War Hammer: The reality Bender Chapter 32 32: The Penitent Prison

Approximately three Terran hours later.

The first to return to the bridge was the Custodian.

"Apologies, Lord Rowan. I bear unfortunate news. Based on my assessnt, this strike cruiser has entirely lost its capacity for warp transit."

Leonardo strode onto the bridge, his Terminator plate gleaming with a golden luster. "The Geller Field generators and the warp drives were profoundly corrupted by chaotic sorcery. Upon being purified by the Master's radiance, they suffered irreversible structural damage. Furthermore, the majority of the weapon systems are offline. A few macro-cannons could theoretically be fired if we possessed sufficient manual labor, but the vast majority of the point-defense turrets—which had been organically fused into the vessel's hull by the immaterium's influence—are fundantally defunct."

"Very well."

Rowan accepted the news easily. He had already ntally prepared for such an outco.

Even though he could now command the vessel's machine spirit, it did not an the strike cruiser could function entirely without a crew; certain chanical systems still required manual operation.

Rowan looked at Leonardo and asked, "Do you possess the technical knowledge to repair or construct a warp drive? If so, I can extract the schematics from your mory and utilize my reality-bending dominion to restore them."

"Apologies, Lord Rowan." Leonardo shook his head. "While the esoteric knowledge imparted upon the Custodes is vast, the specific structural engineering required to fabricate a warp drive from scratch, or the precise schematics of a Geller Field generator, elude my purview."

"Alright, I understand." Rowan nodded. "In other words, this vessel is now restricted to strictly in-system transit. We are effectively reduced to the status of a Chartist fleet, entirely incapable of faster-than-light travel."

"I comprehend the situation. Thank you for your assessnt."

Leonardo surveyed the bridge, hesitating for a mont before asking, "Lord Rowan, did you... fabricate all these weapons and wargear here?"

The mont the Custodian had stepped onto the bridge, he noticed the drastic environntal shift.

It was evident that Rowan had not been sitting idle for the past few hours. He had utilized his reality-bending dominion to ticulously repair and reshape the bridge, erasing almost all traces of the apocalyptic lee that had taken place.

Furthermore, resting silently in a corner of the bridge was a massive stockpile of pristine Astartes wargear—including Artificer-grade Mark VII power armor, Tartaros-pattern Terminator plate, and even over a dozen Dreadnought chassis.

Hearing the question, Rowan smiled faintly, a glint of anticipation flashing in his eyes. "These are the 'handy little surprise tools' we will be utilizing for our next phase."

Witnessing this deanor, Leonardo realized there was no point in attempting to dissuade him.

Although he hadn't spent much ti with this deeply mysterious "human" who called himself Rowan, he had formulated a rough psychological profile of the man.

This individual chosen by the Master was fiercely independent and possessed vast combat intuition. While his exterior appeared completely mortal and entirely harmless, he was in truth exceptionally lethal.

More importantly, Leonardo recognized that Rowan possessed a staggering, unconventional intellect and a seemingly endless reservoir of unorthodox ideas. His mind was incredibly open—a truly rare trait within the hopelessly dogmatic and stagnated modern Imperium.

And, for better or worse, his so-called "reality-bending" authority allowed him to physically manifest every single one of those bizarre concepts into objective existence.

Perhaps this was exactly why the Master had selected him to salvage the future of the Imperium of Man.

After waiting a while longer, Cybia and Lucia returned together.

Trailing behind them as they entered the bridge was a massive procession of Chaos Space Marines, suspended and levitating in the air via Cybia's telekinesis.

These Astartes had been entirely stripped of their power armor and weaponry. Their bodies were riddled with horrific mutations and missing limbs. Most were deeply unconscious, and the few who remained awake were completely incapacitated and unable to mount any resistance.

Rowan swept his gaze over them, performing a quick headcount.

—A total of one hundred and thirty-three.

"This is the entirety of the heretics we managed to subdue. Several mounted resistance too fierce to allow for non-lethal capture, and were summarily executed. As for our original transport vessel... the situation is grim."

Cybia spoke first, delivering her report. "I conducted a microscopic sweep using my psychic senses and located zero survivors. They were all martyred under the combined, relentless assault of the xenos and the heretics."

Rowan nodded in solemn understanding.

He walked toward the Chaos Astartes, who had just been unceremoniously dumped onto the deck in a tangled heap.

Fortunately, the bridge was cavernous enough to accommodate such a large number of bodies.

The Chaos Astartes raised their heads to look at the approaching Rowan. Their appearances were utterly repulsive: deathly pale skin, grotesquely mutated limbs, and pitch-black hollows where facial features should have been. Their visages were entirely stripped of humanity, horrific enough to instill profound terror and absolute disgust in any sane mortal.

At that mont, those who were still conscious began to rant, filling the chamber with a chaotic cacophony:

"Hah! Since when did the lapdogs of the False Emperor beco so rciful?"

"Heehee, do you wish for us to serve you? We can do that... so long as you bring us ecstasy... hahahaha..."

"By the Prince of Pleasure! Slaanesh be praised! Aaaah!"

Even with their limbs securely bound—so having had their arms and legs entirely amputated—they writhed and rolled against one another like a writhing nest of vipers, completely lost in their daemonic delirium, seemingly oblivious to their current predicant.

Rowan said nothing, his gaze betraying a trace of cold pity.

He drew the Ceremonial Sword of Solomon from his waist, activating his reality-bending dominion to channel the Emperor's holy might contained within the blade.

Instantly, ethereal golden flas flared to life, cascading outward to entirely engulf the captive Chaos Astartes.

One of the Chaos Space Marines groggily opened his eyes.

Imdiately after, a tidal wave of suppressed mories violently flooded his brain. The psychological twisting and madness induced by chaotic corruption was instantaneously shattered and purged.

He stared blankly around him. Everywhere he looked, he saw inhuman, grotesquely contorted faces. Staring into the pitch-black eye sockets of his forr battle-brothers, he was forcefully confronted with the horrifying reality of his own identical, degenerate state.

"No... no..."

A single, clear tear slowly slid down his pallid, mutated cheek. "In our pursuit of so-called 'perfection'... what in the Emperor's na have we beco?!"

As the Astartes sequentially awoke from their corrupted stupor, the bridge was filled with the agonizing sounds of weeping, screaming, and howls of absolute, soul-crushing despair.

So found the overwhelming psychological tornt and crushing guilt so unbearable that they frantically attempted to smash their own skulls against the ceramite deck plating, desperately seeking the release of death.

"Hah. What a pathetic flock of idiotic heretics."

As an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus, Cybia maintained an expression of absolute disgust despite witnessing their tragic realization. She spoke with a voice like absolute zero, "Lord Rowan, I do not believe this is a sound tactical decision."

"These heretics have fallen too deeply into the abyss. They forfeited their right to bask in the God-Emperor's light long ago!"

Though Leonardo and Lucia remained silent, their eyes clearly broadcasted their intense disapproval.

After all, this entire spectacle ran entirely counter to the extre, fanatical dogma of the Imperium.

They all adhered strictly to a singular, foundational tenet: Never attempt to understand the mind of a traitor, for understanding breeds heresy.

"...There will be an appropriate arrangent for them. You have my word."

Rowan placated his squad, then stepped forward, standing directly before the chaotic, despairing mass of transhuman flesh.

"[Silence!]"

A low, authoritative command, laced with invisible ontological weight, swept across their minds like a chilling breeze, forcefully wrestling their panicked consciousnesses into a state of forced calm.

"Without a shadow of a doubt, you have committed unforgivable sins."

Rowan's voice was clear and absolute, echoing off the bulkheads of the bridge. "However, I, Rowan, as the covenant-bearer of the Emperor, will offer you a singular opportunity for atonent. If you can find release in the endless, unending crucible of war that awaits you, you may return to the Golden Throne, where the Emperor Himself shall pass final judgnt upon your souls."

"You will receive absolutely zero rewards or glory in your ensuing battles. You will know no pleasure, no respite, and no peace. You will exist solely to atone—to salvage what remains of humanity, and to serve a grander tactical utility."

He paused slightly, raising a finger to point at the massive stockpile of pristine power armor resting nearby:

"If you are willing to accept this penance... stand up. Those suits of power armor shall serve as your new prison cells."

Rowan's words struck with the weight of a forge hamr, permanently engraving themselves into the minds of every forr Astartes of the Angels of Ecstasy warband.

Eventually, trembling and relying on sheer transhuman endurance, they forced themselves up. Supporting one another's mutated, crippled fras, they began the slow, agonizing walk toward the waiting power armor.

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