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Before you could register his words, a blur of black and silver descended from a balcony above. A Sister of Battle, encased in power armor that gleamed faintly in the stained-glass light, landed with a bone-jarring thud. Her cold bolter was now pressed directly into your temple. Instinct kicked in, and you flinched back, but the Sister's armored hand clamped down on your skull, pinning you back in place.
"Easy there, Anon" a gruff voice rasped from behind the visor. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"Don't panic, Anon," the Deacon said quickly, his voice reassuring despite the tension that crackled around you. "This is just a precaution, for your safety and ours."
Sweat beaded on your forehead despite the cool air of the chapel. You stammered out a reply, "O-of course, father."
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[YES]... [NO]... [WEAK YES]... [NO]...
"The coin is in your right hand." you declared, after asking the Tarot once it got warm again.
"Correct... Again." A blind man with long black hair, Septimus, sat across from you, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Then, a long, heavy, uncomfortable silence.
The back room felt sterile and cold, a stark contrast to the ornate chapel on the other side. A single, bare table dominated the space, casting long shadows under the dim flickering of a single flickering bulb. You sat stiffly on a rickety chair, Sister Diamond still beside you, the feel of her bolter a constant reminder of your precarious situation.
"Brother Septimus?" Benedict's voice crackled from a hidden vox-caster. "Everything alright?"
Septimus then hummed, a low, croaking sound that sent shivers down your spine. He held a palm outstretched directly in front of your face, his milky white eyes seeming to focus with unnatural intensity. The minute stretched into an eternity, the silence broken only by your ragged breaths.
"Septimus?" Benedict insisted.
Finally, Septimus retracted his hand. "This... man," he rasped, his voice rough and impatient. "He seems adept at masking his psychic signature somehow."
Confused, you blurted out, "What do you mean? I'm not hiding anything."
His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Are you trying to hold it back right now? Your... power? Answer, yes or no!"
You shook your head, fear constricting your throat. "No, no."
Septimus slowly leaned back. "Intriguing. Then his psychic imprint registers around... Ordinal Pi or Omicron, maybe even Xi. That's... ridiculous for someone able to use the Emperor's Tarot. And they're not even Soul-Bound. It's silly."
Septimus's croaking voice rasped, "The Tarot, give it to me." You hesitantly pushed the deck across the table. He snatched it with an unnatural swiftness, his milky eyes seeming to bore into the cards even though he couldn't see them.
