c. Dave Greco
The sky made Sister Ameline want to weep.
Once, the sky over Angeva has been a brilliant, joyous blue, flecked with white island chains of cloud and dappled with the golden rays of dawn. At nightfall, far from the planet’s only major hive, Ameline would be able to witness the starscape in all of its wondrous glory, with the iridescent haze of borealis effects playing across it like some strange, visual concert for the senses. Only a few weeks ago, the agri-world had been a beautiful, verdant paradise, made all the more beautiful by its fidelity and worship of Him on Terra, and while it was far from any warzone, Ameline was nonetheless thankful for her small posting here.
But that had been before the sickly tides of the Warp had blotted out the sky. That had been before the rusted, fungus-strewn hulks had appeared in orbit and rained down fire and dropships. That had been before the enemy had come, and with them had brought a million and one poxes that had liquefied the agri-world’s wheat fields into foetid mulch, turned its verdant forests to skeletal wastlelands of blackened, pus-filled bark, and turned the capital city into a stinking metropolis heaving with the unquiet dead.Continue reading