Chapter 9: All Life is Decay, All Life is Eternal
Although the Priest exuded confidence as he comforted the crowd, he knew they couldn't hold out for much longer. The vox communication, after working for a short while, had cut out again. What terrified him more was that before the riot, he had seen the Rogue Trader, Ludwig, heading towards the even lower decks of the voidship with his personal guard.
Before leaving, Ludwig had come to the chapel to pray. During that prayer, the Priest noticed that the Rogue Trader's condition was very wrong; the weakened expression and occasional coughs shouldn't have appeared on his face. Powerful implants and the best medical care should have prevented normal illnesses and fatigue from affecting him.
He had also vaguely heard the Master of Discipline, who accompanied the Rogue Trader, mention searching for something. But what could possibly be in the lower decks that a Rogue Trader would covet? Even if it were necessary, why not just send a squad of soldiers instead of going personally?
There was nothing down there but profane mutants and dregs.
The Priest forced himself not to dwell on these thoughts. At the time, he hadn't been in a position to question the Rogue Trader's decision. Besides, there were more important matters at hand: holding out until reinforcements arrived.
At the start of the riot, the chapel already had soldiers protecting it. The influx of many Enforcers and shipwrights had given them enough manpower to fight off the Poxwalkers outside.
However, the large numbers also brought a severe burden: food was running out, and ammunition was nearly exhausted. The shipwrights were not professional soldiers, nor did they have suitable weapons for close-quarters combat with creatures carrying the Poxwalker plague; fighting them was simply sending men to their deaths.
He had personally seen slain individuals rise again as mindless monsters.
"Everyone, don't believe him anymore! We're doomed… The God-Emperor has abandoned us! The Rogue Trader will never come to save us! Don't you know what those nobles are like? Those aristocratic masters don't care if we live or die!
They'll cut off our heating supply and let us freeze to death! Those Enforcers will break our legs without hesitation for the smallest infraction and dock our rations! We're just disposable tools to them; our lives mean nothing in their eyes!
You just watch… soon the Priest will lead the soldiers to break out, leaving us here to die and attract the attention of those monsters outside! It's over! We're all finished!"
A man, overcome by despair, broke down. His words ignited a commotion within the crowd.
The sound of prayers ceased abruptly.
The surviving shipwrights all looked towards the Priest, their doubtful eyes indicating their faith was shaken.
Some even began to voice their agreement!
"Soldiers! Seize those men! How dare they slander the God-Emperor! Unforgivable!
The God-Emperor is perfect! It is He who bestowed upon us the Holy Light! It is He who led us out of darkness and created our home! He endures endless torment and suffering solely to protect us! Compared to what the God-Emperor endures, what are the hardships we face now?!"
Hearing someone slander the God-Emperor, the Priest erupted in fury. Compared to the traitors outside, the Priest found such questioning of the God-Emperor from humans far more intolerable.
Soldiers pushed through the crowd and seized the man. No matter how he struggled, how could he possibly overpower a soldier?
These shipwrights, who usually subsisted on corpse starch, were physically far inferior to the soldiers.
Amidst desperate screams, a soldier ended his life with a single shot.
However, the death did not quell the unrest in the crowd; instead, it made the already tense people even more terrified.
Faith began to waver at this moment… If one were to look at this holy chapel from the outside, they would see it slowly dimming.
The plague-ridden fog, once held at bay by the God-Emperor's light, began to seep inwards.
And now, more and more figures appeared in the area outside the chapel.
Large numbers of Poxwalkers, interspersed with many Nurgle cultists, shambled towards the chapel. The Chaos cultists had even brought out an autocannon and a hellgun. But this time, there was a distinct group at the forefront of the Poxwalkers.
Their bodies hardly resembled humans anymore. Pustules, festering sores, and keratinous growths had altered their original human forms.
Unlike the Poxwalkers, they still retained their consciousness.
A thick, putrid stench emanated from them. Maggots writhed in their decaying flesh, and swarms of flies buzzed around them.
"My brothers, do you see? The followers of the False Emperor are killing each other! Their faith is collapsing! Yet we are as close as brothers. The Great Grandfather has bestowed upon us strength, and we shall bring His gifts to everyone on this voidship."
"Praise be to the Grandfather! All life is decay, all life is eternal!"
The Nurgle cultists chanted in unison, each holding a bowl of dark green soup. The sound of their chanting reached inside the chapel.
"Listen, you people in the chapel! Embrace the Grandfather! We are not here to bring you suffering. We are all from the lower decks. We are brothers, sisters, compatriots! We depend on each other for survival.
I am here to bring you liberation! Drink this soup, and you will no longer feel hunger, nor will you suffer from the torment of disease! Have you forgotten the feeling of huddling on your beds, enduring hunger and cold?
Have you forgotten your loved ones dying in agony from illnesses, unable to receive treatment? They could have lived with just a single medical injector, yet those nobles watched us die!
None of this will happen again! We shall all achieve eternal life in the Grandfather's embrace! It is an equal world, a beautiful garden, a world of our own! We will all find eternal peace by the Grandfather's side!"
But no matter what these Nurgle cultists said, their current appearance was far too horrifying for any normal human.
These were no longer human bodies. Though they were alive, it was only because of the supernatural diseases within them that they remained so.
The Priest gave up trying to control the chaotic crowd. Instead, he began to organize the remaining soldiers for a last stand. Looking outside, he saw that the entire chapel was surrounded, escape was impossible. He was even more determined not to let the God-Emperor's chapel be defiled; he would rather fight here to the death!
"Warriors of the God-Emperor, take up your arms! Distribute weapons to those willing to fight! The rest of you, get to the back!"
"Great God-Emperor, His strength is matchless! I beseech You, save us from the hands of our enemies! Inspire us, help us to surpass our foes! Show us the path to victory! I pray that You allow us to triumph in Your eternal name!"
The Priest began his pre-battle prayers, ready to demonstrate his loyalty to the God-Emperor with his life.
The battle erupted without warning.
The soldiers inside the chapel opened fire, but shots that would kill a normal person inflicted little significant damage on these Nurgle cultists.
These Nurgle worshippers seemed to have lost even the sensation of pain. Countless maggots filled their already decaying bodies.
"My brothers and sisters, go and save these lost souls! When the Grandfather's gift enters their bodies, they will know that everything we have said is true!"
With that, swarms of deadly plague flies flew from their bodies towards the people in the chapel, and the Poxwalkers began their charge.
"For the God-Emperor!"
"For the Grandfather!"
—
"Quick! Faster! The vox array is jammed on the lower decks! We haven't had a reply from the chapel in a long time!"
The map had been uploaded to the combat suits' systems. Real-time route guidance on their visors led the soldiers forward.
Scattered bands of traitors along the way were powerless to stop the advancing column and were easily shattered. Chambers or rooms containing survivors were marked, and this location data was shared with follow-up teams.
With the surplus Psy-crystals, Lucan had built another Barracks. The doubled production rate meant a second batch of CMC combat suits had already been delivered to the lower decks and distributed.
However, the upper decks of this poor voidship were suffering. To gather enough resources, Pavian had become somewhat frenzied. Missing railings, stripped hull plating – anything that didn't affect the ship's normal operation was dismantled by Pavian's servitors and thrown into the Barracks' hoppers.
He wasn't just stripping his own designated areas; he had even extended his reach to other decks.
The once opulent, solemn interior of the voidship was now missing pieces here and there. Crew members and section heads from various decks complained to Lucan about Pavian's actions. Some even said Pavian had stripped their beds and chairs. Lucan had no choice but to make Pavian restrain himself a little.
(End of Chapter)