Marcus Ognis Lucretius could feel death touching every inch of his skin, and it hurt him—pain deep in his bones.
The heretics were doing something in this church, casting a deep shadow, causing sharp sounds to echo in the subspace, like screams.
Ever since Marcus set foot in Valedo, this feeling has never stopped, following him like the shadow of death.
Just like that damn bird.
It was standing there, its curved claws clutching the edge of the girder.
The bird just stood there, motionless, not blinking, not chirping, not preening her feathers, she just stood there staring at Marcus.
On the pillar below where it rests, there is a sign daubed with blood, and the pungent smell passes through the thick stench of smoke and reaches everyone's noses.
It was a spiral surrounding a narrow pupil, a sign of heresy.
The spiral wound so perfectly that Marcus couldn't help but feel a little trance-like and felt difficulty breathing.
The person who drew this symbol fell under this pillar, his body extremely broken. Only the robes of the state priest he wore during his lifetime and a large number of feather decorations could be vaguely seen, and his skin was also tattooed with colorful tattoos with metallic luster.
This heretic is the bishop of this church and one of the heretics that Marcus is hunting. Before the riot, he had already identified several important lists and planned to arrest them secretly.
But the subsequent rebellion interrupted Marcus's plan, and the bishop hid in the shadows. He thought he was perfectly hidden, but he was wrong.
Heretics have no place to hide before the Inquisitor.
Because Marcus didn't need footprints, vision or even sound to hunt, he could follow the scent of heresy in the darkness to the pillar where he painted the symbol.
Then destroyed him.
Only a few people know that in addition to being a judge, Marcus is also a psyker and a psychic user, which is also his last trump card.
But now, looking at the symbol of heresy, he unconsciously tightened his grip on the family sword in his hand, and the psychic crystal on the top of the sword's hilt also buzzed.
Suddenly, the pillar in front of him began to break, and the fragments flew out and floated in the air around Marcus together with other objects, including tools, rivets, screws, empty bullet casings, broken bones...
The objects floated around the Inquisitor, causing the ground beneath his feet to tremble and the pipes above him to bend and twist.
He tasted blood, blood splattered on Marcus's lips, blood on the pillars, blood drawing heretical symbols.
That eye, it never blinks, just like the bird.
"Marcus."
A voice sounded, forcing Marcus to look away from the bird.
One of his followers, Verne, a retired Astra Militarum veteran, was standing to his right, lasgun in hand but not raised.
Not far away, another of his followers, Karsus, an assassin from the Death Cult, was also watching him.
Although his face was hidden under a pale skull mask, Marcus could feel the vigilant and murderous eyes of the Death Cult assassin.
This is not the first time that an accident has happened to him, and danger has been waiting for him.
Loss of control over psychic abilities is a problem faced by every psyker.
And the endings are often very bad.
Marcus wanted to speak, but found that he could not speak, as if the blood on his lips had sealed his mouth.
Something was surrounding him like a storm.
Arcs of lightning continued to flash across his finely crafted breastplate, but Verne did not flinch.
"control."
The meaning of the veteran's words was very clear. His gun did not move, and the hanging muzzle was round and black, just like the bloody eye, like the bird's eye.
"control."
Malthus Xiaoye repeated.
More blood poured into Marcus' mouth, seeming to drown him.
Marcus blinked, constantly recalling the trials he had received in the past, and filling his heart with firm faith.
After a burst of heat, she saw it behind his eyes - a giant tree made of human tissue standing in the center of the huge courtyard, its roots tightly wrapped around the ground under its feet like bird's claws, bone-white The canopy stretches upward, touching the sky filled with thunderstorms.
In the sky, a silver-gray falcon was fighting with a giant snake looming in the clouds. Its cry shook the world.
This is an omen, or a foreshadowing.
Afterwards, Marcus felt the pain in his body lessen,
"Don't worry."
He was finally able to speak.
"I won't break down."
Objects surrounding him fell to the ground, sounding like a storm.
After taking a few deep breaths, Marcus wiped the blood off his face with his hands, leaving red traces.
"I see it. The enemy is here, in the darkness."
Seeing that Marcus was back to normal, several others also breathed a sigh of relief, and Verne took the opportunity to light a cigarette.
"Call the fleet?"
"I'm afraid it's difficult. Subspace communications have been shrouded in the shape of dark projections, and everything is changing."
Although the words were spoken clearly, Marcus knew that few people at the scene could understand them. It was more like a cruel joke from the bird.
He had seen the bird for months, and it had followed him ever since he walked the streets of the hive city of Vigil.
But as long as he could see the creature, he never mentioned the bird to anyone, least of all Verne.
This will make him nervous, thinking it's a stupid invitation to die.
Only Marcus himself knew that this was just a mysterious subspace creature, just like all the moments he encountered in his life, it was just another trial.
And he will never collapse.
The veteran walked up to the bishop's broken body. After looking at it for a moment, he kicked over the oil lamp on the side. The holy oil that leaked immediately ignited a fire and engulfed the remains.
"Well, now it's up to him to answer for his previous stupidity."
The Death Cult assassin leaning against the pillar nodded.
"We all will, in death."
Although he was used to the other party's pessimism, Verne shook his head this time.
"Then death has to catch me first."
These words made Marcus laugh, so loudly that he coughed violently.
"Then death must be very lucky, if you want to catch a thorn like you."
Verne smiled, but it was a real smile.
They were all aching from the fatigue of battle. Since arriving on this planet, they had been pulling triggers almost every second and swinging combat knives every minute.
Every time they destroyed the enemy, the pain increased, but the pain did not stop them from continuing to fight, swing their swords, shoot, and kill.
Marcus glanced at the corpse on the ground again, and after confirming that the other party had been completely destroyed, he took out a small encrypted data pad and started recording.
