[@Kratesis][@BCTheEntity][@jbeil][@Andreyich][@LemonZest1337][@Irredeemable]


The Sister-Celestian watched as [i]her[/i] squad advanced into the fray without so much as a second glance, pride and passionate faith rising together in her chest at the sight, the sound of battle and the intermingling of prayer like music to her ears in ways that other sounds just were not.

Wounds were being received on both sides before Victorine at last drew her blade, her thumb pressing the button at the bottom and turning the standard – if extremely well crafted – blade into a humming weapon of destruction, capable of tearing through armour and flesh as if they were both the same.

“Glory be to the God-Emperor,” she intoned as she took the first few steps forward, curling her fingers around the hand-and-a-half hilt of her weapon, preparing her mind and body for combat, “and to the Primarchs His sons and to the Ecclesiarchy His tool...” A tentacled mutant lashed out at her then, an abomination of all that was holy and divine, her hilt connecting with a wet [i]shlock[/i] against its face that sent it reeling back, “as it was in the beginning is now,” she stepped forward and bought her blade straight down upon the deformed creature, black blood hissing as she withdrew the blade and kicked the bisected corpse away, “and ever shall be, Imperium without end. Ave Imperator.”

Something tried to cut her down from behind, the crude instrument it wielded doing no more than impacting on her sweeping pauldron – taking her slightly off balance – before a backhanded swing clove its horned head from its neck.

Pushing through the press of bodies with her own considerable bulk she eventually espied the Crusader up ahead, pressing their foes in from one end of the corridor just as Squad Victorine did from the other; his spear-work was truly something to behold, clearly the Ecclesiarchy teaching their holy warriors well the martial arts, and a smile spread beneath her helmet as she headbutted a snouted renegade hard enough to break its elongated jaw.

Nearly as soon as it had began it was over, their adversaries laying broken – whether that meant dead or simply wounded – across the corridor. Some shuffled and groaned as Victorine stepped over to meet Marcus, keeping an ear out for any comm-traffic from Shelek on the bridge.

“Twenty five...twenty six...this can't be all of them.”

[I]“Sister Victorine to Captain Shelek, what is your situation?[/i]

It took a moment before her helmet comm crackled into life, but when it did she knew it was not going well for their host and his crew. Sounds of gunfire abounded, but his almost monotone voice did rise above it to answer her nevertheless.

[I]“Sister, it would appear that some of them...I'd wager seven...no, nine...made it to the Genetorium; I know this because I am here defending it with a number of my armsmen and ratings.”[/i] There was a short pause followed by a bellow, [I]“this wouldn't be a problem, but it would appear that they decided to bring a heavy-class stubber, and at least one of them is wearing some variant of power armour! We could use some help, and fast. Shelek out.[/i]

No time to waste then.

“If you can walk and fight, fall in on me, it appears our Captain and indeed the Gellar field protecting this vessel are both in peril. Finish off any wounded here, leave no prisoners. We go to his aid.”


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It was as the Captain had described, the sliding doors to the Genetorium having malfunctioned and left a gap straight down the middle, two muscular mutants discharging streams of heavy stubber fire through the gap, a gaggle of lesser combatants letting loose with small-arms of their own, and two figures that certainly surprised the Celestian.

In among the enemy were a pair of distinct figures, one wearing shredded robes that had once belonged to a loyal servant of the Mechanicus – the broad frame likely made up of as much machinery as the mechadendrites whipping back and forth, some tipped with las weapons and at least a pair with wicked looking blades – and the other, well, the other clad in similar Ignatus-pattern armour as Kliment had been, although [b]this[/b] one was painted in a deep purple and without stunning gold or silver.

Once the armoured figure saw the Sororitas arrive from one of the side-corridors it gave an anguished howl and fled in the opposite direction, the robotic tech-priest apparently ignorant of such developments, or too focused on the organics before it.

“Sisters, let us finish this. No mercy.”