Blood of the Nine Sins (I)

"Please continue, Sister. 🐊👑 ♣♡" said Chupani Moran.

He sat in a deep red armchair, before which a screen of light flickered, revealing a woman in a linen robe frowning.

She looked stern and rigid, her hair shaved clean, her jaw so square it almost seemed like she'd had cosmetic surgery. A deep black Ecclesiarchy symbol was etched on her forehead, seemingly connected in some strange way to her dark brown eyes, creating an intimidating aura that made people afraid to meet her gaze.

"I have nothing more to say." The nun on the screen shook her head solemnly. "That's all I can tell you."

"Why? He's just a low-ranking priest," Chupani asked dismissively.

The nun's face suddenly darkened, as if she was very displeased with those words.

"I advise you not to use words like 'low' or 'high' to describe a Devotion person. Reverend Horst is a renowned Devotion and ascetic."

"During his twenty-four years as a pastor, he received invitations for promotion or transfer almost every year, but he declined them all, except for the one time he applied eleven years ago. He could have studied at the Pluto Monastery, but he preferred to spread the glory of the God-Emperor to other, more ignorant worlds."

Chupani Moran nodded and gave an apologetic smile. At the same time, he slightly raised his right hand and gestured to a servant standing behind the light screen, who immediately left.

"I'm so sorry, Sister, I didn't know he was such a devout person. To express my apologies, I will—"

"--No need." The nun interrupted abruptly.

Chupani maintained his smile and slowly nodded.

"You've donated so much to us in recent years, I understand what you're doing, Chupani."

"I only tolerated your use of our influence because of my past acquaintance with your mother, but I've recently heard some rumors about your charity. Until you resolve this matter, we will not accept any more donations from the Moran Family."

The light screen dissipated, but the smile on Chupani's face remained. He slowly rose from his armchair and began pacing back and forth in his study.

The heavy carpet perfectly absorbed the sound of his footsteps, his white ankles were faintly visible beneath his robes, and the firelight from the roaring fireplace reflected off his skin, giving it a pearly white appearance.

He slowly walked to a full-length mirror with a gold rim and began to examine his own appearance, lost in thought, until a knock sounded behind him.

"Come in," Chupani Moran said softly.

The servant who had left earlier slowly walked up behind him, but he was not alone. He was also leading a child in a white uniform, who remained dazed and unresponsive to what was happening.

Chupani examined the girl through the mirror, and after a few seconds, his smile widened slightly.

"She's the one," he said slowly. "Also, give the order that next month's rations be increased."

"Understood, sir," the servant replied, bowing his head, and released the girl's hand.

He immediately turned and left, even thoughtfully closing the door behind him. Inside the study, the fireplace crackled, and the silver candlesticks on the desk reflected the firelight, casting Chupani Moran's Shadow very long on the wall.

He stood there smiling, extending his long, slender right hand to gently stroke the girl's face in the mirror, his expression becoming slightly intoxicated.

He turned around and waved affectionately to the child.

"Come here, child, let me take a good look at you," he called in a very gentle voice, and the girl responded slowly to his request.

She seemed slow-witted, or perhaps simply unable to think clearly. She walked stiffly to Chupani, who chuckled and knelt down, placing his hands on her cheeks.

"What's your name, child? How long have you been at our charity home? Did our dear director tell you our destination before we set off tonight?"

The girl didn't answer; she had long since lost the ability to speak, only her lips parted slightly. Chupani waited patiently for several seconds, only to receive a large glob of saliva sliding down her lips.

The current head of the Moran Family narrowed his eyes, slightly displeased, and reached out his right hand to catch the saliva before it hit the ground. Then, he raised his right hand and covered the girl's face with his wet palm.

His long, slender fingers were slightly spread, encompassing the girl's entire face, his nails even digging into her flesh. Blood slowly flowed out, but the girl neither cried out nor made a fuss, remaining standing in place without the slightest intention of resistance.

Chupani smiled slightly at her, then suddenly waved his hand forcefully. With a tearing sound, he excitedly pounced on her. The girl fell to the ground, staring at a glittering chandelier, occasionally twitching, her pupils already dilated.

For her, the night was over, and so was her life. But for Chupani Moran, the night was still long; he had plenty of time to savor more delicious flavors.

At least, that's what he thought until the screams outside his window.

He was too young to know that besides monsters, other things were lurking in the darkness.

--

Tujea was already very familiar with killing. Although he hadn't killed many people, if a person walks at the boundary between darkness and light for a long time, he must have seen many things that ordinary people cannot imagine.

Tujea was no exception. He had seen many ways to die that defied description. If he had to pick the most terrifying one, he would probably choose the AX-I-32 neurotoxin, whose victims would wail and turn into a pool of melting blood within minutes.

For assassins who truly need to carry out assassinations in public, this weapon is clearly not very practical, and therefore it lost out in the competition for standard weapons in a certain world.

Its creator couldn't understand this at all, so he went mad and poured the toxin into the water circulation system of the lower Hive City.

When Tujea found him, he had already committed suicide, so the case had to be closed hastily. On his way back to report to his superiors, he had nightmares for months because he saw people screaming and melting in the streets.

In those dreams, he could only watch them die, slowly drowning in blood. Having witnessed such horrific hellish scenes, he thought he would never be swayed by any ordinary killing. He was wrong.

Because what that Astartes who called himself Zel did was not killing, but massacre.

He didn't use a gun or a knife; he simply moved relentlessly through the darkness. Tujea couldn't even see his Shadow, only able to determine his collaborator's location by the continuous screams, before chasing after him to find a field of corpses.

The modified soldiers, equipped with heavy firepower, Autocannon, and heavy armor, lay motionless in their own blood. All Tujea could do was grip his gun and run past them, chasing after the next scream.

He had completely abandoned the act of thinking, turning himself into a pure running machine. Wherever there were screams, that was where he would go.

Completely confused about the current situation? No problem, just get there.

I don't understand what Zel is trying to do? No problem, just keep running.

Who knows what the consequences would be of breaking into a nobleman's territory in the middle of the night and wreaking havoc? No problem, the worst outcome is just death.

Tujea, panting, climbed a flight of stairs, grabbed the white wall, and rushed to a small square with sculptures and a fountain.

He had finally arrived just in time; the battle here was not yet over—or rather, it was about to end. Zel had already picked up the last Moran Family guard who was still standing.

The man struggled desperately, his full-face helmet, equipped with night vision, gleaming white. In his final moments before death, he finally saw clearly the true face of the monster that had been slaughtering them at breakneck speed.

This brought no relief, but instead aroused a deeper fear. A few seconds later, his head was thrown to the ground by Zel, Tujea, fearing that he would leave again in an instant, hurriedly tried to stop him.

What exactly are we doing?

"Punish evil," Zel said.

He stood there, gently shaking his hands to let the blood drain from the sharp fingernails. Tujea stared at the blade-like fingers, falling into an awkward silence.

He didn't know how to answer Zel's question. Punish the wicked? Of course he knew this family had problems, but shouldn't there at least be some evidence?

He didn't ask the question aloud, but his eyes revealed his true thoughts. Zel chuckled softly, then swept past him like a gust of wind, disappearing from the spot and leaving behind only a slightly cold remark.

"Some things leave no trace, investigator. In other words, sometimes you have to trust your gut feeling a little more."

"But what if your intuition is wrong? You can't solve a case based solely on intuition!" Tujea shouted in the direction he left.

"I can't be wrong," Zel said. "It's the dead speaking to me, not my intuition."

Another scream rang out, Tujea finally cursed angrily, turned around, and began climbing another staircase. He really couldn't understand why the Moran Family would design so many staircases on their territory.

Above him, moonlight pierced through the ecological dome and silently descended upon him, bringing with it four other tall, dark figures. They stood atop the Moran Family's "mountain peak," coldly surveying the bloodshed below.

"Find him," one of the Shadow said hoarsely. "Make him repent."