49: Chapter 49 With Our Martyrdom

Warp Storm: Tears of the Martyr

The Warp storm seemed truly endless.

Sister Superior Ludmilla Zaragoza stood on the bridge of the light frigate "Tears of the Martyr," her mechanical left arm emitting a faint, constant hum—it, like the ship itself, was long past its limit.

Outside the ship, the chaotic colors of the Warp churned ceaselessly, various messy patches of color woven into a muddy porridge, stirred by an invisible force into a nauseating vortex.

And this frigate, like a gnat fallen into that porridge, was tightly ensnared by the vortex, spinning and falling step by step toward its center. Yet the people on board remained blissfully unaware.

The Geller field flickered uncertainly under the impact of the storm; every flash meant the Psykers in the frigate's psychic dome were being drained a little more.

They exhausted their remaining consciousness, struggling to maintain this bubble of reality, holding up the last sanctuary for this teetering ship.

"Geller field at 17% capacity," Elena's voice came through the comms channel, calm and without a ripple.

She was a daughter of the Emperor; no matter the crisis, she could remain composed.

"Canoness! I still cannot locate the light of the Astronomican!" the Navigator's report followed immediately, their tone full of bitterness and unconcealable panic. "The Warp storm has completely obscured the Emperor's guidance. We… we are on the verge of being lost forever!"

The Astropaths were already curled up beside the console, lacking even the courage to look up.

When the storm raged, they could only exhaust all their strength to resist the chaotic whispers in their minds; the slightest carelessness would cause them to passively perceive the Warp and become puppets of Chaos.

Sister Superior Ludmilla did not respond.

She looked down at her left arm—this crude mechanical prosthetic had been installed in an emergency after a daemon bit off her arm on Ophelia VII. The Tech-priest's workmanship was abysmal; the joints frequently jammed, and every movement produced a harsh, grinding sound. Sister Superior Ludmilla even suspected that the individual wasn't a Tech-priest at all, but merely an apprentice—after all, at that time, almost everyone capable of fighting or working was dead.

But it was fine; at least it still worked. Just like this dilapidated frigate, and just like their squad, which was now reduced to only three people.

How much longer could they hold on? Three days? Perhaps even less.

Sister Superior Ludmilla closed her eyes. Flashing through her mind was the once-magnificent cathedral of Ophelia—the sprawling bell towers, thousands of statues of saints, and the hymns devoutly sung by the sisters.

Yet all of it had long since turned to ash. When the "Blue Flame Tyrant," a servant of the Lord of Change, descended, the eerie blue flames surging from the Warp consumed every holy statue, and the dome of the great cathedral melted slowly like wax.

The sisters' hymns never ceased. Even as daemons tore through their power armor and blue flames incinerated their flesh, those pious voices continued to echo over the ruins.

They chanted the Emperor's prayers, falling one after another, falling silent one after another, until the last sister was reduced to ash.

They were all emulating Saint Katherine—years ago, when Saint Katherine was murdered by a heretical cult, she had used her death as her final prayer, defending the purity of her faith with her blood.

They had never compromised, never feared, and everything they did was for the Emperor.

It was this conviction that sustained Sister Superior Ludmilla, keeping her alive until now without completely breaking; it supported her as she led Elena and Vera, drifting aimlessly through the Warp for who knew how many days and nights.

Their original mission had been to track the fleet of the Greenskin Skullcrusher Mogg and retrieve a looted relic—an ancient bone fragment said to be able to sense the Emperor's will.

The relic had originally been stored on an Agri-World, but when Ophelia was invaded, the Greenskins took advantage of the chaos to raid that Agri-World, subsequently disappearing into the vast sea of stars.

Now, the mission had long since failed. They had lost the trail of their target, were completely cut off from the Imperium, and were trapped in this endless Warp storm.

Yet they were the only ones who still knew the clues to the relic.

"Canoness!" Vera's voice suddenly came over the comms channel, carrying the trance-like state and fear typical of a Psyker: "My psychic senses are screaming! Ahead… ahead there is a massive psychic signature, a Warp storm! A very powerful Warp storm, and it is actively approaching us!"

Sister Superior Ludmilla snapped her eyes open, her gaze instantly falling on the auspex—this was the only way she could look directly at the storm; machines would not be easily devoured by Chaos like Psykers were. Yet, on the screen, that black stream of energy churning the chaotic colors still sent a bone-chilling shiver down her spine.

Sensor readings skyrocketed, and sharp alarms exploded throughout the bridge.

"Evasive maneuvers! Full turn!" Sister Superior Ludmilla ordered sharply, her voice filled with unquestionable resolve.

It was too late. "Tears of the Martyr" was already within the storm; it gripped the frigate like a giant's hand, dragging it violently toward the center of the vortex.

The hull groaned with metallic agony, and broken parts fell from the ceiling.

Sister Superior Ludmilla was thrown toward the console by the immense impact; her mechanical left arm engaged emergency brakes, and its five steel fingers dug deeply into the metal surface, barely allowing her to steady herself.

Inside the psychic dome, the Psykers, already on the verge of exhaustion, suddenly erupted in eerie cyan flames, and in an instant, they were reduced to ash.

"Geller field failure! Warp energy breaching the hull!" Elena's report was instantly drowned out by violent explosions.

The bridge lights went out completely, and emergency lights flickered on, casting a deep red glow across the cabin, making everything look as if it were stained with blood.

Vera was curled up in the corner, clutching her head tightly and screaming at the top of her lungs. Her light gray pupils dilated and bulged, and blood began to seep from her orifices—Psykers were more sensitive to the Warp, and facing Warp energy directly, the pain she endured was several times that of an ordinary person. Her mind was being crazily eroded and torn apart by Chaos.

Sister Superior Ludmilla quickly accessed the internal surveillance feeds. The lower decks had already become a living hell. The former crew had mutated into indescribable masses of interwoven flesh and tentacles, with dense clusters of eyes and deformed mouths covering that pile of organic matter, frantically devouring everything in sight.

The other surviving crew members in the lower decks only had to glance at those indescribable monsters before pustules began to grow all over their bodies; their skin rapidly rotted and sloughed off, finally dissolving into a pool of foul-smelling green pus.

Elena left her station, picking up the multi-melta connected to her power armor, and aimed the muzzle without hesitation at the crew members in the control room who were currently mutating. Scorchingly hot melta fire erupted, instantly reducing those monsters—which were no longer human—to ashes.

On the bridge, the remaining Astropaths and Navigators were sprawled on the floor, rolling and wailing in agony, with things constantly wriggling beneath their skin. Clearly, they too were about to be completely devoured by Chaos.

Sister Superior Ludmilla's heart sank little by little. She slowly raised her plasma pistol, aiming the muzzle at Vera, who was curled up in the corner.

This was the tragedy of the Psyker and the fate of the Battle Sisters—when a sister was eroded by Chaos and could no longer be saved, was it better to let her soul be devoured by Chaos, suffering eternal torment, or to personally return her soul to the Emperor, granting her release?

For a Battle Sister, there had always been only one option.

Sister Superior Ludmilla closed her eyes and began to recite the Emperor's prayer, her voice pious and firm: "By our martyrdom, we atone for the Emperor. Faith is our shield, the Emperor is our sword. My life is your currency; I purchase the future of the Imperium for the Emperor."

The moment the prayer ended, her finger slowly tightened on the trigger.