I hum a nameless merry tune as the train trundles through the voidship at a sedate twenty kilometre per hour. Every two hundred metres or so, it pulls up at a station, waiting for more passengers that will never come.

The Barber’s Blades is in poor condition with broken conduits, dripping pipes and random holes ripped through the superstructure. Light from the underslung torches of the penitent’s laspistols flash through the dark of the tight tunnels that encompass the tracks of this bizarre railway.

The penitents huddle against each other, clutching their weapons to their chests and whipping their heads from side to side. My auspex detects a faint hint of rotting flesh; I vox Clovis about potential trouble ahead.

We continue to wind through the ship for several more minutes as the train climbs up and down and winds back and forth through The Barber’s Blades. There are several gasps as we pass into a glass tunnel running along the keel of the voidship. The view is spectacular and I see thousands of twisted wrecks, glinting in the ominous red light of SR-651’s sun.

Weaving between massive turrets, heatsinks, and statues reminds me of the narrow gauge railways I would sit on with my kids on a rare day out to a theme park or zoo. I finally understand that the Tech-Priests who built this track made it just as much to move people about as they did to show off their creations and have a bit of fun.

Being outside the hull of the ship gives me a chance to download a few reports from the system’s noosphere. Quaani is still in a medical coma. Lyre and Raphael are busy purging an outbreak of chaos driven mutations. Brigid is helping Annette deal with the influx of navigators and providing the fragile woman with some emotional support. Canoness Ephrine Stern and Force Commander Odhran are making good progress placing all of the bombs.

Faith in the God Emperor has reached an all time high with new churches and chapels popping up everywhere. Literally hundreds of them in the last week alone. The problem is that people keep building shrines in spots that affect the movement of people, or block important safety systems and vents because they have no idea how the environment around them actually functions. These fanatics are also stealing resources from station repair teams.

Maeve and Lonceta are sending teams in to tear down the new shrines multiple times a day and recover the resources, lest the fools perish from asphyxiation, fire or all manner of other hazards.

This leads to riots and more fighting, as zealots get unhappy when you destroy their new temples. Then the newly faithful get shot or rounded up into penal regiments for re-education and service. Such is the influx of ignorant labourers, many of them courtesy of Caligos Winterscale, that our processing systems are completely overwhelmed.

The whole system is abound with rumours of visions and a great clash between Saint Alpia and a feathered demon, though no one seems to actually know what actually happened.

Maeve and Lonceta have taken to arming and dumping zealots on the broken void ships to fight zombies, just to dispose of them in an expedient and politically acceptable manner. Unfortunately, this is kicking the can down the road as the survivors will need to be quarantined then reassigned before we can detonate the bombs. Even then, we definitely won’t find them all. At this point I am starting to wonder if I will need a prison ship where I can slap people in stasis to smooth out the ebb and tide of fools.

I understand that these people don’t know any better, but that doesn’t make the situation any less frustrating. It’s completely pointless to punish a dog for being a dog and this situation has more parallels to that analogy than I am comfortable with.

Still, I must discipline these people anyway, because if they aren’t controlled, valuable systems and trained personnel might be damaged, or killed alongside the ignorant masses who caused the problem in the first place. Mass deaths cause discontent and lead to Chaos with, ironically, only faith and ignorance standing in the way of total corruption and collapse.

I’ve always believed that the Emperor squashed faith to enable his ascension and fight the Ruinous Powers in the Immaterium where they can actually be killed, or at least dispersed. One does not run around with wings and a big suit of power armour healing people and machines with a touch and not expect to be worshipped, much to my personal irritation.

Now I am less sure that enabling worship of himself was his goal. Seeing how everything is playing out in this system has only driven home how faith really is Humanity's greatest bane and boon.

One could also argue that it is how group thinking can lead to extremism, or our propensity to assign meaning to that which we do not understand is the cause, not faith; faith is linked to hope, love, and community. These few tools are all we have left in this grimdark galaxy and millennia of horror is yet to wrench them from our mangled grasp.

I’d be willing to bet worship was his backup plan though. Gods are shaped by their believers. Someone as strong willed as the Emperor would not toss away his free will unless it was the only option left. He likely manipulated the E-SIM project too as an accelerant to His potential apotheosis; I do keep feeding him souls and there were supposed to be many more like me. If we ended up unneeded, all he had to do was harvest the technologies and terminate the project.

Reading through the reports I can’t help but feel that grabbing my pipe and whacking adamantine armour plating would not only be a more effective use of my time, but it would also make me feel better. I can’t do that right now though, so I shall perform my epic sulking in my head alone. My face must show some of my mood though as Alis flinches when she looks at me and I am far too annoyed to feel bad about it.

Alpia is fighting on the front lines like me. Captain Bedwyr Keane has joined her, providing protection and guidance, leaving his second, Lieutenant Aife to expand my family’s bodyguards beyond a single company. The Silent Sisters are out in force, having finally left their Black Ship, rounding up new rogue psykers who’ve started popping up in the system, likely due to the massive clash activating dormant psyker genes within the local population.

Getting rid of that stupid book has thrown up so many problems!

At least Eire and Rósín are doing well with construction and administration expanding at a rapid pace, despite all the unrest. Vice-Admiral Thalk von Styrvold is being rather helpful, getting the Chartist Captains back under control and patrolling the system with his strike craft and vessels. He’s also accepted twenty percent of all the rioters and malcontents to boost his crews, straining his vessels systems and supplies beyond their recommended levels. He didn’t ask for anything for it either.

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We gifted Thalk a body tune-up and some superior implants as thanks. We also reduced our prices on rations and other vital supplies. I get the impression that not doing so would have reflected badly on us though. The Navy seems to run more on favours than it does on Thrones and Scrip.

The pleasant ride across the outside of the vessel comes to an end and we dive back into the hull and pull into a new station. Covering the platform are tens of thousands of bones, crude implants, and steel limbs.

Clovis voxes me, “Lord, may we disembark and check the remains for some heavier weapons?”

“Go ahead, Mr Pyrestain.” I lean forward and speak to the driver in Lingua Technis, “Hold here until we are ready to depart.”

++Command not found. The Motive Force cannot be restrained.++

I try another tack, “The track ahead is blocked. Wait here while I clear it.”

++All systems report passage is unrestricted. Request denied. The Machine-God sees all.++

I tut and attempt to use the key fob codes as an override.

++Insufficient permissions. Access attempt logged and reported. Your travel rights have been revoked. Please exit your carriage immediately.++

“What happens if I do not move?”

++This locomotive will remain until security evicts you. Time until security is called, fifty nine seconds.++

Would you look at that, I actually found a way to get what I want on this blasted vessel!

There are several cries of triumph as the penitents extract some better weapons from the piles of Servitor debris.

++Contacting security. Error, security not present. Please exit the carriage.++

I grin and ignore the Servitor. Five minutes later, the penitents pile back onto the train with a heavy stubber and two cases of belt ammunition. They also have six plasma torches, two data pads, and three working chainswords. Alis has recovered a lascarbine and eight power packs. Clovis now replaced his Civitas laspistol with a proper bolt pistol and two spare magazines. I am uncertain he is strong enough to fire it as Commissars train for years, and often possess additional enhancements, to handle the strain. I see no reason to take it from him though as its mere presence should stop anyone else from running off.

With everyone settled, I turn around and announce, “I am going to run along behind the train in penance. The Machine-Spirit is unhappy that we have remained so long at this spot. There are two more stops before we reach our destination.”

The penitents bow and mutter prayers, forming the Sign of the Aquila across their chests, apart from the Tech-Thrall, who interlocks his knuckles with the Sign of the Cog. I step onto the platform. The Servitor stares at me for a moment, its withered flesh and papery skin, somehow expressing its disapproval.

Finally it jerks its head back around at the locomotive blasts its charming toot toot again and chuffs off, accelerating to its sedate pace though the ancient tunnels. I follow along behind, barely having to jog to keep up. The regular clack clack of the wheels over the joints in the tracks lulls me with memories of an easier, happier life.

Hidden by the thick metals all around us, my auspex fails to pick up any threats. My third eye, however, even with my damaged soul, is less easily tricked. I detect eight purple splodges in my vision. The souls are incredibly faint with the hostiles having less presence than the Tau.

“Ambush!” I yell. “Enemy in the tunnels, port and starboard!”

My warning is just enough for the penitents to get their weapons up. The tunnel is too small for me to run next to the train and I curse this ridiculous limitation I placed upon myself to only bring a plasteel pipe.

I am unable to assist as eight grey humanoids, with lean muscles and sharp claws leap from the holes in the tunnel and attack the penitents in the open carriages. The creatures have large, triangular ears on either side of their bald heads. Four sensory pits run across their face above their wide mouths that flash with white, needle-like teeth. Ur-Ghuls, my auspex identifies and they’re just as horrifying as the stories I read said they would be.

The penitents fire their crappy pistols with little thought for aiming or ammo preservation. Some sixty percent of their shots hit the Ur-Ghuls. The remainder hit the walls, carriages and other penitents. Alis aims her lascarbine down the train. Her trigger discipline is better than the others though and she does not fire lest she kill the other penitents. Clovis manages to get one shot off with his new bolt pistol, shattering his wrist and blowing out the ribcage of an Ur-Ghul all over the tunnel walls.

The thick hides of the Ur-Ghuls burn and blister beneath the onslaught of shoddy las-light and rip into the penitents. Wide swipes of their claws break bones and knock weapons aside, though they fail to penetrate the undersuits worn by the penitents. Then they start stabbing instead and that does work, sending great plumes of blood into the thin air.

With a mighty bark that rattles down the tunnel, the Cyber Mastiff stuns the Ur-Ghuls then opens fire, its double barreled MOA lasrifle firing in short bursts. Its mechanical aim has no trouble picking targets in the chaotic melee and its shots tear through the tough hides of the Ur-Ghuls in under three seconds; their fleshy bodies evaporate as their blood boils and erupts in a hot red mist.

I shiver as the essence of the monstrous xenos slip into my soul, leaving me feeling like I’ve just chugged a litre of crude oil. Hunger gnaws at me once again and a sudden impulse to kill everyone scrabbles at my psyche. My face twists in disgust at these desires and I recite the meditative litanies of Eldar, crushing my emotions to a bare whisper. My motivation plummets and I feel sluggish, yet my focus keeps me moving and reciting, now free of the unwelcome impulses.

The locomotive continues its journey, unbothered by the carnage as the penitents shove the bodies out of their carriages. They tumble past me with wet thumps, their oozing grey chunks coming to rest on the red stained rails.

I send Brian over to inspect the wounded. Five penitents have broken bones and two are on their last breaths. I can’t save them from here and horrible as it is, I need them to die. With my third eye as a medium to focus my soulphage abilities, I focus my awareness on the two dying men and attempt to reject them from my soul.

With their fading awareness and feeble willpower, their souls are shoved from their bodies and consumed by mine. Their eyes turn glassy and their breath stills.

I did not know I could do that.

The bodies lie broken in the bottom of the carriages as the remaining penitents wail. Next time I will try to seal my soul against intrusion, or perhaps create a filter, rather than reject the souls of others while they are within my influence.

Clovis voxes, “Lord, are you willing to treat the injured?”

“Yes,” I vox, “They will have to wait four minutes until we reach our destination.”

“Yes, Lord. Your servants shall endure.”

I feel rather bad about deliberately not sending Brian ahead to scout for potential ambushes after detecting all the blood and rot. He might have been able to detect the Ur-Ghuls, or provoke them to attack early, then the train could have run them down.

At least I learned more about my abilities and how much the Warp Tap has been shielding me from making fatal errors before I learned proper mental discipline. It makes so much more sense why the Emperor rounded up all the soulphages now. We are but monsters, waiting to gnaw on the bones of civilization, consuming all that we hold dear.

It makes me wonder if my death was a subtle manipulation of fate. Dying from an infected open wound after stepping on a Warhammer figurine was rather improbable. Nurgle or Tzeentch are just as likely culprits as the Emperor though.

Gods, I hate them all.