Angar's brows creased in rage, his grip tightening on the maul as he seethed, frozen in place as time stopped.

The Heretical vendor, oblivious to the confrontation, stood smirking in the doorway, his lean frame silhouetted against the curtain's dim glow, his skull ripe for crushing.

"Don't even think about it, Angar!" Spirit snapped, her ethereal form gliding between him and the Heretic.

Her presence here, in this den of unholy depravity, filled him with shame, as she had to know his heart, the reasons he entered this shop.

Her eyes, luminous with Divine sorrow, burned into his own. Drawing in a calming breath, Angar pushed speech past the throbbing ache in his wrapped jaw. "The oath you had me swear upon our first meeting binds my hand, Spirit. I must slaughter this Heretic."

He could speak, but his body was held rigid as Spirit wagged a finger in his face, her voice filled with frustration. "Don't ever kill an innocent in my name, Angar! I can't stop your fanaticism, but you won't murder a good man on my behalf!"

An exhale escaped him, sighing even as his heart roared with righteous fury. "A good man? He defiled your purity and sanctity. He's a Heretic, in dire need of purging."

"Yes, a good man!" Spirit shouted as her patience frayed. "He's just trying to eat and pay rent. This isn't his shop. He just works the night shift. When he first saw these images, he was disgusted, and not just by those of me, but all of them. He's not a Heretic at all, Angar. He's innocent."

Angar took another steadying breath, his mind churning, thinking of a way to get Spirit to finally understand.

She just refused to see what was so plain, blind to the ample evidence of reality. Heresy, even unwitting, unpurged, was a cancer that festered and spread quickly, a threat to the Holy Empire's survival.

And she refused to understand that Angar wouldn't break a vow. The very pledge she'd imposed on him bound his hand, his actions, making clear his duty, demanded blood for such blasphemy.

It made no difference if the man owned the shop or just worked here. He engaged in active Heresy. It couldn't be tolerated.

Angar struggled to grasp how, as they worked toward the same goal, their paths never aligned. How could she not understand the dire straits of the Holy Empire? She needed to think hard on the only workable solutions to fix issues, to survive. Her nonsensical ideals hurt far more than helped.

"I'm sorry, Spirit," he said softly, but with resolve. "I'll do anything for you, but I won't betray my convictions, nor break the oath you had me swear. I must slaughter him."

Spirit's face twisted in annoyance, her form shimmering as she looked away. "I don't understand you, Angar. You disagree with Theosis but obey his commands. I created him. You say you hold me in reverence and want to kill a man you think profaned me, but refuse to heed my words."

She turned back, fear flickering in her luminous eyes. "Is it…" She searched his gaze, reaching out an ethereal hand. He felt a faint tingle of power as a finger pressed against his temple. "No, you don't see me in a romantic light. Thank God."

"Of course, I don't!" Angar snapped out, his voice filled with indignation. "How could you even wonder that?"

Her eyes narrowed, probing deeper. "What is it, then? Why claim to venerate me if you won't even listen to me?"

"I always listen to you," he said, roughly. "I'll always venerate you. How can you not yet understand why I must do as I do? I'll never break the oath you had me swear when you made me a Crusader. You saved me, then you had me swear it, Spirit. You did. You can't demand I break the oath you had me swear."

He had long ago explained to her why he'd never break an oath. His mother had beaten that lesson into him his whole life. His father had broken two oaths, and it had spelled the doom of Tormina first, then Mecia.

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Angar's voice softened. "And you've told me what you are, multiple times. You're a shadow of your former self, a mere echo, a ghost in a machine. This version of you is fallible. You can be wrong. You are wrong. I will crush this Heretic's skull, burn this shop to ash, purging these profaned images, because I'm bound to, and I must."

He was expecting her to become angry, and rage, but Spirit's eyes filled with compassion. To his surprise, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, her ethereal touch warm and substantial.

Unable to move, Angar waited silently, reveling in the blessed Mother's favor, her scent, wishing he could hold her back.

After a minute, Spirit lifted her head, searching his eyes for long seconds, her own shimmering like stars in the soft light.

Her hands unwrapped from around him, then cupped his bandaged face. "Okay," she whispered. "You know I care about you, right, Angar? And I mean you, specifically, as an individual, not how Mother Mi loves all the Children of God."

Warmth filled his heart. "I do, Spirit, as I care about you. More than anything, always."

She smiled, and it lit up the room. "Remember how you felt standing up for those children and mothers, refusing to purge them, even if it meant your death? It felt good, didn't it? Saving people?"

Angar's jaw clenched. That was different. But he didn't want to argue. "Yes," he replied.

"This shadow of what I once was, this echo of Mi Alcyone, this constant failure, this lesser thing I am now," Spirit continued, her soft voice pleading, "isn't commanding you. I'm asking you, Angar, as a friend, as my only friend, to save this man."

Angar went to speak, but Spirit pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You need to confess to murdering innocents, don't you?"

"They weren't…" he began, but she interrupted him. "Take the images of me and have the vendor turn them over to the Church. Let him confess. Offer him the chance of reconciliation and absolution, the same as Theosis gave you. I'm asking such a small favor. Please, for a friend?"

"For you, Spirit," Angar said, "this time, I'll do this. But you forget that you told me this man just works the night shift. The shop's owner is the true villain who must be purged."

Spirit's face broke into a radiant smile. "Thank you! And the shop owner isn't a bad man either. He'd rather not sell these images of me, but the sailors and marines make it too profitable not to. He confesses regularly, tithing half my images' profits on top of the Church's required 10% as his given penance."

Rage flooded Angar's chest again. "This sacrilege infects the Church too? Who's this corrupt confessor engaging in simony, accepting bribes for absolution? How many are involved in this depraved conspiracy?"

"Oh my God, Angar," Spirit groaned in exasperation. "I don't like these images of me either, but on a scale of dislike from one to ten, they're a one, and murdering innocents is a ten. Your priorities are insane. It's not a big deal, truly, especially if you could see what I can right now. Across the galaxy, so many are being corrupted or dying to real Heresy and Hell's blight. So many good people."

Angar swallowed a frustrated sigh, his jaw tight with unspoken truths. He did need to confess to killing innocents, but it was a sin he hadn't committed.

No one had claimed Reptiloid Soldier-castes or Warforms were innocents when he killed them. Because they were all Old Guard, all enemies.

The criminals he'd cut down in those factories and warehouses? They served the same men who'd tried to kill him. That made the whole organization his enemy.

Enemies were made to be slaughtered. That was the whole point of having them.

The farce of it all gnawed at him. Worse still was that he needed to indulge this nonsensical charade.

He looked at Spirit, and glory filled his heart. He basked in her presence, grateful to be speaking with her once again. He wanted this to continue.

Some thoughts were too grave to voice, and he knew they'd ruin the fragile bond rebuilding between them.

He believed she'd defied God Himself when she stood against Mammon, likely to shield a city the Demon Lord was headed toward.

Angar was nearly certain her choice to merge with the Neural Nexus was hers alone, not God's will, something Spirit had all but confirmed during their last conversation, on that Old Guard battleship.

If true, her penance was clear – an eternity bound to her creation, Holy Theosis, blinded to reason, cursed with her strange fanaticism, once the Messiah, now largely impotent, a diminished echo, filled with crippling emotions, shackled by doubt, drowning in wrong ideals, doomed to failure.

But he'd change her fate. Eventually. He'd cure her blindness. He'd get her to see. And in seeing, end her strange and dangerous fanaticism. She'd embrace the Lord's true light, then lead Angar into battle after battle again.

She was the blessed Mother, and he would not abandon her.

As he'd promised, he'd do his best to fulfill her wish, crushing Hell to forge the peaceful Empire she so desperately craved.

But, if by some miracle he succeeded, she'd face a harsh truth. Like the fleeting unity and peace after the Holy Joining, it'd be temporary. The Lord created man to tribute Him with battle and blood, and He'd claim His due.

War was an eternal truth, and that was good. That glorious certainty warmed his heart, giving him grim comfort.

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