I breathed in as I knelt before the altar to the God Emperor, its faint golden glow reaching me even in the flickering dark. I bowed my head and closed my eyes, clenching my hands together.

I needed to pray.

It was the only thing I knew how to do. It was the only thing I could do when I felt astray. There was nothing else. The ruined chapel was a familiar place, even if I really hadn't been here before. I found solace and comfort in the silence of it, the rows of wooden benches, the statues of the Primarchs, the Emperor's loyal sons, the stained glass paintings that depicted ancient and glorious battles – the Adeptus Astartes and their triumphs against the darkness that plagued mankind – and the altar to the God Emperor himself, with a shining symbol of the Imperial Cult in pale, white gold, gleaming even in darkness.

Once, long ago, I would've prayed with my mother and father. Every single day, before anything else, immediately after rising in the morning, the three of us would walk two hours to reach the God Emperor's chapel, built atop a mountain, its golden pillars shimmering in the sunrise. We'd pray for an hour, before walking another two hours back home. Life was simple. We ate breakfast once we arrived home, hearty grox steaks and cutlets, cooked to perfection by my mother, who worked as a chef at a local tavern. My father worked for the PDF - a noble profession, he always told me; it was an honor and a privilege to be one of the few who fight for mankind, to be the bulwark against the darkness.

Those were simpler days. My homeworld, its name now lost to me, was a peaceful place. Its people were happy and content. And the PDF only ever existed as a symbol and as a reminder of the Imperium's authority. For all of my father's uplifting words about his profession, he rarely every did anything of importance and, in many ways, that was a good thing.

My parents were dead now, taken before their time by something as banal as a vehicular accident, a transport truck that had been carrying a load of rockrete bricks. Its driver apparently died of a heart attack at the steering wheel, forcing the truck out of the roads and into town. My parents had been there, while I sat at home, waiting for them. And they died instantly, just like that. One moment, they were telling me they'd return with vegetables, and, suddenly, an Arbites was standing at our front door, informing me of my parents' demise, before turning and walking away.

Afterwards, I was taken in by an orphanage and, as soon as I turned of age, I signed up to join the Imperial Guard. Specifically, I joined an expeditionary force that was to be sent off-world.

Just another small piece of a titanic machine. My role was to die for the Emperor and for humanity and I was content with that. I took solace in the surety of it. I was just another guardsman, doing his part for the good of humanity, obedient and loyal, caring little for riches or rank; duty was its own reward. And I was happy with that. I knew what I wanted and I knew how my life would end – dead in some nameless trench in some nameless battlefield, all in service to the God Emperor.

And I remembered that... a part of me did want to die – to sleep forevermore.

But then... I died... and... and then everything changed.

I gained power, consorted with otherworldly gods, made use of unnatural abilities, and became... something that was no longer human. Because that was the harsh truth that I'd been neglecting to notice: I wasn't human anymore. I wasn't even mortal. As long as my head was intact, I'd never die – never age. My existence was little more than a viewing medium for interstellar watchers and deities to amuse themselves with. Truth be told, I was fine with that. I was fine with becoming a monster if it meant I could better defend humanity, to defeat the enemies of the Imperium, and to wage war against heretics and xenos – for eternity if the Emperor should call on me to do so.

And now, I wasn't even sure if I knew who I was anymore.

I've killed innocents. I knew that much, no matter how much I tried to deny it. Did I have much of a choice in the matter? I don't know. If I looked back coldly, then all that I did was justified; there were traitors in the ranks of the guardsmen and the safer option would've been to assume that they were all traitors. But then... how many of my brothers and sisters did I kill for that safety?

"God Emperor... I know that I am... nothing in your grand plans. Your war rages across the entire galaxy, against forces I cannot even begin to fathom. And I am but one man- no... I am but one entity, sworn to fight your enemies and to wage your wars. I have been loyal, obedient, and faithful, and I have not asked for anything in return. My father taught me that duty and loyalty were its own rewards. And I have held to that lesson all my life. But now... I am lost. God Emperor... I do not know what I am to do. Traitors and heretics beset me from all sides. They would have won if I hadn't the strength of mind to see through their lies. I... I need your help. I am a weapon without a target, a bullet shot in the dark. Please, though it is impudent of me to ask you for anything, dear lord, please... guide me... show me a sign. Tell me what I must do or who it is I must kill."

I breathed in and lowered my head until it touched the ground. "I am lost. Please, guide me!"

Several moments of utter silence passed, during which I noted a strange static at the back of my head that eventually fizzled out. The ground continued trembling, dust particles falling from the ceiling in clouds of gray and white as the thunderous booms of artillery shells and bombs echoed just beyond the walls of the chapel. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, honestly. As a servant of the God-Emperor, it wasn't my place to demand anything.

And then, my ears perked up as I caught the sound of heavy footsteps. My eyes narrowed. Astartes... and there were, at least, six of them, moving in unison, quiet as midnight. These weren't the same as the others I'd faced and killed, thus far, I realized immediately. And the worst part was that, once again, I had no choice but to assume they were Traitor Astartes, even after seeing the loyalist drop pods.

Once again, I had no choice but to fight and kill. If they were headed towards my location, then it could only be to destroy what was left of the Emperor's chapel, to desecrate the Master of Mankind.

I couldn't allow that. I would never allow that.

I stood up and walked towards the fallen entrance. I'd have to avoid using weapons to limit the potential damage to what little was left of the chapel, which meant I'd have to engage them in hand-to-hand combat. Fortunately, I was at a very comfortable level with [Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist], comfortable and confident enough to take on six Astartes at once. I huffed and smiled at the thought. Looking back, never in my entire life did the possibility ever occur to me that I'd one day gain the strength to defeat Traitor Astartes with my bare hands. And yet, here I was.

I might've lost my sense of identity and purpose, but I certainly did not lose my will to keep fighting.

I quickly crawled under the narrow entryway and made my way outside. There, I was greeted by a squad of Astartes in Dark Gray armor, coated in layers and layers of caked blood, dirt, and grime. The symbol upon their pauldrons resembled a fish creature of some sort. Were they loyalists or were they traitors? I hadn't a single clue. But they raised their weapons at me and I no longer needed one. The only thing that mattered was that they'd their weapons at me, which meant they were a threat, which made them my enemies. I didn't wait for them to attack. I surged forward, right into melee range.

The one weakness of [Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist] was that it was ultimately a defensive martial art. It took the enemy's kinetic energy and turned it against them, enhanced by the user's own physical ability. That meant I wouldn't really be doing much damage if I went and attacked first, because I wouldn't be absorbing any kinetic energy if I struck the first blow. Instead, I baited them. By getting into melee range, the Gray-clad Astartes would have no choice but to engage me in melee. And that's exactly what the nearest of them did.

The Astartes grabbed a combat knife and swung it my way, aiming to decapitate me in a single, fell stroke. The attack was fast enough that, even with my enhanced senses and physical abilities, I actually had to exert some effort into intercepting the strike. But, I noted immediately, the Mutilator was far more powerful. I caught the knife, guiding it away from my neck and to the side, absorbing its kinetic energy all the while. I wasn't enough, however, to perform a proper counter attack. So, I kept that energymoving within me, a fluid, moving stance that was designed to constantly shift the flow of power from one limb to another, ensuring it never dissipated. The Space Marine unleashed a flurry of blows afterwards, a combination of stabs, strikes, and even punches. I deflected all of them, draining each strike of its kinetic energy, which grew and grew in power within me, until I could no longer contain it, until it was finally powerful enough.

With me firmly in front of the Astartes, his comrades could not fire their weapons, unless they wished to kill their brother in the process. They'd probably be willing to do that if I was a large enough threat, but – at the moment – they likely only saw me as an annoying mortal with an annoying mastery of martial arts. The Astartes threw a powerful punch towards my head with an almost palpable frustration on his part. I weaved underneath the strike and, with all the kinetic energy I'd stored up, unleashed an open-palm thrust right into the center of the Space Marine's breastplate, cracking it – at first – before the whole thing gave way and shattered like glass, splintering into every direction. The Astartes was sent hurling back, blood pouring from a slight gash I'd managed to inflict upon his chest.

I moved immediately, before any of them could fire their weapons. They did, but none of the bolters ever hit me as I surged to the next one.

This time, however, I was free to use a Power Sword as my position meant that any bolter I'd avoid would never hit the God Emperor's chapel. I drew it from my Inventory and held it with both hands. It was heavier to wield in my Enhanced Human form, but I knew I could swing it well enough, especially since I knew the Power Field would do all the work, without much effort on my end. However, I'd underestimated the Astartes as it weaved out of the way in a display of inhuman grace and fluidity, especially for something that was encased in heavy armor and stood over eight feet tall. Still, with [Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist] guiding my movements, recovering from the missed attack was easy enough. I did not perform an immediate follow up, however, as that would've been the obvious thing to do.

Instead, I charged the downed Space Marine, whose breastplate I'd shattered apart. The Astartes hadn't pushed himself up just yet, which left him vulnerable. So, I surged forward and aimed for his head.

"Cease!"

AN: Just wanted to let you guys know that my Pat-reon is now up (the link should be in my profile). There are four advanced chapters there at the moment, with more on the way (All for this fic only). I'll be switching to a standard once a week update for this fic, after this chapter. That said, I wanted to thank you all for reading the stuff I write; it has inspired me - and still is inspiring me - to be a better writer and storyteller.