Warhammer 40k : I'm not a psyker, I'm far worse Chapter 235: The Confusion of the Blood Angels

Shenlong.

Deep within a hidden stone chamber, dim candlelight flickered before a holy icon of the Emperor. A Space Marine in blood-red power armor knelt on one knee, hands clasped in prayer, silently addressing the icon. The gilded edges of the statue were peeling, revealing the dull tal beneath, but the eyes symbolizing wisdom and enlightennt still shimred in the candlelight.

Rafin kept his eyes closed, his brow furrowed with lancholy. As a mber of the Blood Angels, he knew that hiding in this secret place to pray alone was not the orthodox path. Normally, he should have perford this ritual in the company chapel under the guidance of a Sanguinary Priest. But Rafin felt he had no other choice.

"rciful Emperor, Guardian of Mankind, my Lord," Rafin whispered, his voice echoing in the hollow chamber. "I beseech Your radiance to illuminate my path, that Your confused believer may be awakened..." His voice trembled slightly.

"The teachings of Sanguinius prevent from agreeing with the actions of my brother, Arkio. I do not believe his deeds are righteous, nor do I believe he is the reincarnation of our gene-father." Rafin paused, his throat tightening. "I sent word to Baal to warn them... but the reaction of the Sanguinary Priests made hesitate. I do not understand why this is happening. Please hear my confession."

Rafin closed his eyes, and his past experiences flashed before him like a montage.

It had all begun during the operation to reclaim Shenlong. It was supposed to be an ordinary expedition. Under Arkio's leadership, three companies of Blood Angels descended upon this planet corrupted by Chaos. They engaged in fierce combat with the Word Bearers Chaos Space Marines using flawless tactics and impeccable courage.

During the height of the battle, a bolt shell struck Arkio in the chest. The impact threw him into a derelict cathedral. His battle-brothers imdiately moved to cover him, escorting him to the depths of the structure. Then, a miracle occurred.

Before the eyes of the Astartes, the wound on Arkio's chest healed at a visible speed. The bolt shell embedded in his plate was pushed out by new muscle and fell to the floor with a tallic clatter. Even more incredible was that a pair of white wings grew from Arkio's back. They unfurled in the dim cathedral, resembling the religious paintings of Sanguinius descending to the world.

Every Astartes present stood frozen. Inquisitor Stele was the first to kneel, followed imdiately by Sanguinary Priest Sachiel. A wave of ecstasy spread through the group like wildfire, and everyone celebrated it as a divine sign.

Predictably, Arkio, now possessing those wings, beca unstoppable. He led every charge, wielding the Spear of Telesto—a weapon said to be usable only by the Great Angel. His wings fluttered amidst the shelling as he tore the Word Bearers' defensive lines to shreds. Under Arkio's leadership, the three companies reclaid Shenlong with overwhelming force.

Due to his performance, the battle-brothers beca fanatically imrsed in the glory he brought, and the priests worked tirelessly to promote Arkio as the "Angel Reincarnated." However, amidst this wave of fanaticism, Rafin was the only one who remained calm. He felt sothing was wrong. It was all too perfect—not like a blessing from the Emperor, but more like a gift from Chaos.

This suspicion brought Rafin imnse pain. He could not tell if his questioning stemd from rational judgnt or from jealousy that the glory ant for him had been seized by another. Before Arkio's rise, Rafin had been the most esteed company commander among the three.

What disturbed Rafin more was the atmosphere within the ranks. Several Blood Angel scouts who shared Rafin's doubts about Arkio's status were executed by Sanguinary Priest Sachiel. This filled Rafin with agony.

Rafin took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He stood up, pushed open the heavy iron door of the stone chamber, and walked onto the streets of Shenlong. The sunlight made him squint. The city had been heavily damaged in the war and was awaiting reconstruction. The superhuman destructive power of the Astartes was evident everywhere: collapsed buildings, cratered streets, and fortifications lted by plasma.

Normally, the local populace would have begun restoring production and organization. But things were clearly abnormal.

"What are you doing?" Rafin's brow furrowed. He saw a group of people kneeling along the streets, their postures nearly prostrate. When they noticed a Blood Angel approaching, they began to kowtow frantically. The sound of foreheads hitting the ground was dull and rapid; blood soon seeped out, staining the dust.

"My Lord! Please forgive our disrespect!" Initially, the people only kowtowed without speaking. After Rafin's repeated questioning, one man finally looked up with fanatical eyes and shouted, "We betrayed our faith in the Emperor and Sanguinius under the influence of traitors! We are guilty!"

"It was not your fault," Rafin said sternly. "We have eliminated the traitors who could not be saved. Doing this only invites the forces of Chaos to return. I command you to stand up—do not kneel!"

The people seed not to hear him. "Yes... our will is weak, and Chaos will return..." The citizens stood up with fanaticism in their eyes, as if catching a keyword, and suddenly raised their arms. "Kill us! Wash away our sins! Let our souls return to the Throne! Purify us! Please purify us!"

The crowd seed ignited, standing up and surging toward Rafin with crazed expressions. It was madness. Rafin backed away instinctively. He felt no threat—these people were unard and stumbling. The rcy of an Angel of Death made him unwilling to raise his weapon against these innocent civilians.

Then—Bang! Bang! Bang!

The roar of bolters tore through everything. The bodies of the citizens exploded before Rafin's eyes, blood and flesh blossoming into red mists. But their faces bore smiles—joyous smiles. The corpses fell one after another as blood pooled in the craters, slowly spreading across the ground.

Rafin froze. He slowly looked up. Sanguinary Priest Sachiel stood behind him, smoke still curling from the muzzle of his bolter. His eyes gazed at Rafin calmly, as if he had only crushed a few insects.

"You hesitated, my brother," Sachiel said without reproach, his tone flat. "We are to gain supre glory in the crusade led by the reincarnated vessel of Sanguinius. How can one so weak purify the enemies of the Emperor?"

Rafin grit his teeth. A burning rage flared in his heart. But finally, he lowered his head. "...Yes, Priest."

In a short instant, a thought in Rafin's mind beca incredibly firm. I am not wrong. You are. His report to Baal had been too mild; he had to take more proactive action to stop this—

Wait, what was that sound? Rafin looked up. In his pupils, a black dot was rapidly expanding in the sky. His superhuman vision allowed him to make out the silhouette. It was an Imperial Battle Barge, and the Aquila emblem on its hull reflected the piercing sunlight.