She had been roasted to an enticing golden-brown, her body covered in Ecclesiarchy scriptures written in spices.
The script was dense, extending from her neck down to her ankles; every letter was carved with such exquisite precision that it clearly represented a massive investment of time and effort by the preparer.
What made Huron feel even more suffocated was that his superhuman vision allowed him to see that these spices were not merely on the surface.
Like tattoos, they had seeped beneath the skin.
This meant the spices on this Sister had been applied repeatedly over a long period, gradually permeating the interior of her body.
Her limbs had been removed, leaving only the torso and the head.
The head was placed separately to one side, the severed neck adorned with gold leaf and fresh flowers in a display of macabre artistry.
The head had been deliberately left unsteamed; Huron could even smell the scent of fresh blood.
It meant she had been killed only moments ago.
Valen continued his introduction with a smile.
“My Lord Chapter Master, this Sister is the Vatt family’s most precious collection.
Her genetic mutation levels are incredibly low—undoubtedly a blessing from the God-Emperor—so we raised her to be a pure and flawless Sister of Battle.
She spent her entire life serving the God-Emperor, never once touched by the filth of the secular world.”
He picked up a small silver knife, sliced a thin piece of meat, and placed it on Huron’s plate.
“Please, taste it.
Her body has been conditioned by our family for over a decade; the meat is exceptionally succulent.
The spices are a secret recipe passed down through our bloodline, specifically designed for cooking such pious sacrifices.”
Huron stared blankly at the slice of meat on his plate, motionless.
Valen continued to boast of his ingenuity.
“And we deliberately preserved her head.
My Lord, I have heard that the Astartes can acquire memories through consumption.
I am certain you will be able to feel the purity of her faith from it.”
He paused, then added another remark.
“Of course, even so, she is but a lamb of our family.
Much like the relationship between the Badab Ecclesiarchy and yourself—for a lamb to attempt to resist the God-Emperor’s shepherd is truly a sin.”
Huron finally moved.
He raised his head and looked Valen in the eye.
Those eyes were filled with nothing but sycophancy and pride, without a single shred of guilt or hesitation.
In Valen’s mind, this was merely a gift, a meticulously prepared gesture of goodwill.
Huron stood up and walked over to the head.
It was a young woman.
There was no pain on her face, only a smile of pious devotion.
Her lips were slightly parted, as if she were murmuring something—perhaps a prayer, perhaps a scripture.
Huron reached out a finger and touched a bit of the exposed brain tissue.
He closed his eyes and placed his finger in his mouth.
Memories rushed in like a tidal wave.
He saw the childhood of a girl.
She grew up in a pristine white room, surrounded by soft beds, warm sunlight, and gentle maids.
Every morning when she woke, the first thing she did was kneel before a statue of the Emperor to pray.
“Emperor above, thank you for granting me a new day.
Please let me serve You today, and let me grow closer to You.”
The maids taught her to read and write, taught her to recite the scriptures, and taught her how to pray to the Emperor.
She learned quickly because she truly loved it all.
She truly believed the Emperor was the Savior of Mankind, and she truly believed that serving Him was life’s highest honor.
As she grew older, her piety became unshakable.
She donned the robes of a Sister, began participating in Ecclesiarchy rituals, and started helping those less fortunate than herself.
She gave her food to the poor, her clothes to orphans, and her time to comfort the sick.
All of this was orchestrated by the Vatt family, solely to cultivate a devout believer.
Until one day, a man in magnificent robes found her.
“Child, the God-Emperor has chosen you,” the man said, his tone solemn and holy.
“The God-Emperor’s Angels require your service.
Are you willing?”
Her eyes instantly filled with tears of excitement.
“I am,” she knelt on the ground.
“I am!
It is the greatest honor of my life!”
Then came the cooking process.
She lay on a platform covered in intricate patterns, heavy with religious significance.
A chef wearing long robes and a pious expression stood beside her, holding a sharp knife.
“Congratulations,” the chef said.
“Your body shall be sacrificed to the Angels, and your soul shall return to the God-Emperor’s embrace.”
She nodded, closed her eyes, and began to pray.
“God-Emperor above, please accept my sacrifice.
Let my flesh and blood nourish Your Angels; let my soul return to Your side.”
The knife fell.
She clenched her teeth, never letting out a single scream.
“God-Emperor above…
please accept my sacrifice…”
Her limbs were severed.
“God-Emperor above…
let my flesh and blood nourish Your Angels…”
Her torso was placed in the oven.
“God-Emperor above…
let my soul return to Your side…”
She prayed continuously, never stopping.
Even in her moments of greatest agony, there was no fear on her face, for she believed deeply that she was doing something great and righteous.
She never knew the truth until the moment she died.
She didn’t know that the man who said “the Emperor chose her” was a vassal of the Vatt family.
She didn’t know that the message about “the Angels needing her service” was a lie fabricated by Valen to curry favor with Huron.
She didn’t know that her entire life—her education, her faith, her piety—was merely the cultivation of “ingredients” by the Vatt family.
She only knew that she was to serve an Angel.
She only knew she was doing something grand.
She died with a smile on her face.
…
“Excommunicate Hereticus!
Leave none alive!”
Huron’s roar was hysterical, like a grot whose toe had been stepped on.
He lunged at Valen, and while the man’s eyes were still blank with confusion, Huron punched his head into a red mist.
Corien immediately raised his heavy bolter, turning the dazed guards around them into bloody spray.
The other four Terminator veterans began pushing into the other rooms, grinding every obstacle and enemy in their path into dust.
Corien glanced at Huron, who was rampaging through the hall having nearly lost his mind, and issued a combat order to the First Company outside the manor: “Eliminate the Vatt family guards immediately.
Seal all surrounding transport arteries.
Do not let a single soul escape.”
The First Company, which had been idling, received the order and immediately poured out of their Rhino APCs, opening fire on the unsuspecting guards.
Several automated turrets tried to return fire, but were instantly destroyed by anti-armor rockets mounted on the modified Rhinos.
In just over ten minutes, the entire Vatt family was completely neutralized.
Even the manor’s central administrative cogitator fell under the control of the Astral Claws.