"Spread out and ensure everyone within a kilometer of here is evacuated. Kill anything that isn't human," Bastion ordered as he sized them up once more.
They were dressed in their standard Sororitas armor, equipped with bolters and the highly intimidating—yet inefficient—chainswords.
However, there was nothing he could do for now. Their equipment wasn't ready yet; Ascrius-21 was still working on it.
"Yes, my lord," half of them answered before vanishing from sight.
From twelve, they were down to six, but Bastion didn't feel any less confident in dealing with whatever threat this was.
"The rest of you, get—"
Before he could finish, an unseen force struck him, sending him flying.
He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew the enemy was here. Quickly flipping midair to regain balance, Bastion scanned the area for the source of the impact. For the first time, his sensors were tasked with finding something he didn't even recognize.
"Sorcerer at two o'clock! Bring that building down!"
The Sororitas sprang into action.
Hearing His Grace's command, Lucilla and her sisters immediately charged into battle.
The duty of the Canoness, before the Custodes Sanctis, wasn't only to supervise the Ordo but also to fight.
Her body moved with grace and conviction as she locked onto the building several meters away.
"Flank him," she ordered.
While the others maneuvered, she herself ran straight toward the Chaos Sorcerer. Her armor creaked under unseen forces, yet she felt no effect—despite the sorcerer's gaze fixed upon her.
"Die, heretic!!" Lucilla's voice thundered.
The ground cratered as she leaped skyward, her body arcing through the air in a trail of golden-white light. Like divine mandate made manifest, her chainsword—now glowing with ethereal radiance—cleaved through the sorcerer in an explosion of blood and gore.
At the rear, Bastion watched in disbelief. The light had returned, brighter than ever. Even from a distance, he could feel its holiness. The Sanctis moved as though untouched by the sorcerer's powers.
His sensors couldn't detect psychic abilities, but they could track quantum disturbances—and all things, no matter how small, left traces at that level. That was how he had found the sorcerer… and how he now knew this one was just the first of many.
Quickly, he relayed orders through his neural link to the Fabricator-General, Ascrius-21.
Then, Bastion clenched his fist and pulled. As if forged from light itself, a sword materialized in his grip.
This was the part he had feared. He could simulate and prepare for conventional threats, but the so-called Ruinous Powers defied prediction.
Since arriving in this world, he had theorized every possible warp-borne catastrophe—and this was the worst-case scenario.
A Chaos cult uprising.
If executed perfectly, a planet could be lost. Even if defended, the scars would linger, leaving it vulnerable to further corruption.
Dealing with the cult itself wasn't the problem. He had the Custodes Sanctis, who—as he'd predicted—were the living nemeses of Chaos, blessed by divine favor.
No, the true danger was the aftermath. When the people mourned their dead. When they questioned whether the system had failed them.
"Get ready," Bastion commanded, urging the Fabricator-General to expedite their new weapons.
Chainswords were intimidating, but for raw efficiency, a traditional blade was superior.
Without hesitation, Bastion lunged forward. The ground shattered beneath him as he blurred across the battlefield—so fast even the enhanced Sanctis struggled to track him.
Evangeline and her sisters exchanged glances but followed without question. As his Custodes, their duty was clear.
What they found was both familiar and horrifying: a full-scale cult uprising.
Mutated cultists swarmed the streets, their bodies twisted beyond recognition. And amidst them—untouched, unapproachable—stood His Grace.
None dared near him… until he moved.
Then, he was a storm. Where he passed, Chaos itself recoiled, as if unable to taint his presence. His sword showed no mercy, striking down cultists with lethal precision.
"The Emperor Protects! His Saint fights for us! Attack!!" Lucilla roared, her body erupting in radiant power.
The same power they'd glimpsed in training—now fully awakened.
The voices of the Ruinous Powers faded. Their armor shed its taint. Their weapons glowed with purifying fury.
"The Emperor Protects!!" her sisters echoed.
They charged. Their very presence burned the enemy. Bolters fired flawlessly; chainswords carved through corruption as if guided by a higher will.
The battlefield transformed—from a cesspool of mutation into a dance of golden light and annihilation.
Bastion's enhanced senses tracked it all: the sisters' onslaught, the Arbites joining the fray, reinforcements closing in.
Chaos, he realized, was like the devils of ancient myth—powerless without mortal weakness to exploit. And the sheer disdain on the Arbiters' faces as they fired into the daemonic horde… it made him smile.
He still didn't fully understand the warp. This was his first true encounter. But one thing was clear: Chaos thrived on doubt. On whispered temptations.
It had no power without believers. No agency beyond mortal frailty.
And that knowledge changed everything.
Even as he strategized, his body never stilled. His sword cut through heretic after heretic.