READ NOVEL ONLINE Chapter 2: The Emperor's Mercy
Lilith's first week in the Orphanage of Saint Celestine's Mercy passed in a blur of disbelief, fear, and gradual acceptance. Each morning, she would wake up hoping to find herself back in Maverick's body, in his comfortable bed, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of his old life. And each morning, reality would come crashing down as she opened her eyes to the dim, cavernous dormitory filled with the soft sobs and whispers of other orphaned children.
The orphanage itself was a sprawling complex nestled deep within the bowels of Hive Helsreach. Its halls were a maze of gothic architecture, all vaulted ceilings and narrow corridors lit by flickering glow-globes. The walls were adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes from Imperial history—great battles, saintly figures, and always, always, the watchful gaze of the Emperor.
On her second day, Sister Mercy had given Lilith a tour of the facility. "This will be your home now, child," she had said, her voice tinged with a compassion that seemed at odds with the grim surroundings. "The Emperor has seen fit to spare you, and it is our duty to prepare you for His service."
Lilith had nodded mutely, still overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of this new world. The sister had shown her the chapel, where daily prayers were held; the refectory, where meals were served; and the education halls, where children learned the basics of Imperial history, literacy, and the sacred duties of all Imperial citizens.
It was in those education halls that Lilith began to truly grasp the reality of her situation. As she sat through lessons on the history of Armageddon, the constant threats faced by humanity, and the sacred duty of all to serve the Imperium, the last vestiges of denial began to crumble.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't some elaborate hoax or virtual reality simulation. Somehow, impossibly, Maverick Lopez had died and been reborn as Lilith, a young girl in the grim darkness of the 41st millennium.
On the fourth day, during a lesson on the various threats to the Imperium, Lilith had raised her hand and asked a question that had been gnawing at her as she knows about Orks based on her previous life but only through memes.
"Sister Prudence," she had said, her voice small in the cavernous classroom, "what exactly are Orks? Where do they come from?"
The teacher, a stern-faced woman with augmetic eyes, had fixed Lilith with a piercing stare. "Orks are vile xenos, child. An alien menace that infests countless worlds. They are violence given form, existing only to fight and destroy. They are born for war, quite literally sprouting from the ground like some terrible fungus."
As Sister Prudence launched into a detailed explanation of Ork biology and the constant threat they posed, Lilith felt a chill run down her spine. She remembered the massive, green-skinned monster from that first terrifying night—its brutish strength, its cruel laughter, the casual way it had murdered that woman. Orks doesn’t seem funny enough now that she seen one.
That night, huddled in her small cot, Lilith had wept silently. Not just for the horrors she had witnessed, but for the life she had lost. For Maverick's family and friends, who would never know what had happened to him. For the simple comforts and safety of a world that now seemed like a distant dream.
But as the days passed, Lilith found herself adapting, almost against her will. She made a few tentative friends among the other orphans—children who, like her, had lost everything to the constant violence that plagued their world. There was Darin, a boy a few years older than her, who had a talent for mechanics and dreamed of one day becoming a tech-priest. And Mira, a girl about Lilith's age, who could recite whole passages of the Lectitio Divinitatus from memory.
Together, they navigated the daily routines of the orphanage. Wake-up call at 0500 hours, signaled by the blaring of a harsh klaxon. Morning prayers in the chapel, where hundreds of children would kneel before a towering statue of the Emperor, reciting litanies of devotion and protection. Then came breakfast in the refectory—a bland, grayish paste that Lilith recognized with a start as corpse starch, the processed human remains that formed the basis of much of the Imperium's food supply.
The first time she had realized what she was eating, Lilith had nearly vomited. But hunger and the grim acceptance of her situation had eventually won out. By the end of the week, she was choking down the unpalatable gruel without complaint, just like all the other children.
After breakfast came lessons—a mix of basic education and heavy indoctrination. The children learned to read and write in Low Gothic, studied simple mathematics, and were drilled endlessly on the history of the Imperium and the countless threats it faced. Every lesson, no matter the subject, inevitably circled back to humanity's sacred duty to serve the Emperor and fight against the darkness that threatened to engulf them all.
In the afternoons, there was physical training. The orphans were put through grueling exercises, running laps through the winding corridors of the orphanage, doing push-ups and sit-ups until their muscles screamed. "A strong body houses a strong faith," the instructors would shout as they pushed the children to their limits.
Lilith, however, found herself struggling with these physical tasks. Her small, frail body wasn't built for such rigorous training. While other children managed to complete the exercises, Lilith often found herself lagging behind, her breath coming in short, painful gasps, her limbs shaking with exertion.
The instructors were not kind to weakness. "Push harder, girl!" they would yell, their faces twisted in disgust. "The Emperor has no use for the feeble!"
Despite her best efforts, Lilith couldn't keep up. She would often collapse before the end of the training sessions, her body simply unable to meet the demands placed upon it. This physical weakness brought its own set of challenges. Some of the other orphans, eager to prove their own worth, would taunt her. "Look at the weakling," they'd sneer. "She'll be corpse starch before she ever serves the Emperor."
Lilith bore these taunts with quiet dignity, but inside, she was devastated. In her previous life as Maverick, she had never been athletic, but she had never felt this helpless, this vulnerable. The constant physical strain and the harsh realities of her new existence wore heavily on her spirit.
As Lilith climbed into her cot and pulled the thin blanket over herself, she gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, lost in thought. The orphanage was quiet now, save for the soft breathing of sleeping children and the distant hum of machinery that was ever-present in the hive city.
In the darkness, Lilith's mind wandered back to her previous life as Maverick. She tried to recall what she knew about this universe she now found herself in. Warhammer 40,000; it had been a game, hadn't it? A tabletop war game with little painted miniatures. Maverick had never played it himself, but he'd seen posts about it on social media.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember details. There had been Space Marines, giant superhuman warriors in colorful armor. She'd seen memes about them, joking about their impractically large pauldrons. And there were aliens, the Orks she'd had the misfortune of encountering were definitely part of the lore.
What else? The Imperium of Man, ruled by a corpse on a throne. That must be the Emperor everyone here worshipped so fervently. Lilith felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the full implications of that. The god of this universe was real, and he was a withered husk sustaining himself on human sacrifices.
She tried to remember more, but the details were frustratingly vague. There had been other alien races, hadn't there? Eldar, she thought they were called. And something about Chaos, but she couldn't quite grasp what that meant in this context.
Lilith felt a growing sense of frustration and fear. She was living in this universe now, but she knew so little about it. The bits and pieces she could remember from Maverick's casual exposure to Warhammer 40k lore were woefully inadequate for navigating the real thing.
As sleep began to claim her, Lilith made a silent vow. She would learn everything she could about this world. She might be physically weak, but she had one advantage; she knew this was all supposed to be fiction. Maybe, just maybe, that knowledge could help her survive.