Inside the ruined arena, the broken bodies of the Deathwatch Space Marines had been gathered together and laid neatly in the wide corridor.
The Sisters softly sang hymns, covering the corpses with torn pieces of their ceremonial robes before lighting the pyres.
In these dire times there were no grand cathedrals, no choirs to bear these warriors to rest.
Arthur thought for a moment, then placed his clearly relic-grade power sword and storm shield upon the altar, built from inscribed pauldrons stacked together.
"Emperor, my Lord, shape me into the tool of Your coming."
"Your son does not fear death, Your son does not fear daemons, for it is You who comes to take him."
"Grant me the righteous path home, grant me the burning path home."
"Let me be the storm in Your name, scattering all Your foes."
The Canoness' clear, devout voice scattered the crimson taint of the Warp.
Arthur gazed into the holy fire, watching it wrap around the fallen warriors. The crimson flames slowly turned into a radiant gold, burning with a supernatural intensity that reduced the bodies to ash.
The rising motes clung to the flames like a golden river of liquid light, streaming upward to the altar.
The Sisters, seeing this, lowered their eyes to hide the glow in them, their faith burning brighter, their hymns rising ever more fervent.
As expected— the Emperor was stirring.
Arthur had anticipated this, watching as the molten fire consumed his sword and shield.
The Warp never belonged solely to the Four Gods. Whatever the Imperium's endless debates about the Emperor's nature, he and the others who had crossed over knew the truth.
The Emperor, like the Four, could draw power from humanity's faith. In the Immaterium He stood just as towering, His Golden Throne a divine domain as vast as any Chaos realm.
When the Great Rift tore across the galaxy, He too could unleash His legions into realspace as freely as the Dark Gods cast forth their daemons. In fact, because humanity's faith in Him was so absolute, it was easier for Him than for them.
Well, if the Emperor said He wasn't a god, then He wasn't. Whatever He said was right.
Arthur kept silent, standing vigil to honor the warriors who had fought to the end. When the fire finally dimmed, his sword and shield emerged blackened, sheathed in a matte, sanctified finish.
"Hmph."
The Blood God, watching the Great Game, noticed the actions of this cursed soul.
He did not care.
He was furious.
That gnawing sense of having missed something stoked His rage further— it felt too much like those warriors who bore His blessing only to turn and march into the Emperor's light.
He slammed His brass throne. The Skull Towers toppled, blood rained from the skies.
In the Chaos realms above, the stakes of the Game had just been raised.
Clang.
Arthur stepped forward and retrieved his sword and shield, now veiled and more magnificent in their restraint. Among the pauldrons that formed the altar lay the ashes of the warriors.
It seemed the Emperor had indeed noticed them.
Arthur exhaled in relief, glad he had asked the Sisters to lead the rites.
In this damned galaxy, to return to the Golden Throne was as good an ending as one could hope for.
Better to believe in the Emperor than to fall to Chaos.
"My lord."
Canoness Arabella spoke.
"I hope to forge reliquaries for the Angels, sacred caskets that will carry their honor back to their brothers."
"…Approved."
Arthur felt his tone too stiff. His command of the language was still rough, so he added:
"Thank you."
"…Thank you for granting us this honor, my lord."
Arabella swore to the Emperor she had never seen Angels like these. Not that it was bad— but it was unsettling. It was as if a demigod had regarded her as an equal.
A soul-to-soul equality, not mere courtesy.
As soon as Arthur finished speaking, the Sisters reverently lifted the pauldrons containing the ashes, wrapped them in holy shrouds, then reignited their promethium flamers.
The armor fragments melted under heat and song, reshaped into silver reliquaries marked with the iconography of the Order of the Sacred Rose, each set with the fallen warrior's pauldron.
Arthur had to admit— their craft was exquisite.
He did not understand these mourning rituals, but he respected them.
At least it was not something grotesque, like flaying bodies, stuffing them into mockeries of angelic statues, and bathing them in incense smoke.
The rites of the Sacred Rose had a true sense of sanctity, nothing corrupt about them.
"Is this the Emperor's way of shielding us?"
Romulus joined him, immediately noticing that Arthur's gear now matched his own in color.
All of them were prepared, deep down, for the chance that the Chaos Gods might take notice of them.
After all, they had landed straight into the Warp. None of them were arrogant enough to think they were chosen ones who could punch Necrons and kick Chaos Gods on arrival.
At best, they were the Emperor's discarded children.
And yet, somehow, they had survived this long in the Warp, filled with forbidden knowledge, without being marked and corrupted. That alone was baffling.
"Not sure."
Arthur truly didn't know if the Emperor had noticed them. He had only wanted to give weight to the warriors' farewell, but one prayer had turned into His hand blackening his weapons.
The Emperor really did like handing out black swords.
"The field generator is stable?"
Arthur asked.
"All fixed."
Romulus lifted the object in his hand.
"Because of this thing."
Arthur's eyes fell on the psyker's corpse dangling from Romulus' grip, and he shuddered.
"The Gellar Field really burns psykers?"
"The Gellar Field is basically a psychic membrane wrapped around the ship. If it doesn't burn psykers, what else would it burn?"
Romulus casually laid bare one of the Mechanicum's jealously guarded secrets, tossing the body to the floor and pointing at the back.
The skin bore the mark of the Eight-Pointed Star, blown apart by a bolter shell.
"The field's psykers were tampered with. Their bodies carried a pre-etched summoning ritual. That's why the Deathwatch defending the field were ambushed and wiped out. I even checked the logs— the files were clean, approved at the highest levels. Which means the Administratum and Munitorum are compromised."
"That's not something for us to worry about right now."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. His instincts told him this ship was caught in a much larger conspiracy.
"The priority is getting it out of the Warp."
Even if the Gellar Field had been cleared, the ship's hull was torn. If they couldn't return to realspace soon, it would become nothing more than a derelict dungeon, filled with greenskins, genestealers, daemons, mutants, and traitor Marines— a grim gift for whatever scavengers might stumble on it in the future.
"Agreed. Survival comes first."
Romulus nodded, then raised his voice.
"Sister Arabella."
"I am here, my lord."
"My brother and I will return to the Navigator's Sanctum to ensure the ship breaks free of the Warp. Until then, I entrust the defense of the Gellar Field to the Order of the Sacred Rose. The Guard will support you."
"We will not fail you, my lord."
"Thank you."
With that courtesy, Romulus turned, and he and Arthur retraced their steps back through the ship.
__________________________________________________________
To read more advanced chapters and support me, go to:
patreon.com/ArchSovereign