Chapter 184: Sovereign Confinement
The rot within the Alpha Filtration Hub was excised. As the Emperor's resonance flooded the conduits, the Warp-energy dissipated, and the "Holy Water" returned to a sterile, chemical baseline.
Outside, the change was instantaneous. The Poxwalkers, no longer sustained by the "Bountiful" psychic leash, withered. Most lost their supernatural resilience, becoming nothing more than rotting corpses that the PDF could liquidate with a single volley.
Full PDF regiments ascended in force, sweeping the boulevards block by block, room by room. Specialized CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear) units followed behind, carrying industrial decontamination sprayers and heavy flamers to turn the "Garden" into a landscape of scorched marble.
The planetary headquarters of the Ecclesiarchy—the massive High Cathedral in the Spire—launched their own "Spirit-Purge." Armored priests carrying high-tier relics and censers of sanctified promethium marched through the streets, finishing the work Kian and the Bishop had started.
As for the "Heroes of the Hub"—Kian Voss and his fifteen guards, Reno and his ten enforcers—their victory was met with a very specific Imperial reward: Confinement.
Because they had engaged in close-quarters combat with a Rogue Sorcerer and high-tier Warp-amalgams, the Ecclesiarchy feared they were "Latent Carriers." They were intercepted at the lift by a battalion of Storm-Tithe veterans and escorted to a high-security "Sanctified Holding-Cell" deep within a Cathedral-Tip.
To be fair, it was the most luxurious prison Kian had ever seen. It was a sprawling Spire-villa converted into a dungeon. There were separate suites for everyone, fully stocked refrigerators, high-end amasec, a library of data-slates, a swimming pool, and a professional-grade gym.
It was less an interrogation and more of a "Stay-at-Home" vacation for warriors who might explode into Daemons at any moment.
Kian's squad of "Sump-Rats" went into a state of total culture shock. They had spent their lives in dirt and smog; now they were in a place with climate-controlled air and real silk sheets. They began a week-long "Raid" on the kitchen and liquor cabinets, celebrating their survival with a manic, desperate energy.
Kian, however, ignored the amasec. He went straight for the gym.
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. The facility was filled with Spire-tier "Bio-Kinetic" equipment—hydraulic weight-machines and gravity-resistance plates. To anyone else, they were exercise tools. To Kian, they were Sanctum Level 3 Gym Upgrades.
He threw himself into a brutal training regimen. Squats, presses, deadlifts—he pushed his transhuman frame until his muscles were engorged and his face was a mask of effort. He worked with a "System-driven" obsession, ignoring the cameras watching from the corners.
The soldiers, clutching bottles of expensive wine, gathered at the gym doors to watch their Sergeant work.
"Boss, why the grind?" Ash asked, leaning against a gold-plated dumbbell rack. "We're heroes! Come have a drink and enjoy the Spire-life!"
Kian finished a 400kg clean-and-jerk, slamming the bar onto the floor with a bone-shaking CLANG.
He ripped his sweat-soaked tunic off, revealing a physique that was becoming disturbingly well-defined—bulkier, harder, and vibrating with kinetic potential. He let out a rhythmic grunt and performed a "Gothic Bodybuilding" pose: Front Double-Bicep, Lat-Spread, Side-Chest, followed by a most-muscular "Crab" finish.
The squad stared in silence, intimidated by the sheer "Protagonist Aura" radiating from him.
"How do you get like that, Boss?" a young private asked, his eyes full of awe. "What's the secret?"
Kian looked at the ceiling, his expression high-born and enigmatic.
"The secret? It is the Litany of the Disciplined Loop. People ask me for the mantra, and I tell them:
Go-U-Bo-La... release a gas, release a gas... Baka-Baka, release a gas...
Go-U-Bo-La... release a gas, release a gas... Baka-Baka, release a gas...
Thank you, thank you, thank you... thank you for the 'Thank-you'...
I-Give-O... To-This-Show... I-Give-O... To-This-Show...
Doggy, A-Wang, A-Wang... Doggy, Let's-Go, Let's-Go...
Suwei, Suwei, Suwei... Suwei, Ah-Lu-Wei..."
Kian's nonsensical rhythmic cadence—a warped relic of his past life's "Brain-Rot" memes—left the squad in a state of confused religious reverence. They assumed it was a secret high-level war-chant.
Five cycles passed in the villa-dungeon. The novelty of the luxury began to fade, replaced by a growing, oily dread.
The squad realized that being "Sanctified" also meant being "Forgotten." No one came to reward them. No medals were delivered. No one talked about their million-scrip bonuses.
Reno eventually approached Kian, using a heavy dumbbell as a stool. The Overseer looked like he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
"Voss... something's wrong. We've been here five days. In my experience with Spire-politics, if they haven't given us a medal by now, they're probably building a pyre."
Kian frowned, pausing his workout. "You think they're going to 'liquidate' the witnesses?"
"It's efficient," Reno whispered. "The High Bishop is 'Pure,' but we? We're just cogs. Cogs that touched a Warp-Witch. To the High Governor, we're a biological liability. It's easier to burn us and write a nice poem about our 'Sacrifice' than it is to run a hundred diagnostic tests."
Kian checked his HUD. The grind had paid off.
Strength: 23 | Endurance: 23 | Mental Clarity: 31.
Warp Resistance: 150.
Psionic Resistance: 123.
Virus Resistance: 102.
His battle with the Antler-Fiend had acted like a massive "Vaccination." The psychic shockwaves and the toxic atmosphere had forced his System to adapt, skyrocketing his survival stats. He was effectively immune to low-level Warp-taint now.
But as he looked at the door, he knew Reno was right. Logic dictated that the "Admins" would want to "Clean the Lobby."
CLANK.
The massive iron doors of the villa swung open. A dozen Ministorum priests in full combat habits—armor plates over their robes—strode in. They weren't carrying incense; they were carrying silver-edged ceremonial daggers.
The Lead Priest stepped into the center of the gym, his voice booming with the cold, hollow authority of the Creed.
"Warriors of the Throne! The Hive salutes your valor! Through your blood, the 'Garden' was burned and the world was saved!"
He paused, his eyes scanning the room with a terrifying lack of empathy.
"But you have touched the Unclean. You carry the shadow of the Plaguefather in your marrow. To ensure the Hive remains pure, I ask you all to perform one final act of heroism. One last duty for the Emperor."
The priest gestured to his acolytes, who stepped forward and threw a dozen daggers onto the floor, the metal ringing against the marble.
"Warriors... perform a 'Self-Audit.' Return your souls to the Throne before the rot takes you."
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