Chapter 216: There Are Still Too Many Villains in This World
On the morning of the ninth day after the Primarchs' arrival, a light rain began to fall on Astorgius, the patter of water on metal echoing in the air.
In a city on the cardinal world named Zha'hak, Rafael and Seraphina followed a procession of guests to the site of an ordination ceremony—the high altar of a sanctum within the Grand Cathedral of Zha'hak. The high altar was its heart. It was a vast, vaulted space, roughly in the shape of a radial cross. The altar itself was a raised, octagonal platform in the center of the architectural space.
Octagonal? Rafael noted the detail, his brow furrowing slightly. Eight ornate, tiered stone benches radiated from the octagon, each easily seating a thousand people. The upper part of the cathedral's structure housed reliquaries. In a side chapel stood a statue of Karna, the cold stone figure holding a spear, its face solemn, as if gazing at every believer who entered. Beside the statue stood a massive pipe organ, its metal pipes like swords pointing to the dome. According to the local church's explanation, it was called the Voice of the Seraph.
The walls were made of dark, massive stones, each carved with complex scriptures and symbols, extending upwards with a heavy, oppressive feeling, supporting a dome made of a steel frame and stained glass. Motley light filtered through the glass, forming strange halos in the incense-laden mist, like some unspeakable gaze. The scent of incense was very strong, as if to cover up something.
It gave the visiting guests the feeling of standing at the bottom of a misty canyon, the only clear light falling directly on the platform below. But unfortunately, the weather today prevented the guests from seeing the sacred sight.
A premonition brought with it a shadow of blood and conspiracy. Rafael's pupils contracted slightly, his fingertips unconsciously pressing into his palm. He turned to a red-robed priest beside him and asked, "When did the renovations on this cathedral begin?"
"Nine days ago," the accompanying priest quickly replied to the sumptuously dressed merchant representative. He was holding a long taper, lighting the candles around the guests. The dark corners of the sanctum were illuminated by thousands of holy candles, the small flames forming a river of stars in the gloom, making the ancient stone walls flicker.
Rafael and Seraphina stood in seats close to the ceremony, watching the ordination proceed. The Primarchs were generally satisfied with the overall condition of this planet, but there were still many things that displeased them. The filth hidden beneath the glamorous surface still made them uncomfortable. Gilded filth was still filth, and to remove it, it had to be washed with blood. So, heads had to roll. And they were the ones responsible for the rolling.
The process was simple enough. The Astartes would first secure the target, then an official from the Administratum would step forward to read the charges, and the Ecclesiarchy would maintain order. There was no need to worry about the ideological chaos caused by blindly declaring heresy. They would generally not use the charge of heresy—corruption, malfeasance, treason—these secular crimes were often more efficient than a religious trial.
Thanks to Guilliman, he had at least set down extremely detailed legal statutes for the various departments when he established the Senatorum Imperialis. Although, in normal circumstances, even the Adeptus Arbites would rather just execute someone than go through the process. But now, it was the best legal basis for their actions. And those directly involved in the 'holy oil' production chain, there was not one who was not guilty of corruption and murder.
Rafael's gaze fell on another lighting fixture in the room—a servo-skull, holding a brazier, circling above the heads of the crowd. It was like a state-sanctioned euthanasia, where the "euthanized" were not necessarily the ones who truly needed release. The Ecclesiarchy's rules were written in black and white: only those elderly believers who had lost their ability to work were qualified to offer themselves as raw material for a series of holy artifacts. In return, their families would receive generous tax exemptions. But in reality, the number of "pious" believers who were "exempted" was not small.
The profits from holy oil, holy shrouds, and holy servo-skulls were too great. The entire life savings of an ordinary believer might not even be a fraction of the value of their skull after it was made into a servo-skull. There were even more extreme cases where the person and all of their immediate family were "exempted," and the tax exemption policy was instead applied to the relatives of the Ecclesiarchy's high-ranking officials, to better support their lavish lifestyles.
"Something is wrong here. I suspect daemonic influence," Rafael's voice was a low whisper, his lips barely moving. "We have been unable to find any trace of the bishop. This is already beyond the realm of the ordinary."
Seraphina responded under the guise of a prayer, her psychic glamour concealing their movements. If it was beyond the ordinary, it could only be related to daemons.
"Those useless fools in the Ordo Hereticus," Seraphina spat, her voice tight. The Purifier squad had been tracking the person in charge here for some time, but it was like chasing a fog. Every operation only caught some insignificant small fry. The real mastermind was still at large. If a planet that the Primarchs were relatively satisfied with had so many hidden dangers, what about the planets they weren't satisfied with? Weren't they completely doomed?
"The Ordo Hereticus produces heretics, the Ordo Xenos produces xenos—" Rafael's psychic voice held a hint of irony. "The Throneworld itself still preserves a large number of Khornate skull-relics that can summon daemonic legions. It's not surprising that a cardinal world is crawling with heretics."
He shook his head, feeling a little lucky. As a child, he had been taken to a paradise world by Lady Aglaia because he was a stable psyker. Then, to save his brothers and sisters, he had given up his chance of survival, only to, by a twist of fate, become a member of Lord Karna's Ever-burning Wing. He had never had a chance to get involved with heresy. What was so good about heresy? He was very satisfied with his current life. He had a clear enemy to slay, a clear faith to protect. He didn't have to walk the edge of Chaos like those guys in the Ordo Malleus, where a single misstep could send you plunging into the abyss.
"Where did you learn to talk like that?" Seraphina glanced at him, a hint of exasperation in her eyes. This kind of sharp, characteristic banter was clearly not Rafael's usual tone.
"Lord Ramesses told me," Rafael replied. According to his description, after learning that Terra preserved a large number of Khornate skull-relics disguised as Ecclesiarchy artifacts, the Custodian representative, Lord Navradaran, had been like an erupting volcano. Every letter he wrote back to Terra began with a string of curses as long as his own name, making one marvel at the depth of a Custodian's vocabulary. It was a good thing they weren't short on holy oil and other necessities.
"Learn less of that in the future. And don't repeat it to others," Seraphina's voice was tinged with a clear resentment. It reminded her of Elara, who had grown up with her. That girl had been completely corrupted. She now used her soul-seeing eyes to dig up secrets everywhere, and then mimicked Ramesses's tone to make snide remarks at people. "You are not Lord Ramesses." If not for the fact that she could always grab Elara and teleport away, she didn't know how she would have survived.
"Understood," Rafael nodded seriously. "Should I report it?" he asked.
"Already reported. The rapid reaction force is in position. Lord Titus is on his way. We have ample backup," Seraphina confirmed again. Thanks to her psychic talents, and under the protection of the warp-security protocols established by Lord Ramesses, they could play an unprecedented role.
"Good. Emergency protocol approved," Rafael nodded.
After a brief exchange, they continued to monitor the situation. On the surface, the two acolytes were still piously observing the ceremony. But Seraphina's psychic power had quietly wrapped around every brick and stone beneath the altar, while Rafael's combat-precognition was running through countless possible scenarios every millisecond.
With the soaring hymns of the Ecclesiarchy choir, the Voice of the Seraph continued to sound its religious notes. The ceremony had reached its climax. At this critical moment, the high notes of the Voice of the Seraph vanished, leaving only the silent guests and the patter of rain outside the cathedral. All eyes turned to the master of the cathedral, Bishop Yevetha, who had suddenly appeared on the high platform.
The atmosphere instantly grew tense. Amidst the patter of rain, the sound of blades cutting through flesh could be heard.
Yevetha stood in the center of the high platform. From within the sound system, the voice of his superior, faked by the reaction force, began to sing the Emperor's blessing for his servant through a crystal vox-emitter. His superior had already been eliminated. The corruption of the Ecclesiarchy was beyond imagination. A deacon walked to the edge of the platform, guiding the mortals, who had at some point been enthralled by a psychic mist, to come before Yevetha.
The bishop watched the scene with satisfaction. He was only one step away from completing his final ritual. A mechanical cherub, responsible for the anointing, flew to the bishop's side. It used a glowing blue holy oil to anoint Yevetha's forehead and placed a 'seal of purity' on his magnificent robes. A faint blue light shone, mixed with a strange iridescence. Now, the bishop could no longer hide the joy of his impending ascension on his face.
The two, who had been waiting for their chance to act, held their breath. They both heard it, from the cracks in the stone, a warp-echo like the cry of a newborn baby.
"Seraphina!" Rafael couldn't help but urge. The moment Yevetha appeared, they had dropped their disguises, but they were still blocked by an illusory wall of warp-power.
"I have been trying to stop the ritual," Seraphina cursed under her breath. 'How many people has this man killed?' Finally, under the guidance of her Aeldari tutor, she used her psychic power to tear a gap in the ritual area. She then pressed a hand down, directly connecting the portal to the thunderclouds in the sky.
Just as Yevetha was about to stand up and give a speech to the entranced guests, a roll of thunder suddenly echoed above their heads. A flash of lightning, and the stained-glass window was shattered by a sudden blast. It was lightning. The roaring thunder did not stop. An even louder, more piercing crash erupted. Another massive bolt of lightning was channeled directly into the sanctum, bringing with it a torrential wind and a rain of razor-sharp glass shards that swept towards the unresponsive guests.
Then, the servo-skulls holding the braziers fell from the impact, and the candles that had just been lit were instantly extinguished. A thick darkness swept through the cathedral. With the infusion of the natural forces of the material universe, the guests' consciousness was ripped from the psychic mist. Screams of pain and cries of panic filled the air.
But the chaotic din ended in the next second. The blue light of a stasis bomb flashed, and time was forcibly frozen, a spray of blood and the trajectory of a bolter shell hanging in mid-air.
In the chapel below the cathedral, the doors had been blown open. The rubble had taken down the surrounding Chaos heretics, but the enemies within the room, under the influence of Chaos, quickly recovered their lethality and returned fire. Three Astartes and a dozen members of the Order of the Bloody Rose had torn through the enemy's formation in the first moments of the engagement. On either side of the door, Storm Troopers had set up a temporary defensive position using the fallen pillars and shattered icons, their melta-guns tracing red arcs in the darkness, providing precise fire cover for the advancing vanguard. They had the heretics pinned down.
The battle seemed to be tilting in the Imperium's favor. Time was on their side. Every second, more reinforcements were arriving. Even the arrival of a Primarch was only a matter of time. But these heretics would obviously not wait to be killed. They were pitiful creatures, ensnared by Chaos, who had lost everything and had offered their souls to the dark gods. The more desperate the situation, the more these madmen would bet everything on the evil powers of the warp.
CRACKLE!
A bolt of pale psychic lightning suddenly tore through the battlefield. The chill of the warp instantly swept through the hall. Two Battle-Sisters had no time to dodge. The lightning pierced them, and the raging warp energy completely destroyed their flesh and blood, freezing them in their charging posture, their armour covered in a strange white frost.
"It's a psyker. A very powerful one," Rafael quickly assessed. After grabbing Yevetha by the neck and confirming he was just a puppet, he crushed his head, quickly pinpointing the source of the power from the soul-fragments. He then turned to Seraphina. "Seraphina, the gate."
Upon receiving Rafael's command, Seraphina thrust a hand forward. A portal tore open, forcibly ripping open the main doors that the forces below had been trying to breach. Thanks to Ramesses's strict training, their professionalism as psykers far surpassed those who had to learn on their own.
"There's a daemon portal inside. My psychic senses can't penetrate it," Seraphina's voice was suddenly tense. The darkness in her psychic sight was like a thick tar, blocking her investigation. Her fingertips sparked with a deep purple psychic fire, trying to push the portal forward, but it was like hitting an invisible wall.
"That's enough!" Rafael's voice was a thunderclap. The servos of his Blood Angels power armour roared like a war cry. He became a crimson blur, tearing through all the enemies in his path and linking up with the waiting Purifier squad below. He then led his comrades into the hall that had once been used for the worship of senior believers.
Or, to be more accurate, a slaughterhouse.
When they charged into the hall, the thick incense could not mask the overwhelming stench of decay that assaulted them. The former chapel had been converted by the heretics into a butchery. Flayed bodies and blood-soaked banners hung from the prayer-pulpit in the center of the room. Piles of stone benches were carelessly stacked at the entrance, like a child's discarded building blocks. These holy objects, meant for the rest of the faithful, were now the cover and barricades of the Chaos cultists.
On either side of the path to the altar, huge pyres burned. The flames were a hazy blue, occasionally shifting in color. In the flames, charred figures, chained to iron pillars, screamed in agony. Their twisted wails mingled with the crackle of the fire, a sound that made one's blood run cold.
Rafael raised his holy sword, his voice like thunder, echoing through the desecrated hall.
"For Humanity!"
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