Chapter 10: The Emperor in Uproar

Within the thoroughly devastated arena, the broken corpses of the Deathwatch Space Marines had been gathered and laid out in neat rows along the spacious corridor.

The Sisters of Battle chanted hymns in low tones, covering the fallen with ritual vestments torn from their own habits before igniting the pyre. In such desperate times, there were no grand cathedrals or soaring choirs to grace the passing of these warriors.

Arthur pondered for a moment, then placed his own power sword and shield—artifacts that clearly stood out—upon the altar constructed from shoulder pauldrons engraved with inscriptions.

"Emperor, my Lord, mold me into the instrument of Your grace."
"The son fears not death, the son fears not the daemon, for the Emperor comes to claim his own."
"Grant me the path of righteousness, grant me the path of fire."
"Make me Your gale, to scatter all Your foes."

The clear, devout voice of the Canoness dispelled the crimson miasma. Arthur gazed at the flames ignited by sacred oils, watching them envelop the warriors' remains. The originally scarlet fire shifted during the burning, turning into a brilliant, dazzling gold that consumed the bodies with supernatural intensity. The rising dust clung to the flames like a liquid golden river, converging upon the altar. Seeing this, the surrounding Sisters felt the fire of faith ignite within their eyes; they lowered their gazes to hide the glowing radiance, chanting with even greater fervor.

As expected, the Emperor was manifesting.

Having witnessed this, Arthur was not surprised. He watched as the molten golden fire swallowed his blade and shield. The Warp had never belonged entirely to the Four Ruinous Powers. Unlike the myriad interpretations of the Emperor's nature held within the Imperium, they—the transmigrators—possessed a more comprehensive understanding of who He truly was.

He was capable of absorbing the faith of humanity just as the Four did; He possessed a majestic projection in the Warp equal to theirs, and a vast, boundless sacred domain known as the Golden Throne. After the Great Rift tore through the galaxy, He could project the Legion of the Damned into the material world as easily as the Four could manifest their daemons—and because of humanity's faith, the Emperor found it far easier to project His power than the others.

Well, if the Emperor says He is not a god, then He is not a god. Whatever He says is right.

Arthur offered a silent salute to the warriors who had fought to the death, waiting quietly for the flames to subside. The blade and shield had been tempered, coated in a matte black finish.

"Hmph!"

The Blood God, observing the Great Game, noticed the actions of the accursed. He did not care. But He was furious. An inexplicable feeling of having missed something made His already raging spirit even more violent; it felt exactly like those moments when warriors who had accepted His blessings ultimately turned toward the Golden Throne instead. He slammed His fist against the armrest of the brass throne, causing the tower of skulls to collapse and unleashing a storm of blood across the sky. In the chaotic Empyrean, the stakes of the Great Game were raised once more.

*Clang.*

Arthur stepped forward and retrieved the sword and shield. Though their original markings were obscured, they now appeared more refined and elegant. Nestled among the shoulder pauldrons bearing the warriors' names were the ashes of the fallen. It seemed the Emperor had taken notice of them.

Arthur exhaled, feeling fortunate for his decision to have the Sisters lead the rites. In this godforsaken world, having one's soul return to the Golden Throne was a decent end. To have faith in the Emperor was far better than falling to Chaos.

"My Lord," Canoness Arabella began, "I wish to forge reliquaries for the angels. These reliquaries will carry their honor back to their brethren."

"…Very well." Feeling his tone was a bit stiff, and still not entirely fluent in the local tongue, Arthur added, "Thank you."

"…Thank you for the honor you have bestowed, my Lord."

Arabella swore to the Emperor that she had never seen an angel like this. It was not that such an angel was bad, but it made her feel incredibly uneasy—as if a demigod were treating her as an equal, a true peer. It was an equality of soul to soul, not a pretense born of etiquette.

As Arthur finished speaking, the Sisters began to piously collect the ash-filled pauldrons, wrapping the remains in sacred shrouds before activating their promethium flamers. The remnants of the armor melted under the high heat and the Sisters' hymns, then were reshaped into silver caskets bearing the distinct style of the Order of the Sacred Rose, finally inlaying the warrior's original shoulder pauldron upon each.

The craftsmanship was exquisite. Arthur did not quite understand these funerary rituals, but he respected them. As long as it wasn't some abstract rite involving flaying, straw effigies, or artificial infant corpses being bathed in incense, he was fine with it. At the very least, the process of the Order of the Sacred Rose felt genuinely sacred and not ominous.

"Is the Emperor signaling that He will shield us?" Romulus approached his side, immediately noticing that Arthur’s equipment now shared the same color scheme as his own armor.

They were all mentally prepared for the possibility of being noticed by the gods of the Warp. After all, they had arrived directly into the Warp; they were not arrogant enough to think themselves the chosen ones who could punch C'tan and kick the Four Gods upon arrival. It was fair to say that they, as transmigrators in the Warhammer universe, were self-aware—true "chosen ones" would never transmigrate into such a pile of excrement. They were more like the "forsaken children."

However, as transmigrators who knew countless secrets, the fact that they had survived in the Warp this long without being noticed by the Ruinous Powers—or turning into Chaos Spawn due to the information in their brains—was, in itself, quite miraculous.

"I'm not sure." Arthur did not know if the Emperor had detected them. He had simply wanted to add something meaningful to the warriors' farewell, but who would have thought that a single prayer would grant his weapons a new skin? The Emperor certainly loved giving people black swords.

"Is the situation under control?" Arthur asked, setting his doubts aside.

"All set," Romulus replied, shaking the object he was holding. "It was all because of this guy."

Arthur nodded, but as he noticed the corpse of the psyker Romulus was dragging, he felt a chill. "Are Geller field generators really powered by burning people?"

"The Geller field is essentially a thin membrane of psychic energy stretched across the ship to shield it from the Warp. What else would it burn if not a psyker?"

Having casually exposed the secret the T'au had long sought to uncover, Romulus tossed the corpse to the ground and pointed to its back. On the skin, ruptured by a bolter round, the pattern of a Chaos eight-pointed star was faintly visible.

"The psyker inside the generator had been tampered with; there was a pre-programmed summoning ritual on his body. That is why the Deathwatch guarding the field were ambushed and wiped out. I checked the generator's logs—there was a complete audit record. There are traitors within the Administratum and the Departmento Munitorum."

"That is not our concern right now." Arthur narrowed his eyes; instinct told him the ship itself might be caught in a massive conspiracy. "The priority is to get this ship out of the Warp."

Even if they cleared the enemies occupying the Geller field, the ship’s hull had already been breached. If they could not return to realspace in time, they would simply be waiting to become a future "space hulk" dungeon. Orks, Genestealers, Daemons, and mutated Imperial citizens—along with Space Marines—would surely provide infinite "surprises" for whoever boarded this ship in the future.

"Agreed. Our primary goal remains survival." Romulus acknowledged this and then called out to the Canoness. "Sister Arabella."

"I am here, my Lord."

"My comrades and I will return to the Navigator Sanctum to ensure the ship can safely exit the Warp," Romulus said solemnly. "Until then, I hope the Order of the Sacred Rose can take on the duty of guarding the Geller field. My squad will provide you with assistance."

"We shall not fail you, my Lord."

"Thank you for your trouble." After a polite expression of gratitude, Romulus led Arthur back the way they had come.