I don’t want to risk teleporting over as I don’t have my armour on. Instead, I draw on my Navigator power, A Course Untraveled, informing the universe that I’m not standing next to Logis Vakul and Ròsìn, but I’m actually next to Alpia. It’s not teleportation, but a form of probability manipulation. I still don’t understand how it works, but that hasn’t stopped me from practising it.

A moment later, I am by my daughter’s side, holding her hand. I am unbothered by the heat, but my presence causes the psychic phenomena to escalate. Alpia’s connection to the Machine God also ignites with a titanic burst of power and I have to direct the excess energy into numbing her pain and healing her; the pain ward and her other cybernetics have been rendered non-functional.

Inquisitor Lyre draws his bolt pistol, but Brigid is far faster than him and injects him with a sedative before he can do anything with it. It’s not enough to knock him out, but it does let Brigid disarm him and prop him up in a chair. Raphael is quick to come over for a closer look but when he sees Lyre looking loopy and his bolt pistol made safe and just out of arm's reach, he’s smart enough not to draw his own side arm.

Heralds rush into the banquet hall and usher the guests to safety and my bodyguards surround my family, and the Inquisitors, with their upgraded MOA shields.

Logis Abbisine Vakul, Chaplain Riordan, Admiral Thalk von Styrvold, Calligos Winterscale, and Canoness Ephrine also refuse to leave, remaining by the main door.

Power continues to rapidly build within Alpia and she screams as her eyes burn out of her sockets and two wings burst from her back. One wing is heavy with gold tinted, white, organic feathers and the other is silver, metallic feathers gleaming with runes. Whatever those two fuckwits are up to doesn’t end there though as Alpia starts to grow, shooting up to four metres tall, despite the rigid nature of her Black Skeleton.

Her body continues to warp, taking on an uncanny beauty and perfection, partly supported by a growing aura of devotion and authority that I am quick to shrug off, bringing her terrified face to the fore. Slowly the power being pushed into her starts to trail off.

I say, “You’re doing well, Alpia. It’s almost over.”

Alpia looks down at me, her face streaming with tears. As her eyes stare desperately into mine I am assaulted by an intense image.

The Tyrant Emperor sits upon His rusting throne, a look of sheer triumph and exhaustion spread across His rotting face. He still holds His sparking, mechanical heart in His hands, and the sword in His chest looks as painful as ever. Whatever He hoped to achieve by wrapping the Eldar soul stone around the cursed blade hasn’t improved His condition.

His red eye has been replaced with a bright, white-green spark of thrashing, malevolent power. The bone around the socket has been repaired with blackstone and the silver runes of the Machine-God.

It takes me a moment to recognise what He has done and what He was working on.

The crazy motherfucker has imprisoned a C’Tan inside his skull.

From the top of the Emperor’s head flow millions of gold threads. There are so many that I cannot follow a single one to its destination. Taking care to actually keep my third eye closed, I peer into the Warp towards the Astronomicon to try and see what is going on.

I gape at the spectacle. Where before there was only one golden beacon screaming into the Warp, now there are dozens of silver and gold beacons spread throughout the galaxy, pushing their shock and torment into the Warp. Most are too distant to count. I can see the three silver beacons closest to me, likely all in the Koronus Expanse, and one mixed beacon that almost blinds me with its proximity: Alpia.

The Warp around Alpia is utterly calm in a bubble extending somewhere between eight and thirty lightyears. Minor demons who are pushed into the bubble by their uncaring brethren are assailed by gold and silver flames the moment they enter range of Alpia’s influence, their flesh gradually flaking away like ash.

I glance at all the other bubbles and realise that the Emperor and the Machine-God have teamed up to turn the C’Tan shard into a power source. With their stolen power, they’ve canonised dozens of Imperial and Mechanicus Saints, rather than fix the webway gate on Terra, or power the Astronomicon with it.

I am not sure how many Saints they have made. I suspect that there is one Saint for every Forge World and sector capital though, possibly more.

A child’s hand rests upon my shoulder then points towards the Realms of Chaos where I see endless legions of demons, cultists, traitor marines, and Dark Mechanicum gathering in six distinct groups. Their leaders, however, are hidden from me, even with the Star Child clinging to my shoulder.

“Why?” I say.

“Because they can, and because we must.” The chubby white hand points towards Terra and I see three new fleets being assembled: one Mechanicus, and two Imperial Navy. “Thank you for returning my children to me.”

To think he has the gall to say so while harming and using Alpia for his own goals.

A wave of sorrow and determination flows over me and I see my family, troops, and remaining guests stagger as it hits them too. The small hand pats my shoulder twice, then vanishes.

Alpia sags and I embrace her, holding her upright. Brigid rushes over and grabs two chairs and I carefully steer Alpia onto them, though they are far too small to hold her comfortably, even when placed next to each other.

Brigid and I hold Alpia as her body spasms; her implants and eyes miraculously repair themselves, glowing with faith and barely restrained power. The banquet hall is almost silent, the ragged breaths and humming machinery the only accompaniment to Alpia’s sobs. It feels like forever, but Alpia is a tough girl and within thirty seconds her sobs give way to hiccups, and sniffles, then even out into a steady, meditative breathing pattern.

“Mum, Dad! I was scared! I feel like someone just flushed molten plasteel through my veins!”

Love this novel? Read it on NovelBin to ensure the author gets credit.

“You did nothing wrong,” I say. “The Emperor and Machine-God took advantage of your request for power to canonise you. You’re now a miniature navigation beacon and a Saint two times over. Yes, it is as outrageous and ridiculous as it sounds. I doubt even the Emperor knows what the consequences of this gamble will be. On the plus side, you finally outgrew your old man.”

Alpia sniffs, “You’re so silly, Dad.”

“Do you feel well enough to stand?” says Brigid, “Maybe tell everyone else to as well?”

Alpia pokes her head between Brigid and I, “Oh. Everyone is kneeling. Apart from my brothers. That figures. And my parents.”

“It’s because I’m shielding them from your new aura,” I say. “Otherwise they’d have their faces pressed to the deck as well. I didn’t want them to tease you about it later.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You also have new wings and are even more beautiful, my brave daughter,” says Brigid. “Do you want more help from Dad or can you control everything yourself already?”

“It’s kinda embarrassing to be babied infront of so many people, even more so when they’re kneeling! Er, yeah, I can reign it in, but it’s like a new muscle and I am really, really tired. Can you shield everyone for me Dad, at least for now?”

“For a few minutes, sure. Not forever though. You’re way stronger than me now.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes!” I say, “so you need to be extra careful. An Imperial Saint can immolate a battalion with a sneeze and you got the BOGOF deal of the millennia. That doesn’t make you invincible though. I wouldn’t fancy your chances against an Imperial Assassin armed with a relic or a Demon Primarch. Gravity and vortex weaponry is dangerous, so is sorcery and orbital bombardments.”

“Dad, I get it. I’ll do extra training and everything, but you have to make me a custom Knight!”

I say, “Sure, Sweet Pea. I will make you a custom Knight once we get to the Lathes. I’ll start on a new set of armour and weapons for you as well tonight.”

“Awesome.”

“Alpia,” says Brigid, “Now that you’ve extracted maximum sympathy from your pushover of a father, and had a moment to collect yourself, it is time to stand.”

Brigid’s words are fierce, as is her tone, but her twitching mouth is more than enough to let Alpia and I know that Brigid approves and is amused by Alpia’s silly requests.

Alpia slowly stands and glances over her shoulder, then spreads her wings, knocking over tables and chairs and brushing over kneeling Heralds. They’re twelve metres across, yet soft, light and sturdy.

“This is tricky,” says Alpia. “Sorry for smacking you in the face, Lieutenant Aiefe!”

With an effort of will, and my hand on Alpia’s back, I suppress her aura, restoring free will to the people around us. There are multiple gasps as people stand and look over at us.

Alpia storms over to Lyre and says, “Are you happy now, Inquisitor?” she looms over him. “Look at what you have wrought! All shall worship me and despair! Or they would if I was a total bitch. I still expect an apology though. Asking a girl to prove she is pure in the eyes of the Emperor and having to face down a Saint. Ha!”

Lyre stares at Alpia, a mix of fury and awe on his wrinkled face.

“Alpia, tone it down,” says Brigid. “We’ve all had a big shock today. No need to rub it in everyone’s faces.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

Brigid claps her hands together once, “Alright everyone. Show’s over. You can send all your complaints and requests to Aldrich later.”

“Now hold on a minute,” shouts Calligos. “Are we safe? Must we prepare for war?”

“Never and always, Trader Calligos,” says Brigid. “You are not under immediate threat of bodily harm, however. Unless you have something else you wish to say?”

“Nay, Lady Issengrund,” Calligos glances at the drugged Inquisitor. “I’d like your permission to take my leave and return to my Emperor’s Vow nonetheless.”

“You are a guest, not a prisoner, Trader Calligos. You are free to visit and depart as you please.”

Calligos looks at the other Imperials who are clearly bursting to say something. He gives a brief bow, “Thank you for your hospitality.” Calligos turns around and strides from the banquet hall, a shade short of an impolite jog.

“We just witnessed the birth of a Saint!” says Ephrine. “How can you be so casual about this? We must spread the good news, raise new temples, and found new Orders! Did you not feel His presence? Surely this is a sign He has forgiven the Order of the Valorous Heart for their ancient sins!”

Abbisine says, “The Mechanicus have not had a new Saint since Curia in M31! Let alone an individual who clearly represents both the Cult Mechanicum and the Imperial Cult. You can’t just hide her away!”

“Oh, I can’t, can I?” I say, drawing on the Warp. Behind the armoured cover of my third eye gather the golden flames of my immolating gaze. I stomp towards Abbisine, my nanites flowing outwards dissolving the furniture and displays to dust.

A mechadendrite slips into a Warp portal and retrieves my power hammer, then hands it to me. My other mechadendrites are quick to follow, each retrieving a different weapon until I am holding a heavy arc rifle, hellfire pistol, MOA shield, and a Mark III Marwolv Las rifle. The air around me ripples as a gold tinted force barrier manifests around me and a conversion field sparks with flecks of light as it runs over my clothes and skin.

“Logis Vakul, you remain a guest. Barely. I’ve just watched, helpless, as my daughter screams and thrashes, her body and soul bent by the will of tyrants. I could not take her pain, nor the burden she now bears, a burden that protects you and all others from the malignant gaze and actions of the Ruinous Powers.”

I stop protecting Abbisine from Alpia’s aura and Abbisine is forced back to her knees, unable to move or speak.

I continue, “Alpia is a beacon in the Warp, to guide all void ships and attract the enemies of Mankind until her dying day. What would you have me do? Let you poke and prod her to satisfy your curiosity? Kiss her feet and pray to her? Stare at her as if she is to be admired, not held and loved as is her right?

“I say no.

“None shall harm her. None shall use her for their own goals, not even me. Alpia will remain her own woman, pursuing her noble dreams and goals and I will be there to pick her up if she falls, encourage her if she falters, and obliterate the enemies she is not yet ready to face alone.

“Do you have anything you wish to contribute? No? Good. My family and I are going to return to our quarters, consume food that is unhealthy as it is delicious, and watch an humorously atrocious holovid, or whatever else we want to do. The rest of you are encouraged to do the same.”

I turn around fury bubbling in my artificial veins, “I rather think that threats to Inquisitors are a waste of time, for you have heard them all. However, I find myself in the odd position of feeling compelled to offer one.

“Inquisitor Lyre, as a guest, you drew a weapon upon my ship, not in its defence, but with the intention to point it at my daughter. In your ignorance and zeal to perform your self assigned task, you put yourself, my family, guests, vessel, and crew at risk of catastrophic and immediate annihilation. You will depart Ardent Bane with haste and without detours. Should you show yourself before me again without my express invitation, you will be greeted by the broadside of the entire Stellar Fleet, or the closest blunt and rusty implement I can get my hands on."

I turn back to my other guests, “I thank you all for coming this evening and I wish you all a fulfilling night’s rest. Now piss off.”