"No," Eriko shakes her head resolutely. "They know but not enough. They need a guiding hand to achieve the greatest results. Soldiers to live and fight now or tomorrow if need be, not dead men and women or soldiers crippled out of inaction."
She climbs to her feet, leaning heavily on Palais. She teeters on the edge of blacking out but she grits her teeth and pushes past the sweet promise of unconsciousness into painful wakefulness. A second's pause allows her to sweep her eyes over her helmet's runes, reading and taking meaning from them as quickly as she would a children's book.
She could take her last dose but Palais is right. It would be too risky.
If she was to continue her duties it would be through the strength of will alone.
"I can do this. This is what I can do." She grits her teeth as she releases her grip from Palais. "Let me do this."
Palais sighs, then pulls her hand away. "Fine. If you insist, Sister. I'm not going to stop you." Still, she remains right behind you as you limp forward. Then, with a groan,
Storm of Summer's motive systems shut down.
Free from Palais' support she attempts to take a step towards the manufactorum, now a field hospital. She had spent what seemed to be her whole life in field hospitals much like what the manufactorum was now, sheltering her and her Sisters and their patients from bombs that dropped like rain around them.
There were no bombs now, just the dying and the battle ending. Perfect conditions, but even then her legs would not move. She tried again, pushing, but still her feet were planted on the ground.
She checked her helmet readings and saw that the servo-joints of Storm of Summer's legs had shut down of their own accord. She would stay put in her position short of being carried like a sack of rice.
Realizing the futility of fighting her armour in this, Eriko closed her eyes and rested her chin on the upper lip of her breastplate. There was little to do but wait and pray to the Emperor for forgiveness.
"I believe I shall rest, Sister-Superior."
"Eriko?" Palais asks, jostling your shoulder. Storm of Summer hardly shifts at the movement. "Is something wrong? I mean, besides the broken-Ah." Her helmet glances you up and down. Slowly, she shakes her head, then taps her vox.
"Sister Derosa, could you send Sister Arina? Storm of Summer seems to have grown disquieted."
"Rest sounds like a good idea. Let's get you inside, Sister." Palais says as Arina arrives. The woman has removed her helm. Her bowl cut is peeled away on the right side to make room for the expansive plating that surrounds her bionic eye. The tawny-skinned woman pulls her lips back in a grimace as she runs a hand along your cuirass.
"Ceramite shell is intact, but dented pretty badly. Some of its sacred systems could be misaligned, I suppose? I can try to relieve the Machine's pain, but I'm no tech-priest." Arina says as she stands. "I think it would be best if we remove our Sister from her armor. I can perform the rituals for that, at least."
"Either way, let's get her inside." Palais says, wrapping her arms around you.
With
Storm of Summer not cooperating, the two Sisters drag you inside the manufactorum. There amidst the rockcrete floors and rusted catwalks, the groans of the wounded greet you. There are nine in total laid out upon padded bedrolls, their flak armor laid out in neat stacks nearby. A pair of PDF medics watch over the wounded men and women, moving between the wounded to change out bandages or examine IV tubes. One soldier in particular is restrained, their eyes showing the vacant horror of shell-shock. Another's chest is a blanket of blood-soaked bandages though, at least for the moment, he seems stable.
"I think I want to try a second dose of the disinectants. The claws on those things can't be clean-" You hear through the haze of pain as Palais and Arina lay you down. Palais turns away as Arina mutters soothing psalms to
Storm of Summer, anointing the wounds upon its cuirass with holy oils. Over her words, you hear Palais speaking into the vox.
"Sister Legatine? Yes, Sister Eriko is wounded but stable. You have Sister Hospitaller, with you? My thanks." She turns back, kneeling down beside you. "You'll be fine, Sister. The PDF medics have their injured under control, and there's another Hospitaller of your Order coming with the Legatine Lethicia. She'll have a look at your chest. We're going to get Storm of Summer off of you, or at least the cuirass. Your fighting's done for today, Sister."
There's a hiss of air as she removes her helmet, revealing her burn-scarred face. "You did well, Sister. To stand against two of those beasts on your own, and to cut one of them down. Leanna was standing with you, today, I don't doubt it."
A
Caelia nods. She was still exhausted, but the triumph of victory and purging the remnants of the enemy lent a certain energy, burning like dark coals deep inside. "Of course, Sister-Superior." She grabs her boltgun, and falls in with Sister Superior Derosa. There was still work to be done.
(Join the Sister Superior)
"It is your choice, Sister. I am not your direct superior." Derosa says. "My thanks for your assistance, Sister." She turns on her heel, waving her chainsword forward. But then, Palais' voice crackles over the vox.
"Sister Derosa, could you send Sister Arina? Storm of Summer seems to have grown disquieted." Palais says, stating the name of Eriko's blessed warplate. The other Sororitas glance at one another, but with a tilt of Derosa's head, Arina shrugs and stomps her way toward your battle-sister.
"Arina? She may have served with the Mechanicus a fair amount, but she isn't a Tech-priest." Sister Katherine says. "Emperor grace them. They'll need it."
"Regardless, there are heretics in dire need of Leanna's mercy," Derosa says. "Come, Sisters."
Under the watchful eyes of Sister Greiland and Pia as well as some of the PDF troopers, you make your way across the plaza. In the distance, you see the PDF lieutenant bellowing and gesturing at those men who had earlier fled, but you pay them no heed. The dead are piled high, but the wounded are everywhere. Some are obvious, writhing and groaning as they claw at their bleeding wounds, or crawling toward safety. These die swiftly, slain by gladius blade or crushed beneath your boot. Many others are not so easy to pick out. Many of the heretics are unconscious, and barely distinguishable from the dead. Only a careful eye can distinguish the rise and fall of their chests or note their bodies are somewhat warmer than the slain who have begun to chill. Still others are playing dead.
One heretic rolls out of the way just as you bring your boot down on where his head would've been, drawing a stub pistol from his belt-Only to find Derosa and her growling chainsword looming above him. Another heretic you spot lying beneath a pair of bodies, pin pulled on the fragmentation grenade in her hands. A bolt round from
Slayer of Ten Thousand detonates it from a safe distance.
It is not long until the PDF and even some of the civilians join you in your hunt. There is something of a joy in the former's killing, a way to regain control after the horrors they had witnessed. For every clean kill with a lasgun or bayonet, another heretic is made to suffer for their crimes. A PDF flame trooper even uses up some of her promethium to help set up an impromptu pyre for some of the heretics. The civilians, for their part, are a ragged bunch. Many are sick, some only bearing the few early signs of the Black Rot. Others look half dead, the meat on their bones blackened and falling away in festering pieces. Some even bear signs of other illnesses, such as one poor lass whose constant coughs leave blood on her lips. The PDF keep their distance from the sick, constantly checking their gasmasks, whispers of 'plague god touched' audible over your auto-senses.
Yet, these sickly men and women prove invaluable. When they drag the first shaking, howling heretic from where they'd been cowering in a dumpster, you hear Sister Katherine chuckle. "From the most grandiose spires to the most meek of men, everything the Emperor protects has a purpose." She says. "It reminds me in a way of the oaths we took before the Wreath of Casita, on Leanna's Rest."
As Derosa's blade deals out judgement to the heretic, you hear the thrum of an engine.
"One of ours." Derosa calls out as the Rhino emerges into sight, its scarlet armor dazzling bright in the evening light. The
Solemn Penace rolls to a halt not far from the western side of the courtyard, its heavy bolter scanning the terrain for a few moments. Then, the ramp lowers with a hiss of its hydraulics, and several Battle Sisters bearing the icons of
Squad Lethicia make their way out, making the aquila at you in greeting. Like you they have seen combat, small pock-marks and scratches indicating impact marks and many of their ammo satchels emptied. Alongside them are a pair of servitors clad in scarlet robes, and a woman in the blue carapace and robes of the Order of Pure Water. Following with stiff steps behind them comes Legatine Lethicia. Her armor is wreathed in honor markings, and a refractor shield bearing the coat of arms of the House of Emedus is sat into her gorget. Her helm is off, showing freckled skin with an unhealthy pallor and thin scarlet hair. A brass augmetic juts from her throat, and cables that run from the back of her skull down her spine. She is young, you can see, even ignoring rejuvenat. Perhaps only a few decades older than you.
"Good evening, Sisters." The pleasant words are left with a harsh, electric ring to them. Still, the warmth in her smile is obvious as she looks over each of you in turn. "Emperor be praised, but it looks like you handled yourself alright. When I heard what you were fighting, I feared for you, but the Emperor was watching over you. Blessed be those who reap the sinners from the Emperor's sight," She says. "You have my leave to take a rest, my Sisters. Get some dinner. You deserve it. My squad can take over the clean-up duty."
Maria shifted, jerkily, unused to such a light load. They could not afford trying, or failure in this. She did not doubt for an instant that her solution was inelegant, elegance simply wasn't in her wheelhouse.
"Calm would be good, but cowed is better. There seems to be so much...misplaced hatred in the air. These secular arguments are weighty. And divisive. What can unify the fractious but a demonstration of faith, and hate turned to its holy purpose? We have targets slated for execution already, human, witch, and otherwise."
"The blood of the wicked will wash the streets clean of misspent effort, and remind the citizens considering violence upon their neighbors that the Imperium's grip remains strong and unremitting."
"Your ceaseless zeal is ever-inspiring Maria," Ilana relutantly shook her head, she was never pleased to be put in a position where she had to refuse one of her Sisters. "But hatred once aflame, is difficult to put out. I urge that any such displays of zeal to be held as a last resort. Fear not Sister, as it was said in Canticle XXV of Insights of St. Barquiel, 'the blood of the heretic shall ever flow under the Emperor's gaze.'"
"I mean, we've strung up more than a few of these bloody cultists already. But far as the lot o'er there are concerned, we Pelagers ain't any different." The woman says, shrugging her brawny shoulders. "I mean, we can burn more, I guess. But I ain't sure that it wouldn't be as you-" She wiggles a finger as Illana. "-Says."
Father Tibim, however, seems wrapped in thought at the idea. "As Eriente says, we have performed some purges of our own. But perhaps not enough. Each pyre lit is a demonstration of faith and a reassurance of purpose. More than that, perhaps the God-Emperor will smile upon our work. It risks getting out of control, but perhaps if I was to take the responsibility for all the executions, it would prevent the risk of spreading beyond control. Make it official, rather than controlled by the mob."
Eriente tilts her head. "Or another priest. One who isn't associated with the ghetto might be an easier sell."
Tibim frowns, but is forced to nod. "Her suggestion has...Merit. Though I feel more than up to such a task."
Ilana's shining helm turned to look down at the pelager sharply, the distortion induced by the autolocutor failing to hide the cold undercurrent in her words. "That would be appreciated... Pelager. Now if you could further direct us to where you believe the other leaders to be, we shall see to pacifying the rest of the rioters."
"We ain't exactly on speaking terms, ma'am." Eriente says, an ugly smile crossing her face. "Not for lack of trying, but Tibim's the only one I got to listen. But I might be able to give some advice. Selveria ain't here, but one of her officers is leading that mob across the square. I'm sure they'll be willing to give you directions if you have a pleasant talk with 'em. If not, I can give you a map with a few likely locations. If you can have a talk with Collier, I doubt she'd offer much more trouble. From what I know she's a sweet lass, honestly, but a lot of people she knows are sick and she's just desperate. I doubt she wanted to lead people any more than I did, honestly."
Tibim speaks up. "Vennedes and her followers fled sometime ago. They suffered horribly, both from trying to force the Merud facility and from losses taken in the cult raid, and routed in the face of the losses they took. But I imagine some of their number may be in the Hospitaller post, and Eriente believes the woman may be staying somewhere along the dockside. Vennedes...I'm not sure I believe she follows the Dark Powers, but she is a violent individual nonetheless, with no respect for life or law. I have seen her lot fight the cult, but I believe I may have also seen a witch among their number. She looked wrong to my eye, and some of the fires that burned during the riot seemed of unnatural make to my eye. But I am no witch-finder, and cannot say for sure."
Eriente takes a breath. "The Lumenator, I ain't got a clue, and that's probably the way he likes it. He's always been a cowardly little shit. He can talk a mean game and he's smart, but he only ever turns up behind a solid wall of muscle. Warp, last I heard he's got himself servitor bodyguards. Worried the Arbites or Mechanicus are after him or such." The abhuman freak shrugs her shoulders. "He's friendly with a lot of the better equipped gangs, though. Some of them might be able to arrange a meeting, or at least a talk on the vox."
