Chapter 183: The Juggernaut of Faith
The Canon-Preceptor stood. Against the crushing weight of the gravity field, he rose with a rigid, unnatural strength that seemed to ignore the protests of his aging joints.
Behind the bird-mask, his eyes burned with a holy fire as he locked gazes with the Rogue Sorcerer thirty meters away.
"The Unclean shall be cast out! The Emperor's domain is eternal and pure!!"
The Canon began to march. His armored boots hammered against the frozen floor, each step a victory of will over physics. The soldiers watched in awe; Kian, pinned to the floor by the triple-gravity of the Warp, couldn't even lift his head, yet this "frail" priest was advancing through the storm.
"Abomination! In the name of the Master of Mankind, I deliver unto you the gift of eternal silence! I shatter your rotted flesh and your withered soul!!"
The Canon reached the Sorcerer. The Rogue Psyker was paralyzed with terror. He couldn't move; his entire focus was dedicated to maintaining the gravity field. If he broke the spell to run, his enemies would rise and turn him into a sieve instantly. He was a prisoner of his own power.
He looked up at the High Bishop, the brass Scepter of the Creed rising high above him.
"Wait... I..."
"DIE, HERETIC!!!"
THUD.
The heavy brass staff descended with the force of a hydraulic press. It slammed into the Sorcerer's head, driving his skull directly into his chest cavity. The residual kinetic energy caused the man's ribcage to explode outward like a over-ripe fruit under a hammer.
GURC-SQUISH.
The Sorcerer's rotted body collapsed into a pile of disjointed meat and silk rags. The gravity field vanished instantly.
Across the staging bay, the soldiers gasped, the weight lifting from their chests as they scrambled to their feet. They looked at the Canon-Preceptor with a mixture of terror and religious ecstasy.
Kian shoved the body of Egghead off his chest and reached for a Regen-Bolt in his webbing. He was frantic. The Corporal had taken a dozen rounds at point-blank range to save him.
"Egghead! Hold on, you beauty! Don't you dare go to the Throne yet!"
Kian fumbled with the injector, ready to slam it into the Corporal's neck. But to his absolute shock, Egghead simply rolled over and sat up, rubbing his head as if he'd just had a nap.
Kian froze. "How... how are you standing? You were turned into a pincushion!"
Egghead looked equally bewildered. He patted his chest, feeling no pain, no blood. He reached inside his flak-plate and pulled out a heavy brass pocket-watch—the one with the photo of his daughter. A crushed 8.9mm slug was wedged deep into the metal casing.
"The watch... it caught the lead," Egghead whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I promised her I'd come home. The Emperor truly was watching over me..."
Kian stared at the watch. A lucky charm blocking a bullet? That's the oldest trope in the book.
"Wait," Kian said, checking the Corporal's back. "The Sorcerer fired a whole burst! That's only one bullet!"
Egghead checked himself again. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a metal amasec flask. Another bullet was embedded in the side.
"A gift from my old Sergeant," Egghead noted. "He said it would save my life one day. I guess he was right."
He kept digging.
From his breast pocket: A Silver Laurel Medal from basic training. Bullet wedged in the center.
From his belt: A heavy steel pen given to him by his teacher. Bent by a kinetic impact.
From around his neck: A thick plasteel locket from his wife.
From his boot-liner: A religious icon from his mother.
Kian watched as the Corporal produced a literal pile of "Life-Saving Trinkets," each one carrying a flattened bullet. He had taken fifteen rounds, and every single one had hit a piece of metal, wood, or glass instead of his meat.
"Alright, alright! I get it!" Kian shouted, waving his hands. "You've got more plot armor than a Primarch! Just stop digging before you find a bullet caught in your teeth! Go home to your family, you lucky bastard!"
With the Sorcerer neutralized, the Grand Purgation began.
The Canon-Preceptor and his Battle-Priests set up the mobile Imperial Shrine in the center of the bay. They beckoned Sister Theresa to lead the chant.
The sound of forty male basses and one pure, high-pitched female voice filled the industrial cavern. As they lit the thousands of candles and swung the censers, the "Gothic Fog" of the Emperor's resonance began to push back the Warp-rime.
The black ice on the floor evaporated. The "Stench" of Nurgle was replaced by the sharp, clean scent of sacred oils and ozone.
High above, the security cameras flickered. The "Interference" was being purged. Reno's voice crackled over the vox, energized and triumphant.
"Voss! You did it! The psychic static is gone! I'm re-routing the primary power grids now... the Hub is coming back online!"
Kian walked over to a lens. "Status on the streets, Reno?"
"A miracle, Voss! The moment the ritual started, the Pox-horde began to wither. Thousands of the weaker ones just... died. The survivors are losing their 'Blessing.' They're becoming confused, frightened.
"The PDF High Command has seen the shift! Three fresh regiments are ascending the Grand Lift as we speak. They've already reclaimed ten percent of the Sovereign Heights. At this rate, the Spire will be fully sanitized within forty-eight hours!"
Kian felt a cold spike of panic. Retaken? Sanitized?!
"Throne's blood," Kian whispered. "The admins are coming back to clear the lobby. If the PDF secures the streets, the 'Zero-Yuan Procurement' window is closing!"
He looked at his squad. They were safe, they were rich, and the "Map" was about to be locked down by the authorities.
"We need one last haul," Kian growled. "Before the PDF starts checking ID cards.
"Voss Guard! Weapons hot! We have two hours of anarchy left—let's make every second profitable!!"
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