Chapter 304: The Beginning of Divine Punishment
On the twenty-first day of Cyrene's eighteenth year, the sky split open.
For seven days and nights, fireballs rained down upon the earth; for seven days and nights, the tides roared and swallowed the land.
And after that great cataclysm—that great conversion—she was called the Blessed Lady by the angels clad in gray armor.
From that moment on, Cyrene was no longer Cyrene.
——————————————
[The Perfect City]
"What is that?"
The shirtless boy selling holy-oil candles by the street was the first to sense that something was wrong. He squinted hard, shielding his eyes from the blazing sunlight, and looked up at the blue sky above the crowd.
Up there, the serene azure seemed to quiver—just slightly—in an unnatural rhythm.
The boy blinked, thinking he must be seeing things. How could the sky tremble? How could it shed tears like a lamb about to be slaughtered?
He stared too long, so long that the old woman bent over his stall grew impatient. She straightened up, holding three candles in her hand, displeasure clear on her face—ready to scold the inattentive little vendor.
But when she saw the boy's strange, transfixed posture, she clicked her tongue and adjusted the layers of silver bracelets on her arm. Probably just some bird mating in the air, she thought. Boys his age—even in the Holy City—were full of restless desires.
Then she turned around—
"Ah!!!"
A sharp, piercing scream shattered the bustle of the street. People turned toward the sound and saw only an old woman collapsed on the ground, and a trembling boy staring into the heavens.
Following the boy's shaking gaze, they all looked up—
The noise of the crowd vanished at once, as though someone had pressed a pause button.
From the sky fell tears of gray, each drop wreathed in orange flame, each trailing a tail of azure starlight.
Divine punishment had begun.
And when the first star struck the plaza, an angel in blue armor emerged from the crater.
——————————————
[The Ultramarines]
Captain Steloc Aethon of the Ultramarines Legion's 19th Company gripped his sword tightly as he marched among his escort. According to plan, they would land in Midnight Plaza—one of the most prosperous squares in the Perfect City.
The chemical stench of burning descent fuel mingled with the heavy incense in the square—acrid and suffocating.
Aethon calmly suppressed the unease stirring in his heart. He was merely following the orders of his Primarch, Guilliman.
That was all.
Just that.
He watched the gathered civilians kneel and crawl toward the landing pods like newborn lambs, murmuring prayers under their breath. Aethon felt disgust as he caught fragments of their words—praises to the Emperor, hymns to His sons.
But that disgust did little to drown out the anxiety coiled in his chest.
He gave himself a single second to compose his mind, then activated his helmet's vox-caster. Static hissed.
And as rehearsed a thousand times before, he spoke the words he had been ordered to speak.
"We, the warriors of the XIIIth Legion, are oathed to this moment, honour-sworn to this duty. We come bearing the Emperor's decree to the tenth world brought to Compliance by the Forty-Seventh Expedition of humanity's Great Crusade."
His cold, steady voice spread through every corner of the plaza. He could hear whispers ripple through the crowd—some anxious, some expectant—but most were only muttering meaningless prayers.
He continued, ensuring that his tone did not falter:
"As punishment for your heresy of faith, the Emperor has decreed the destruction of the Perfect City. You are granted three days to gather your belongings. On the fourth day, the 47th Expeditionary Fleet will breach the city gates, allowing four additional days for evacuation."
"On the seventh and final day, your planetary governor is authorized to send a single psychic transmission—a plea for aid—to the 17th Legion."
When he finished, all sound vanished.
The world held its breath.
The prayers vanished—as if stunned into silence. The people froze where they stood, turning to statues among the stone pilgrims that lined the square.
Aethon let out a quiet sigh—the sound, filtered through his vox, came out as a crisp burst of static.
The next moment, curses, screams, prayers, and sobs surged toward him like a breaking wave.
People shrieked and pushed together in panic. Some tried to flee, only to trip over others and fall. Some fainted outright, collapsing to the ground and blending with those already kneeling in frantic prayer. Others hurled spit or stones at the warriors; still others tried to stop them, and soon scuffles broke out among the crowd.
Aethon calmly reached for the bolt pistol at his waist. He could hear the small stones tapping against his armor—dry, hollow clicks. One hand gripped his sword, its tip resting on the ground; the other raised the pistol slowly.
Sunlight washed over his cerulean armor, glinting into a blinding white.
Bang!!!
Old and young, men and women—all froze once more, staring at him in terror, at the pistol barrel still faintly steaming in the light.
[You have seven days.]
Aethon said, [No one is permitted to remain here past the dawn of the seventh day. Resistance will be met with bloodshed.]
[I repeat—Resistance will be met with bloodshed.]
Aethon swallowed hard. Now, the required words had all been spoken.
[From my personal standpoint,] he continued, softening his tone as much as he could, [I advise you to face reality and leave by the fourth day. As warriors of the 47th Expeditionary Fleet, we protect the lawful rights of all Imperial citizens. So long as you follow the Emperor's decree in good order, your lives will not be harmed.]
The crowd was silent for a moment—until a voice rang out:
"This is our home! Where else can we go?!"
With his sharp instincts, Aethon located the source—a hunched old woman, her mouth moving endlessly.
He leveled his bolt pistol toward her. She flinched violently, and a man beside her—probably her son—stepped in front of her protectively.
[Resistance will be met with bloodshed, madam. Return to your home, gather your belongings, and depart on the fourth day.]
A bottle shattered at his feet.
Aethon sighed again, then fired a warning shot into the sky. Around him, the other Ultramarines began dispersing the crowd.
Above the city, drop pods continued to fall—a rain of fire streaking across the heavens.
Expressionless, Aethon watched it all unfold. The operation was proceeding smoothly—so smoothly they hadn't even needed the contingency plan.
His private communication channel crackled to life. The voice that spoke was calm—unnervingly calm—yet somehow carried an undertone of ease… a kind of genuine tranquility, not the forced kind.
[Captain Aethon of the 19th Company, this is Hades, Head of the Silent Sisterhood. Reporting status?]
[Lord Hades, this is Ultramarine Aethon. The populace has been warned. After a day of expected chaos, most will return to their homes.]
Static flickered through the channel.
[Acknowledged,] said the voice, [We will act on the night of the first day. See that the city is sealed. No suspicious persons are to leave prematurely. If necessary, you may impose a curfew.]
Aethon hesitated.
[Lord Hades, that might be… difficult—]
[Haha, it's merely a suggestion. It'll make things easier on our end, though probably harder for you. Don't worry—proceed as you see fit, and keep bloodshed to a minimum.]
The tone of the Silent Order's master was disarmingly casual… it gave Aethon a strange illusion—that he was carrying out just another routine assignment. That illusion dulled, for a moment, the unease in his chest.
[Good luck with your mission, Captain Aethon.]
The voice said. Aethon opened his mouth slightly.
[Acknowledged. Good luck to you as well, Lord Hades.]
The transmission cut off immediately.
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