Roy stood frozen. His lips trembled, unsure what to say, until a gentle voice broke through the silence.
"Is something wrong, child?"
He looked up to see the bishop standing before him. The bishop respectfully dismissed the two angels and led Roy to sit with him on an abandoned pipe nearby.
"I..." Roy paused, then continued, "When we went to fight the heretics, we encountered a psyker. Our memories... seem to have been tampered with."
The bishop nodded slightly. He didn't question it, simply asked, "How can I help you, child?"
"Am I even worth your time, my lord?" Roy asked.
"Listen, child. We are not like the heretics of the state church, who divide people by status and rank. Under the light of the God-Emperor, we are all equal," the bishop said with a warm smile, patting Roy's shoulder. "All you need is time and growth. One day, you'll stand by my side—or perhaps even take my place."
Roy pressed his lips together. The bishop's gentleness felt so sincere, yet beneath the kindness lay something disturbingly profane.
"Thank you," Roy said. "Could you tell me again about our history and doctrines?"
"Of course, child." The bishop carefully adjusted Roy's collar and began softly, "Our Patriarch came from another world. There, through tireless labor, they earned the honor of spreading the Four-Armed God-Emperor's gospel across other worlds and became great angels. Our people follow their example, working diligently in the factories to prove our devotion."
Roy listened quietly. Everything the bishop said matched his memories—but that creeping, unsettling sense of wrongness now fully emerged.
If there was no flaw in memory or belief… then the flaw must have been in his former self?
God-Emperor…
He turned his gaze to the bishop, staring at the lines on his forehead, then asked again, "Then tell me—why does the God-Emperor have four arms?"
The bishop blinked, puzzled. "Shouldn't the God-Emperor have four arms?"
"But shouldn't the God-Emperor resemble humanity? How could a human have four arms?" Roy challenged.
The bishop looked even more confused. He glanced at the angel clinging to the ceiling, then back at Roy, as if asking, "Isn't it normal for humans to have four arms?"
"It's not like that." Roy gave a bitter smile and shook his head. "Do you truly think the mutations in our people's bodies are normal?"
"Of course. Those are blessings from the great God-Emperor," the bishop said without hesitation, then sighed. "It's unfortunate the Inquisition doesn't understand this."
"One last question," Roy said. "Why do we pretend to believe in the two-armed God-Emperor when interacting with outsiders? If our God-Emperor is the one true divine being, why is our belief so different from everyone else's?"
"They will all convert in time," the bishop said. "It's just a matter of when."
"I understand."
Roy took a deep breath. Something had clicked. A resolve had taken root. He bowed deeply to the bishop, then turned and ran.
Now he was certain—the problem didn't lie with him. It lay with the entire cult.
He didn't know what those so-called angels truly were, but they were undoubtedly enemies of the God-Emperor. And no matter what… his loyalty was to the Emperor!
Yes—to the Emperor.
In confusion, only faith could guide him. Only faith remained uncorrupted.
For the first time, Roy truly understood the necessity of belief. It was the anchor of the soul. In this cruel world, only faith granted people the will and strength to endure.
That creature was no angel. Though his blood and power came from it, if it meant serving the Emperor, he would raise his weapon against it.
But first, he needed help—from the Iron Man.
He didn't know how to find the blue robot, but Roy began gathering his fellow escapees. Due to his relatively minimal mutations, Roy held high status within the cult—on track to become a bishop. Thanks to this former prestige, he easily gathered others.
Judging by their expressions, they had come to the same grim realization.
"So… you've all noticed too?" Roy asked.
"Are we xenos?" Putana asked, trembling.
"Of course not," Roy said firmly. "We have pure skulls and unwavering faith. That alone proves we are human."
Granted, their skulls weren't all that pure… but Roy chose to ignore that.
"And the angels?"
"They're not angels," Roy declared. "They are the true xenos. The source of corruption."
"But… they're the origin of our cult, our angels…" someone whispered.
"No—they are our shame and threat," Roy said. "Their existence must never be revealed. Not to anyone!"
"So… you want to declare war on them?" another asked. "How could we possibly defeat them?"
"A direct fight is impossible for now. We need time. Weapons. And most importantly, help from Doraemon. Only with his help can we free more people and grow stronger. Then, we'll purge the loyalists among us."
Roy clenched his fists. His voice brimmed with conviction. "We have one chance to revive our faith. If we fail, the entire hive will fall to the xenos. For the Emperor, for the Imperium, for humanity—we must raise the banner of war against them!"
Doraemon, standing off to the side under his Pebble Hat, was practically invisible—but thinking to himself:
Looks like some kind of monster really did brainwash these people…
If it's for protecting the innocent from monsters, then I guess I'll help too.
"Ta-dah! I'm here!"
Doraemon took off the Pebble Hat and stuffed it back into his pouch, then stepped forward with arms open.
"I'll help you too! Let's defeat these monsters controlling people together!"