Chapter 173: Still Alive!
Francis was riding high on his own success when a Soul Drinker's voice cut through his reverie: "My Lord, you've given away our entire food supply. What do we eat? What will the auxiliary eat?"
They clearly didn't want to starve for the sake of baseline humans when they had a mission to prosecute.
"That's not a problem," Francis said breezily. "Once things settle, get to the planetary governor. He'll provide resources."
That satisfied them. Food was non-negotiable.
Francis continued with a kind expression, as if absolutely committed to this bit. "God also said: He will heal everyone."
A faint green light emanated from his body. The blessing Isha had given him. Healing.
It wouldn't reach the entire planet, but partial credit was fine.
In the shadows, the Thousand Sons psychers activated their psychic abilities in unison. They let the people feel their blood flow faster, their strength return. Sunlight bathed the city with almost theatrical timing.
The Imperium's people felt warmth spread through their bodies. Their wounds stopped bleeding, and the bruises everyone was riddled with faded. Muscles weakened by starvation regained definition.
An elderly woman's hands trembled. Her fingers, once stiff from decades of labor, now clenched easily. A soldier looked down at the fatal degloving chest wound that should have killed him; it had scabbed over, and it was healed, the lost mass had somehow returned. He dropped to his knees, tears streaming, and whispered to the sky.
"The God-Emperor's grace... the Ninth and Eleventh Divine Sons have pulled us from the abyss!"
Across the city, people stopped. They felt the change. A young mother held her weak child, watching his pale face flood with color. The child's eyes opened.
"Mother..."
The mother's tears became sobs. She knelt, held him, and screamed her gratitude to the heavens. "Great God-Emperor! The Ninth and Eleventh Divine Sons have granted us rebirth!"
In the square, a lame man stood for the first time in years. His legs held. He ran to the Emperor's statue and raised his arms, roaring: "The God-Emperor's radiance has healed me! He never abandoned us!"
The crowd erupted. Thousands knelt before the statue, chanting the sacred words. Their voices echoed from street to square, spreading gratitude and fervor throughout the city.
"Glory to the God-Emperor! The Ninth and Eleventh Divine Sons are His messengers! His incarnations! Our guardians!"
People who'd doubted the Emperor for years dropped to their knees, tears streaming, pounding their chests. "I deserve death! I deserve death! How dare I question Him?! I'm so stupid!"
Sanguinius, watching this hysteria unfold, wanted to sink into the ground. Fortunately, he was currently a meteorite covered in eyes so that nobody could see his mortification.
As the crowd's cheers reached fever pitch, Francis and Sanguinius slipped away. They flew into the clouds and boarded their landing craft. The civilians, naturally, interpreted this as divine ascension and screamed even louder.
...
The planetary governor sat in his palace, tension barely concealed on his face.
He understood the Imperium vaguely. He'd been too cowardly to join the rebellion, but what he'd just witnessed had fundamentally reorganized his priorities.
The Imperium genuinely has a God. He must govern accordingly. With this revelation came a strange comfort: the tithes weren't so unreasonable if it meant the planet survived.
Three Astartes teams had just politely requested supplies. The governor found this... encouraging. The always indomitable and unbending Imperium was becoming more humane.
"Look at what they took," he decided. "They saved the planet. The tithe alone doesn't express our gratitude. Give them more."
His guard ran out and returned in a panic, shouting: "Your Excellency! They've emptied the entire warehouse!"
The governor, who'd been eating fruit in leisure, sat bolt upright and made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a strangled laugh.
"What?"
On the fortress in orbit, a Soul Drinker tallied the supplies repeatedly, his brow deepening with confusion.
"It's... doubled? How is it doubled?"
Francis had already broadcast the "healing" message to every planet in the Calixis system. Even inside the fortress, faint sounds of prayer drifted through the corridors.
He found Sanguinius in the lab and launched into his philosophy unprompted: "See? For people at the bottom of society, faith is the best medicine for suffering. If we don't provide it, someone else will. If everyone could live happily, maybe destruction would come more slowly."
He attached another probe to Sanguinius's meteorite form as he spoke.
Sanguinius immediately saw through this. "So why am I actually here being measured, Francis?"
"What? I'm checking your health! Do you think I'd dissect you just to study your current form?" Francis looked genuinely hurt at the accusation.
Sunguinius looked straight in Francis's eyes and said with absolute certainty, "Yes. I absolutely think that."
Francis's indignation was palpable. "You're amazing, you know that?"
Sanguinius pressed on: "Why are you going to the Administratum alone? That's incredibly reckless."
Francis scratched his head, formulating an excuse, when something crashed into his memory like a falling asteroid. "Yes, Dammit. How long have we been here?"
"About a Terran year. Why?"
"We're doomed! Get to the Aleph system! Now!" Francis's face went green.
Sanguinius felt dread settle in his chest. "Why? What happened?"
"I forgot, dammit! I went in search of an antidote for Curze. He's dying," Francis said flatly.
Sanguinius's eyes went wide. "Why didn't you say so immediately?! I would have carried you there myself!"
"Wait." Francis held up a hand and summoned a white Ork. He leaned in and whispered instructions.
The white Ork looked confused. "Whaz is... Curze boss? What iz... alive?"
Francis smacked him hard.
The Ork's eyes cleared instantly with pain-induced clarity. He pounded his chest and roared: "Yes, Lord Francis! We will do it!"
He charged into the rec lounge, where other white Orks were lounging, and let out a massive bellow.
"BROTHERS! THE TIME FOR BATTLE HAS COME! CURZE IS ALIVE! WAAAAAAGH!"
The white Orks responded with primal enthusiasm, throwing themselves into a chaotic wrestling match. They slammed each other across the lounge, dust flying, collision after collision, all while screaming in unison:
"CURZE IS ALIVE! CURZE IS ALIVE! WAAAAAAAAGH!"
Sanguinius watched this unfold with profound doubt that any of it would actually work.
"Let's go," Francis said, and Sanguinius immediately grabbed him and shot toward the hangar.
Aleph
Deep within the Nightfall, the Night Lords' flagship, the medical bay lay in shadow, the only sound: the low hum of a stasis field.
Curze hung suspended in its center, a figure barely recognizable as a Primarch. His body was skeletal, skin clinging tight to bone, an unnatural gray. Black veins of decay twisted across his arms and chest. His eyes were sunken, closed as if enduring endless torment, with no strength left to fight it.
A green light flickered into existence, softening the pain etched across his brow. The Night Lords noticed but didn't investigate.
Months ago, when Curze was at his worst, a golden light had appeared and stabilized him. They'd learned not to question miracles.
In Curze's dreams, he crawled through the dark caves of Nostramo again, desperate, searching for light. After an eternity of crawling, he emerged.
A human stood there, also covered in dust. This time, Curze didn't kill him. Even starving, he held back.
Then something slammed into the back of his skull. He turned to see a grinning face. "What a tender child."
Curze killed him anyway. He ate the brain tissue. Broke it down. All the violence, fear, selfishness, and cruelty flooded into him, his first real meal.
This planet taught him nothing but baseness. Murder was the only language it spoke.
Theft? Kill.
Petty crime? Kill.
Slander? Kill.
He didn't even wait for the crime to happen. He arrived at their homes and tortured them until they begged. One word for judgment: kill.
All guilty...no exceptions.
In the Warp's whispers, Curze saw them. The people he'd slaughtered. Young women who stole formula for babies. Girls who took nail polish as a prank. Gang members he'd tortured, all of them.
His eyes went bloodshot. He clutched his head and laughed bitterly.
"Kill! Kill! Kill! You are all guilty!"
"YOU ARE ALL GUILTY!!"
[End of Chapter]
Want to read more than 50+ chapters right now!
patreon.com/cw/Mr_UmU
https://www.patreon.com/Mr_UmU
____
Want bonus chapters? You got it.
Goal: 350 – Achieved: 338 = 2 Bonus Chapters
📌 1 Power Stone on the Book Page = 100 on Chapter Pages!
!! VISIT the BOOK PAGE to donate your Power Stone.