Chapter 17: The Speech
The Chimera's engine thrums beneath us, a steady pulse echoing off the tunnel's ancient stone. Its once matte-black paint is covered in the dust of the disused mag-lev tunnel, the weighted scales in silver emblazoned on its hull, marks of its original owners, are faded and dull. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and machine oil, tinged with the lingering aroma of sanctified incense from the Censer at my belt. I rest my gauntleted hand on the control panel, feeling the machine spirit's obedience. With a thought, I bring the transport to a halt.
"Disembark," I order, my voice carrying softly yet firmly through the vox-link.
My honor guard moves as one, descending the ramp with disciplined precision. Clad in the Sanctified Plate, I step onto the cold ground. The armor feels both a second skin and a relic of a life long past—Jessamine's life, now intertwined irrevocably with mine. The engraved High Gothic scriptures glow faintly, casting ethereal patterns on the tunnel walls. Each step resonates with purpose.
The Blade of Penance hangs at my side, its iridescent emerald surface catching the dim lumens. The weapon hums softly, a reminder of justice yet to be delivered. The Rosarius rests against my breastplate, its power field a gentle warmth against my heart. The Censer of Eternal Vigil swings rhythmically from my belt, releasing tendrils of fragrant incense that swirl around me like ghostly companions.
We proceed down the tunnel, the silence broken only by the muted footsteps of armored boots. I am aware of every detail—the moisture seeping through cracks in the ceiling, the distant drip of water, the subtle shift in the air as we approach the stairwell. Jessamine's memories flicker at the edge of my consciousness, a vast reservoir of experience guiding my actions without overwhelming me.
Two Arbites enforcers emerge from the shadows, hellguns raised. Their armor is scuffed, bearing the marks of countless skirmishes. I see the tension in their stances, the uncertainty in their eyes behind visored helmets.
"Halt! Identify yourselves!" the male enforcer demands, his voice edged with fear he tries to mask.
I meet his gaze steadily. "Lay down your weapons," I say, my tone calm yet commanding.
"Not another step!" the female enforcer warns, her hands trembling ever so slightly on her weapon.
"Marcus Hale," I address the male, watching his eyes widen in surprise. "Your doubts weigh heavily upon you. The burden is not yours to carry alone."
He falters. "How do you know my name?"
"The Emperor knows His own," I reply. "He hears your prayers, spoken and unspoken. He sees you, and so, I too see you."
He lowers his hellgun a fraction. "I... I don't understand."
I step closer. "You fear you've strayed from His light, that your failures define you. But redemption is not impossible for you, my son." Another step, a mere two feet away from the man, his hand are shaking so violently the barrel of the hellgun wavers like a fish out of water. "Today, that redemption is yours, if you have the courage to take hold of it."
Tears well in his eyes. He drops to one knee, weapon slipping from his grasp. "Forgive me," he whispers.
"You are forgiven of the Emperor," I say, placing a hand on his bowed head as his body is wracked by sudden sobs. The warmth of the Rosarius pulses gently, a visible sign of the Emperor's grace. "What remains now is only to forgive yourself and rise to the task set before you."
Turning to the female enforcer, I see recognition dawning. "Alyssa Dorne," I say softly.
She straightens, shock flickering across her features. "It can't be..."
"My daughter," I affirm. "The time has come."
She hesitates, then removes her helmet, letting it fall to the ground. "We've awaited your return," she breathes, eyes glistening with unshed tears as she looks torn between rushing to embrace me and falling to her knees in reverence.
"Your faith has not gone unseen," I assure her. "But there is much to do, and little time."
She nods fervently. "Whatever you require, my saint."
"The access codes to the precinct's vox frequencies," I state. "We must reach those who can aid us."
Without question, she retrieves a data-slate from her belt and offers it to me with reverent hands. "These will grant you full access to internal comms, external communication requires direct access to the communications array in CandC."
I take the slate, our fingers brushing briefly. "Your service honors the Emperor."
She bows her head. "We live to serve."
As we move past them, Marcus rises unsteadily. "What must I do?" he asks, voice laden with uncertainty.
"Stand firm," I tell him. "Protect those who cannot protect themselves. Follow me, and your path will be made clear."
He nods, resolve hardening his features. "Yes, my lady."
We ascend the stairs, the weight of their gazes lingering on my back. The honor guard forms a protective formation around me, shields raised. I feel their unspoken questions, their silent awe. They see me as the Saint reborn, a figure out of legend. Yet beneath the armor, I am still Aurora—a girl burdened with a destiny beyond her years. I steel my mind against the loneliness, now is not the time to mourn a life lost, now is the time to embrace the sacrifice for what it is. A single chance, one, to carry the light.
Jessamine's memories swirl within me, a tapestry of triumphs and sorrows spanning centuries. I see battles fought in the Emperor's name, sacrifices made without hesitation. I feel her pride, her grief, her unyielding faith. They guide me, but they do not consume me. We are one, yet distinct. I brush off her attempts to soothe my heart.
No, this is my pain to bear and I will not let you deaden my heart to it.
Emerging into the precinct's lower levels, we find ourselves stepping into a busy garage in which dozens of troopers and techs work feverishly on a small fleet of vehicles, mostly chimeras and a single lemun-russ pattern tank. All are black, matte, and a few are even being touched up, the paint of the arbites symbol shining new and wet on their hulls.
It seems that Valeria's instincts about Tully were correct, they're gearing for war.
As we step further into the vast space, a hush descends. One by one, the workers halt, tools slipping from slackened grips. Their faces, smudged with oil and weariness, turn toward us—toward me. Reflected in the polished shields of my honor guard, I see their wide eyes, a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and awe.
I pause, allowing the silence to stretch. The scent of sanctified incense from the Censer of Eternal Vigil mingles with the acrid tang of promethium and machine oil. The weight of Jessamine's memories presses lightly against my own thoughts, a comforting presence rather than an intrusion. Heroic speeches are nothing new to the Saint.
I draw a breath, feeling the pulse of the precinct's communication systems thrumming in harmony with the my helmet vox. My voice emerges, amplified, resonating from every vox-unit, every comm-link, every speaker throughout the bastion.
"Arbites of Precinct Sigma One," I begin, my voice resounding through every corridor, every chamber, every shadowed alcove of this forgotten bastion. The vox-casters carry my words, pressing into the hearts of all who hear. Faces turn upward, eyes wide with disbelief and a flicker of something long buried.
"Today, I stand before you not as a stranger, but as Aurora—Saint Jessamine Reborn. For too long, you have dwelt in the depths of Hive Primus, your purpose dimmed by the darkness of Sector Sigma's underhive. The Emperor's light has not forsaken you, nor has His justice faltered."
The silence deepens, the air thick with the scent of machine oil and the metallic tang of worn steel. I see their faces, I feel the uncertainty that grips them, but beneath that lies something more—a spark of remembrance, of what they once were.
"Look upon yourselves," I continue, my voice steady, unyielding. "Once, you were the vigilant guardians of Gilead Primus—the unbreakable shields against the encroaching night. You are the Adeptus Arbites, the bearers of the Lex Imperialis, the enforcers of the Emperor's sacred will. But now, the scales you carry have been tarnished by neglect, the hammers of law grown idle in your hands."
A murmur stirs among them. Some shift uneasily, but others straighten, that spark within their eyes growing just a little brighter.
"An enemy gathers," I declare, my words cutting through the haze. "A tide of darkness and corruption rises beneath our very feet, threatening to engulf our hive, our planet, our Imperium. We are faced with a terror that seeks to extinguish the light of humanity. If we falter now, Gilead Primus will be but the first to fall, and the system itself will soon follow."
I step forward, my armor glowing with an ethereal light, the Blade of Penance humming at my side like the whispered promise of justice. I let the words flow, the conviction building within me as it radiates out to them.
"I have full confidence," I say, my voice unwavering, "that if each of you does your duty, if nothing is neglected, if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made even now, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend this hive, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlast the menace of the abyss—if necessary for years, if necessary alone. That is what we are going to do. That is my resolve as your Saint, that is the Emperor's will, and I know that is your will as well."
I pause, my gaze sweeping over the crowd, taking in their expressions, the flicker of hope reignited.
"Even if the hive above turns its back upon us, even if the noble houses abandon this place and the whole of Hive Primus were to fall into darkness, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in Quadrant D, we shall fight in the tunnels, we shall fight in the depths, in the streets, in the manufactorums, we shall fight in the underhive itself—we shall never surrender!"
My words ring out, filling the air, my voice growing in intensity. I see their heads lift, their eyes widening, a tremor of recognition moving through them.
"And even if," I continue, my voice steady and resonant, "which I do not for a moment believe, this hive or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Imperium beyond, armed and guarded by the faithful, would carry on the struggle, until, in the Emperor's good time, the new dawn of victory shines upon us all."
I raise the Blade of Penance high, its edge catching the dim light and casting a brilliant gleam across the bay. "The hour is upon us," I proclaim. "Now is not the time for doubt or despair. Now is the time to rise, to cast off the chains of vice and apathy. To remember the oaths you swore beneath the gaze of the Aquila."
The weight of silence presses against the air, and I feel it—the hesitation, the fear woven thick around their hearts. These are the Emperor's warriors, bound by vows of iron, but the fires within them have smoldered low for too long. They have forgotten themselves, forgotten their oaths. I must remind them.
"My arbites, my sons and daughters," I call out, letting the words ring with authority, "you are the Law!" I shout, the sound echoing through every corner of the precinct.
"You are the unyielding hand of justice, the shield against corruption, the hammer of righteousness. You swore this oath upon the Aquila, before the God-Emperor Himself. Have you forgotten!?"
Faces lift, eyes sharpening. The memories stir.
"I stand before you, not as a stranger to your ways but a fellow servant of this same law! For I know the words you spoke the day you took your vows: 'In darkness, I am the blade. In shadow, I am the shield. I am the Judge, the hand of the Emperor, and the wrath of His justice.'"
They remember.
"For years, you have let these words fall silent in your hearts. You have let vice take root where faith once lived, let apathy dull the edge of your duty. But I am here to tell you that it is not too late! 'In fire shall my sins be burned away; in justice, I shall rise anew,' you once said. Today, that fire beckons. Today, that justice calls."
The scent of oil and sanctified incense mingles around us, heady and thick. I take a step forward, armor aglow, the Blade of Penance humming with the quiet wrath of the righteous.
"The enemy gathers even now beneath our feet," I say, my voice a steady surge against the oppressive silence. "In Quadrant D, beneath the sacred ground of Saint Jessamine herself, a daemon tide rises to drown us all. This underhive—the cradle of our hive's birth, the bedrock of its endurance—is our holy land. And here, we must make our stand."
Their faces, drawn and weary, begin to harden, to sharpen with remembered resolve. I press on.
"Beyond this bastion, beyond the Basilica of Saint Jessamine, your sisters stand ready—the Adepta Sororitas, malnourished, outcast, yet bound by unyielding faith. Thousands of them, from the elder Sister to the child postulant, wait in the darkness, prepared to give their lives for a chance to defend this holy place. They do not wait for honor for it will not come. They do not wait for the world above to remember them for none will remember. They do not wait in eager expectation of glory for they know they will die ignominiously and alone."
I pause, letting their eyes catch the weight of my words.
"No, they do not wait for the death that comes now for us all for these fleeting fancies. They wait because they believe. They wait because they know what you have forgotten. 'In death, I am redeemed. In faith, I am eternal.' This is their creed, the creed you, too, once knew. And even now, while they wait to die, they believe in you."
The murmur of voices, low, haunted, sweeps through the ranks. A few straighten, the fog of forgetfulness peeling away. I seize it, pressing forward.
"Will you allow these brave souls to stand alone?" I demand. "Will you let the faithful give their lives while you cower here, enslaved by your shame, shackled by vice? No! You are Arbites of the Lex Imperialis! The unbreakable hammer of the Emperor's law! I have come to lift you from this mire, to cast away the chains that have bound you to darkness and fear. Survival is in the mind of every coward, death in the mind of every martyr."
I pause, letting the words settle. And I see it now, the glimmer of something true—a spark, a remembrance of the righteous.
"Yet I offer you more than death. I offer you absolution," I say, my voice echoing through every corridor, every shadowed corner of this precinct. "I come with the authority of the Emperor Himself, to offer you forgiveness for every failing, every shame. In His name, I release you. I absolve you of your sins. All that you have done—all the weakness and corruption—burns away now, cleansed by His light."
They stand in silent awe, the weight of those words dawning upon them.
"'Through my sacrifice, I find redemption. Through my faith, I become His wrath.' You swore these words, and I swear now: join me, and all will be forgiven. Stand beside me, cast off the shadows, and reclaim your purpose as the Emperor's righteous. Stand beside me, and your souls shall be scoured clean in the flame of battle."
I pause and feel words spring to my lips unbidden, the saint, roused by our shared call now speaking directly.
"And you, my brothers, here in shadowed halls,
Rise, rise with iron and fervent souls unbowed.
Do not fade silent, in vice and ruin's thralls.
Burn, burn against the death that darkness calls,
And hear the Emperor's command aloud.
Oh faithful, lamed by sin, by rot, by scorn,
Cast off the chains that bind your faltering might.
Your oaths, once whispered, now to fury sworn,
Cry vengeance, vengeance, though faith be worn,
Rage fierce against the smothering night.
Recall the light that once did fiercely burn,
The fire that graced your armored hands of steel.
Do not surrender—let sloth and shame be spurned,
Rise with justice, wrath restored, returned—
A hammer, cold and righteous, firm and real.
And you, my warriors, bound in long despair,
Bend now your knee not to regret and woe.
The Emperor's flame demands the strong to dare—
So rend the shadows, rend them bare,
With His fury to crush the creeping foe.
For we will not go gentle, not unseen,
Not while the Emperor's wrath we wield as light.
Our sins may haunt, yet we burn pure and keen.
Defend this hive though souls unclean,
And rage, rage against the waning of your light!"
I let the silence settle, watching their faces, the hope flickering through their eyes like embers catching flame. And then—
A wrench clatters to the ground, ringing like a bell. A trooper, grimy and hardened, drops to his knees atop a Chimera, his voice raw as he cries out.
"I want it!" His voice shakes, tears streaking his oil-stained face. "I want to be clean again—I want to live for the Emperor, to fight for Him! For once in my life... I want to remember what it means to serve!"
And the silence shatters.
Across the bay, men and women fall to their knees, throwing down tools, narcotics, empty bottles. Their voices rise, a wave of desperate, pleading cries.
"Forgive us, Saint! Bless us!"
I reach out, letting the absolution flow from me, each soul before me an ember reigniting in the Emperor's light.
"Rise, Arbites of Sigma," I say, my voice warm, steady. "You are forgiven. Stand beside me, redeemed, restored. Stand with me as warriors of faith and steel, bearers of His wrath and justice. The Emperor's justice shall be our shield, His fury our blade, as we reclaim this holy land for all mankind."
They rise, one after another, voices chanting, weeping, hands reaching for weapons they had long left idle. They have remembered, and now they are ready to fight.
As I lower my hand, the crowd stirs, quieting as heads turn. A heavy tread sounds behind me—boots pounding with purpose, urgency, and the gritty weight of duty. I turn as Sergeant Tully storms in, his presence grim and solid, his well-worn shotgun gripped in calloused hands, the metal worn smooth from years of use.
"What in the Emperor's name is going on here?" His voice booms across the bay, a grizzled tone rough with both the demand for answers and a distinct skepticism. Behind him, Arbiter Shultz shuffles into view, a sneer of disdain etched on his bloated face, the weight of his lethargy thick as the stench of stale amasec that lingers around him.
I turn, facing them both, the righteous glow of the Sanctified Plate casting shadows across the bay.
Tully's gaze narrows as he takes me in, armor gleaming, Blade of Penance still alight with the fervor of my call. "You've got these poor fools whipped up into a fervor, all right. Calling them to throw their lives away, promising them some pretty salvation they're not likely to see! You're here to lead my people into the jaws of death, and for what? Glory? Absolution? Or is it just blood you want?"
He sneers, the distrust deep in his eyes. "I've seen your kind before—smooth-tongued zealots, preachers of damnation, all too eager to draw the witless and the weak to sacrifice themselves for a cause that, in the end, is just as hollow as they are."
"Sergeant—" I begin, but he cuts me off, the harsh bite of his words echoing in the tense silence.
"You're nothing more than a cultist draped in false righteousness! Just another heretic calling herself holy."
The words linger, a bitter insult hanging in the air, each syllable as sharp as a blade. The moment stretches, frozen, then shatters as my own body responds—faster than thought, faster than sight—Jessamine's will in the marrow of my bones. The Blade of Penance flashes, green energy carving through the air in a righteous arc.
Arbiter Shultz's sneer disappears as my sword cleaves him from crown to gut, splitting his bloated form in two with a sound like a thunderclap. His body falls, each half hitting the ground with a wet, final slap.
The bay falls deathly silent, the sound of Shultz's death reverberating in the stillness.
I turn, fixing Tully with a steady gaze, the blood sizzling against the edge of the Blade of Penance. My voice echoes through the open vox, reaching every corner of the precinct, a cold, unyielding pronouncement of justice.
"The noise you just heard was the sound of Arbiter Shultz meeting his fate," I declare, my voice implacable. "For his faith was not even half of what it should have been. For him, there was no forgiveness—his hands stained with the blood of the innocent as he shirked his duty. His place was to lead, to step forward when the Emperor called, and yet he scorned his charge. For such as him, there is only death."
I look directly at Tully, feeling the weight of every gaze upon us, the eyes of those who have watched Shultz's brutal end and who now watch their sergeant, the man who has held them together through years of darkness and desperation. Tully stands frozen, the sarcasm momentarily gone from his eyes as they flicker between the remains of Shultz and the Blade of Penance, still dripping with the proof of its judgment.
"Now I ask you, Sergeant," I continue, my voice carrying the authority of a Saint, "will you join us in our stand, or do you stand as he did? Will you lead, or will you cower and abandon them to the dark?"
Tully's grip on his shotgun tightens, his face taut, eyes flickering from me to the gathered Arbites, to the silent, reverent expressions on the faces of his troopers, as though a lifetime's worth of beliefs have cracked open within him. He meets my gaze, a glint of something raw and real in his eyes, like the first spark of a flame catching in the kindling.
He sets his jaw, lifting his shotgun slightly. "So that's it? Join you or die?" he snaps. "Doesn't sound like much of a choice, Saint."
"We are all dying, Markus," I reply, voice soft yet unyielding as I call him by the same name his mother used. "Now, later—here, or in some safe, warm corner far from this place. It makes no difference in the end, for the soul, and for the Emperor. But this—this is a death with purpose."
He shakes his head. "Easy words from someone who just murdered a man in cold blood."
"Shultz was dead long before my blade found him," I say. "His soul rotted by neglect and apathy. He would have led you to ruin, or abandoned you when the true battle began. I merely removed a barrier to your salvation."
Around us, the Arbites exchange uneasy glances. The fervor I ignited teeters on a knife's edge.
Tully's eyes search mine, seeking something beyond the mirrored lenses. "You speak of salvation and redemption, but I see a fanatic wielding a sword."
"Perhaps," I concede. "But consider this: very few get to choose how they die. Fewer still get to die for a cause worth the sacrifice. It is better to die for the Emperor than to live for oneself."
He hesitates, the weight of years etched into the lines on his face. His grip on the shotgun slackens ever so slightly.
"Look at your men," I urge, gesturing to the troopers watching our exchange with bated breath. "They are ready to fight, to reclaim their honor. Will you lead them, as you have done all these years, or will you stand aside and let this moment slip away?"
A long silence stretches between us. Then, slowly, Tully lowers his weapon. "If I do this," he says quietly, "it's on my terms. We do things my way."
I incline my head. "Tactics, strategy and these men and women are yours to command. The cause unites us, but your experience will guide us. I come seeking allies bound by faith and duty, not servants, not slaves, not mindless followers."
He glances at the faces of his troopers—the hope rekindled, the determination set. A heavy sigh escapes him. "Emperor help me," he mutters. "Alright, Saint. I'll march with you. But know this—I still don't trust you."
"Trust is earned in the crucible of battle," I reply. "Let our deeds forge the bonds that words cannot."
He nods grimly, turning to address his men. "Alright, you heard her! Gear up and prepare to move out! Check your ammo, secure all supplies—we leave nothing behind for the scavengers."
The bay erupts into organized chaos as the Arbites spring into action, their previous hesitation replaced with purpose.
I step back, the weight of the Blade of Penance comforting in my grasp. The honor guard closes ranks around me once more.
"It was necessary," Jessamine's echo whispers within me and I feel the tinge of twisted pleasure that vengeance upon the unfaithful brings her.
"Yes," I affirm silently. "A demonstration was required, and I did not have time to debate a witless, cowardly worm." I pause in my thoughts and push her away from me, "but I take no pleasure in it. The death of another human is something none of us should relish."
She recoils slightly at my rebuke but does not debate the validity of my words and I remind myself once more that Jessamine is, as Lucious spoke in his thoughts, a failed saint, imperfect, and quite nearly fallen to corruption.
The I refocus on the path ahead. Tully's agreement, reluctant though it may be, strengthens our chances. The Arbites prepare not out of blind faith, but with the hardened resolve of those who have faced the abyss and chosen to defy it. Just as importantly, they bring with them an entire garrison worth of badly needed supplies and munitions.
As we move toward the exit, Tully falls into step beside me. "One more thing," he says without looking at me.
"Yes?"
"If you even think about turning that blade on any more of my people, saint or not, I'll put you down myself."
I allow a small, unseen smile. "Noted, Sergeant. Let us hope it does not come to that."
"Hmph," he grumbles, "well it won't matter much." He sighs and takes a deep breath. "I've got a report to send, it'll take me a bit. Don't march off without me."
I nod, watching him retreat back towards the door, an honest man set to pay the piper. In the eyes of the Emperor his sins are forgiven. If death doesn't find him on the battlefield I resolve to live, if only to speak on his behalf…
He's here. The Heretek arrives…
The words echo in my mind and I nod, moving to the side of the bay, a secluded corner. "I need a moment to rest." It's all I have to say. I sit and a phalanx of shields and ceramite close in around me as the honor guard, move to form a barrier.