man's scream echoed like a dying animal.
"Following orders is not innocence. Ignorance is not redemption."
Another thug, eyes wild with terror, tried to crawl away. An Interrogator dragged him back by the ankle and strapped him to a steel slab. Overhead, servo-skulls hovered—recording everything, blinking with red lights.
"What… what is this?!" the man gasped, struggling.
"Judgment," the Inquisitor replied, as a long, coiling
The dank underground chamber reeked of blood and burning iron. The surviving gangsters were bound tightly to iron pillars, their bodies covered in bleeding wounds, trembling in fear.
Sister Superior Lucia stepped forward, her face cold and merciless, followed by other Adepta Sororitas carrying cruel instruments: ritual knives, barbed whips that glowed with holy fire, and high-voltage stun devices.
"You have defied the divine authority and betrayed the Imperium," Lucia's voice trembled with righteous fury. "Therefore, you shall be punished… until death claims you."
One Adepta lashed the barbed whip across the chest of the burly man in the center. Skin tore, blood spurted, and his screams echoed through the chamber. But this was only the beginning.
Then, stun devices were placed on each finger of the gangsters. A surge of electricity pulsed through their bodies, causing muscles to spasm uncontrollably, hearts pounding irregularly. Some collapsed unconscious, bodies convulsing violently.
Sister Lucia raised a sharp ritual blade and slowly pressed it into the shoulder of a gangster who tried to resist. Blood poured freely, but she did not halt the ritual. Each cut deepened the wound, agonizing the man into desperate screams.
Another Adepta lifted spiked chains nailed to the walls, hanging the barely-living men by their wrists. They were mercilessly tortured—open wounds gaped wide, blood flowing freely, their cries forming a symphony of torment.
Soon, some ceased breathing—the inevitable end of divine punishment without mercy.
Sister Lucia gazed coldly at the sprawled corpses, then said with chilling finality, "This is the fate of those who oppose the sacred power. Never make this mistake again."