Chapter 306: Deliberate
In the darkness, Hades walked with practiced ease over the bodies lying on the floor. They looked like ordinary citizens of the Perfect City, dressed in robes embroidered with prayers—as if they had simply collapsed mid-run.
Beside him, Cyrene clutched her mouth tightly, struggling to keep up with his pace. Those corpses looked almost alive—their skin still fresh—but... but something within had vanished.
Carefully, she stepped over an outstretched arm, her heart pounding wildly. Was this... was this the work of the being beside her? Was this sorcery? But could any sorcery truly desecrate life itself to such a degree?
She stole a faint glance at the giant next to her. He looked like something ancient, mysterious—perhaps even divine—but... not evil?
No, Cyrene told herself, you can't judge good and evil by appearances.
Around them, the armored soldier had already deployed throughout the exhibition hall. They carried explosive rifles, cautiously inspecting the displays.
Only at night did these alien artifacts gathered from distant stars become truly terrifying under the shroud of darkness. The hall's layout was simple—just a vast platform filled with all manner of exhibits. At its very center stood a towering statue of the Emperor—a fixture found in every building of the Perfect City.
For some reason, the clock on the wall had long stopped. A complex device of exposed cables and miniature steam engines—Cyrene remembered it had never ceased ticking before.
The hands pointed to 12:07.
"Alright," she heard the black-armored giant mutter to himself,
"I hate symbolic crap like this the most."
With a clear purpose, the giant strode straight toward his destination. They passed a Buddha with nine hands, each palm holding a pearl the size of an eyeball, glimmering eerily in the dark; passed a crimson-gold rack of eight swords, their rust resembling dripping blood; passed seven bundles of tied wheat, within which something squirmed—maggots, perhaps; passed a six-sided veil of purple-red silk, where strange pillar-like shapes rested among the gauze...
Cyrene stared in shock.
These exhibits were hidden among thousands of others, barely noticeable during the day. After all, some displays even used human skin and bone—yet, if one followed a particular route through the hall, these specific artifacts would line the path perfectly.
At last, Hades stopped before the Emperor's statue in the center of the hall. The image of the God-Emperor loomed above them, gazing down with hollow eyes.
"Stand back," Hades said softly. He listened to the cautious steps of the Blessed Lady beside him, then took a deep breath—and in the next instant, the darkness surged.
He raised his scythe—
Bang!!!
Hades struck the statue of the Emperor!
Cyrene clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a short, stifled scream. Her vision dimmed as she instinctively began praying to the Emperor.
Hard stone peeled away like plaster, revealing a rotten, filthy core beneath. A sickening stench filled the air as yellow-white pus seeped out. From the base of the sculpture, countless rusted chains emerged, layer upon layer, binding what lay within—a broken sword.
The blade was mottled with rust, yet it still exuded a deadly sharpness. Its obsidian surface pulsed with sinuous, seductive patterns.
The sword seemed to have a life of its own, though it now lay near death. The moment it was exposed, the darkness surrounding Hades deepened—like a shadow thickening into something tangible.
And at the very instant the stench spread, the armored soldiers around Cyrene moved with startling speed, pressing a helmet down over her head.
At first, Cyrene thought they meant to kill her—but when she realized they were trying to protect her, she silently accepted it.
Cyrene heard the giant muttering something under his breath.
"Seems like I found something big, huh?"
The giant bent down, circling the broken sword that had been hidden within the statue of the God-Emperor. He mumbled to himself about "a cursed blade," something about "bad timing," sounding utterly bewildered.
After confirming that the sword posed no immediate threat, the giant straightened up and walked toward her. The darkness around him rolled outward, engulfing her; dizziness flooded her senses.
Then—completely unlike his earlier casual tone—a solemn, commanding voice filled the air:
"Lady, you see now why the Perfect City must be burned."
He glanced idly at the shattered statue and the sword within, leaning on his scythe like an old farmer resting after a long day's work—though his other hand remained fixed on the pistol at his waist.
"Your faith has clearly gone astray. I don't think the Emperor ever looked like that. This… this is the truth. Do you understand?"
Cyrene gasped for breath. She was still reeling from the sight of the giant smashing the divine statue, but it was the sword that truly shattered her world.
Why… why was such a foul, unholy thing inside the Emperor's statue? Her mind trembled.
She was certain the God-Emperor she knew and worshiped could never be this defiled. Then… then what was it they had been worshiping all along?
To bury such a blasphemous object within a holy image—this was heresy. Their faith had been corrupted… or had it been wrong from the beginning? What was the truth?
Perhaps her silence lasted too long, for the giant scratched his head, as if thinking something over, before speaking again.
"I can feel your devotion. At least on that point, you don't need to doubt yourself. You're confused, I get it—ah, looks like someone's come to see you. Go ask him."
"Who's… looking for me?" Cyrene croaked.
The giant blinked.
"The one you most want to meet."
Then he quickly added, "This place isn't safe for you. You've seen the truth now, and we don't have any theologians here. I've never read your Holy Writ or whatever—if I had, maybe I could talk faith with you, but I can't. So go find someone who can. He's already here."
The torrent of words completely froze Cyrene's stunned, spiraling thoughts. His tone—so mundane, so ordinary—felt absurdly out of place in this eerie, sacred ruin. It was the kind of voice she might hear at a marketplace, not from some shadow-draped god or demon.
Slowly, she began to erase from her mind the idea that this giant was a demon. No demon could possibly be… this kind. Or this talkative.
Her lips were dry and cracked. This night had been far too long, far too much.
"May I… may I know your name, my lord?" she asked.
"Hades."
The giant spoke as he signaled the soldiers to escort her out. He gave her a friendly smile, waved goodbye—and she felt like a dazed audience member being ushered out of a theater mid-performance. It took her a long, slow moment to realize the meaning of that name.
"The Lord of the Underworld…?"
When she turned back, she saw a man standing under the moonlight at the end of the street—a middle-aged figure in plain linen robes, barefoot, wearing a crown of thorns.
'What…?'
Hades exhaled deeply once the Blessed Lady was gone.
Thank the void—she wasn't contaminated. He'd sent her straight to the Emperor.
'That was close,' he thought. 'What the hell just happened? The psychic pressure here wasn't even that high a moment ago.'
Even now, the sword wasn't radiating much psychic energy; his Black Domain had easily suppressed it.
But still—
Hades turned back toward the broken statue.
'Why is the Anathame here? Did Erebus steal it ahead of schedule?'
'Isn't this the same sword that later wounded Horus and led to his fall?'
'What's the chance of finding this kind of shit? Is it pure luck?'
'Or was this… deliberate? One of the Four Gods' schemes?'
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Note:
Anathame: https://warhammer40k.fandom.com/wiki/Anathame
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