79. Damn

Terra was the sanctuary of every human.

Stars gleamed in the pitch-black night, their edges sharp. They walked through the snow, stepping deep and shallow, awaiting judgment upon their fates.

Solemn, silent black-armored warriors with physiques similar to theirs marched along both sides of the formation, keeping the people in identical plain uniforms boxed in between them. Farther out stood taciturn Space Marines, their black armor blending into the night. Only the old Cult of the Underworld man at the front could be heard muttering endlessly.

Cecia raised her head and uneasily looked toward their destination—the cathedral on the Himalayan ridge was like a dead tree's hand stabbing toward the heavens, gaunt and terrifying.

"...You are fortunate, blessed by heaven, but also miserable. You need not become lambs; the flock will naturally drive away those among them with fangs and claws."

The Cult of the Underworld preacher's fragmented words drifted over with the faint light from his staff, irritating Cecia slightly. She vaguely understood what he meant—she was not welcome among the crowd.

She was a "Soulless."

Cecia remembered her childhood. She had been born on Kasimir, a Hive City world. The moment she was born, her mother, a factory worker, stuffed her into the gap beneath the assembly line. She heard the roar of machinery as she let out her first cry, unloved by anyone.

Her mother had not liked her either. She was carelessly fed as she grew up. When she was too young to work, she was thrown beneath the assembly line. Once her hands could grip a shovel, she was sent to the farthest district to dig dirt.

No one wanted to approach her. People looked at her with disgust and threw clods of dirt soaked in filthy water at her. It made her mature early.