Chương 99: Chapter 95: Escalation and Congregation

POV: Greg Olds, tanker, former Guardsman, father of Robin Olds. Greg sat in a chair across from an exceptionally tired-looking security officer.

"Log 418. Individual: Greg Olds. Ship of origin: The Argent Drake. Profession: Guardsman, Shadowsword Operator. Can you please reiterate for the record what led to the incident in Junction 12 of the Low-orbital market?"

"So… we were doing some shopping, trading, and the like. We hired a local guide to take us to various shops, and the trip was going well till we ran afoul of one of the local gangs – several members of which were openly bearing one of the heretical forbidden marks. My team neutralized the majority of the individuals as faithful trained servants of the Emperor; however, in our retreat, we ran afoul of several other local gangs, and the conflict escalated, Sir," Greg said calmly and professionally.

"Why did you choose to seek out the Low-orbital market?" The man asked.

"Well… most hivers know the interesting stuff ends up in the lower areas – tends to be cheaper too. We weren't after anything restricted, and wanted to get a feel for the local vibe," Greg admitted, spreading his hands placatingly. The officer hefted a glowing datapad, the screen flickering with figures.

"At least five hundred confirmed dead. The gang conflict is ongoing, and pacification teams have been deployed. I have been informed by my superior that I am not to hold you or your companions."

"Probably for the best. You didn't try to restrain McStabby, did you?" Greg asked in a voice laced with concern.

"The individual known as 'McStabby' was found to be in the possession of no less than fifty bladed weapons. After he entered our custody, we received a curious message from the Ministorum – he has already been released after providing his statement," the man explained. Greg relaxed.

"That's for the best." He gave Greg an irritated glare, "You have been cleared, and your belongings and purchases will be returned to you. You are not being punished for inciting this event and the damage sustained to the lower decks, however you are also not being rewarded for exposing the corrupted individuals," the man stated, his voice sharp.

"That's fair." Greg shrugged.

"We're really sorry about the lift – no idea where that one ganger got a rocket launcher."

"Please… for the love of the Emperor… just go back to your ship," the man gritted out, already regretting the pile of looming paperwork and impending visit from the Inquisition. Greg nodded and saluted after he stood before he turned on his heel and briskly retreated from the man's office. Outside, his entire gang was there waiting for him, and to his surprise, so was Lugg. A few of their cloaks would need patching, a few armour plates and outfits replaced, but no major injuries, just a few grazes and a broken rib.

"Right, we've been politely told to go home, and never do that ever again," Greg told his team of smugly grinning idiots.

"We barely got chewed out. Damn, who vouched for us?" Feisty asked, positively bewildered. Doc frowned.

"I have no idea how you all managed to not get shot. Saved me the gauze, so thanks, I guess," he grumbled goodheartedly. Greg looked over at Lugg and raised an eyebrow.

"You're still here? You're free to go, you know." The scum blinked at him uncertainly. Truth be told, Greg had expected the man to disappear the first chance he got. Lugg had spent most of the escape sweating bullets and looking ready to fold under pressure. But coward or not, the bastard had gotten them through the underdecks faster than should have been possible. And not through the main transit arteries either.

Lugg had dragged them through maintenance shafts with no identifiers, half-collapsed conduit tunnels, abandoned relay junctions, and at least one corridor Greg was fairly certain no sane person was supposed to know existed. More than once, Greg had heard distant voices or patrols pass barely meters away while they crawled through darkness and rust with the lights off. The man clearly knew the station's guts in ways that made Greg mildly uncomfortable to think about.

"You probably shaved hours off the escape," Greg admitted.

"So unless you're planning to rob us or stab someone, you've earned a pass." Greg tossed him a small pouch filled with throne gelt. Lugg nodded, wringing his hands together.

"I was hoping you might… Show me how to visit the Argent Drake? To do some bartering?" Greg shrugged.

"I mean, sure, it's not difficult. You go through the checkpoint, then head to the ship." He waved them on, and they began to make their way back towards the dock holding the Argent Drake.

"Or if you don't want to visit personally, we can get you in contact with people who are responsible for minor trading from ship-to-planet."

"And ah… what if I'm trading for some… restricted substances?" Lugg asked meekly.

"Mmm, still go through the checkpoint and just stay out of the way, most don't care as long as you aren't doing something heinous," Feisty told the twitchy man. Lugg frowned.

"What about a way… around the checkpoints?" He asked, looking around, nobody seeing how his eyes flashed an insidious purple for a brief moment. They all looked at Lugg like he was an idiot. Doc and Feisty burst out laughing, while McStabby simply stared at him curiously.

"There are no ways around the checkpoints. As decreed by Lord Drakios and Lady Cavalerio, all must be scanned. There are no exceptions, and violators will meet the wrath of the Emperor's own Angels." Lugg seemed confused.

"So, just because some lady told you to do it, you do it?" Greg nodded, "Well… yeah, it's Lady Cavalerio." This sentiment was shared amongst the group as a chorus of: "Yup," "Duh," "Of course."

"So if this Lady Cavalerio asked you to walk out an airlock, you'd just walk?" Lugg asked, growing frustrated as they got in line for the checkpoint.

"I mean… I'd probably ask which airlock, but I'm sure she would have a good reason for it," Greg admitted, with the others nodding along with him.

"Yeah, what, are you stupid? The lady said we do it, so we do it," Feisty told Lugg in a matter of fact tone. Lugg grunted, his good eye flicking toward the checkpoint ahead.

"Yeah… fair enough." Only slightly put off by their fervent loyalty. A muffled boltgun discharge cracked across the deck. The line instinctively stiffened at the sound. Somewhere ahead, someone started screaming before the noise was abruptly cut off. Lugg flinched more than anyone else, briefly looking pained. Doc gave Lugg a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"They're just checking for infection markers. Stay calm and answer what they ask."

"Mhm," Lugg nodded a little too quickly. Sweat gleamed along his scalp despite the chill of the hangar. His gaze lingered on the checkpoint ahead, then drifted past it toward the crowds of laborers and pilgrims moving between cargo haulers. Greg noticed the twitch in the man's jaw. The way he kept swallowing and running his tongue across his teeth beneath his lips. The line shuffled forward. One of the attendants suddenly frowned at a hooded pilgrim standing before the man with the scanner.

A moment later a harsh tone blared from the device. Instantly, a nearby Astartes moved over, the giant seized the screaming man by the collar one-handed and dragged him clear of the queue.

"Wait! Wait, I'm clean! I'm clean!" the pilgrim shrieked, vanishing behind a curtain before the boltgun roared once. Chunks of crimson sprayed across the curtain and the crowd recoiled in silence. Greg glanced back toward Lugg. The man had gone pale as parchment, but there was no panic in him now. Only calculation. During the commotion, he had quietly stepped out of line.

One moment he was there beside Doc, the next he was slipping between a pair of cargo-servitors with his shoulders hunched and head down like any other deckhand trying to avoid attention.

"Uh…" Greg blinked.

"Where'd Lugg go?" Doc turned, confused.

"He was just here a second ago?" But Lugg was already gone, swallowed by the mass of bodies and machine-smoke flooding the hangar deck. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Magos Biologis, Biophagus Zygor Gravox Gravox frowned as he felt the pulse of knowledge and seething fury pass through the Broodmind. Their progenitor had directed dozens of lesser acolytes and neophytes in an attempt to infiltrate and gather information on these strange new scanners.

Many were sacrificed in search of answers, and the data had been compiled. None had managed to procure one of the devices as of yet. Only one device had suffered any meaningful damage in the various other attempts at sabotage. Gravox himself had made inquiries through the Mechanicus, but the Ordo Xenos and Drakios fleet were both keeping the restricted information out of his reach.

The Patriarch had finally gathered enough information through the Broodmind and their uninitiated spies to deduce the true purpose of the machines. Worse still, they had gathered from their spies that the Ordo Xenos intended to produce more of the strange, vile machines. It was a vast understatement to say the great Patriarch was displeased. The Patriarch had only one recourse to this development, and already plans had been made to sacrifice some lesser members for the good of the collective.

They needed to delay the production of these scanners and destroy them by any means necessary. Gravox had been directed to accelerate his current project, going so far as to double the amount of power channeled into the great writhing corpse of the queen. The number of gestation pods was growing difficult to manage with his current forces, but his trust in the will of the Broodmind was absolute. This was the path blessed unto them by the Clawed Omnissiah.

—------------------------------------------------------- POV: Saint Lael Zyne Her current predicament was her Lady's fault, the little gremlin. Lady Nicole had scampered off to go get her Engine, leaving Lael to deal with this mess. That was what Lael thought privately as she sat in front of the altar while her protective detail of Sisters of Battle all ran around frantically.

Word regarding the reading of the Emperor's Tarot had spread quickly, and a meeting had been arranged between her and the Ministorum leadership bigwigs. One of the archeotech scanners had been procured and was in use by a Hospitaller under heavy guard – it was almost as heavy as her own guard. Lael waited within the quiet cathedral halls as preparations unfolded around her.

Sisters of the Silver Lily stood watch along every entrance and balcony while servitors drifted through the incense-laden air, making final adjustments to censers and lumen fixtures. Beyond the sealed doors, she could hear the distant murmur of arriving clergy and the metallic footfalls of armored escorts being processed through the security cordon. Cardinal Octavian Malchior and various high-ranking Ministorum figures all seemed eager to meet with her.

However, the Order of the Silver Lily was not taking any chances, with every sister from the Drakios fleet active and present. Everyone had to get screened before they were allowed past the front doors. As a sign of respect, they were meeting within one of the lesser-used cathedrals aboard the orbital dockyard.

"Sister Swift, is all of this necessary? We could simply warn the Cardinal," she pointed out. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"Negative, Lady Saint. We do not know how compromised the Cardinal's detail is. Until they have been screened, no one is beyond suspicion." The power armour-clad woman's stance was firm. Lael sighed, "Is this… outfit … necessary? I would have much preferred my normal armour," she said, gesturing to the suit she was wearing. The power armour they had stuck her in was… ornate… covered in seals, runes, and its panels polished to a mirror sheen and its edges silvered – it looked utterly ridiculous in Lael's opinion.

The only part of the ensemble she liked was the ivory cloak.

"It looks splendid on you, Saint Zyne," Sister Lily spoke as she checked and racked her bolt pistol before holstering it. Lael cringed.

"Saint Lael, please… or just Lady Lael," she requested as she turned to Sister Lash, who turned her head away to avoid eye contact.

"I could have gotten Lady Nicole to make me something far more… practical – If I wanted to wear something besides my own gear." Lael adjusted the Rosarius that dangled over her breastplate. Nobody even had the chance to answer Lael before a voice rang out from the entryway.

"The delegation has arrived!" Lael sat up with a weary sigh.

"Let's get this over with," she muttered, resignation heavy in her voice. They had expected a response to the checkpoint measures, but the force of it still struck like a thunderclap.

"What is the meaning of this!?" The voice belonged to a woman clad in black power armour trimmed with crimson and white. The fleur-de-lis of the Order of Our Martyred Lady adorned her tabard, while purity seals and devotional parchments hung from her warplate in careful rows. Her silver-threaded cloak swept behind her as she entered, every measured step radiating authority.

Age had touched Canoness Helena Mordane only lightly; pale lines framed the corners of her mouth and eyes, hard-earned marks from decades of command rather than frailty. Her lips carried the faintest hint of a smile, though there was no warmth in it whatsoever. To their credit, the Sisters of the Silver Lily held their ground.

"I am afraid we must insist on the scan and identity verification, Lady Helena Mordane. Even for yourself and the Cardinal. We will ensure the safety of the Saint." The Canoness's expression hardened almost imperceptibly as the Sister of the Silver Lily passed the scanner-wand across the seals of her gorget for a second time. The device emitted a sharp chirp of approval and the handheld display briefly flashed green.

"The Canoness is clear," the Hospitaller announced with a polite smile as she stepped aside. Mordane strode forward without hesitation, her stern gaze sweeping across the assembled Sororitas like a commander inspecting a battlefield fortification.

"Your vigilance does you credit," she said evenly, though irritation edged every syllable.

"I do hope you have a good reason for this undue suspicion and disrespect." Her eyes finally settled upon Lael, and she gave a faint huff through her nose.

"Explain yourselves. Why have you turned this house of worship into a fortress?" Her gaze narrowed slightly.

"If your faith in this woman is so fragile it requires scanners and gene-locks to protect it, perhaps she is no saint at all." Lael smiled even as some of the Sisters bristled.

"Yes, please tell them I'm not one, so I can return to my duties and my Lady." The Canoness paused, perplexed, for a moment and studied Lael closely.

"You do not claim the moniker?" Lael shrugged, "I merely performed a few minor blessings." Waving one of her hands around in an exaggerated manner, "This all seems excessive to me. The Emperor rewards all his servants for their service: I was merely blessed enough to have fought on the same battlefield long ago." Sister Lash chuckled, "Minor blessings? You mean the grand blessings and miracles you've repeatedly performed, Lady Lael?"

Lael shot the woman a look and grumbled, "Do you want to tell the Canoness about the assassins?" Canoness Mordane bristled, " Assassins? What assassins?" Lael shared a knowing glance with her retinue. She gave them a clear nod, granting them permission to elaborate and explain the situation to the Canoness.

"The Cardinal is in danger. According to the cards Saint Lael drew from the Emperor's Tarot, and interpreted by a diviner of considerable skill and repute. We believe someone in the Cardinal's retinue may be compromised in some way. The scanner is one of a few rare devices approved by the Emperor's Inquisition capable of detecting all stages of Xenos infection," Sister Lash explained. The Canoness processed the new information quickly.

"I see… I will instruct the Cardinal and his retinue to comply with the scanning so we may proceed with the proper verification and testing of Lady Lael." Lael watched the Canoness withdraw to relay the order. One by one, members of the Ecclesiarchal delegation submitted themselves to the scans. Each green rune of clearance eased the tension gripping the Sisters of the Silver Lily, though only slightly. Bolters remained ready, helmets turned toward every movement. Then the Cardinal approached.

For a brief moment, the courtyard seemed to hold its breath. The scanner swept over the aged man of the cloth while the Sisters overseeing the checkpoint watched with unwavering intensity. Seconds stretched uncomfortably long before the Sister Hospitaller finally stepped aside and offered a respectful nod.

"Clear." The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Shoulders loosened. A few of the Sisters visibly relaxed, though discipline kept them from showing too much relief. The Cardinal himself appeared utterly untroubled by the ordeal. Age had silvered his hair and lined his face, yet nothing about him seemed frail. Pristine white-and-gold robes draped elegantly from his shoulders, the rich fabric embroidered with countless devotional scriptworks and tiny golden aquilas that shimmered beneath the lumen lights.

In one hand, he carried an ornate staff capped with a finely wrought Imperial sigil, though he leaned upon it more as a symbol of office than from necessity. He moved with calm assurance, his presence practiced and commanding without becoming overbearing. Sharp eyes studied Lael with clear intelligence, while a warm, measured smile settled easily across his features as he approached.

"I am Cardinal Octavian Malchior, Voice of the Holy Ecclesiarchy upon Cypra Mundi, and humble servant of the God-Emperor of Mankind," he introduced himself with a polite bow.

"It is a pleasure to meet you in person, finally, Lady Lael. I have heard many favorable things regarding you and your deeds." His smile softened slightly.

"I do hope you will forgive our caution. The Imperium has suffered greatly from false saints, deceivers, and darker things wearing holy faces. We would be remiss in our duties were we to accept such reports unquestioningly."

"May the Emperor's light continue to guide you and your flock, Cardinal," Lael replied, returning the bow with equal courtesy. The man was undeniably charming, but more than that, Lael could immediately sense the careful balance he maintained. Every word was diplomatic, every expression measured. He spoke warmly, yet weighed each reaction behind those sharp old eyes. It certainly made her wonder which was more dangerous: a zealot blinded by faith, or a man wise enough to temper it.

He smiled and clasped his hands together, "I believe you've already met the Canoness. My Deacons, Senior Confessors, and my aides should be along shortly," he mused good-naturedly, turning to face the entrance. While the Cardinal had entered with minimal fuss, the horde of Ministorum staff following in his wake had swiftly run into the bottleneck of the entrance. Men flashing their identification and trying to talk their way past the bioscan just to get inside a moment ahead of their rivals was commonplace.

The Sister Hospitaller was having none of it; the cover story flowed smoothly from her lips.

"You are all required to be scanned before entry. You are individuals from numerous worlds who interact with hundreds of faithful every day, and you must be screened for any potentially dangerous pathogens. It would not do for any of you to render the potential saintess ill." One confessor scurried over with an ornate golden bell that sat silently on a satin pillow. Another was transporting a staff on the end of which hung from a thick golden chain, an ancient lamp.

A quartet of Sisters entered bearing a palanquin on which sat a simple, worn steel sword. The Cardinal clapped, "Ah, yes, very good, the Bell of the Martyr, the Lantern of Ophelia, and the Relic Blade. With these, we can perform the preliminary screening." Lael glanced at the items and nodded, "Please, by all means, Cardinal," she said politely. The Cardinal gestured sharply, the attendant crawled forward across the marble and knelt, presenting the pillow and the bell.

"The bell first. Please pick it up and ring it thrice," he instructed Lael. Lael tilted her head, and reached out slowly. She closed her fingers around the bell's handle and lifted it, and was surprised by its weight. It was far heavier than it looked. Lael tilted it and frowned when she failed to spot a clapper within the bell. She gave it a shake and was surprised when a resonant, clear note echoed throughout the chapel.

Lael shook it twice more, each time producing the same clear note, before she gently returned the bell to its resting place upon the pillow. The Cardinal nodded considerately.

"The bell tolls true. You are no daemon. No witch in disguise. You are a true believer of the Emperor. Only those true of faith can ring that bell without repercussions. Next is the Lantern of Ophelia. Simply grasp and hold the staff steady," the Cardinal directed her. People continued to trickle in as they passed the scan, quickly taking up positions around them to watch the proceedings. Lael reached out and grabbed the staff, unlike the bell, it was light, and the lantern flickered with a soft orange flame.

After a moment in her grasp, the flame flared slightly and shifted to burn a radiant gold. Several members of the audience gasped at the sight. The Cardinal hummed and studied the flame intently, seeing her questioning look, he was more than willing to explain.

"This lamp was, it is said, supposedly lit by attendants of Saint Katherine the Shield Bearer herself. The flame cannot be extinguished and changes color in particular situations. It burns gold near miraculous phenomena." He gestured for the Sisters to bring the blade forward.

"I will warn you, Lady Lael, if you are a false saint, this last test will maim you, and if your faith is lacking, it will kill you. That blade was once wielded by a true saint; in the hands of the unworthy, it immolates them. When wielded by another saint, the blade itself burns with the fury of a martyr," he said with an affectionate smile. Lael nodded and did not hesitate to reach for the blade. The hilt was ice cold to the touch at first, but it began to rapidly warm as she held it aloft.

The blade hummed for a moment but did not burst into violent flames as most expected; instead, the blade began to glow, and the tip ignited with the flame of a potent candle.

"What does that mean, your grace?" Someone in the crowd asked of the Cardinal. He looked both surprised and pensive.

"How curious," he mused, and stroked his chin with a kind smile.

"It means that I have seen enough to convince me that Lady Lael Zyne is indeed a holy saint – a minor one, but still a saint, ah, saintess." He intently studied Lael.

"How does the blade feel?"

"Uncomfortable? Warm, almost too hot. It feels… judgemental. I think I hear someone whispering?" Lael replied as she moved to put it down.

"Ah, one moment, Saintess Lael. Unfortunately, the blade must be sated for the flames to be extinguished. Do not worry, we prepared a penitent volunteer." He gestured, and a man shuffled forward. He looked resigned to his fate. He was barefoot and clad in a simple robe. He approached and reached out, taking the hilt from Lael. As he held the weapon, the flame on the blade flickered. Within moments, his eyes, ears, and nose began to smoke.

He opened his mouth to scream, and flames poured out, engulfing him in a flash, and within moments, all that was left of him, as the blade clattered to the floor, the flame extinguished, was a pile of ash. A pair of the Sisters used specialized tongs to return the blade to the palanquin. The Cardinal muttered a quick prayer over the ashes. The Sisters around Lael all bore vindicated expressions. Many prominent members of the Ministorum stared at her with an uncomfortable level of intensity.

Just when it looked like one of them had worked up the courage to call out to her, the voice of the Cardinal cut in, "This does place you in a rather curious position, Saintess Lael. I have been told you are resistant to vacating your current position?" Lael met the Cardinal's eyes and nodded, "That is correct, Cardinal. I have no intention of breaking my vows to House Cavalerio and My Lady." The corner of Lael's mouth twitched up in amusement.

"I believe attempts to force the issue would go… poorly, to say the least." The Cardinal briefly winced, but he rallied quickly.

"It certainly would not do for we faithful, to ignore the will of the saintess. The Emperor works in mysterious ways," he sighed wistfully, but Lael's keen eyes caught the warning glare he shot across the assembled crowd.

"You seem to get along well with the Order of the Silver Lily. Perhaps we could increase your accompaniment to a full Preceptory?" Sister Lash sucked in a sharp breath from where she stood beside Lael. Lael hesitated; she chose her words carefully, "That… would need to be discussed with Lord Drakios and Lady Cavalerio. However, I believe they may be agreeable as they will both be vastly expanding their respective fleets in the coming months.

Provided the Ministorum avoids excessive demands, they should be amenable to reasonable requests." The Cardinal smiled brightly, as if those were the exact words he had wanted to hear.

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, raising his arms, "This is a blessed day! Rejoice!" Before the Cardinal could continue his address, a commotion arose from the entryway.

"This is absurd! I am Deacon Malthus Hale, Shrine of the Emperor's Benediction. I am expected!" snapped a wrinkled, aged man in crimson robes and a large pontiff-style hat. Around the Deacon, a crowd of his followers had arranged themselves to glare at the Hospitaller and her guards as the Deacon grew more irate at being denied entrance. While the commotion drew everyone's attention, Lael caught sight of Canoness Mordane as she slid up to the Cardinal and leaned in to whisper into his ear.

Lael watched his face shift from calm and pleased to confused and incredulous, then finally settle on barely contained fury. He turned and strode towards the entrance, his voice sharp, "Deacon Hale! Compose yourself this instant! You disgrace yourself and your parish before the saintess!" The Deacon quieted and bowed his head low.

"My deepest apologies, Lord Cardinal." He held out an arm towards the Hospitaller, but Lael caught sight of his other hand moving into his robes, and she tensed as the device flashed red, and the hidden hand emerged with an incendiary grenade. The man moved with unnatural swiftness as he lobbed it past the Hospitaller, landing just in front of the Cardinal.

"Down with the Heretics!" He screeched before a bolt shell blew the top of his skull off, and the grenade he threw detonated. The Hospitaller hurled herself into a desperate roll as the square erupted into violence. Robed figures from the Deacon's retinue drew a variety of concealed weapons beneath their vestments, while more hidden among the waiting crowd cast aside the pretense of civility and opened fire in a storm of muzzle flashes and screaming las-bolts.

The air filled with the crack of gunfire, panicked cries, and the sharp stink of burned ozone as the ambush was sprung. Fire bloomed from the grenade, the liquid fire splashed over several of the armored sisters, scorching paint and immolating purity seals. At the foot of the detonation, a sphere flickered. The Cardinal stood untouched, his Rosarius aglow with fire on all sides.

"The Emperor protects! In the name of Saintess Lael! I implore ye faithful! Purge the unclean!" He screamed above the sounds of combat, his visage naturally drawing the eye of everyone in the crowd as he pointed down towards one of the assassins whose cloak had been torn away, revealing a three-armed abomination.

Lael watched the ripple pass through the gathered crowd of zealous faithful, most of whom were unarmed, yet still they threw themselves at the attackers with unflinching fervor like a swarm of starving piranhas while screaming, "Purge the unclean!" The first abomination was torn viscerally limb from limb by the incited, screaming crowd. Hundreds died on the steps in the crossfire as the Sisters exchanged rounds with the attackers. Some waded into the crowd with blades bared to meet the enemy in melee combat.

Some of the Genestealers carried explosives, and several detonated, killing hundreds more. As the flames petered out, Lael and Canoness Mordane moved up to flank the Cardinal. Lael's las-rifle held comfortably in her arms. Her instincts prickled, and when a pair of projectiles soared towards them over the crowd, she snapped a shot that would have done any marksman proud at one of them. The bolt hit the Xenos plasma grenade in the air, where the grenade detonated with a blinding flash.

Several unfortunate parishioners were vaporised at the edge of the blast. The second grenade bearing a grinning skull landed on the marble steps and bounced twice before it detonated. The Psyk-Out grenade detonated, the wave of sacred dust scattering towards them before it fizzled against the Cardinal's force field. The Cardinal's eyes were wide and wild as he turned towards her, but his smile only widened as he laughed and repeated.

"The Emperor protects!"