With each strike, Datch's gleaming golden hammer released a gentle, warm golden glow.
After a dozen blows, the Geller Field generator—once sparking and blaring alarms—gradually stabilized.
Its mechanical roar smoothed out; power nodes stopped flashing warnings, and indicator lights switched from red to green.
Inside the device's stasis pods, the psykers—previously tormented and twisted by warp corruption, screaming silently in their bonds—now relaxed, as if a thousand-pound burden was lifted. They fell into deep, peaceful sleep, like infants, no longer in pain.
The stabilized Geller Field instantly unleashed a powerful reality bubble.
Invisible ripples swept through the chamber and the entire Pride of Hera.
The nauseating warp stench was swiftly banished. Blasphemous, warping powers receded like a retreating tide.
The daemons inside the ship were cut off from their source.
Their bloated, rotting bodies shriveled and withered at visible speed, their movements sluggish, no longer immune to physical harm.
Even their plague-laden attacks, once deadly to mortals, lost much of their power.
"For the Emperor! Purge those damned abominations!"
The remaining Imperial officers roared, charging with their troops to seize this fleeting opportunity.
Guardsmen split into squads, using heavy weapons to clear the corridors and halls.
Nurgle's daemons were torn apart by las, melta, and bolter fire.
Blood and viscera mixed, forming a sticky carpet underfoot.
The Sisters' hymns soared higher; bolters and flame swept the weakened daemon horde like a storm.
The Astartes silently slaughtered, chainswords and power fists rending daemon flesh with every blow.
The line surged forward, the remaining daemons cleansed one by one.
…
On the main battlefield, the once-unassailable Nurgle daemon found its power rapidly fading after the Geller Field was repaired.
It roared in fury and confusion, unable to halt its decline.
Inquisitor Greyfax seized the fleeting chance.
"In the name of Holy Terra, I grant you filthy creatures annihilation!"
With a fierce cry, she leapt from a high platform, her armor's servos roaring.
Her power sword blazed with pure psychic flame, a descending blade of judgment.
The strike pierced the daemon's defenses, stabbing through its still-beating rotten heart.
With one last gurgling howl, the massive daemon exploded like a burst pustule, its soul banished back to the Warp.
As the daemon fell, the solemn chime of the navigation bell echoed throughout the fleet.
The fleet had reached a safe exit point—about to make an emergency jump and escape the nightmare Warp.
The survivors hurried to grab whatever handholds or railings they could.
As the bell fell silent, the Pride of Hera shook violently.
With the engines' deafening roar, the fleet wrenched itself from the warp's maelstrom, returning to the cold, silent, but reassuring material universe.
The Pride of Hera, battered and bloodied, had survived the crisis.
According to Imperial Navy data, ships that suffered Geller Field failures in the Warp had near-zero survival rates.
But victory came at a heavy price.
There was no cheering—only the silence of survivors and the pervasive stench of blood.
Troops quietly cleaned the battlefield. Forces from other ships arrived to help with suppression and cleanup.
Many of the Pride of Hera's crew showed visible signs of mutation.
Their skin grew scaly, limbs twisted unnaturally, or they whispered incomprehensible words.
To the Crusade, these loyal soldiers were now potential threats; they had to be quarantined and purged to ensure safe passage ahead.
The Commissar's face was iron-hard as he wrote his report and issued merciless orders.
All mutated soldiers and crew were to be detained and isolated, pending further instructions.
The survivors, fresh from battle but now mired in suspicion, accepted their fate in silence.
This was the Imperium: even victory brought no glory, only a bleak, honorless ending.
…
In the bottom decks of the Pride of Hera,
mutated soldiers and crew, ordered to lay down their arms, were marched in batches to quarantine cells.
Their uniforms still bore the blood of fallen comrades and the stench of daemons.
The enforcers looked on grimly, eyes wary.
"They say... confessing your feelings before a mission is asking for a death flag..."
A young soldier walked, gazing at the stars outside the porthole, a bitter, helpless smile on his face.
"Maybe... I shouldn't have confessed to her..."
"It's fine. At least you learned something happy—that she likes you too," an old veteran joked. "Really, you should've been bolder. You could've held her hand, maybe even stolen a kiss."
"Keep moving. No talking," an enforcer snapped coldly, cutting them off.
Roughly, they herded these blood-soaked, battle-hardened soldiers and crew into the cells, awaiting their final orders.
…
Elsewhere, the Commissar and commanding officer handed the survivor list to Greyfax, awaiting her decision.
"All with mutations: execute them."
Greyfax took the list, her eyes passing over name after name, her tone as calm as if describing a routine task.
She was long used to such necessary cruelty—for the sake of the many, some sacrifices were worth it.
Don't ask what right the Inquisitor had to condemn those who had just bled for the Imperium.
She simply had no right to let them live.
Mercy without power only doomed more people.
Long before the Great Rift tore the galaxy and unleashed horror, the Inquisition had handled countless such incidents.
Some Inquisitors had shown mercy, sparing the tainted...
...only for billions of Imperial citizens to be corrupted or slaughtered as a result.
In past cases, the Inquisition's approach was absolute: anyone exposed to the Warp was executed.
By comparison, only purging the mutated was rare mercy.
Hearing this, the Commissar sighed, voice thick with emotion.
"I'd rather see them die gloriously to daemon claws than like this..."
"We have no choice," Greyfax answered calmly. "Sacrifice is our duty and destiny as servants of the Emperor."
…
At the other end of the Pride of Hera,
Datch examined the Invincible Star he'd just earned—a palm-sized, golden, radiant charm.
"Good. When the time comes, it'll be up to you."
He stored the item in his inventory, then noticed a swarm of green exclamation marks on his minimap.
"Is this the post-mission reward? So many side quests for XP and points!"
…
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