Chapter 22: There Are No Gods in This World
The priest raised his ceremonial blade with sadistic reverence, his eyes ablaze with the fervor of the truly damned. The assembled masses watched in a mixture of horror and helpless rage—some stirred with the desire to intervene, yet none dared act.
The terror instilled by the Blood Descendants ran deeper than courage, deeper than compassion. They knew that resistance in this moment would bring only bloody retribution upon their families and neighbors.
Many turned their faces away, unable to witness another execution.
"In the name of the Blood God, die!" the priest shrieked, his voice cracking with zealous fury.
"There are no gods in this world," came a voice that cut through the square like a blade through silk. "Your so-called deity is nothing more than a parasitic aberration."
The crowd's reaction was immediate and visceral—expressions of shock, disbelief, and terror rippled through the assembly. Who would dare speak such blasphemy in this place of systematic slaughter? Did they possess a death wish?
The priest's movements ceased as though he had been struck. His entire frame trembled with rage, the dagger wavering in his grip.
He turned slowly, seeking the source of the heretical words, his eyes burning with the need to identify the blasphemer who would dare question his patron's divinity.
What he saw defied his comprehension.
The Emperor of Mankind strode through the parting crowd, His golden armor catching and amplifying what little light penetrated the benighted world's perpetual gloom.
Radiance seemed to emanate from His very being, transforming the dim plaza into something approaching daylight. The assembled humans instinctively stepped aside, creating a path for His advance.
If gods truly existed in this reality, those present understood they now gazed upon one.
"What heresy do you speak?" the priest demanded, though his voice carried the hollow ring of a man whose certainty had been shattered. "You understand nothing of divine truth! How dare you question His existence?"
"There are no gods in this reality," the Emperor replied, His voice carrying absolute authority. "Your Blood God is merely a Warp-spawn that adorns itself with stolen worship."
The priest's composure cracked entirely. Pointing a trembling finger at the advancing figure, he screamed at the guards stationed throughout the square.
"Seize this heretic! Execute him immediately! His blasphemy cannot go unpunished!"
Blood Descendant warriors surged forward, their crude weapons glinting in the Emperor's radiance. They moved with inhuman speed, fangs bared and leathery wings spread in intimidation displays that had cowed countless human rebels.
They had never faced Legio Custodes.
Constantin Valdor and his golden-armored companions activated their guardian spears in perfect synchronization, the blessed weapons humming with barely contained power. Conversion fields crackled to life around their armor as their enhanced physiology shifted into combat mode.
"You dare show disrespect to the Master of Mankind!" Valdor roared, his voice carrying the righteous fury of ten millennia of service.
The Custodians moved with inhuman grace, their guardian spears describing lethal arcs through the air. Each weapon was a masterwork of archeotech engineering, its disruption field capable of sundering molecular bonds with contemptuous ease.
Against the Blood Descendants' primitive arms and armor, they were instruments of absolute destruction.
The engagement lasted mere seconds.
Bodies fell in pieces, their corrupt ichor steaming where it struck the ancient stones. The Blood Descendants—creatures that had terrorized this population for generations—were reduced to scattered remains with surgical precision. Not one Custodian bore so much as a scratch from the encounter.
The priest clutched his ceremonial dagger with white-knuckled desperation, his face a mask of absolute terror. He turned to flee, but Valdor's enhanced reflexes made escape impossible. The Custodian seized him by the throat, lifting him from the ground as easily as a child might handle a doll.
"What... what are you?" the priest gasped, his arrogance replaced by primal fear.
The Emperor regarded him with cold judgment. "I am justice incarnate, servant of false powers."
"You know not what you do!" the priest wheezed. "I serve the Crimson Church as a regional hierophant! To harm me is to challenge the entire ecclesiastical order! The Blood God will not suffer such transgression!"
"Oh, this one still has fight in him," the Raven observed, fluttering down to perch near Valdor's shoulder. The creature's dark eyes glittered with something approaching amusement. "Perhaps we should test his faith, Emperor. Crucifixion has such a classical appeal—let's see if his patron comes to collect him."
The Emperor ignored His companion's sardonic suggestion, issuing a single word to Valdor.
"Execute."
The priest's eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth working soundlessly as the implications struck home.
Valdor's blade separated head from shoulders in one economical motion. The corrupt cleric's remains tumbled to the bloodstained altar, adding to the countless stains that marked this place of systematic murder.
"The priest is dead," someone whispered from the crowd. "The Crimson Church will never forgive this transgression."
"The entire settlement is doomed," another voice added, thick with despair. "They will massacre every living soul in retribution."
"Flee!" a third cried. "Perhaps the wasteland offers some chance of survival. Better to face the creatures in the wild than endure the Blood Descendants' wrath."
Such was the depth of their conditioning that witnessing their oppressors' destruction brought not joy, but terror. Generations of systematic brutality had convinced them that resistance led only to greater suffering.
Many turned toward the settlement's gates, preferring to take their chances with the Warp-spawned horrors that prowled the wilderness.
"You need fear no longer."
The Emperor's words carried across the square with magnetic authority. His form blazed with increasing radiance, banishing shadows that had not retreated in decades.
The very air seemed cleaner in His presence, as though His light could burn away corruption itself.
"I am the Lord of the Imperium of Man," He declared, His voice reaching every corner of the plaza. "I have come to deliver you freedom from bondage."
The divine radiance that surrounded Him gave the terrified masses pause. They did not immediately trust—decades of oppression had taught them to be wary of any who claimed to offer salvation. Yet something in His presence stayed their flight, offering a glimmer of hope they had not dared to nurture.
"Big Guy," the Raven spoke through their psychic link, tilting its head in curiosity. "Aren't you concerned they'll simply replace one object of worship with another?"
"To shatter faith in false gods, one must present an image more sublime than their crude idols," the Emperor replied, His mental voice carrying notes of profound weariness. "Were I to appear as a common mortal, these people would dismiss My words as the ravings of another would-be tyrant."
The truth of His situation was a burden He had carried for millennia. He remained a committed rationalist, a champion of scientific truth and human enlightenment.
Yet humanity had been so thoroughly poisoned by Warp influence that religious thinking had become inextricable from their psychological makeup. To destroy harmful faith, He was forced to display the very miraculous powers that would inevitably spawn new worship.
He understood the irony intimately. This divine presentation would certainly trigger fresh waves of adoration among those He sought to liberate from superstition. But it represented the least harmful path forward—the alternative was to watch humanity destroy itself through ignorance and Chaos worship.
"I see," the Raven responded, its tone carrying newfound understanding. "Your grasp of human psychology remains unmatched, even after all these years."
The creature had witnessed enough human behavior to appreciate the Emperor's dilemma. This was not hubris or a desire for worship—it was tactical necessity employed by one who understood his species' fundamental nature better than any other.
The Blood Descendant overlord who controlled this settlement received word of the priest's execution within minutes. Rage consumed him as he gathered his personal guard, determined to demonstrate the price of defying his authority. These mortals would learn their place through blood and fire.
The creatures that descended upon the square moved with preternatural speed and strength, their wings casting strange shadows as they swooped down from the settlement's towers.
Enhanced physiology granted them reflexes and resilience far beyond baseline human capabilities. They had never faced defeat at mortal hands—their victims had always been helpless prey.
Against the Legio Custodes, they were nothing more than vermin.
The golden warriors moved through the attackers like a scythe through wheat. Guardian spears traced precise arcs that bisected torsos and severed limbs with mechanical efficiency.
Conversion fields turned desperate strikes into harmless light displays. The Blood Descendants' supernatural advantages meant nothing against opponents who had been forged to battle the galaxy's deadliest threats.
The square became a charnel house as dismembered corpses accumulated in growing piles. The air grew thick with the copper scent of spilled blood—though now it was the ichor of oppressors rather than innocent victims.
The settlement's overlord attempted to escape using his membranous wings, seeking altitude that would place him beyond his enemies' reach.
He managed perhaps three hundred meters before Valdor's thrown guardian spear punched through his chest, the weapon's weight and velocity driving him back to earth with bone-shattering force.
The rest of the Custodians converged on the fallen creature, their blades reducing him to unrecognizable fragments within seconds.
With their oppressors destroyed, the condemned prisoners were freed from their bonds. The woman who had defied the priest despite facing certain death stepped forward, her bearing proud despite the evident signs of prolonged torture.
Through careful questioning, the Emperor learned that these individuals represented the remnants of an organised resistance movement.
The woman, who gave her name as Lucina, served as one of their leaders, having inherited the role after her parents' execution years earlier.
"Interesting," the Raven murmured, studying the woman with enhanced perception. "She's a Blank."
Indeed, Lucina's soul appeared as a void in the Warp, a null-space that actively consumed psychic energy. Such individuals were invaluable against Chaos-tainted foes, their very presence disrupting daemonic manifestations and psychic powers.
"Tell me," the Emperor commanded, His attention focused entirely on Lucina. "What calamity befell this world? How did these mutants come to rule over humanity's children?"
Sorrow flickered across Lucina's features as she prepared to recount her people's fall.
"It began during the earliest days of Old Night," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of inherited tragedy. "Our ancestors' own failures nearly doomed this entire civilization to extinction."
To be continued...