Tuesday, April 28, 2015
They moved beneath the shattered hab-blocks, in a labyrinth of sunken chambers and sundered sub-basements. They came hooded and cloaked, their shadows made monstrous by the flickering light of the stolen illum flares. Here they knelt, their chanting almost too soft to hear. The Temple of the Emperor Transfigured.
For six days they chanted, never stirring, never ceasing. Never eating. Never drinking. They died, and new congregants replaced them as word spread among the survivors of the war-scarred world. It did not matter. Soon it would be the seventh day. Solypsus 9 would become a living hell.