Returning to the Team
Location: Abundance III, Northern Hemisphere
Time: 30 seconds after "Old Huang's Math Lesson"
A streak of radiant light descended from afar, ignoring the laws of the material universe, and plunged straight back into Eileen's body.
She gasped.
It felt as though someone had forced a cup of scalding ginger tea into her hands in the dead of winter—heat spreading from her chest to her fingertips, sharp and invigorating.
[Phew… that was satisfying!]
Old Huang's voice rang out in her mind, utterly content.
[That bug-playing sorcerer was terrible at arithmetic, but the warp energy he'd accumulated over centuries was quite refined. Once filtered, it's almost gourmet.]
The exhaustion from her earlier full-force purification vanished. The dizziness cleared. Her limbs felt lighter than before—stronger.
Then Old Huang's tone shifted.
[Don't relax yet. Look.]
Reality returned.
The battlefield was quiet.
Too quiet.
Beneath a collapsed wall sat Veteran Raishat.
His breastplate was crushed inward. His rebreather hung shattered from his face, revealing pale, scarred flesh.
Each breath rattled wetly in his chest, pink foam bubbling at his lips.
The toxins of this plague-ridden world had penetrated deep. His lungs were ruined beyond recovery.
An Ultramarines Apothecary knelt beside him, narthecium tools retracting one by one. He looked to Sicarius and gave a slight shake of the head.
"Beyond recovery. Multiple organ failure. Neural invasion. Grant him peace."
Raishat heard.
There was no terror in his eyes—only urgency.
As a servant of the Imperium, he had long accepted death.
But not corruption.
"My lord Angel…" he rasped, giving a trembling Aquila salute toward Sicarius. "Do not let me… become one of them…"
Sicarius drew his combat blade.
For an Astartes of the Ultramarines, mercy was solemn duty.
"You shall die as a servant of the Emperor," Sicarius said, voice low and firm. "Your soul returns to Terra."
Eileen stood frozen a few meters away.
She wanted to scream.
To run forward.
To stop it.
But reason chained her feet.
She saw the blackening blood. The necrotic spread beneath his skin.
This was how Nurgle claimed the living.
"Old Huang…" she pleaded inwardly. "You have energy now… can't you save him? Even just… preserve him?"
[Don't think like that.]
Old Huang's voice was firm, almost paternal.
[Power is not omnipotence. You exhausted yourself purifying a village. Reshaping a dying body is far more complex. Even if you saved him, what about the next? And the next?]
[Remember what Sicarius taught you. Make sacrifice meaningful. If you fail to save this world, his death becomes meaningless. That would wound him far more deeply.]
Eileen bit her lip.
She could only watch as Sicarius raised the blade.
Raishat closed his eyes.
Helplessness suffocated her.
She bore holy light. She had just erased a daemon sorcerer from existence.
Yet she could not prevent a mortal's death.
[Do not cry.]
Old Huang's voice changed again.
Solemn.
Authoritative.
[You cannot defy mortality. But you can protect something greater.]
[That is why I stole that sorcerer's energy.]
Eileen's head snapped up.
"What?"
[His soul.]
[I used that warp energy to open a backdoor inside your rosarius pendant. Think of it as… a temporary sanctuary. A reception hall beyond the reach of predators.]
[It's not infinite. But it's large enough.]
[Go. Do not let the warp take him.]
Sicarius' blade hovered over Raishat's heart.
"Wait."
Eileen's voice was clear despite her tears.
Sicarius paused.
She did not shout.
She knelt beside the dying soldier.
Her hands wrapped gently around his cooling fingers.
"Don't be afraid, Uncle," she whispered softly. "Uncle Sicarius will let your body rest."
"But your soul… I will take care of it."
Raishat stared at her, golden light reflecting in his fading eyes.
Relief replaced fear.
"Thank… you…"
Sicarius met her gaze.
He understood.
The blade descended—swift and precise.
No pain.
Raishat exhaled.
Stillness.
Death.
The veil of the warp remained thin over this battlefield. Mortal souls here were prey—like blood in water.
Shadows twisted.
Invisible entities circled hungrily.
This was the horror of the 42nd Millennium.
But Eileen rose.
She pulled the golden rosarius from her collar.
The ruby core—once merely the heart of a refractor field—flared hot in her palm.
"Lift it," Old Huang instructed. "Like you're waving for dinner."
Eileen raised it high.
"Come back!"
The ruby pulsed.
A gentle yet majestic force radiated outward.
Warp predators recoiled instantly, shrieking as if burned by holy flame. They retreated into their rifts.
Raishat's soul—no longer a drifting fragment but a shape of faint golden light—turned toward her.
Not only his.
The two fallen auxilia from earlier emerged as well.
They were no longer panicked.
They were… calm.
Raishat looked at his own luminous hands.
He gave a perfect Aquila salute.
Then—
Whoosh.
Several pure streaks of light flowed into the ruby.
A clear chime echoed faintly in every mind present.
Inside the gemstone, tiny golden sigils flickered into existence.
Everyone saw it.
Astartes and mortal alike.
"They… did not vanish," Varo whispered hoarsely, struggling upright despite his wound. "They entered… the light."
An auxiliary fell to one knee.
"We… won't be devoured?"
Another raised his voice.
"Brothers! You saw it! Even in death—we return!"
"For the Saint! For the Emperor!"
Morale erupted like wildfire.
Fear of the warp—gone.
Cohl watched in silence, halberd clenched tight.
"To gather loyal souls…" he murmured. "Such authority belongs only to… the Emperor."
Eileen held the rosarius close, feeling its faint warmth.
"Old Huang… they're safe?"
[Yes.]
His voice was unusually gentle.
[It is a higher-dimensional space. No distance. No decay. Think of it as… a waiting hall.]
[But prepare yourself. It will grow heavy one day.]
[Every soul that dies believing in you will become a star within it.]
Eileen closed her eyes briefly.
Then tucked the pendant back beneath her coat.
"I'm not afraid of it being heavy."
She wiped her tears and straightened.
"Everyone, up! They didn't die for us to kneel in mud!"
The soldiers rose immediately.
Sicarius lifted his blade.
"Objective: Plague-Contaminated Core. Advance!"
This time, their pace doubled.
Mud no longer slowed them.
Rot no longer mattered.
At the front of the formation, the small figure in a dark blue coat walked steadily.
No longer merely protected.
She was a banner.
A living Aquila.
---
Far to the south—
On the primary battlefield—
Roboute Guilliman cleaved through a Death Guard champion with the Emperor's Sword blazing in his grasp.
Then—
"Achoo."
He paused, faintly irritated.
"Curious… Primarchs do not suffer illness."
He glanced northward, beyond smoke and fire.
A subtle warmth brushed his senses.
He smiled faintly.
"So. She progresses."
The smile vanished as plague marines advanced in waves beneath the watchful presence of towering daemons of Nurgle.
Guilliman lifted his blade.
"Advance. Let these traitors remember who rules Ultramar."
And the battlefield roared once more.