They could only watch helplessly as this ancient warship, this defiant steel spirit, was slowly eroded and decayed by the plague, gradually heading towards a slow death.
An immense sense of powerlessness weighed on everyone's hearts like a heavy iron weight.
Dominic stood outside the circle, his military uniform crisp, but his back revealed an undeniable weariness.
He gazed at the increasingly rusty throne, his eyes welling up slightly.
From the Ragnar raid to the Nurgle Fleet's attack, and then to the Death Guard boarding the ship, he withstood wave after wave of attacks.
But this time, it seems he really can't hold on any longer.
My mind gradually became hazy under the pressure of the past few days, and even the alarms around me sounded distant.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, a very faint silver-red glimmer flashed and disappeared in the shadows of the temple's side door.
Like a floating speck of stardust, faint, yet strangely familiar.
Dominic snapped back to reality.
It's her.
The Inquisitor appeared twice in dire straits, the mysterious figure who always delivered warnings at the most crucial moments.
Almost instinctively, he stepped towards the shadows.
His heart beat faster for no apparent reason, and he couldn't explain why.
Even though the other party's identity was unknown and their origins were a mystery, just seeing that silver-red figure made the dam in my heart, which was about to collapse, seem to have gained another pillar.
He went through the side door and into the maintenance passage at the back of the temple.
As the light dimmed, the hum of the pipes replaced the noise in the temple.
Sorine stood in the shadows at the end of the passage, her slender figure outlined by silver, alien- Xenos light armor. Her hood was pulled low, and a faint silver-red Psychic Power flickered on and off at her fingertips.
Just like the previous two times, it was cold and aloof, as if it never belonged to this worldly place.
"You have a way, don't you?" Dominic spoke first, his voice carrying a hint of urgency he himself didn't realize.
Sorine did not answer immediately.
Her consciousness was currently communicating with Lynn through that wondrous system link.
Just minutes ago, she relayed the information about the Gemstone's Machine Spirit being infected by the Rust Plague to Lynn in the underground battlefield.
Just as Lynn was also feeling a headache, a brand new prompt popped up in front of him on the system interface the next second.
[Interactive consciousness detected: Gemstone's Machine Spirit ]
[Status: Damaged, infected by the Rust Plague ]
[Executable Action: Remote Domination ]
[Prerequisite: Since the host is not present, a soul deeply bound to the Machine Spirit is required as an intermediary to perform the Domination ritual.]
Domination.
It's not a "strategy guide," it's blatant " Domination."
The sounds of gunfire from the third underground level still echoed in his ears. Lynn gazed in the direction of the barrier ruins, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
I see.
He had previously found it strange that the system had to use the "strategy guide" format, as even the Tyranids and Orks could be guided.
In retrospect, "strategies" were never the goal, but merely a means to an end.
Changing perceptions and altering will ultimately boils down to Domination.
From thought to soul, from individual to group, and even to cross-species consciousness.
As long as there is self-will, one is within the system's control.
Machine Spirit, of course, counts too.
There is only one most suitable candidate in the entire galaxy for the soul that is deeply bound to the Gemstone's Machine Spirit.
Dominic Ventria.
The captain of this warship, the heir of his family for generations, is the one who spends every day with the Machine Spirit and has the deepest soul resonance with it.
In the passageway, Sorine looked up.
Beneath the hood's shadow, pale pink lips parted slightly, and a clear, cold voice, like ice beads falling on metal, escaped her lips.
"There is a way, but I need your cooperation."
Dominic's breath hitched.
The air inside the Machine God was even colder than the ice plains of Brevis.
Beneath the brass dome, nearly a hundred exhausted priests and pastors sat or knelt, their robes soaked with sweat. The acrid smell of burning holy oil mixed with the metallic odor of rust permeated every inch of the space.
The once arrogant and bright throne of the Machine Spirit that floated in the center was no longer there; dark green mold had spread all over the pure steel structure like a malignant tumor.
The once raging blue-white arcs of electricity became sparse and dim, each pulse leaving a sickly dark green trail.
The reading, symbolizing the purity of the Machine Spirit, is stuck at 76%, and is still declining at a slow but irreversible rate.
Three senior priests stood around the control panel, data streams constantly scrolling across the optical lenses, purification commands being issued and then repeatedly neutralized by the corrosive force.
Bishop Venka stood at the edge of the circle, his Rosarius burning hot from being turned over, his white beard trembling slightly.
He has lived for nearly a century and presided over hundreds of purification ceremonies, but he has never felt so powerless as he does today.
The plague is not a filth on the surface, but a poisonous root that has penetrated deep into the consciousness of the Machine Spirit.
Dominic stood with his back to the crowd outside the police line, his neatly dressed military uniform revealing an indescribable weariness.
His fingertips were slightly numb; the days of fierce fighting and Second Company heavy blows were like hammer blows to his nerves, but he could not back down.
Behind him stood the officers and soldiers of the entire warship, the family's thousand-year glory; to retreat would mean utter destruction.
Just then, the hydraulic shaft of the temple's side door made a soft sound.
Everyone instinctively looked in the direction of the sound, and saw Major General Dominic step aside, and a figure dressed in a pure black robe slowly walked in.
The hood was pulled low, covering most of his face, revealing only his sharply defined jawline and a hint of pale pink lips.
A few strands of silver-gray hair peeked out from the edge of the hood, shimmering under the brass-colored light, revealing that it belonged to a woman.
She walked slowly, her footsteps as light as falling snow, yet she exuded an indescribable sense of detachment.
It was as if the surrounding rusty smell, the scent of holy oil, and the clamor of voices were all separated from her by an invisible barrier.
"Major General, what is this?"
The senior priest at the head of the group was the first to come to his senses, a hint of doubt flashing across his eyes.
The Machine God is the core sanctuary of the warship. Apart from clergy and authorized technicians, no one else is allowed to enter, let alone an unidentified man in black robes.
Bishop Venka frowned and stepped forward:
"Major General Dominic, the Machine Spirit is in imminent danger, and the contents of the temple must not be..."
"She can save the Gemstone."
Dominic interrupted him, his voice low but firm.
He glanced at the black-robed figure beside him. The other person didn't speak, but nodded slightly. His gaze, hidden under the hood, passed over the crowd and landed directly on the rusted Machine Spirit Throne in the distance.
No one knows who this mysterious woman in black robes is, nor how she saved the Machine Spirit deeply infected by the Rust Plague.
In fact, even Sorine herself was unclear about the specific operation procedure.
Just ten minutes ago, when Lynn's voice entered her mind through the consciousness link, the plan was so simple it was almost hasty.
Let Dominic get close to the Machine Spirit Throne, using his soul as an anchor point, and leave the rest to him.
Sorine's first reaction was that it was absurd.
Machine Spirit Infestation is a curse on the Warp level, which even the high priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Ecclesiarchy cannot cure.
Could the situation be reversed simply through a soul contact with a mortal captain?
This sounds even more outrageous Warp.
But the words caught in her throat.
She thought of the Tyranids on the surface of Brevis who obeyed him, and how this man had repeatedly come up with ingenious solutions in desperate situations, turning seemingly hopeless situations around.
It was as if the word "impossible" never existed in his presence.
The doubts remained on the surface of her consciousness; what remained in the end was a trust that she herself was unaware of.
So she came and stood in the heart of this ancient warship.