Palais almost turns at Eriko's officer, her voice coming out in a snarl. "What? Take my place?" she asks, but then her blade dips. With a reluctant nod, she steps back from her challenger. "Very well Sister, the honour is yours."
The officer's eyes widen as the Sisters move past him, firing at the second barricade. "Come back here!" he cries out, his chainsword lashing out, but the Sisters give him a wide berth and his blade draws only sparks from their armoured hides. He turns as Eriko rushes him down, her greatsword churning with feral intensity. "Well, come on then!"
Chainsword meets chainsword, adamantium teeth grinding off one another. Deftly, the officer turns the incoming blow to the aside, redirecting most of the force into the stairway. He slams his foot down on the top of the blade, driving it deeper into the rockcrete and lashes out, his chainsword sweeping past Eriko's gorget and missing by less than a centimeter. "You face a Brother-Captain of the Brotherhood of the Pure Flame, Sister of the Burning Rose. If you are to be my foe, then I give praise to the God-Emperor of Mankind for the honour. At least I shall die by a loyal hand."
He flourishes his blade, assuming a classic guard position. "For the Emperor!"
Up the stairs, the rest of the squad pushes through a storm of shot and las fire, their boltguns hammering the recidivists' position, leaving their barricade shrouded in a thick, dust haze of pulverized rockcrete and plasteel. Yet, for all the fire directed against their position, the recidivists stand fast, their cover enduring the might of the Adepta Sororitas with temerity. One recidivist rises above the barricades, braving the storm of bolts as she lowers a civilian grade flamer.
"For the Brotherhood!" the woman bellows as she bathes Caelia and Maria in flame. The woman's flamer is designed for mold, insects, and some dangerous wildlife, not military grade power armour, and it has no hope of penetrating the thick ceramite. But the heat begins building up within the suits, as their cooling systems begin to click up to ward off the increasing temperature. Distracted by the promethium splattered across her visor, Caelia halts her advance even as Illana and Maria take up the lead, bellowing their prayers and war cries. It is Illana that triggers the improvised explosive device.
Half buried beneath a pile of debris, the improvised explosive detonations like a sack of frag grenades. The wave of force slams into Maria and Illana, washing over them in a storm of shrapnel and flame. Maria sets in her heels and pushes through the blast, her armour absorbing the blast. Illana, stumbling out of the blast with a pained prayer, brings up her bolt-rifle and fires a burst against the barricade. By the Emperor's grace, a single shell makes it through their fortifications and blasts the head of a gang-tat covered woman to pieces, sending her body toppling from the heavy stubber she'd been manning.
"Feth me! They're still coming!" Someone shouts as Caelia rushes forward to rejoin the advance.
"Let 'em come! Bring up the Dreverarch Cocktail!" Another recidivist replies. Too late the Sisters realize the meaning behind the Witch-Finder's warnings as the anarchists push a large fuel barrel to the top of the barricade, panting and sweating as they tip it over. It falls, bouncing hard as it hits the stairs, tumbling toward the advancing squad. As it rolls, the improvised explosives rigged across its side begin to blink.
"Get down!" Palais shouts, a moment before the barrel detonates and bathes the entire left side of the staircase in flame. Caelia is thrown off her feet down the staircase, sparks flying as her power reactor scraps off the steps. Her vision in a blur of raging flames and billowing smoke, pain washing over her body. Illana, quicker on her fleet, throws herself down. She feels the warmth of the blast wash over her back, avoiding the worst of the explosive blast, but the burning promethium soaks her back and lower legs, her suit systems warning of rising temperatures
On the other side of the barricade, the recidivists haul up a second barrel bomb, but just as it reaches the top of the barricade, one of the criminals loses his grip. The barrel tips back, crashing down as the anarchists curse and shout. Maria and Palais see their opening and rush forward, even as heavy stubber rounds spark off their armour. Together, the two of them crash into the barricade. Armour servos howl and muscles strain as the two women press against the heavy fortifications and the brothers frantically pushing back against them. Maria grits her teeth, agony rushing up through her muscles as an autopistol is emptied harmlessly into her helmet. For a moment, the pain of her burning muscles threatens to overwhelm her, every part of her body screaming. Yet, with each gasped prayer to the God-Emperor, the agony recedes, replaced with purpose. With each pained psalm, the barricade tilts back, farther and farther.
And then, with a great crash, it topples. Anarchists scramble in every direction, abandoning their weapons as they rush for the next set of barricades. The Sororitas, exhausted or aflame, do not pursue. Not when the route to their objective lies on this floor, the yawning doors leading toward Eneresh beckoning just ahead.
Palais places a hand against the barricade, gasping for air. "God-Emperor. Moving furniture on Velorum must be hell," she breathes, absently helping Maria beat out the flames burning along her armour. The Sister-Superior takes in a deep breath and glances back to where Eriko stands.
Eriko steps back from her opponent, glancing at the fresh gash carved into the armoured seal along her right elbow. She feels the sting of the blow. In front of her the Brother-Captain sucks in slow, measured breaths, sweat pouring down what skin is exposed beneath his armour and gas-hood.
"First strike to me," he gasps, even as the cries of his retreating men draw his gaze backward. Seeing the second barricade fallen, his chainsword lowers. "But victory is yours. You nearly had me twice," he says, glancing toward the missing teeth along his chainsword's edge. He lowers his chainsword, eyes closing behind his mask. "It's clear this will avail me nothing. I yield, and throw myself upon Leanna's mercy."
Behind her, the mercenaries move up, eyes wide at the havoc wreaked upon the stairway. "We left the wounded behind. They would only slow us down," Vahn Zayneth says, stepping gingerly past the flames.
"Except for me," The bounty hunter growls, nursing her side. "I'm seeing this through to the end."
The Witch-Finder nods his head, and then strides forward through the passage, weapons at the ready. "Ready yourselves, Sisters," Palais says. "Let's not keep the witch waiting."
There's no further resistance of note as the Sisters make their way toward Eneresh's hideout. It's a blessed relief, given how easily defended these corridors would be, and how byzantine their lay-out is. At least twice the Sororitas and their allies had to double back, and repeatedly they lose their bearings. All the while, gunfire and screams echo through the corridors, and Vennede's intercom messages become increasingly agitated. The comms out of the Hall of Bones become increasingly sporadic and incoherent, descending from utter confidence to disbelief and terror, and yet, one can still hear defiance. Over the screaming, the gunfire, the weeping, the dying, one could still hear the insults and the prayers, the last snarled oaths.
If nothing else, they were making a fight of it. Eneresh was good to her word, it seems.
Rifles, handguns and more improvised weapons snap up as the Sisters stamp toward the barricades around the command center. Wild eyed men and women draped in threadbare robes and religious fetishes, hard-faced gangers covered in scars and tattoos, and pale civilians in filth-ridden rag-castings stare in dawning realization as the Sororitas scarlet armour catches in the light. The sound of dropped guns bouncing off the floor echoes through the room.
"Please, we didn't-" One of the gangers blubbers, taking a step back.
"Not a step closer!" One of the civilians calls out, clutching at his improvised spear as though it were the Sword of Selverus.
Voices ring out, terrified, bewildered, a few defiant, but they cut out as one rings out. "Everyone stand down. It's-it's alright. They're not going to hurt you," Eneresh's voice rings out over the comms. "Just let them through."
Eneresh's followers part before the Sororitas, many falling to their knees and begging forgiveness. Some throw accusations at Eneresh of having tricked them, bewitched them or otherwise forced them into service. Still others beg for them to be merciful to her.
The reinforced doors to the command center yawn open, and the squad ventures forward. Banks of cogitators line the room, leading to secreted barracks and armories. All of them have clearly seen better days. Many of the cogitators have been stripped clean or are missing entirely, and piles of loot and salvage have been crudely piled across the tables. Eneresh sits halfway into the room, resting her arms heavily on a steel table. She raises a cup of recaf to her lips as the squad enters the room, her hands shaking. Compared to the pictures you had, she's a mess. Her pony tail's been replaced by a crude and partial shave, numerous small nicks and cuts visible across her freckled features, and the shadows under her eyes are deeply pronounced. Palais raises a fist for the group to halt.
"Hi," Eneresh says, not looking at the Sisters. "I guess you got me. You got me...You fething..."
There is a spark. A flash, and then Eneresh's hand is ablaze. The recaf mug bursts, molten ceramic running between her fingers like wax. The flames crawl up the edge of her ill-fitting greatcoat like a living thing, curling up her neck. For a moment, it is as though she is crowned by a living flame. Weapons snap up as the witch looks up, her eyes burning like embers. And then, just as suddenly, the flame is gone, nothing but a few errant sparks to mark its passing.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's stopped, okay!" Eneresh says, raising her hands as sparks fall from her fingers. "ThroneI didn't mean to do that! Feth, feth, feth! Don't bloody shoot me!"
"Stand down, damn your eyes!" Vahn snaps, slapping down a mercenary's rifle. "I want her alive!"
The witch settles back down in her chair, looking at her hands, and then at the steaming cup of recaf still on the table, as though she'd never picked it up. She stares at it in bemusement for a long moment, before shaking her head. "Just-Don't shoot. Okay, look the Hall of Bones-Feth, they're all bloody bones by now, they should be. They are, I don't...We don't have much time before it shows up, you understand? Tell me you have a good plan, this time," she says, glancing at the steaming mug. Biting her lip, she picks it up gingerly as though expecting it to explode, and then brings it her lips to take a short sip. Then, she puts it down with a frown. "Of course it's still shite, it was shite the first time," she mutters. "What am I even doing? Throne I hate this."
Palais hisses into the vox. "Ware, Sisters. If you think you're at risk, don't hesitate."
