The impossible event that was Atom’s demise was felt by all his followers, and the gathering in the Nucleus were struck no differently. Most of the faithful experienced holy Division, their souls raptured to serve their god into another realm to rebuild a new world while their physical bodies remained on this world that had so spurned the god of fission.
Most, but not all.
Few remained, though Atom granted the last of his gifts to them as he left. Confessor Martin was one of them, along with a scattering of initiates, adepts and zealots. While their souls were exempt from rapturous Division, their bodies were blessed with a different form of holy fission. The mutations were extreme and far from the supposed deterioration that the unbelievers had predicted radiation to inflict. But then again, that was the mistake of the faithless, being too inured and blinded by their everyday hardships to see the true gifts that Atom provided.
Muscles bulged, new limbs grew, a zealot even had his head split in half as his brain was blessed with explosive growth. Confessor Martin himself grew a couple of feet as new muscles bulked him up. Eye stalks grew out of his shoulders like mushrooms, allowing him better vision to lead the congregation.
The confessor also had the honor of watching the shadowy figure known as the Mother of the Fog enter the Nucleus, quivering with barely restrained divinity. He barely had the time to bask in her appearance before she dissolved into the air. They witnessed the miracle of the Mother of the Fog becoming one with the shroud that Atom had gifted the island, her reassuring presence being felt anywhere the Fog graced the lands. A reliquary was quickly built after to house the pile of rags she left behind.
The gifts were a message, of course. The confessor immediately understood the great burden placed on the remains of his sentient congregation. Atom was ‘killed’ in this world, but in the process had undergone great division and was now seeded into other worlds, other dimensions to begin anew. He had rejected this world, but that did not mean that the god had fully abandoned it.
In his sublime mercy, Atom had entrusted a few within his church to remain in this realm, maintaining an enclave so that wayward souls might continue to find salvation in Division. No doubt their god would also create a bridge between this world and his new home, allowing for his return, leading the army of his raptured faithful.
It was up to Confessor Martin and the other Burdened few to maintain the presence of the Church of Atom until that time came, to ensure it remained as a beacon to the lost. And so the Nucleus had to be secured.
Thankfully, Atom had also granted the Burdened command over the Husks of their former brothers and sisters. Their souls now parted, the feral bodies were too primitive to carry out most tasks, and would instead serve as an army against the godless world and secure Atom’s enclave while Martin and the others fortified the Nucleus.
Atom sent the confessor another message barely two days into his new task. While reorganizing the armory and stores, Martin noticed a few of the Husks piling onto each other in carnal acts. He immediately saw the divine message beyond the Husks’ base, primal urge to satisfy their lust.
The Burdened were too few, and even the raptured faithful were finite. With a good chance that this was all that was left of Atom’s followers, the enclave needed to find ways to grow its numbers.
Sisters Gwyneth and Aubert understood what was required and would have volunteered themselves, but their roles as the Burdened was too important to waste, and besides, there were only two of them.
It was brother Tektus that provided a simple solution: The faithless beyond the Enclave would be given the honor to serve as broodmothers, and in doing so they would also earn Atom’s grace.
Whether they wished it or not.
Acadia was the first place for the armies of Atom to visit. There would be no salvation for DiMa and his synths, as the Church of Atom now had no place in its heart to accept those who continued to disbelieve, even for those once considered friends.
A friendly heathen was still a heathen after all.
The observatory was cleared out with ease, despite painful casualties. However, the Atom provides, and some of the lunatic Trappers saw Atom’s light, shambling into the glowing bosom of the Nucleus. A purge of the island was then carried out, converting or killing the Trappers. Further casualties were offset by the new recruits. Non-believers that were breedable were captured and carried to the ruins of Southwest Harbor to join the synth captives.
Martin and his Burdened brothers blessed the women with divine purpose, as much as they resisted the gift. The confessor had to admit to some satisfaction at granting salvation in such a primal manner. The women screamed their rejection at the honor, but the Burdened blessed them regardless. After the holy copulations were complete, Confessor Martin allowed the Husks to partake in the communion.
After all, it was up to Atom’s will to determine who amongst his faithful would have the honors of biological Division.
The new broodmothers would continue their salvation as the raptured faithful shared their impassioned blessings with them. Confessor Martin and the other Burdened would visit the holy carriers of a new generation of the Church frequently, to check on their progress as well as to grant more blessings to the forcefully converted.
With most of the island being secured and their numbers bolstered, a crusade was then called against the heathens in Far Harbor. They were resilient, consistently turning away the attacks of the Husks despite the Fog’s empowerment during the night. Still, it was only a matter of time before the settlement fell, and its women converted to the cause. The casualties sustained by the Children were also within acceptable parameters, as the Fog had calmed the island’s wildlife against them, allowing more bodies to be sent to the crusade that would otherwise be lost to environmental attrition.
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And then interlopers were detected through the Fog, coming in from the seas. Their taste was distantly familiar, and it was only after the newcomers struck out against the zealous Husks that Confessor Martin realized who these heathens belonged to.
These were the infidel followers of the Abominable Fusion that had laid Atom low. They had come to finish their dark master’s bidding, to wipe out the last of holy Atom’s glow. The Burdened felt a stirring, and Martin hastily sent out the Husks. Far Harbor can wait for now, divine vengeance called to the Children of Atom now.
Except that the heathens were a far greater threat than imagined, slaughtering the faithful with contemptuous ease. Worse, they were headed towards the broodmothers in Southwest Harbor, no doubt to sabotage Atom’s great work. Through the Fog, Martin and the other Burdened guided the Husks to intercept and smother them, but to no avail. Southwest Harbor was taken, a great number of the Husks slain, and worst of all, the future of the Church of Atom were captured by the enemy.
It was obvious what needed to be done. The Husks were recalled back to the Nucleus, as the Abomination’s servants would no doubt come to snuff out Atom’s glow soon. The holy Vessel was prepared. They might not have the codes to launch the nuclear missiles within, so the missiles were hauled out and the warheads removed for more direct use. The rest of the nuclear material contained within the submarine was siphoned out, basking the Nucleus in the warmth of Atom’s glow and empowering the faithful.
The infidels would no doubt come, but they would find Atom’s Children more than ready against their desecration.
*****
“The fuckers have nukes,” Kyle hissed into the comms as he took a peek from the shadows into the submarine pen. Despite the stealth field and sensory warding runes, he didn’t want to risk detection just yet from potential esoteric sources. Sure, the rad-suckers outside didn’t notice him through the dense Fog, as eldritch as it was, but that didn’t mean squat when dealing with the metaphysical.
Turning his gaze up at the tower of the rusting submarine, Kyle’s visors zoomed onto the lumbering figure with tumors bulging and a carpet of eyestalks on its shoulders that wiggled like those on a snail’s. Holy shit was it disturbing to look at for too long, but judging from the way the jawless brute gurgled out noises and its long, swollen tongue wagged in the air with authority, Kyle guessed that the thing was the cultists’ leader.
Other over-mutated lumps of flesh were moving around with purpose and all of them had far more intelligence in their eyes and posture than the ferals. A shame most of them seemed to be too mutated to be able to actually converse intelligently. Drooping, oversized jaws, or proboscis that flitted out through melted flesh, or even having the throat split away from the mouth like an oversized tongues… How these crazies talked and understood each other was a mystery Kyle was happy to not ponder upon too much.
One female (at least he hoped the breasts were those of a normal human woman) with three and a half pairs of spindly arms was working on the nuclear missiles. Screwdrivers and wrenches were wielded with the surety of an expert, though the blowtorch in the fifth hand didn’t look reassuring.
“How much time do we have?” Edward queried.
Kyle took an educated guess. Judging from the activity being fast but not panicked, and the fact that the missiles had only just been tinkered with… “Plenty enough.”
“Got it,” his commander replied decisively. “Once the ritual’s done, let us know how the rad-suckes react.”
“Understood. By Sev’s will.”
“By Sev’s will.”
Kyle only had to sit still for fifteen minutes more before his armor picked up the metanatural stirrings in the Nucleus. The cultists paused in their work in confusion, and then the purification ritual hit them like an electro whip and the submarine pen was filled with gurgled cries of agony as every mutated horror writhed on the ground and the ferals simply fell limply like puppets with their strings cut.
“Scout 1 to Command, the rad-suckers are squealing.”
They were doing more than that, as tumors burst and extra limbs withered and snapped. The Children of Atom were wailing as their mutations were violently corrected through the metaphysical plane. Edward and Sarah Lyons had specifically left out the bit in the ritual which made the process quick and painless.
“Understood. 1st Company is moving in now. Peace through power.”
Kyle grinned as he raised his Tiberium crystal blade and went back to secure the main door for the party’s arrival. All he needed to do was imagine Keryn being in the place of the broken victims to look forward eagerly to the violence that was soon coming. “Peace through power.”