“You caught it…
just like that?” Governor Flax stared at the wooden cage, his wrinkled face a mask of utter disbelief as he looked at the Spawn of Cryptus sitting completely paralyzed inside a rowboat.
Decades ago, when he first seized power, he had poured astronomical amounts of Imperial credits into hiring elite kill-teams and top-tier bounty hunters to track his brother down.
Every single squad was comprised of the best in the business, their reputations echoing across the sector.
The result?
His beloved brother had effortlessly disemboweled every last one of them, snacking on them like light appetizers.
And now, without even throwing a single punch, the monster had been captured alive?!
“Forefather, are you not going to kill it?” Dhrost asked, completely bewildered.
“Kill it?
And ruin my perfect mob spawner?” Vane waved his hands emphatically.
“I absolutely refuse to kill this thing until I’ve squeezed every last drop of value out of it.” The Tyranid Hive Mind always saved the Genestealers for the very final phase of planetary consumption, as they still needed the cultists to act as vanguard cannon fodder and sabotage planetary defenses.
Because of this, the Spawn of Cryptus still retained its independent consciousness and emotions, acting as the absolute Patriarch and spiritual anchor for the entire system’s cult.
If Vane locked the Patriarch up, the rest of the Genestealers would inevitably swarm his position to rescue it.
By building a fully automated execution trap around the Patriarch, he could indefinitely harvest Genestealer corpses.
Funneling that endless supply of biomatter straight into his composters to generate bone meal?
Absolutely beautiful.
Governor Flax had absolutely no idea what Vane was talking about, but he found out soon enough.
After wiping out the surrounding Genestealer ambush, the convoy successfully fell back to Helios Spaceport.
The absolute first thing the Forefather did upon arriving was construct a colossal, perfectly square obsidian tower just outside the spaceport perimeter.
The tower housed only a single prisoner: Flax’s monstrous younger brother, the Spawn of Cryptus.
Vane subjected the Patriarch to a torturous array of traps that kept it in a state of constant, agonizing shrieking.
The Genestealers lurking in the shadows felt their Patriarch’s excruciating pain through the Broodmind.
Driven by fanatical devotion, they endlessly poured out of the dark, hurling themselves at the obsidian tower in desperate rescue attempts.
Only to be instantly shredded by the automated kill-mechanisms guarding the tower’s base.
Their mangled corpses dropped directly into an automated collection hopper, fed straight into industrial composters, and processed into a white powder used to aggressively speed-grow crops.
The entire setup was a ruthless, hyper-efficient industrial slaughterhouse, and his little brother was the permanent bait keeping the assembly line running.
“It truly is a tragedy.
Being forced to watch your own children lured out by despicable methods, slaughtered, and ground into raw materials…
you must be furious.” “What a pity you are completely powerless to stop it.
All you can do is watch.” “Enjoy the agony of your final days, Tiberius.
This is exactly what you deserve.” Looking up at the obsidian tower, Governor Flax spoke with a profound sense of closure.
He never could have imagined that this century-long blood feud would end in such a brutally efficient manner.
Of course, Flax and the rest of the hedonistic nobles from the subterranean bunker were currently locked in the spaceport’s holding cells.
The moment the war concluded, they would be dragged out to face a military tribunal.
The only reason they hadn’t been tried yet was twofold: one, no one had the time to organize a tribunal during an active Tyranid invasion, and two, Vane didn’t have a Penitent Engine.
To craft a Penitent Engine, Vane first needed to touch one to unlock its recipe.
Since the Cryptus System wasn’t a Shrine World, and Bishop Barachiel’s missionary fleet hadn’t deployed with any, Vane couldn’t hand-craft them even if he wanted to.
With no Penitent Engines available, there was no rush to hold the trial.
With Dhrost and Barachiel busy managing the spaceport’s defenses, Vane took Steve on a casual stroll through the facility.
He figured he should spend some time unlocking high-tier tech recipes like Void Shields, knowing he’d definitely need them later.
Along the way, Vane stumbled across a large gathering of Ecclesiarchy zealots.
A priest was actively leading them in a fervent sermon.
“Gather here, and heed my words of revelation…
In our darkest hour, our God shall descend, bestowing upon us His nine-fold blessing…” Hearing the priest’s sermon, Vane’s internal monologue instantly flatlined.
Are you kidding me?!
The followers of the four Chaos Gods literally infest every corner of this galaxy.
They even infiltrated a refugee camp!
And judging by the obsession with numerology…
Tzeentch.
It’s definitely Tzeentch.
The Ecclesiarchy has practically been completely rewritten by that blue feathered bird-god.
Muttering to himself, Vane decided to inject a little chaos of his own.
“Beautifully spoken!” He suddenly clapped loudly, drawing the entire congregation’s attention.
At first, the zealots looked furious at the interruption.
But the moment they realized it was Vane, their expressions instantly melted into absolute, fawning reverence.
They continuously chanted “Holy Saint,” with a few even bursting into hysterical, joyful tears.
The second Bishop Barachiel had returned to the spaceport, he aggressively preached the gospel of Vane’s miracles to anyone with ears, officially branding him as an Angel of the God-Emperor.
This PR campaign instantly elevated Vane to the status of a recognized Living Saint, transforming him into the absolute spiritual pillar of hope for the refugees.
Vane casually parted the crowd and stepped up to the preaching priest.
“That was a fantastic sermon you just gave.
I didn’t quite catch your name?” “J-Johan…
Johnny Busse, my Lord.” Johnny’s legs were literally shaking as he introduced himself.
This man is a Living Saint of the Corpse Emperor!
He’s absolutely going to see right through my disguise!
O Great Changer of Ways, I can no longer serve your grand design!
Damn it!
I knew I should have listened to my gut!
I should have stayed completely off the radar until we evacuated the Cryptus System before starting a new cult!
Vane instantly saw through the priest’s sheer terror but made absolutely no move to expose him.
Instead, he leaned in close and whispered in a voice only Johnny could hear: “Praise the Great Changer of Ways.
May He grant us nine layers of blessing, nine signs of guidance, nine facets of hope, nine prophecies, nine streams of wisdom, nine layers of conspiracy, nine truths, nine revelations, and a nine-fold ascension.” Johnny’s pupils dilated to the size of saucers, an uncontrollable surge of absolute ecstasy exploding in his chest.
“You’re also a—” “Watch your tongue,” Vane sharply cut him off.
Realizing he had almost blown his cover in front of an entire congregation, Johnny frantically scrambled to pivot the conversation.
“Honored Living Saint, please forgive my lack of hospitality!
Perhaps we could retire to my private chambers so I may properly accommodate you?” “Lead the way,” Vane nodded smoothly.
“Brothers and sisters, our prayers conclude here for today.
Please disperse in an orderly fashion.” Johnny formally ended the gathering, yet the zealots lingered, staring longingly at Vane.
Left with no choice, Vane had to put on a show, offering a theatrical blessing in the name of the God-Emperor and claiming he had received divine prophecies that he needed to urgently discuss in private with Priest Johnny.
Only then did the crowd finally disperse.
Johnny hurriedly ushered Vane into a dimly lit, secluded backroom.
The second the door clicked shut, he practically vibrated with excitement.
“Saint, are you truly one of us?!” Vane nodded solemnly.
“Only the Changer of Ways can deliver humanity to true enlightenment.
The Corpse Emperor brings nothing but eternal suffering.” Hearing this, Johnny nearly wept with joy.
To think even a Living Saint of the Ecclesiarchy is a devout follower of the Great Architect of Fate!
Truly, who in the Imperium isn’t secretly working for Tzeentch?
With infiltration this deep, our grand design is absolutely guaranteed to succeed!
Corpse Emperor, your days are numbered!
“Praise the Changer of Ways!
Let us pray together.
This encounter is undeniably His divine arrangement.
He has chosen us for a monumental task!” Johnny practically scurried to a hidden alcove in the wall, retrieving a small, intricately carved statue.
It depicted a faceless sorcerer draped in flowing robes—one of the many iconic visages of Tzeentch.
As Johnny squeezed his eyes shut in fervent prayer, Vane reached out and tapped the idol.
A system prompt instantly popped up.
[Congratulations!
New Crafting Recipe Unlocked: Idol of Tzeentch] [Idol of Tzeentch: Requires 2x Stone Blocks, 2x Blue Crystal Blocks, 1x Relic of Conspiracy.] Reading the final requirement, Vane immediately thought of the Chaos cultist whose remains had somehow been officially enshrined as an Imperial Saint.
That absolutely qualified as a “Relic of Conspiracy.” Leaving that Chaos relic sitting around was practically guaranteeing the Ecclesiarchy would eventually suffer a catastrophic, deeply hilarious implosion.
So really, by stealing the corpse to use as crafting material, Vane was doing the Imperium a massive favor.
Steve, make a quick trip to Barachiel’s convoy.
Grab the remains of that “Saint” out of the golden sarcophagus and bring them here.
Steve’s efficiency was unmatched.
In a flash, he returned with the corrupted remains and handed them over.
“Alright, time to have some real fun,” Vane smirked, staring at the bones.
“Let’s see what it feels like to be Tzeentch’s Chosen Champion.
Let’s find out what kind of broken enchantments this bird-god can hand out.” With all the materials gathered, Vane hit craft.
A towering statue of Tzeentch, carved from shimmering blue crystal and resting on a solid stone base, materialized out of thin air.
The instant the idol spawned, a bizarre, deeply unsettling aura of malice flooded the room.
Eerie, overlapping whispers clawed at the inside of Vane’s skull.
It felt as if the arcane knowledge of the cosmos had suddenly developed its own consciousness and was aggressively drilling straight into his brain.
Holy crap, no wonder so many people worship Tzeentch!
This guy is the absolute holy grail for burnt-out college students!
For the first time in his life, Vane realized that studying could actually be effortless.
If he brought this statue back to a university campus, he could organically convert the entire student body into Tzeentch cultists by lunchtime.
If you don’t worship Tzeentch, you have to grind past midnight, memorize formulas, and cram textbooks just to scrape together a miserable passing grade.
But me?
I don’t have to lift a finger.
I just pray to Tzeentch, and the knowledge physically forces its way into my brain!
You literally cannot compete with this!
Hearing a strange hum, Johnny opened his eyes—only to come face-to-face with a massive, glowing crystal idol of Tzeentch towering next to Vane.
His eyes nearly popped out of his head.
What the hell just happened?!
— We are close to 15k words so only around 3 more chapters before the mass upload ends.