NOVEL WEB Chapter 37: Psyker
Elizabeth knelt alone in the quiet chapel, her head bowed in prayer before the Emperor's golden statue. Her heart was heavy with doubt, an unusual state for someone as resolute as she. She desperately sought guidance from the Emperor, her thoughts a chaotic storm.
For an Inquisitor, such doubt was almost heretical. The Inquisition demanded unyielding resolve, and its operatives were taught to trust no one—not even themselves. Their faith lay solely in the Emperor. Suspicion was their greatest weapon, and ruthlessness their shield. This relentless vigilance was the foundation of their work, and failure to meet these standards often resulted in swift and brutal judgment.
Elizabeth had earned her position through decades of service. She had purged heretics, destroyed xenos, and resisted the temptations of Chaos. Her decisions carried unimaginable weight, for her authority could override planetary governors, military leaders, and even Astartes. She could order the Exterminatus of a world, extinguishing billions of lives if deemed necessary. Yet now, as she knelt in the silence of the chapel, uncertainty gnawed at her—a shadow she couldn't escape.
As Elizabeth knelt before the towering statue of the Emperor, her head bowed in silent prayer, the sound of heavy wooden doors creaking open broke the stillness of the sanctum. The faint echo of footsteps followed, precise and orderly. She opened her eyes, her thoughts snapping back to the present, and turned to see rows of young girls entering the sacred hall in disciplined lines, their movements synchronized like a ceremonial march.
This was not Elizabeth's personal sanctuary. Even her esteemed position as an Inquisitor did not grant her authority over such a place. Churches on Terra were sacred ground, controlled by the Ecclesiarchy and maintained by the Adepta Sororitas—the Sisters of Battle. These militant warriors were the armed force of the Imperial Creed, bound by the Decree Passive to be exclusively female. This decree, a relic of the Age of Apostasy, forbade the Ecclesiarchy from maintaining men under arms, forcing them to create a force of warrior women instead. Thus, the Sisters of Battle were born—a symbol of unshakable faith and martial devotion.
The Sisters of Battle recruited young girls from the Schola Progenium, taking them in at a young age and raising them under the strict doctrines of the Ecclesiarchy. These children received what the Sisters proudly called "the most orthodox education." Outsiders might whisper their doubts in private, labeling it indoctrination or brainwashing, but none dared voice such opinions openly. To the Sisters, it was no lie—they were zealots, utterly devoted to the Emperor. To them, no act in his name was too extreme.
Every Sister was a fervent believer. Their faith was absolute, their loyalty unwavering, their dedication unmatched. Under the guidance of an older Sister, the girls entered the hall and knelt before the golden statue in perfect unison. Their soft voices rose in a hymn, filling the church with a hauntingly pure melody. It was a song Elizabeth knew well, often sung by the Sisters as they marched into battle. For a moment, the tender, earnest voices stirred something deep within her heart. Almost unconsciously, she found herself humming along to the familiar lyrics:
"A spiritu dominatus, Domine, libra nos, From the lightning and the tempest, Our Emperor, deliver us. From plague, temptation and war, Our Emperor, deliver us.
From the scourge of the Kraken, Our Emperor, deliver us. From the blasphemy of the Fallen, Our Emperor, deliver us. From the begetting of daemons, Our Emperor, deliver us.
From the curse of the mutant, Our Emperor, deliver us. A morte perpetua, Domine, libra nos. That thou wouldst bring them only death, That thou shouldst spare none, That thou shouldst pardon none, We beseech thee, destroy them."
The hymn carried Elizabeth back to a distant memory, to her earliest days in the Schola Progenium. It was the first song she had ever learned, sung alongside her fellow initiates as they trained. For Elizabeth, those days felt like salvation.
The training was strict, but she remembered waking each morning to sunlight streaming through barred windows. The walls shielded her from the biting wind, and the roof kept out the relentless rain. She had a clean cot, simple blankets, and a meal waiting for her. No death. No hunger. No beatings. No cruel words or kicks to endure. For an orphan who had survived by scavenging scraps on the streets, this life felt like a blessing. Praying to the Emperor each day gradually replaced her fear with purpose.
Most of the girls in the Schola had similar stories. They were orphans, abandoned or left destitute by war, famine, or the countless tragedies that plagued the Imperium. The Sisters gave them shelter, food, and a cause. Elizabeth cherished this life and worked tirelessly, excelling in every lesson and task. Her dedication to the Emperor steeled her resolve and honed her skills. She passed the grueling trials to become a Sister of Battle and fought in countless wars, her faith unyielding.
Elizabeth thought her life would continue this way—burning with the Emperor's righteous fury until her inevitable fall on the battlefield. But one mission changed everything.
It was a perilous assignment, her unit tasked with purging a demonic incursion. The Sisters fought with unwavering faith, their prayers rising in defiance of the Warp's corruption. Yet the demon was too powerful. One by one, her Sisters fell, their screams echoing in Elizabeth's ears. She pressed forward, her voice trembling as she recited the Emperor's holy verses, her faith unbroken even as despair gripped her.
Elizabeth would never forget that moment. As she faced certain death, she cried out to the Emperor, her voice trembling with desperation. The demon closed in, its cruel laughter echoing in the shattered ruins. Then, something inexplicable happened. It was as though her prayers had been answered directly. The world around her seemed to ripple, and the demon was torn apart, its form disintegrating as if struck by invisible forces.
Psykers are rare in the Imperium. Their powers stem from the Warp, a dimension of chaotic energy that exists parallel to reality. What humans call "psychic power" is the ability to channel the Warp into the material world. But the Warp is not an empty void; it teems with predatory entities—demons and worse. Psykers shine like beacons in the Immaterium, their presence impossible to hide.
The most powerful psykers, known as Alpha-level, are said to burn like stars in the Warp. For demons, they are irresistible prey. If a psyker succumbs to possession or is overwhelmed by a demon, their body becomes a gateway, allowing the Warp to bleed into reality and granting the demon a foothold in the material world.
Warnings about the dangers of psychic power were as old as humanity itself. The Imperium's teachings echoed those ancient fears: "The Warp is no gift from the Emperor, but a realm of Chaos. Unchecked, it invites destruction." These warnings were no fiction. Countless worlds had been consumed by the Warp's horrors, leaving the Imperium no choice but to enforce strict regulations. The rule was clear: if psychic power could not be controlled, it must be destroyed.