Delayed Judgment (VII): The Knight Who Stood By and Watched Them Die

How had things come to this? he asked in confusion. Why were they raising blades against one another?

Seraphax dragged himself toward a field of ruins.

No matter how magnificent its walls had once been, nothing remained now but shattered remnants. Flames consumed the wood, while the blackened scars left by explosions stood stark against the broken stone bricks. Fragments of human flesh still clung to the shrapnel scattered everywhere.

And there were others—those who had not died in the bombardment—letting out indistinct screams beneath the rubble.

Seraphax could have saved them, yet he did not, though it would not have been difficult for him. All he had to do was spare a sliver of attention and employ a few minor tricks to pull them back from death.

But he did not.

He would not.

There was no point. A voice in some corner of his heart told him so.

They would die regardless. The bombardment was still ongoing, and they could be blown to pieces at any moment. Even if they were lucky enough to flee into a bunker, how could they guarantee they would not fall beneath the assault of tanks and artillery?

Caliban's civil war had begun, and all those involved wielded lethal force. They had always been a deadly legion, holding countless forbidden secrets and armed to the highest possible standard.

The Emperor had entrusted them with this power so they could slaughter humanity's enemies, yet it had borne such bitter fruit.

Seraphax dearly wished to know whether He had ever considered this day—or rather, whether He had foreseen it.

The sorcerer could not find the answer.

He walked on in silence. The screams within the ruins were unbearably clear to him. Tzeentch's blessing had not changed what he had once been; his hearing remained keen.