Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

Stas was furious.No, that wasn't strong enough. He felt pure, white-hot rage, washing over his entire being with warm, overwhelming waves. He wanted to throw away reason and self-control, to simply float down the river of pure violence. 

To make matters worse, his new essence was being twisted by the stench and emanations of Chaos entities. 

Feeling their energy on his skin was like dipping his hand into a warm, rotting slurry—a mix of decomposing human flesh left to rot for weeks and the contents of a public cesspit. 

His essence was practically paralyzed by the fury of knowing that such vile and corrupt beings had dared to breach the real world. 

Looking at Stas, one might assume these new sensations had been maliciously implanted in him, to the detriment of his character. But in reality, it was more complicated than that. 

The Emperor, who had bestowed this "gift," had been very careful. He didn't want the ceiling of the Golden Throne to suddenly collapse or a spaceship, like a battleship, to accidentally crash on his head. 

He had provided his power and allowed his chosen one to undergo transformation, but unlike usual, he had severely limited his influence. Though, even in normal cases, the Emperor's influence wasn't that significant. He chose those who were already loyal to him, body and soul. 

Yet, even so, the knowledge and concepts that came with the body of a Living Saint had greatly expanded Stas's understanding. If before he had merely heard that daemons were unnatural to the real world, now he knew it in every detail. 

Needless to say, this knowledge brought him no relief. If anything, it made him even more determined to end it all. 

And if someone dared to stop Stanislav from getting what he so desperately wanted… 

The blazing eyes of the Living Saint lifted and locked onto the rampaging daemonhosts above. 

Ordyntsev wanted nothing more than to crush a few horned skulls. 

- "Argh!" – A monster, one of the daemonhosts' released abominations, appeared in the miraculously intact doorway of the chamber. 

Once, it had been one of the Inquisitor's soldiers, but the powers of the daemons had twisted it beyond recognition. Covered in bony growths that burst through its uniform, with black eyes and sharp teeth, the former human took a step toward the hovering figure—and immediately froze. 

Though it was completely insane and its new instincts urged it forward, those same instincts screamed in terror, ordering it to flee. 

A rustle. 

One moment, the winged figure stood in the chamber; the next, it was at the entrance, holding the writhing, struggling form of the former soldier in one hand. 

Golden eyes impassively examined the Warp-twisted flesh. 

A hiss. 

A faint smoke began to rise from the mutant's skin, growing stronger with each passing second. 

A flash! 

The mutant's body ignited and began to burn, writhing in the hand of the winged angel. And as the spine burned through and the head fell off, the last barriers of Stas's self-control crumbled, leaving only one thing—rage… 

*****

Hector Justus, a thirty-three-year-old aide to Lord Inquisitor Rufinus Ullis, was not in the best of moods. 

Having accompanied and learned from his mentor for many years, Hector had come to fully understand the darkness lurking within the Imperium, as well as the horrors they protected humanity from. 

Over the course of his career, Hector had long since shed his naivety and belief in bright ideals. Despite their work revolving around the most important thing—the salvation of humanity—he, like his teacher, were anything but saviors. 

At their word, entire worlds burned, and where there was even the slightest risk, everyone was slaughtered. 

His hands weren't just stained with blood—no. It would be more accurate to say that he was drenched in it, considering all he had been forced to do. 

The war against daemons was a dirty, vile business, where there was no room for pity, not even a shadow of humanity, as any weakness could be used against you. 

Daemons didn't hesitate to defile mothers and children, reveling in the suffering of those who tried to help them. Driving sons and daughters insane before their fathers' eyes, betraying loved ones—all this had forced Hector to close off his heart completely. 

Yet, even despite all this, Hector had never approved of his master's obsession with creating daemonhosts. 

Summoning powerful daemons into the real world, trapping them in the bodies of criminals—still human bodies—wasn't that everything they fought against? In moments like these, when his lord created another abomination, Hector found it harder and harder to see the difference between the sorcerers they burned in hive cities across countless planets and themselves. 

But the problem was that Ullis was his mentor, and he was just a student. Yes, in terms of hierarchy, Justus was at the top. But the man wasn't fooling himself—if necessary, the lord would replace him without a second thought. 

Rufinus Ullis was an utterly ruthless man, having lived through his third century. He had extended his life several times and clearly had no intention of stopping. 

That's why, when a horde of freed daemonhosts surged from below and their own soldiers began to mutate and try to eat Hector's face, he wasn't surprised by the turn of events. 

Unfortunately, his lack of surprise didn't help much in this situation, as they were pinned down in the central prayer hall, with all other exits blocked. After decades of torture, the daemons were deeply resentful of their captors and did everything in their power to prevent the Lord Inquisitor from escaping. His unlucky apprentice was caught in the crossfire. 

Peeking out from behind a hastily erected barricade, Hector unleashed a psychic blast, slamming a couple of the creatures into the wall and crushing their skulls. 

His own head was immediately pierced by a needle of pain, but the man habitually pushed the sensation aside. 

Like many other Inquisitors, Hector was a Zeta-level psyker with impressive abilities. 

However, using the Warp right now was difficult, even though they were on Terra itself. The sheer number of daemons nearby created a significant danger for any psyker. 

"What irony," Hector thought with a smirk. "To die by daemons on Terra. I'm sure this will be incredibly rare groxshit." 

Meanwhile, fully aware that their chances of killing the Inquisitors were dwindling with each passing minute, the daemonhosts finally decided to end the matter. 

From all entrances to the hall poured an endless stream of mutated flesh, followed by the barely visible forms of the daemonhosts. Though the Inquisitor's personal guard—comprising psykers and Mechanicus—had created an impressive defense, it wasn't enough. 

Heavy bolters roared, cutting through the tide of mutants like a farmer scything grass, but the cursed power of the daemons began to create barriers or strengthen the bodies of their minions. 

Psychic lightning and telekinetic strikes from the psykers also did their part, reaping a bloody harvest. The human counterattack was so fierce that even a few daemonhosts fell, sending the howling daemons back into the Warp. 

The Grey Knight standing next to the Inquisitor killed especially many. The Angel of Death fully lived up to his name, with single, incredibly precise bolter shots exploding the heads of any large or particularly strong creature that stood out in the horde. 

His grey, menacing figure loomed over all the humans, giving them the much-needed resolve and fury of battle. 

However, Hector wasn't rejoicing, knowing they were only killing the weakest creatures while the strongest bided their time, waiting for the best moment to strike. 

And they didn't have to wait long. 

An explosion drenched Justus in a wave of blood from a nearby soldier who had been blown apart. Shards of bone from his comrade rattled against his coat. One of the shards even cut his face. Falling onto the hot concrete, Hector blindly groped the floor with one hand while the other tried to wipe the blood from his eyes. 

What would have driven an ordinary man into hysterics was a minor inconvenience for someone who had almost fully acquainted himself with the horrors of this cursed galaxy. 

His fingers firmly gripped the handle of his bolt pistol as Hector spun around and shot the head off a mutant that had already leaped at him. 

The daemons' combined attack had cost the defenders dearly. Though the psykers had managed to shield themselves, some of the force had gotten through, causing chaos and confusion. 

Hector spat out a tooth knocked loose by the impact and found his teacher with his gaze. The man held a powerful energy shield around himself and with precise strikes and shots from his weapon, destroyed anyone who dared approach him.

The tide of daemons and their minions showed no sign of stopping, and the Inquisitor's troops weren't prepared for such a prolonged battle. Ammo was already running low, and many of the defenders had to resort to close combat. 

For the most part, the only pockets of resistance were those with psykers. They were the ones holding back the crushing blows, staring into the grinning, mocking faces of the daemons. 

Somewhere, desperate screams of comrades being tortured and eaten alive by the spawn of Chaos echoed. 

Sweat dripped down Hector's forehead as he realized that a couple more daemonic strikes, and he'd simply collapse from exhaustion. The Inquisitor regretfully glanced at the dozens of people gathered around him. No matter how sorry he felt, they would die next. 

- "Well, Inquisitors?" – A loud, mocking cry forced several people to cover their ears in agony. The words belonged to a tall, purple abomination, combining traits of both man and woman. It had four limbs, two of which were claws. – "Who will writhe in agony for eternity now? When you die, I'll do everything in my power to take your souls with me. We'll have unforgettable centuries of the most exquisite tortures my great lady…"

The powerful daemon didn't get to finish as the floor beneath it exploded, and something blazing with unbearable light burst forth. Everything happened so fast that Hector barely had time to process what he saw. 

The burning entity reached out, grabbed the daemon by the face, and in an instant, reached the ceiling, slamming the writhing, rag-like body into the steel and leaving a deep, molten hole. But immediately after the impact, like a rubber ball bouncing off the ceiling, the two figures hurtled downward. 

Crash!

Hector couldn't help but be glad he was already lying down, as there was no way he could have withstood the shockwave that radiated outward. Everyone without psychic powers was knocked down by the monstrous force of the blow. 

But that wasn't what occupied all of the Inquisitor's apprentice's thoughts. 

Right now, with his eyes wide open, as wide as they could go—completely undignified for his position—Hector was staring at the golden, glowing figure of a winged man standing majestically over the sprawled body of a vile daemon. 

Justus recognized this daemonhost, created using a very powerful Slaanesh daemon. That's why it was all the more surprising and joyful to see this terrifying creature now resembling a pathetic bug, writhing under the heavy foot of a man who had driven its head into the floor of the sacred hall. 

The daemon tried to say something, but all it managed was a gurgle of its foul blood and fragments of fangs and jawbones, first smeared across the ceiling and then the floor. Its six limbs desperately tried to lift its body or push away the foot pinning it down, but it achieved nothing. 

In his life, Hector had seen much, including the unpleasant side of what he had tried so hard to protect. Justus knew all the dark secrets of the Ecclesiarchy, which, upon closer inspection, wasn't as holy as it tried to appear. 

Yes, he believed in the Emperor, but he also had access to classified data that revealed how, just ten thousand years ago, things weren't so clear-cut regarding the belief in his "divinity." 

Yet, in this moment, looking at the almost naked, regal figure of the Emperor's angel trampling a daemon underfoot, Hector fully believed. 

The shining head of the angel slowly lowered, meeting the eyes of the now fully panicked daemon. Lightning began to run across the daemonhost's body, and it seemed to dissolve. Clearly, the daemon was trying to escape. 

Unfortunately for it, it had made this decision too late. 

- "Die." – A single word escaped the angel's lips as his foot, defying all laws of physics, moved forward without any wind-up, completely obliterating the daemon's head and sinking deep into the steel. 

As if someone had flipped a switch, all the remaining daemons and mutants surged forward again, but this time their target was the tall, glowing figure. 

The grotesque backs of the creatures barely hid the angel before he abruptly bent and spun, spreading his wings wide. The white feathers hissed as they pierced through the flesh of the Chaos spawn, burning a smoldering path through them. 

One moment, the monsters surrounded the angel; the next, their upper halves, writhing in agony, flew upward in streams of foul blood. But the blood didn't hang in the air for long, incinerated by the golden, purifying fire that followed the wing's sweep. All the creatures caught in this attack rolled and writhed on the floor, rapidly dying. 

- "FOR THE EMPEROR!" – Hector shouted with all his might, inspired by the scene. The angel's golden aura gave them all strength while weakening the daemons. – "In his name!"

Grabbing his empty bolt pistol by the barrel, Justus swung it down with all his might onto the head of the nearest mutant, then began to beat the fallen creature's skull, splattering pink brains in all directions. 

- "A-a-a-a!" – The soldiers, emboldened, screamed as they charged. Even the Mechanicus emitted strange, mechanical cries of excitement. 

But even as he fought, Hector kept sealing the image of their blazing protector in his mind. 

The angel's fist plunged into the chest of an ugly Khornate daemonhost, punching clean through. The Khornite tried to gouge out the angel's eyes with its fingers, but the Wrath of the Emperor shoved a second hand into the black hole and tore the Chaos spawn in half. 

Then, a flying pink lightning bolt from a Slaaneshi daemon almost struck the golden figure, but white feathers intercepted it, deflecting the projectile into the wall. 

And what about the moment when the angel grabbed a mutant by the leg and started using its body to beat the other monsters? At one point, the mutilated body couldn't take it anymore, and all that remained in the angel's hand was a leg, which he then shoved down the throat of the next creature before a flap of his wings turned it into a smoking paste! 

If Hector had the chance, he would have done nothing but watch this symphony of pain and violence that the Emperor's messenger had become. Every movement was filled with such fury and inevitability that, had Hector been a poet, he would have composed thousands of verses to do justice to this art. 

The most delightful thing about it all was that the daemons killed by the angel remained on the floor, as there was nothing left to return to the Warp. Right now, in this battle, they were as mortal as those they had always despised. 

And Hector was ready to laugh and laugh at the panic he saw on their faces. 

The best day of his life. 

Simply the best day. 

No wonder that at some point, the forces of Chaos faltered and fled in terror. Accustomed to their own immortality, they weren't prepared for real war. 

The irony was that at the exit, they were met by the arriving elite forces of the Imperial Guard. 

Clad in heavy armor, armed with the best weapons the Imperium had to offer, enhanced by the Mechanicus and psykers—these soldiers could stand against anyone. 

It didn't take long for the last daemonhost to find its final death, squealing, and the last mutant to fall with a hole from a lasgun or bolter shot. 

And as the battle ended, all eyes turned in awe to the slowly descending winged man. Immediately, an impressive circle formed for his landing as people nervously watched the golden figure. 

"A Living Saint." – Hector finally remembered the term, realizing who stood before them. – "A man so holy that he attracted the Emperor's attention, who then decided to bestow his power upon him."

And if before, as a member of the Ordo Malleus, Justus had considered Living Saints merely a more friendly version of Warp entities, now he understood how wrong he had been. If there was anything higher than them, it would be… 

- "Seize and capture him!" – Hector watched in shock as the Lord Inquisitor's finger pointed unmistakably at the Living Saint, ordering the surrounding psykers. – "What are you standing around for?! Take him!"

And in that moment, Hector remembered in horror how his master had long spoken of wanting to dissect a Living Saint to understand how close they were in nature to other Warp entities. 

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