Darkness. Weakness…
His consciousness seemed to be sinking into an endless abyss. For an instant, it felt like some unfathomable, pitch-black entity cast its gaze upon him. As that bone-deep chill pierced his soul, Roy instinctively began to pray.
"O God-Emperor… Four-Armed Deity, Lord of Hosts, Master of Mankind—please, protect the people of this world…"
He did not pray for himself. As a faithful believer, his only desire was to offer everything he had—his life, his will, his strength—to the God-Emperor. He did not seek anything in return.
Then, faintly, something seemed to pour into his mouth. A warm current surged through his body, restoring his strength and vitality… yet, oddly, he felt a strange sense of loss.
And then, he opened his eyes.
"Huh?"
He found himself in a place that was glaringly bright and immaculately clean—so starkly different from the dim and grimy lower hive that it made him momentarily uncomfortable. In the next moment, his eyes widened, and his hand reflexively gripped his weapon.
Right before him stood the blue iron-clad being he had encountered earlier!
"You… why are you here?"
Strangely, Roy couldn't bring himself to feel any hostility. It was as if the two of them had been old friends, long separated.
"Whew…" Seeing no hostility, Doraemon let out a sigh of relief. He stuffed the Friendship Capsule back into his pocket, then crossed his arms and explained, "Honestly, what's with all the fighting? I'm the one who just saved you all, you know!"
"Hmph. War is the only way to purge heresy." Roy turned his gaze aside, biting his lip. His thoughts were with his fellow brothers—but as he turned to check on them, a sudden wave of unspeakable dread surged through his chest.
What… what is that thing?
That grotesque, purple abomination—twisted and malformed, with three arms—what in the name of the God-Emperor was that?
"Putana?" Roy called out the name of one of his church brothers. "Why do you… look like that?"
No. Something was wrong. A wave of dissonance slammed into him. In his memories, hadn't everyone… always looked like that?
The acolyte who harvested the Patriarch's neurosecretions and preserved them as relics. The Plaguebearer who conducted initiation rites for new converts. The commander whose flesh was clearly inhuman…
"You! Iron Man! What did you do to me?!"
Roy roared and turned on Doraemon, fury uncontrollable.
"That's so unfair! I was only trying to help," Doraemon protested, bewildered by these humans' bizarre reactions. Still, since Roy hadn't attacked him, the Friendship Capsule must still be working. "And I'm not called Iron Man, okay? I have a name—it's Doraemon!"
The gadget—once a sticker was placed on someone, it made the target believe the user was their best friend. Doraemon himself had once been a victim of it, manipulated by Suneo.
"If you didn't tamper with me, why are my memories altered? Why have my brothers become… this?" Roy pointed, trembling, at his fellow acolytes.
"I told you, I didn't do anything!" Doraemon's voice was now edged with frustration. "All I did was cure your illness!"
Just then, the other patients began to awaken—and without exception, all of them screamed in terror.
"My hand! My body—what is happening to me?!"
"By the Four-Armed God-Emperor… Wait—God-Emperor? Why four arms?!"
"I… I'm… I'm a xeno?!"
What was going on?!
Watching the chaos unfold, Doraemon began to panic.
Could it be… a malfunction in the Doctor Bag?
If only one person had reacted this way, it might've been a coincidence. But if everyone was affected, the most likely cause was a problem with the gadget.
"Silence!" Roy suddenly bellowed, his voice cutting through the noise. He ground his teeth and growled, "You swear you did nothing? You only healed us?"
He didn't want to doubt the Iron Man before him. The strange warmth of their 'friendship' made him reluctant to accuse him. The real enemy… had to be the heretical sorcerers. They were the ones who'd truly benefit from sowing fear and chaos—just like before.
And more importantly—he'd seen the psyker.
That damned psyker! It had to be him who altered their memories. It was the only explanation for this confusion and discord.
He had to inform the Patriarch. Immediately.
"I swear I didn't do anything!" Doraemon nodded emphatically, desperate to prove his innocence.
"Fine," Roy said, firm. "Then let us go. We need to report all of this… right away."
His mind turned to the vision of that black-armored angel, the claws, the screeching.
He refused to believe that his Patriarch had become such a creature. He needed to see it with his own eyes.
"Okay, okay…" Doraemon pulled out the Anywhere Door and swung it open. "This leads straight to your gathering ground. But I still recommend a full medical checkup, just in case!"
Is this… sorcery too?
Roy stared at the pink door in disbelief. Then, gritting his teeth, he led his panicked brothers through it. Doraemon hesitated briefly, then put on his Pebble Hat and followed after them.
Roy walked through the streets, his eyes trembling as he took in his surroundings. He lifted his gaze toward a nearby statue—its four arms spread outward in a pose of obvious blasphemy.
A young girl stood below it, praying devoutly.
"Isa," Roy approached, his voice dry. "Tell me… has this statue always looked like this?"
"Roy!" The girl's face lit up and she threw herself into his arms. "Why do you ask? Did something happen?"
"Answer me. This is important," Roy said gravely. "Has the God-Emperor… always had four arms?"
"Eh?"
The girl blinked, confused by the odd question. She nodded slowly, not understanding why the usually gentle Roy was being so serious.
"Of course the God-Emperor has four arms," she said. "Roy?"
"No… no…" Roy stepped back, stumbling as if trying to escape the truth. Then he turned and ran—toward the Patriarch. He had to understand. Had to confirm. The angels of the God-Emperor would know the truth.
Angels… yes, the angels…
They had to be real. They had to be able to save his soul—cleanse the foul sorcery that had cursed him.
But just before he could reach the Patriarch, two angels descended before him.
Black, monstrous beings extended their claws, staring at him with curiosity—as if wondering what he was doing there.
Roy fell silent.
No…
No, this couldn't be…
"…Angels," he whispered. "Have you… always been like this?"