Angar reclined upon his bunk, the reinforced frame groaning under his mass, clutching the letter as if it were a Holy relic.

Fella could be vexing, her features scarcely more than repugnant, but she'd lived off-world for three months now, immersed in the glitter of decadence.

She'd tasted imperial temptation, the silken ease. She knew how comfortable her life could be, and the terrible fate hitching her wagon to his own would bring, the needless suffering and sorrow.

This wasn't ambition or a desire to climb social rungs.

He harbored no suspicion of deceit or some ploy in these words, just a soul's honesty laid bare. It truly seemed she held strong feelings for him. Someone out there actually found him worthy enough to love.

Though well armored against such frailty, emotions he'd never felt before now blazed through his veins, burning like the Baptistry of Igneous Purgation.

It was an unforgivable lapse, unseemly, a juvenile weakness unbecoming of a Crusader, a man whose life had been sworn to the Three's unyielding desire for blood, tributed to Holy War.

He inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent, drawing the letter's perfume into his lungs, a bouquet of glory and devotion warring with the recycled air and lingering trace of machinery.

The letter was a sanctuary, a tangible vow that he was seen, Fella's words a fortress against indifference and neglect, the cruelty of a life lived mercilessly, refusing compromise.

In her eyes, he was exalted, a beacon meriting such profound honor as this missive, and it felt wonderful amid the grim tapestry of endless gloom and anguish.

Angar knew he could never reveal this side of himself to the world, appearing as some fool basking in frivolous joy like a giddy girl. He wished he weren't so weak, indulging so childishly in a love letter's glow.

But here, alone, in his quarters, he surrendered to it, savoring the thrill like a secret sin.

Just this once.

"It's time we spoke," Hidetada's mechanical rasp grated through the earpiece, destroying the blissful moment.

Angar's grip tightened on the parchment. "Understood." Forty lashes awaited, no doubt, for the Imperial Command station taking sixty-seven hours to spit out this frivolous, fantastic indulgence.

Unlike the lashes Sister Kenson delivered with a mundane whip made for children, these would be the bite of a Nerve-render, engineered to ignite every synapse in unholy agony, sparing the flesh while scourging the soul.

The letter was worth it.

The channel hung dead, an unnatural silence stretching like the gulf between stars. At last, Hidetada spoke again. "I rarely find myself bereft of words, but I've delayed this conversation long enough."

Seconds bled away in oppressive quiet, causing a bead of worry to grow in Angar's gut. "Understood," he rumbled out, wanting to get on with this.

Another pregnant pause followed, very unlike Hidetada. Then, "Months ago, I received a message from Holy Theosis, anomalous in form, defying the Parousia Protocols, devoid of the subtle markers I attribute to the blessed Mother's manipulations. I deem this emanated from Theosis itself, unmediated."

Not knowing how to reply to that, Angar echoed, "Understood."

The Saint stated flatly, "Divine Theosis decrees you tread the same shadowed path as Horridus the Mortifer."

Rage erupted in Angar's chest like an inferno, searing through his body, scorching his veins.

Who held faith more unbending than he?

Time and again, he had proven his resistance to corruption. His devotion and steadfast nature were beyond reproach. If his course already veered into Heresy, why would the infernal abyss dispatch Iyita to seduce him, forcing his descent into sin and darkness?

He clamped down on his desire to rage defiance at Theosis, to demand why it assailed him with baseless accusations. Was it only due to the Lord Hungers? His vow to halt the Holy Empire's slow crawl toward oblivion?

It all reeked of madness. It was as if the Holy Empire's very sinews had rotted from within, lashing out at any who dared try and excise the blight, turning upon its own savior like a self-devouring abomination.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He purged the fury, and clarity descended like the vacuum of space, allowing his mind to parse the threads.

Most likely, Hidetada was lying, trying to manipulate an outcome. There were many other possibilities as well. If the Neural Nexus birthed an echo akin to Spirit, the edict might stem from that.

But its reasons and origins mattered nothing. Hidetada's decisions were ironclad, unmovable. If his calculus tilted even fractionally toward Angar's demise benefiting the Holy Empire, his death was sealed.

With nothing more to gain from clarity, he let the simmering inferno return.

"And?" Angar growled out, refusing to feign deference or contriteness.

"And I will not midwife such a monstrosity into being," Hidetada declared.

"Understood," barked out Angar. "And?"

"And what?" Hidetada asked, his mechanical voice laced with venom.

Angar almost laughed. "And what have you already decided to do about it?"

"This is not the time to test me, young Knight," the Saint warned in a tone like a cold forge-hammer.

"Why?" Angar replied. "Have you forsaken patience? Lost dominion over your emotions? The fact we're speaking, and my continued life, betray you harbor reservations."

His fists clenched, ready for whatever this path brought. "Know that I will never tolerate aspersions on my faith or fealty, nor implications that Heresy festers in my soul. Accuse me of such, and I'll see it as a gauntlet flung, an affront to blood and honor, demanding trial, with God as my only worthy judge."

Hidetada paused before asking, "Is it not Heretical to question the judgment of the Divine?"

Angar inhaled deeply, steadying himself, his cybernetic limbs grinding as if eager to move, eager for action. "As a Tier 2 Knight, I resisted the corruption and psychic onslaught of a Nofelim. I stood my ground and traded blows with the same. I shattered the possession of a higher-planes demon, and vanquished an arch-druden within its own twisted mind. My pride isn't baseless hubris. It was earned through fell and bloody deeds."

"Pride goes before destruction, and an arrogant spirit before a fall," the Saint retorted, his mechanical voice almost decreeing the words as absolute and obvious truth.

Angar barked out a harsh laugh. "I've always wondered why no scripture or popular idiom warns of the perils of excessive humility, meekness, and pusillanimity. It's as if the powers that be desire an Empire of useless cretins, their spines made of jelly."

"Or perhaps the powers that be deem the salvation of souls paramount, far outweighing the fleeting glories of this doomed realm," Hidetada countered.

Angar rose from his bunk, pacing the narrow confines of his quarters like a caged beast prowling the edges of its prison, his heavy footfalls clanging against the deck plating. "Maybe they should care a little more about this doomed realm, and Hell's inexorable march toward victory."

Before Hidetada could reply, Angar continued. "I received a message where Divine Theosis condemned the Lord Hungers as a cruel disgrace. Did you? I'd wager not. We forged the cult together, and your vast wealth made it manifest."

The earpiece sat silent in reply. Knowing this was all a waste of time bothered Angar most. They talked for no reason.

Before the Saint first uttered a word to Angar, his mind would've been made up on how to proceed, even planning every pregnant pause in the conversation for dramatic effect. As Thryna or Harc hadn't already killed him, his grand marshal had something else in store.

"I know this talk, none of this, changes anything," Angar stated. "There are three possible paths ahead. Which have you chosen?"

Hidetada's response came measured, unyielding as galvornium. "There are far more than three paths to tread from this point, young Knight. But first, penance for that personal missive you received. Forty lashes. Tomorrow, you will attend the Victory Day celebration in the saloon. You'll spend time with Iyita, permitting her to instruct you in piloting."

The abrupt pivot, dismissing their prior conversation as if it hadn't just happened, jarred Angar to a halt, disorienting his thoughts.

His master was infuriating.

"I can't do that, Saint," he replied, resolve infusing every word. "I must avoid her. I lack any proof, but my instincts scream she's a Heretic, her true aim to seduce and corrupt me into the dark fold."

"I was all but certain of that from the outset," Hidetada admitted, "when I tasked you with vetting the newlyweds. We have thirteen to seventeen days remaining in this voyage. By the time we descend upon Abyssalhome, I want her convinced of her progress, enough to whisper reports to whatever shadowy master pulls her strings."

Angar exhaled sharply, the air hissing through his teeth. If he lingered too long in her orbit, those reports of success would ring with bitter truth.

And he had to concede the brilliance of Hidetada's ploy, maneuvering Angar to endorse the couple's addition to the crew, making him responsible for his being turned into unwitting bait once again.

Though pity ate at him for Slavo, a good man ensnared in this web through no fault of his own.

"Understood," Angar acknowledged, purging the lingering ire. "But I demand the right to reply to this letter via the Imperial Command station. Text only, five…no, seven minutes of transmission."

His reply would be a mere few lines, transmitted in no more than five minutes, but he wanted a buffer to be safe. "And I require my Tier 3 gear, plus a stop en route to Abyssalhome so I can claim the sacred blessings I'm owed."

"You shall have your gear," Hidetada declared. "You'll receive your sacred rites on Abyssalhome. As forty lashes are your limit under sacred law, if you crave seven minutes access to the Imperial Command comcap, you must endure a full minute in contact with the Old-Guard Hyperalgesicator that Harc stows in his quarters. And that's for seven minutes usage, not one second more."

Angar's brows furrowed, his cybernetic eyes narrowing.

Hyperalgesicators were vile relics of the Old Guard's arsenal, engineered to amplify agony beyond mortal thresholds, making even Angufluxivators seem like merciful caresses. All crumbled into unconsciousness after short heartbeats under their touch, meaning it was an impossible sentence.

"And if I falter before the minute's end?" Angar asked.

"Then forty lashes instead," Hidetada replied, "and no personal missive departs through the Imperial Command comcap."

Angar exhaled again. "Understood." He wondered if he should mention the hub-plane.

He decided against it. If Hidetada was so great at knowing the unknowable, he could figure it out on his own.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.