William knew that Jensen was telling the truth.
The terrifying aspect of Chaos is never the powerful demons and monsters, but its corruption of the soul.
Once these "sources of infection" reach the neighborhoods and infiltrate ventilation ducts and underground pipe networks, the entire Midtown could become a monster's lair in just a few days.
But when he thought of the tens of millions of ordinary people inside who, like him, came from the Lower City, he felt as if a stone was pressing on his heart.
"... Then what do you suggest we do?" After a long silence, William asked in a deep voice, handing over the command token.
"I'll do as you say."
Bishop Jensen took the token and, without uttering a word, immediately began making arrangements.
"Organize elite personnel into nine purification teams, each with one hundred members."
"Each team will be equipped with five combat priests, twenty Sisters of Battle, and thirty exorcism acolytes. The remaining slots will be filled by elite infantry from the Iron Guard Legion."
"All equipped with Promethium flame weapons and purified ammunition."
"The priests maintained the chanting of purification prayers throughout, the nuns were responsible for the frontal assault, the acolytes broke through the witchcraft traps, and the Iron Guard provided suppressive fire."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a reassuring power. His instructions were clear and concise, clearly demonstrating that he was already very familiar with this type of operation.
"Sergeant William," he said, looking at William.
History has shown us countless times that momentary mercy is often the source of greater disasters.
I hope you understand.
William, having risen to his position, naturally understood this as well. He nodded but didn't reply.
Soon, nine fully organized purification teams took their positions simultaneously outside the nine factories.
Bishop Jensen stood at the highest temporary command post, slamming his scepter down heavily, golden light of faith flowing down its shaft.
" The God-Emperor's gaze is with us."
"Remember, the monsters inside were once human beings; they were victims corrupted by Chaos."
"Our duty is to end their suffering, burn away the filth of Chaos, and protect the billions of people behind us."
"Find the altar and destroy it; that's the only way to break this deadlock."
"Action!"
"Bang!!" The concentrated fire of the Melta Cannon instantly burned through the side wall of Factory Building C, and molten metal flowed down the gap, making a sizzling sound.
The leader of the first purification squad, Sisters of Battle Cecilia, charged in first, her Boltgun spitting fire and sending two charging Chaos Zombies flying.
"Maintain formation, priest in the center, watch the flanks!"
The team filed in, and the moment they stepped into the factory, everyone subconsciously frowned.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay, like rotten fruit mixed with organs, assaulting the nostrils.
Even more troublesome are the ubiquitous whispers of the Warp, like countless insects crawling into the ears, repeatedly tempting the desires and fears deep within one's heart.
"By the Emperor above, His light dispels the darkness, His sacred fire burns away the filth..."
The battle priest in the center of the group immediately began chanting a purification prayer; his deep, solemn voice acted like a warm protective shield, drowning out the whispers.
A golden glow emanated from the holy relic in the priest's hand, enveloping the entire group and significantly reducing the buzzing in their ears.
The interior of the factory looked even more eerie than the exterior.
The lighting system had long since failed, with only the searchlights on the soldiers' helmets piercing the darkness.
Wherever the beam of light swept, there were corpses lying in pools of blood, twisted flesh and limbs, and Chaos runes densely covering the walls.
Wandering Chaos zombies were everywhere—on the ground, on the beds, and in the passageways.
Some of them still retain most of their human form, except their skin is bluish-green and their claws are sharp.
Some were completely twisted, growing multiple hands and feet and ferocious mouthparts, roaring and lunging at the scent of living people.
"Fire!"
The roar of the Boltgun echoed through the enclosed factory, as a dense barrage of purified bullets accurately struck the heads of the zombies, exploding into clouds of blood mist imbued with holy light.
The Promethium flamethrower spewed out long tongues of flame, burning hordes of mutants into charcoal, the smell of burnt meat mingling with the aroma of meat.
The progress seemed to be going smoothly, but Cecilia's inner alarm bells were getting tighter and tighter.
It's too quiet.
Apart from the roars of monsters, the sounds of living people could hardly be heard.
The situation took an unexpected turn when the group reached the corner of the second corridor.
A young man was sitting against the wall, huddled there with his head in his hands, trembling all over, looking like a survivor who had been terrified.
One of the Iron Guard stopped and stared for half a second, but the man suddenly raised his head.
His face was half-melted, one eye had turned into a dark blue vertical pupil, while the other still retained a human appearance, and his mouth stretched to his ears, revealing a strange smile.
"Heh heh, welcome to the paradise of the Lord of Change!"
Before he finished speaking, his body suddenly swelled up, his ribs piercing through his skin and turning outwards into two rows of sharp bone blades.
His entire body split open on the spot, transforming into a monster with a head and body resembling a "Venus flytrap," roaring as it lunged at the nearest soldier.
Caught off guard, the soldier's Power Armour's breastplate was slashed open by the bone blade, and blood gushed out instantly.
Damn it!
Cecilia flicked her wrist, and the Chainsword hummed as she charged forward, cleaving him in two like "ribs."
But this is just the beginning.
In the rooms along the corridor, in the ventilation ducts, on the steel frames of the ceiling—in these more hidden corners—"survivors" kept erupting.
Some of them can even speak in complete human language, crying and shouting "Save me," but they will suddenly attack you when you get close.
Some lay on the ground groaning in pain, their bodies subtly undergoing transformation, ready to pounce on you the moment you let your guard down.
What's most infuriating is that the Tzeentch Cultist lurking in the shadows continue to incite witchcraft.
Those civilians who had not yet been completely corrupted and still retained a shred of rationality, like puppets on strings, roared and charged towards the purification team.
They held steel pipes, wrenches, and even broken glass in their hands, their eyes filled with tears, yet their bodies surged forward uncontrollably, like a group of pathetic puppets.
"No, don't come any closer..." A young Iron Guard soldier hesitated, his hand gripping the Boltgun trembling slightly.
Rushing towards them was a child who looked to be only a teenager, with an innocent, childlike face, yet he was being controlled by witchcraft, carrying shards of glass as he charged forward.
"Don't hesitate!" Cecilia shouted, stepping forward and striking the man's head with an elbow.
"Their souls have been tainted by Chaos; ending their suffering is the greatest mercy we can show them!"
Everyone understands the principle, but actually pulling the trigger on those former "faces" would be torture for the mind of every soldier.
The whispers of the Warp continued to penetrate my eardrums, amplifying the inner turmoil and guilt.
Soldiers at the edge of the column were already experiencing hallucinations; their hands gripping their guns trembled uncontrollably, and their eyes became unfocused.
Worse still, the lurking Tzeentch Sorcerer continues to summon new demons.
The pink Necrontyr lurked in the shadows, occasionally throwing out an arcane missile that blasted a scorch mark onto the Power Armour.
This was never a simple armed raid.
This is a dual test of body, will, and faith.
Meanwhile, the Tzeentch Cultist, hidden deep within, watched with cold laughter as they stepped deeper into the mire.
In the darkness at the end of the corridor, a Purestrain Genestealer silently clung to the ceiling, its purple pupils silently watching the line below.
The next second, a large amount of information quietly entered the consciousness network of an Iron Guard soldier within the Purification Squad.
The route slowly unfolded in the soldiers' minds.