They were dressed in rags, their bodies covered in the scars of self-flagellation, clutching scourges, chainswords, and even crude, homade weapons. Yet, in their eyes burned the fire of a faith so pure it bordered on the absolute—a manifestation of unyielding loyalty to the Emperor. They emitted a faint but steady golden radiance: the Emperor's protection, a holy light that naturally emanates from souls when mortal devotion reaches its zenith. This light might have been weak, but it was enough to resist low-level Warp corruption, significantly dampening the effects of Tzeentchian spells and Slaaneshi mists.
Singing hymns of purification, the fanatics surged into the dining hall like a tidal wave. Knowing no fear, they charged directly at the Great Enemy, launching suicidal assaults with the simplest of weapons.
Following closely behind were hundreds of Ecclesiarchy Priests. Clad in black robes with red trim embroidered with the Aquila, they held aloft exquisitely carved icons of the Emperor and recited obscure, holy scriptures. Their voices, steady and powerful, rged with the chanting of the fanatics into a grand torrent of faith. Wherever they passed, the marks of corruption and disgusting Warp sli receded like ice eting fla. Even the hallucinogenic mist, with its faint sweet scent, was replaced by a holy atmosphere.
The torrent of fanatics parted automatically for the Priests, clearing a path. From outside the hall ca heavy footsteps that shook the floor, each step sounding like a declaration of judgnt.
Rumble!!!
The western wall, previously blasted by the Helbrute, was torn open even further. Amidst the spray of stone, a dozen massive machines squeezed inside. They were the Ecclesiarchy's most terrifying instrunts of execution and lethal weapons against daemons: Penitent Engines. Their armor was covered in barbs and stained with blood, and bound to the exterior of each machine were Ecclesiarchy followers who had committed grave sins. Their nerves were wired into the engines, their senses tuned to an agonizing sensitivity. For them, every mont of combat was the harshest form of execution. Their expressions of intertwined pain and repentance, their wails of agony, and their fervent prayers were all converted into the power that drove the machines. These Penitent Engines also knew no fear and were immune to Warp corruption; they had only one core directive: Slay the Chaos, and redeem the soul through blood.
As the vanguard, they charged into the hall with frantic strides. Massive iron fists smashed into low-tier daemons, pounding them into pulp. Heavy flars mounted on their arms spewed red fire—flas imbued with holy power that reduced Slaaneshi Daemonettes and Tzeentchian Horrors to ash.
Then, over a hundred Battle Sisters entered in formation. Clad in black power armor with holy relics hanging from their chests, they held bolters or chainswords, with thick Holy Scriptures tucked into their belts. Their movents were perfectly synchronized, every step hitting the sa beat, every prayer echoing like a clanging war cry. They radiated an aura of iron determination—warriors who had survived countless purification wars, the most loyal daughters of the Emperor.
At the very front was Canoness Valenia. She wore an ancient relic suit, a piece of holy wargear passed down through thousands of years, every scratch on its surface steeped in the faith and blood of generations of Sisters. In her left hand, she gripped a shimring relic bolter, and in her right, she held aloft a power sword wreathed in roaring flas. These were no ordinary flas, but the fires of the Emperor's faith, capable of dealing imasurable damage to the Great Enemy.
Valenia's gaze, sharp as a blade, swept across the room and finally landed on Raynor, who was still pinned to his seat. Her eyes were filled with reverence: "Emperor's Chosen, we have arrived!"
As she spoke, Valenia raised her holy sword. The golden flas surged several feet high, shining like a miniature sun and illuminating the entire dining hall. Without needing a single command, the Battle Sisters imdiately deployed into combat formation. The front rank, ard with chainswords and storm shields, ford an impenetrable line of defense. The rear rank leveled their bolters, aiming at the Chaos cultists and daemons.
The fanatics ford a human wall around the Priests, using their own bodies to shield them from attack. The Priests recited their scriptures even louder, the relics in their hands emitting more intense golden light, buffing the front-line warriors with the strength of their faith.
The first wave of attack ca from the Sisters' barrage. Hundreds of sanctified bolters fired simultaneously, their golden muzzles flashing as they wove a dense net of fire toward the Chaos spawn. These holy bolter rounds were not rely physical projectiles; empowered by the Sisters' innate holy fervor, each round carried a searing effect with a specialized bonus against daemons and cultists.
The Great Enemy let out piercing shrieks. Callum, seeing his plans interrupted ti and again, fell into a state of manic fury. Veins bulged beneath his purple skin, the bone horns on his head grew thicker, and the power bestowed by Slaanesh surged wildly within him. With a roar, he transford into a purple blur, moving at a speed the naked eye couldn't track as he lunged straight for the Sisters' line. It was the unnatural speed of Slaanesh, capable of tearing through most defenses in an instant.
But the Battle Sisters were prepared. Valenia raised her hand, and dozens of high-ranking Priests behind her simultaneously lifted their relics—crosses embedded with holy bones, ancient scrolls inscribed with sacred text, and icons carved with the Emperor's likeness. Dozens of relics erupted with a dazzling golden glow, intertwining to form a massive, solid barrier in front of the Sisters.
With a deafening crash, Callum slamd into the golden barrier. Purple energy clashed with the golden power of faith, sending out ripples of shockwaves. The barrier wavered slightly but did not break. Callum was flung back by the recoil, tumbling through the air before crashing heavily onto the floor.
In the next instant, a dozen power halberds wreathed in holy fire stabbed toward him. Callum reacted quickly, twisting his body the mont he hit the ground to narrowly dodge most of the attacks. However, his right shoulder was still sliced open by a halberd. No purple blood leaked from the wound; instead, it hissed with thick white smoke as holy energy scorched his daemonic flesh. The agonizing pain forced a muffled groan from him, his face contorting even further. He retreated in a panic, his eyes filled with fury and wariness as he glared at Valenia and her Sisters, no longer daring to charge recklessly.
Amidst the chaotic slaughter, Raynor's gaze pierced through the crowd and landed on a familiar figure. It was Isoude!
User Comments
0 comments from readers