Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 533 Surprise!-
When Genevieve closed her jetpack, landed lightly in front of the gloomy gate of the monastery tomb, and pressed her hand on the heavy and delicate "I"-shaped genetic code lock key, she did not feel as appreciative as Archdeacon Mendazus, nor was she filled with twisted and strange ecstasy like Deacon Water in front of her.

Yes, although the Abbey of the Abyss was in the catacombs of the Basilica of Santa Murica, and she had known it since she was a child that it had always been there.

But even now, in the most pressing moment, she could not conceal her dislike of the place so perfectly as her sister Eleanor.

Perhaps this is why Eleanor has always been the more determined, opinionated, and admired twin of the Archdeacon, while Genevieve, as her sworn sister, leads the Seraphim to protect the land around here - and as for Genevieve herself, she prefers to fight in the front. Why did Cardinal Subara's prophecy that year insist on appointing the twin girls to be the sisters to guard here? But no one could answer her question, and the cardinal himself had long passed away.

The deacon loudly recited scriptures of confession of sins and praise of the glory of the Emperor of God, and at the same time, used a sprinkler made of silver and horsehair to evenly sprinkle holy water on the flock of lambs that slowly emerged from the door at his feet and slowly passed through.

"…I have no intention of interrupting the ceremony, Deacon, but could you get them to move faster? The fighting is getting intense at our defensive wall."

She moved the heel of her boots half a centimeter uneasily. Her angel of wisdom noticed her uneasiness and considerately lowered its altitude to come closer before she said anything. It flapped its wings and began to swing the incense burner in her hand towards her. The incense at least covered up some of the smell, and Genevieve was very grateful at the moment.

Deacon Water did not notice the change in the mood of the Vowed Sister. He curled his moist lips with joy and showed Genevieve his teeth and shrunken gums which had turned black due to years of managing the lambs underground and practicing asceticism. This was confirmed by his white robe which had turned dark yellow due to repeated soaking with sweat. At least Deacon Water looked very pious and loved the duty entrusted to him.

"Don't worry, Sister Nun," he said, wearing black goggles. He had spent years in seclusion in the catacombs with his flock, so even the sunlight of Cadia, which was now obscured by smoke, was too dazzling for him. "These sinful lambs must be brought to the designated positions before they begin their atonement, otherwise their charge lines will become too messy and intertwined. They will attack any living creature around them, so if they are not guided, they may kill each other, which is not conducive to our goal of atonement."

Genevieve closed her mouth and made some space in the passage. She had seen that behind the heretics, traitors and deserters who had recently been thrown in to atone for their sins and whose bodies were still freshly stitched were some deep-sin ascetics who had been here longer. They were all ragged and dressed in tattered shrouds, and many of the lambs had their limbs cut off and replaced with chain saw blades, electric flails or other weapons favored by the State Religion Crusaders.

They all wore canvas hoods like their shepherd deacons, but she could see that the skulls were bolted with unopened reinforced eyepieces and mind-control headbands that would allow these lobotomized lambs to maintain a certain quiet and order before the atonement charge. Genevieve frowned slightly without realizing it.

The furrows in her brow reached their deepest when she saw the members at the end of the team.

After the flock of ascetics whose limbs had become twisted and deformed due to old age or the moisture and mold in the tomb, and whose flesh had turned red and white and rotted, twisted their bodies and crawled on all fours, the sound of the heavy metal walking feet of the Atonement Mech stepping on the ground and the stench poured out of the door of the tomb that never saw the sun all year round.

The naked bodies of heretics and deserters were hung among the tangled cables and chains, most of them only had the upper half of their heads connected to the fire control auxiliary system through the metal masks nailed into their skulls. Chemical syringes and cables were implanted into the spines of these lambs who had committed heresy and escaped, constantly reminding them of their crimes in their cerebral cortex and consciousness, reminding them to rush to their goals and seek redemption; finally, there was the queue of pilots buried in the metal confinement of the ascetic mechas, who were eternally injected with neural torture and self-loathing strengthening drugs. Even when they were driven out so meekly, Genevieve was horrified by the terrible pain transmitted to her by the trembling limbs of these torture instruments equipped with flamethrowers, the nails driven into the bones, and the creaking pistons.

All these beings panting heavily, drooling, and crawling slowly on the ground were the lambs that Deacon Water was looking after for the Holy State Church and the Sisters of Martyrs, and the ascetic families he managed. He looked at them with satisfaction, so Deacon Water ended the holy water sprinkling ceremony with a deliberately prolonged hymn tone, chanting, "My flock, today is the precious and glorious day of atonement for those of you who have committed many sins."

"Let's hurry up, Deacon." Even though she told herself that these were heretics, criminals, cowardly deserters, scum, and that this was the penance they deserved for their sins, Genevieve couldn't bear it any longer. She tightened her face and stretched out her hand, "They shouldn't be activated now, right? Hand me the controller, and then we'll attack."

He carefully took a brass box from the plate held by the servitor beside him, and kissed the seal on it reverently before handing it to her. Then he told her how to use it. "Once the key is turned, the control headband on their heads will stimulate their brains, and they will immediately start to attack and charge, not caring about what is in front of them."

"So how do we direct them to attack the specific targets we need?"

"That's right, Sister. The password is 'KILL! KILL! KILL!' And you'll need this." Deacon Watt grinned, his face filled with genuine joy for the moment of redemption for the Lambs. He handed Genevieve a pendant with the Emperor's holy name engraved on it. "Wear this, and they will not attack you. What a holy and glorious day! Let us praise the Holy Golden Man on the Throne!"

His piety came from the heart. "In the history of Cardia, the lambs of the monastery have only had two chances to atone their sins. This time..."

"Thank you for your service, Deacon Brother. Let us put an end to the blasphemy of the Great Enemy." Genevieve interrupted him, put on the pendant, and asked the remaining eighteen Seraph Sisters around her to get ready. It would be their turn after these lambs completed their atonement charge and weakened the enemy with their flesh and blood. Although Eleanor might not agree, Genevieve longed to sing the Emperor's name, fly high, fly, and pounce on the red figure that she could see as soon as she turned her head, filling the sky and the earth. She would receive from him the sacred sacrifice for which she had been preparing all her life.

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"You just said it nicely, but aren't you worried about what will happen here if you can't stop him from killing?"

The war blacksmith muttered as he grabbed the right arm of the master of medicine and inserted it like a key into a specially reserved port on one of their Brutal Blades. The majestic main gun of this ancient behemoth was now replaced by a huge drill and a demolition iron ball. It looked very aggrieved and angry - strange, why would he think so? - But the next second, the epidermis on Hong Suo's silver-shining arm began to jump, and the metal on the Brutal Blade turret began to resonate with it. As the frequency of the resonance reached a certain consistent level, Hong Suo stared at the appearance and structure diagram of a twin-mounted vacuum acceleration cannon that had just been input into the eyepiece, and began to desperately concentrate on transferring this extremely complex drawing to his arm, and then follow the strange contact feeling on his arm to find a way to "transmit" it to the turret.

There's his father's Rekha coffee mug! This is harder than he thought! But Honsou won't lose! He'll prove it to any Iron Warrior! He, Honsou, is the best, strongest, smartest son of the Iron Warriors!
"Hmm... Well, you are the one..." The master of potions, whose brain power was mostly occupied, responded to his peer's question through gritted teeth.

"Well, even if I'm here to help you hold him down, even if you have an unimaginable way to restore his precious rationality with such great power, how are you going to convince these fanatics in front of us not to continue attacking him? Don't say I didn't remind you that when Battle Sisters and Ecclesiarchs become stubborn, they are sometimes much more difficult to deal with than Astartes Brothers."

"Well...but don't we still have you..." The master of medicine rolled his eyes. It was obvious that it was very difficult for him to quickly copy the blueprint of the cannon designed by some extraordinary brain.

"You... I know it's a little hard to get this gun back, but luckily you only have to load the data for each model once, and they'll sort it out the next time they're repeated. We'd better get rid of my kids and the Guards' vehicles before he destroys everything he can."

they.

The master of alchemy blinked, feeling the strange and tingling touch of countless extremely tiny limbs brushing against his metal skin. Goose bumps started from his arms and climbed up his spine to his scalp.

But at the same time, he also saw that his efforts had paid off. The drill and the demolition iron ball were melting, merging, and flowing in a strange way, and began to shape the appearance of a brand new twin vacuum acceleration cannon.

Obviously, this was not a casting technique known to any human being, let alone legal and reasonable. He once again doubted whether he had been too credulous to agree to cooperate with this old senior who magically shouldn't be here, and planned the thirteenth original body's relaxing trip based on this. But at this moment, in this situation, even if this kind of cooperation partner who came to help him in times of need was like drinking poison to quench thirst, Hong Suo had to quench his thirst first before talking about detoxification.

Moreover, this old guy himself was so weird that he couldn't stop his pharmacist heart... He followed him to the next vehicle waiting for weapon modification.

"Can you tell me more about your present health? Barabas."

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anger.

anger.

Burn everything.

In the face of such a raging, wild, instinctive, and primitive flame, there is no difference between a planetary governor and a poor child of the bottom nest, the void whale and the bacteriophage are equally burned, and all things will equally face their end of being destroyed into ashes by such a huge force, so that all living beings and the galaxy -

A roar like a group of beasts was like the roar of evil spirits breaking through the gates of hell, causing the 13th Primarch standing on the ruins of the last Skull Lord to turn his amber eyes towards the direction of the temple gate.

He saw it.

What…what miserable and tortured people!
Even though he had fought Chaos Daemons nine thousand years ago, witnessed the horrors brought by Lorgar, and penetrated deep into the desecrated and corrupted halls of the Emperor's Pride, the sight of these people's miserable and painful appearance still shocked the child of Konor and Jotun in his heart.

Through the orange-red vision that seemed as if he was standing in the burning core of a star or in the center of the flames of hell, the Thirteenth Primarch saw these souls crying, praying, and running towards him. They stretched out their hands high towards him, as if he was their only salvation.

-

Genevieve was flying in the sky, looking at the six hundred and fifty pairs of lit enhanced eyepieces below: those were six hundred and fifty pairs of scarlet eyes, without reason, only endless torture, repentance and pain.

She looked at the flock of sheep whose frontal lobes had been removed and seemed to be stunned for a moment, and then all rushed towards the most eye-catching red existence on the battlefield.

The biggest heretic who had rushed into the battlefield, killed their enemy and replaced him, the mist on him had dissipated into the wind, and now she could see the evil face of this great demon more clearly: his face was tattooed with heretical words, and the black horns growing on his forehead made his handsome face look solemn... no, it looked even more weird and twisted! The blasphemous heretical scriptures on his limbs and waist were fluttering in the burning wind on the battlefield, and his limbs were fit and elegant... God Emperor! She didn't mean it!
"Big Sister!" Senior Sister Navarri exclaimed from slightly below her in the air. "Look!"

She looked in the direction of the sound.

"Oh! God-Emperor! You bring us the omen of victory!"

She sang joyfully first. In front of her sight, the crazy attacks of the Penance and the Redemptionist completely enveloped the strange demon from all directions. All people could see were the saw blades raised high and then dropped, the reflection of the flails, and the light of heavy bombs and flamethrowers.

-

They needed him to bring them salvation and peace.

Somehow, immersed in the amber vision, no one had said this to him, and he had heard no physical sound, but Robert Mercury Guilliman was sure of it.

He looked down at the person who was hitting his power armor with a circular saw and an electric flail that replaced his hands. This was a young woman. There was no rational thinking in her mind, but only fear and pain. Her weakness was infinitely magnified and used in a cycle to torture her. She was in hell: a spiral hell of guilt and self-blame that she could not escape, but could not repent or be enlightened.

But should he kill such a miserable person? Was it right for him to do so? He heard a fragmentary conversation that seemed to come from somewhere.

Connor's son pricked up his ears and listened.

"...Isn't the taste of the recent Rekha coffee a bit off? I always feel like the aroma is gone. It's clearly freshly brewed but it feels like someone has drunk it... Well, anyway, you get what you want... After all, he is the son of the "God" they believe in, the biological son of the Emperor. Judging from the reaction of the young priest at that time, for such a believer of the state religion, being killed by Guilliman himself is definitely a relief and atonement. It can even be said that it is not too much of a reward..."

Is that so?
He looked at his hands thoughtfully, not caring at all about the painful attacks that were chopping, cutting, shooting and burning him - he was very powerful now, and he knew that as long as he didn't listen to the words from Connor's son, he would always be as powerful, or even stronger.

Do you want to listen?
Connor's son rolled his eyes again and looked at the people surrounding him.

They were mad and in pain, but he also "saw" pleading expressions on their faces, whose souls were twisted like beasts.

Guilliman raised his hand with a slight sigh.

(End of this chapter)