When Pat arrived at Pelasa, ground operations against the Nephilim had already been underway for ten days.
He did not immediately join the fighting. Instead, he went to the Primarch's command base to report to his Father.
After hearing Pat's report, Nareth nodded slightly.
'Malcador is using the powerful nobles to signal his stance, and also testing the reaction.'
"Screen them. Find those who are loudest against us."
"Kill them." A cold glint flashed in Nareth's eyes. He would demonstrate his stance within certain limits.
He wanted those nobles to understand that targeting him and Shadows of Order would have consequences.
He wanted to make Malcador hesitate when formulating policies during his brief tenure leading the Terran Council.
"Share their interests with families like Pyke."
Within the Imperial Palace, there were over a thousand noble factions, hundreds of times more bureaucrats and officers scheming. Everyone had their own agenda.
If factions existed that targeted him, there were certainly opposing factions, and rising bureaucrats and officers eager to advance.
Dividing the spoils among them would keep the fallout within controllable limits, allowing Malcador to accept it and also cultivate a group of allies.
Pat considered the deeper meaning in his father's words for a few seconds before speaking, "By Your will."
"Your performance as a Shadow Guard has satisfied me. I want you to serve as a Chaplain." Though Nareth had established the Chaplaincy in the Legion, he had yet to find a suitable candidate for Master of Chaplains. Pat was high on his list.
"Of course. It is my honor." Pat stood tall, like a pilgrim priest.
The "Mentor of Disorder" activated his Spirit Vision. Compared to before, he saw more. He could clearly see Pat's seamless, nearly transparent spirit.
"You have already mastered the power I bestowed upon you."
"Father, yes," Pat said confidently.
"Go to the Forge Lord. He has a staff prepared for you." Nareth instructed.
"Then, come back to me."
"As you command." Pat acknowledged and left the Primarch's temporary office.
He examined the command center, noting the similarities to Terran noble estates, the large circular windows, the gilded etchings on the walls, the ornate hydraulic doors.
Following the runic markers, he passed through several doors and entered a humming area.
He walked towards the Forge Lord, whose mechandrites swayed rhythmically with the hum of mechanical pumps and pulleys.
Rosicky turned, seeing Pat.
"Follow me."
He led Pat to a weapon rack and picked up a staff.
"This staff was forged by Lord Vulkan," Rosicky said, his hand caressing the pitch-black shaft. "I believe Lord Vulkan crafted it to challenge his own skills."
"It was sent to the Legion as part of our agreement, in exchange for the fortress-grade void shield services provided by our Techmarines on worlds threatened by dangerous environments and xenos."
"After I received it, I made some decorative modifications."
Pat took the staff from the Forge Lord. Aside from the skull at its head, like the Truth Stave, its appearance was completely different.
The golden wings reminded him of his Father's wings. The spines were reminiscent of the Legion's emblem.
"Like the Truth Stave, it can be used for both ranged and melee attacks."
"The intensity of the projected energy field can also be set manually, allowing you to stun enemies without killing."
"Lord Vulkan incorporated some principles of the conversion field. It provides defense and enhances the stunning effect, ten times stronger than a standard Truth Stave."
The "Artisan's" gaze finally settled on the spines. He had used materials granted by the Black Emperor.
"This is my special design. They are not only sharp, but also amplify your voice when you speak, enhancing the effect."
The "Telepathist" noted the pride in the Forge Lord's voice.
"Your craftsmanship is remarkable."
"Lord Vulkan is renowned for his forging. His creations are border-perfect. Even minor improvements are extremely difficult."
"You have not only improved it, but added functionality."
"All thanks to my Lord's gift." Rosicky said.
The newly appointed Chaplain added, "Praise be to my Lord."
Rosicky turned to the furnace. "Besides producing supplies, we are putting the final touches on my Lord's armor."
"Lord Vulkan, outside our agreement, personally forged a suit of armor for my Lord."
Pat nodded. "We will remember Lord Vulkan's kindness."
Moments later, Pat returned to the Primarch's office.
He saw his Father slide a slightly golden potion before him.
He took it. The liquid rippled, like a giant pupil, a gaze that could pierce the soul.
"Thank You, my Lord, for Your gift."
The cool, golden liquid entered his mouth. It tasted like champagne.
Tiny bubbles rose and burst, giving a tingling sensation.
Pat's hearing suddenly expanded, taking in all the sounds of the command base.
He felt himself dissolve, becoming ethereal gas, integrating the sea of minds around him.
He watched calmly as golden scales slowly formed on his skin, feeling no fear. He meditated proficiently, reining in the overflowing power of the potion.
His consciousness returned to his body. The golden scales vanished. His hearing returned to normal.
"Thank You, my Lord, for Your gift. I will surely use the power You have granted me well." Pat said respectfully.
After leaving the command center, Pat immediately joined the battle.
The moment he reached the front lines, he saw tens of thousands of humans loudly chanting hymns.
They looked up at the giants walking among them, faces wet with tears of joy. It was not a battlefield, but a pilgrimage.
"Faith." Pat chewed on the forbidden word of the Imperium, watching the giants moving among the humans.
The blue giants moved with a marine-like undulation, exceptionally slow.
They had no necks; their bulbous heads sat directly on their shoulders. Depressions like eye sockets and nostrils circled their skulls.
Pat raised his staff. Blue light flared. An invisible force field projected outward.
A blue Nephilim shuddered. A wisp of smoke rose, then it crashed down.
Three people were crushed beneath it. One hit its head on the ground, blood staining the earth.
The surrounding crowd, eyes filled with sorrow, gathered around the blue giant, reaching out, then pulling back.
They repeated this several times, but still dared not touch.
Pat lowered the power output of the force field. His Father enjoyed collecting strange creatures. Offering him a Nephilim would surely please him.
Like a stone striking a lake, the blue giants among the crowd simultaneously lunged at Pat.
Shadows of Orders raised their bolters, aiming at the blue figures, and fired.
Once in motion, the blue Nephilim displayed a swiftness completely at odds with their bloated blue bodies.
The Shadows of Orders fired dense barrages, the rounds passing the obese 'fish,' blasting the surrounding humans into bloody mist.
Only those Legionaries whose armor bore the emblem of a black eye, the Eleventh Chapter's finest marksmen, had their bolts fly true into the blue forms.
When the blue Nephilim attacked, they were both deliberate and cautious.
They shrieked, their singing voices trembling. They raised their weapons, firing piercing pulses.
The servants around them, like a sea, served as meat shields, forming a barrier around their gods.
The "Psychiatrist" strode forward. His black eyes paled, seeming to stand upright. Invisible waves surged forward.
Hundreds of humans fled in all directions.
Dozens ran aimlessly.
Over a dozen spun in place, caught between fleeing and forced restraint.
A few stood rigid, trembling, blocking their gods.
The "Psychiatrist" observed the humans' reactions, thinking to himself.
'The "Awe" ability usually works based on the target's willpower. For these Nephilim worshippers, the decisive factor is faith.'
'Those with the weakest faith flee. Those with stronger faith run aimlessly. Those with even stronger faith spin in place. The devout stand rigid.'
'Their faith is not unbreakable.'
As he thought, his golden, upright eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching blue Nephilim.
The blue Nephilim trembled. The piercing pulse focused its hammer veer, howling past.
Pat swung his staff at its round head.
Its bloated arm raised a heavy hammer, trying to block.
The pain in its head intensified. Its arm slowed, then suddenly jerked aside, failing to intercept the staff.
CRASH!
A flash of light. The blue body crashed down.
Pat strode forward. He saw a green Nephilim running, roaring, emitting a piercing sonic wave.
A Shadow of Order's helmet leaked blood, then was struck on the head by the strange staff.
"My brothers, we come by our Father's will." Pat's voice was powerful.
It pierced through his helmet's speaker, amplified by the staff's spines, drowning out the hymns of the human servants and the terrible shrieks.
"The Nephilim are evil and cruel, parasites who feed on others."
"We bring the flames of fury, the punishment of destruction."
The Chaplain's words infected the Shadows of Orders. His Strong Will flowed into each of them.
The Shadows of Orders roared in unison, following Pat's attack.
The "Psychiatrist" advanced. "Awe" sent the surrounding faithful into panicked flight.
The roar of bolters drowned out the human servants' hymns. The blazing light of the force field tore through the false gods.
.....
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