Archbishop Frekbor knelt—utterly, completely.
The forces of the Third Diocese could no longer protect him. The remaining warriors had branded him a heretic as well, and even his retreat had been cut off.
Other than surrender, he had no options left.
This archbishop—this "great preacher"—cherished his own life. More than that, he understood how the Imperium did business.
From what he had observed over this period, he could roughly guess what had happened.
If he lacked that ability, how could he have purged his rivals during the dark age after the Great Rift, and then clamp down on the turbulent Third Diocese with an iron grip?
"The Emperor of the Imperium…
I don't know which High Lord seized supreme authority in the struggles on Holy Terra—and on top of that, they wield terrifying psychic sorcery."
Frekbor pondered.
He knew something catastrophic must have happened on Holy Terra, and its effects had spilled all the way into the Third Diocese.
That mysterious Emperor of the Imperium had already come knocking, and had seized control of the cathedral's situation.
Faced with force and slaughter, he had to submit—and provide value.
If that mysterious Emperor truly controlled a heretical golden genestealer, and had even preserved the Rift Lords Chapter from the crusaders' hands…
Then the other party must care deeply about the Emperor, and about the "value" of the people.
Of course, that was only a guess—but it was the only chance he had to live. He had to seize it with both hands.
That was why Frekbor's surrender was so swift and so absolute: as long as he lived, there would always be another chance to rise again.
He knelt humbly upon the jewel-tiled floor, displaying piety and helplessness, like a harmless, aged preacher.
Slowly, the archbishop turned to face the Hexbound Genestealer clad in golden Aquila armor, tilting his head up and offering a pleading gaze.
If the mysterious Emperor of the Imperium was controlling that heretical golden genestealer through sorcery, then they should be able to see everything. He had to gamble on that final sliver of hope.
"Just as I thought—the heretical golden genestealer didn't attack.
I won the bet!"
When Frekbor saw the faintly intelligent gleam in the creature's eyes, he was overjoyed.
His odds of survival had just skyrocketed.
The archbishop hurriedly raised the stakes, his devotion overflowing.
"Great Emperor of the Imperium—myself and the Third Diocese are willing to accept your rule. We will offer you our full loyalty.
Your will shall be the direction of the Third Diocese, and we will also present a vast treasure—one that only I, this humble archbishop, can open…"
For a red-robed archbishop to grovel so shamelessly to an imperial ruler—this was something that had never happened before.
In the past, no matter who the Imperium's ruler became, the Ecclesiarchy stood lofty beneath the shelter of faith, preserving its own nobility.
He believed the mysterious Emperor would accept it all.
They wouldn't reject the allegiance of an archbishop, nor would they abandon a treasure that even the High Lords would salivate over.
"Damn it—he swore loyalty to the Emperor of the Imperium!"
Ansemor and the warriors who had chased them down watched the scene, bitterness flooding their chests.
They could no longer do anything to this vermin of the Imperium.
In truth, if not for the suspicion of heresy, then given the Rift Lords Chapter's position within the Imperium's hierarchy, they wouldn't even have the资格 to offend an archbishop.
Unless a being of still higher status declared the archbishop a heretic, beyond all dispute.
The prophetic vision made it clear: the Emperor of the Imperium was the ruler acknowledged and crowned by the Emperor—the Lord of Mankind.
He represented the Emperor's will.
If the Emperor of the Imperium accepted Frekbor's loyalty, then they could only obey. In the future, they would likely still be ruled by that archbishop.
"This is the nobility of faith. Imperial warriors can never obtain such nobility—they can only submit…"
Frekbor caught Ansemor's hesitation in the corner of his eye, and the corners of his mouth curved into an involuntary smile.
Those lowly Rift Lords warriors couldn't do anything to an archbishop. Even the Emperor of the Imperium had to win him over—otherwise it would be difficult to exert influence in the Third Diocese.
It had always been this way.
If he regained power, he would throw the ones who dared pursue him into the Eye of Terror to join an expedition.
As for the disloyal scum among the crusaders—they would be burned alive in the name of heresy!
Yet the moment the archbishop's smile surfaced, the Hexbound Genestealer lifted all four of its arms.
The stained-glass light of the dome plated the creature's outline in a radiant sheen. The shadow it cast upon Frekbor looked like a cross of judgment.
"N-no… you can't do this…"
Frekbor realized something was wrong. In terror, he stumbled backward and fell onto the floor, scrambling away.
From the golden genestealer xenos, he felt disgust—along with killing intent.
Bzzzt—
Frekbor's personal force field snapped to life, but the genestealer's barbed tail stabbed down even faster, smashing the field generator.
Then surging psychic power gathered along its four arms and struck him at blistering speed.
Warp-born power engulfed him in an instant—lifting him from the ground and suspending him in midair, inflicting unbearable agony.
That was the Emperor of the Imperium's power.
"I can't die! The Third Diocese can't exist without its archbishop!
I still have the treasure—don't you want that fortune?!" Frekbor wailed within the psychic bindings, making a final, desperate struggle, refusing to accept it.
"So foolish. If I kill you, isn't the treasure still mine?"
Eden stared coldly at the heretical traitor who had ordered countless Exterminatus actions and slaughtered innumerable imperial citizens, watching through the Hexbound Genestealer's eyes.
With mind-psyker power, he plundered the archbishop's memories—and the more he saw, the more furious he became.
In those memories: Ecclesiarchy believers burning atop pyres; imperial worlds annihilated beneath cyclonic torpedo bombardment; the wailing of countless humans, a sea that drowned the skies.
This grandiose, sanctimonious archbishop had committed monstrous evil in the name of faith!
Rip—
The Hexbound Genestealer tore away Frekbor's deep crimson vestments. He wasn't worthy of them.
Beneath the robes was pale, voluptuous flesh—an indulgent body the Imperium's lower classes could never dream of possessing.
He had lived for centuries. No one knew how many resources he had consumed to keep his flesh so "vital."
Some techniques had even used the blood of children.
Now the archbishop's crown had been shattered by the Savior. He could no longer maintain that "nobility." All that remained was naked humiliation and unwilling despair.
"This is the judgment you have earned."
After stealing his memories, Eden did not have the Hexbound Genestealer execute him directly.
Instead, he threw Frekbor before the pursuers.
Their wrath needed an outlet.
Frekbor, stark naked, crashed down before Ansemor and the others.
Under their contempt and fury, he shrieked in panic. "You can't come any closer! Don't come any closer—I'm an archbishop, a great preacher!"
Bang!
In the next instant, his nose shattered, and his face caved inward.
"This punch is for our brothers of the Rift Lords!"
Ansemor drove his fist into him with burning rage. Even the archbishop's enhanced body couldn't withstand it.
Frekbor clutched his face, wailing and sobbing, begging for mercy.
But there would be no forgiveness.
In the blink of an eye, he was swallowed by wrath.
The Third Diocese's archbishop—the so-called great preacher—was beaten to death, a bloody pulp. Even the life-sustaining mechanisms inside his body were unable to repair the damage.
Every muscle and bone was pulverized. He died in extreme humiliation and agony.
But death was only the beginning for him.
Afterward, Eden seized his soul as well, casting it into roaring flames.
As a "lesser warp-god," as Chaos Diablo the Destroyer, he had more than enough methods to punish the souls of heretical traitors.
And he would never allow such souls to be favored by the Chaos Gods—never allow them a chance to be reborn in the warp.
For the Imperium, that would be catastrophic.
There was no doubt: the archbishop's soul would be devoured bit by bit by Diablo the Destroyer amid endless torment—a process that would last an agonizingly long time.
That was the Savior's judgment upon evil.
After Ansemor and the others executed the heretic, their emotions surged violently. At last, they had won their freedom.
"From this day forward, we will obey the Savior's command and fight for the Imperium until death!"
They stepped forward and saluted the radiant Hexbound Genestealer beneath the Emperor's statue—offering their loyalty to the Savior as well.
"You are all loyal warriors. A glorious war awaits you.
The Imperium shall shine again…"
Eden covered Ansemor and the other warriors with life-psyker power, mending their external wounds—displaying his power as proof.
This was the first time he had projected psychic power across such a vast distance onto strangers.
"No wonder the old man can bless people everywhere and manifest now and then… Turns out his power is carried through Living Saints and Hexbound Legions, like a god."
Eden sighed with feeling.
This method of exerting power consumed an enormous amount, but the sensation was exquisite—like holding everything in your grasp.
In fact, the Hexbound Genestealer he was controlling now, in the hierarchy of things, was essentially the Savior's "Greater Daemon," capable of stronger combat power.
It was more controllable than the daemon-genestealers he had cultivated by siphoning power from the Chaos Gods before. His will could descend at any moment.
With Archbishop Frekbor dead, the purge of the Third Diocese's other high-ranking leaders began.
The Hexbound Genestealer, the Emperor's Hexbound Legion, the Rift Lords Chapter, and parts of the crusader forces executed the cathedral's senior priests of the Third Diocese.
Then the purge spread across the entire Third Diocese fleet.
Ansemor took control of the flagship's communications.
He transmitted proof of the archbishop and his inner circle's heretical treachery to the whole fleet, informing everyone that they had been executed by the Emperor's holy host.
At the same time, he ordered every fleet commander to cease attacking Fanes and await further arrangements.
Any who disobeyed would be treated as betrayers of the Imperium—and of the Emperor of the Imperium!
"Once Frekbor and his inner circle are dead, the Ecclesiarchy's rule over the Third Diocese has effectively collapsed.
This massive fleet now belongs to me."
Eden observed the Third Diocese fleet shifting through the genestealers' perspectives, satisfied.
This was exactly why decapitation strikes were so beloved.
Achieving a decapitation was difficult—but once it succeeded, it yielded a huge advantage, turning the entire war into an unstoppable surge.
When the last snarling Ecclesiarchy Penitent Engine toppled, the flames on the Hexbound Legion gradually died out. They faded into gray mist and vanished.
Their mission was complete.
"The old man fell asleep again. Looks like suppressing that darkness really is difficult."
Eden's brow furrowed slightly as he thought it through.
Just moments ago, the old man had been cursing Eden's Hexbound Legion for being "a mess," and had even wanted to take the reins and test the quality of Eden's Hexbound Genestealer.
Yet before he could, exhaustion took him, and he fell asleep early.
Of course—he had seen Eden seize control of the situation. Only then could he sleep so soundly.
Before the Great Rift, the old man used to direct the Hexbound Legion everywhere, and often they appeared one by one.
Now and then, they would save warriors or human refugees.
"Honestly, he manifests everywhere, and yet he keeps insisting he isn't a god. It's contradictory."
Eden suspected the old man was too lonely and miserable on the Golden Throne, so he controlled Hexbound warriors to act out in the galaxy.
It could shift the situation, save people, and let him mutter a few words to believers—deliver a prophecy or two.
Why not?
But as the dark age after the Great Rift arrived, the Emperor's condition worsened. Manifestations grew rarer, and as he suffered the bitterness of faith, he increasingly emphasized that he was a man, not a god.
Given the old man's current state, deploying the Hexbound Legion outside core battlefields was a losing trade.
Not worth it.
"The old man can't—but I still can…"
Eden was in his prime. There was still time before the backlash of faith truly caught up to him.
He could afford to be reckless.
At the same time, he projected Hexbound Genestealer legions toward other ships in the Third Diocese fleet, sending them to deal with key zones infested by Flayed Ones and the remaining loyalists of the archbishop.
This point-and-shoot style of warfare consumed a lot—but it felt incredible.
After the enemies were mostly dealt with, Eden recalled the Hexbound Genestealer legions.
A faint sense of weakness washed over him.
That thing consumed both will and power—especially when deployed on a large scale.
Even the old man couldn't maintain it for long.
Otherwise, the Hexbound Legion would have become the Imperium's standing army long ago.
Their role was always meant to be emergency support in decisive battles—arriving when necessary to lock in victory.
After fully resolving the Third Diocese fleet, Eden turned his attention back to Fanes.
He let out a deep sigh. "Now it's time to deal with the real problem.
I just hope that Phaeron of the Karlozasa Dynasty hasn't turned traitor out of hatred for the Imperium."
That Necron Phaeron's state would determine the direction of this war—and could even affect the situation in the Vigilance Star region.
And against such a high-level Phaeron, even a decapitation by the Hexbound Legion would be difficult. Otherwise the Imperium would have been invincible long ago.
Whether this was a blood-profit or a blood-loss depended on this move.
…
Fanes, the primary hive.
Upper-hive ruins.
The Third Diocese's bombardment had blanketed this upper-hive region, causing catastrophic devastation. Many structures had melted into smooth crystalline planes.
More buildings collapsed under shockwaves and tremors, and the thick smoke refused to disperse for a long time.
Hummm—
Ruined structures were dissolved by gauss beams. Necron Royal Guards shoved aside the last obstacles.
They emerged from the rubble.
Behind them stood Fanes' governor—Phaeron Zabok of the Karlozasa Dynasty.
He looked utterly bedraggled. His ornate ceremonial robes were scorched black and torn, and his cosmetics were smeared with filth, turning him into something almost comical.
Zabok climbed onto the shattered masonry.
He looked at his ruined domain and the moaning, wailing of his people, and his consciousness filled with rage.
"Why has the Imperium attacked the people of Fanes? Why bring suffering to loyal believers?
Is this the Imperium's true face? Is it still worthy of Fanes' respect?!"
The living-metal governor ripped off his ornate robes and threw them into the flames—along with the Imperial Aquila he had so carefully polished upon the fabric.
He stared up at the Ecclesiarchy fleet in the sky—temporarily quiet, yet capable of resuming its assault at any moment. The emerald glow in his eyes grew colder and colder.
"This is a massacre—an Imperial massacre of Fanes.
If this is the war the Imperium desires, then Fanes can only answer it. The Imperium is unworthy of our loyalty!"
At that very moment—
An emergency transmission from the distant star realms—Holy Terra—was relayed through multiple Astropathic Choir sanctums, finally reaching the court of Fanes…
(End of Chapter)
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