WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THE WINGS THAT I GREW LAST WEEK EITHER MEANS I'M A LIVING SAINT… OR I'VE BEEN LIVING NEAR THAT NUCLEAR POWER PLANT FOR TOO LONG.

I remember a conversation I had with some friends a while back about fandoms. Star Wars fans would love to be a Jedi. Star Trek fans would love to be in Starfleet. 40K fans are just fine with staying home. Considering the completely horrible shit that happens… yeah, I'll take my comfy chair, thanks.

Also, I'm going to admit something: if I had to live in 40K, I would much rather fight any of the various alien threats out there over fighting Chaos Space Marines. In lore, those frickers are stupidly hard to kill unless you outnumber them a hundred to one, or have a massive, totally-not-compensating-for-anything-don't-judge-me cannon to use.

At this point, Shepard has neither. Shepard has Living Saint-mode, and is motherfluffing SHEPARD.

*ahem*

Now then, let's resume our scheduled mayhem.

Star-Bound

Chapter 3

Purity

The Chaos Gods did not comprehend fear as mortals did. Fear was an emotional response to danger, and the gods were above threats to their existence. That said, they were not above anger, especially when threats to their plans came into play. The recent reawakening of the Avenging Son, for instance, had briefly unified the gods in a way that rarely happened.

Only one being in this galaxy had come close to causing them fear. His power was so great that it burned away the forces of Chaos like a flame to a cobweb; it was little wonder that the denizens of the Warp called Him the Anathema.

Of course, He was just one being in one reality, and the Chaos Gods could influence many. Their plans had been delayed in some of them, and others were still in the process of being conquered. None of the Gods tried to dwell on the one place that had become immune to their clutches; after all, it was the exception to the rule that all things would fall under their sway.

And then, in a little nothing of a world, far from where it should be, there was a light. A light that was painfully familiar to the Dark Gods. Worse still, when the gods peered into the material realm and saw the soul who bore that light, it was one they recognized.

Across the Immaterium, four great voices screamed in rage. A thousand plans, handcrafted by Tzeentch and suspended in living crystal, shattered into dust. The endless swirl of emotions in Slaanesh's court paused. In Nurgle's garden, rotted plants grew and exploded into spores of flesh-eating diseases, while the remains withered into nothing. The eternal streams of blood in the realm of Khorne boiled, and the countless Daemons that warred there were stirred into a frenzy.

A name formed in the twisting nightmares of the Warp—a warning and a curse, all in one.

Shepard.

…

It was difficult to focus. It was all she could do to just keep her gaze steady. The endless rage made doing even that almost impossible.

Shepard was no stranger to anger. She'd felt it deep within her ever since the Batarians had killed her parents. It had gnawed away at her psyche like a rabid animal, always fighting to be released. She had rarely let that fury loose, usually against individuals that had truly earned her hatred.

Henrietta, for almost killing her son.

Archaon, for killing her husband.

This rage, however, had no target. It coursed through her like a storm, demanding release, but with no direction. In fact, the rage didn't even feel like her own; it was like a thousand voices were screaming out their anger directly into her ear, each driving her in a different direction.

No, she thought, barely able to hear herself. She remembered her lessons on anger from her N7 training. I am in control. My anger is not a fire. It is a whetstone to keep my actions sharp and my blows decisive. I. Am. In. CONTROL!

The blinding light that poured from her began to dim, until those around her could see her once again. Still floating on wings of light, she looked down at the Iron Warriors, who aimed their weapons up at her.

"Open fire!" Kharrack shouted.

Before the first could pull the trigger, Shepard raised her free hand and thrust her palm towards one. A beam of light lanced out and struck the Iron Warrior in the chest; he didn't even have time to scream before the front half of his torso and head burned to ash.

Shepard turned back to Kharrack, to finish what she started, but the Warsmith was retreating towards his gunship, and the other Iron Warriors began to fire. Acting on instinct, Shepard began to fly, weaving through the crossfire to avoid the explosive bolts. Now that they were actually fighting, the Iron Warriors fought smart; they'd already realized that Shepard would have a hard time killing them if she was on the defensive.

Before Shepard could figure out what to do next, there was a series of explosions as rockets fell around the Iron Warriors. A dozen aircraft flew in, engines screaming and launchers smoking, to hover over the camp. Unlike the Iron Warriors' vehicle, whose corrupted presence made Shepard uncomfortable, these bore a two-headed eagle that somehow seemed familiar to her, though she was sure she'd never seen it before.

Heavy-caliber weapons opened fire, driving the Iron Warriors back, while soldiers rappelled down from the gunships. Each man and woman wore thick plates of black, silver-trimmed armor over dark red fatigues, including full-face helmets with glowing green optics. They carried a variety of weapons, though most were sleek rifles connected to backpacks with thick cables. Their leader carried a large, glowing pistol in one hand, and a growling chain-bladed sword in the other.

"Engage!" the man barked.

Rifles were raised, and thin beams of red light shot out into the Iron Warriors. The concentrated firepower killed two of the massive soldiers in seconds, and the Iron Warriors were quickly forced back to the barricades that they'd only just abandoned. Only Kharrack and Kivyin headed for their gunship.

Shepard left the majority of the Chaos forces to the new arrivals; she was going to settle things with the Warsmith. She landed in front of the gunship's ramp and slowly walked inside; parts of the interior had been mutated by the energies of Chaos, with some cables looking more like intestines, and fangs growing around a pair of dials.

Despite his grievous injury, Kharrack was still standing, and even barking orders at Kivyin.

"We must get airborne," he said. "If the crews aboard my ships believe that I am dead, they will abandon us here!"

"Yeah, that doesn't say much for your guys," Shepard said; she tried to sound casual, even though the rage was still boiling.

Kharrack whirled, but before he could reach for a pistol, Shepard moved. Rather than use her pick, she drove her fist right into the Warsmith's abdomen; the blow left a sizeable dent, and sent Kharrack staggering back.

Hisses and mechanical clicks were heard under Kivyin's cloak, and dozens of whip-thin mechanical arms swarmed out to attack. Their razor thin blades left cuts all over Shepard's body, but her anger pushed her through the pain. She plunged her hand into the depths of his cloak, and when her fingers wrapped around something soft, she yanked it out.

"N-no…" Kivyin gasped as Shepard held his still-beating heart, connected to his body by several thick cables. Without a word, Shepard squeezed until the filthy organ was crushed to a pulp. Kivyin twitched madly, and then collapsed; what was left of his heart was contemptuously dropped to the floor a second later.

As Shepard turned to deal with Kharrack, she noticed something on the floor. It was the small piece of blackstone that she'd mined; Kivyin must have sliced open her pocket, and the stone had fallen out. A slight nudge in the back of her mind, barely felt over the anger, made her kneel down and pick it up.

"You…" Shepard glanced back at Kharrack. He was badly wounded, but his bleeding had stopped, and he still carried his hammer. "You will not be what kills me, mortal!"

Shepard felt something gently push her arm up, the one that held the blackstone fragment, until her fist was pointed at Kharrack. Golden light ran down her arm, coalescing just in front of her, swirling faster and faster. A bolt of energy lanced out, far brighter than before; when it hit Kharrack, there was a blinding flash and a roar of pain from the Warsmith. Even Shepard had to shield her eyes from the light.

When her vision returned to normal, Shepard was shocked. Somehow, the Chaos mutations inside the gunship were… gone. Everything was still dark and depressing, and there were Iron Warriors icons scattered about, but there were no mutations or other signs of Chaos.

The same could be said for Kharrack. His armor was no longer warped and twisted, though he was still missing his arm and shoulder. Instead of melted tendrils on his back, he had a single damaged mechanical arm with a two-pronged grip.

"What?" Kharrack looked down at his remaining hand in shock, and then at Shepard. "What did you do!?"

Shepard was no less surprised, but she still had work to do. "I just beat the Chaos out of you. Too bad for you, I'm not done."

With a savage swing, her pick was buried into Kharrack's other shoulder. Weakened as he was, the Warsmith's struggling was feeble as Shepard dragged him outside with her pick. She wrenched her weapon free and kicked him down the gunship's ramp, then dropped it so that she could use both hands to force Kharrack to look at the bodies around him.

"Look at what you did," she growled. "All this suffering, all this death—what was it for!?"

Even with his helmet on, it was obvious that he was confused. "I… don't remember anymore."

"That's not an excuse, you son of a bitch." With a vicious twist, Shepard snapped his neck, and dropped his lifeless body on the ground.

All around her, the fighting had stopped. The Imperial forces had killed the last of the Iron Warriors, though more than a few of them had been killed in exchange. It was hard to tell what the Imperials were thinking, but all of them were staring at her with their blank-lensed gazes.

A cough broke the silence. Shepard turned and saw Grem, bleeding out on the ground. Pity for the old man that had been so kind to her finally caused her rage to fade; Shepard's wings and golden glow faded as she hurried to his side.

"Y-your Holiness," the old man gasped. "You came to deliver us."

Shepard wasn't about to crush a man's beliefs as he lay dying… especially if he turned out to be right.

"Yes, I did." Shepard helped him into a more comfortable position, and took his hands in hers. "You won't die a slave."

"Thank you…" Grem smiled, and then the life left his eyes, and his hands slipped from hers.

Shepard gently closed his eyes, and then stood up and turned to the soldiers. "Is anyone else alive?"

The Imperial officer cocked his head, then pointed to Hiral. "Just that one, Your Holiness."

The young Guardsman took one look at Shepard, and then prostrated on the ground. "Blessed be the Saint that avenges the fallen and smites the heretic…"

Shepard knelt and pulled Hiral to his feet. "I appreciate the faith in me, but now really isn't the time." She glanced back at the soldiers. "Introductions would be nice. And drop the 'Your Holiness' thing. 'Ma'am' will do just fine."

The officer saluted. "Ma'am. Tempestor Prime Jonah Vils, Seventh Deltic Scorpions."

Shepard closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to fall back into her 'commander' mindset again. "What's the situation, Vils?"

"Can't say for the wider campaign, but our counterattack hit the artillery attacking Mortwald," Vils reported. "The enemy attacking the hive is falling back or being destroyed."

"Good to hear. I have a feeling I'll need to speak to whoever is in charge before I make another move."

"Agreed, ma'am. You're a Living Saint, and that tends to get attention."

"Story of my life," Shepard muttered, then looked down at herself. "Before that happens, I think I should make myself presentable."

"We can grab you some extra fatigues on the way to the Vigilus Senate," Vils offered, then looked at Hiral. "What about the boy?"

"He's with me," Shepard said immediately. "He survived when no one else did. There has to be a reason for that."

Vils was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "As you say, ma'am." He turned to his troops. "Back on the Valkyries! We're packing it in!"

A medic gently but firmly ushered both Shepard and Hiral into a gunship. Just before the doors closed, Shepard looked back at Grem's body.

Rest in peace, she thought. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and prayed for his soul, and the souls of all the slaves who had died fighting for their freedom. With her eyes closed, she didn't notice the halo of light that briefly flickered around her. When she opened them again, Hiral and the other soldiers were staring.

"What?"

…

The hive Shepard was taken to was called Hyperia. While almost every sector of Vigilus was under attack, Hyperia was the only hive that was considered firmly under Imperial control. More resources had been put into its defense than any other, not just because it was the seat of government, but also because it had more holy sites and tactical significance than the other cities.

When Vils had informed whoever was in command—something called the Vigilus Senate—that he was bringing in a Living Saint, there was a scramble of activity. Dozens of aircraft, ranging from interceptors to gunships much like the ones the Iron Warriors had used, formed up around the Valkyries, with strict instructions not to deviate from their flight path.

At least they're not slacking when it comes to security, Shepard thought. Even if they're really religious, they probably want to make sure I'm not some double agent or something. I'd do the same thing in their position.

Shepard was just glad that they'd stopped at an Imperial outpost to get her presentable. Her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, and most of them were hidden by the grey fatigues she'd been provided. Hiral had also been cleaned up, and given olive fatigues of the Vigilant Guard, as well as black armor for his chest, shoulders, calves, and a helmet. He wasn't allowed a weapon yet, though Shepard still kept her pick.

While she was adjusting to her new shirt, she saw one of Vils' men—a type of elite infantry called Tempestus Scions—reach for her broken cane, which lay amidst her discarded rags.

"Do you enjoy having hands?" Shepard asked mildly.

"Uh… yes?" the man replied, as if it was obvious.

"Then don't touch that." Shepard snatched up the cane and placed it securely at her side through her belt.

As the gunships landed, Shepard had expected to be let out immediately. With a planetary war going on, she figured the higher-ups would want to get their meeting with her over with as soon as possible, Living Saint or not. Instead, they were instructed to wait while a 'proper escort'—which she interpreted as a security force—was assembled to meet them.

While they waited, Shepard nodded at Vils—specifically, at his sword. "Never seen a weapon like that before."

Vils hadn't removed his helmet, but Shepard imagined that he was raising an eyebrow. "Standard-issue chainsword, ma'am. Nothing fancy about it."

Shit, make up an excuse! Shepard shrugged casually. "My world was more primitive when it came to close-quarters weapons. No chain-weapons, just solid steel."

Vils nodded. "Understood, ma'am." He hesitated, then held out the chainsword, hilt first. "It's a little heavier than it looks."

Shepard carefully took the chainsword from him, and was surprised by the weight. She could still hold it in one hand, but it took a moment to adjust. As she examined it, she noticed a trigger mechanism built into the handle; obviously, the weapon would have to be revved manually, or it would run constantly and burn itself out before getting any use.

"Must be a pain to clean," she remarked, looking at the teeth, and grimaced at the idea of chunks of meat wedged between them and the outer casing. "And messy."

"It can be," Vils admitted. "You learn how to unclog it quick."

"I'll bet." Shepard handed the chainsword back, and then leaned against the door. "So, how long have you been stationed here?"

"Six months. We didn't have much to do until the Orks showed up, and then the cults started attacking."

"Cults?" Shepard frowned. "Chaos cults?"

Vils shook his head. "No, thank the Emperor. These ones are half-xenos freaks that are trying to overthrow the Imperium here."

"And that happened before the Iron Warriors attacked?"

"The Iron Warriors, and what feels like every other Chaos Legion this side of the Eye of Terror." Vils made a warding gesture with one hand. "It's a good thing that Lord Calgar's plan worked; their flagship was damaged and forced to retreat just a few days ago. The rest of their forces have been fleeing the planet, or have been routed."

Shepard had begun making a mental list of things she needed to understand, such as this 'Eye of Terror'. There were so many things that she just didn't have context for; she wished she had a history book to read. At least she understood military strategy, though it had been decades since she'd worked with technology as advanced—or more so—as she'd had when she'd been part of the Systems Alliance.

"So, it looks like I showed up at the tail end of things," Shepard remarked.

Vils snorted. "There's still plenty of xenos forces running around, causing problems. The cults, the Orks, and Aeldari forces here and there."

Hiral finally worked up the courage to speak. "At least we've held them back. It could be worse."

One of the Scions groaned, and Shepard slapped her forehead. "You did not just say that."

"Say what?"

"Never say 'it could be worse'," Shepard said. "That's just inviting the universe to throw something horrible your way."

"She's right, lad," Vils agreed. "We've got enough problems on this planet, we don't need to tempt the universe into giving us more."

Hiral grimaced and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Thankfully, before Hiral could be berated further, they received the go-ahead to exit the Valkyrie. The door hissed open, and Shepard blinked as the bright lights broke through the darkness of the gunship's interior. What she saw outside had her hand twitch towards her pick.

Twenty-one giants waited at the end of the landing pad, and for a moment, Shepard thought they were like the Iron Warriors. Each was huge, even bigger than the Chaos Marines she'd fought; they were easily three meters tall, if not taller. However, these didn't bear the corruption of Chaos; each wore blue armor, with gold two-headed eagles on their chests, and a white upside-down omega on their left shoulder plates. They carried large versions of the weapons the Iron Warriors had wielded. Their eye-lenses glowed red, but rather than glare hatefully at her, Shepard could sense that they merely watched her. They would only act if she acted.

Standing between the two columns of ten warriors was what Shepard assumed was their leader. His armor was similar to the others', but more ornate, and instead of a rifle, he had a large pistol holstered on one hip, while a sword nearly as long as Shepard was tall rested on the other. His helmet had laurels carved around it, so ornate that the leaves almost looked real.

"The Ultramarines," Vils said softly. "With all that's going on, I didn't expect so many of them here." He glanced at Shepard. "Even for a Saint."

Shepard looked at the Ultramarines again, and realized that they were probably here because they weren't in any shape to go out and fight. Their armor was still beautifully made, but each of them had taken bad hits, and rents in cobalt plate had been hastily filled in with some kind of sealant.

The Ultramarine officer stepped forward; he first nodded at Vils, and then at Shepard. "You are the Living Saint?"

Shepard was slightly taken aback at his voice; it was deep, like the Iron Warriors' voices, but there was a righteous nobility behind it, rather than bitterness.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Shepard said. "I'm not sure what a Living Saint is supposed to be, though."

If she'd been expecting a laugh, she was disappointed. "I am Lieutenant Eothrus, of the Ultramarines Second Company. We will escort you to Lord Calgar, and he will decide how you will be useful." He held out his hand. "Your… weapon."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, even as she handed over her pick. "You don't have to be snide. I killed Chaos Marines with that thing."

Eothrus inclined his head slightly; Shepard figured that that was the closest she'd get to an apology. "Follow us."

Shepard and Hiral were brought to the center of the Ultramarines that formed up around them. Of the Tempestus Scions, only Vils followed, likely to corroborate—or refute—Shepard's story.

As they walked, Shepard came to realize the scale of the universe she'd stumbled into. Most of the hive was concealed by clouds of dust, or the Ultramarines that surrounded her, but what she could see astounded her. Gothic-themed buildings, larger than anything she'd thought possible, rose from the clouds, all decorated with carved skulls or sculpted eagle heads. The resources needed to create even one of those structures would have been enough to get a large colony started in Alliance space, and she spotted dozens, maybe hundreds, stretching off into the horizon.

Shepard could say with some confidence that she was not easily shaken. Even dying and being brought back to life by Cerberus hadn't thrown her off her game for long. However, the idea that a civilization could outshine the greatest of the Alliance's cities with one war-torn example on a single planet rattled her.

As the Ultramarines led her into the decorated halls of the Vigilus Senate, the entourage was expanded. More Tempestus Scions, other Space Marines with different-colored armor, and dozens of armored women with weapons similar in form—if smaller in scale—to those of the Space Marines joined in the procession.

Shepard wanted to make some kind of smart comment; it was one of two ways that she typically dealt with stressful situations that couldn't be solved with violence. However, she had a feeling that being a smartass would cause even more problems, so she fell back to her other option, and studied the architecture of the building's interior as she walked. Years of engineering, and later, studying Dwarf-craft, had honed her mind into an analytical machine, and she studied the high arches of the hall with a practiced eye.

One thing she quickly realized was that the building had to have some kind of reinforcing element that she couldn't see, because the structure would have been defying the laws of physics otherwise. The building was simply too large to be standing naturally.

A whirring, wheezing noise caught her attention next, and she nearly gagged when she saw its source—a half-naked torso and head of a man walked by on stilted, mechanical legs. Its left arm and the left side of its head were replaced by clunky machines, and the optic that replaced its eye glowed with a baleful red. The exposed flesh was pale and withered, as if it was slowly dying. If the creature—Shepard couldn't completely come to terms with the fact that it was human—was aware of what it was, or cared, it didn't show it on its slack face.

What the fuck am I looking at? Shepard thought with no small amount of horror. No one else is freaked out by that, so is this normal here? Why!?

She knew that she couldn't afford to be distracted now, so she filed this latest discovery away for later, though it was difficult.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, Shepard was brought to a final set of massive doors, which opened with a deafening groan. The room beyond the doors was dimly lit, but Shepard could still easily see the many people sitting or standing inside.

As she'd expected of an organization called the Vigilus Senate, there were men and women in fine clothing and aristocratic bearing, but they were actually in the minority. There were more Space Marines, each with ornate armor and weapons; many showed signs of recent battle, and a few had wounds that couldn't have been taken more than a few hours ago.

At the center of the assembly was a giant of a man, bigger than any of the other Space Marines she'd seen. He had greying hair and lines on his face, and though his left eye was replaced by a bulky cybernetic, his right blazed with determination. His armor was heavily damaged, but even rent and torn, the royal blue and gold plate was stunning.

More than just his armor, the man himself was injured. He was armed with two massive gauntlets that had mounted guns, but one of them had been removed, and a hunched figure in red robes was repairing it. Two of its fingers had been severed, and the gauntlet's owner was also missing the same digits.

Upon entering the chamber, all conversation ceased, and everyone turned to look at Shepard as she was brought inside. Rather than be cowed by the ranks of nobles and demigods, Shepard marched in like she was on a parade ground, eyes straight and shoulders squared. She kept her gaze locked on the lead Space Marine, never breaking eye contact as she walked. Apparently, her attitude was enough that the normal humans were murmuring, but the Ultramarine held up his undamaged gauntlet, and the room fell still.

"I am Marneus Augustus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines," he said in a deep, patrician voice. "You must be the one who claims to be a Living Saint."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "My name is Alexia Shepard. To be honest, I don't know if I really am a Living Saint, but people keep calling me that."

Calgar's eye flicked over to Vils, who saluted and brought over something that reminded Shepard of a datapad. Calgar read its contents; for the most part, his expression remained almost bored, but at one point, he looked astonished.

"Is this true?" he demanded, looking Shepard in the eye. "Did you purge the corruption out of a champion of Chaos?"

Shepard nodded. "If by 'purge', you mean 'beat the Chaos out of him', then yes."

Whispers started up again, but this time, even the other Space Marines joined in.

"So… I'm guessing this is new?" Shepard asked.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Calgar admitted. "Whether or not you are truly a Living Saint is a matter of debate for others, but if you yourself are untainted by Chaos…"

"It's never bothered me before," Shepard said confidently. It was true; even Archaon had been unable to kill her.

Calgar nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, all I have is your word, and the report of a man who could have been deceived." If Vils was offended, he didn't show it. "You must be tested to see if you are truly pure."

Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard saw Hiral flinch. She took a deep breath. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"Yes, it will."

Shepard sighed. "Let's get on with it." She glanced at Hiral. "Just be nice to the kid, okay? He hasn't done anything wrong."

"If he is truly innocent, he has nothing to fear," a new voice said in a whisper. A man stepped out of the shadows; his face was concealed by a featureless mask, and he wore power armor, but sized for a normal human. The unpainted grey armor was mostly unadorned, save for a stylized 'I' on his chest. "And if you are truly a Living Saint, a small amount of pain will be nothing in service to the Emperor."

I don't want to be in service to this Emperor, Shepard thought fiercely. I didn't ask for any of this!

Rather than say something that would get her killed, she just nodded. "Lead the way, uh…"

"Strakk," the man said. "Inquisitor Giovonne Strakk, of the Ordo Hereticus."

More than one person in the room looked surprised that the man was there; he was obviously a stranger to all of them. Shepard raised an eyebrow. No one expects the Imperial Inquisition.

…

The process for confirming one's Sainthood was as painful as Shepard suspected. It began by taking her to a room that looked like a cross between a laboratory, a church, and a dungeon. First, she was strapped to a chair by a pair of heavily armed guards, and then someone in long, red robes entered and slowly circled her. Judging by the many taps she heard on the metal floor, the being had feet that no normal human would have—feet that were made of metal, and more than one pair.

The person peered at her through red-lensed goggles; she could faintly hear a wheezing sound coming from the mask-like respirator around their mouth. She winced when a static-like noise screeched out; the person leaned back, and the noise abruptly stopped.

"Apologies," the person—the voice indicating they were female—said through a crackling speaker. "I occasionally forget that not everyone speaks the Techna Lingua."

"Not a problem," Shepard said, not wanting to make this cyborg woman upset, especially when she saw that the hand that now poked out from her sleeve was replaced by a contraption covered in needles.

"I am Traffis-Beta-Four," the woman said, "Magos Biologis of Stygies VIII. I will be examining your organic essence to see if you are genetically pure."

Shepard would have leaned away from the off-putting woman, but she couldn't move. "I hope that means you won't be opening me up, Traffis."

"We are in a professional setting here," Traffis said in a tone that reminded Shepard of a teacher reprimanding a student. "Address me as Magos." She drew herself up. "And while I do very much wish to examine the inner workings of a Living Saint, I have been informed that time is of the essence. A simple blood test will suffice, for now."

A pair of thin cables snaked over Traffis' shoulder; in one small pincer was a piece of cloth, while the other held a bottle. A small amount of liquid was poured onto the cloth, and Shepard recognized the scent of rubbing alcohol. Her arm was swabbed, and then Traffis drew a few vials of blood with her needle-fingers. There was a clicking sound from inside her chest, and her lenses glowed.

"I must confirm with my main cogitator, but my preliminary analysis shows no corruption or mutation in your genome," Traffis said. She almost sounded disappointed. "In fact, you are one of the healthiest specimens that I have ever seen. Wait here for the final analysis, but I calculate that you have more tests to complete."

That was… abrupt, Shepard thought as Traffis shuffled away. She makes me think of Legion, if he was scatterbrained… and a girl.

For what felt like hours, Shepard was left alone, listening to the sounds of bubbling chemicals and humming machinery. Occasionally, she would hear explosions from far-off combat, though still powerful enough to be heard in her strange cell.

Finally, the doors opened again, and Inquisitor Strakk walked in. He still wore his mask, and Shepard couldn't get a read on him.

"You are a mystery," Strakk said without preamble. "According to the Magos, you show no signs of corruption, but you have had genetic modification done in the past. Well within Imperial tolerance for such things, but quite advanced. There were also subtle cybernetic components weaved into you. Tell me—just what have you gone through?"

Shepard closed her eyes and said nothing for a moment. "I've had friends die, and I've watched worlds burn. Everyone I've ever loved is either dead, or so far away that they might as well be. I've fought in wars, I've seen death, and no matter how hard I try to find some peace, I keep getting drawn back to it all." She opened her eyes, and Strakk saw the decades of pain that attacked her soul, but could never break her. "Everything else is a story that isn't mine to tell."

Strakk folded his arms across his chest. "Most people who hide things from the Inquisition find that that is a mistake."

"Most people can't purify someone tainted by Chaos," Shepard reminded him. "Do you really want to lose that kind of asset?"

Now it was Strakk's turn to be silent, until his threw his head back and laughed. "Pragmatism is an interesting approach, Alexia Shepard. Some within the Inquisition would rather kill you than let you keep your secrets. However, I recognize the value of your abilities, and the Lord Commander has issued more than one decree that anything pure than can fight the Great Enemy is to be utilized. Keep your secrets, but be warned that if your secrets become a threat, I will personally pry them from your mind before you die.

He chuckled when Shepard blanched. "I have determined that you are not corrupted, but there is one more test. Living Saints represent a part of the God-Emperor, and your faith will reveal if you are truly an avatar of His will." Strakk rose and turned to leave. "Good luck. Perhaps we will meet again."

Shepard rather hoped that they didn't.

Once again, she was left in isolation. She spent her time trying to understand some of the esoteric technology scattered throughout the room, though without a thorough examination, all she had were a few educated guesses. After yet another long wait, the doors opened again; this time, an armored woman strode in, followed by a portly man in white, gold-trimmed robes, and a handful of hooded men and women who carried a set of books.

Shepard recognized the armored woman; she'd been in the Vigilus Senate, and had been among those who had been the most interested in her supposed sainthood. She was tall, with long white hair, and her left eye was replaced by bulky cybernetic. Her black armor was damaged, though it had undergone repairs, and the fleur-de-lis decorated nearly every plate. Mounted on top of the power generator on her back were a pair of burning braziers; between them was the icon of the Inquisition.

The man, however, was a mystery; if he had been present at the Vigilus Senate, Shepard hadn't seen him. A thick cable wound up from a humming box on his back up through one nostril. He carried a weapon that looked like a cross between a staff of office and a flanged mace, and had a pistol holstered at his hip.

The woman gave Shepard a stern look. "I am Temperance Blaise, Canoness Superior of the Order of Our Martyred Lady."

"And I am Confessor Hadrian Rex," the man said. His tone was friendlier, but the suspicion in his eyes told Shepard that he wasn't necessarily an ally. "We represent the Ecclesiarchy, and we are here to judge your faith in the God-Emperor."

Crap, Shepard thought. I don't know anything about this faith. What am I going to do?

"And how is that going to happen?" Shepard asked. "I didn't really need to do anything for the last two tests."

The Confessor glanced at the Canoness Superior and nodded. Blaise tapped a button on a nearby console, and the restraints around Shepard withdrew. Shepard had barely sat up to massage her sore wrists, when she saw both of her judges rest hands on pistols.

"I'm not going to try anything, I swear," she promised.

Hadrian Rex nodded and smiled congenially. "Of course. Forgive our reactions, but this war has been rather taxing."

Shepard realized she had an opening, and took it. "Hey, if I was in your position, I'd be suspicious too. If it makes you feel better, you can even draw those guns."

There was a flicker of surprise across their faces. Shepard knew that by inviting them to be suspicious would show that she was confident in her own innocence—she hoped, anyway.

"On to your test," Blaise said, and gestured sharply to the people behind her. They reverently placed the items they held onto the ground, and then stepped back. "Every Living Saint has represented some aspect of the God-Emperor. Choose a text and read the first thing that you find."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That seems kind of… random."

Hadrian Rex chuckled. "Not if you are guided by the will of the God-Emperor. We will know if you are guided… or not."

Great, a spiritual test. At least Michael never pulled crap like this. Shepard sat down in front of the texts and closed her eyes for a moment. Hey, Emperor, you there? Your so-called Saint could use a little guidance. I don't want to be burned at the stake or something.

For an instant, the golden aura returned, but by the time Shepard opened her eyes, it was gone. She was too focused on the texts in front of her to notice the awe on everyone's faces.

Shepard reached out with one hand; she was about to grab a scroll in front of her, but a nudge in the back of her mind made her shift to a tome on her right. She opened the book and began flipping through pages, not even glancing at what she passed. Finally, she froze, her finger hovering over a passage—hardly a passage, she realized, but more of a quote.

"Well?" Blaise demanded, though her voice was softer than before.

When Shepard spoke, it felt like she was in a daze. "Where there is an enemy, rage! Where there is a victory, rejoice!"

The Confessor nodded. "The writings of Epistles. Do you know why you chose that piece?"

Shepard hesitated, not because she didn't have an answer, but because she could feel the fury from before boiling in her soul again.

"I've fought in wars before," she said quietly. "It took me a long time to figure out why I fought so hard. It wasn't just because I wanted to protect others. I was angry; so many want us all dead, and all we want to do is live our lives." She looked up at them, and her eyes glowed gold as she spoke words that were not her own. "Every time an enemy shows its face, it means that we lose another day of peace. Victory buys us that peace back, but at the cost of lives that don't deserve to die at the hands of darkness." Her voice began to change to a double-tone. "Those who try to destroy Humanity will learn true fear, for my wrath will be unleashed!"

There was a pulse, and everyone around her took a step back. A second later, and the light around Shepard faded, and her voice returned to normal.

"What… was that?" she asked. She looked down at her hands, and found them trembling.

"A sign," Blaise whispered.

"A possible sign," Hadrian Rex corrected. "We will know the truth in time."

"Wait, I thought this was over," Shepard protested.

The Confessor laughed. "You had three tests today, Alexia Shepard. There will be many more before we are satisfied, and each will be more trying than the last… and more painful."

"Oh." Shepard quickly thought of as many insults as she could, and hoped the Emperor could hear them. "Goody."

…

Days passed, and then weeks. More tests were performed, examining everything from Shepard's blood to her bone structure. She was questioned, again and again, and she was forced to bare her soul to her interrogators. Her faith was examined, but that became the easiest, for every answer was handed to her by the Emperor; she always chose the right text to read, or the right answer to give.

Finally, it was over. Shepard was given a day to rest and become presentable, and then she was brought before the Vigilus Senate once again. Unlike before, she was wearing only a white robe, and a gold chain around her neck, which held a pendant shaped like the Imperium's two-headed eagle, the Aquila.

"Greetings," Hadrian said with a bow to the assembled lords. "After much examination, we have come to the conclusion that this woman, Alexia Shepard, has indeed been blessed by the God-Emperor! She is truly a Living Saint!"

The Space Marines muttered amongst themselves, and Marneus Calgar—now much healed since the last time Shepard saw him—leaned forward in his seat.

"And what does out newest Saint desire?" he asked.

Shepard looked him in the eye. She was exhausted, but her will remained strong. "I was brought here because our enemies need to be fought. That's what I'm going to do, but I can't do it alone."

Temperance Blaise raised her arms. "We shall call for Imperial forces to rally at Vigilus. Saint Shepard has declared a Crusade!"

Oh, sweet Emperor, I'm sorry this took so long. The second half of the chapter did not want to be written. I've also been having RL-problems over the last couple of weeks, so I feel like that's fair.

Anyway, Shepard is now officially declared a Saint. If I got the process wrong, forgive me, but the details of the process of being declared a Saint are frustratingly vague. Mostly it involves the Ministorum and Inquisition testing the so-called Saint, but beyond that… *shrugs*.

Now, while Shepard has officially declared a Crusade, this is 40K. Things tend to take a while to get started, so don't expect all of Shepard's forces to arrive for a while. She's still got business to take care of on Vigilus, and maybe some other stuff, like learning about the Imperium and the many factions within it. However, I did use this chapter to introduce a few characters, canon and OC, who will be joining her.

Also, yes, the Ultramarines were here. They were actually on Vigilus, and were important. I'm tired of people hating on the Ultramarines. They're not as bad as people make them out to be, and poor Marneus did get wrecked by Abaddon, despite getting upgraded to a Primaris Marine.

Anyway, I'll try to have the next chapter out sooner, but as I've said before, I'm desperately searching for a job, but no one is hiring me. If you want to help me out, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. There's a link to my website on my profile, and you can also find it on Amazon.

If you want to be awesome, please consider supporting me on P-atreon (also a link in my profile). Every little bit helps get me closer to my dream of writing fan fiction every day.

And now, I'd like to thank my patrons:

Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Carl Bjorkhall

Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225

Ultra Muffins: Vlarto, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll

Next Chapter: Shepard discovers just how important her new powers are.

The Muffin Crusade begins!