Pardon and the Dead
The air screamed.
This was no metaphor. When the Black Stone Suppressors throughout the chamber overloaded and collapsed, the oppressive darkness shattered in an instant. The veil that had smothered the room was torn apart—along with the observation deck's reinforced glass.
In its place came light.
Not the beam of a searchlight. Not the flare of a flame.
Something purer. More fundamental. Closer to the very concept of "light" itself.
It did not blind the eyes.
It struck the soul.
The pistol Inquisitor Herman had drawn slipped from his hand and clattered against the floor.
He wanted to fire. He wanted to fulfill his sacred duty—to purge any potential warp corruption.
His mind screamed: Shoot!
But beneath that golden radiance, his finger refused to obey.
This was not fear.
Fear is trembling before the unknown.
This was awe.
The instinctive submission of a mortal standing before the Lord of Humanity.
Amid swirling dust and sparking fragments of shattered force fields, the small girl slowly rose into the air. Gravity bent like a toy in her grasp.
Eileen's eyes were gone—replaced by twin burning golden flames.
Her flaxen hair danced wildly in a windless chamber, each strand shimmering like liquid metal. Behind her head, flowing radiance wove itself into a jagged halo of steel, slowly turning.
---
[Warning: Host emotional threshold exceeded. Divine Takeover Mode: Activated.]
[Damn. These Black Stone Suppressors are poor quality. I was worried about restraining the output. Since this old man insists on seeing the "truth"… fine. Let him see it.]
I sighed within Eileen's consciousness. I had planned to keep things quiet until she grew stronger. But with a gun practically aimed at my face, maintaining a low profile was no longer an option.
In reality, Eileen—or rather, the divine presence descending through her—lowered her head slightly and looked down at Herman, who lay trembling on the floor.
She spoke.
Her lips did not move.
Yet her voice detonated directly inside every mind present.
It was layered with countless tones: the whisper of an old man, the roar of a warrior, the comfort of a father, the judgment of a sovereign.
It was the echo of billions of human souls within the Warp—thunder forged from their convergence.
"Herman…"
At the mere utterance of his name, Herman felt as if his soul had been ripped free and placed beneath an unforgiving lens. The iron will he had forged through decades of fighting heresy crumbled like ash.
"Your blade… was pointed… in the wrong direction."
She raised a hand—white and radiant as the rock of Macragge—burning yet gentle. She pointed not in condemnation, but in guidance.
"On that day… in the ashes of Getaramo… your fear… and your guilt… blinded you."
"Aaaah—!"
Herman screamed.
The words pierced like molten iron into the oldest wound of his heart.
Gatarama.
That hell.
The demon that had deceived them all. The hive city that had transformed overnight into a carnival of Warp corruption.
He remembered the firelight. The screams.
He remembered aiming his gun at his corrupted friend—then trembling… and running.
Running.
Before his daughter's eyes.
"I am guilty! I am a coward!" Herman collapsed to his knees, smashing his forehead against the floor until blood streamed down his face. "Kill me, Your Majesty! I deserve death!"
Before such pure divinity, there was nowhere for doubt or fear to hide.
In the corner, the Silent Sister knelt as well.
As an Untouchable, she possessed no soul. Psychic pressure should have meant nothing to her.
But this was not psychic force.
This was authority.
Behind the floating girl, she saw the towering shadow of a golden, middle-aged man—a figure formed of divine radiance.
The Master she had sworn to serve.
Before absolute Imperial authority, even the soulless bowed.
---
"HOLY! HOLY! I KNEW IT!"
The ventilation grille burst open. Reverend Mathieu tumbled out, nose bloodied, tablet clutched in hand. Ignoring the pain, he crawled forward, frantically recording.
"This is Revelation! The Gospel of Hera's Fortress! Write it down! 'When false believers tremble, the God-King descends in thunder!'"
---
Guilliman stood behind the shattered observation deck, fingers digging into reinforced material until it cracked.
He looked at the floating girl.
His "sister."
His "father."
"Is this what you have become… Father?" he murmured. "No longer the cold architect of destiny… but something capable of compassion?"
During the Great Crusade, the Emperor would not have reasoned with a mortal who dared raise a weapon against Him.
He would have judged.
And that would have been enough.
But now—
---
[System Notification: Target "Herman" mental breakdown at 99%. Without intervention: self-destruction imminent.]
[Assessment: Annoying, but loyal. Eliminating him would only delight Chaos.]
[Decision: Activate Psychotherapy Module. Special Effect: "Farewell."]
---
The atmosphere shifted again.
The crushing divinity receded like a withdrawing tide.
Warmth replaced it.
Not blazing.
Gentle.
Like sunlight after a winter that lasted too long.
Like a campfire glimpsed by a lost traveler in endless darkness.
Herman stopped bowing.
Slowly, he lifted his blood-soaked face.
The floating girl descended slightly, golden flames softening into drifting particles of light.
Those particles gathered.
Took shape.
A little girl.
Seven or eight years old. White dress trimmed with lace. A worn teddy bear clutched to her chest.
Her once-blurred features sharpened.
In her eyes there was no pain.
No fear.
Only innocence.
"Nini… Nyss?"
Herman's voice broke like a rusted hinge.
He reached out—but stopped halfway, afraid she would vanish.
His daughter.
The child he believed lost to Gatarama's nightmare.
"Daddy."
Her voice was clear and bright.
"Look. I have a new dress. Grandpa Golden gave it to me."
She spun, scattering light like stardust. When her small hand rested on his trembling one, Herman felt warmth.
Real warmth.
"I'm not hurting anymore, Papa," she smiled, pointing upward. "It's warm there. No monsters. Just many uncles and aunties singing like angels."
"Nyss… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
The Inquisitor wept openly.
"I couldn't save you…"
"It's not your fault," she whispered, leaning close and placing a gentle kiss on his blood-streaked forehead. "Take care of yourself. Eat properly. And don't drink before bed."
She stepped back.
Her form began dissolving into light.
"I have to go. Grandpa Golden is calling me. Goodbye, Daddy."
"Nyss! Don't go! Take me with you!"
He grasped at the air.
Only golden dust slipped through his fingers.
She was gone.
But the warmth remained.
The demon named guilt, which had devoured him for decades, was gone.
Purified.
---
The divine radiance faded from Eileen.
[Healing complete. Sponsored by the Golden Throne. Exhausted. Logging off.]
Her body went limp.
She fell forward.
"Watch out!"
Guilliman moved—but someone was faster.
Herman.
The same man who had aimed a gun at her moments ago surged forward, catching her before she hit the ground.
Eileen blinked groggily.
Everything felt like a dream.
She remembered anger.
Then white light.
Now—
She saw Herman, kneeling, face streaked with tears and blood.
Pitiful.
Broken.
"Waaah… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" he sobbed, clutching her carefully. "Thank you… for your mercy…"
Eileen didn't understand.
But she had seen grown men cry before. Old Joe did it when he drank too much.
So she did what she always did.
She patted his back gently.
"Don't cry, Cop," she said softly. "Even if you were mean, I forgive you. Just… don't point a gun at me again."
That innocent forgiveness shattered him completely.
"I swear!" Herman raised a trembling hand. "For the rest of my life—until my soul returns to Your Throne or is extinguished—I will be your loyal hound. I will stand before any enemy who seeks to harm you. I will be the first and the last mortal in your defense."
The door opened.
Guilliman entered, followed by Honor Guards.
He took in the shattered black stone. The kneeling Inquisitor. The confused little girl yawning in his arms.
He felt something tighten in his chest.
"Is this what you wished to show me, Father?" he wondered silently. "That power is not only destruction… but redemption."
He approached.
"Inquisitor Herman."
Herman gently set Eileen down and bowed deeply. He removed the Inquisition's badge from his chest and placed it on the floor.
"No longer, Your Highness," he said calmly. "That hateful inquisitor is dead. Only a Redeemer remains."
Guilliman regarded him.
"Very well," the Primarch said at last. "Redeemer Herman. Your punishment is commuted. You will live—and uphold your oath."
"That is my honor, Regent."
---
(In her mind)
Eileen: Old Huang… can you really bring his daughter back?
[I can't now. But one day, when you're strong enough, we'll storm the Warp and make those brats spit everything back out.]
---
In the corner, Reverend Mathieu scribbled frantically.
Title: The Gospel of Saint Eileen: The Forgiveness of the Daughter of Saint Zai.
(Watching from backstage, I gave him a silent thumbs up.)
[Not bad. Dramatic. I like it.]