By Terry Persun
In Newcity, everyone seems to be content material. undesirable emotions will not be allowed, simply because your tracking chip will alert the police to carry you in for therapy. improving is needed. Unchecked feelings made the area outdoors Newcity risky, unruly, and violent. no less than that's the legitimate tale in Newcity.Keith understands whatever is inaccurate. unusual visions lead him to turn into one of many few who escapes Newcity. He unearths freedom and companionship open air, yet strain development to rebellion opposed to the city's insidious regime of social control.. management is thrust upon him, with purely his visions for assistance, just a small band of associates for support-and the fates of either Newcity and the surface international at stake.Cathedral of desires is a compelling story of a dystopian destiny and private heroism.
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At the prospect of you lurking in the shadows, waiting to reveal yourself,’ Cestus returned sternly and stepped forward. He managed to maintain the chastening expression for only a moment before he smiled broadly and clapped Antiges on the shoulder. ‘Well met, brother,’ Cestus said, clasping Antiges’s forearm firmly. ‘Well met,’ Antiges replied, returning the greeting. ‘I have come to take you away from here, brother-captain,’ he added. ’ IT WAS A short journey from the sanctum of Communion Temple Omega to the dock where the rest of Cestus’s and Antiges’s battle-brothers awaited them.
Even without being compared to the tall slab of muscle that was an Astartes, they were bent-backed and diminutive. Hektor ignored their obsequiousness as he released the straps affixing the combat shield to his arm and handed it over along with his short-blade to the acolytes. He looked at the ground as his attendants retreated silently into the shadow’s penumbra at the edge of the room. An engraved ‘U’ was carved into the centre of the chamber, chased in silver on a circular field of blue. Hektor stood in the middle of it, in exactly the position that he had started.
Turning a corner, at the lead of the two Astartes, Cestus was hit square in the chest. The impact, though surprising, moved the Astartes not at all. He stared down at what had struck him. Quivering amidst a bundle of tangled robes, a litho-slate clasped reassuringly in his hands, was a scholarly-looking human. ’ Antiges demanded at once. The pale scholar cowered beneath the towering Astartes, shrinking before his obvious power. He was sweating profusely, and used the sleeve of his robe to wipe his head before casting a glance back in the direction he had come from in spite of the monolithic warriors in front of him.