Chapter 41: The Wolf and the Dog
After paying respects to the towering golden statue, Kian Voss began the long walk toward the Cathedral behind it.
The structure was a Gothic masterpiece—a monolith of plasteel and stone. Gargantuan pillars depicted the armored forms of the Adeptus Astartes, and the architecture felt heavy with the weight of ten thousand years of fanaticism.
Crowds of pilgrims in tattered robes shuffled through the high arched entrance. Guarding the threshold were several Ministorum Militiamen, leaning on heavy brazier-staves that flickered with low-grade promethium flames. Their eyes were cold, scanning the masses for "unseemly" elements.
Most importantly, they were there to ensure everyone paid the "Spiritual Tithe." In the Imperium, even if you wanted to beg a God who hadn't spoken in ten millennia for help, you had to pay for the privilege.
Kian watched as a guard turned away a woman whose rags were too soiled. He didn't wait for a confrontation. He pulled a 100-scrip note from his pocket, flicked it in the air for the guards to see, and dropped it into the iron donation box. The soldiers stepped aside, their expressions shifting from apathy to a dull, professional respect.
Inside, the nave was vast enough to hold a PDF regiment. Thousands of people were on their knees, their voices a low drone that mingled with the heavy scent of incense and wax.
At the far end stood a more intricate, four-meter-tall statue of the Emperor. It depicted him as a man with long black hair and bronzed skin—the common "High Gothic" interpretation of his Terran visage.
Kian knew better. The "Golden Man" was a psychic shapeshifter. He projected an aura that made everyone see their own version of perfection. If your idea of perfection is a waifu-Emperor with thigh-highs, Kian thought with a smirk, that's probably what you'd see before a Custodian cleaved you into molecules for thinking it.
Kian wasn't here to pray. He scanned the perimeter for an opening. Near the side walls stood several Cenobites—low-level lay brothers in grey hoods responsible for the upkeep of the candles and the herding of the faithful.
He spotted one standing alone near a side-alcove. Kian approached and leaned against a pillar, pulling out a pack of Lho-sticks.
"Praise the Throne. Busy day?"
The brother glanced at the pack. Kian offered one. The man took it and tucked it into his sleeve without lighting it.
"Praise the Throne," the Cenobite replied tonelessly. "According to the morning broadsheets, we are all very happy and blessed. The Emperor's light is blinding, truly."
Kian almost laughed. Another cynic. This planet is full of them.
"I'm looking for a novice named Theresa," Kian whispered. "Sixteen years old. Her parents sent her here a few days ago before they... moved to the sub-levels. They sent me to deliver a message of safety."
He pulled the envelope from his pocket, holding it so the Cenobite could see the seal.
"I don't suppose a devoted servant of the Creed would be willing to deliver a bit of family comfort to a lonely girl?"
The brother looked at the letter, then stared Kian in the eye, his face like a stone mask.
Kian smiled and rubbed his thumb against the paper, revealing a 100-scrip note hidden underneath. "Naturally, the Emperor rewards those who assist his flock."
The Cenobite's hand moved like a strike-snake, snatching the letter and the scrip in one motion. He gave a sharp, nearly invisible nod.
"Stay here. Do not wander."
The brother vanished through a heavy iron side-door. Kian sat on a stone bench, watching the spectacle in the main hall.
The prayer session was reaching its "fever pitch." At the central pulpit, a Preacher in red vestments held a massive, iron-bound book of litanies and screamed at the rafters.
"THE EMPEROR IS ALL-KNOWING!"
The thousands of kneeling wretches roared back: "THE EMPEROR IS ALL-KNOWING!"
"HIS WILL IS THE IRON THAT BINDS THE GALAXY! THE HERETIC SHALL FIND NO SHELTER!"
"THE HERETIC SHALL FIND NO SHELTER!"
The noise was a chaotic wall of sound, echoing off the high ceilings until individual words became a blur of static. Kian found the whole scene surreal. He figured since he was in the Space King's house, he might as well add his own "devotion" to the noise.
He cupped his hands and joined the shouting, blending his voice into the fanatical roar:
"Hey, Golden-Man! You still looking for a promotion?"
"Praise the Four-Armed Emperor! Wait, wrong script!"
"Old Man! If you're so all-knowing, why'd you let your kids burn the house down?!"
He felt a surge of mischievous energy and began chanting a riddle he'd seen on the ancient 3k vox-nets, localized for the local "dogs":
"How do you tell the Wolf from the Dog?" Kian bellowed with a grin.
"The Wolf howls 'Awoo!', the Dog whines 'Yes, Sir!'"
"The Wolf stands tall, the Dog sleeps in the kennel!"
"The Wolf eats the meat, the Dog begs for the scraps!"
"The Wolf stalks the stars, the Dog licks the boot!"
"The Wolf is Leman Russ, the Dog is the PDF!"
"The Wolf wears the fur, the Dog wears the collar!"
"The Wolf bites the hand, the Dog gets a treat!"
Kian shouted louder and louder, his rebellious nonsense hidden perfectly beneath the thunderous "AMENS" and "GLORY TO THE THRONES" of the faithful.
One pilgrim, a few feet away, paused in his prayer. He frowned, turning his head toward the back wall where Kian was sitting. He strained his ears, trying to filter out the Preacher's screaming to hear what Kian was actually saying.
When the words finally registered—the mockery of the PDF, the jab at Leman Russ, the blatant disrespect—the pilgrim's face turned a violent shade of purple. He stared at Kian with a look of pure, unadulterated horror.
Kian noticed the man watching and gave him a sharp, predatory glare.
"What are you looking at, brother?" Kian hissed. "Focus on your prayers, or the Inquisition might decide you're the one not shouting loud enough!"
The pilgrim turned back around instantly, shaking with terror, and began screaming "GLORY!" until his veins bulged.
A moment later, the Cenobite returned from the side door. He handed Kian a folded piece of parchment.
"Sister Theresa is currently engaged in her catechism. She cannot see you. She wrote this response. Deliver it to the family."
Kian pocketed the letter and stood up. "Thanks. May the Emperor give you a bonus."
He turned and strode out of the Cathedral.
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