"Now come. Let us pray," Bastion said as the Ecclesiarchs turned to him—this was the moment they had been waiting for.
Bastion saw the Cherubim's eyes light up as they began to record. The Ecclesiarchs knelt immediately, hands clasped together.
"Drop your weapons and deactivate all implants," Bastion commanded, his irises glowing brighter.
His mind ran calculations and simulations. He didn't believe in the Emperor, but that didn't mean he failed to understand the man had become a godlike being.
The Warp responded to belief, after all. If this world was any indication, the Emperor had quintillions of worshippers. He would have ascended to godhood whether he willed it or not.
But Bastion would never pray to such a man. Instead, he needed to rewrite their creed—and no position suited that better than sainthood.
As for the prayer? He may not worship the Emperor, but he had once been a Christian… a religion magnitudes better than the Imperial Creed.
Above all, Christianity was a religion that referred to God with in a certain perspective, Ambiguous names such as Father, Creater, etc.
"Take each other's hands," Bastion said softly, ignoring the Ecclesiarchs' bewildered stares.
Their thoughts didn't matter. To them, he was the Emperor's chosen. His word was law.
He watched as they formed a circle, hands linked, and then he began the true purpose of this "prayer."
Ever since he had extracted Draven's memories through touch, he had experimented further. His skin could interface with neurons… not just to view memories, an act he had come to understand was no short of being a miracle.
Memories were stored as chemical and electrical changes which means that to view them required interpreting synaptic signals.
This meant that his Dermapathic touch allowed to exert control over the neurons in more ways than one. Passively, he read minds. Actively, he could command bodies.
Now, with their hands connected, he accessed all five hundred at once. Within seconds, he scanned them down to their genetics, optimizing each sister before transmitting the instructions directly into their neurons.
"Our Father, who art in heaven," Bastion began.
The Ecclesiarchs' eyes snapped open, but he barely noticed. Cellular optimization demanded absolute focus.
The Sisters watched as the man before them radiated a holy glow, the air itself pressing against them. This was no prayer they recognized—not in language, not in form. Lucilla glanced at her sisters. By all rights, this was heresy.
And yet, they knew it wasn't.
"Hallowed be Thy name…" The Saint continued, a halo shimmering above his head.
They didn't understand the tongue he spoke, yet every word resonated as if etched into their souls. It felt like standing before a father… The Father.
"Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done…"
A presence descended, crushing and divine. Their knees trembled; their minds sharpened. They didn't understand, but they accepted. A Saint was a Saint.
"On Earth as it is in heaven." Bastion's glow intensified.
Oblivious, he worked—rewriting osteoblasts for denser bones, myofibrils for greater strength. Anticipating the energy cost, he boosted ATP production, enhanced nutrient absorption, and even reconfigure their melanin into photosynthetic cells to offset thirty percent of their metabolic demands.