18/12/2010 in Warhammer 40K
The Arch-Iconoclast’s charred corpse, silhouetted by the morning light, jerked as the cargo servitor hoisted it onto public display. Jagged, multi-colored shards of glass—the shattered remnants of the Palacio Verdance’s largest stained glass window—framed the Iconoclast’s body.
The fighting had crushed and blasted to fragments the entrance hall’s priceless sculptures and trappings; fouled them with soot and ash; splattered them with blood, vomit, and other human effluents. The sweet smell of roasted meat still lingered in the air, mingling with that of burnt hair.
It was quiet. The storm that had descended upon this place had petered out. The winds of wrath and retribution had been spent, and the taint of the Arch-Iconoclast’s debased heresies had been washed away.
It was quiet, and that was good.