[Doctor Thunder]

Chapter 4
(Co-written by both Manchu and Doctor Thunder)

“Please,” Tella whispered, whipping herself.
“It has been seventy years,” she said louder, whipping again.
“I have given you everything, what more do you want from me?”

Still she felt nothing.

Tella screamed in frustration, and flung the neuro whip against the wall. Grabbing the rosary beads around her waist, she pulled at them until the thread snapped, and threw them to the ground. For a moment she cried while the beads clattered on the floor, then began gathering them up again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly, rubbing the beads between her fingers.

The black door to her temporary quarters aboard the La’mibara opened with a pneumatic hiss and Harokai strode in, followed by a trio of cybernetic servitor serfs managing a large crate.

“Well,” he began with a smile, “As they say, I have good news and bad news.”
“How dare you come in here without permission,” Tella barked, rubbing her face with her sleeve and gathering up the rest of the beads.
Harokai looked around the room, and noticed that all of the elaborate and expensive decorations had been taken down and piled into one corner. “I see you’ve renovated the place a little.”
“I had to,” Tella grumbled, gathering up her composure. “Poverty is one of our vows.”
“Oh yeah,” he mentioned to himself, biting his lip.

Although his stance appeared relaxed, Tella noticed that his hand was on his saber, as if ready to draw it at any moment.
“Anyway, the bad news is that you are dead.”
“I’m what?”
“Yup, you were still planetside when the bombardment of Yemahoit began. Ekatarina is with Arch Cardinal Eeeson right now leading a fasting vigil on your behalf. You won’t be up for sainthood, naturally, but I’ll see if I can pull a few strings and get your name carved into The Wall of the Fallen.”
Tella could only stare at him, moth agape, completely unable to speak.
“Welcome to the Inquisition,” he said with a smile.

“B-but,” she stuttered, “you already have a member of the Order Famulous on your staff, what benefit could you possibly receive from having two?”
“Good question,” Harokai praised as he stepped aside so that the servitors could set the crate down in the center of the room. “You’ll find that even the best juvenat has its limits. Ekatarina’s body has become resistant to the treatments. She probably won’t survive past the new year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tella said sincerely.
“Don’t be,” he assured, unscrewing the bolts on the crate. “She hates me fiercely, so I’m sure she’ll be quite relieved.”

The front wall of the crate was lifted away, revealing a priceless suit of Sororitas Power armor glistening brightly in the artificial lighting of the room. The Sisters of Battle protected the cathedrals and lands of The Emperor’s church, and were the most visible symbol of The Ecclesiarchy’s influence and power. In the past, Tella had always kept her distance from these sister-warriors, so this was the first time she had even seen a suit of their armor up close. Each of The Emperor’s thousand prayers were inscribed into the surface in hair-thin etchings, and the sacred symbols of The Church embellished the suit from helm to greave. The holy robes of purity were built into it, but with buttons along each side that could be undone, allowing greater freedom of motion during battle. It was truly a habit first and a weapon of war second.
“But,” she protested, “I’m not a militant order.”
“You are now,” he said with a curious smile.


As she stepped off of the Aquila-class Lander’s lowered ramp, Tella’s left leg jerked and she felt herself begin to fall. A hand instantly caught the young novice from behind and steadied her.

“Remember,” Sister Merofled whispered, “let the servos do the work.”

Tella had put her power armor on for the first time only a week ago. Yet, with gracious assistance from the Battle Sisters of the Order of the Sacred Rose, she was now capable of a range of movement that seemed impossible only a few short days before. Many obstacles remained, of course.

The inside of the suit was studded with brass spikes that could be extended or retracted at will, turning the suit into a full body cilice. The pain focused her mind and will, and Tella appreciated the thought and care with which the armor had been created.

As she realigned herself, Tella noticed Sister Austrechild subtly step back into formation in front of her. It took her a moment to realize that she had just benefited from tactical cover.

“Merciful throne,” Tella worried, “if Mother Veneranda saw that…”

But the sisters’ kindness, and Tella’s own clumsy inexperience, seemed to have escaped their superior’s notice. Tella had not expected such warmth from the Sisters of Battle. Contrary to their dour reputation, these women had welcomed her with genuine affection. They taught her, between vigils and fasts, as much as they could about wearing power armor and firing a bolter before she faced this day, her first test in the field.

Tella did not feel prepared. Not once in her life had she ever expected to find herself overseeing a mass execution of heretics, and as her squad began singing the hymn of elation, she raised her voice to the heavens with them in unison.
“May He Who laid my path give me the strength to walk it,” they chanted in unison following the final verse.

Mother Superior Veneranda marched the white-armored sisters in parade formation some two hundred meters from the landing platform to a stout, golden domed fortress. Fearsome two-headed eagles, gilt with gleaming ruby eyes, perched at the summit of each buttressed corner and the tall iron-framed portal was wrought into the grim heraldry of the Ecclesiarchy. The huge skull at its apex glowered over the plaza spread out before it as it had for centuries beyond count. To the people of Janos, this was a place of penance and absolution: their capital city’s Chapel Confitorium.

The heads-up display inside Tella’s helm identified their location as Reconciliation Center One-One-Zed, and brought up several versus of scripture for her to ponder as they marched.

The thousands-strong crowd parted reverently as the sisters crossed the plaza to the steps of the Confitorium. The sick were laid at their feet in hoped of being healed, but their pleas were ignored. A few raised their hands and drunk in deeply the sweet sounds of their songs of faith. Tella did not divert her gaze from the back of Sister Austrechild’s head but she could already tell this mass of lay-civilians was entirely composed of women and girls. Even through the thick armor of her suit, Tella could palpably feel their terror. The next hymn began, an older composition known simply as The Battle Crossing.

Squads Alef and Lamed continued up the wide stone stairs before Veneranda halted them at the Confitorium doors. She ordered the sisters face outward and they turned as one, their weapons clapping in unison against their snowy breastplates. A long double rank of Janosian Planetary Defense Troopers stood between them and the crowd. Further squads of PDF flanked them to the sides and rear. Completely surrounded, Tella now saw that many of the women were quietly crying while clutching at daughters or granddaughters. The younger ones openly sobbed.

At various points across the plaza, huge braziers sent up clouds of incense. Missionaries in gas masks stalked the crowd, swinging billowing incensors to catch those who were furthest from the braziers. As they breathed in the smoke, the crowd calmed somewhat, their eyes growing faded and distant. At the behest of missionaries, some of them began to bow and make the sign of the aquila across their chests.

Tella’s helm displayed the depressants that were being filtered out of the air before it reached her, and remembered that during the briefing prayer session, Veneranda had mentioned that the Jansoian troopers had been inoculated the day before. She wondered if the troopers understood why they had been given those shots.

“Novice,” Venernanda called through the helm’s vox-comm.

“Yes, Reverend Mother?” Tella answered evenly, double checking her stance against that of the others to make sure she was doing it right.

“Step forward and allow Grand Curate Sigeric-Clodio to address the crowd.”

Tella had been so entranced by the hushed agony in the plaza that she had not noticed her superior guiding the wizened Ecclesiarchy official down the line of Battle Sisters. The Grand Curate was clearly ancient, held together no doubt by augmetics nearly as old as the Confitorium itself. But any artificial modification was completely hidden by his opulent vestments.

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Tella affirmed, careful to let her muscles merely guide the armor’s servos. An inward sigh of relief and simultaneous prayer of thanks punctuated the successful maneuver. “Hail, Most Esteemed Reverence.”

“They are so young . . .” the clergyman wheezed, looking out onto the crowd. His own eyes were yellowish, rimmed in sickly pink, and the left one was completely clouded over. Tella wondered if Sigeric’s courage was wavering, and said a silent prayer for his fortitude.
“And what do you make of the sacrifice we offer up today, my daughter?” he asked distantly.
“It is to His glory,” Tella replied sternly.

“We pray that it is so,” he said, taking the brazier she offered him that allowed him to address the crowd.

“Thirty decades have I shepherded this flock, and nary a single whisper of heresy,” he groused.
“It is not our place to question…“ Venernanda began, but the old man raised his hand. “As an Amalathian, I do not even think of questioning the commands of the Inquisition. This is because I know my place exactly, Reverend Mother.”

At the wave of his gnarled hand, servitors carried a tall, ornately carved ambo to the lower landing of the Confitorium stairs. A third servitor, upon whose shoulders rested a golden vox caster, stood in front of the ambo while the two others knelt behind it so that their bodies formed a ramp. The Grand Curate mounted his pulpit.

“My daughters of Janos,” his magnified voice boomed across the plaza. His voice carried authority as naturally as the clouds carry rain. “I address you in the Most Solemn Name of the God Emperor.”

He made the sign of the Aquila and his traumatized audience genuflected in waves. Many hundreds of them ceased to cry and looked up at him with glints of hope. As the Grand Curate launched into mesmerizing parables of faith and loyalty, Tella started to step back into formation.

“Stay at his side, Novice,” Venernanda commanded softly through the helmet vox. “Keep your weapon ready should his will waver.”

“Yes, Mother,” Tella responded, taking her place. For a moment, she grew concerned. From their position at the top of the steps, much of their view was blocked by the rows of PDF troopers between them and the crowd. Then, she realized that they were not positioned to fire on the crowd, but on the troopers should they hesitate.

“Let faith guide all your thoughts and words,” The Sisters sang aloud through their external speakers. Tella knew that identical proceedings were occurring at every Confitorium on this planet simultaneously, and she could not help but tremble at the power of the Inquisition.

The Grand Curate was finally getting to the heart of the matter. Tella was surprised at his bluntness. Clearly, he had great faith in his people even unto their uttermost desperation.

“It has come to the infallible knowledge of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition,” he rumbled, gathering momentum to demonstrate his very deepest revulsion, “that a noxious and despicable cult has taken root among the daughters of Janos.”

The women gasped collectively. They had certainly guessed as much already. And yet Tella could understand why they had not dared believe it until now. Suspicious glares were thrown back and forth across the plaza and then shrieks of accusations, even confessions, although these latter could not be trusted. It did not matter now anyway. The Grand Curate paid them no heed.

“As I have taught you, my children, the sins of a handful can damn many thousands,” he shouted. Corruption must be stamped out absolutely, else it grow and fester anew to the ruin of all.” His voice became very low. “Some of you will meet The Emperor for salvation, and others will meet Him for damnation, but you will all meet Him this day.”

A great wailing went up. Some women tore at their clothes and their hair. Others dropped to the ground, writhing in fear and sorrow. A few collapsed from the shock. The masked missionaries redobled their effort with the swinging incensors. Those women who broke from the crowd, or clung to the missionaries robes begging for absolution, were discretely shown the Emperor’s final mercy by attendants with auto-cauterizing stunknives.

A shudder ran through the ranks of the Planetary Defense troops. Tella saw helmeted heads turn questioningly to their officers while the officers themselves cast furtive glances first toward the Grand Curate and then the Battle Sisters. The women in the crowd were their mothers, wives, and daughters. Tella chanted the litany of resolve beneath her breath.

“But wait!” the Grand Curate blasted, standing straight and raising his hands to the heavens, as if to part the clouds of pollution and let golden sunlight shine on these wretched sinners once more.

As he did so, the pilots of the sky plow lighters above reacted to the pre-arranged signal and activated their air-scrubbers. The Sisters of Battle sang in their angelic voices and the clouds above truly parted. Pillars of sunshine, aided by lighters fitted with mag-lights, descended down upon the crowd. Both the women in the crowd and the planetary defense troopers stood in awe of the apparent miracle.

“By the grace of the God Emperor,” the Grand Curate very nearly whispered those words before building his volume back up, “and under the personal authority of the Emperor’s Ecclesiarch Caritabertus LXVI, Primatial Lord of this entire sub-sector, the faithful who make good deaths”—he paused to reiterate—“good, painless deaths, in obedience to this charge under the immortal authority of the Imperium, accepting as much as penance, will be granted absolution in toto.”

To Tella’s surprise, cheers arose. Having come to the brink of damnation, some of the women stepped forward, eager to accept the painless death of their bodies to escape the eternal torment of their souls. Several hundred priests, accompanied by a multitude of servitors, slipped past the stunned Janosian Troopers and into the plaza, where women young and old lined up and began receiving the Emperor’s mercy.

“Conversely,” Sigeric growled at the many who hesitated, “any who persist in their heresy by resisting this clemency graciously bestowed upon you by the Emperor’s own divine hand, will suffer ipso facto excommunication and be burned alive as a witch forthwith! ”
At this second declaration, the rest of the crowd fell in line. The priests worked quickly and effectively, dispatching each woman swiftly before moving onto the next, the bodies collected by the servitors into makeshift piles at the feet of the troopers.

Tella breathed a sigh of relief. Sigeric-Clodio had convinced them, with but sparing use of psychoactive agents and rhetorical gimmickry, that they should accept death willingly. Although it pained Tella to know that there were probably many innocents among the crowd, she knew that ultimately that was immaterial. Whether or not The Emperor accepted their souls into his bosom was the only thing that really mattered, and their obedience made that a surety.

Then, a shot was fired.

The crowd went silent, and a priest fell dead to the ground, his blood mixing in with the blood of those he had already dispatched.

Tella’s vision zoomed in on a PDF trooper, arms shaking, barrel smoking. The woman of Janos had been pacified, but the soldiers could not stand by and watch. Tella closed her eyes for a second, she knew what was coming.
Her squad opened fire in unison, the reactive rounds from their boltguns tearing the trooper and his surrounding squad to shreds.
There was another moment of silence, and Tella prayed it would end there, but then another shot rang out, and then another. Two more priests died and their squads were likewise torn apart.

Now a flurry of shots rang out, and Tella knew there was no turning back.
“Squad Alef with me to the left,” Venernanda barked as she strode down the Confitorium stairs, “Sister Radegund, take Squad Lamed to the right. Novice with Lamed.”
The Sisters turned their external speakers up to maximum, their angelic voices carrying out over the sounds of gunfire and the screams of the dying.

The next few minutes were utterly bizarre to Tella. Beneath her armor, the weapons fire that struck her felt like the pattering of rain, while her own weapon tore the men to shreds three at a time. Hymns, prayers, and death all swirled around her in a mixture she never thought possible. Worship through killing. Service through slaughter.

Tella felt the excitement grow stronger and stronger within her. Even through the filters she could smell the death around her, and she began breathing it in. It was intoxicating. Her heart beat wildly in her ears. Every cell in her body felt completely alive. The power seemed to vibrate out from her bones to the very tips of her hair. Her hearing, her sight, everything became heightened, and she was aware of everything around her from the smallest particle to the largest statue.

In that moment, she felt closer to serving The Emperor then she ever had before.

“From the lightning and the tempest,” she chanted as she brought the butt of her gun down on the shoulder of a PDF trooper, her collarbone snapping like a twig under the force of the servo-powered armor.
“From the scourge of the warp,” she sang over the roar of her bolter. A Janosian Trooper’s chest blew apart and the force of his exploding innards knocked another down.
“Emperor deliver…“

There was a crack like thunder, and Tella was thrown sideways. The world rotated around her as she cartwheeled through the air, then exploded into a world of stars and pain as she smashed into the marble statue of Saint Walton.
The display in her helm flickered in the darkness, then sprung back to life. Reacting to her injuries, her armor injected powerful stimulants into her body, that allowed her to regain consciousness and bring herself to her feet.

Sister Austrechild lay motionless at Tella’s feet, a thick fountain of blood pouring out of the fist sized hole in her chest. Her helm had split open, revealing the angelic smile that still played about her lifeless lips. Tella staggered, and reactive foam sprayed into the wounds where shrapnel has pierced her armor on her chest and arms, cauterizing them and preventing further blood loss.

Tella’s helm tracked the line of fire back to the far side of the plaza, where a PDF Leman Russ tank had rounded a corner, barrel still steaming.

Tella felt a terrible rage build up within her heart. It swelled until she felt like she was going to burst. From somewhere, she heard screaming that rose above the sounds of battle and hymns. It took her a moment to realize that it was her. She threw her gun to the ground and began running. Now the strength and energy she had felt before were different. She felt as if she were coming apart at the seams. She lost all sense of time and space. She lost all sense of who she was or where she was. All that existed in her world was her prey and her.

Tella sprinted right over a fleeing trooper, his bones crunching beneath her armored feet as she leapt upwards into the air. A second shot from the tank passed beneath her, sailing through the empty space where she had been only a second before and detonating into an expanding sphere of fire that picked up and swallowed everyone for twenty meters.

Tella landed and instinctively jinked left, a blue lance of energy sipping past her from the tank’s lascannon and striking the winged skull of the Ecclesiarchy. As she covered the remaining meters, her ears with filled with the sounds of a distant laughter.

She leapt up onto the tank, breaking the gunner’s neck and throwing his body over the side. The secondary hatch closed beneath the man’s feet, blocking her off from the rest of the crew. Roaring with frustration, Tella leapt down and began pulling on the handle. The muscles in her back and arms swelled grotesquely for a moment and the steel peeled back under the force.
She dropped down into the tank, grabbing the driver from behind and tearing out the side of his throat with her teeth. Warm thick arterial blood sprayed onto her face and hair as she swallowed. One of the sponsor gunners tried to scramble past her, but she kicked back, crushing his skull between her back and the engine block. She grabbed the second gunner and tore straight through his ribcage into his heart, taking a moment to take a bite of it while the tank commander slipped through an escape hatch.

The commander had barely taken three steps before she was on top of him.
“No, please!” he cried as she forced her thumbs through his eyes with a satisfying pop. Visions of a monster that had haunted her thoughts for too many years hurtled into the forefront of her mind. A huge thing in black armor that ripped men limb from limb. It howled in exaltation of the slaughter, using Tella’s own lungs to vent its lust for carnage.

She felt its lust course through her, as she pulled the man’s arm first out of its socket and then, with a wet crack, free from his torso altogether.

“ . . . leeees oh, leeees oh” he managed though his mouth was ruined. She pressed her face close in to his as she rained blow after blow into his teeth and gums, letting the blood splatter into her eyes and mouth. His pathetic mewling became a gargle in the back of his throat. “Tella, stop!”

It was her father’s face. Or was it her mother? Did she ever have a father? Had there ever been a monster that had murdered them? A trick! She crashed her fist again into her parents’ alternating faces. And then again and again. She didn’t care if it was them. Why did they die and leave her alone in this accursed, godless universe? She hated them, hated them, hated them forever. FOREVER!

“Tella, stop!”

The wall of rage collapsed in on itself and fell around her. Tears were streaming down her face, mingling with the blood of the man she had eviscerated. The noise of combat had almost ceased. The only gunshots came from far off, across the plaza.

“Tella!”

Her eyes focused through her tears. Her hands and face were dripping with someone’s blood, though she couldn’t understand why. She felt panic and confusion. Her eyes darted around as she tried to remember where she was and what was happening. Taddius Harokai stood over her with a strange look on his face. Next to him was another man who wore a tall, wide-brimmed hat. There was no mistaking the emblem it bore. Another Inquisitor. Taddius looked back at him.

“It’s fine, Quiroga,” Taddius assured him. “She’s alright. Lower your weapon.”

Only then did Tella notice the pistol barrel pressed up against her temple.
“I-I think something is wrong with me,” Tella admitted softly.
“Yes, we know,” Tad said grimly.