Death Before Heresy

My crimson ceramite boots splashed in the creek that ran thick with blood. The preternatural storm clouds whirled and summoned droplets of red ichor from the ground, defying the laws of gravity. The clouds swirled, casting eerie darkness on the world below as tiny rays of red-tinged light made my skin crawl in my power armour. The air tasted metallic and sweet, thick with blood and decay. I cleared my throat.

A macabre orchestra played a dissonant symphony as cries of death, terror, howling winds and whispered prayers reached my ears. Being a seasoned veteran of the Order of the Bloody Rose, I was used to the cacophony of war; it was always the same discordant song of death, but this one was different. The wind whispered to me, calling me to the storm’s epicentre.

I sensed my sister’s faith and holy rage at my back. A cultist dressed in blood-stained robes, his tattooed with crimson ichor in the shape of a chaos star, and a macabre necklace of finger bones decorated his neck. In his right hand, he held an axe aloft. I activated my chainsword, and it roared to life. As the heretic’s blade arced toward me and my sword moved to meet his, but before they could clash, I felt a strong force smack into the back of my head. A searing pain on the left side of my skull knocked me to my knees.

A loud bang echoed in my mind, and my helmet flew off as my eyes fluttered closed, and I fell onto the swampy ground.

*Silence*

*Danaé, wake up, a voice whispered to me.*

My eyes opened slowly as I came to, but my vision was blurred and wrong somehow. The darkness was more profound than before. I lost my helmet, and the crimson light was a vibrant luminescence causing me to squint. My ears rang, and my eyes burned as my senses slowly returned. I pushed myself up with my hands and glanced at my surroundings. The storm seemed more menacing somehow, but I could see and hear my sisters engaged in battle to my right.

When the ringing stopped, I sat up, slowly choking back a wave of nausea. The din of battle returned, and I reached into a compartment of my power armour. Tired and injured, I readied my auto-injector and pressed it against my neck. As the contents coursed through my veins, numbing my multiple injuries and restoring my stamina, my resolve to purge all the heretics grew.

*Danaé, my child, go to the church, the voice urged.*

I removed my right gauntlet and swiped at the blood on my face, and then I reached for my chainsword in the muck on the ground. Nearby lay my destroyed helm. It was of no use to me anymore. Planting the chainsword into the ground, I used it as support and pulled myself to my knees.
I can do this, I thought. The Emperor blessed me and spoke to me. He protected me and called me once more to fight in His name and cleanse His church of heresy.

Although I could have stayed away from the building and purged the wild heretics, it was my duty to do His bidding, so I raced to the storm’s epicentre.
My scalp stung, but the blood did not roll down my face, as it would typically have. Instead, it beaded and floated upward to feed the storm.

*Heresy,* I thought with disgust.

*Danaé, I await you,* the voice spoke clearly in my mind. The tone gave the words a sense of urgency. My heart thundered louder than the boom of frack grenade explosions nearby. There was no time to lose. The whispers egged me on. The Emperor watched over me and wanted me to end the blasphemous storm.

He chose me. He guided my Holy flame as I ran, encouraging me to purge the horrors of this world, and I would not let Him down. I was His cleansing flame. The foul heretics would fall as I delivered them from the clutches of Chaos.

Stopping at the church’s large wooden doors, I only waited for a second for my squad to catch up. Then, my armoured back to the wall, I held my flamer in my left hand and listened. Muffled voices chanted in a language I did not recognise. There was no time to wait. We had to interrupt the ritual before this world was lost to the forces of Chaos. Then, finally, an explosion sounded to the left of the church, and I nodded to Sister Irena and pulled the door open as my sisters and I slid inside.

‘Oh, throne, the stench!’ Sister Milliandra spat. Bile slipped up my throat and threatened to make me retch. I swallowed it down, wishing I had a rebreather. The sweet yet pungent smell of death burned my nostrils, but my attention quickly turned to my surroundings. The church would have rivalled the ones of Ophelia V had the heretics not taken hold and defiled the glorious sanctum. Never could I have imagined such desecration.

A seven-metre likeness of His Holy Emperor of Mankind stood at the far side of the church. The intricate carvings were crafted masterfully and with adoration. Entrails decorated the golden statue like grotesque garlands, a mockery of His power and a despicable taint to His Holiness. Eyeless faces stuck to the golden kneepads and pauldrons screaming out to me in terror, begging for help and mercy. Skulls lay in a heap at the base of the statue.

‘Blasphemy,’ I whispered, ‘Heretics crave the cleansing fire of absolution. They need not fear, for we shall deliver it to them,’ the words left my lips unbidden. Sister Irena shouted the exact words with great resolve as I raised my flamer and bathed the levitating remains of cultists and civilians in the Emperor’s Holy Light. The ghastly horror before me froze my blood, and my jaw set in anticipation of the great purge.

A beautifully crafted white marble altar stood to the right of the Emperor’s statue. A cluster of blood-caked cultists gathered in a loose circle chanting heresy. On that altar, I recognised a crimson power armour adorned with the fleur-de-lys. One un-gauntleted hand spilt over the side of the altar, and a thin filament of blood fell into a skull held by a male cultist. The Sororitas’s head was turned away, and I could not determine who it was.
It was of no importance to me. I had to save my sister.

I roared with righteous indignation and Holy rage, my body trembled, and my muscles tensed. They would pay dearly for what they had done to my sister and this sacred place of worship. I switched on my chainsword and began my charge down the centre aisle of the once beautiful church.

The chanting became louder and more frantic as the cultists passed a bleached white skull filled with blood to each other. Then, one by one, they dipped their fingers into the contents and drew a crimson symbol on each other’s foreheads.

The church ceiling creaked loudly, but I continued my race. I felt like a force was pushing against me, slowing my progress. Then again, perhaps the aisle I ran down was getting longer and longer. The forces of Chaos were somehow holding me at bay. Eyes locked on my helpless Sister on the altar, I thought I saw a finger twitch.

A drawn-out series of cracking and creaking caused small splinters of wood and rockcrete to rain down my head. The church’s vaulted ceiling finally gave away, but instead of collapsing into the sanctum, the roof tore off, floating upward until it was cast aside with a loud crash. Bone, blood and viscera rose to join the eye of the storm swirling at an alarming rate.

‘For the Emperor!’ I cried as cultists rejoiced and looked up at the scene praising a blood god as my rage ignited my faith. I trudged through flesh, blood, and bone past ornately decorated pews and gold-lined symbols of the aquila. Flayed corpses lay between the benches and in the many aisles of this Holy place, but I pushed against the invisible enemy and made slow progress.

‘For the Emperor!’ my sisters answered as they went to the nearest clusters of Chaos worshippers. I heard my sisters engaged in battle, but the enemy ignored me. I could not phantom why, nor did I care. My journey to the altar would be swifter without stopping and fighting, and the odds of saving my sister would increase exponentially.

The unnatural storm swirled lower and lower, drinking up the blood the heretics held up in the bleached sacrificial skull. The ground shuddered as though delighted by the offering, but my resolve held. Finally, the Emperor whispered to me again, guiding me to the altar.

*Danaé, my daughter. Feel my blessing. Hear my words. Come to me,* a strong voice resonated in my head.

‘Yes, Father. I will fight for you, spill their blood for you and cleanse this world of heresy in thy name,’ I answered.
Before me, a cultist jumped out of his hiding place between the pews. His dark face was smeared with a bloody symbol. He held a sharpened rib bone aloft menacingly, ready to swing as I revved the engine of my chainsword. It purred to life.

Instead of striking at me, the cultist lowered his weapon, cocked his head and studied my face. A slow smile twisted his features, and his lips parted to speak. I frowned, but I would hear none of it. I did not care about what this man had to say. I cared about getting to the altar. Therefore, I slashed down with his Holy fury hacking the heretic in half.

I sensed someone behind me. I turned to face the enemy, my rage-filled roar louder than the roar of my chainsword and thrust my chainsword into their middle. My eyes widened in surprise when I came face to face with Sister Irena. I watched as the flame of righteous anger dimmed from her eyes into a murky green sightless gaze of death. Her body hit the ground, and crimson splatter sprayed my armoured shins. I knelt beside her as I sobbed. My body quaked in mourning and disbelief. I turned her over and wiped the blood off her face.

‘No, no, no! Irena! I’m so sorry. I-I thought, I thought a heretic snuck up on me.’ I swiped at my tears and swallowed back my guilt and sadness. ‘May you find rest by the side of the Emperor,’ I spoke softly, as I gently lowered her back onto the crimson floor.

I stood and turned back to face the front of the church. My righteous rage was replaced with something more sinister and darker: hatred and a desire for vengeance. With a roar, I ran through the aisle, cutting down anyone that stood in my way. I told myself I was purging the heretic in His Holy Name, but, in truth, I spilt their blood because I could.

When I reached the altar, I found the body that rested upon it was no longer there. Instead, the crimson armour plates of the Sister of the Order of the Bloody Rose lay scattered about around the altar. Suddenly, all my feelings returned in the form of untethered rage. My anger soared to a new level, one I knew would lead to my end, but if only I could spill more blood for myself and, in the name of my Sisters, of the Emperor, I would be forgiven.

Frantic clicking and clacking sounds caught my attention. The wind howled, and when I turned to face the source of the sounds, I found the swirling clouds of wind, blood and bones had touched down to the left of the Emperor’s statue. My face felt warm, and I itched for battle. Shame tugged at the edge of my consciousness, and I glanced down. I saw crimson streaks of blood on the marble floor. Then, following the trajectory to its end, I saw a body. It was bloodied and ghostly white, the exposed skin pasty and lifeless. The unknown warrior lay in a heap, arms extended above her head, wearing a black tactical bra and tight shorts.

With a war cry upon my lips, I screamed a string of words that were not very becoming of a Daughter of the Emperor. I pulled out my flamer and, urged on by the voice in my head, made my way to the gathered cultists now slicing at the corpse they had already defiled. They chanted excitedly. Some clapped their hands, and others waved me over as if inviting my cleansing fire.

As I passed before the once glorious golden statue of the Emperor of Mankind, I noted over a dozen deformed skulls piled around his golden boots. Every single one of the skulls was missing the top left part of their skulls, and the cranium was cracked right down to the eye socket. I frowned as I reached up to the left side of my face with a shaky hand, fearful of what I might find. But, before my fears could be substantiated, the mantra the instructors taught us at the Schola Progenium echoed through the church.

‘Heretics crave the cleansing fire of absolution. They need not fear, for we shall deliver it to them.’

Taken aback by the voice that spoke those words, I turned to face the entrance of the church. Every single Sister of Battle of my squad, even Sister Irena, stood there. Then, with another cry upon her lips, Irena shouted, ‘For the Emperor!’

Confusion shrouded my thoughts, and my hand fell to my side as I tried to understand what I had witnessed. How could she be there when I had killed her only moments before? If this were real, if this was a time warp, I should have seen myself at the front of the squad. I should have spoken those words before my Sister had, but I was nowhere in sight.

I turned my gaze to the golden eyes of the Emperor of Mankind, searching his gaze for an answer, but none came—a feeling of resentment and loathing seared inside her chest.

‘I have failed you, but you have failed me first. You should have protected her, my sister. I pray you to choke on the blood I spilt in your name! I hope Sister Irena finds peace. She was a bright light, the perfect sister, and you let her die. How could you?’

I waited for an answer, but none came. Looking away from the Emperor, my gaze dropped to my hands. My flamer was gone, and my right gauntlet was removed. I had no memory of setting them down. The small cluster of cultists had dissipated, likely running into battle with my squad. I did not understand but cautiously approached the swirling dark cloud as a soothing voice finally spoke to me.

*Danaé, my child. Finally, you understand. Come; take your rightful place to the right of your father.*

As I watched, bones interlocked together, working to create some sort of structure. Blood seeped from a puddle at the foot of the newly formed construct. Soon I recognised it to be a skeleton throne. I swallowed my apprehension as I bent down to study my sister’s body. Were it not for the knife marks and the mangled left side of the skull and face, it appeared to be in good enough condition. She looked eerily familiar. My heart grew heavy with sadness and regret but also a twinge of apprehension. I knew I was too late to save her. She was somehow familiar, but I could not make out her features because of the damage to her face.

Righting myself, I felt cold, sharp fingers close around my bare ankles. Looking down, I realised I was no longer wearing my power armour. Confused, I stumbled back onto the skeleton throne.

In horror, I tried to stand, but the arms of the seat wrapped around my wrists, holding me in place. The movements of the hard bones made me nauseous.

With a loud snap, a sharp finger bone came loose from the back of the throne. It wedged into a port at my head's nape. I wailed in agony and misery as images of my future flashed into my mind—a foul beast of exposed muscle, crimson and foul. Large bones protruded from my arms, sharp, long and deadly. The ends dripped blood. My misshapen head was large atop a thick muscular head and crazed yellow eyes, thirsting for blood. A second pair of arms jutted from my sides, wielding a double axe in one hand and long silver claws extended from the fingertips of the other. I wore a thick chain across my waist decorated with the skulls of my enemy. I would become a foul and sinister beast, a powerful creature, thirsting for blood but never having enough to satisfy the constant need and ache. Finally, I would become something I had devoted my entire life to purging.

The voices of the blood god recounted my many deeds in his name. They claimed I had always served him, from the first battle I fought, my very first kill, to the moment I stumbled onto the skeleton throne. Every droplet of blood given in my misguided duty to the Corpse Emperor fed his insatiable blood lust. Cheering voices applauded every death, every dark deed, including the tragic death of Sister Irena. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
‘Here sits Danaé Malaya, faithful servant and Champion of Khorne!’ chanted the cultists.

‘No, no, no,’ I denied their words and the images. Heresy, I thought once again… but was it? I hesitated as laughter boomed through my thoughts, and the whispers continued taunting me.

*Danaé, the Faithful Champion of Khorne. She has shunned the Emperor, and her words and deeds have sealed her faith. She belongs to the blood god.*

Rage filled my heart, and I struggled against the heretical restraints made of hands and ribs. My faith had faltered, and a seed of heresy had taken root inside my soul because of my weakness. It grew and grew, quietly and slowly, until it flourished and made me turn my back on the Emperor and my sisters.
With a blood-curdling cry, I gathered the grain of faith and strength that remained in my soul. I wrenched my arms free of the living skeleton throne as I tore at my crimson-stained white hair in anguish. I could feel no physical pain, but my suffering was such that I could not stop.

When most of my hair was gone, I started ripping at the flesh of my face. The skeleton throne I sat upon moved, clicking and clacking, as the bones rearranged. They dug into my flesh, piercing and pulling at my exposed muscles. The throne sucked in my blood like a vampire, and it trembled with a sinister pleasure that made my heart squeeze with fear. The digits of the throne reached out, carving at the skin that remained. It tore at my face, neck, breasts and arms, yet I could only weep.

*In times of weakness, Sisters of Battle turn to the Emperor for strength.* The old saying from my days at the Schola Progenium echoed in my mind.

Through grasping and tearing bones, my gaze turned to the golden statue of the Emperor. His likeness seemed to glow and give me strength. Suddenly, I ripped a jagged bone out of one of my exposed thigh muscles and screamed, ‘Death before heresy!’

I brought the bone blade to my neck and hacked at my jugular. The eerie storm began to recede with an angry howl. The throne reached out and wrapped more bones around my neck, hacking and sawing until it cut free. My head fell to the ground before the throne and rolled to settle at the foot of the Emperor’s statue as my eyes closed, and blessed darkness took me.