Warhammer 40k OC fanfic. Synopsis: snapshots of important moments in the life of Imperial Preacher, Father Jezz O'Zed.

Warning: abusive gender correction therapy

The artificial light in the windows was hazy, and blue, as if to give the comfort of a calm blue sky.

But here in shuttle H2Z-O9, they just gave a cool tint to the otherwise silver and black workings of the Imperium's finest ships.

There was a family in the shuttle. A mother, a father, golden buttons denoting their ranks in the Imperial Navy gleaming from their high collars. And a little girl between them, with short red hair.

"We must protect the will of the Emperor," the father said, comforting the family. "He protects us, and in turn, we do our duty to him, and to humanity."

"Jezz," the mother said, and pulled on the ear of her daughter, "You mustn't cry."

"I'm not cry," Jezz sat straight between their parents.

"Crying, dear," the father corrected.

"Not crying," Jezz looked at their dad, and didn't understand the expression on his harsh features. They were going to the realm of Ultramar, where Jezz would go to school on planet. Jezz was excited for school, and was most excited that they would be learning about the Emperor there.

The speaker on the shuttle announced they would be landing soon. The mother sniffed, loud and wet, and said to Jezz, "We're proud of you, always."

The father nodded, "Remember that we're proud of you. No matter where you go or what you do, you carry a bit of the Emperor within you."

Jezz moved to put a hand on their father's chest, felt the beating of his heart. The child said, "Within you."

The father beamed, and put his hands over his daughter's. He kissed her forehead, and felt the shuttering of metal approaching metal. They were docking now, and this is where they would say goodbye forever.

The family stood, and moved to meet the others who were saying goodbye to their children. They'd done their best, chosen the finest school offered, and put all their savings into the name of Jezz O'Zed. The parents knew it was a dangerous war they fought, but still, as their hands lingered, intertwined with their child, they lied, "We will meet again, by the will of the Emperor."

And Jezz loved school. And Jezz loved the Emperor. Even on the day the letter came, and the child knew they would never see their mother and father again, they never lost faith.

...

Jezz O'Zed was going to move to a Shrine World. Now, they wanted to go to one that had been visited by the Emperor himself in his life, but the one they were sent to would have to do. With strong legs, they stepped out into a world of massive, dizzying cathedrals.

And Jezz loved his new Shrine World, and his new education, and the new way people spoke to him. He wasn't the best with the guns, and the swords, and the push ups, but he could recite verses better than any of his peers.

His boots clicked, and echoed in the tall empty corridor past the other sisters' rooms. He was still being kept in the wrong dormitory, but his friends didn't mind sharing their room with him.

He cracked the knuckles of his fingers, hands still aching from Tolerance lessons that morning. The cracking gave an odd echo in the corridor. Until the shadows of the marble statues shifted, and a dark figure stood before him, hands fisted together, knuckles cracking.

Jezz held firm his stance. And the figure spoke out with a deep draw, "You're in the wrong dress."

Jezz stood a little straighter, and the softly golden beams of light streaming from the stained glass shifted. He let out a small gasp, and gave a salute to who he now could see was a Drill Abbot before him. "Sir, no sir, I am dressed appropriately."

The Drill Abbot loomed, his armor keeping him poised high above the student. "You defy me?"

Jezz felt his heart race, challenging himself to keep his voice perfect, "It is the will of the Emperor. I am to become a Confessor."

"What do you know of the Emperor's will?" The voice growled and snapped, a great beast of intimidation.

"I know," Jezz said confidently, "it is his will that guides us through the Galaxy." He gulped, and kept his breath steady.

"Wrong," the word twisted Jezz's stomach into painful knots, and he swallowed a wad of bile down. "It is the Astronomican which guides our ships home." The Drill Abbot put his hand to a whip tied upon his hip. "You will come with me for re-education," and the Abbot began to walk down the hallway.

Jezz followed with quick steps, to a room he'd never been to before. It was well lit, and there were a few other Abbots in the room, some squirreling away in lengthy scrolls, some polishing gleaming weaponry. Jezz could see the Abbot he was following more clearly now, he was a tall man, clean shaved even upon his head. He had small tattoos on his temples, but Jezz could not make them out at his height. The man's face was hard, and keen, and there was an expectation in his eyes that Jezz felt a compulsion to fulfill. He stood at his best, most perfect self.

The Drill Abbot pointed to a clear wall, instructing Jezz to stand at the ready. "Do you want to know the will of the Emperor?"

Jezz nodded. This was not sufficient, and the whip cracked in the Drill Abbot's hands. A strike of fear flashed through the student, and he quickly corrected, "Yes, I want to know his will, Father."

"If you want to know his will, you must know his suffering." He warned. The Drill Abbot untied the latches of his left arm's golden armor as he spoke.

"I attend to my classes, Father."

The armor fell away from his forearm, the Abbot let the piece fall to his feet. He pushed up his sleeve, and Jezz could see the layers on layers of scars, fresh and old. The Drill Abbot stood calmly before Jezz, examining the student.

"Your name, your destination."

"My name is Jezz O'Zed, and I will be a Confessor."

The whip cracked at his feet, and Jezz tried very hard not to flinch away. "You came here for Battle studies. Your destination is as a Sister."

"My destination is Confessor, sir." Jezz ground his teeth, knowing what it would cost him to defy the Abbot.

"Turn," the Abbot commanded. Jezz obeyed, and heard the soft sliding of leather against marble before he felt the sting of the whip through the clothes on his back, and the crack in his ears. The papers shuffled on the tables around, an audience gained as the other Abbots turned their attention.

"What makes you think you are eligible for Confessor studies at your age?"

He said it before he could think anything else, "It is the will, the will of the Emperor, sir."

Another lash, Jezz's knees buckled but he stood his ground. "You will not use the Emperor as an excuse, girl," and the lashes continued, two, and three in a row.

Jezz put a hand on the wall to steady himself, and caught his breath as the Abbot paused. "Are you ready to continue your appropriate destination's studies?"

"I will be a Confessor," Jezz affirmed through gritted teeth, to the onslaught of three more lashes.

He fell to his knees, the pain ripping through him, carrying into his voice as he cried out desperately, "You cannot tell me who I am!"

Jezz held his breath in preparation for more re-education. And when it didn't come, he chanced a peek over his shoulder.

The Drill Abbot had summoned two of the other men in the room, and was speaking with them.

A man in a white robe asked, "Shall I return her to her quarters?"

The Drill Abbot shook his head, "Henceforth he will be under my direct council. Re-assign him, and get him to an apothecary regularly."

The Drill Abbot looked to see Jezz watching him. He stepped forward, and knelt before the student, offering a hand. He said, "I was a Confessor once, I will teach you what I know of the will of the Emperor."

...

Something was off about the warehouse Father Jezz O'Zed had come to, and the bubbles of laughter that popped and rippled into a growing cacophony in the gathered crowd of recently-confessed confirmed it.

But it was too late, and war is war, and the Heretics on Reclamation 3x9 knew they were losing. And so they laughed at the Confessor, who they so easily tricked and lured here.

Hatred grew in Jezz's heart, for this was not the perfect golden light of the Emperor's will. His voice screamed out, beautiful and terrible, "Heretics! The Emperor will never forgive you!"

The crowd turned on him in this room, clawing at his robes and skin. Father Jezz revved his chainsword and slashed mercilessly into those that came at him, but the weapon could only do so much at a time, and it was cumbersome to wield, and the Heretics wrenched it from his grasp.

Blessed gunfire sounded from behind, and Father Jezz gave a prayer of thanks when he heard the shouts of the Sisters of the Bloody Rose. Fierce and ruthless Heretic killers, the sisters went to work on the crowd, who screamed and laughed in perverse delight as their bodies blew away and scattered across the ground. The blood of the Heretics pooled on the ground, and Father Jezz was able to make his way back and away from the loathsome, kniving cultists.

He turned, and saw, she was there. Sister Dymas, she'd marched her squad right along with him as he followed the Heretics to their lair. And the pervasive thought pushed its way though his mind once again, that she was perfection in her hatred, she was perfection in her skill, and perfection in her grace. Blood splashed onto the visor of her helmet and she wrenched the metal away, flinging the thick liquid off. Her short white hair clung to her cheeks and skin, and she shook her head to unstick the locks before she yelled commands to her squad. She turned, and saw Father Jezz, and he realized he was staring in the middle of all this Chaos, this fighting of battle sisters and Heretics.

He felt the impulse to care about the right and proper things to do. A heavier, more heated feeling outweighed it, and he let himself gaze into her eyes over the pulsing crowd. She held his stare, expression soft as she held her helmet in front of her chest in that moment. Her eyes flickered, and her expression twisted to horror at some sight beyond the Confessor. She pointed urgently, and Father Jezz turned while she put her helmet back on.

The pooled blood of the Heretics was glowing, and boiling on the ground.

Clawed fingers pushed up and through the blood, and the room grew hot with hellfire as Jezz's ears popped with sickly wet pressure. Some of the battle sisters let out screams at the sight of Daemons tearing into the material plane.

Father Jezz found himself without weapon, and without hope, as a bulging, greater Daemon materialized in the room.

Sister Dymas was at his side then, pulling on him, the wet metal of her bloody armored fingers crushing his arm, "Father, we have to go, we have to go, you have to get out of here," her voice was urgent. She called to her squad for retreat, she commanded the vox casters to call for reinforcements, and she finally pushed an immobile Jezz to the floor behind her just in time for him to miss a clawed swipe from one of the lesser daemonettes. She charged into battle with the creature, screaming scripture while she led with her chainsword and followed through with her holy bolter gun. The daemonette fell to pieces on the ground, and Jezz found the strength to rise.

One of the Sisters ran past, and caught him in the arm, "Father, your sword!" She handed him his fallen chainsword, and with the weight of it in his hand once more he felt the will of the Emperor course through him.

He raised his voice in prayer, verses singing out over the screams, the clashing and tearing of the war. He echoed Dymas's calls for retreat, for reinforcements, and for unwavering faith in the Emperor.

“The Emperor of Mankind is the Light and the Way, and all his actions are for the benefit of mankind, which is his people. The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor, so it is taught in the Lectitio Divinitatus, and above all things, the Emperor will protect…”

The squad was retreating, sisters running out the wide warehouse doors. A number were locked in combat still, hopelessly firing into the massive, many armed creatures that surrounded them. Dymas pushed through, wrenching an arm from a daemon, and freeing a Sister from its grasp. She pointed to the doors, fending off the unholy creatures so those remaining of her squad could leave.

The floor cracked, and fire spit out from between the stained tile. The building was being wrenched apart by the daemons, and would not stand much longer.

Jezz felt an arm grab around his waist, and he was lifted away. He held on tightly to the strong arm that had him, seeing the familiar inscriptions on Dymas's armor. He had spent months with her squad, planning and executing attacks and Reclamation efforts. They were winning the war, but even winning has its costs.

Dymas ran with him in her arms, away from the collapsing, daemon infested building, away from the corpses of heretics and those unlucky few of her squad. She ran for their base in the battle ruined town, but saw the streets filled with fighting ahead. Heretics, cultists, everywhere.

She dodged away into an alley, and pushed past into a burnt out building. She dropped Jezz, who fell to his knees. Dymas crouched, and began to investigate the building to ensure its safety, before she let herself kneel in exhaustion next to Jezz below a shattered window. She pulled her helmet away, breathing heavily.

Jezz had pulled himself up next to the wall, his heart was racing. Was this the will of the Emperor? Was this a failure on his part? He had confessed them, they had promised to show him their secrets, their sins, their heresies, if only the Emperor would forgive them.

Dymas came into his vision once more and he felt her warmth wash over him, and he could breathe a little easier, though he felt a hot rush of tears roll down his cheeks. He blinked quickly, and whispered, "Dymas, oh Dymas." She moved close to him, and put her arm over his shoulders. He clutched the armor at her waist, wanting, needing her closer.

They looked into each other's eyes, and the fog of misunderstanding cleared from their minds, and they both knew what it was they felt for one another. Jezz whispered, desperately, trying to make sense of it all, "By the will of the Emperor, we survived."

Dymas furrowed her brow, and let her heart carry her down to capture the Confessor's lips.