Antarus thanked the Fallen that his face was hidden beneath a helmet. But it wasn’t just because it shielded him from the breeze blasting the top of this long-forgotten tower, no. He was thankful because it hid his surprise. And his shame.

He amplified the magnification of his lenses and looked again just to be sure. The squat, hairless mammals idled in what he supposed was a marketplace. There could be no doubt, they were humans. He had also seen the arthropodal species that his chronicler had identified as Korokti. The Ashen Sacrament had been performed on either species, with Antarus personally conducting it for the humans. He had known that interlopers had made off with some of them in some sort of futile rescue attempt, but he never would have guessed that they had been brought here, one of the Promised Worlds.

A white-hot fury welled within him. From their orbital reconnaissance, they had scanned billions of lifeforms across this world. How many of them were humans? How many of them were other species marked for cleansing? Each and every one of them was a monument to his failure. He had believed that his conquests had been sufficient to strengthen the Fallen, enough to steel his people from what bore down upon them. Could he have been blinded so much by his own piety? By his own hubris?

As with all his charges, he felt an inkling of pity for the humans. They were ignorant of the corruption they faced and the ruin it brought. But guilt had no bearing on creed. Only faith brought salvation, and these creatures were incapable of learning if they were left to their own devices.

“Purificant, what shall be our course?” Beraxes’s voice sounded…strained. Undoubtedly, as second in command, he, too, felt the weight of their shared sin. His young deacon was anxious to please as if his very soul depended on it.

“Must you ask?” Antarus returned his helmet to its standard magnification settings and turned to his deacon. “We begin our atonement. This world must fall. Perhaps not now, perhaps not by us, but we will blaze a path toward that end.”

“What shall be our first step on that path?”

“They seem to congregate about that central, spherical building acting as their transit hub. We shall watch it, scour it, and then return to Betrigon to truly set things in motion. I would like to have as many captives as can be feasibly taken without drawing notice.”

“Then it shall be the same as with any other world?” Beraxes sounded incredulous.

Antarus locked his gaze onto Beraxes’s visor. The bronze edges of his armor shined in the moonlight.

“The Uninitiated infest this world. So long as they draw breath here, it can never be truly free from corruption’s grasp.”

Beraxes straightened himself. “I understand that, Purificant. But we have studied and cleansed these primitives before. These merely seem to be the leftovers of our previous campaigns and possess hardly even a shadow of their previous might, pitiful as it was. But, this is a Promised-”

“I am well aware of the ground upon which we stand, Deacon. I am also not blind to the enemy’s current military capabilities. The answer that I am seeking is how they came to be here.” Had it been anyone other than Beraxes to open this line of questioning, Antarus would have thought them to be incompetent, inexperienced, or making a clumsy effort to undermine him. He continued, “Their continued existence is an insult to the Fallen. If they are allowed to survive again and leave the Sacrament unfulfilled… then the ramifications could be dire.”

“Indeed, they would be. Which is why I believe we should instead delve deeper into this world. We have studied them enough already. You see them down there. They are too consumed with survival to see the potential that lies beneath their feet.” Beraxes waved his hands over the sodden rooftop as if clearing away the fog.

“It is that potential which gives me pause. Something brought them here, of all places. None of the other races we have encountered in this galaxy possess the means to bypass our orbital blockades in the scale required to save this many humans.”

“You mean to catch the Interlopers?” Every Idex was disgusted by them. Too cowardly to fight, and yet too sinful to allow the holy work to be conducted.

“I had not planned on it until we made landfall here, but yes, I do. Evidently, their capabilities are greater than we suspected.”

“Then, is it not even more essential we ensure that the secrets of this world remain hidden from them?”

“We do not know the extent to which the Interlopers have studied this world. They very well may have unlocked those secrets already. If we delve deeper into the sub-levels, we may be ensnared by forces that have not been seen since the Primordial War.”

Beraxes looked away towards the endless ruins, no doubt pondering another option that did not require idleness. Antarus could empathize. The Idex within the Sect of Cleansing were bred for their aggression so that no hindrance, whether psychological or spiritual, might stop their advance. But countless wars had impressed many lessons upon him, and perhaps the most important was the necessity of patience, however much consternation it might bring.

Finally, Beraxes seemed to find an option to his liking. “Then we should split into two parties. One for the sub-levels and one to set the trap.”

His suggestion had merit, but the party sent to the sub-levels might only find death rather than the ancient wonders. But risking a few of his warriors was a worthy gamble, given the potential boons. That was the calculus of war, and as a Purificant, it was his creed to deal in the currency of lives so that they might purchase salvation. And if these few did indeed meet their end, they would earn an honored place among the Fallen. His prayers would see to that.

“Very well, inform Idarian that she shall take one other of her choosing and venture into the depths of this world for as long as their provisions will permit.” Antarus saw Beraxes’ shoulders sag ever so slightly. He would teach him the importance of patience, or defeat would.

“It shall be done, Purificant. But will two be enough?”

Antarus exhaled. “Yes, Beraxes, I believe two adepts of their caliber will be sufficient for this task. I only hope thirteen will be enough to capture one of the Interlopers.”

“This is a far-flung settlement, Purificant. How can we be sure that one of the Interlopers will even be here?”

“And at last, Deacon, we have come full circle back to my initial command. We shall scour their transit hub and learn how best to strike. Rescuing these primates could not have been an easy feat. I believe the threat of rendering their efforts meaningless will be sufficient to lure them out of their hole.”

Beraxes straightened his posture. “I understand, holy one. Their eradication shall be complete this time. On my life, I swear it.”

“Go. Tell our faithful what awaits and ensure that only sanctifiers be used for this operation. We cannot make our presence known until one of the Interlopers is safely within our grasp. Should they even suspect it to be us, the powers that be here will know that the war has finally come to them. Leave nothing behind.”

Antarus remained on the rooftop alone in silent contemplation, letting the winds of the nearby sea wash over his bare face. His armor was a blessing of the Fallen, to be sure, but he wanted to view the sky of his newfound prize with the eyes he had been born with. The night sky was a veritable mural painted with the blues and greens of a dozen nebulas. Soon, this world would be a new temple for the Ecclesium, and it would be Antarus who would sit in its pulpit.

He allowed Idarian to lead the party in the evening commune in the tower below. If she were to join the Fallen, then it would be best to emphasize the weight of her sacrifice to the others before she departed. One last duty for her to fulfill. Antarus watched from the doorway in silent judgment.

With a golden fire blazing behind her, Idarian began, “As we tread forward, the path ever narrows. The weight we bear, ever-growing.”

The rest of the party, bar Antarus, responded in kind. “Only the faithful can clear it. Only the strong may bear it.”

“Whispers and lies tempt and tear at us, clawing for purchase. They say that our road has no end and that our errands are futile. Upon our souls, they rend.”

“The destination is for us to forge, not to find. Like a sword upon a whetstone, our wills must grind.”

“Voices of the Fallen, they claim to be. Those who walked this way but now are free.”

“Empty words. Faithless promises. Oaths were taken and, even in death, remain unbroken. For it is because of the Fallen that our empire is now awoken.”

“A vast darkness lies ahead, where those before us, long ago, once tread. What was once promised is held by strangers, who know not that they are already dead.”

“Obstacles. Trials. We shall face them all. When what was lost has been reclaimed, so too will the corruption fall.”

“We shall triumph, even if we are to perish or be maimed. For to join the Fallen, we are named.”

She turned back to the fire and thrust her hands into the bottom of the urn, which it blazed. Quick as a viper, she pulled them out, with ashes spilling from between her fingers. Each of the thirteen came forth to receive their mark. Idarian was no stranger to the ritual and did just as Antarus had instructed her. With one fluid motion for each disciple, she drew the marks of their chosen virtue. She may not be the warrior that Beraxes was, but she was twice the priest. He would remember that.

Antarus marched forth between his followers, each one eagerly watching his advance. The light from the fire reflected off of his armor like a golden radiance. Only Purificant could draw the final seal. He removed his gauntlet and lowered his hand over the fire, smothering it. He coated his hand in the gray ash and removed his helmet. Upon it, he drew two semicircles, one inlaid atop the other, like a moon on the horizon of a world, for it was upon his shoulders that the future of the Idex now lay.